#Quill must have smacked them right off his face

[steeltwigz]

anyways here's the sonic gets braindamage fic. sorry if theres mistakes, rereading is not smth i do often. lemme know if i should crosspost it to ao3 or smth

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A loud explosion blew through his fur. The bang reverberated in his head, briefly disorienting Knuckles, but he shook it off easily. Besides, he wasn’t closest to the carnage. No, that person was- Knuckles turned suddenly, scanning the battlefield. 

“Sonic!” He shouted, waving smoke out of the air. There was the sound of robot destruction behind him- namely, Amy’s hammer crunching down on some unsuspecting Motobug. Knuckles turned, searching for a spot of blue in the grey, and he could see her proudly flip her bangs in his peripheral. The rest of the bots were busy attacking Tails, who’s back must have been turned still. Amy noticed Knuckles’ urgency, recognized the tells that he was searching for something, and ran to stand next to him, bumping her back against his to cover his blindspots. She held her hammer aloft, turning slightly over her shoulder to shout into his ear. 

“Heard that explosion- what’s up?” 

Heard the explosion- guessing from her volume, her ears were probably still ringing, too. Knuckles could feel her shoulders shift, and she suddenly stepped forward to swing at a Crabmeat crawling towards them, shouting “Fore!” as it flew through the air. 

“I’m fine,” Knuckles huffed, pausing to reach up and grab a Buzz Bomber that raced towards them, swinging it into the ground. It shattered upon impact with a satisfying crunch. “I’m not the one who got blown into next week!” 

Another explosion occurred a few feet away, and he heard Tails shout ‘Whoops!’. He tucked Amy under his arms as rubble and debris flew past them. He shook the gravel out of his spines and released Amy, who started looking around too. She glanced up at Tails, who was wrestling in the air with another Buzz Bomber. 

“Tails!” She shouted, waving her hammer at him angrily. 

He kicked the Buzz Bomber away, and pulled his tablet out. “I know!” He shouted back at them, “I’m on it! Where’s Sonic? I need some time!” He kicked another Buzz Bomber, then bee-lined for the main badnik- namely, a giant Crabmeat mecha currently firing missiles from it’s open claws. Instead of a face, it had a clear glass dome in which Eggman sat, firing at the Mobians below. Tails was trying to remotely hack it, though it must’ve been hard to focus while weaving through the air with a pack of Buzz Bombers on your heels. He couldn’t stay still, and his typing suffered greatly. 

“We’re looking!” Amy shouted. 

“You mean you lost him?!” Tails shouted back, doing a quick loop maneuver to briefly break up the pack of badniks. He dived, fast enough that it pinned his ears completely flat. 

“Don’t look at me, look at Knuckles! He was closest!” Amy said, smacking down as many Buzz Bombers as she could after Tails flew by overhead. Knuckles grabbed an armful, and used them as ammo to knock the others out of the sky. They got the pack down significantly, especially when Tails raced past a second time. 

“He’s over there!” He said as he passed, pointing to a shifting pile of broken bot pieces. 

“Right!” Amy said, knocking out the rest of the pack with a well-timed swing attack that bounced the decapitated head of one off all the others. She and Knuckles turned and ran to the pile of debris, lifting it easily. Amy crouched slightly, reaching down and shaking Sonic awake. He was largely uninjured from what Knuckles could tell- just a few broken quills and probably one hell of a headache. And, as Amy shook Sonic’s shoulders, he grunted in response. Good enough confirmation as any- Knuckles let out a relieved sigh, then turned back to track Tails’ location. Seemed they had broken through all of Eggman’s backup, since the pack of Buzz Bombers hadn’t yet been replaced. He sat down roughly on the shell of a busted Motobug. He heard Sonic groan, and turn to watch him sit up and rub his head. Sonic hissed softly when his finger traced over a cut in his brow. Knuckles huffed. 

“I told you to pay attention to the crab- thing.” He waved towards Eggman’s bot. It was currently swatting at Tails. Knuckles could hear them yelling at each other distantly. Sonic turned, too, gasped, and tried to stand. He got up too fast, though, and lurched, waving his arms to catch himself. Knuckles laughed at him as Amy stood too, and helped him catch his balance. Sonic glared and opened his mouth to reply. He briefly got a weird look on his face that had Knuckles and Amy share a confused and worried look, before he interrupted their silent conversation with a loud, annoyed grumble. He snapped his fingers a few times, as if trying to jog his memory about something, but shook his head as if he failed. He looked up suddenly and waved his hands at Knuckles. Knuckles turned his head to the side. “Uhhh…” Knuckles said. Sonic turned his head, now his turn to be confused, before he waved his hands again with more urgency. Knuckles looked at Amy for help, but she just shrugged. Her eyes were wide and worried, and she only held his stare for a few moments before she turned and put her hand on Sonic’s shoulder. 

“You must’ve hit your head pretty hard,” She said softly. “Are you okay?” Sonic just rolled his eyes, so Knuckles figured he shouldn’t be that worried about him. Even with his clear annoyance, Sonic grabbed Amy’s hand off his shoulder and pushed it back towards her, patting it comfortingly. He waved his hands at her too, slower than he had to Knuckles, and a bit of realization spread across her face. She nodded, and he shot her a thumbs up before he ran off. 

“What was that about?” Knuckles said once the afterimage of Sonic was cleared from his eyes. He scratched his cheek, lazily. With Sonic and Tails dealing with the bot, it’d be down in no time. Amy turned to glare at him. 

“Seriously?” She said. Knuckles raised his hand, shrugging. 

“What?” He replied lamely. 

Amy kicked dust at him. 

— 

“Your mustache has a stray hair! You should really stop tugging it when you’re stressed!” 

Eggman growled, but turned to study his face in the reflective surface of the walls of the chamber he had stuck himself in. There was, indeed, a stray hair, and he squeaked before furiously straightening it. “I wouldn’t be so stressed if it wasn’t for you meddling ‘Freedom Failures’!” 

Tails rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t have to stress about us if you could build a decent mech for once!” He shouted back. Eggman turned so red, Tails briefly imagined frying an egg on his bald head. The ensuing fit of giggles left him distracted enough to not hear Eggman’s quiet: ‘Why you little…!’ or notice the giant claw swinging at him until the last second. Even still, he deftly dodged, laughing proudly. “Nice try! This bot’s even slower than you!” 

He puffed his fur out as Eggman shouted incomprehensibly, before the madman settled on, “You feckless fox!”. Not your best work, Tails thought. Eggman waved his fist angrily, before slamming his hand down onto the console. Another missile fired from the giant Crabmeat, though it wasn’t even aimed at Tails. He was blown back slightly by the force of the launch, but nothing he couldn’t shake off. He turned and watched as the missile landed, blowing a huge crater in the field they were fighting in, before turning back to Eggman and glaring at him. 

“Hey! Do you need a new prescription or is your auto-aim malfunctioning?” Tails said. He flew closer to Eggman so his glare would be more noticed. “I could give you some tips if you need it.” 

“As if!” Eggman replied. “Since when were you such a smart-ass-!” 

The doctor made the robot swing at Tails again, and he dodged easily, again. His stamina was running out, though. Where was- Tails’ thoughts were broken by a sharp whistle from below. Tails sighed, “Finally!”, and dropped out of the air. 

“Wha- I’m not done with you yet!” Eggman screeched. “Don’t ignore me when I’m insulting you!” He dragged the claw through the air after Tails, but it was a very slow robot and even with the assist from gravity, Tails outpaced it easily. He fell into Sonic’s arms, who ran between the crabs legs and successfully took them out of harms way. 

Tails rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, right.” He mumbled. Sonic chuckled as he put Tails down, and Tails’ namesakes fluttered behind him happily. He pushed Sonic once his feet were firmly back on the ground. “Took you long enough! I thought you were supposed t’be fast.” Sonic huffed, raising his hand to scratch the inside of his ear. Weird. Tails distantly noticed it was a move Sonic hadn’t pulled in a while. And no response banter? He quirked his head, reaching out to his brother. “Hey, you okay?” He said. Sonic took his hand away from his ear, and started to look like he was about to explain, but was cut off by the robot behind them shifting. As it turned, it’s footsteps shook the ground, and Tails fell forward, latching on to Sonic to keep himself from falling. 

“Ahh, Sonic!” Eggman said. He had some sort of speaker in the bot, as his voice carried over the air loudly and clearly. Sonic glared up at Eggman, smirking dangerously, even with Tails still partially tucked in his arm. “Looking a bit disheveled, are we? I hope this fight hasn’t been too much for you!” The robot suddenly shifted, moving one of its huge legs to try and stomp on Sonic. He dodged easily, dragging Tails behind him with a ‘woah-!’. 

Sonic set Tails down, who shook off the dizziness of the unexpected full speed dash. He snapped his fingers at his little brother, an old prompt for Tails to look at him. He hadn't done that in a while, though. Tails looked up, more confused now than ever. Sonic pointed to Tails, poking him in his chest fluff, then at the robot, then signed “Explosion,” while vocally mimicking a soft booming sound. 

Tails tilted his head. Yeah, he understood what Sonic was saying, but why was he signing it? Sonic got a bit panicked, and reran the motions, and Tails nodded, signing along as he said “I get it, I get it! Blow up the big bot. Cover me!” Sonic nodded, panic forgotten, and whistled for Eggman to turn towards him as Tails snuck away. 

There was no way he could have heard the whistle, but Eggman miraculously turned anyway. “There you are! Thought you could sneak away, did you? Try dodging this!” The Crabmeat swung down at Sonic. He dodged easily, feigning a yawn. Eggman growled at this, tugging the claw out of the ground as he swung with the other. Sonic dodged this easily, too. Eggman roared at him when Sonic lazily scratched his nose. “Stay still!” One of the claws opened and fired another missile. It soared over Sonic’s head, but he raced back and leapt into it’s path just to kick it back into Eggman’s face. It exploded, shaking the bot. 

Sonic was, briefly, nervous, but Tails had climbed onto the back of the robot and from the panel he had latched on to shouted, “I’m okay!”. Sonic relaxed. 

“What was that!?” Eggman screeched as he tried to reach the robots claws around to smack the back of the bot. He didn’t build it with range of motion in mind though, and it could never reach Tails. Sonic started kicking fallen bot pieces into Eggman’s face so he wouldn’t stay too focused on Tails for too long. It worked- Eggman quickly moving the claws to protect himself. He slammed the other claw into the ground again, forcing Sonic to stop and throwing him into the air slightly. Sonic fell over, shaking the dust out of his fur as Eggman laughed at him. “That’s what you get, infuriating pest!” 

Sonic glared up at Eggman, angrily signing “Up yours!” and tugging down his lower eyelid with his middle finger, sticking his tongue out at the doctor. 

“That’s it!” Eggman shouted, pulling the claws back, “Enjoy oblivion, warthog!” He slammed his fist on the launch button. 

Tails raced along the top of the bot, launching himself into the air, as a loud clicking sound came from the robots claws. He jumped for Sonic, shouting, “Get down!”. Sonic connected the dots easily, racing to grab Tails out of the air, and throw them both behind the nearest largest pile of discarded robot parts. There was a large boom moments later, and huge chunks of the mech blew past them with loud crashing sounds. They waited, curled together, as the dust settled. Sonic uncurled slowly, and Tails looked up at him, shaking the dust out of his fur. 

“Sonic…” He began, reaching toward his brother’s face. Specifically, the noticeable bruises and cut over his eye. Sonic ignores him, instead opting to turn and watch Eggman’s hovercar float away shakily. Eggman shouted something down at them, that none of them could really hear properly. 

Sonic waved at him, quickly signing, “Dumb-ass!” at him. Tails laughed as Eggman shouted notably louder, though he still couldn’t hear what he was saying. Sonic turned to Tails and looked at him seriously. “Don’t repeat that.” he signed, waving his finger in a scolding motion. Tails laughed harder. 

“When’d you even learn that!” He said between laughs. 

Sonic shrugged, then signed, “You don’t know everything!” Tails rolled his eyes, and they waited for a moment as Knuckles and Amy ran over to them. Sonic turned to Tails, lightly shoving his shoulder, and hurriedly signing, “Where’d you learn it?” His brows furrowed comically, which made Tails laugh more, and he turned his head away sharply. 

“Not telling!” 

Sonic bumped his shoulder into Tails’, laughing with him. He was interrupted by a tackle from Amy that left the air drained from his lungs. 

“Sonic!” She said. She hugged him tightly, and he turned to Tails to roll his eyes dramatically, to which he giggled. Amy pulled back, grabbing his head softly to study the bruises better. “How’s your head? Are you okay?” Sonic stuck his tongue out again, and pushed her hands away. 

“I’m fine.” He signed to her. Knuckles stood a foot away, arms crossed. 

He shuffled his feet, looking at Sonic, the glancing away and awkwardly rubbing his neck. “Amy told me what was happening. Sorry for, uh. Not understanding you before.” He scratched his chest, then seemed to realize that he had to look at Sonic to see what he was trying to say and turned back to face him. 

“It’s O.K,” Sonic signed, giving Knuckles a wink and a thumbs-up. Knuckles seemed to relax a bit. Good to know he at least remembered some fingerspelling, and knew what a thumbs up was. Sonic glanced at Tails, then signed, “... Dumbass.” Tails fell over laughing as Knuckles, who understood when he was being laughed at, grew more and more defensive. 

“What did he say?” He implored Tails, who was barely more than a small shaking pile of laughter and fur. Sonic fell on top of him, laughing too. Tails could have sworn he even heard Amy giggle, then try to hide it with a cough. 

They stayed like that for a while, Knuckles grumbling angrily, until Amy finally cleared her throat and got everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m gonna go call a cleaning squad to come deal with these bots. And you,” She narrowed her eyes pointedly at Sonic, “are going straight to the infirmary! Be right back!” She turned away and walked a short distance to call in a pick-up. 

Sonic rolled his eyes again, nudging Tails, but his brother didn’t smile back like expected. “Amy’s right, Sonic. You should really get checked on.” He gave his best, biggest, worried eyes. He and Sonic had a brief staring contest, but Sonic relented with a sharp sigh. He crossed his arms unhappily. Tails kicked his foot, “You hit your head so hard, you forgot how to speak. That doesn’t worry you? At all?” 

Sonic sat up suddenly, quills shooting upwards. His face got very red, and he turned to Tails, urgently signing, “I can remember! I just don’t want to!” 

Now Tails rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.” He said. Sonic tackled him, poking Tails’ sides and making him laugh again, swatting his brother. They tussled for a while, until they heard Amy walking back. She glanced at them in a pile on the floor, and her muzzle quirked up in amusement, but she stayed focused. 

“The team will be here in about half an hour. Try to stay uninjured until then, yeah?” 

Sonic simply shrugged. “Fine. Gives us time to work on Knuckles’ fingerspelling.” Everyone turned to look at Knuckles, who glanced around at them all, confused. 

“Huh?” He said. 

Sonic’s eyes briefly narrowed, the only warning before he launched himself at Knuckles, Amy and Tails following to do their best to keep Sonic out of the scuffle he had started. 

—

“That’s a lot more carnage than I was expecting…” She muttered. The pilot just hummed as she set the craft down. 

“Are we there yet?” The small wolf asked. She was sitting in the passenger seat of a large Resistance hovercraft, part of the cleaning crew Commander Rose had requested. The location wasn’t far, but flights made her uneasy. If wolves were meant to fly, they would have been born with feathers- no, she liked the ground very much, thank you. The head pilot, a large bear woman, just laughed.

“Relax,” she said, voice deep and rolling. It was calming. “I think this is the place. Check it out.” The pilot motioned her head towards the window, and the wolf looked out, whistling lowly. 

After splitting the groups into teams and some quick barked orders, the cleaning crew filed out and began dragging robotic debris back into the ship. The small wolf marched off to find Commander Rose, along with Sonic. The description of his injuries had worried her- she didn’t think she’d ever seen him hurt, really hurt, and the thought of the world’s hero being in any kind of immediate danger was enough to make her rush. 

“Commander Rose!” She called out, “We’re here! We’ve got a smaller medic ship waiting! Where are you?” 

Her ears rotated as she looked around. It was hard to see anything besides the robotic carnage at her feet, and she had to take deep breaths to stay calm and focused. She heard a small response from her right, a bit further ahead. Turning to the sound, she could make out the pink form of the Commander’s hammer as she waved it around. The wolf stumbled over, partially tripping and weaving her way to the small group. 

“Commander!” She said once she was close enough to see her fully, “I’m so glad you’re- uh-” She paused, studying the group in front of her. Strangely, Sonic was laying on the floor, his little brother sprawled on his chest. His tails were in Sonic’s face, which he periodically blew away, only for them to fall right back into place. The Commander was sitting in front of Knuckles, who had his gloves off and placed neatly next to him. They seemed to be running through some kind of series of hand-signals? The wolf looked a bit closer and could make out Knuckles trying to clumsily fingerspell the alphabet. It stopped once she walked a bit closer, Knuckles putting his gloves back on and standing along with Commander Rose. “Uhh-” The wolf started again. Amy dusted herself off, turning to Tails as helped Sonic stand up too. 

“Knuckles and I will stay and help clean up. Send Sonic to the med-bay, right when you get back. Don’t let him sneak off!” 

Tails nodded, holding Sonic’s hand tightly. “I won’t!” He said. Sonic huffed and rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be dragged along. They hurried past the wolf, Tails waving one last goodbye to Knuckles who raised his hand stiffly in response. 

“What is-?” The wolf started. Amy held up a hand to stop her before she could finish, looking suddenly very tired. She leaned on her hammer heavily and sighed. 

“Long story. Don’t ask.” 

[bouwrites]

Show Your Fangs: Chapter 11

Tongues and Teeth

First, Previous, Next.

Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Harry bounds along at Anthony and Susan’s heels. Their robes billow behind them and Susan’s long red plait bounces with the speed they glide through the corridors.

When they hear the scream, they break into a run.

Harry’s stomach sinks down to the floor. Michael wouldn’t scream like that. He’d refuse to give Umbridge the satisfaction. She must do something truly beyond the pale. Which means they need to be in that room ten minutes ago.

They reach the door to the Defense office. For the moment, all they hear is Umbridge’s muffled voice.

And then, “Crucio!”

Anthony and Susan both recoil in shock. They imagine all manner of horrors that Umbridge is willing and able to inflict, but an unforgivable curse? Michael’s scream tears a bloody path through Harry’s heart far worse than Voldemort’s Cruciatus Curse ever hurts him.

Anthony’s face turns incandescent as he surges for the door. Susan’s quick hands pull him back.

“What’re you doing?” Anthony hisses. “Let go! We have to get in there; we have to stop her!”

“You need to think,” Susan growls darkly. “Use that Ravenclaw wisdom of yours. We can go in throwing hexes, but what’ll happen if she overpowers us? We’re students, and she’s still an adult, fully-trained witch!”

“So, we just sit out here like cowards while Michael-”

Susan smacks Anthony on the back of the head. “Of course not! We’ll run in and protect him as soon as we’ve contacted my aunt.”

Anthony’s eyes widen. He glowers at her for a moment but concedes her point. He flicks his wand. “Expecto Patronum.”

Susan gasps as the silvery light produced by Anthony’s wand forms into a porcupine.

“So,” says Anthony shortly. “What do I say to make her listen?”

“Tell her Umbridge is using an unforgivable. But very important: say, alpha, vermillion, wolf. She’ll know it’s from me.”

Anthony doesn’t spare a second to attempt to decipher the code Susan has with her aunt. He sends off the message with his patronus and, the moment Susan allows him to, blasts through the door.

“Expelliarmus!”

Susan is right behind him. “Stupefy!”

Harry darts inside as well, making directly for Michael, who is curled up, twitching, on the floor, and does not appear to even notice his friends jumping in to his rescue.

Umbridge, though plainly surprised, shields from Anthony and Susan’s spells with a flick of her wand. She smacks her wand against her open palm. Harry notices with satisfaction that she’s bleeding from the back of her hand – so their gambit with the quill works, at least.

As she’s not actively pointing her wand at them, Anthony and Susan move in tandem almost as if they agree beforehand. Anthony steps up, between Umbridge and the others, while Susan grabs onto Michael and drags him back towards the wall, out of the way. Harry stays glued to Michael’s side, nuzzling insistently into his face, purring, anything soft he can think of to get Michael to respond. But Michael’s eyes are screwed tight and he does not notice.

“Mr. Goldstein…” Umbridge says, shock clear in her voice nestled alongside something harder, darker, sharper. “I expect better from a school prefect than to raise your wand at a teacher.”

“Shut up, you great, ugly bint,” Anthony growls viciously. It’s a tone, an entire demeanor, that Harry never sees on him before and would not imagine him capable of before now. “As a prefect, it is my duty to watch over and protect the students of this school.”

He lifts his chin, glares daggers into her eyes. “If I’ve let you believe that you can get away with harming a hair on the head of anyone here… I’ve been neglecting that responsibility. No more.”

Susan dances on her toes. She stands shoulder to shoulder with Anthony. “The Cruciatus Curse is illegal. Not even your precious Fudge can protect you from that. My aunt is already on her way; you’re through.”

Umbridge twitches. Her eyes dart between the pair of them and the door, the fireplace, calculating.

Anthony catches the flick of her eyes. His face screws up in rage. “You think I’ll let you escape? Bombarda!”

The fireplace, the only one in the entire castle still connected to the floo network after Umbridge closes the rest of them in her paranoia, explodes, breaking well beyond use for the floo.

Umbridge is all tight frustration. “I see,” she croaks. “I see how it is. Very well. Minister Fudge will understand I had to defend myself… yes, from Dumbledore’s mad followers…”

“Surrender quietly and you won’t be harmed,” Susan demands coldly. Anthony doesn’t at all look like he agrees, but Susan says it for a reason. Partly she means it, and partly it’s to ensure that no one reviewing their memories of this confrontation can say that Anthony and Susan were actually trying to cause harm. She takes away Umbridge’s self-defense case.

Umbridge realizes this as well. She raises her wand and shrieks, “Incarcerous!”

“Diffindo!” Susan is quickest on the draw, firing off the spell before the ropes Umbridge conjures even reaches them. It slices the ropes through, forcing them to fly off to either side of her and Anthony without actually catching them.

“Stupefy!” Anthony roars.

“Flagrante!” Susan follows.

Umbridge shields without batting an eye and counters with a disarming charm. Susan shields, then with a twirl sends off another stunner.

“Enough!” Umbridge shouts. “Crucio!”

“Everte Statum!”

Susan’s spell sends Anthony flying head over heels into the wall, but it’s the only reason that Umbridge’s curse soars harmlessly past without landing.

“Confringo!”

Susan’s use of the blasting curse will probably raise an eyebrow or two once they’re not in the middle of a dangerous situation, but no one can argue it isn’t effective. Umbridge’s desk is blown to bits in a fiery explosion, throwing up a cloud of dust and debris that Umbridge must cover her face to shield from.

Anthony, recovering from landing in a heap on the floor, takes the opportunity. “Levioso!”

It catches her. The first spell to do so. Umbridge is lifted, flailing, into the air by her clothes.

“Accio!” Susan pulls Umbridge close.

Anthony jumps back up to his feet, right by Susan’s side. A cruel glint mars his eyes. “Incendio.”

The fire-making spell is ostensibly pointed at her wand hand, but she struggles so much in the air that he ends up just catching her across her shoulder and most of her arm. Her pink robe catches and she shrieks with pain from the severe burn.

If Anthony’s choice of spell bothers Susan, she doesn’t show it. “Depulso!” she shouts. Umbridge is sent crashing into the opposite wall, only narrowly hitting the beam of stone and not the window. A fall from this floor might actually kill her.

Struggling to her feet, Umbridge’s expression is like never before. Working together, Anthony and Susan get the better of her and she knows it, but now she is fueled by righteous outrage. She will not be beaten by children!

Michael stirs. Weakly, so even Harry with his cat ears can barely hear him, he murmurs, “Tiger…?”

Harry meows into him, nuzzles against his face. Michael doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t appear to be able to move his limbs, but he smiles. “…Knew you’d come. Catch her.”

They do. They will. Umbridge isn’t escaping from this. Harry will ensure it personally even if it means walking into the Ministry himself and damn the consequences.

Anthony and Susan barrage Umbridge with spells, but she just shields and slowly, intimidatingly, marches closer. Through the splinters of her desk, atop smoldering parchment, she steps closer with a look that promises pain.

Harry longs for nothing more than to change back into his human form and join in the duel, but he knows he can’t. Not except as a very last resort. If she takes down Anthony and Susan and is about to escape before Madam Bones can arrive, only then can he risk revealing himself. That’s what they agree on. Harry can’t betray Michael’s trust by acting rashly.

Michael’s hand twitches. It jerks down, but it’s not just a remnant of the Cruciatus Curse. It’s purposeful in a way the rest of the twitches aren’t. Harry follows the path, sees a lump in Michael’s pocket.

“You ungrateful,” Umbridge growls, her advance unfaltering, “revolting, wild children… Why won’t you fall in line?”

Anthony rumbles in turn. “Why won’t you break?”

“Just give up, Umbridge,” Susan says. “It’s over.”

Umbridge laughs. It’s manic and high, sweet like her usual façade but sticky and clingy in a way that makes Harry feel like he needs a shower. “Children,” she says, “should be seen and not. heard.”

She flicks her wand. This time, she’s too close for Susan to block the rope that lashes around her neck. Susan gasps, grabs and pulls at the rope, and crumples to the ground, slowly turning purple.

Anthony sets his jaw bravely, now facing down Umbridge’s wand alone.

(Terry paces at the castle gates, back and forth like a lion in a pen. Every part of him itches. He crawls with the knowledge that something horrible is happening to one of his best friends – to all of his best friends– and he’s the only one not there to defend them.

He knows why he’s necessary here. He does. Anthony’s patronus is the only way to contact Madam Bones with Umbridge locking down all the floos. The mail, if it gets past her checks, is too slow. And they can’t know who else will be around Madam Bones in the Ministry when she does get the patronus message. If Fudge is there and has forewarning, he can muck everything up.

Fudge can and will interfere with this. Everyone knows it. But if he interferes now, he can prevent Madam Bones from acting. If he’s delayed just long enough for Umbridge to be taken into custody, he’ll have to go through all the red tape that comes along with that.

But Terry really hates not knowing what’s happening to Michael right now.

The crack of apparition halts his impatient feet. He turns to see Madam Bones, a dark-skinned auror, and unfortunately Minister Fudge himself all arrive at the gate. Terry immediately clears his face and posture of all of the anxiety buzzing through him. If he’s going to get Fudge away and give Madam Bones the opening she needs to do her job, he has to play this right.

This is what Michael and the others trust him to do. This is how he will protect them.

Terry lets his concern bleed into his features and jumps forward to open the gates for the visitors. “Madam Bones! Thank goodness you’re here. Please, you have to get to the Defense office immediately!”

Terry glances to the auror at her side, and then to Fudge, and silently prays that Bones is smart enough to know that she has to work around Fudge’s presence here.

She is, thank goodness. “Shacklebolt,” Bones barks, “go on ahead. You. Mr…”

“Boot. Terry Boot.” Terry bites his lip and pulls at his robes. “My best friend, Michael, well, Umbridge has been torturing him for months now and today he pranked her, so I just know she’s going to be more awful than usual,” he whines. “Please, if someone doesn’t stop her, I’m not sure he’ll make it back to the common room!”

“Now what’s this rubbish?” Fudge asks. “Madam Umbridge is a respected member of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked to provide you a quality education. I would expect the students of Hogwarts to treat her with more respect.”

Madam Bones ignores him. Her eyes flash dangerously. “Elaborate, Mr. Boot,” she demands. “What do you mean by torture?”

Terry sucks in a shaking breath. He stops to sniff and press his sleeve to his eyes to wick away the tears. “E-every day Michael has de- he has detention,” he stammers. “It’s three or four time- times a week these days…”

“Now, see,” says Fudge confidently. “It’s natural for students to exaggerate. But detentions are hardly-”

“He- he comes back with his hand all bloody! She- she makes him write lines with a cursed quill. It carves the words into the back of his hand!”

Madam Bones rears back. Fudge seems as if he’s struck in the face. “Now, boy-”

“She what?” Bones hisses. “Why wasn’t this reported sooner?”

Terry takes a step away from Fudge, directing all the fear in his eyes at the man. “Because- because she has permission…” he cries. “She showed us the form signed by the Minister allowing her to use it as a punishment…”

Madam Bones stills. Terry counts silently in his head. Three. Two. One.

“You signed off on this?” she roars.

Fudge has a very pale look which suggests that he doesn’t sign off on it. While Terry does lie about Umbridge showing them all the proof, he checks his sources a long time ago and confirms that she does have the permission. The form, which is public record as all Ministry decrees about policy are, is indeed signed by Minister Fudge. “W-well, Dolores insisted it was necessary-”

Does she? Or does she just give him the form and he signs it without even looking?

“Necessary?” Bones asks. “To inflict bodily harm on children for misbehaving in school? Are you quite mad?”

Terry continues to scrub at his face, using the action to hide the discreet changes to his expression that he knows he can’t quite control. “We tried to tell our parents,” Terry says, “but no one ever heard back on account of Professor Umbridge closing down all communication from outside the school. I- I think our messages got out, but- but… we were never able to hear back.”

Fudge whimpers. The possibility that this gets out, that the community at large knows that he endorses and legalizes what is being done to their children… Well, Fudge isn’t that stupid.

“I…” Fudge stammers. “I need to get on top of this. I must return to the Ministry immediately. Merlin, if the press gets wind of this…”

And just like that, the coward turns tail and runs. He apparates away, back to the Ministry to try to start on damage control. That’s fine, as no matter how successful he is, it means that Madam Bones is free in this moment to do her job.

Terry scoffs, clears his face, and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe away the remnants of his tears. Terry is disappointingly surprised by how easy it is to manipulate that fool. Madam Bones raises her brow at him.

Terry shrugs. “He wouldn’t have let you do your job,” he answers simply.

“How bad is it, really?” she asks.

“Exactly what I said,” Terry says stiffly. “Please, save my friend.”

Madam Bones simply nods and gestures with her head towards the castle. “Walk with me, Mr. Boot. Tell me exactly what has been going on in this school.”)

Harry shoves his head into Michael’s pocket, finding what Michael brings for them. Above them, it’s all Anthony can do to defend from the spell fire of an adult more powerful than him.

Just when Harry manages to dig his tools out of Michael’s pocket, Umbridge decides she has enough of the skillful shielding that Harry drills all of the Ravenclaw boys on in their Defense lessons.

She shouts, “Crucio!”

Harry drops the black horn in his mouth – he doesn’t actually know what it is, only that it’s shaped like a horn to produce noise and has stumpy little feet and so presumably moves – and turns back to watch Anthony collapse, screaming and jerking madly in pain.

But the thing Harry pulls from Michael’s pocket, what he’ll later learn is a Fred and George prototype Decoy Detonator (one of the rare items Michael steals from the twins and is not given to help with testing), scuttles off to the far corner of the room.

There’s a loud bang. Umbridge and Harry both jump, Umbridge turns to the noise and the cloud of acrid smoke billowing from the corner.

Anthony gasps, but since he’s only under the Cruciatus for a second is already pulling in on himself, trying to get his wand back up, pointed at Umbridge. Harry needs to give him the time to recover before Umbridge sees him and can block his attack. The Decoy Detonator is utterly mangled – the thing actually explodes rather than just release its distraction – so it’s up to Harry.

So, Harry pounces. He darts forward, leaps with claws extended, and buries his fangs deep in Umbridge’s flabby calf. She howls with pain. Harry pulls his paws in under him and kicks, claws out, trying to tear up her flesh as thoroughly as her cursed quill destroys Michael’s hand.

Her unintelligible shriek pierces Harry’s ears, then he’s hit in the side and thrown so hard he collides painfully with the wall. It’s like he’s hit by a bludger. Who’d guess Umbridge can kick that hard?

As she pants, glaring at him, Anthony finally raises his trembling wand arm. “Expelliarmus!”

The jet of red light hits Umbridge square in the back. Her wand is ripped from her hand and sails through the air to Anthony. He doesn’t bother catching it – probably can’t after the Cruciatus – so it clatters to the floor and rolls up against the wall, but he follows up quickly with, “Incarcerous.”

No longer armed, there is nothing Umbridge can do to stop the ropes from binding her tightly. She hits the ground, writing and struggling, but Anthony’s incarcerous spell is too much for her.

Anthony turns, cuts the ropes off of Susan, checks her neck, then leaves her to recover her breath as he goes to check Harry over as well.

Harry might have a cracked rib or two but frankly, it’s not the worst he ever has. It’s nothing compared to even a second under the Cruciatus Curse, much less however long she has Michael under it before they get there.

So, conceding to Harry’s glare and lashing tail, Anthony turns lastly to Michael.

Not that there’s much he can do. Treating the effects of a curse like that is beyond him at the best of times, and he’s exhausted and in pain himself. Once he’s satisfied that there’s nothing in his power he can do left, and he’s sure that no one is in any immediate danger, he sinks down against the wall, drops his wand, and covers his face.

Susan, bless her, utters a rough incantation to silence Umbridge’s useless shrieking. Harry struggles to his feet, fighting the pain in his side, and limps back to Michael’s side where he curls up purring into Michael’s neck.

A minute later, an auror walks through the door. He stops to survey the scene, Umbridge struggling in her binds on the floor, shouting voiceless demands at him, Anthony with his face in his knees just trying to breathe, Michael and Harry curled up together – especially the tremors that continue to seize Michael’s body, the state of the room with its clear signs of violent struggle.

Susan sniffs imperiously, rubs at her bruised neck, and croaks, “Auror. Please help us all to the hospital wing. Do not let Umbridge-” she doubles over, coughing, wincing and grasping her injured throat.

The auror nods gently to her. “I’ll keep her detained. Let’s get you all to the matron, and then you can tell us what happened here.”

But Susan powers through. “Those two,” she gestures to Michael and Anthony, “were under the Cruciatus. Mich-” she coughs, wheezes painfully. “Levitate him.” She points firmly to Michael, enough to tell the auror that Michael is the only one unable to walk with his own power and thus the most in need of help.

Harry doesn’t know if Susan often orders aurors around; he can’t imagine her aunt lets her get away with that even if she tries. But the auror follows her lead like she’s Madam Bones herself. He obediently levitates Michael (Harry stays atop him, not feeling up to walking all the way to the hospital wing himself. He hopes they don’t forget to treat his injuries. It won’t be the worst thing he’s left untreated, but he’d like to not suffer just how long it will hurt to let it heal naturally.) and Umbridge without undoing her binds and leads the way out the door towards the Hospital Wing.

The last thing Harry sees as they’re brought away is Susan kneeling down, putting a hand on Anthony’s shoulder, slowly coaxing him back out so that he can get up to the Hospital Wing for treatment himself.

-----

After Harry hisses and scratches when Madam Pomfrey tries to put him in a separate bed from Michael, they reach a compromise of him laying splayed out on the bedside table, giving Madam Pomfrey her space to work with the one worst off here while letting him stay close.

Harry closes his eyes. It hurts to breathe. He tries stretching out, hoping that opening up his body will ease the pain in his ribs, but it doesn’t do much at all. Still, he’s more concerned about Michael. Even when Harry is under the Cruciatus Curse, Harry doesn’t think it’s as long as Umbridge keeps Michael in it.

He shudders to think of what will happen if they take much longer to reach the Defense office. If only Hogwarts isn’t so damn big. They leave at the same time, but Anthony and Harry have to go all the way down to the library to pick up Susan and then double back to Defense to get to Michael. It only takes a second for her to realize that the quill is tampered with, which means she has several minutes alone with Michael before the rest of them even make it to the door. The only question is how long it takes her to resort to the Cruciatus, once she realizes her quill backfires.

From the sound of Madam Pomfrey’s frustrated muttering as she works over Michael, the answer is that it doesn’t take long at all.

Umbridge is bound to another bed further away, and Madam Pomfrey only does the bare minimum on her wounds so far, deciding Michael to be in a worse state or perhaps just letting her suffer for a bit before she gets around to her.

A minute after they all get settled, Susan, Anthony, Terry, and Madam Bones all walk in together. Madam Bones manhandles Susan into the bed next to Michael, and Anthony next to her, and with a warning that she’ll get statements from each of them as soon as Madam Pomfrey clears them for it, she stalks over to Umbridge and snaps the curtains around the bed shut.

Harry… kind of doesn’t want to know what Madam Bones might have to say to Umbridge right now. (He’s a little too focused on trying to breathe.)

Mercifully, after several more minutes of Pomfrey worriedly casting over Michael, she steps back with a sigh. Five pairs of eyes (including Harry, the cat, and the auror, Shacklebolt) stare at her anxiously, awaiting her verdict.

Madam Pomfrey smiles at the other children. “He’ll be just fine,” she says. The entire room slackens as they let out a collective breath. “That wound on his hand will scar. There’s nothing for it,” she explains slowly, “but I’ve repaired what damage was done by the Cruciatus. He just needs rest, now. I’ve put him to sleep to get a head start on it.”

“You can confirm the Cruciatus Curse?” Auror Shacklebolt asks.

“I can,” Madam Pomfrey says, already moving on to Susan to look closely at her bruised neck. “The muscle and nerve damage is consistent with exposure to the curse. I’d guess he was under for somewhere between three to five minutes in total.”

That sounds bad. That’s bad, right? Harry looks to Anthony, who shares a look with Terry and Susan.

Madam Pomfrey smiles at them. “Not to worry, dears. He will be sore and in pain for a few days and may struggle with fine motor control for a while longer, but he will recover.” She scowls, looking again to Shacklebolt. “The real concern is his hand. It will take a long time and a lot of regular physical therapy for him to regain full dexterity in his fingers. I’m not sure he’ll ever get full feeling back.”

She shakes her head and summons a jar of paste. “Rub this, gently, onto the bruise, dear.” She hands the jar to Susan. “And I’ll make you some tea with a soother in it once I’m done with the others. I’m afraid your aunt will have to take your statement another time, though. Perhaps with Mister Corner. You are not to speak until I check the state of your throat in two hours once that balm has a chance to work.”

Susan grimaces, but nods.

Moving on, Anthony says as she approaches him, “She got me with the Cruciatus, but only for a few seconds before Tiger distracted her. No other injuries. Can you do anything for Tiger, first? She kicked him, hard. Might’ve hurt his ribs.”

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips, but looking over him she finds Anthony tells her the truth, so she turns back to Harry on Michael’s bedside table.

Harry slowly sucks breath in and out. It’s surprisingly difficult to do without moving his ribs.

“It appears you’re right, Mr. Goldstein. Bruising, and a couple of fractured ribs. I’m afraid I’ll have to consult the books on how to properly dilute the Skele-Grow to mend them in order to treat a cat. I am not a veterinarian, alas.”

“Skele-Grow is already safe for cats,” Anthony murmurs. “One part potion to two parts water should be fine. About a thimble, I think. But double-check the maths on that. My head’s foggy.”

Pomfrey raises a brow.

Anthony shrugs. “You’re not a veterinarian,” he says simply. “I like to be prepared.”

With a proud smirk, Madam Pomfrey summons a book, some parchment, and a self-inking quill and after the book opens itself before her, allowing her to glance inside, she scribbles something down quickly. After a few seconds and a firm nod she says, “Five points to Ravenclaw, Mr. Goldstein. You’re exactly correct.”

She bustles off, then comes back with the Skele-Grow, a potion that she hands to Anthony which he drinks without hesitation or complaint, and a thimble that she carefully measures Harry’s potion into.

When she gets it diluted and offers it to Harry, he obediently laps at it. (Even as a cat, it tastes disgusting.)

“So, Terry,” says Anthony. “What’s the situation?”

Terry straightens up to attention. “Like we feared, Fudge tagged along when Madam Bones came here.”

Harry suppresses the too-human instinct to laugh at the raised brow Shacklebolt fixes the boys with.

Terry doesn’t acknowledge the auror at all. “I convinced him that there’s already hearsay in the public that he endorsed what Umbridge was doing here, so he’s back at the Ministry trying to cover up his involvement to make it look like Umbridge just went rogue. He’s cutting her loose as we speak.”

“Which means Madam Bones should be able to lock her up without too much fuss if Fudge thinks he can still protect himself.” Anthony nods. “Good job. But what about him?”

Terry grins and pulls out a scroll of parchment from his robes. “See for yourself.”

Anthony takes it in shaky hands and unrolls it. His eyes widen as they take in the contents. “If we can find the right way to spread this…”

Auror Shacklebolt steps up, then. “What is it?” he asks. “Is this evidence?”

Anthony just turns his shark-like grin to the auror and hands him the parchment.

Shacklebolt’s eyes bulge from his head. “Approval for Whipping?” he gasps.

“Signed by Head of Hogwarts, High Inquisitor Dolores Jane Umbridge, and…” says Terry, “Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge himself. That leaks, and Fudge is damned. Either he’s a monster who wants to whip children for misbehaving, or he’s a blundering fool who doesn’t read what he signs. Either way, he’s incompetent for office.”

“We got ‘em,” Anthony declares.

“I’ll take that.” Madam Bones marches up, an awesome scowl frozen on her lips. She barely even growls at reading the heading of the parchment that Shacklebolt hands to her. “Where did you get this?”

“It was on her desk,” Terry says.

Amelia Bones narrows her eyes. “As I recall, her desk was a pile of flaming splinters.” Susan pinks and deliberately refuses to look directly at her aunt’s face.

Terry rolls his eyes. “Not when we just stopped by. When I snuck in to fix her awful quill.”

Bones’ brow shoots through the ceiling. “You did that? I examined the quill briefly, that’s a nasty curse reversal.”

“It’s a nasty curse,” says Terry nonchalantly. “It’s not illegal. I checked.”

Madam Bones snorts. “No, it’s not. I was actually thinking that that’s very impressive skill for a fifth-year student. I would have said impossible if I didn’t have the evidence in front of me.” She shakes her head. “No matter. I’ll make sure this,” she holds up the Approval for Whipping form, “is put into evidence. I’ll present it at Umbridge’s trial; trust me, the public will be watching.”

“One other thing,” says Anthony. He looks pointedly to Terry, telling him to elaborate, and says simply, “Harry.”

“Harry?” Madam Bones echoes. “Do you mean Harry Potter? What about him? He’s been missing since Fudge decided to expel him and snap his wand.”

“Right,” Terry says. “But Umbridge was the one to send the dementors after him in his muggle neighborhood in the first place.”

“Oh? And how do you know that?”

“Deductive reasoning.” Terry shrugs. “How many people, even in the Ministry, actually know where Harry lives? His location was always kept secret for his ‘safety.’ Plus, the Ministry controls the dementors, but that definitely wasn’t Fudge’s plan – he’s way too spineless to pull something like that. Doesn’t mean he isn’t happy to take advantage of it, though.

“Harry was set up,” Terry says firmly. “And if you recall, the Ministry didn’t even dispatch obliviators, so clearly there wasn’t any breach of the Statute of Secrecy. That means the only law Harry broke was the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic, which has clauses in place for underage wizards to use magic if their life is at risk, as his would be with the dementors after him.”

Madam Bones sighs. She’s obviously on their side in this, but she has to break it to them, “The Wizengamot already decided that there were no dementors present. There’s nothing I can do for your friend.”

“Not true,” Terry says. “Umbridge is the one who sent them. If she admits to it in her own trial, that would qualify as new evidence enough to reexamine the case. You can help Harry if you’re clever about what you ask her.”

Madam Bones purses her lips. Shacklebolt seems to hold his breath, eyeing his boss with wariness and some strange well of hope. Even Susan turns on puppy eyes, despite not knowing Harry very well.

Finally, she sighs. “I can’t promise that I’ll be able to get her to talk about that. It’s not relevant to the investigation into her conduct at Hogwarts, so I can’t responsibly bring it up. But if it’s true that she sent dementors after Harry Potter, then that needs to be brought to light. I’ll try.”

“That’s all we ask. Thank you, Madam Bones.”

She nods. “Now,” she turns to Anthony, “Mr. Goldstein. I’ve already heard from your friend Mr. Boot, but are you up for telling me in your own words just what’s been going on, and especially what happened in Umbridge’s office today?”

[fxirytqles]

𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾?

(remus lupin x slytherin!reader)

Y/N was a well know Slytherin student.

Always following the houses traits, she was cunning, ambitious and a great leader.

Y/N was making her way down the halls with a note book and quill in her hand,

Y/N was on her way to the school library to catch up on some charms work she had not been able to finish.

"Y/N" One of her friends called "Yes, Freya, how can I help you?" Y/N asked, turning around to face the sweet Scottish girl who was smiling back at her.

"I think we should of invited Gwen. I mean, I get you guys argued and stuff but surely you can get over it" Freya muttered whilst twiddling with with fingers and staring at the ground. Y/N's body came to a stop and had turned to face the young girl who began to panic "Wait, I'm sorry, like I didn't mean to be rude or anything but you know you have to sort i-" Freya was cut of by

Y/N taking ahold of her shoulder and shaking her head, indicating for her to shut up.

"We will eventually sort it out, so please don't stress about it" Y/N stated softly before patting her shoulder and carried on walking towards the library doors "Hurry up ya' slow coach" Y/N teased now watching a smile make its way back onto Freya.

Y/N pushed the door open to reveal a large room filled with chairs, tables and extremely tall book shelves "Ladies first" Y/N said with a humours tone and bowing to the brunette girl who looked as if she was about to laugh but had managed to keep it in, which was lucky on her part because Madame Pince (the schools librarian) had just walked passed the two girls who were stood at the door way and had not yelled nor shushes them instead just nodded her head and carried on walking.

"I hate you" Freya whispered, smacking her friend lightly against the arm who returned the gesture by wacking her friend on the back of the head "Be quiet, woman" Y/N whisper back and rolled her eyes.

Both the girls began walking down the long, narrow aisle and passing by a few first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who looked to be doing their homework

"I've found a free table" Y/N heard Freya whisper into het ear "Well lets go to the-"

Y/N was cut of by Madame Pince shushing the two Slytherins, who ducked their heads and made their way towards the free table.

"One second, let me go grab the right books" Y/N said getting up and walking over to one of the huge book shelves in the library "Charms, charms, charms" Y/N murdered to herself, her eyes scanning over every book along the shelf but not seeming to find the book she was searching for.

Y/N had made her way back over to her friends and whispered in her ear "I will have to look on a different aisle, okay?" Y/N asked her friend who just ended up giving her a quick nod and then started to unpack her bag so she will be ready to study. "Maybe the next one over will have it" Y/N whispered to nobody in particular, once

Y/N had made her way over to the book shelve she began to look for the book she needed "Ah, found it" Y/N exclaimed but in a hushed voice, not really being in the mood to be told off once more by Madam Pince.

As Y/N went to grab the book she had been endlessly searching for, another hand had made contact with hers, who ever it was had also been searching for the hard to find Charms book.

Once Y/N turned around she had noticed it was on of those marauder boys, Remus Lupin, Y/N felt a smirk make it way onto her face as she yanked the book out of the boys grib and held it tightly to her chest. "That's some good grip you got there, Lupin" Y/N complimented, noticing a redish tint make it's way on to the Gryffindors face, her smirk got even wider "Oh, don't tell me that's all it takes to get you blushing, Lupin, surely people must be complimenting you left and right" Y/N carried on as she watched the boy turn his face to the side and look over to one of the tables for a few minutes before looking back at her.

When Y/N looked over the boys shoulder she understood who he was looking at, sat on a table to the far right sat Sirius, James and Peter, who all seemed to be in their own world most probably waiting for their friend to come back "Come on, Lupin, talk back, I promise you I don't bite the cute ones" After Y/N's comment Remus' face went back to being a crimson red. Y/N after noticing once again, had let out a little chuckle and grabbed his hand, pulling the young boy closer in the process "I mean, look at that magnificent grip, do you play quidditch by any chance?" Y/N asked "No" Remus mumbled back, still not making any eye contact with the (h/c) Slytherin girl

"Oh no, that was one of your other friends, was it not, what is his name, Potter, or Black, wait they both play right?" Y/N quizzed, now holding the boy's hand and intertwining their fingers which made the boy's eyes widen.

"Oh, Moony, what's taking ya' so lon-" The voice of Sirius Black was cut off once he had see the scene in frony if him. "Oh, nice to meet you, Black" Y/N greeted with a slight smugness in her voice "If you can not see, me and your lovely friend here" Y/N said gesturing towards the brunette boy with her free hand "Are having a conversation" Y/N finished, giving Remus' hand a little squeeze after she had finished talking which cause the boy to cover his face with his hand and look away from the other boys gaze.

"You? you having a chat, a decent chat with a Gryffindor? please don't make me laugh" Sirius laughed out sarcasticly

"Why, yes, weren't we having a nice conversation, Lupin?" Y/N turned her attention towards the other boy and sent him a smug smile. Remus coughed

"Um yeah, yeah we were having a nICe conversation" Remus said with his voice cracking half way though which was caused by Y/N lightly tugging on his hand.

"See, there's your proof" Y/N said holding her head up high, "I can surely give you your friend back if you'd like, but I might end up keeping him a bit longer if you do not require his assistance" Y/N spoke in a mock like tone "Yes" Sirius snapped back "Me, James and Peter want our friend back, so hand him over" Sirua continued, not taking his eyes off Y/N's and Remus' interlocked hands "Well them, I hope you have a lovely rest of you day, Lupin, goodbye" Y/N said before standing up on her tippy toes (cause it doesn't matter what hight you are, my man is along the lines of 6'3, so shush) and placed a kiss to his cheek before letting do of the boys hand and running back of the her friend.

"𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀, '𝗟𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗻'?"

- ©fxirytqles

this imagine was taken from my marauders imagine book on wattpad, so if you did enjoy this story please consider checking it out (wattpad name: -fxirytqles)

[hxseok-honee]

sundress || part 8

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 8] || weirdly normal

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : ['cause you're a one in a million // there ain't no man like you] streets x doja cat

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Saturday, 18 September, 4:33pm

“Sex?”

“No sex.”

“Not even a little bit of sex?! Just like, once a week!” Y/n lifts her head to level Yoongi with a glare, one that has him shrinking back and whispering ‘okay, no sex’. With a shake of her head, she’s dipping her head again, focusing in on the roll of parchment in her lap.

They’re sitting face to face on her bed, each holding some parchment and a quill as they try to ‘negotiate fair terms for their arrangement’, as Y/n had put it when Yoongi had complained about not needing rules.

Y/n’s making the final list of rules on her own parchment, Yoongi tearing off scraps of his and submitting suggestions, most of them sexual in nature. There’s a pile of rejects next to him, but he’s yet to lose hope. Ripping off another piece of paper, he scribbles ‘blowjobs?’ quickly and folds it in half, handing it over to her with a smile. She doesn’t even look up or open it, immediately crumpling it and throwing it back at him. It hits him squarely between the eyes.

Blinking once, he tears off another piece, unfazed - this one says ‘so no head?’. Somehow that one also hits him between the eyes.

“Okay — what do you think?” Y/n sits up straight with a smile, offering Yoongi her draft of the Rules List. He looks it over, eyebrows raised.

No sex!!

Romantic affection is to be kept to public situations as much as possible.

Saturday Night Routine is to remain untouched and untainted.

Min Yoongi must keep his scumminess to a minimum in private.

He finishes reading before looking up, eyes deadpan.

“You are so fucking boring.” Y/n scoffs, reaching out to take the parchment back, but he’s holding it above his head, grabbing for his quill. Quickly he scribbles a fifth rule, one that says “MAKE JEON JUNGKOOK SUFFER” in his chicken scratch. And then he looks up at her, another thought on his mind.

“We should have practice sessions.” Y/n furrows a brow, eyeing him with suspicion.

“What does that mean, and why do I already not like it?” He taps a finger on Rule #2, underlining the words ‘public situations’ lightly with his quill.

“We’re gonna be doing most of this stuff in public, so you’re gonna have to get used to getting freaky with me in public spaces. Library, broom closets, empty corridors and classrooms — that’s what I’m known for.” He looks almost proud when he says it, and Y/n can’t help her amused smile even as she shakes her head in disappointment.

“How are you so fundamentally gross as a person?” He grins back because she’s clearly fond of him, so he feels no shame in how he is, only explaining further.

“If the entirety of Hogwarts is gonna believe I’m taken and off the market, you’re gonna have to keep up with me, babe.” Y/n rolls her eyes, knowing he’s right despite not wanting to admit that. If Yoongi’s putting in the work to make it seem like he’s committed to her, she should at least meet him halfway. And Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but being a total sex fiend is what most people know him to be. She is gonna have to keep up.

“You realize it’s obvious you’re just trying to find somewhere to let out all your sexual frustration, right?” He doesn’t respond, only lifting an eyebrow, silently asking if she’s okay with that. After a moment, she’s sighing, pointing down at the list in his lap.

“Alright, fine. But we need rules for that, too.” He groans, throwing himself backwards onto her mattress dramatically.

“Why do you enjoy ruining every good thing in my life?” When she kicks at his thigh, he’s rolling over onto his stomach, flattening the parchment out in front of him so he can write the word ‘Sessions’, underlining it quickly. And then he looks at her.

“What are you comfortable doing?” She purses her lips, a smile dancing there, because she notices that he doesn’t make it about him and what he is and isn’t allowed to do. He makes it about her and respecting her boundaries. And she knows, by the way he’s tilting his head in confusion when she only smiles down at him, that he has no idea that he’s made that distinction. If he were anyone else, she’d be incredibly attracted to him right now.

But he is him. So she’s blinking that thought away, humming as she considers his question.

“Nothing below the belt…” He nods, writing as she speaks.

“Can I touch your butt?” When she lets out a noise of confusion, he’s looking up at her again. “Like, hand in your pocket while we walk, ass grabbing— that stuff.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. She nods after a moment, not seeing the harm in him doing that. “Sure? Not my boobs, though.”

Immediately, he’s flopping backwards onto the bed again, whininess coating his voice when he complains.

“But I already felt everything in the shower! What’s the difference—Ow! Okay!” She’s pushed her feet up against his torso, kicking at him aggressively until he’s rolled away to where she can’t reach him. And then he’s pouting, making grabby hands at her for emphasis while he continues, at a distance now where he can complain safely.

“You know I’d pick tits over ass any day! You’re just doing this to hurt me.” Y/n only smiles mockingly, reaching out to tap a finger on the paper.

“Don’t forget to write ‘no boobs’ there, too!” Yoongi grimaces, rolling back toward her and picking up his quill, angrily scratching the words into the parchment.

“Okay, anything else?” He’d made a big fuss about not being able to touch her boobs, but he’s already over it, and — again — Y/n finds herself full of adoration that Yoongi will never push her boundaries, already having accepted them even when he was complaining about them.

You’re just all bark and no bite, aren’t you?

“Actually, I do bite. I like biting. Why do you ask?” Fighting the urge to smack the palm of her hand to her forehead at the realization that she’d said that aloud, Y/n shakes her head at Yoongi, who seems innocently confused. He shrugs when she doesn’t explain, his eyes lighting up when he thinks of something.

“We should do kinks.” Y/n rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not—"

“Why not?! We’re gonna figure out what we like eventually if we’re doing these practice sessions, so why not talk about it?” He looks childishly enraged, his pout returning. She only laughs at him, shaking her head.

“Because we’re not doing anything sexual, so what’s the point?” He sighs, sitting up and facing her, crossing his legs as he goes.

“Kinks don’t have to be sexual, you big nerd. It’s not about the sex — it’s about the trust.” Y/n blinks, not having expected him to say something so serious.

“Okay… but if it’s about the trust, how are you acting on all your kinks with the other people? You don’t really know them.” He smiles softly, shaking his head.

“I usually don’t, actually. I just do whatever they want.” Y/n gapes at him, unable to believe that Yoongi had been holding back this whole time.

“So, if someone’s into choking—"

“It’s up to them if they want to trust me to do that for them. Obviously, I’d never go too far, but everyone’s trust thresholds are different. Mine’s just really high, so I always made it about them instead.” He shrugs while he says it, as if they’re talking about what he’d had for lunch and not the surprising weight he puts on trust in sexual situations.

“And you wanna explore that stuff now? With me? We’re not even together.” He tilts his head in confusion again.

“Yeah? There’s no one I trust more than you.” Y/n thinks her head might actually start spinning, because Min Yoongi’s brain is just not wired the same as hers. His ability to be both incredibly simple about his life outlook and shockingly nuanced about the inner workings of his mind — he’s more than just confident and sure of himself. He’s completely self-aware. It’s not the first time she’s been stupidly fond of him, but right now, she thinks he’s amazing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Y/n blinks, realizing she’s just been staring at him that entire time. She shakes her head, slightly dazed, not even noticing that Yoongi’s looking at her with suspicious eyes. Pointing back to the list, she clears her throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure, kinks. But — I’m not telling you shit, it’s embarrassing. Figure it out yourself.” Eyebrows flying to his hairline, Yoongi reaches for the quill slowly, uncertainly.

“For real? You’re down?” She nods, trying to move on already, but Yoongi’s not letting it go, even as he writes it down. “Like… a game, then? We just test shit and see how we react? Because I already know you like having your hair pulled—“

“Oh my— Yoongi!” He snickers at her embarrassment, shaking his head. She has no reason to be shy, he thinks to himself. I’m the last person she has to worry about.

“So…” He glances up at her from where he lies, his eyes full of mischief. Y/n eyes him suspiciously, because he’s definitely about to say something stupid.

“Should we start now, then?” Lifting himself up onto all fours, he starts to crawl over to her, a smirk dancing on the edges of his lips — one that’s hidden quickly by the hand Y/n’s planting on his face, stopping him from coming any closer.

“Get out of my room, Yoongi.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Redirecting, Yoongi heads for the edge of the bed, sliding his sneakers on before standing. “I’ll be back in a couple hours—“ Turning, he cuts himself off, leaning down into Y/n’s face and smiling fondly when she backs away, rightfully wary of him.

“Kiss, please.” She’s immediately glaring, and he’s pointing down at the list on her bed, affronted. “You said Saturday Night Routine has to remain untouched — I still have like 2 hours until then. Kiss, please.”

With an irritated sigh, Y/n leans up, cupping Yoongi’s face and pressing her lips gently to his. Even knowing he’s probably got something up his sleeve, she’s unprepared for him to nibble at her bottom lip, trying to deepen the kiss. Pulling away quickly, she’s smacking at his arm indignantly, glaring when he laughs openly, his shoulders shaking as he does. He leans down quickly, pressing one last kiss to her lips before ducking out of the way of her swinging fist, chuckling to himself as he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door.

“Don’t forget to choose something for us to watch while I pick up our food, okay? I’m not tryna let my dinner get cold because you’re indecisive.”

“That only happened once!” He shoots her a grin over his shoulder as he’s pulling her door open, his eyes amused.

“Love you!” Y/n rolls her eyes at the sing-song way he says it, responding with an annoyed ‘yeah, love you too’ as he’s closing the door behind him. She sits on her bed in silence for a few moments, vaguely disgruntled as she looks down at their list of rules and thinks about that entire conversation.

That was… weirdly normal.

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 9

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Yondu finally confronts Reader about the late night escapes, and invites himself to tag along, to Reader's dismay.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Just Reader and Yondu this chapter.

Word Count: 3,953

You jumped right out of your skin but somehow managed not to cry out, whipping around to see Yondu's silhouette standing in the doorway to the kitchen. It was a bit of a terrifying sight if you were to be honest. You'd hate to see it in a dark alley.

"What the fuck!" you whisper-yelled. "Don't do that! You trying to give me a heart attack!?"

"Don't change the subject. Where ya sneakin' off to?" Yondu had intended to use the voice he used when trying to intimidate an opponent, the one he uses when trying to get the message across that he's not going to take any shit, so ya better just cough up what he wants to know. However, it came out sounding a bit more like the tone he used to scold Peter with when he'd get caught sneaking girls on the ship after curfew.

You did your best to look unfazed and close the door. "First off, it's my house. I'm not sneaking, I'm just going. And what are you doing sneaking up on me?"

You were trying to turn the tables on him, but he wasn't going to bite. "It's the middle of the night and yer being awful quiet about it, ya really try'na tell me that's not sneakin'?"

"Yes." You tried to keep your tone even, but it was hard not to sound annoyed. "It'd be rude to wake up the others."

"Uh huh. Well if yer not sneakin' then why not turn on a light?"

"Don't need it. Lived here all my life. Know the place just as well in the dark."

"Right..." Yondu eyed you, sure that you'd come up with an excuse for anything else he'd throw at you. Might as well just cut to the chase. "Where ya going?"

"Out," you reply, "For a walk."

"You're going for a walk, in the middle of the night?" He could hear it more now, he sounded like he was getting ready to threaten to ground you. Not exactly the tone he was going for. He blamed it on the lack of sleep. Brain must be instinctually reverting to "Yell at Quill" mode. Stars knew he did it enough when Quill was a boy that it became second nature.

"Yes." You cross your arms over your chest, only to realize it made you look like an argumentative teen. Oh well, too late now. You kept them crossed.

"So, you suddenly just up and decided, in the middle of the night, that ya'd fancy a walk, in the dark, in the forest?"

"Yes." you reply again, realizing a second too late that he shouldn't have known where you were headed. "No- Wait I-"

Yondu chuckled. "Save it. I see everything... And I've been mighty curious to know what you've been sneaking off to do at night."

You stare at each other in the dark for some time before you break the silence. "I have the sneaking suspicion that you intend to follow me."

"You'd win that bet." Yondu said with a grin that you could barely see in the dim light.

You roll your eyes. "You'll get bored. Better off to just go back to bed."

"After you." Yondu gestured towards the hall from the doorway. You could hear a smirk in his voice.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm not leaving alone, am I?"

"Nope."

You really wanted to leave, and obviously you would prefer to do it alone, but if bringing a suspicious passenger was the only way you could do so, and likely the only way to prevent this happening again, you'd suppose once wouldn't kill you. In fact, denying could potentially only make his suspicions worse, and you didn't feel like possibly being reported to Fury over nothing if he got the wrong idea. You had been on enough jobs to know how quick a misunderstanding could go south. "Ugh. Fine. But you know curiosity killed the cat." Still, it wouldn't hurt to try and convince him to stay behind.

"Ain't a cat. Not even sure what a cat is." Yondu chuckled, fully aware that he was being irritating. He might not have exactly known what the Terran idiom meant, but he still knew it was just an idiom. Enough experience with Quill had taught him that Terrans say strange things.

You look up to the ceiling "Just hurry up."

Yondu disappeared in the hall to pull on his boots and returned a moment later pulling on his duster jacket. You had to admit his silhouette was actually even scarier with the addition of the jacket, but you didn't let it show.

You wordlessly motion him out the door and shut it behind the two of you. The walk across the yard to the tree line was awkwardly silent until about a couple meters away.

"So what ya keep coming out here for anyway?"

You answered with a question of your own. "You been spying on me?"

"Not exactly. Just happened to notice ya out the window a few times, and thought it was odd that you'd be sneaking out of yer own house."

The two of you broke the tree line, finally walking amongst the trees. "I told you I wasn't sneaking."

"Sure, sure," Yondu chuckled. "Ya didn't answer my question, girlie. What's out in this-here forest that keeps ya coming out here at night?" He kept pace with you as best he could. Your steps were sure, the ground was littered with rocks and sticks, but your gait never faltered. You clearly knew these woods well, and it was evident you knew just where you were going. You hadn't even bothered to use a light. Yondu would almost think you had night vision if he didn't already know better that Terrans didn't.

"Nothing. I just come out to enjoy the scenery. Relax a bit," you finally answer.

"Ya know, yer almost a good liar." Yondu chuckled.

"I beg your pardon!" you say, offense fully clear in your voice.

"What? Take it as a compliment," Yondu laughed, unfazed by your outburst. "But yer gonna have to do better than that to pull something over on me. I can spot a lie lightyears away." Ok so he might have been exaggerating, but you didn't need to know that. "And that there, that wasn't the truth."

You scoff. "What do you know? You don't know anything about me and you're really going to stand there and act like you do?" The nerve of him. You should have just pretended to go back to bed and then came back out later, or better yet, oiled the hinge on your bedroom door the other day when you noticed it starting to squeak. Probably what alerted Yondu to leaving.

"I know more than you think." Yondu countered, nearly tripping on a large branch.

"You don't know anything about me." You repeat. You started walking faster out of spite.

A smirk fell over his face. If you wanted to be difficult, fine. He could just have fun teasing you until you loosened up, and he had a feeling he knew just what might push your buttons.

"I know yer ticklish." He grinned, seeing how you visibly tensed.

You run a hand down your face. "You guys aren't going to let that die, are you?"

"Nope," Yondu chuckled, "it's too funny."

"It's not," you say, glad the dark was hiding the blush you could feel on your cheeks.

"I think it is," Yondu disagreed, reaching out to poke you and chuckling when you jumped and flinched each time his finger connected with your side. He grinned, mentally drawing up the theory that you didn't like to show weakness.

You swat at his hand and tell him to quit.

He laughs, but thankfully obeys, saying, "Aw, cheer up now. It ain't that embarrassin'... though I do wonder now why that Fury guy would keep an agent around that seems mighty vulnerable to torture..." He was teasing, of course. Just trying to get a rise out of you. It worked.

You throw him a look of daggers and he holds up his hands in a relenting gesture. "Don't worry, secret's safe with me, girlie," he teased, continuing to grin before nearly tripping again. He sighed, beginning to search his pockets for a light. There was no sense tripping around out here in the dark. You may apparently know this forest floor like the back of your hand, but he didn't, and he most certainly didn't feel like rolling an ankle.

He spoke up again. "I also know yer hiding something."

You freeze for just a moment and then turn to him. "No. Nice try."

He closed the meter wide distance between you. "Ya can deny all ya want, sweetheart, but I can still tell."

"Whatever." You turn and start walking again, this time at a regular pace.

"Don't give me that," Yondu said, finally finding a light in one of his inner pockets. He flipped it on and you instantly covered your eyes, which had been adjusted to the dark and very much didn't like the sudden intrusion of the bright light.

"Agh- Turn that off!" you scold.

"What for?" Yondu asked, he had also suffered slightly from the sudden brightness, but at least he could see where he was walking now.

"Well, besides the fact that you just blinded me- you'll attract bugs."

"Ah right. Yer scared of creepy-crawlies. My mistake." Yondu laughed, making a show of shutting the light off. "Wouldn't want ya to be all scared stiff like ya were earlier."

You glare at him best you could with your eyes trying to adjust back to the dark. "I'm not scared of bugs. I just don't feel like getting bitten up by a bunch of midges. The bites itch like hell."

"I dunno... ya looked pretty scared of whatever that bug was in the kitchen today." Yondu teased, but he did make a mental note that midges sounded quite unpleasant.

"That was a spider," you say, then muttering, "...and that's different."

Yondu hummed. "Seems a lil' funny that you'd put a giant one in my boy's bed then, seein' as yer so scared of 'em yerself."

You stumble over your words for a bit, before admitting that you hid the fake spider before the incident with the real one happened, adding, "-and I wasn't scared of it!"

"Sure ya weren't..." Yondu said teasingly. "Guess ya won't be bothered if I tell ya about the big one crawling on yer shoulder then." He repeated the same trick as earlier, imitating a running spider on your shoulder with his fingers and laughing when you jumped a mile and smacked at his hand.

Face flushed with embarrassment at falling for the same trick twice you say, "You're an asshole."

"Yep," came Yondu's reply. Theory confirmed: You hated showing weakness. After a few steps he spoke again. "Where we goin' anyways? Ya seem pretty sure about this path. Get the feelin' we ain't just wanderin' aimlessly."

You sigh, but relent. What could it hurt? "It's just a little further."

"It where ya go all the time?"

"No, just most of the time." you admitted. "Sometimes I do just... 'wander aimlessly.'"

"But not tonight."

You sigh again. "No. Not tonight."

After a bit you finally happen upon a small clearing. In the middle of that clearing was a large old oak tree. Its trunk was nearly two meters in diameter and had lovely patches of moss growing on it. Thick branches poked out just low enough to climb on, it was beautiful in the dim light of the night, but it was even more beautiful in daylight.

"Here," you say, "This is where I go. This is my favorite tree."

Yondu was actually stunned for a moment by the magnificence of the the tree, and that didn't happen often. "I can see why. It's certainly a purty one..."

He walked with you closer to the tree and broke off to walk to one side as if he intended to do a lap around the trunk.

"Careful," you say, not wanting him to go any further around the more shadowy part of the tree, "Ground's got a bit of a soft spot over that way. Wouldn't want you to sink in."

Yondu, who, like anyone, obviously wouldn't enjoy that happening, stopped his journey and headed back your way. Better to stay with the person who knew the land, at least when he couldn't see for himself if he was about to fall in a hole.

You approach the tree and sit at its base, gesturing an invite for Yondu to do the same if he chose. He did. You look up at the thick branches and say, "My dad used to bring us out here."

"Us?" Yondu questioned.

"My brother and me."

"Didn't know ya had a brother."

"Didn't ask."

"Would ya have said if I did? Ya don't exactly seem the most forthcoming type." Yondu laughed lightly.

You huff in response. You look back up at the branches and remember the time you and your brother would climb the old tree. sometimes even your dad would try climbing with you, even though he wasn't as agile as his children. You remembered the fun, the laughter, the three of you playing chasing games around the tree. They were some of your fondest memories of before your dad got sick. Before he couldn't take you and your brother out to the tree anymore, though of course by that time the two of you were old enough to make the trip on your own, though it never was quite the same.

You had sat in silence for a bit before Yondu asked, "So what's eatin' ya?"

"What?" you ask, pulled from your thoughts.

"I've kinda gathered ya wouldn't be comin' all the way out here in the middle of the night if everythin' was all fine and dandy, so what's got ya down, girlie?" It seemed obvious to Yondu from what he observed that this would be the case. After some thought, he realized he only caught you heading towards the forest on bad days, like when Rocket messed your kitchen or the night you fought Quill. You were here, therefore, something must be wrong.

"Nothing."

Yondu didn't buy it. "I noticed you disappeared for a long while in the middle of that movie Quill wanted to watch. It have anything to do with that?"

"I told you, I'm fine." you say bitterly. It honestly irritated you how accurate his assumptions were, but just because he was right didn't mean you had to affirm his assumptions.

Yondu sighed. "Alright then, be that way."

After a few moments Yondu breaks the silence again. "So... where are yer family? I know ya said yer daddy's passed, but what about yer mama? Or this brother ya mentioned. Where they at? Why ya out here in that big house all alone?"

You inhale. You considered not answering, but then thought it couldn't hurt much. You could talk a little since he wanted to be nosy. Not like you were going to spill your entire life story, just the sparknotes. "Well, my mom's gone. Died giving birth to me."

"Oh." Yondu was almost sorry he asked. "And yer brother?" He now assumed you were the younger sibling, but he felt it would be in bad taste to mention it. He hoped talking about him might lighten the mood.

"Gone too." you answered.

He winced. He hadn't expected to hear that you were alone alone. "How?" Yondu asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." you replied.

Yondu saw you draw your knees up and rest your chin on them. He realized he shouldn't push his luck. "Sorry to hear that."

"Why? You didn't do it," you say sarcastically. "It's life. Everyone dies eventually." You un-hug your knees and lean back against the tree. "Just how it goes. Life's a bitch and then you die alone."

Yondu catches a crack in your voice but doesn't mention it. He frowns. "Come on now. There's more than that. Ya don't got to spend the rest of it all alone and miserable." He said this because he had to believe it himself. How close had he come to doing just that when his crew mutinied? If Kraglin hadn't still been loyal and if Rocket and Twig hadn't helped with an escape plan, he'd've been slain by the hands of the Kree- if he was lucky, or back in the slave barracks- if he wasn't. He'd never have gotten the chance to save Quill, and even if he hadn't intended to make it out alive, he couldn't deny he was grateful the ship had gotten to him and Quill just in time so that he could spend more time with his boy.

He didn't know your exact age, but he thought you looked at least a little younger than Quill. That was too young to have such a bleak outlook on life. If even he could find even a shred of happiness to cling to, then surely you could as well. He continued, "Surely ya got ya some friends- Or ya could find someone and settle down... start a family.... fill that house of yers with little ankle-biters- Hey, where ya going?"

Your breath hitched and you had stood up quickly, walking back the direction you came. "I'm heading back. You can follow or stay here. I don't really care," you say, trying to keep your voice even and not looking at him as you walked towards the edge of the clearing.

Yondu hurriedly stood to catch up with you. Sure, he could eventually find his way back without you, but he couldn't deny he'd get back much quicker with a guide that knew their way back in the dark. "What'd I say?" Yondu asked, correctly assuming he had said something wrong.

"Nothing. It's just late. Time to start heading back." You still wouldn't look at him, and he almost thought your voice sounded strange, like you were fighting not to cry or something.

Yondu followed you quietly, wondering if he should press the issue or not. He decided to not, convinced he would only make it worse. He hadn't intended to dig up any bad memories, he hadn't expected to find out you really were alone, although it was a sentiment he could empathize with. It's how he had been during the mutiny and Tazerface killed all his good men. Surrounded by people, and yet utterly alone.

He didn't know what it was exactly, but he knew he wanted to make it better. You weren't a child, but still, all he could see now was a sad little girl with no mama or daddy. No brother, no family. All alone. He thought to himself that if he had a heart it might be breaking. Or at least cracked a little.

He made another attempt at conversation, hoping to smooth things over. "So Quill says ya like to shoot arrows?"

"Um... yeah. A bit."

Did he hear a sniff? Surely not.

"Maybe ya could show me how ya Terrans do it sometime."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." You sniffed again, and Yondu thought he saw your hand come up to your eyes as if to wipe them.

Aw hell. You were crying. Damn. He wasn't sure what, but he was sure it had to have been something he said. He cursed himself. He hated when people cried. Bad enough when someone he stole from tried whipping out the waterworks, even worse when Quill would cry when he was scared or hurt as a boy. The only thing worse than seeing someone cry, was watching as they tried desperately to hide it, but yet couldn't quite stop. 'Cause that meant they weren't trying to get anything from you, they were just genuinely in too much pain to keep it together.

He had to do something to make you stop, so he did the only thing he could think of. He whistled.

A gentle melody played from his lips and you gasped as a streak of red shot through the air. You stopped in place from the shock and before long, you could see the outlined shape of what you could only describe as a fat little troll. It was cute, and so unexpected that you couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

You finally looked at Yondu and he saw the hint of a confused smile playing over your lips. Much better.

He could see the question in your eyes and went ahead and answered without you needing to speak. "Just thought you could use some cheering up." he said. Nice to see he's still got it. That trick always worked to cheer up Quill when he was little.

"I'm fi-"

Yondu cut you off with a shrug. "Yeah. Yer fine. Got it." He whistled again to call his arrow back. "Well this was mighty entertaining, all this... nature and whatnot. Should probably get a move on so this old man can get some sleep." He exaggerated a yawn before walking forward, prompting you into motion as well, seeing as you were the guide. "I'm sure Bug and Twig would like it out here if ya ever decided ya wanted to come out here when the sun's actually out."

You hummed. "Maybe." You tried not to stare as you walked together out of the forest. Had he really just used his weapon... to draw you a picture... to cheer you up? You wanted to laugh but you bit your tongue as you remembered he had also used it to kill a spider for you earlier that day. For as rough as he portrayed himself to be, he was definitely displaying big softie energy. That thought did make you laugh.

"What?" Yondu asked, hearing your snicker from beside him.

You shook your head, now grinning. "Nothing."

"Uh huh." Yondu said, mild suspicion in his voice as he side-eyed you. Whatever. It was better than hearing you try not to cry.

After awhile you finally broke the tree line and made your ways back across the yard and to the backdoor.

You reached the door first and pulled out your key.

"Good to see ya have some sense." Yondu said. "Quill said Terrans always leave their doors unlocked."

You gave him a look as you unlocked the door. You wanted to refute that, but you knew that, at least in the rural areas where you lived, people actually did tend to do that. You settled for saying, "Well, not everyone does. But still, it'd be really irresponsible to just go and leave the door open to any stray passerby with a bunch of obvious aliens inside."

Yondu scoffed.

"What?"

"Ya Terrans thinkin' yer the only ones in the universe. Callin' anyone not from Terra 'alien.'"

You frowned. "Sorry."

Yondu grunted and waved you off. "Eh. Ya'll get there eventually. S'pose if this place wasn't as backwards as it is then we wouldn't be able to lie low here."

You tried not to be offended at that, because he was right. That was literally the reason they were able to hide here.

The two of you re-enter the house and manage to get back to your respective rooms quietly. You changed into something more comfortable to sleep in without waking Mantis and settled into bed.

Before falling asleep you thought about the clearing and your tree. About how you needed to warn Yondu not to walk too far towards the backside of said tree.

You should really find the time to install a sturdier trap door on that tunnel.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Just A Natural Fact

Request: hii I was wondering if I could request a marauders sirius black x reader where sirius black, the reckless & loud marauder, has a soft spot for the kind & responsible reader. sirius' duality is thus teased by sirius' best friends until they too get to know her throughout the school years; amidst the slow-burn flirting & maturity, the rest of the marauders realize the the two of them balance each other perfectly & they too appreciate the reader's character & love for sirius. thx if you can! ♡ - @thisismiku​

A/N: Title - Paula Abdul - Opposites Attract. Thank you so much for sending in this request, I truly hope you like it and that I’ve done it justice. And I hope you don't mind but I’ve combined with my prompt for @dreamer821​ ‘s writing challenge. Congratulations, JJ - you deserve all 500 followers and more! The prompt I used is in bold! I’m feeling a little insecure about this fic if I’m being honest, I’m worried that it isn't the best that it could be so I’m so sorry if it isn't! Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, immaturity, slow burn flirting/romance, sneaking out, fluff, bit of angst (but not a lot), use of she/her pronouns

Word count: 3.9k

First year:

It was hard not to miss the way Sirius Black climbed the stairs in the Great Hall to be sorted into his house.

It was hard not to miss the silence from his relatives at the Slytherin table when instead of Salazar’s house, he was sorted to into Godric’s.

Your sorting is over relatively quickly. Sorted into Gryffindor, you make your way to the table, sitting yourself next to the now silent Sirius Black. He picks at the food on his plate, not focused on the rest of the sorting until three boys he must recognise from the train, all sit with him.

“Are you okay?” You whisper. Glancing to your right, you see him nod once before plastering a smile across his young face, greeting the boys now sat with you.

They spend their first meal at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry laughing and joking as if they’re old friends catching up. You spend your first meal at the school silently worried for the boy next to you; wondering about the reaction from his parents.

From the sound of his laughter so close to your ear, it seemed that he was to make himself known to the house and your year group.

Sirius Black was very much your opposite in more ways than one. It would be a miracle if a friendship was formed.

Second year:

You begin to notice a pattern with Sirius Orion Black. He had made himself known already for being the class clown and prankster; acting aloof and reckless in the halls. He and his tight-knit group of friends had their targets for their pranks.

His personality was amped up to the maximum whenever he received a letter over breakfast. It didn’t happen often; once a month and you knew that it was from his parents. For a moment after reading, he would watch the table in silence, taking in the words that were no doubt written to hurt.

Then his head would snap up; a wide grin forming, and you knew that the following week would be full of mayhem and the screams of students on the unfortunate end of their pranks.

Second Year continues much the same as the first. You’re determined to do well in your exams; you stick to your timetable and ensure that you’re ahead on assignments. You’ve settled into your friendship group well, though they would admit that they often worry how much time you spend in the library.

However, it has helped, by the end of Second Year, you’re tutoring others in Potions and Charms. It all goes on your transcripts, but you’re happy to help in any way you can.

But despite all of that, you wonder if you could help the young, long-haired Marauder.

Third year:

Third Year begins much the same as your Second. You settle back into your academic routine after taking the summer off to enjoy the sun and relax with your family and friends where every so often, your thoughts drifted to long-haired boy who garnered attention as if it was going out of fashion.

A change in seating plan has you sat next to Sirius Black in History of Magic. Professor Binns changes the seating plan at the beginning of every year to keep with school policy, but he never truly enforces them so it’s odd that Sirius chooses to remain in his spot next to you.

You try not to think too much of it; focusing on the work each lesson, quill scratching away at your parchment as you note down facts on the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century.

Sirius focuses for a while as well; making the odd note here and there until a wad of paper hits his face. Thrown by his friend James Potter, no doubt, as you hear his laughter from across the room. Sirius loses all focus then; instead, throwing the ball of paper between his hands for a minute before launching it back across the classroom.

It continues like that for most of the lesson, until the ball of paper is caught by Remus Lupin who smacks James on the shoulder. Remus doesn’t say anything, he rolls his eyes at James’ hurt expression before returning to his work.

A quiet voice interrupts your watching of the scene, “I hope we didn’t distract you.”

You respond just as quietly, “You didn’t.”

He smiles, “Good. I’d hate to pull you from your notes.”

From there, Sirius spoke to you more often. Greeting you in the Great Hall every morning, grabbing your attention in class. The Marauders would chuckle at him; not understanding his sudden need to be around you.

Every morning in the Great Hall, Sirius would receive a swift elbow to the ribs from James who would nod towards the entrance where you would linger for a moment before walking to your seat at the table. “You can relax now, Sirius. (Y/N) is here.”

Sirius’ head would snap up at the mention of your name. He smiles at you as you take your seat among your friends. One of your friends nudges your side, pointing down to where Sirius sits, whispering something in your ear. You roll your eyes at her before waving to Sirius.

A slow friendship begins to emerge; he’d seek you out in the library, sitting with you quietly as you studied. You would search him out in every class you shared, catching his eye with a smile which he returned toothily.

The friendship was new; you were still getting to know each other. The time you spent together was filled with whispered conversation about childhoods and hobbies. He’d sit and listen to your stories with a smile on his face; happy to get to know you inside out. There was something so inherently good about you – he felt drawn to your nature.

Remus approaches Sirius in the Gryffindor common room one evening. He couldn’t understand why Sirius had sought you out to be friends. You were both so different; Sirius was hurtling down the route of becoming the school’s bad boy – all leather jackets and smoking by the Black Lake. You were the epitome of kindness walking down the straight path of good grades and heading towards being appointed Head Girl.

Remus sits next to Sirius on the couch, saying, “(Y/N) is a good person, Sirius; she’s kind and responsible.”

“I know that. What are you saying Moony?” Sirius asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I just want you to be careful.”

“I’m not going to hurt, (Y/N), Remus. I want to be her friend.”

“I can’t help but be concerned. You’re so different, Padfoot. You see that right?”

“I do, but that’s why we’re going to work.”

Fourth year:

From the beginning of fourth year, your friendship with the Marauders began in earnest. Your social groups blended into one, and you didn’t feel as intimated by them all as you once did. They weren’t as wary as they once were; they weren’t as worried as they once voiced to Sirius. You spent more and more time with Sirius; your kindness had earned you his trust and his walls slowly began to crumble. There was something so open about your face and so kind in your touch that he couldn’t help but fall under your spell.

--------

A hand on your shoulder drags you from your dream. Before you can scream, a hand covers your mouth and a familiar voice whispers, “Lumos.”

In the pale light from the wand, Sirius’ grey eyes meet yours. They’re red-rimmed, but he has a small smile on his face. He pulls his hand away from your mouth, whispering, “Come with me.”

You shake your head, replying just as quiet, “Sirius, it’s three in the morning.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, “Live a little, (Y/N).” He stands at the side of your bed, holding a hand out to you, “Come with me… please.”

And there is something so vulnerable in his expression that you take his hand, grabbing your jumper and pushing your feet into your slippers.

In the light of the common room, Sirius looks over your outfit, snickering at the sight of your bunny slippers. You glare at him, tapping your feet, “They’re my favourite slippers, Black. They’re called Norman and Leonard; I expect you to be respectful.”

Sirius covers his mouth with his free hand for his other one had not let you go yet. He stifles a laugh, “I’m sorry, I won’t laugh again. They’re very lovely.” His voice breaks on the last word, and you rip your hand from his.

“Sirius, I don’t sneak out, so if you woke me up to make fun of me then I’m going back to bed.”

“No, wait,” He reaches for your hand again; happiness flows through him when you let him take it, “Come with me please, I can’t sleep.”

“You promise not to make fun? I don’t do this, Sirius. I follow the rules for a reason.”

“I know but trust me on this.”

Sirius doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you through the portrait hole and through the school to the astronomy tower. You have to walk faster to keep up with his long strides but keep up you do.

He doesn’t let go of your hand upon arriving at the astronomy tower; neither does he let go of it once he sits on the cold, concrete floor, pulling you down to sit next to him.

The coldness of the floor seeps through your thin cotton pyjamas. You shiver from the feel of it. Sirius doesn’t miss this; he’s shrugging off his jacket before your teeth can start chattering.

“Here, take this.”

You’re enveloped in his jacket; the sleeves far too long for your arms to fit comfortably. You wrap it around yourself, enjoying the residual warmth left over from his body but also committing to memory the smell that is so distinctly him: leather, cinnamon, cloves and a hint of tobacco.

You knock your foot against his leg, “What’s the matter?”

“What makes you think something is the matter?”

“It’s not like you to drag me out of bed so late into the night so something must be the matter.”

Sirius smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “Like I said earlier, you need to live a little.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, “There’s nothing wrong with being responsible, Sirius.”

“No, you’re right.” He mutters, eyes focused on a spot far away in the distance.

Sirius falls into silence; his mind further away than his body. He breaks the silence a moment later, “I got another letter from my parents.”

You take Sirius’ hand in your own, “Oh, Sirius…”

“They’re being themselves – comparing me to Regulus as if I don’t already know he’s the better son. He’s a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake.”

“It’s a shame.”

“What is?”

“That your parents never took the time to know you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they would see what a wonderful man you’re turning out to be.”

Sirius rests his head on top of yours, “Thank you,” he whispers, voice choked with emotion.

There were moments in your friendship with Sirius that he took your breath away with the sheer scale at which he was able to feel things. In times like this when he spoke about his family, his brother, and his fears, you’re shocked at the implicit trust he holds you in. You would never break this trust; you couldn’t, it’d go against every cell in your body to do so.

So many wonder how the friendship works; so many wonder how two people as opposite as you are could be so close friends. They don’t see moments like this where Sirius breaks down his walls and lets you in. They don’t see the moment where your kindness and fierce loyalty to your friends comes shining out of you as you listen to his words and wipe away his tears if needed.

They don’t need to see it. It’s for you and Sirius to experience with your hand in his and his head resting on yours.

In the morning, he’s calmer and he’s breathing easier than he was last night. He’s grateful to have you by his side; you calm him down – you help find sense in all the mess of his emotions. You remain patient as he stutters out his problems and you listen to each and every word. You’re kindness’ incarnate, he swears.

He drops a kiss to the top of your head before sitting next to you at the breakfast table. Sirius doesn’t miss the puzzled and amused looks from the rest of the Marauders; he shakes his head at them as he piles food onto his plate. They’re his closest friends in the world, and they tease him relentlessly for how he’s latched himself onto you, but he couldn’t be less bothered. They don’t need to understand the friendship, but he’s grateful that they accept you without too much question.

Fifth Year:

As fifth year begins, and the pressure from OWLs begins to mount, you start spending more and more time in the library. You study for everything; going over topics you’re confident on whilst also revising the topics you aren’t certain on whatsoever.

You revise a lot with Remus, him being a calming presence when studying as he explains subjects in such a way where the panic leeches from your body and you feel you finally have a grip on it. He’s a natural born teacher. 

Sirius joins you some of the time, but his confidence over the exams has you panicking more. So he would meet you in the common room after, pulling you to one side to quash any remaining fears that your studying had not resolved.

He would finish his speech with a kiss on your cheek or your forehead that had your body heating from the touch.

It was a physical friendship; it always had been. Neither you or Sirius were afraid to show your affection through a kiss on the cheek or a hug.

But lately those touches started to linger. His lips would rest on your cheek a second longer than they used to, and his arms would hold you that little bit tighter as if afraid of the minute where he would have to let you go.

Your own feelings had changed; you had given your heart to the long-haired Marauder without even realising it. Your eyes lingered on him longer, noticing things you hadn’t before – such as the way he always had a leather band wrapped around his wrist, to ties his hair up should he need to, or the way that his nose scrunched up before he started to laugh in earnest. Your heart stuttered in its beats whenever he laughed. Your heart was his to break should he wish.

You didn’t know that Sirius was feeling the same. He thinks he fell in love with that night in Fourth Year in the astronomy tower, but he didn’t realise it until half way through Fifth Year when you caught his eye across a classroom and smiled at him so widely that it knocked the very breath from him. He’d given you his heart and he didn’t even know he had.

There was something simmering under the surface of the both of you. It had the flirting becoming more and more noticeable to your friends and the Marauders. It had teachers wondering if you’d finally gotten your act together and confessed.

Your friendship with Sirius was on the verge of becoming something more. It was if you were both performing a balancing act. Each holding onto the other’s hand, teetering on the thin wire, wondering which way you’re destined to fall.

-----

“You’ve got six down wrong,” Sirius murmurs over your shoulder; mouth close to your ear.

You huff, reading over the crossword clue again, “I’m absolutely positive that it’s right.”

Sirius’ finger points to the clue, “It isn’t Plantagenet.”

You turn from where you lean against his side. Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “How do you know so much about muggle royalty and history?”

He taps the side of his head, “I just do, love.”

You snort, smiling, “I don’t believe you for a minute.”

Sirius shrugs with a chuckle, “Don’t. Let your crossword be wrong.”

You frown, looking back down at the crossword, thinking over the clue. It takes a minute before it clicks. You shove at his shoulder, “Sirius! The answer isn’t wrong!”

He laughs at the angry expression on your face. “Sirius, you’re such an arse.”

You make to move away from him; to sit further down the couch from him but he grabs your hand as you start to shift, pulling you back against him. You glare at him, but the glare soon melts at the happiness reflected in his grey eyes. You stare at each for a moment, unaware of the rest of the common room. The only thing you’re focused on is him and his grey, grey eyes.

-------

James, Remus, and Peter watch the scene unfold in front of them. You shove at Sirius’ shoulder with a shout, but Sirius grabs your hand, pulling you further into his side. You both look at each other; staring into each other’s eyes as if there isn’t an audience watching.

The trio watch the scene unfold, and they each have the same thought: they’re perfect for each other, and they’re blind to it.

Sixth year:

On a Monday morning halfway through Sixth Year, Remus, James and Peter sit next to Sirius in the Great Hall with the intention of getting him to figuratively pull his head out of his arse.

“When are you telling (Y/N) that you’re in love with her?” Remus greets; always blunt when needed.

Sirius chokes on his drink.

“It’s pretty obvious, mate.” James states to Sirius’ dismay.

“Do you think she knows?” He asks.

James shakes his head, “No, she doesn’t. Are you going to tell her though?”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Not possible.” James states as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Yeah, we watch you together all the time. (Y/N) looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky for her or something. It’s intense to watch, honestly.” Remus says.

Sirius frowns, “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Sirius,” James sighs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried. We’ve all watched you for the last month or so and if we didn’t think you were perfect for each other before, we do now.”

“Yeah?” Sirius asks, so much vulnerability in that one word.

All three nod. Remus pats his shoulder, “Go talk to (Y/N).”

Sirius leaves his friends in the Great Hall, making his way through the rush of students desperate to get to their first lesson of the day. He knows he’ll find you in the common room; having the first lesson every Monday off as a free.

You’re sat on one of the many red leather couches that decorate the Gryffindor common room, pages of parchment in your hands as you read over your revision notes for your advanced classes. Sirius sits next to you on the couch; you immediately change your position to make room for him on the couch.

“I didn’t expect this,” You greet.

Sirius grins, “I missed you at breakfast, what can I say?”

You laugh, “You’re a flatterer, Black.”

In the quiet of the common room, you find your peace with Sirius. His very presence calming your mind but sending your heartbeat racing with a single look from the corner of his eye. You had become used to the way he affects you; how a smile can leave you breathless and a wink can leave your skin overheated.

“I can’t keep lying to you anymore, (Y/N).” Sirius states all of a sudden, voice breaking the silence.

“When have you lied to me, Sirius?” You ask, worry evident in your voice.

“Every day since fifth year.”

Your hand drops into your lap, “What?”

“With every touch, every kiss on the cheek. I lied through it all. I didn’t want friendship. I wanted more.”

“What do you mean, Sirius?”

“I’m in love with you. This isn’t a childish crush; I know I’m in love with you. Break my heart. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break.” He says; eyes blazing, hands on either side of your face, tilting it up to look at him.

“It has only ever been yours,” Sirius repeats.

Your hands cover his as you reply, “Just as mine has only ever been yours.”

He gasps; lips parting as he stares down at you. “Do you mean it?”

You nod, “It has been for a while.”

You gaze into each other’s eyes, letting the euphoria of your confessions wash over you both. One of Sirius’ hands leaves your face to settle on your waist, pulling you that little bit closer to him. The silence is deafening; it’s charged with a heady electricity.

Sirius breaks it with a whispered question, “Can I kiss you?”

Your nod is the only answer before his lips envelop yours. He controls the kiss, throwing all emotion into it. He’s felt this way for so long and he’s finally getting to hold you in his arms with the passion he’s felt for so long. You smile into the kiss, and it almost drives him to the brink of madness with the way you’re responding to him.

You pull away breathless. Sirius peppers kisses all over your face – on your cheeks, on your nose, on your forehead. Wherever he can reach, he kisses because he’s so damned happy right now.

Sirius holds tightly to him, staring into your eyes. “I’ll love you until my very last breath, and even after. If there’s another life after this one, I’ll love you there as well.”

Tears line your eyes at the beauty of his words; at the fact that they’re being said to you. You sniffle, saying, “Sirius Black: a romantic who’d have thought?”

“I pour my heart to you; I kiss you and you make jokes? I see how it is, I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

“Poor baby,” You coo, beaming up at him.

“I am. I’m hurt and I think you should kiss it better.” He says, grinning wickedly.

“Anything to heal,” You quip, smirking.

Sirius pulls you back in for a bruising kiss; taking control the moment your lips touched. He pushes you further into the couch; his body weight feeling perfect on top of you. Your hands tangle in his hair, eliciting a low groan from the back of his throat at the slight pull of your hands.

For so long you had wanted this man. For so long you had yearned for this man who was so distinctly your opposite in every way. It shouldn’t work, but as his lips travel to your jawline, you realise that it does.

It works perfectly.

Seventh year:

From the outside, they’re a pair you wouldn’t necessarily put together. Sirius is loud, and he’s brash and sometimes he doesn’t think before he speaks, but around you – he quietens, as if the constant noise in his brain finally settles and he can think straight. You’re quiet, kind and responsible – always there to help people, but Sirius brings out a side of you that enjoys a little recklessness, even if that is sneaking out to watch the stars or to view the castle at night or to make out in one of the lesser travelled corridors.

You balance the other. You help him keep control of his emotions; he helps you come out of your shell a bit more.

Those outside the relationship don’t need to understand it; all they need to see is two ridiculously happy people, each with a depth-defying love for the other - and that’s a natural fact.

*******************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @kalimagik​ @summer-writes​ @lupins-sweater​ @slytherinprincess03​ @mischiefsemimanaged​ @soleil-amaryllis​ @masterofthedarkness​ @bforbroadway​ @chaotic-fae-queen​ @peachesandpinks​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ @firewhisky-kisses​ @deafgirltingz​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @harrypotter289​ @sprvpti​ @accio-rogers​ @potterverseimagine​ @figlia--della--luna​ @angelinathebook​ @dreamer821​

Sirius Black taglist: @cheapglitter​ @fific7​ @approved-by-dentists​

[fallen-gravity]

Aftermath

A whole summer later, and Mabel's still having nightmares about being trapped in her bubble. One unfortunate morning, Ford just happens to be the one who overhears her crying in her sleep.

Notes:

A huge, huge shout out to @ariasofelegance

A little white ago I reblogged a silly post that said something like "come into my inbox and tell me what my writing brand is", and without hesitating she dragged me into the dirt. Got me so on the nose that it backfired and whoops, I wanted to write it.

Said ask can be found here

Hope you’re happy with the results, Rin ;)

AO3

It’s the sound of sugary pop music seemingly wafting in through her bedroom window that wakes Mabel first. She assumes it’s just an alarm she doesn’t remember setting, and frantically waves her arm out for her nightstand so she can turn it off and go back to sleep for another minute or ten.

Then it’s the fact that her hand smacks something that squeaks, and okay, maybe Waddles accidentally left one of his toys in her room. He’s got plenty, so she can shrug off that as long as it’s not his favorite then he can go another few minutes without it. She’ll bring it downstairs to him when she wakes up, or if Dipper rises before her he can bring it downstairs instead.

It’s fine. She can brush those things off, and to prove it to herself she turns over on her other side and brings her blanket up to cover her ears. If anyone needs her they’re gonna have to climb the stairs all the way up to the attic and tell her themselves. She smiles to herself at the thought, and settles easily back into her sleep.

It doesn’t really click that something’s…off until the sun shines in through her window. Despite knowing that she’s facing away from her window, the sunlight still pierces through Mabel’s blanket and lands right into her eyes. Even for the mid-summer Oregon sun she’s gotten accustomed to, it’s uncomfortably warm and unreasonably bright for so early in the morning.

…Stranger still, she’s sure that Dipper would’ve already complained about it before she did, or at the very least, she’s sure she already would’ve heard him shuffling around the room by now.

Mabel takes it to mean that he must already be awake and downstairs, and groans. It still doesn’t explain why the sun is so painful in her eyes, but she guesses that could be a result of her sleeping in later than she’s used to.

“Alright, universe, you got me” Mabel mumbles, and stretches as she finally pushes herself into a sitting position. Opening her eyes is a bit tougher with the sun still harshly shining into them, but it’s manageable, and…

…This doesn’t look like the attic.

She attempts to rub the sleep out of her eyes, in case she’s still not fully awake yet, but no, the image in front of her still doesn’t change. She’s about to try standing up to see if walking around will help snap her out of her haze, but before she can even kick her feet over the edge her bedroom door swings open.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mabel sighs. “Can you close the window? I can’t see a thing”

“Sure thing, Miss Mabel!” a cheery voice that is decidedly not Dipper’s replies, and with a snap of their fingers the lights go out. Now that her eyes finally adjust, Mabel’s able to glance around her room, and…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

There are stone statues of her face in every corner of her room, piles of rainbow plushies stacked all over the floor, a collage of sweaters all over the wall, inflatable furniture scattered everywhere, and most notably, a large rug with a bright shooting star embroidered into the center.

“Miss Mabel?” the strange voice asks again, and a bright pink hippo steps into view towards her bed. “Is everything okay?”

Mabel frantically scoots backwards in her strange bed. “Stay back!” she tries to shout, but everything comes out as more of a panicked waver. “Stay back or I’ll grapple hook you in the face!” she frantically pats all around her body for any sign of her trusty weapon.

The hippo tilts its head in confusion, a squeak emerging from it. “Oh, Miss Mabel, you’re a riot! Don’t you remember?”

Mabel freezes in her frantic patting. “Remember what?”

The strange hippo laughs. “Our volleyball match! You promised you’d play with me, but then you took a suuuper long nap instead!”

Mabel shakes her head. It can’t be. It can’t be. She knows Dipper already came to rescue her, she knows they already took the bus back to Piedmont together, she knows they promised to stick together through thick and thin.

Or…did they? What if that was all part of this sick fantasy too? What if Bill just made her believe that Dipper came to her aid, when he’s actually been captured, or hurt, or worse, and Bill is still pacifying her for as long as he can to keep Weirdmageddon going?

She can’t breathe. She tugs at the collar of her turtleneck, but that only makes things worse, because it’s not until she notices the hot pink of her collar that she realizes she’s wearing her shooting star sweater. She wants to rip it off and claw at it until it comes apart thread by thread.

“M-Miss Mabel?”

She has to get out of here.

“Of course!” she replies, just to avoid suspicion. “Let’s go play some volleyball!” She claps loudly, and the pink hippo grins, seemingly unfazed by her behavior.

“Great!” it beams, and bounces happily out the door. Mabel follows more slowly, casting nervous glances everywhere she looks for any signs of creeping yellow eyes.

“Oh, shoot!” the hippo shouts once they’re outside, and Mabel nearly jumps a mile out of her skin.

“What is it?”

“We don’t have enough players,” the hippo pouts. “I can go see if I can find anyone who-”

“No!” Mabel shouts, and a few beachgoers freeze to cast glances her way. She blushes, and tries again. “I...I mean, we could always get my brother to play with us! Where’s my good ol’ twin brother?”

For the briefest of moments the hippo’s eyes flash yellow, but they’re back to normal just as quickly.

“Over here, sis!” Dippy Fresh waves, approaching them on his skateboard.

Mabel steps back, shaking her head. “Where’s my real twin brother?”

The crowd of beachgoers begins murmuring uncomfortably to each other.

“Aww, c’mon sis, don’t be like that!” he grins, jumping off of his skateboard and taking a step closer.

“You’re not my real brother” she hisses. “None of this is real! I know it isn’t!”

She’s shouting now, but she doesn’t care. “Come out and face me yourself, Bill! I know you’re out there! I don’t want to take part in this sick fantasy anymore!”

Everyone around her gasps, and between one breath and the next she’s painfully tackled to the ground.

“Mabel Pines!” an unfamiliar voice shouts, mixed seamlessly with the shrill echo of Bill’s. “Not only have you broken the one and only law of Mabeland, you have also spoke up in defiance of Bill Cipher, the true creator of this land. A simple court trial will not be enough. For these transgressions, you will be taken straight to the Fearamid for proper punishment”.

Mabel’s face pales. “W-wait! I was only just kidding!” She pleas, but a strong pair of arms is already lifting her into the air. She kicks and thrashes, but no matter how much she fights back, more pairs of hands seem to grab onto her and keep her in place.

“No!” she shouts. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise! I’ll do anything you guys want! I’ll never leave you again!”

“It’s too late!” Bill’s voice finally separates itself from the crowd, and he manifests himself in front of her. He lifts her into the air, and she starts thrashing even harder, but nothing she’s doing is working to free herself from her grip.

At the very back of her mind, she thinks she can hear someone shouting her name. But she’s sure that’s all just part of the illusion, that Bill’s using the sound of her own family against her to torture her one last time before she never sees them again, and-

Something brushes against her forehead.

Something soft, and warm, and comforting, and so humanlike compared to everything else around her that it’s enough to make the every single aspect of the illusion disappear into thin air all at once, even Bill himself.

Everything’s black, and then, with a blink of her eyes, she’s staring into Ford’s eyes, soft and loving and pooling with worry. It doesn’t take long for her to piece together that it’s his hand on her forehead.

“Mabel?” he asks, and she realizes quickly that it had been his voice shouting her name in the bubble.

She gasps, bolting upright, and does her best to recover her breathing. Ford doges out of the way to avoid smacking heads, but stays right where he is beside her, rubbing soothing little circles into her back.

Her throat hurts. She must’ve been shouting in her sleep. She wants to cry, but she can’t even do that right, because  the moment a sob tries to escape her throat her chest feels like it’s closing up, and she can’t take a breath anymore, no matter how much air she inhales.

“It’s okay,” Ford whispers to her. “Deep breaths”

Mabel shakes her head. “I…I can’t”

“Yes you can,” he replies, firmly but kindly. He scooches closer to her, slowly as not to re-startle her. “Mabel, look at me”

She does. His eyes are so soft, conveying so many grounding, human emotions that the single moment of eye contact alone is almost enough to completely ground her back to reality. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, once she’s finally able to maintain eye contact without her eyes trembling. “You’re awake, I promise” he offers his hands out to her. “Reach out and squeeze my hands if you need to, but I promise that I really am right here”

Mabel reaches out and takes his hands in her own. They’re so much bigger than hers, and they’re rough with calluses and there’s quill ink stuck under his nails, but they’re so comfortably the hands of her great uncle, all the way down to the extra sixth finger on each hand that the sob stuck in her throat finally breaks its way through. He’s not just another illusion, he’s not a perfect copy that Bill sent to keep her complacent, he’s just…Grunkle Ford.

Mabel throws herself into his arms as her sobs overwhelm her small body. She buries her face into the collar of his turtleneck, and forces her eyes to focus on a little loose strand sticking out at the back of his neck. It’s just a tiny little imperfect detail that could easily be snipped or sewn back into place, but a little imperfection like that to let her know she’s home is more comforting than she’s willing to admit.

Ford wraps his arms around her and holds her closely. He gently runs a hand through her hair, whispering I know and it’s okay over and over again into her hair, and she just buries her whole face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of coffee and ash and ink coming from his sweater like it’s a lifeline.

She stays in his embrace until her sobs finally calm, and they pull away gently. She wipes at her nose with her wrist.

“I’m sorry”

Ford shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, dear. I know firsthand just how awful it feels to suffer through a panic attack alone”.

Alone?

She glances to the other side of the bedroom, and finds Dipper’s bed empty. Her heart drops to her stomach. “Wh-where’s..?” she starts, but Ford places a gentle hand on her shoulder before she can finish that train of thought.

“Dipper’s okay, he’s outside with Soos”

“Grunkle Stan?”

“He ran out to the store, but he’s okay too”  

Mabel buries her face into her hands. “You didn’t…come in here because you could hear me from downstairs, did you?”

Ford shakes his head, a fond smile itching to spread across his face. “I came upstairs when I’d heard you were still asleep and didn’t want my favorite niece to miss out on such a beautiful morning,” he pauses, the smile on his face vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. “But then when I came in to wake you up, you looked like you were having a panic attack in your sleep, and…” his voice trails off. “You started…crying out names.” He winds a protective arm around her shoulder, and gently squeezes her arm. “I’d never want to make you recount something so awful, but if you want to talk about it, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon”

Mabel sighs. It isn’t even close to being the first dream she’s had about the bubble, so she should be used to all of these strange feelings by now. But this particular dream felt the most based in reality, and it’s the first time Bill’s actually shown up and threatened to hurt her to her face.

She returns his gesture, winding an arm around Ford’s back and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. She scooches just a tiny bit closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder. “I…” she begins, squeezing her eyes shut to brace herself. “I was trapped in Mabeland again. Except it wasn’t like all the other times I’ve had nightmares about it where I knew something was off and I hit the ground running as soon as I realized where I was, it was more like…I felt like I’d always been there.”

With her free hand, Mabel brings the collar of her sweater all the way up to her nose. Anything to distract her from her uncle’s worried expression burning into her. “It was like everything we did last summer was for nothing. I woke up in my bed in the castle, and everyone was acting like it was peachy keen. I tried asking someone about where Dipper was, just for some sense of normalcy, but all that did was summon that dumb clone Mabeland created of him so I wouldn’t get too lonely. I know it’s dumb, but the whole thing just felt…too real. Like I was still stuck there, and the apocalypse was still going on out here, and the whole rescue mission was just a sick dream that Bill put in my head to trick me into believing everything was okay”

Mabel squishes her face into Ford’s sweater and just forces herself to focus on his scent, on the soft material of his sweater, on the gentle pattern of his breathing. “Everything was ripped away from me, Grunkle Ford, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I tried speaking up for myself, but that only made things worse, because Bill showed up, and he-”

She’s suddenly painfully aware that she’s trembling again, and can’t help the tears building in her eyes. She tries burying her face even further into Ford’s sweater to collect herself and keep going, but before she can she feels Ford’s hand at the back of her head, gently holding her in place as she cries.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, his voice a soothing presence among her racing thoughts. “You don’t have to keep going.” He’s back to gently petting her hair, and the gesture is consistent and familiar enough to ease Mabel’s crying. “I’m so sorry that you’re still having nightmares about this”.

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and finally finds the strength to pull herself away from his sweater. “It’s not your fault”, she says, and her eyes drop to the hardwood floor of her bedroom. “I’m just so scared, Grunkle Ford.” She grips onto the edges of her skirt. “I know that I shouldn’t be, because I know Bill’s been gone for a year and I know everything’s okay now, but I just can’t help but feel that everything’s not.”

Ford nods solemnly, and for a moment he doesn’t respond, until he shifts in his sitting position so he’s facing directly towards Mabel rather than beside her. “Mabel, may I show you something?”

Mabel blinks, her head tilting slightly in confusion. “Sure, Grunkle Ford, what is it?”

Ford rolls the sleeves of his turtleneck up to his elbows. His wrists are covered in faded white slits, and the rest of his arms are covered in burn scars, scratches, gashes, and decades-old bruises that never healed properly. Some of them are still red and blistering, and others look so faded that she could just as easily mistake them for birthmarks.

It hurts Mabel’s heart just to look at them. Her hands hover cautiously over them, and she glances at the wonderful great uncle that they’re attached to. “C-can I…?”

He nods. “Sure.”

Mabel gently runs her fingers along each of them so lightly that it’s almost as if she isn’t touching them at all. She knows that he’d been hurt in the past, and she knows that it couldn’t have been easy roughing it out in the multiverse for thirty consecutive years, but it breaks her heart to see the evidence of it all up close.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ford sighs, cutting into her thoughts. “But most of these don’t come from the portal” he pauses to rub at the back of his head. “Or, rather, they do, but not in the way that you probably think”

Mabel pauses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…sometime after Bill betrayed my trust, but before I was able to get the metal plate in my head to keep him out, he’d take advantage of our deal that let him into my mind whenever he pleased,” he taps at his forehead. “He was furious that I shut down the portal, so any time I fell asleep he’d use the opportunity to hurt me as much as he could. He never wanted to kill me because he was convinced I’d change my mind in due time, but he felt the need to torture me so I’d never act against him again. He’d slit my wrists, he’d burn me, he’d do just about everything he could to make sure I could feel the repercussions of his actions when I woke up.” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “Thankfully he was never able to break a bone before I woke up in time to stop him, but…” he trails off, and for the briefest of moments he looks as though he’s lost in thought.

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” Ford blushes, snapping himself from his own thoughts before Mabel has any time to ask if he’s okay. “The point is,” he says, “Just because you know he’s gone now doesn’t mean that he never hurt you. Your nightmares are your scars, and they’re just as real as the scars under my sweater.”

Mabel wants to respond with a proper thank you, because she’s genuinely touched by the validation, but there’s a part of her that just can’t move past all the gashes and scars on Ford’s arms. She knows she’s seen similar cuts elsewhere, maybe not nearly as dire, but she knows in the back of her mind that’s just because she was just barely able to stop them from becoming much, much worse.

“I don’t think it’s just the nightmares” she mumbles, just barely loud enough for Ford to hear.

“Hmm?” Ford hums. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Mabel runs two fingers gently around the white scars on Ford’s wrist. “I don’t think it’s just that he hurt me, I think it’s that he hurt a lot of people that I love, too.” She shakes her head. “I know there isn’t a lot I could’ve done to prevent it, but…I was so oblivious to it, Grunkle Ford. I had no idea he was hurting so many people until it was almost too late”.

She keeps rubbing gentle circles into his wrist, like she can make the scars and all of the memories of the pain he went through vanish into thin air with her loving touch alone. “Dipper’s got these scars too. I know he’s okay now, but…” the sigh that escapes her is broken and shaky. “I know that much worse things could’ve happened to him, too”.

Ford frowns. “He…did tell me about being possessed, yes. But he also told me that he couldn’t have gotten his body back without your help. Bill’s a master at trickery, Mabel, it’s not your fault you couldn’t recognize him in Dipper’s body”.

…But she also knows that the reason Dipper was possessed in the first place is because he was up all night trying to crack a code that she told him she’d help him with, and she also knows that if she found out that it wasn’t Dipper controlling his body until it was too late, then…

“He wrote a letter”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she slaps her hand over her mouth, tears building in her eyes again.

“Who did?” The soft smile slips off of Ford’s face. “Dipper?”

Mabel shakes her head. “Bill wrote a letter when he was still in possession of Dipper’s body. I’ve never shown it to Dipper before because I didn’t wanna freak him out, but I just…couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, because I was so afraid that if I did, Bill was going to find out, and wait until the moment my back was turned so he could…” her voice trails off, and she can’t finish the sentence no matter how badly she needs to get it off of her chest.

“Mabel?” Ford asks, his voice dripping with worry.

She shakes her head, and hops down from her bed to reach underneath. She grabs a seemingly useless crumped up piece of paper, and carefully unfolds it and pats down all the wrinkles before she offers it to Ford. “Before he could do this,” she replies, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Ford takes the letter from her, and Mabel takes her seat back on the bed beside him. All she can bring herself to do is just watch as Ford’s expression becomes more and more horrified as he reads further down the letter, and the hurt in his eyes when he looks into hers when he finishes reading is palpable.

“I’m scared, Grunkle Ford” she repeats, her mouth continuing to speak before her brain can stop her. “I know Bill’s gone for good, but how can I be so sure that everything’s okay when I know that this is what he could’ve done to my brother?”

For a few painfully short moments Ford says nothing. Mabel’s sure he’s at a loss of words, or that it was a mistake showing him the letter because he’s freaking out now too, but much to her surprise  Ford’s next move is pulling her into his arms again and hugging her so tightly it’s as if he never wants to let go again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, but doesn’t give her enough time to respond before he keeps going. “Mabel, I’m so sorry you’ve been burdened with this. You’re the last person I would ever wish to feel so unsafe that you can’t even trust the quiet moments.”

His breathing sounds broken and shaky, but if he’s tearing up at all he’s doing a really good job at hiding it.  “You don’t deserve any of this. You’re too young to feel like you have any responsibilities over anyone’s life or death. I’m so sorry that he made you feel this way”

She knows he’s not the kind of person to use his words carelessly. She knows that he’s phrasing it this way because he recognizes his own behavior in her. She doesn’t respond verbally, but she reciprocates the hug best she can, and a heavy sigh escapes Ford when she does. They stay there in silence for a few short minutes, just reveling in the comfort and safety of the other’s arms.

When they finally pull away, Ford seems to have gathered his composure again.

“I promise, Mabel” he takes one of her hands into his own. “I promise you that he’s gone. He can never hurt you or me or Dipper or Stan ever again. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t, and it doesn’t mean that recovering from that sort of pain will be easy, but if there’s anything I know for sure, it’s that he’s never showing his face here again”.

Mabel finally crumbles in his arms. She’s sobbing again, but it’s a cathartic kind of sob, and she’s gripping onto Ford’s shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping her together.

“And even if he does, I know just the grappling hook to scare him away”.

Between her sobs, Mabel can’t help but giggle.

[clarissalance]

Wolves

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader, Diluc, Crepus

Warning: minor swearing, cheesy flirt, dry humour

Summary: All men are wolves.

A/N: Muahaha I have came back and brought you the blatant cheesy flirt. Welcome to the first lesson of flirting with Kaeya. Lol, guess who is coming next? 

Also, I’m planning to write a wind-trace fic because the game is so fun. (p/s: I waste 3 hours playing it) Guess who is in it? 

Okay, the first fic for my lover boy. Please give Kaeya a lot of love!! (*￣3￣)╭ 

Another beautiful day, another day of wasting the lovely weather to stay inside the study room, bury your head into the pile of books next to you. You let your eyes wander to the window again, gazing rays of light fleeting through the window, golden hues on the wooden floor. Tiny specks of dust accumulate overnight, fluttering around the curtain. Outside, the chirping birds bathing under the sun, casually chilling on the window. Oh, how you wish you would be able to relax like those carefree animals.  

“You might burn the birds crips the longer you stare at it.” Startled by the quiet voice, your head snaps toward the blue-haired teenage direction, and you can’t help but scowl at his statement. You can’t be the only person in the room who wants to go out and play. Knowing Kaeya, he’s definitely trying to find an excuse to end the class early. 

The only person who is diligent, hard-working, and does not have thought about leaving this room is the young master Diluc. The young man is sitting opposite you, eyes burning holes on the thick textbook. 

Archon, how can a 16 years old overly enthusiastic person like him enjoy the excitement of reading Descartes philosophy? Maybe he is the only child in Mondstadt, no, maybe in the whole Teyvat who enjoys something torturous like that. Shivering at your own thought, you shift your chair closer to Kaeya, giving Diluc a terror gaze.      

“Aren’t you going to finish the essay?” Pointing at the half-full parchment on the table, you ask. “ Diluc and I already finish it.” 

“ Oh, how do I know? How am I suppose to understand Kant and Descartes theories, and then link them to deductive and inductive reasoning?"  Kaeya lets his finger running through the silky blue hair and pulls them out of frustration. On the other side, Diluc shoots him a glare, annoyed by his brother complaint. 

 “How did you guys do it?” Kaeya asks boredly, his finger pokes the quill. 

You put your hand under your chin, beaming him charmingly.  “ You know Kaeya, it is something I call improvisation. Words just flow out of my tip.” Under your lashes, you can see his cheek dusting pink. Cute! 

“ Just read the books, and you will get it.” Diluc unhelpful adds. 

Both of you stare at red-head incredulously. Is he being serious? 

Like always, Kaeya knows he can not take your advice to heart. One is a genius, and the other is just pure luck.  

Suddenly, the door is burst open, and you quickly shove your feet into the shoes, eyes darting to see the intruder. Internally, you hope that person is not lady Elizabeth, your etiquette teacher. Your blood runs cold at the thought. You can already imagine her sharp tones commenting how horrendous and un-ladylike your act is. 

“How is your study going?” A deep, strong voice booming from the back, and finally, you get let out a breath. Diluc looks up from his book, beams brightly at the man. 

“ We are done with homework, father. These are just extra reading.” Well, for the record, these are his extra readings, not yours. And Kaeya hasn’t finished his 2 feet scrolls of essay yet. 

Master Crepus nods in satisfaction. “ If that is finished, you kids can take a break. The young lady from the Gunnhildr family is here with her father. Maybe you can give her some accompanies.”  The middle-aged man directs the words at you, maybe feeling guilty for leaving a young lady like you in his two sons care. 

Your parents left you in the Ragnvindr care every Summer because of their hectic schedules and frequent business trips at this time of the year. In addition, your mother says it is essential for you to have good relationships with the heir of Ragnvindr and his brother. “Maybe you will need their help someday.” She left it vaguely. 

“ Are you guys going to drink again?” Kaeya suspiciously questions, his eyes glinting with playfulness. 

“ Hey, what’s wrong with men having a drink together?” Crepus defensively retorts, notices how Diluc gives him a disproving gaze.

“ When you guys grow up, you would enjoy it too.” The three let out opposing noises, clearly not having the same idea as him. The man waves dismissively return back the topic. 

“ Let’s come down to greet the head of Gunnhildr first.” He heads toward the door, down the hallway.   

“And be nice to the young lady, boys.” The master emphasizes the phrase, his eyes pinning at the guilty-looking Kaeya and the absent-minded Diluc. Finally, he exits the room, not forgetting to close the door. 

“ Father says as if we don’t treat people nicely.” Kaeya pouts, right after Crepus footstep drifting away from the study. “ The workers never complain anything about our behaviours, right Luc?” 

Sitting next to him, you can't help but let out a snort. He dares to say that? Kaeya raises eyebrows at you, annoyed by your shaking shoulder. The boy in red has a blank face, maybe not interested. 

“ First, you guys ignore me for 2 weeks when I just came here.” You burst out in laughter, recalling back at the very first memory when you just arrived here.

“When I tried to approach, you both avoided me like the plague.” Your whole body is shaking vigorously, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. This is too hilarious! Somewhere in between, you can spot Diluc burning cheek. 

“ Haha, and haha-later,” You can hardly breath, laughter bubbling up. “Adeline told me your reason is ‘It's b-because she doesn’t have a willie.' ” Dramatically air-quoting, you even imitate their stuttering childish voices. This earns you a pointed glare from Diluc and a smack in the arm from Kaeya, but a good laugh is always worth it. 

Both of them freeze on their tracks, faces puff red as tomatoes, steaming almost coming off their ears. If the young heir is to wear a red suit, you are sure he can blend in well with the mansion roof. 

Diluc shifts stiffly in his chair and abruptly stands up, heading toward the exit. Maybe he is too embarrassed at the mention of his dark childhood. 

“Where-haha, are you going, Luc?” You are still in the middle of your giggling, noticing how Diluc is dashing to the door. Letting out a coughing fit, he quietly mumbles. 

 “ I'm going down to greet the Gunnhildr family.” His figure vanishes right behind the door, not letting you tease him further. Outside, the painful sound of Diluc tripping on his own feet make you almost fall off your chair. You have too many good laughs today. 

“Right, I-I should get going too.” Next to you, the blazing Kaeya remembers to dig a hole and hide. His hand slams hard on the table and the youthful teenager stands up, gracefully heading toward the door. Maybe he wants to avoid becoming another joke.  

" Ah, wait-" You follow instantly, but the moment you stand up, something slips, and the next thing you know, the ground is shaking, and you see the ceiling is getting further. 

Your first instinct is to grab the closest object, and then close your eyes, waiting for the painful impact with your head. Clench your jaw tightly, and you hold your breath, hoping it will hurt less if you tense your body. 

Right after tensing up, you feel someone just grab you by your shoulder, and your feet step on something bumpy. And then, your head makes an impact with something hard. A grunting is followed. 

Heart hammering in your chest, you cautiously peek, expecting yourself to see the ceiling, but instead, greet with an unusual sight. A pair of dark colour trouser paired with leather shoes. On top of it is your feet, loosely wore low heel is stepping on that leather shoes. Shit, you stepped on Kaeya. In a panic, you rush down from his painful sore feet, but your head jams in his ribs. He just let out another woeful sound.   

This time, you carefully keep your position in place, slowly remove each foot one by one, moving away from him. Craning your neck upward, you finally meet his gaze, his eyes are full of concern and uneasiness, spooked out by your sudden incident.

 “Did you hit your head hard?” Kaeya asks you nervously, his voice laced with anxiety. He must have been terrified when you slip. You shake your head, hands grabbing his shirt.

" I should be asking you that. Are you okay?" You give him a worrying gaze, your fingers running along his ribs, checking if your stone head broke anything. " I didn't break anything, right?" Hesitantly, you look into his deep blue eyes, noticing the diamond shape. Has he always has this in his eyes? 

Kaeya snorts inelegantly, shakes his head. " Your head is hard as a rock, but that much can't break my ribs yet." This earns him a hit on his arm. 

"Hey! I'm trying to be considerate, and this is how you treat me?" You jab him, hand purposely smack his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. How strong is this guy? This time, you put all the force on your arm, slapping hard on his chest again. The young man in the blues shoot you a shit-eating grin, clearly not faze.  

 "How is my chest feeling?" He pokes, his palm engulfing yours. 

" Too hard for my liking." You give him a complex look, trying to escape from his tight grip but fail miserably. You wiggle your hand again, shaking off his iron clad. Why is he so strong? 

While you are attempting to flee from his firm grasp, the young man leans down, face an inch away from you. Flushing at the sudden closure, like usual,  you avoid his burning gaze. You hold your breath when your noses almost touch. What is this rascal doing again? 

" You shouldn't be touching men like that." Kaeya opens his mouth, saying something completely out of nowhere. You tilt your head in confusion, while your eyes travel down, you notice your hands still on his chest. O-oh, so he is saying about this. 

" I  don't normally touch random people." You mumble defensively, your eyes lower. " I was checking for your injury."

"They will misunderstand." Kaeya cuts in right after, not accepting the excuse. But why would they misunderstand? You are just being nice, right? 

Like he can understand what is going inside your mind, Kaeya reminds you.

"All men are wolves, you should be more be careful with them."   

You give him a confusing look. 

Kaeya is not one of them, right? 

Eventually, he let out a soft sigh and moves back, allowing you to savour your personal space. Just right after your throbbing heart finally calms down, he brings your tight-griped hand in his to his face. Your meet with his alluring look in his eyes. It is pulling you in, telling you to give in the temptation. Plump lips brush your knuckle teasingly, he blows a warm breath on the back of your hand. He gives you a saccharine smile.

" And if not be careful." His husky voice ringing in your ears, the numbing spark runs along your spine. "They might devour you." 

[a-dusty-emerald]

Crimson Cuddles: Draco x Reader /Fluff

Just a fluff story for your morning Draco x Y/n comfort. (From my Wattpad story)

Crimson Cuddles: In other words, you get your period. _____________________________________________

Draco was tapping his quill on the edge of his desk annoyed, his eyes rolling at each sentence coming out of Professor Babbling's mouth (Ancient runes Prof.). He never cared for this class, he knew what he had to know.

He huffed at Granger's hand that was fluttering up high at each and every question.

'Does this girl snort cocaine every morning?' He thought. The know-it-all bubbly energy of the muggleborn Gryffindor at 8am only added to his temper.

However, the root of his issue was that his girlfriend, Y/n, was nowhere in sight. Class was almost over, so Draco guessed she overslept. She always was such a night-owl either way, so she must have stayed up till late. She rarely missed classes though. He didn't want to drag her to class himself just because she was not being responsible, though.

'I have told her so many times to train her owl to wake her up each morning. Unbelieveable.' He huffed again.

Thankfully Ancient Runes were finally over. Next class was Potions, Y/n's favourite subject. He had a smug look as he took his time going to class. He could already imagine the disheveled look on her face that she actually missed a class, and maybe, maayyybe, he could get her to train the bloody owl.

As he strutted confidently to the Potion's class, he lifted his eyes from his robe to his and Y/n's desk. His smirk fell.

'Where the fuck is she?' He thought. Y/n would not miss potions just for the sake of it. He had to physically detain her from going to class with a high fever a year ago. And then, it dawned on him. 'She must be sick.'

He turned on his heel to go check on her, bumping to Snape who was right behind him. He eyed him, an eyebrow raised at the platinum haired boy.

"Pardon me, Professor." He said coldly and sat on his desk.

Potions were boring for once. Draco had no one to nag him, no one to talk to. As soon as class ended, he said to Blaise that he would catch up later at dinner and sprinted towards the Slytherin's female dormitories.

Pansy had walked out of the entrance just now, and Draco ran to actually manage to get through the door. He walked towards Y/n's room, not knowing what's wrong. He lightly knocked on her door.

He heard a muffled familiar voice speak: "Pansy, I told you already, I don't care which bra you pick." Draco stiffled a laugh, biting his cheek. "Fine then, I'll wear the lacy one" he mimicked Pansy's voice. He heard his girlfriend softly laugh, understanding who she was speaking to. "You can come in, Draco" he heard the muffled voice again.

Draco opened the door slowly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. Has she not been out of bed yet? It was past 10am now. "Darling?"

"Yes?" Y/n's small voice was heard from under the fluffy covers. Draco suppressed a short laugh and sat at the edge of her bed.

"You alright?"

Y/n's head finally emerged from the covers and draco got a good look of her. Her skin seemed pale, her eyes tired and her hair was a mess. Y/n looked at draco, who might have been smirking at her state, but she saw a glint of worry in his eyes.

"I'm fine" she finally spoke. Draco said nothing, only leaned backwards and crossed his arms on his chest, a blonde eyebrow reaching higher than his hairline - or so it seemed. He was not satisfied with the answer. After a prolonged silence, he huffed and spoke again.

"Sure you are darling. Peachy as ever." He smirked again at her inability to lie to him.

"...What I meant is I am not ill. I'm on my period, I don't feel great. Quite bad actually. Didn't wanna bother you", she said as she slumped back into the covers, closing her eyes again.

His smirk fell. For the jackass he could be, he knew quite a few things about periods, Narcissa had informed him from a young age about the basics. He would never be insensitive to his girl, of all people. He had her 'female issue' supplies in his room as well, in case she stayed over.

"Your wellbeing is not bothering me. Do you need anything?"

He saw her eyes glimmer, peaking through the covers. "Can I come to your room? I want to take a shower and cuddle. Have left my conditioner at yours as well." She said.

"Sure, come on, lets get to my room." He threw the covers off her in one motion, and she shivered, her source of heat violently being taken from her. She was crouched in a fetal position, her hands pressed on her lower abdomen. She hissed in pain, as she felt a horrible cramp passing through her.

Draco frowned. He hated seeing her in pain. He inched closer to her to cuddle her, but Y/n was determined to get out of bed.

"No no, later. I need to get up. It's not doing me any good. I need to shower." She muttered as she forced herself out of bed, threw a cardigan over her pyjamas,put her hair in a quick ponytail to hide the frizziness and made her way to the boy's dormitories, clutching Draco's arm along the way.

Once she got in the -much bigger and fancier- room, she immediately locked herself in the bathroom, stripping out her silky pyjamas and hopping in the shower. She let the hot water relax her muscles,the steam putting her in a drowsy state. As she lathered her coconut shampoo in her hair and reached for her boyfriend's body wash, green apple scented, she silently laughed on his obsession with green apples, when she heard of him outside the door.

"Imma make us some tea. Alright?" "Sure!" She spoke as loudly as she could, in order to be heard over the sound of the water.

Stepping out of the shower, she found a pair of clean underwear waiting for her next to a brand new box of tampons and smiled.

'If only Blaise would see Draco making her tea and providing her tampons, he would tease him for eternity' she smirked, giggling to herself. Blaise was her best friend, telling him a few details of his oh-so-rare soft side would give him enough teasing opportunities for the whole semester. Draco's well known soft spot was her, he always had his stone cold persona around the guys and Blaise was always ready to hear stories that prove a point they all knew; the platinum haired boy was nowhere near emotionless or insensitive.

Draco opened his room's door carefully holding 2 mugs of hot tea, finding a more relaxed, but still in insufferable pain Y/n. She was wearing one of his hoodies and some high knee warm fuzzy socks, and he could not control the smile that crept over his lips.

"What?" Y/n said curiously, seeing him smiling at her. "Love it when you're wearing my clothes. You are honestly so cute". Y/n slightly blushed and faced the other way.

Draco made his way to bed, handing her her mug. He took a sip and spoke "I read tea is good for the pain. Warmth in general. So if you want to cuddle my hot as fuck body, understandable. It's available."

"Oh is it?" Y/n jokinly answered, her eyebrow raised playfully.

"Yup" he said. "Do not take it for granted though. Other women will be qeueing for the Malfoy cuddling experience later today." He smirked.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Y/n said calmly. "I will castrate you and send your balls to your oh-so-friendly father, letting him know his lineage is lost forever".

Draco was audibly laughing, while his arm cradled Y/n's small body. Her face suddently went from a teasing expression to a scrunched up, pained one.

He frowned again. If he could take some of the pain, he would. "Another cramp?"

He heard a muffled nod from Y/n's head on his shoulder, and pressed a few kisses on her exposed neck, his arms hugging her even closer to him. His fingers snaked their way under her shirt and pressed in her lower abdomen, slowly massaging the area. He heard a shruddered breath come out of her, and didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing, continuing nevertheless. He stopped however, when he felt dampness on his neck. He pulled himself back to look at her. She had been crying.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked full of worry. "Sorry if I did, thought it would be better-"

Y/n furiously shook her head. "No, I'm just in a lot of pain, got a bit emotional that you are taking care of me. Stupid hormones..." Y/n mumbled, her face flushed.

Draco smiled and wiped her tear away. "Shhh, 'ts alright darling. Come here." He pulled her back in their previous position.

"Please continue whatever magic you were doing. Your fingers are proven to be magical today."

"I think you knew that beforehand, darling."

She could practically HEAR the smirk, so she smacked him lightly in his shoulder, as Draco showered her with kisses. He opened a box near his bed, getting a chocolate frog out and giving it to Y/n.

"Thank you." She smiled at him, and pressed a sweet peck at his lips.

As soon as she ate it, he removed one of his hands from her abdomen and grabbed his mug to finish the last bit of tea that was left. Placing the mug back, he felt her head in his chest getting heavier. She was drifting off to sleep, painfree, feeling relaxed in his embrace, and Draco was sure this image alone could let him cast a Patronus if he tried.

The next day, Blaise teased the fuck out of Draco as he huffed annoyed. He should have never let them be friends.

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FEEL FREE TO LIKE AND SHARE! Love you all, feedback always welcome!

[inkandpen22]

Young Hearts Divided (1/?)

Pairing: Sirius x reader / James x Female!Reader (this comes later- the tea)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6k (she short~think of it as an introduction)

Part Summary: Y/N is a fellow Gryffindor Fifth Year with the Marauders. She has always been close with the boys, especially Sirius, but sometimes they can be bad influences... 

A/N: as always, thank you for reading! If you guys have any suggestions or requests you’d like to see, let me know! I’m down for anything rn :) 

Masterlist

Late! Late! Late! I’m late! I hurry down the steps of the tower into the Common Room. I suppose this is what I get for staying up late listening to muggle music with Marlene. How kind it would’ve been of her to wake me up too when she probably rose like a peaceful princess this morning. I at least would expect Lily to help a friend out! Nope, instead, I’m sprinting through the halls of Hogwarts with one shoe on, my hair disheveled, and my books hardly staying in my hands. I completely missed breakfast and now have to run straight to DADA across the bloody castle! 

Professor Flitwick stops writing on the board and peers over his shoulder when I stumble into the room. My peers whip their heads back and stare at me like a fish in a bowl. Sirius and James are sitting right in front of me with childish grins across their faces. Sirius starts giggling and Remus leans across the aisle to swat him on the arm. 

Professor Flitwick clasps his hands together with a deep exhale. “Miss Y/L/N, it’s on you to join us. Take your seat,” he instructs, gesturing to your empty seat next to Marlene toward the back of the room. 

“Sorry Professor,” I mutter, swiftly sliding into my seat directly in front of Sirius. 

As I pull out a roll of parchment and get settled, Marlene begins to bombard me with her questions. “Where have you been?!” 

“Sleeping!” I snap in a whisper. “No thanks to you!” 

“Dreaming about Bowie?” Marlene giggles, nudging me with her elbow. “Told you he’s stellar! We should listen to him again tonight!” 

“And keep me up all night?” I snicker, looking ahead to scribble down Flitwick’s notes. 

“You still haven’t heard this one group! My cousin sent me-” 

Marlene is cut off as a crumpled piece of paper hits the back of my head. Knowing exactly who it’s from, I ignore the wrinkled ball on the floor by my ankle to catch up on my notes. Marlene picks up the paper, much to my annoyance. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glance back at Sirius as she unravels the ball. I continue to listen to Flitwick, hoping he doesn’t write me up for being tardy. 

“Want me to read it to you?” Marlene asks, all gushy with enthusiasm. 

“Does what I say matter?” I sass in a grumble, knowing she’ll read it anyway. 

“He wants you to meet him at the tree by the lake after class,” she informs as she scans the sheet. 

“Can’t,” I answer plainly. “I have potions.” 

Marlene sighs in disappointment, glancing back at Sirius with a frown. On my behalf, she writes down my answer and hands back the note. Turning back toward the front, she fiddles with her quill not even attempting to take notes. I, however, am writing like a lunatic struggling to make up for lost time. 

“Oh come on Y/N,” Marlene whines quietly. Her silence lasted about ten seconds. She tugs on the sleeve of my shirt while glancing upfront every so often to make sure Flitwick isn’t looking.  “You haven’t missed a day of class yet this term! Skipping one class won’t kill you!” 

“You’re right,” I mumble, keeping my attention ahead. “But what if McGonagall sees us or literally anyone else? I can’t get written up again! I’ve been to detention twice now this year because of the Marauders. Friends don’t get friends in trouble.” 

She huffs, dismissing my reason as not good enough. “You’re only young once Y/N! It could be fun!” 

“Why don’t you meet him then?” You suggest sarcastically. 

Suddenly, I feel another tap of a ball of parchment this time hitting my back. I take a deep breath to compose myself. If we anywhere else, even the library, I would probably smack the boy. Taking note of my frustration, Marlene cautiously reaches for the ball resting between the back of my chair and my back. She raffles the paper and skims the sheet. 

“Do you want-” 

“Ugh, just read it!” I bark under my breath, but loud enough for Lily and Alice to turn around in front of me. I mutter an apology and they face forward again. It takes every bit of me to ignore the stifling laughter of Sirius and James behind us. 

Marlene clears her throat, making the duo quiet down. Then, she recites Sirius’s note. “We will not be seen. James gave me the cloak.” 

I snicker, shaking my head at the words. “Ha, yeah okay! How does he plan on making Slughorn not mark me inexcusably absent?” 

“He… um…” Marlene stutters. “Good point.” On that note, she scribbles down my answer and leans back to hand the paperback. 

Sirius won’t have a valuable answer, thus will leave the matter alone. He will enjoy his free period doing who knows what with James while I go to potions. Shall I recall the two times I got put into detention because of Sirius Black? Okay, here it goes...

The first time was really for all of the Marauders. I suppose it’s my fault I’m friends with them. They were out late sneaking around with their stupid map to jot down a hidden tunnel Remus had discovered that day. I played watch and distracted Filch long enough for them to run into the Common Room. What that got me was detention from Filch. The boys felt remorseful and thankful that I didn’t throw them to the wolves, especially Remus and Peter. Sirius bought me chocolates and placed a rose on my bed every day for twelve days until I had a full bouquet. 

The second time was after the Gryffindor v. Slytherin quidditch game a few weeks ago. There was a party in the Gryffindor Common Room after the win as per usual. Sirius was drunk and wanted to go for a swim in the lake. I had been rather intoxicated myself, but not enough to jump into a lake filled with all sorts of creatures! Alas, Sirius dragged me from Gryffindor tower and we snuck around the castle to get to the lake. Filch and some of the Prefects were on their rounds, so we had to hide around corners. Sirius would slowly turn the corners first, holding onto my hand to keep me close, just in case. Then, he would glance back at me with a mischievous smirk before booking it down the clear halls. Jump ahead half an hour and we get caught in the Black Lake in nothing other than our underwear by a very disappointed McGonagall, not one of my proudest moments. 

I remember her words exactly. “Mr. Black, why must you pull Miss Y/L/N into your shenanigans? Two weeks’ detention, both of you! You’ll be cleaning classrooms until they’re spotless!” 

The two longest weeks of my Hogwarts career. Well… at some points. Sirius had his moments when he made the hours slip by. There was the time we were cleaning Slughorn’s classroom and had a water fight. We got all of the textbooks wet that Slughorn left out on the desks. Sprout heard us from the hall and walked in on us dripping wet head to toe. Sirius was standing behind me, holding a now-empty bucket over my head. Her face was priceless! 

“Y/N? Y/N!” Marlene pokes my side, snapping me out of my daydreaming. “I’ve been saying your name!” She huffs, holding a new note from Sirius. “What do you want to say?” 

I frown, “what does it say?” 

She rolls her eyes, “I just read it to you... I guess somebody wasn’t paying attention.” 

I mumble an apology and look up at the chalkboard to see that Flitwick has jotted down at least ten more points. I check out for two minutes tops and he does all that?! Forget it, I’ll just copy Lily’s notes later. We all know she’ll have them perfect. James copies her every day during lunch anyway. I sit back in my seat with a sigh of defeat and contentment. I accept my defeat and call it a day. Looking over at Marlene, waiting for her to read me the note again. Impatient, I take the paper for myself and look over it. 

Have Lily tell Slughorn you’re not feeling well. I have something I want to show you…” 

Thinking it over for a moment, I consider the pros and cons. Cons: I could get caught and three strikes don’t look great on my transcripts. I want a career at the ministry, I can’t risk ruining that. Pros: it could be fun. Whenever I allow myself to have free time, Sirius and I have the best time. I mean, even in detention we had fun. He’s one of my best friends here. In fact, he was one of the first friends I made, after Marlene. Leaning forward in my chair, I pick up my quill and scribble down my answer. Marlene peaks over my shoulder, eager to see. 

Okay. 

Keeping a close eye on Flitwick to make sure he isn’t looking, I fold up the paper neatly in my lap. When the professor turns toward the board, I reach my arm behind me, handing the note back to Sirius. While I keep my attention, I feel Sirius’s warm hand glide over mine to take the folded parchment. It lingers there for a mere second, his fingertips grazing as far as my wrist unnecessarily. A faint, uncontrollable smile forms across my lips at the feeling of his touch. Marlene is right, we’re young, I should be living more. I think Sirius can help with that. 

[malfoys-demigod]

Favorite Quill - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: After losing your favorite quill by accident, Draco makes the Holiday right with a surprise. 

Tagging @the--queen-of-hell​ <3 

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this fluff! 

One week until Winter Break. One more week until most students can go home, spending the Holidays with their respective families whom they have not seen in months. One more week until some students can finally have the castle to themselves as they spend a quiet little winter break alone at Hogwarts. 

What did everyone have to go through before Winter Break, though?

Quarterly exams. 

It was that awful week before the Winter Break where everyone would have to set their minds on studying mode instead of thinking about what presents they might receive during the holidays. 

People like Hermione Granger did not have a problem with that. She was part of those few people who were excited to take their quarterly exams as they were more prepared than ever. However, her friends Harry and Ron were part of the other set of people who just want to be done with the quarterly exams even if they did horrible in it. 

You on the other hand, was somewhere in the middle between these sets of people. Sure, you wanted so badly to take the Hogwarts Express train and see your parents as soon as possible. You haven’t seen them in months and being in their presence would really be glad to feel. But at the same time, you’ve been doing well with your academics that there was this feeling of confidence in you that you would ace your exams. 

One of those reasons why you can’t wait to take the exams was because of your favorite quill. 

You weren’t exactly superstitious, (maybe a little stitious - please get that Office reference) but you considered your favorite quill to be a lucky charm that you possessed. 

What exactly made it your lucky charm? Well it all started when you and your parents were in Diagon Alley.

It was that week before your first year at Hogwarts that your parents brought you to the famous Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies. Robes? Check. Wand? Check. Books? Check. Everything else was going well until seeing that one perfect quill by the other side of the street made everything perfect. Before leaving the alley, you couldn’t help but notice the simple yet white glowing quill, presented in the glass window of the shop across you. 

You tugged your father’s coat, signaling that you wanted to enter the quill shop before you all left for home. The moment you went inside, you made a beeline to the quill and felt the smoothness of its feather as you watched the white creamy color hollow in your eyes. 

The teller of the store went around to see you, infatuated with the quill. “Limited edition, very unique.” He spoke. He was explaining how there were only 7 models made for that very edition. One of each sent that to the 7 continents in the world and you were just lucky to have one of them sitting in a store in Diagon Alley. 

Your parents were fortunate enough to hear the story of the quill that they said, “How about we buy that, sweetheart?” It was a speechless moment for you as you were extremely overjoyed considering any child would be up in the moons if they hear their parents allowing them to get what they want. 

With that quill, you were always determined to do your best in your academics. Whether it be simply taking down notes, writing an essay, or taking exams, you always had your favorite quill with you, acting as that lucky charm every year. 

Draco of course knew this story. He was first curious to why you were infatuated with a quill. He first saw you during your first year by the library, writing an essay with a happy face. 

“Aren’t we happy to be writing an essay today, Y/L/N?” he approached you, standing up so confidently as he stood beside your chair. 

Usually you’d reply with a snarky remark just like him but you surprisingly smiled warmly and began talking about the story of your favorite quill. 

Draco too was a little surprised that there was no snarky remark but a pleasant story. “Well that’s quite a story you’ve got there, Y/L/N,” he gave a small smile and nod as he walked away. 

Now years later in the present time, you were having another year of winter break exams. There was nothing to be worried about as you were prepared and equipped with your favorite quill. 

It was the morning of the last day of examinations. One more day until you could pack your things and see your parents. 

You were in the Great Hall having your morning cup of pumpkin juice with Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore. Pansy was discussing her potions notes with Theodore while Blaise was teasing you about your obsession with your quill. 

“I don’t understand how that could be a lucky charm, Y/N. All you need is to be prepared with your studies and have a go with the test. No quill can magically show you the answers,” he teased. 

Pouting, you smacked him in the arm as he drank his juice. “Nonsense, Blaise! Don’t even bother as to what the muggles say, ‘jinx’ my luck.” 

Before Blaise could playfully roll his eyes, Draco entered the Great Hall nonchalantly as his eyes were on you. He hooked an arm on you as he sat down and gave you a kiss on the cheeks. “Morning, love.”

“Ready for the last day of exams, Dray?” 

“Actually, I was actually wondering if I could use your quill today,” he nervously asked, “I know you barely lend your quills to anyone, even me, but I really would love to ace my potions examinations before the day ends.”

Hesitant at first, you raised your eyebrows jokingly as you watched Draco use his secret puppy dog eyes on you with a pout in the end. 

“Promise you’ll give it back at the end of the day?,” you asked. Of course you would lend him your favorite quill. He was probably the only person you would lend your quill to. 

Draco planted many small kisses on around your face as a sigh of many thanks. Pulling out your quill from your sling bag, you looked at Draco with a serious face as you slowly and carefully lent your quill to him. 

“See you at the end of the day, sweetheart.” 

“With my quill.” 

— 

Draco felt a wave of relief in his body as he found you sitting in the common room reading the Daily Prophet. He dropped his bags and jogged towards the couch. “There you are, darling! I was looking all over for you,” he sighed. 

You didn’t mind Draco’s existence as he was standing, towering behind you while you calmly sat on the couch, continuing your reading. 

Unfortunately he was still standing behind you, waiting for a response from you as he brushed your hair with his fingers. 

“Go away,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m still not talking to you.” 

“Are you serious,” he asked, “you’re still angry at me?”

Angrily standing up, you threw the newspaper onto the floor and turned around to face a scared Draco. “Of course I’m bloody angry! It was only this afternoon that you lost my quill! I honestly don’t know how you can lose my quill in a castle we live in everyday!” 

“It’s a big castle, Y/N.” 

“Not helping at all!” 

You went to your dorm room and got a hold of your baggage and started making your way outside of the common room. 

Draco was still standing outside by the couches, placing a hand on his forehead. When his eyes met yours, he ran towards you, holding your forearm to prevent you from moving. 

“What.” 

“I’m sorry. You know that.”

“I’ll see you after the holiday. Quill-less.” Being the nice person you were, you planted a small peck on the cheek and removed his hand off from you and left the common room. 

Draco gave a small sad smile, looking down at the floor. His heels turned around and made a beeline towards the couch where you stormed off. He couldn’t help but notice tonight’s newspaper you were reading. 

There was a big advertisement on the last page located in the lower right side of the page. “Limited edition quills from around the world: coming straight to England for the auction of the year.” Then in the bottom of the message was a picture of the exact same quill that you had owned. This was fate! Draco couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. 

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered to himself. Even though he too was going home to Malfoy Manor to see his parents for the holiday, he still owled a letter to his father regarding the limited edition quill that was coming it’s way to England. “-must obtain it as soon as possible.” he lettered to his father. 

Of course this was Lucius Malfoy he was lettering to. Of course it would be obtained as soon as possible and when one says as soon as possible like the Malfoy’s, they mean in a span of three days. One day for Lucius to arrange a spot for the auction, a second day for the actual purchasing in the auction, and a third day for Draco to surprise you with the quill. 

He wasn’t going to come over to your house and present himself with the quill. No, he was absolutely more dramatic than that. In fact, he had already established a plan the minute he stepped foot on Hogwarts express on the way home. How did it go? Well, since this is Draco Malfoy, it went as dramatic as it can be. 

When Lucius came home with the quill, there lay Draco by the steps of the Manor as he finally watched his father apparated from the auction. Of course there were plenty of questions from Lucius considering how troubled Draco sounded from the letter. 

When Draco finally explained what had happened with you, Lucius scoffed in return, slightly scolding Draco for doing this to the love of his life. “You better come back with an accomplished task, Draco. I expect that my trip to the auction was for something worth doing. I do not want to hear how you’ve broken her heart more,” Lucius demanded from his son, who was nodding nervously. 

Draco hurried back upstairs to continue his plan. He started using your quill to write you a letter. A letter which contained him apologizing and stating his love for you. Along with the letter came the quill he finished writing with, the one he had his father auction for. He wrapped the quill in a gift box and had the owl send it to your house, as he dressed up in a fresh new black suit, along with flowers to apparate to your house. 

So there you were, warming yourself by the fireplace that was located in your living room. You were sipping your favorite hot chocolate drink, indulging in it until suddenly, a familiar owl stood by the slightly open windows in your living room. 

‘Is that Draco’s owl?,’ you wondered. Standing up, you were met with a gift box, a green one that was wrapped with white ribbons. Attached to the box was a letter that had a “M” stamped on it. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Of course. 

You could not wait so instead of reading the letter like what most people would do, you set the letter aside and started unwrapping the box with curiousness. You were taken by surprise when you finally saw what was in the box. The exact quill your boyfriend Draco had lost during the week before winter break started. Before tearing up, Draco’s owl somehow signaled you into opening the letter. 

‘-I hope you aren’t upset with me using your quill to write you this letter.

With all my love, 

D.M.’ 

Those were the last things written in the letter as you started shedding a tear. Looking at the quill, you were taken back at the mesmerizing glow of its color, as if it was the first time you laid eyes on it, exactly like the day you first saw its other model when you were 11 years old. 

Before you could cry even more, there was a voice from the back who spoke. 

“Don’t cry, my love. You know it pains me to see you cry.” 

Turning around, you saw Draco Malfoy, holding up a bouquet of your favorite flowers with a small smile on his face. “Hello, love,” he spoke again. 

Your body crashed strongly with his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing quietly. “I’m sorry,” you said. 

“For what? I should be the one saying that.” 

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you that day.”

“Hush, my dear. You had every right to. That was your favorite thing in the world. I’m sure you love that more than me,” he said playfully. 

“Of course not, Dray. But how did you get it? There’s only a few editions of those in the entire world? Don’t tell me it’s fake!,” you said, pulling away from him with an eyebrow raised at him.

“Nonsense, you know I only give you the best. In fact, that came internationally. I had my father hear about this and he auctioned for it. But I found out about it.,” he said confidently. 

“It must have taken a lot to purchase that.”

“Like I said dear, I only want to give you the best. “ 

“Aw.” 

“Now, why don’t we spend our day staring at this glorious crafted item the exact way you did with your old one?” he said with a smirk.

[wolfstar-supremacy-innit]

"Tell who?"- Part 2

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 2 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Part 1 Part 3

Enjoy! :)

“Moony! Get up, mate!” Like it was that easy. He couldn’t even get himself to pry his eyes open. It was James that woke him. “Come on, mate. We gotta show up at breakfast, so nobody gets suspicious.” Remus groaned and turned onto his back. A dreadful headache split his forehead.

“Ugh, fuck me.”

“Not right now, Moony. We gotta dash.” He could practically feel James’ stupid grin.

“Fine, fine. I’m getting up.” He blinked his eyes open, pushing onto his elbows, then slowly sat up. The throb in his temples was menacing. He got up gingerly. No nausea. Good. Picking out clean clothes from his neatly organised wardrobe, he headed for the bathroom. “Pete and I should probably go as soon as possible. Will you be alright to bring him down to the Great Hall,” he heard James question as he shut the door.

The shower did wonders to Remus’ hangover. It diminished his headache and helped clear his vision. It also felt nice to be in clean clothes, even though it was devastating having to take Sirius’ shirt off. But letting himself feel his emotions was no more, so he pushed down that thought. Remus walked back into the dorm, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Lifting his gaze, he noticed Sirius leaning against his bedpost with one ankle crossed over the other. His lips were pulled in a small smile. Their eyes connected.

“Tell who?”

Remus’ stare fell on the yellow paper in Sirius’ hand and the realisation hit him momentarily. His heart dropped all the way to the floor. Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no... His mouth was utterly dry. Fear and panic washed over him like a thousand giant ocean waves coming down at once. ‘I wanna tell him I love him,’ he had written. Holy fucking fuck, he thought, Sirius knows I like a boy. There was a deafening, high pitched ringing in his ears.

“M-my dad... I never tell him that.” He was grasping at straws.

“Remus, come on,” Sirius huffed out a short laugh as he pushed himself off the board. He was shooting Remus this terribly meaningful look, and Remus begged the ground to crack open and claim him.

“I...“ Then before much further thinking, Remus turned on his heel and darted out the room and down the stairs as Sirius called out his name.

Fucked. He was so fucked. Idiot. Imbecile. How could he have written that and then just left it lying around?! Idiot. He smacked his forehead as he rounded a corner, then scuttled down the hallway. He was headed for his favourite hiding spot- a cosy alcove in the wall behind a tapestry on the fourth floor. Settling on the stone ground, Remus went through his breathing exercises. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an anxiety attack, except it was usually something associated with his lycanthropy. Shit, thank Merlin I didn’t write his name. He exhaled a shaky breath. It could have been worse, at least. He’s never drinking again, he concluded. Well, Sirius knew Remus liked boys. A boy. That was that. He rested his head on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for a while, just breathing.

“Moony,” a voice called behind the tapestry. It was Sirius. Remus’ heart rate spiked again. “Stop freaking out, mate.”

“I can’t,” Remus replied.

“Can I come in?”

“Okay.”

Sirius pulled back the tapestry and gracefully climbed inside. He was clutching the map. He sat opposite Remus and drew his knees to his chest so they could both fit in the alcove. Remus was looking at the ground.

“Here, I brought you a sandwich. You skipped breakfast. Can’t imagine it helped your hangover.”

Remus took it without looking up. “Thanks.”

After a moment, Sirius started: “This is because it’s a him, right?”

“Well...” Remus cleared his throat. It’s also kinda because it’s you. “Yeah.”

“And what? You think I wouldn’t be okay with that?” Silence. “I don’t care about stuff like that, you idiot.” Sirius’ voice was incredibly soft and comforting. Remus finally looked at him. He shook his head and buried his face in his knees.

“Christ. Of course you don’t. It’s just... It’s a big deal for me. Nobody knows.”

“That’s alright, Moony, I get it. It’s all good with me." He paused. "So, are you... if you don’t mind me asking...” Remus drew his head back up. Sirius was asking if he was gay.

“I have no idea what I am, honestly. This has never happened before. Then again, it hasn’t happened with a girl, either.”

“Well, that’s fine. You have your whole life to figure it out.” Sirius flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah.” Remus’ lips curved as well.

After a few beats of silence, Sirius continued: “Moony in love... Blimey, this bloke must be something else, eh?” Yup.

“Well, I don’t know about love... I was pretty pissed last night when I wrote that.”

Sirius chuckled, throwing his head back. “Right. So... Does he fancy you back, d’you reckon?”

Remus couldn’t suppress the panicked short laugh that escaped his mouth. “No.” Sirius liking him back? What a joke.

“Well, how do you know? He doesn’t even know you fancy him, it seems.”

“Nope, and I hope it stays that way until the end of time.”

“Merlin, who is this lad anyway?”

“I’m not telling you!” Remus’ cheeks were flaming. There wasn’t a force in the world that could have made him look Sirius in the eye. This was a little too close for comfort.

“Hah, fine. One step at a time.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Their ankles were touching. Remus pushed down his feelings of affection with all the mental strength he could gather.

“Um, could you not tell Wormtail and Prongs, please? I’m just not ready for people to know.”

“Of course, mate. You know you can talk to me about it, though?” His expression was soft and understanding.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Brilliant. Okay then.” Sirius pushed himself up and dusted off his trousers. “Should we get out of here? This is definitely a secret snogging spot.” He offered a hand to Remus and pulled him to stand as well.

“Please don’t taint the aura of my favourite hideout, Padfoot.”

This is why Remus liked Sirius so much. Of course, he was strikingly good-looking and cool as hell, but Remus liked his personality more. Sirius was a troublemaker and joked around with everyone, but when it came to moments like this, he was an incredible and supportive friend. Never short on advice (even if it was questionable a lot of the time). He never hesitated to go above and beyond for the people he loved. These were also the reasons why Remus reckoned he’d had a crush on his best friend for much longer than 4 months. Sirius’ looks just made it crystal clear, but Remus had been falling for him for years. Maybe love wasn’t such a strong word after all...

On the way back to their dormitory, Sirius asked: “Is it that Ravenclaw guy you study with at the library? What’s his face? Oliver?”

An obvious choice, but wrong. “Shut up,” Remus said, looking straight ahead, but the corners of his mouth lifted.

“Okay.” Sirius put his hands up, smiling. “Not Oliver, then.”

Sirius kept prodding him like that every once in a while for the following two weeks. Sometimes he would point at a random bloke in the hall and ask if that was Remus’ mystery crush. It made Remus laugh. Generally, it didn’t bother him at all and even became rather amusing. It grew into a sort of an inside joke between them.

They were sitting side by side at dinner one evening after all the students had returned from the holidays. Sirius was in his curious, mischievous mood.

“Oh! The- the muggle kid we hung out with last Christmas? When we were at James’,” he tried.

“Hah, no,” Remus answered, “I saw him like twice.” Sirius huffed.

“Is it somebody from home, then? Somebody I don’t know?”

Remus could’ve lied. He could’ve lied so easily. Still, he decided against it, given how dreadful he was at keeping life-changing secrets. He shook his head, looking at his plate. Sirius leaned so close to him, their shoulders touched. He all but started bouncing in his seat.

“So it is someone from Hogwarts!” Remus didn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he shoved a particularly packed fork into his mouth. They were silent for a few moments, then: “Is it Snivellus?”

“Yuck, Sirius!” Remus shoved his shoulder as they both laughed.

“So, why don’t you just tell this bloke of yours, then?”

“Ha. Because he’s straight.”

“Oh, bummer. Sorry, Moony.”

Remus wanted to bang his head on the table. If only Sirius knew he was apologising for himself being straight. “It is how it is.”

Back in their dorm, a parcel was sitting on Sirius’ bed. “Padfoot, something arrived for you earlier. I paid the owl,” James explained.

“Oh, yes! They arrived! Cheers, mate.” Sirius leapt onto his bed and started tearing the paper. “What is it,” James asked, leaning closer to Sirius’ bed and peering at the package. Remus and Peter were doing the same. “My rings,” he exclaimed, sliding a silver loop onto his finger. He placed one on his ring finger, one on his thumb and two on his index finger, then stretched out his arm to examine his hand. They were all different shapes.

“Wicked,” James blurted out.

“Yeah, wicked,” Peter repeated. Remus could just sit and gawk like his mouth was sewn shut. What the fuck, Remus thought. He’s trying to kill me. It was hot. It was hot. Like his hands could get any sexier.

“Don’t worry, Moony, it’s not real silver,” Sirius said with the biggest grin on his face. Remus could just nod, swallowing thickly. Yeah, that was a good excuse for why he was baffled.

Sirius wore his rings everywhere. To class, to every meal, sneaking around the castle at night to arrange their next prank. And Remus loved it. After the initial bewilderment subsided, he adored looking at them. However, it didn’t help reduce his massive fucking crush on Sirius. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Girls would come up to Sirius at lunch to tell him ‘his rings look amazing’, and Remus would almost start growling. It was a bit of a problem. He needed to repeatedly tell his brain to shut up in these moments.

***

Sirius was running out of ideas for who Remus' infamous crush could be. Remus was a bit concerned he would actually figure it out. However, Sirius just started bringing it up less and less. It seemed like the entire thing was blowing over and Remus was getting away with it.

They were sitting on James’ bed, leaned over the map. There was nobody else in the dorm. Their bodies were close together, Remus’ right shoulder behind Sirius’ left.

“Good old Prongsy,” Sirius said. James’ dot on the map was in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Lilly’s dot was right next to it. “He’s probably making an idiot of himself again. Poor lad’s gonna get himself hexed.” Remus laughed.

“I admire him,” Remus said, “I would have died from embarrassment by now.”

“Oh, have you seen it?!” Sirius suddenly turned to look at him, their noses almost brushed. Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

“Seen what?”

“The abomination James made for Evans for Valentine’s day!”

“For Valentine’s? But it’s January,” Remus said as Sirius opened the drawer of James’ bedside table and reached inside. He pulled out a wooden cube that fit in the palm of his hand.

“It opens on my voice for now. Later he’ll change it to activate when Evans says ‘James’.” In that moment the top of the box popped open and the sides fell to reveal a petit yellow bird figurine. Just as Remus thought: Oh, this is cute, a blearing sound spread through the room. “Evans,” the bird boomed in James’ voice, “go on a date with me this Hogsmeade weekend!” Remus grimaced at the volume of the noise.

“My idea to make it loud,” Sirius said with a proud grin.

“Oh, why did you help him with it?!” Remus started laughing.

“He’s gonna transfigure it into a real bird and make it sit oh her shoulder giving her compliments the whole day. I haven’t decided whether I’m gonna let him go through with it. Reckon it might be worth it to see the look on Evans’ face.”

“This is bad.” Remus couldn’t stop sniggering. “This is so bad.”

“The lad has no shame. Maybe you could make one for your mystery man. I bet it would change his views,” Sirius joked. He was being incredibly charming. Remus couldn’t help it. When you’re not supposed to look at something, it’s all your eyes want to do. He dropped his gaze to Sirius’ flawless lips. It wasn’t discreet at all. Remus realised he was leaning towards him, smiling stupidly. Sirius’ eyes flickered between Remus’ as realisation flashed across his expression. He drew back a little. “Oh,” was all he said. Remus’ smile dropped suddenly as he pulled back as well.

“Me?”

Remus’ heart was thumping in his ears. It kind of felt like his soul was leaving his body. No, actually, he was sure his soul was leaving his body. Suddenly, he scrambled off the bed frantically, saying: “Fuck, sorry,” then crossed the room in three large, quick steps and bolted out the door. “Moony,” he heard the dim and distant shout. Deja vu. Only this time he’d had enough sense to grab the map.

Part 1 Part 3

[penny-anna]

A Strange Mirror

“I suppose it wouldn’t do to be leaving little witchers around the place, would it.”

“Witchers are sterile.”

“Hm?” Jaskier glanced up from his notes, doing a startled double-take. “What, all of you?”

Jaskier learns something new about witchers.

(on AO3)

The air in the room was thick with the smell of rain from their damp clothes drying by the fire. Their hosts’ voices carried from downstairs, muffled by the walls and the sound of the beating rain. Jaskier sat upon the bed, already changed into dry shirt and breeches and humming to himself as he scratched away in his notebook.

The farmer and his wife had given them a bed for the night and invited them to supper. Geralt didn’t used to get invited to supper. The last few months it had been happening more and more.

“Don’t suppose you could kill something more interesting next time.” Pausing in his scratching, Jaskier glanced up at him and added, “no offence.”

“Interesting?” said Geralt.

“You know,” said Jaskier. “Something a bit sexier than drowners, so I can make a song out of it.” He went back to his notes.

Geralt paused in the act of unlacing his damp shirt. “What kind of monsters do you think are sexy?”

Jaskier drew a line under a significant word in his notes. “Wyverns are pretty sexy.”

“They are?”

“Basilisks,” said Jaskier, gesturing with his quill. “Very sexy.”

Geralt looked at the darkened window. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Just offering some constructive criticism.” Jaskier took in Geralt’s face and said, “alright. Point taken.” He went back to scribbling, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. “The daughter was making eyes at you.”

“I noticed.”

“She’s pretty.”

Geralt grunted. He’d noticed that too, but he wasn’t about to encourage him.

“Not your type?”

The window rattled in the window. Geralt threw his shirt over the rack by the fire and turning away began to unlace his breeches. Behind him Jaskier’s pen scratched away.

“You must get a lot of that,” he said. “With your whole – thing.”

“A lot of what?” He stepped into his dry breeches.

“You know.” Jaskier drew a meaningful circle in the air with his quill. “Beautiful women making eyes at you. Throwing themselves at you. Terribly grateful to you for –”

“I don’t,” said Geralt, “do that.”

“Right.” Jaskier cleared his throat. He went on writing.

Geralt shrugged on a dry shirt, and laced it. “I’m careful about who I bed,” he said. “Have to be.”

“I see,” said Jaskier. “I suppose it wouldn’t do to be leaving little witchers around the place, would it.”

For a foolish moment Geralt couldn’t grasp what he meant. Then it struck him, and he didn’t know what to say to it. People’s knowledge of his kind was – patchy, and unreliable. It was hard to predict what a person might know, or not know. He had assumed Jaskier knew this. Jaskier did not know this.

He said, “witchers are sterile.”

“Hm?” Jaskier glanced up from his notes, doing a startled double-take. “What, all of you?”

“It’s by design.” He reached for his boots.

“Oh,” said Jaskier. “Oh – I see.” He fidgeted with his quill. His posture, which had been so idle, one leg crossed over the other, one foot drawing lazy circles in the air, was suddenly tense. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

Lacing his boots, Geralt didn’t reply.

“I’ll not bring it up again.”

In truth, he didn’t care if Jaskier brought it up again, or didn’t. There were few subjects in the world that had the power to hurt him and this wasn’t one of them.

He said, “hm.”

*

The kitchen was too full of people, too warm and too humid. The family was large enough without two extra bodies crammed in. They were too poor to pay him for clearing their well, so they did their best to make up the debt by filling his belly.

He wasn’t about to complain. He was grateful for Jaskier’s presence, for his keeping the conversation going while he ate. The farmer’s wife and her oldest daughter doted on Jaskier, the whole family hanging off every word of his stories. It was easy for them all to forget who the guest of honour actually was.

When the meal was over and the plates had been cleared, the youngest of the children scrambled into Geralt’s lap, babbling at him cheerfully, eager to tell him all about the farm, to tug on the ends of his hair. The farmer and his wife shot each other nervous looks. They said nothing.

He excused himself early.

Though it was barely nightfall Jaskier came up to bed not long after him, stumbling a little on the stairs and cursing to himself, fumbling with the latch.

“Oh,” he said as he stepped over the threshold, stretching out his arms in an exaggerated yawn. “Oh, it’s been a long day.”

“Hm,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier was a little tipsy from dinner. His cheeks were pink and he smelled faintly of wood smoke. Stripped down to his shirt, he climbed into bed. He lay alongside Geralt, propped up on one elbow, regarding him intently and clearly not meaning to sleep any time soon.

“Go on, then,” said Geralt to the ceiling.

“Hm?” Jaskier’s eyes were big and innocent.

“You’ve been chomping at the bit all evening.”

“I haven’t.”

“I’d rather you ask than lie there all night making faces at me.”

“I’m not making faces,” said Jaskier, though he was. “And I don’t want to pry.”

“Just,” said Geralt, “ask.”

Jaskier shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “When you say it’s by design,” he said. “What do they do, exactly?” Before Geralt could answer he went on, “I mean, do they – do something to you?”

“Depends what you mean.” He’d lost track of what Jaskier was driving at. Do they do something to you. Of course they did something.

“Well, do they –” Jaskier broke off with a sigh. “Is it a.” He motioned in a way that meant nothing at all. At Geralt’s blank look, his eyes flicked anxiously to his crotch, and it hit him what he was trying to ask. “Do you – have everything you’re –”

“I’ve got all my parts.”

“Oh thank the gods,” Jaskier said in a rush. Geralt snorted. “Don’t you laugh! It’s been worrying me all evening.” He smacked Geralt’s chest by way of chastising him. His hand lingered there, resting on his sternum.

“And it all,” he said after a moment, “works as normal?”

Geralt grunted.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” Jaskier patted his chest. “That’s splendid.”

“I don’t see why you care,” said Geralt.

“Why wouldn’t I care?”

“They’re not your parts.”

“I suppose I just don’t like the idea of a man having his parts tampered with,” said Jaskier. “Is that so wrong?”

“No. I suppose not.” Jaskier was still looking at him, his gaze no less intent for having got an answer to his burning question. He wasn’t used to people looking at him the way Jaskier looked at him. Sometimes the way Jaskier looked at him made him feel stripped bare.

He didn’t hate it.

“So, um,” said Jaskier. “What is it they do, exactly?”

“It’s a by-product of the mutagens.”

“I see,” Jaskier said. “But an – intentional one?”

Geralt grunted an affirmation.

“Now, if you want to stop talking about this, do say so.” Jaskier sat up a little more. “But – I don’t see why.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not – not really. No.”

“Witchers are mutants,” said Geralt. “Any children we had would be mutated. It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Well, when you put it like that it does sound reasonable.” Jaskier sighed to himself. “But it doesn’t seem fair.”

“How so?”

“People ought to have a choice in these matters,” said Jaskier. “Oughtn’t they?”

“No-one chooses to be a witcher.”

“No,” said Jaskier. “I suppose not.” He clucked his tongue. “Just seems like a pity.”

“Hm?”

“I just can’t help thinking you’d be a good father.”

Geralt turned to look at him, incredulous. “What?” Jaskier shrugged, as if to say, isn’t it obvious? “No. I wouldn’t.”

“I think you would,” said Jaskier.

He wondered, not for the first time, what it was Jaskier saw when he looked at him. He didn’t think Jaskier saw the hero he put in his songs – he was sure Jaskier knew that much of what he wrote was bullshit. But he didn’t think Jaskier saw the truth either. He saw something between fantasy and reality. Jaskier’s eyes were a strange mirror to look into.

“You can’t have a child on the path.”

“Well – leaving the witcher thing aside for a moment –”

“You can’t leave it aside,” Geralt snapped, in spite of himself starting to grow heated.

“Say you could,” said Jaskier, unfazed.

“No-one would want a witcher for a father.”

“Why not?”

You know why, he wanted to say. But Jaskier was pretending not to know. “Witchers are monsters.”

“Oh – yes,” said Jaskier, drawing his brows into a stern mock frown. “You are a truly terrifying monster.”

“Jaskier –”

“I quake in my boots at the sight of your hideous countenance, for you are such a fearful beast and I am so very afraid –”

“Maybe you should be.”

Jaskier cocked his head. “Why?”

So very many reasons, he thought. “I could tear you apart if I wanted.”

“Ah, but you haven’t.” Jaskier patted his chest warmly, as if he’d made a conclusive argument. “You’re in a mood,” he pronounced.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” said Jaskier. “A gloomy one.”

“I’m always gloomy.”

“Untrue,” said Jaskier. “You’re often gloomy but sometimes grim and I’ve known you to be grumpy.”

Geralt grunted at the ceiling.

“Anyway,” said Jaskier, “children aren’t afraid of you. That little one tonight loved you.”

Geralt thought of the way the farmer and his wife had looked at each other when the child had crawled into his lap. “Children aren’t old enough to know better.”

“Or, alternatively, one might say that they’re too young to have been taught to be afraid,” said Jaskier.

“It makes no difference.”

“It makes all the difference.” Jaskier’s hand shifted, sliding up his chest to his shoulder. He took a lock of Geralt’s hair and began idly to twist it around his fingers. “Anyway. I feel safe with you.”

“Do you?”

“Completely safe,” said Jaskier. “What else could you want out of a father?”

“A lot of things.” Geralt looked at Jaskier, bewildered. “Are you trying to say you think of me as a father?”

“What?” said Jaskier. “No. What – no.” Dropping Geralt’s hair as if it was hot he sat up. “Absolutely not. No. Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” It seemed a reasonable enough question to him. He’d never got the impression Jaskier thought of him that way – didn’t like the idea of Jaskier thinking of him that way – but he couldn’t imagine what else he might be driving at.

“It – upsets me,” said Jaskier. “It just does. And this conversation has got wildly off track.”

“Was it ever on track?”

“Briefly.” Jaskier lay back down. “Anyway, please don’t ever suggest that you’re like a father to me again.”

“I wasn’t,” said Geralt. “I thought you were suggesting it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Geralt. “I was confused too. What were you trying to say, if not that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jaskier vaguely. “Look. All I’m trying to say is how sorry I am that that was done to you. It’s not fair.”

The thing of it was, Jaskier wasn’t the first person he’d had to explain this fact of his biology to. He’d had to explain it now and then, mainly in whorehouses, and the reaction, even when not explaining it to women anxious that they might end up carrying a mutant child, had been one of relief or understanding. He’d never had someone express their condolences at the loss before.

He said, “hm.”

Sighing, Jaskier shuffled in closer to him. He draped an arm over his chest. “I wish things were different.”

“If things were different you’d never have met me.”

“True.” Jaskier yawned, a genuine yawn this time. Long minutes passed, and were it not for his breathing Geralt might have thought he had fallen asleep. In the grate the fire was burning down low.

At length, Jaskier said, “what they did to you. Did it hurt?”

Geralt breathed out. “No,” he lied.

[mrsren]

Tom/Hermione Blackmail AU 1

Sharing the first part of this here because I don’t have self-control, but I’m holding back from posting on AO3 until I’m ready to write it steadily. Onto the info/warnings. 

I don’t have a summary, sorry to tell you. But I’ve got tags, which will probably give you a pretty good idea of what this story is about. 

Tags: blackmail, co-workers, D/s elements, dub-con leaning more toward non-con depending how you feel about blackmail, degradation, humiliation. Most of these come out later on, but there’s a blanket warning. 

Now onto the dirty stuff. Admittedly, there is no real smut in the first part, but there is so much sexual tension. It’s about 3k so it’s under the line. It hasn’t been edited, so sorry for the typos. 

I would super love to hear what you think, whether that’s on the post, in my messages, or ask box! 

At approximately ten past one o’clock, the door to her office swung open. Hermione didn’t raise her head when the handle twisted, when the door knocked against the wall a fraction too loud. Instead, she gestured to the corner of her desk, the only free space and not by much. 

“Please leave it in the basket.”

“Do you always speak to the couriers so rudely?” The shadow fell over her desk, and Hermione grimaced before looking up. Tom Riddle peered down at her in the annoyingly irritating way only he had. As though he was sizing her up while simultaneously believing there was nothing to observe. “No need to answer. I’ve sat across from you in enough board meetings to know.”

Placing her quill back into the stand beside a newly opened jar of ink, Hermione folded her arms and gave no reaction. “Ha. How can I help you? Have you gotten lost? Your office is another two floors down, although your desire to be in the DMLE must have brought you here anyway. I hear Harry will be looking for a new secretary soon. Perhaps you’d be a good fit?”

Riddle narrowed his eyes, and his fingers clenched the parcels so roughly that they crinkled in his grip. “The funniest thing happened this morning. Somehow, your mail was delivered to me by mistake. A new courier,” he lamented. “I’m sure you can understand how easy it is to get turned around.” He was enjoying himself entirely too much.

And the slow grin stretching his lips couldn’t mean anything good. Immediately, Hermione’s stomach dropped and her palms grew sweaty. She leaned back in her chair, and rubbed them against her jeans beneath the desk. As she did, she felt his eyes follow the movement.

His lip curled at the sight of her muggle clothes. Riddle had always hated the casual attire that came with Saturdays, when dress code was lax.

“And you’ve come to return it to me, how kind of you.” She reached for them, but he lifted them higher until they would be out of her grasp even if she stood. “Hand over my mail, Riddle. I have work to finish and I’d like to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“I thought you lived at work.” There was an edge to his voice then. “Haven’t you fallen asleep in your office several times now? All Hermione Granger does is eat, sleep, and breathe her work.”

If she ever got her hands on her mail, she was going to smack him with the largest parcel. “Have you been watching me? Perhaps you’re a bit jealous that you were passed over for the position.” That did it.

His eyes sparked, and he slammed a hand down at the edge of her desk. Papers scattered, but she snorted at the vicious glint that had taken over his eyes. “You are undoubtedly the rudest witch to work in the Ministry. What are you rushing to get out of here for, Granger?”

Tom Riddle has called her by her surname since they were first years, and the timeless rivalry between their houses had snapped into place, never wavering. When they were fellow Heads, he had called her by her first name one time, and one time only. There had been liquor involved, and him holding her up while helping her back to the shared common room while hissing that this didn’t make them friends.

She hadn’t needed the reminder. Thing was, this memory was years in the past now and there was no sense in it now. The look on his face reminded her of it though. Crystal clear, as though it had happened last week.

“I’m meeting Harry and Ron.” Hermione waited for him to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. The grin he gave was all the more terrifying. So much that she felt it in her bones, the sense of dread that put her upside down. “We have plans for dinner, and I’d like to get this done. So, if you could just…”

He waved his hand and the door to her office swung shut. The lock turned into place, and the sound of it rattled through the room. “I’m afraid your they’ll have to wait a little longer.” Finally, he hands over a few of the parcels, save for one. His knuckles have turned white from his grip on it. And then Hermione saw that the top of it had been ripped open.

“Did you open my mail?” She shot out of her seat, now regretting that she’d kicked her shoes off the second she got in. Now if she rounded the desk to yell at him from an even closer distance—and it was tempting—he’d only laugh at her. “Riddle, that’s—”

“There was no name on it.” Riddle said slowly, and there was no missing that slow chuckle under his breath. “I had no idea who it was meant for, so of course I opened it. How else would I figure it out?”

“Fine,” slipped through gritted teeth. “Just hand it over and get out.”

Riddle shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, I don’t think this” –he waves the heavy envelope— “was meant for you. It certainly concerns you, but it seems to me that someone is trying to ruin you.”

Her brows shot up, nearly taking a new home in her hairline. “Spare me the bloody dramatics, and give me my mail.”

He didn’t hand it over, but he pulled the contents from inside and let them fly across her desk.

A knot formed in her stomach, tying itself over and over again. They were all photos of herself in various states of undress—some of them showed her completely nude—and she recognized the hands on her in some as her Viktor’s. He must have kept them after they had broken up. “What the fuck—” Hermione began, but she struggled to take a proper breath. “You’ll hand these over immediately, Riddle.”

He clicked his tongue. “I think I’ll pass, actually.”

“Would you rather be arrested?” Hermione all but snarled it. She’d set them on fire, if it weren’t for the parchment under them. They’d catch fire just as well, but perhaps it would be worth it. A final resort, if Riddle didn’t come to his senses.

Gone was his former irritation, and all there was now was his amusement. He didn’t bother to hide it at all. “Unless you’d like for me to tell them how you blackmailed Cassius Parkinson into voting for your bill last summer…”

Her throat could have closed up with how she couldn’t breathe. I have no idea what you’re talking about. That was what she should have said, but it was nowhere near what fucking came out of her mouth. “How do you know about that?”

The photos were still staring up at her, and he was staring at them too much for her liking. She couldn’t recognize him anymore when he did, or that way his eyes darkened when they lingered. “I have quite a few acquaintances, Granger. His daughter was in our year, you must remember, and when Cassius is pissed, he likes to rant.”

“And I was his most recent topic.”

He shrugged. “A few weeks ago, you were. Now that I have not one, but two things I’m able to hold over that pretty little head of yours, I think you’ll be much more agreeable.”

Voices grew louder as footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and Riddle came around her desk. Hermione took an involuntary step back, and hated the way he smiled when she did. “Why would you want that?”

He’d foregone his dress robes today, but she wished he hadn’t. The way his trousers fit him were even more distracting, and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. Riddle leaned forward, placing a hand on her desk—on the photo, over her bare breasts—and smiled like he knew exactly where his palm had landed. “You’re a quick study, Granger. I think you’ll figure it out.”

She thought she already had with he way he was staring at her. “Please, just let me take the photos. I’ll give you money, or—”

“I don’t want your money.”

Hermione swallowed. “Then what do you want?”

“Right now,” He shifted his stance, and lifted his hand so he could drag his fingertip across the photo. “I want you to tell me why you took these photos and what’s happening in them. You can manage that surely, hmm?”

Her heartbeat was uneven in her chest, to the point that it hurt, and she couldn’t think of a way out of this. “Have you made copies?” The pleading in her voice was very much real, but she knew the answer before he said it.

“Of course.” He lifted his other hand, and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Now, you know what you’re meant to do, don’t you?”

Hermione would like to snap at him, to yell for the Aurors—which there was no shortage of on this floor. But the truth of what she’s done would be enough to earn her termination, and her achievement of earning deputy department head sooner than anyone else would cease to matter. Not only that, but the legislation it had helped her pass would be called into question.

And he knew it.

“It was for my ex boyfriend’s birthday.” Hermione whispered. “I posed for him on our bed while he photographed me, and charmed the camera when we—”

His finger slid against the base of her throat, warm and coaxing. “Then this was your idea?”

She nodded, and did not lean into him.

She. Did. Not.

“Tell me about this one. And do a good job of it.” The threat was unmistakably clear, and she wished that it didn’t effect her in the way it did.

Fear swirled in the pit of her stomach, sick and vicious, but that wasn’t all. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, not willing to look at the feeling any closer. “I’m going to get you back for this.” Her voice was ragged, too breathy, and not enough anger.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m sure you will. I’m rather looking forward to it, but I’ve asked you a question. You don’t want to keep me waiting, do you?”

In the photograph he’d pointed out, it was nearly only of her save for the hand on her neck, and the fingers wrapped around her throat. She looked past Viktor’s arm, swallowing, and looked at herself for a moment. “We’re having sex.”

Riddle shook his head.

“He’s fucking me.” Hermione said unevenly. “It was the second time that night.”

“He’s choking you.” Riddle’s voice was low, but not soft, and he curled a finger under her chin to lift her head. When she tried to turn away, his grip tightened and he forced her to look at him. “Was that for him, or for you?”

“For me.” Hermione swallowed tightly, and he watched her. “He never liked it.”

He let go of her jaw, and his fingers drifted lower. Riddle’s knuckles brushed against the front of her throat, and she thought he might try to recreate that photo. “I’m not going to choke you.” His voice softened when she flinched. “Why didn’t he like it?”

Why did he want to know? What difference could it make? From the way this had started and continued on, there was clearly one thing he was after. “If your plan is to blackmail me for sex, you should just get it over with.”

“I can assure you that I have no intentions of simply getting it over with, Granger.”

Of course he would want to drag this out—to savor it for as long as he could. Surely there was something she could find on him so she could turn the tables. It would mean that they would be in a hopefully constant stalemate, but there was no doubt that Tom Riddle was the sort of man that would keep going until he regained the upper hand.

Where would that leave her?

The only option for now was to play along, and to pretend there wasn’t a thrill that came with it.

“Viktor thought it felt like abusing me. He rarely ever choked me.”

“That’s a shame. And what of this one?” He pointed to another photo, but by the time she dragged her eyes back to him, she found that he’d hardly looked away from her.

She was on her back, and it’s a terribly explicit photograph. Hermione’s skin was flush, soft. Her breasts are exposed, and she can see herself in the moment reaching a hand between her thighs.

Her legs were spread, and her head was over the edge of the bed.

“I’m sucking his cock.” Her hands curled into fists.

“It’s impressive.” There were his fingers again, dropping to her shoulder where he nudged her jumper to the side. “You’ve taken him all the way down your throat.”

Under his thumb was a terrifying place to be. “He told me to play with my cunt. Viktor wanted to see me come while I sucked him off.”

He toyed with the hair at the nape of her neck. “Did you come all over your fingers?”

Hermione bit her lip, hard. “I—yes.”

“You’re holding back.” Riddle murmured, and the room grew smaller. There were footsteps on the other side of the door, and anyone could hear them if she weren’t comfortable. If anyone were to unlock the door and come in, the photos— A small sound escaped her when he shifted their stance. He pinned her against her own desk, and he grabbed her by the jaw again. “Tell me.”

“I squirted.”

His breath came out hard, uneven, and she swallowed. For a moment, she hadn’t thought that she should be afraid and yet, she couldn’t drum up an ounce of fear. “Sweet fucking Circe.” Riddle was pressed against her, and she felt him against her lower stomach. “Would you like to know which of these is my favorite?”

No. Absolutely fucking not. You’re a disgusting pervert.

Any of them would have been acceptable. By playing along with this part of his game, she was only being complacent. A dangerous thing to be when he would notice it. Thing was, she desperately wanted to know. Her stomach had turned over on itself, and she knew that she was wet. Hermione did not rub her thighs together, no matter how badly she needed the friction. He would have felt it.

It made her wonder what he would have done if she had.

“Yes.”

The grin he gave her was one she’d never seen. He leaned into her, his chest pressing against hers, and picked up a photo from her desk. “It’s this one,” As he said it, Riddle pushed it into her hands.

Out of all of them, she wasn’t sure this was the one she would have guessed to be his favorite. Perhaps the one where she’s spread out across the bed, her head on the pillows with her legs spread. “This one?” Hermione echoed. “Why?”

She was on her knees, still completely bare, and she’d pressed her chest forward. Hermione’s head was tilted up, her lips slightly parted. It’s not a tame photo—nothing she would ever want anyone else to see—but it’s nowhere near as revealing as the others.

“I want you on your knees for me.” Riddle groaned under his breath. “I want you staring up at me just like this.” He cupped her face, and ran his thumb across her lower lip, then slid it forward.

Hermione took his thumb in her mouth, and swirled her tongue around it, hating how she’d done it.

“You’re going to be a perfect little slut for me, aren’t you?”

She whimpered.

“Oh, do you like that as well? Is that another thing he wouldn’t give you?”

It was, and Hermione nodded.

“What a fucking fool.” When he pulled his finger from her mouth, his fingers came to rest against her throat. He didn’t tighten them as he watched her. “I want to see you on your knees for me, wearing a collar while you take my cock down your throat.”

Hermione caved. She rubbed her thighs together, and gripped the edge of the desk until her knuckles turned white. “Riddle—”

“You’ll call me Tom from now on.” He cut her off.

“And if I don’t?” It sounded more like her.

He flexed his fingers. “I’m dying for you to act like a brat so I can punish you, Hermione.” Her name sounded too good on his tongue. “You’re going to be late.”  

Hermione’s head spun. She’d blow off her plans with Harry and Ron. The first thing she needed to do was to get home because she was positively fucking aching.

Riddle gathered the photos, sliding them back into the parcel and left it in the middle of her desk. “I’ll see you soon, Granger.” 

[lilymanaged]

got the right stuff (to fix you up)

as promised, a little bit of smut for your sunday evening. I also just reached 2000 followers (wow!) so thank you all! to the anon who messaged me the other day, this is for you! I hope it is to your liking! 

also yes this was supposed to be my jilytober contribution and yes it is largely unedited because I hate reading my own work, thanks for your patience! 

ao3  

“Potter!” she shouted, accent veering toward her mother’s Irish in her frustration. Slamming the door to the prefects’ office behind her, Lily whirled around to face the room, seething.

James was seated at the head of the table, sweater off and tie loosened around his neck, bent over a piece of parchment, quill scratching on a spot about halfway down the page, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. Lily scoffed, crossing her arms, shifting from side to side trying to get his attention, but James just kept writing, seemingly ignoring Lily’s raised voice.

But he wasn’t, and she knew it. Oh, she knew it.

The right side of his mouth twitched after a minute, tilting up to the semblance of a smirk, and the hand that had been holding his quill was now flat on the table in front of him, fingers lightly drumming against the flat surface.

“Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I think that’s enough for tonight.” Lily just stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “What can I do for you, Evans?”

She let out a frustrated sound, releasing her arms to throw them in the air. “James Potter, I swear to Christ!”

James looked up at her, smiling widely. “Yes, darling?”

“I cannot believe you!”

“What did I do?”

“You know what you did!”

“If I told you it wasn’t me, would you believe me?”

“No,” she said, voice tight. His smile widened, and she felt her anger dissipating. Stupid, handsome dickhead.

“Then I won’t say that,” he responded cheekily. “I will say that you look lovely with your color up, though. Forgot how pretty you are when you’re mad.”

“It’s very important to me that you know I dislike you very much right now.” Her retort had half the heat in it that she originally intended, and she kicked herself for giving in so fast. “Please know that.”

“Message received, Lily.” His smile was now a full-blown grin. He stood, walking over to her slowly, hands buried in his pockets. Stubbornly, Lily held her ground, recrossing her arms and digging her nails into her biceps in an effort to keep a hard glare on her face. Then, she remembered.

“And Snape!” she shouted. “That foul, evil, horrible man!”

“Can’t fight you on that,” he said, now standing right in front of her. James reached out to her cautiously, and she pushed him away, instead passing him in order to pace down the room. James sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the door to watch her.

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone!”

“You know I can’t.”

“I swear, the two of you are going to be the death of me. Next time this goes on, I am locking you both in a broom closet until you figure this out.”

“I refuse to snog Snape, even if it would make you feel better, pet.”

Lily stopped her pacing to turn and glare at him over her shoulder. “James, this is not the time for jokes! I am mad at you!”

“Oh, I am well aware, love.”

“Then why must you be so flippant about this? You could have seriously hurt each other! Why must you be so reckless and arrogant all the time?”

“Lily, stop.” His voice was stony all of a sudden, commanding, stopping her in her tracks. She turned quickly to look at him. James had pushed himself off the wall to stand straight. His arms dropped to hang loosely at his sides, but his shoulders were tense, pulling the white school shirt taut across the expanse of his chest. “For the love of all that is dear, stop pacing, and listen. Are you angry at me, or were you scared something bad was going to happen?”

Lily stood frozen by the far end of the table, stopped on a dime. She nodded noncommittally, words suddenly stuck in her throat, which seemed impossibly dry for some reason. She swallowed, a useless effort to make the words unstick. It was futile, it seemed; even her breath was catching as she unsubtly watched James’s chest as he breathed, rolled his shoulders back, shifted his weight forward. Her eyes snapped to his face, a seemingly impenetrable mask, as he dragged his eyes over her disheveled uniform and flushed face.

As soon as she had heard what had happened, she had rushed to get dressed, throwing her clothes on quickly and haphazardly. Her shirt was only half tucked into her skirt, and she hadn’t bothered with tights, instead pulling on the first knee socks she could find before stuffing her feet into her shoes. She had forgotten her sweater and her tie, and she suddenly felt naked under his gaze without the extra fabric.

Meeting her eyes, James took a purposeful step forward. Lily responded by taking one back, suddenly very aware of the small room, the limited space. The intensity that had filtered into his hazel eyes, bright and magnetic. He took another step and then another, and Lily held her breath, backing away as his smile stretched across his face, predatory, hungry.

In a blink, he had her crowded against the wall, standing a breath away. Lily shivered, but she didn't know if it was from the cold stone pressed against her back through her thin shirt, or the filthy way James’s mouth had tilted up as he took in the flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.

“Anger or fear?” he said quietly, leaning in so that his mouth brushed against hers.

“Anger,” she said, and she closed her eyes as she heard the way her voice shook unconvincingly.

“Are you sure?” The smirk was evident in his words. Oh, she wanted to smack that smirk off his face. She hated that he knew her so well, had caught her so easily.

She hated that she liked being here, pressed against the wall by James Potter, breathing the same breath as him, anticipating his touch on her skin.

“No.”

His smile widened again, and he finally took her mouth with his, kissing her slow and deep, passionate and demanding she follow him. His hands landed on her waist, pulling her hips off the wall and toward his body, wrapping her up in his warmth and scent. Her shoulders were still pressed to the stone wall behind her, emphasizing the blaze of heat racing through her, his hands trailing up from her waist to her back and shoulders and then into her hair, and then, finally, resting on her cheeks, tugging lightly to angle her head higher until she was completely in his grasp.

A moan escaped from her throat, and Lily felt James smile against her lips. “Still mad?” he asked, pulling away only enough to ask. His mouth was brushing against hers lightly, and he leaned in to nip at her bottom lip when she didn’t respond.

Her world narrowed to just the two of them, a cocoon of warmth not coming from the fireplace blazing somewhere beside them, giving in to the unique comfort he was providing her, and allowing the kiss to melt her anger, her fear, her frustration and anxiety and the aching, terrible feeling that everything they had, everything she loved would just disappear on her.

The war raged on outside the walls of Hogwarts, but inside, in this castle, in this firelit room with James, she was safe.

She pulled back to look him in the eyes. He was gazing down at her, searching her in question at her sudden silence. “James,” she said, finding her voice, pleading, “please kiss me again.” Though it was a polite request, it came out like a question. Her hands shook as she slowly peeled them off the wall to run up his torso and settle on his chest, fingertips lightly pressed to his collarbones hidden under the school-issued shirt. “Please, James.”

James let out a long breath, chuckling as he pulled her face closer to his. “Yeah, Lily, of course, my sweet girl, come here.”

This kiss was shorter than the previous, sweet like honey as he held her close, hands softening as his thumbs caressed her cheeks reverently. James dropped small kisses to her lips, murmuring sweet nothings between each, holding her close and easing the tightness in her chest. Lily leaned into him, gliding her hands over his chest to sit on his shoulders and hold him closer to her, relaxing her posture until the tension bled from her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, molding every inch of her body to his.

James smiled against her lips, kissing her long and sweet and slow. “Better, love?”

Lily nodded.

James kissed her once more, capturing her top lip before trailing kisses over her cheekbones and around to her ears and neck, featherlight brushes. His hands fell from her face, running down her neck and arms to rest at her waist again, intense but light, ghosting over her. Lily shivered against him again, pressing herself into his space, silently urging him to hold her tighter, kiss her harder. James laughed lightly, nipping her earlobe. “Something you need?”

She whined, high and needy at his teasing tone. “Come on, James.”

“Come on, Lily,” he mimicked, kissing the spot behind her ear. “Use your words.”

Instead, she sighed against him, tilting her neck to give James a better angle.

“Nuh-uh, Lily, you can do better than that. Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, sending tingles down her spine and yanking a moan from the back of her throat. He continued, kissing and licking until he reached the base of her neck. He sucked lightly at the pale skin there, easing her body back against the wall. His hands boxed her in, giving her no escape.

“More,” she said, breathless. He grinned against her shoulder, wicked and vicious, biting down as she pressed her breasts against his chest. He ground his hips into hers in response, bringing one hand down to cup her thigh and hitch her left leg around his. Her head fell back against the wall as she gasped, feeling his hardness pressed against her like that. James nipped at her neck again, bruise already forming on the sensitive skin.

“More of that?” he asked, pulling away to blow lightly at the abused skin.

“Yes,” she gasped, arching her back, impossibly close. “Please.”

“As you wish,” James said, smiling against her neck. He dropped the hand keeping her pressed against the wall to her hip, using the hand on her thigh to hoist her up. Lily shrieked a little, frantically clutching at James with her hands and squeezing his waist with her thighs as he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, and his hands came around to support her by the bum. James brought his mouth back to her, kissing her hungrily, and ground into her, new angle sending shivers down her spine. She could feel all of him against her, and the few layers of fabric that separated them suddenly seemed too many. Lily lifted her own hips slightly, chasing the heat and friction. James groaned into her mouth, hands gripping her bum in a teasing squeeze, pulling her closer.

“Cheeky,” she murmured against his mouth.

He chuckled breathlessly. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

James shoved them away from the wall, holding Lily tightly to him as he walked them away from the cold stone and toward the long wooden table. Carefully, he deposited her at the head of the table, right in front of the seat he had been sitting in before she came in. It seemed like it had been hours ago that she was so angry at him, so compelled by her feelings to search him out and berate him for his carelessness and lack of forethought. In actuality, it had probably only been twenty minutes since she had found him sitting in their office space, calmly working.

Lily’s mind reeled as she unhooked her legs from around James’s waist, allowing herself to be dragged to the very edge of the finished wooden surface, shirt untucked and legs spread. James’s hands skimmed up the top of her thighs, under the hem of her skirt, pushing it up until it was solidly around her waist. Carefully, he pressed her thighs further apart, stepping into the space there and leaving her feet dangling toward the floor. His fingers, long and muscular, gripped her tightly, thumbs lightly stroking the inside of her thighs as he kissed her deeply, pressing into her space until they were pressed together in every way, Lily’s arms thrown around his neck to keep her balance.

After a moment, James pulled away slightly, nipping at Lily’s bottom lip lightly and untangling her arms from around him. He took her hands, bringing them down to her sides, and placed them slightly behind her, forcing her to lean back slightly, almost casually, as if her lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, and her clothes weren’t dishevelled.

“James,” she said, looking up at him suspiciously. James stepped slightly away from her, hands returning to her legs, this time resting on her knees. His fingers tapped a few times against them, and he hummed in response to the question in her voice. He took another step back, looking Lily full in the face. “What are you doing?”

He smiled at her, wide and dirty, and winked, then dropped to his knees in front of her with a slight thud. Lily scrambled to sit up straight, look down at him, ask him again what he was doing, but he just shushed her, urging her to relax back onto her hands again, and slid his own up the inside of her thighs again.

“Let me take care of you, I’ve got you,” James said, blowing a breath of hot air against the crotch of her damp panties. “Okay?” he asked, looking up at her from the floor, pupils blown wide in the firelit room. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?”

“James, I - “

“Hey,” James said, leaning up into her space. “I’m right here, I’ve got you. Let me take care of you. Okay?”

Lily let out a long sigh, trying to force her heart to slow down, and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” James said, kneeling back down. “Lean back on your hands, and relax.”

Lily nodded again, closing her eyes and focusing on James’s hands on her thighs, his breath heavy and hot against her as he leaned back in. His nails scratched lightly at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she bit back a low moan, shifting her weight to clap a hand over her mouth.

“Hey, no, none of that. I want to hear you.” Lily whimpered in response, biting her bottom lip as she replaced her hand. “Yes, there you go, good girl.”

With a satisfied smirk, James leaned forward, hands pushing her legs apart more, stretching her to the point of a hint of pain, displaying her wantonly for his eyes only. Lily’s head fell back as he mumbled out a low, deep “beautiful” and dove in, tongue licking a slow, long stripe up the center of her cotton panties, nails biting at her thighs. His hands shifted again, toying with the top of her panties, but not removing them, skimming calloused fingers across soft skin, as he softly circled the bundle of nerves at the cleft of her, creating a friction between her heated, sensitive clit and the cotton of her panties. Lily’s hip rose involuntarily, desperate for some sort of relief, but James’s hands anchored her down, at his mercy completely.

“Relax, love. I got you.”

Lily all but cried as his fingers curled around her panties, dragging them slowly, torturously slow, down her thighs and over her still-present knee socks and school shoes. James sat back, taking his time, eyes locked on her as he peeled the thin material away, tossing them onto the floor behind him. “So beautiful, love, stay right like that.” He leaned back in, nipping and sucking at the crux of her thighs before he returned to her clit, pressing his lips in a soft kiss right to the most sensitive part of her. “You’re so lovely, Lily, my lovely Lily, let me take care of you.”

Lily moaned, arms shaking as she struggled to keep herself held up, thighs shaking as James continued his ministrations, licking and sucking and kissing. His hands held her steady, open, and Lily allowed herself to drift, eyes closed. She focused all her attention on the moment, zeroing in on the pleasure slowly taking over her entire body, dragging her closer and closer to the edge, away from the overwhelming emotion of just an hour before, when she couldn’t help but drown in the fear and the anger and the anxiety.

James ran his hands up her thighs again, only to hitch one over his shoulder, allowing him to pull her impossibly closer to his mouth. Lily cried out, fingers scrambling on the wood as James redoubled his efforts, taking her clit completely in his mouth and suckling, tongue making quick, almost brutal circles that sent her hurtling toward her release.

“James, I’m...I -”

He shushed her again, holding her hips tightly as he alternated back to long languid licks, easing her back toward the floaty place in her head, anchoring her with his hands. “Focus on me, Lily, I’ve got you.”

As if she could possibly focus on anything else but this moment, this boy, the sensation of the hard, wooden surface against her now bare bum, the scratchy wool of her skirt rucked up around her waist, his hands gripping her so tightly it was dimpling her thighs, the cool metal of his glasses against her heated skin, the mesmerizingly steady pace of his tongue against her, dipping into her folds and swirling around her clit, holding her just barely at the precipice and causing her blood to run hot beneath her skin.

Slowly, he returned his efforts to just her clit, tightening his passes until it was his sole focus, narrowing her pleasure until she was panting and sighing, wriggling against his mouth despite his hands gripping her tightly, trying to hold her still.

Lily whined, falling back onto her elbows with a loud thump as James pulled away slightly, nosing along the crease where her thigh met her pelvis, yanking her abruptly back to earth. “What’s wrong, Lils? You okay?”

“Please don’t stop, why would you stop?”

James chuckled, kissing lightly. “I’m sorry, did you need to cum?”

“I was going to, you jerk,” she countered, head lolling back dramatically.

James nipped at her clit in response, causing Lily to cry out as a shock ran through her. “That’s quite uncharitable of you, Miss Evans.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Oh, darling, you definitely do not.” He stood abruptly, knocking her leg off his shoulder to fall with a light smack to the smooth surface of the table, ripping a needy sound from her throat. He leaned into her space, using his free arm to pull her up and into him. “Besides,” he drawled, nosing against her neck, blazing a fire up to her ear. “You’re going to cum on my cock.”

Lily whimpered, hands catching behind her again to steady herself as he pulled her toward him, hands resting on her bum, drawing her nakedness against the front of his trousers, still buttoned and belted. She moaned at the delicious friction, canting her hips up to rub herself against him, wetting the wool slightly. James groaned, pushing against her, rolling his hips in a tease of the inevitable. The differences in their state of dress made her head whirl, and she suddenly felt incredibly naughty, bare under her school skirt, legs spread wide for her co-Head. She shivered, breath hitching, and James bit down on her ear, blowing a breath of cool air against her heated skin.

James ran his hands up her body, catching up her untucked shirt, starting to unbutton it from the top, opening the white shirt until it pooled around her, caught around her wrists. He hummed against the skin of her neck, sucking at the bruise that had already darkened to a deep purple at the base of her neck, skimming his thumbs over her hardened nipples lightly, teasingly, through her plain, baby pink bra. Lily arched up into his hands, canting her hips again as he pushed a little harder, gasp leaving her mouth. He chuckled against her, dropping a final kiss to her throat before bringing his hands back down her body to her bare stomach, the top of her skirt, and down her splayed thighs.

“Are you ready?” he murmured, mouth against her lips. She nodded, eyes focused completely on his, wide and frantic. His pupils were blown, and he panted against her mouth before reaching down to quickly unbuckle his trousers, letting them fall open while still pressed against her. He drew away only slightly, pulling himself out of his pants without taking them down, and lining up with her. He skimmed the head against her a few times, gathering moisture, and her eyes fluttered closed. Steading himself with one hand over hers, he lined himself up, pressing in just enough for the head to catch, before he pulled one of her legs up and over his forearm, forcing her open even more and tilting her hips up slightly.

In one, slow, dirty, hard thrust, he slid into her completely, entering her in one fell swoop. She cried out against his mouth at the deep stretch, revelling in the way it took her breath away, the hard slide, the wicked, wet sound of the two of them meeting, the slight twinge of pain as she opened to accommodate him. James groaned against her mouth, capturing her lips in a sloppy kiss as they panted against each other. His hands held her tightly, pinning her down, leaving her completely to his mercy once again, unable to meet his thrusts or give herself any reprieve. Lily lost herself to the feeling, giving herself over completely to James’s torment and pace.

“Gods, Lily, you feel so good, so tight for me, so wet. Alright, darling? Yes, pet, just take it. Close your eyes, feel me inside you, fucking you. That’s what you needed, isn’t it? I’m right here, I’m right with you, you needy thing. Not going anywhere.”

Her orgasm, previously just an echo, was coming back quickly as James drove into her, hard and fast, hitting deep inside her with each measured, purposeful, deep stroke. Her toes curled in her shoes, flexing as she felt herself being dragged toward the razor thin cliff. She moaned against James’s mouth as he adjusted her hips up the slightest bit, sliding even deeper inside of her until she tumbled off the edge, squeezing around him as she came. Her brain entered the floaty space she was craving, focusing everything on the way James’s strokes became erratic as she came down from her orgasm, on his mouth brushing against hers, murmuring compliments, hands coming off the tabletop to hold her against him, making sure she didn’t fall. James groaned as her internal muscles tightened around him another time before she sank against his front, forehead pressed against forehead, boneless and weightless and spent.

“Oh no, sweet girl. I’m not done with you yet.” He said, pulling away. Her forehead fell to his shoulder, and she hummed an acknowledgement at him. “Lay back, Lils.”

Lily whined, but allowed herself to be guided back until she was laying splayed across the conference table, legs dangling off the edge, spread to accommodate the man between them. He leaned over her, kissing her deeply, motionless inside her as she came back to herself.

“With me?” he asked, pulling away to look her in the eyes, searching. Lily nodded, smiling up at him serenely. “Very good,” he said, sounding pleased. Lily flushed, arching her back at the praise, warm and sated.

“You’re so gorgeous, Lily, so good for me. Can you handle a little more?” Again, she nodded, propping herself up on her elbows so she should kiss him, sweet and slow.

His hands boxed her in, holding her to the table top, and he began a long, deep rhythm, rolling his hips and grinding, causing little shocks of afterwaves to zip through her every time friction hit her clit. Slowly, James built up, moving incrementally faster until he was shoving himself up completely to a standing position, snapping his hips to hers at a brutal pace, holding tightly to her hips as he drove into her. Lily fell back completely, laying prone, hands fisting in her discarded shirt as she whimpered at the pleasure-pain of the quick, deep, hard thrusts shaking her body.

After what seemed like an impossibly long moment, James leaned over her, bringing a hand to her mouth, running calloused, hard fingertips over her lips until she opened slightly. He dipped one, then two fingers into her mouth, teasing over her tongue until Lily took them into her mouth. “Suck,” he said, voice breathless and tight, trying to maintain control over himself while he exerted control over her. “C’mon, Lily. Just a little more.”

She obeyed, running her tongue over the two digits greedily, grateful for something to take her mind away from the growing heat in her abdomen, the deep-rooted pleasure starting to spread toward her toes. James zeroed in on her mouth, thrusts losing some of their power as he watched her take his fingers beyond her lips, his own mouth slackening slightly.

“Okay, enough.” he murmured, easing his fingers out of her mouth. Immediately, he brought them to the cleft of her, using them to draw tight circles around her clit as he pressed into her, urging her toward a second release before he had his first. Lily gasped out, eyes closing tightly as she arched up and into his hand, mind cloudy with pleasure once again. James chuckled as her hips bucked, seeking more friction, chasing the dizzying feeling of him pressed up tightly inside her and his fingers working her over.

It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and Lily felt like she couldn’t breathe right as she fell over the edge again, this time long and languid rather than sharp and fast.

James released her clit from his attentions, instead squeezing her hips tightly, bruisingly, as he thrust into her, searching for his own release. With a groan, he withdrew from her, hand quickly stripping his cock once, twice, three times, cumming on the bare, smooth skin of her stomach.

Panting, James crawled on top of Lily, holding himself over her as he kissed her lazily, sloppily, before rolling over to lay next to her, tucking her half-naked body into his side.

It was a familiar gesture after almost four years together, one that still brought Lily immense happiness and comfort, just being held close to him.

Around them, the room melted away, stone walls replaced by the deep red of their dining room in Godric’s Hollow. The chairs were askew, and the paper and quill James had been using were now decorating the rug rather than the cold, grey stone of the Hogwarts Prefect’s Office. The only thing that remained was the fire lighting up the room.

“Feeling any better, darling?” he asked her, nose burying itself in her red hair.

“Yes, actually, I am,” she said quietly, eyes closed. After a long beat, she rolled over to face him. “Thank you. I know that was probably weird for you.”

“Lily, anything for you, you know that,” he responded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad it helped. And I cannot say I particularly minded. You know how I feel about the skirt. And the shoes. And those bloody knee socks, Merlin’s own,” he said, leaning down slightly to run his hand over the grey wool still neatly decorating her calves.  

Lily rolled her eyes, pulling away slightly to shoot him a cheeky grin. “That was an impressive bit of magic, Mr. Potter. I appreciate your effort to the cause.”

“I’ve had some time to practice. You know, always be prepared, and the like.”

“So now you’re a Boy Scout?”

“I can be anything you want me to be, Mrs. Potter.”

“Cheeky,” Lily laughed, poking a finger into his cheek. He leaned down, nipping at it before she could retract it, causing her to giggle and squirm away.

Above them, a cry rang out. Lily sat up immediately, smoothing her ruined skirt, making a face at the mess on her stomach.

Shooting an evil eye over her shoulder, she slid off the table. “You’re basically completely dressed. You go handle that while I clean up.”

James nodded, coming to stand beside her. With a short kiss on her mouth, he departed, jogging his way up the stairs, humming a tuneless diddy as he went to go care for their son. Lily rolled her eyes again, pulling her shirt uselessly over her shoulders, before heading to the bathroom to pee and shower.

Outside the cozy, hidden walls of the Potter cottage in Godric’s Hollow, the war raged on, bloody and vicious and terrifying. But inside, Lily had James and Harry, and a little bit of dirty magic to keep her safe and warm.

Remember two things, kids: (1) if you wanna get kinky, always negotiate the scene/play with your partner beforehand as to ensure safe, sane, and 100% consensual sex; and (2) always pee after sex.

[shyficwriter]

Who's Tougher?

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Guardians find out that Reader maybe isn't Terran while playing with one of those labor pain/period cramp simulators. Inspired by that one episode of Lucifer where Lucifer got tased.

Author’s Note: Based off this dumb post I wrote earlier, because sometimes my dumber ideas are the funniest.

Part 2 here.

Word Count: 2,376 It had started with a bet.

Who was tougher? You or Peter?

Tired of hearing your bickering one day, and after having come across a video on the internet where a couple of guys were using a period cramp simulator, Rocket decided to whip one up with some spare parts he had lying around. Took him about 10 minutes, 15 if you count the time it took him to sort through his spare parts drawer.

You and Peter where sitting at the table with Kraglin when Rocket hopped up and slapped it on the table, interrupting your bickering.

"What's that?" Peter asked, his face one of confusion.

It looked almost like Peter's Zune, only bigger and instead of headphones it had four long wires coming out of it that were attached to thin disk-shaped objects.

"This is gonna settle your argument on who's tougher once and for all so I don't gotta hear your constant whining anymore." Rocket said.

"Hey! It's not constant!" you say, a bit offended, but also not looking forward to doing whatever Rocket was suggesting. "What is that even supposed to do?"

"Saw a video online where a couple of Terran-types were using electric pulses to simulate period cramps. It does that, more or less."

"More or less??" You cry uncertainly, "You want to electrocute us? Because that's what I'm hearing."

Peter laughs, "If you're scared you can just admit that I'm tougher." He leans back in his chair with a smug look that makes you want to smack him.

You glare at him. "I'm not scared. I'm just being cautious of accepting offers to let Rocket stick electrodes on us!"

Kraglin snickers from his side of the table. "Sound scared to me. If Yondu could trust him to wire his fin into his skull, I'm sure ya can trust him not to fry ya with that little thingy-ma-bob."

Yondu, having heard his name while walking by, stops by the table. "What's going on here?"

"Rocket wants to electrocute us!"

"Do not!" Rocket defends. "Well, not much... I just want to settle which one of them is really tougher so they'll quit whining about it."

Yondu shakes his head, chuckling. He looks at you. "So you're really gonna give in and tell Peter he's tougher cuz yer scared of a little shock?"

You glare at him. You knew he was only trying to razz you up, but you couldn't help it. "I'm not scared, I-"

Peter cuts you off. "Then prove it." He was bluffing, he didn't really want to try either. Who in their right mind would willingly let Rocket hook them up to an electric shock machine?? But his poker-face was good. Too good.

"Ugh. Fine. If to only wipe that smug grin off your dumb face." you say, rolling your eyes. "How's it work?"

Rocket grinned, as did the other two. "Ok, so you each get two of these electrodes," He held up the white disk, "and you stick them to your stomach, and then I'll take this," he held up the Zune-looking thing, "and turn it up until one of you taps out."

You begrudgingly took the electrodes from Rocket and he clarified his instructions by telling you both to place them below your belly-button. You retake your seats at Rocket's behest, him cockily saying that you 'might want to sit down for this'.

"Ready?" he smirked.

You looked at Peter's cocky grin and rolled your eyes. "Sure."

Rocket turned the dial. Nothing happened, so you assumed it had only just switched the device on, but you did see Peter give a little jolt.

You turned your head to him and laughed. "What you jumpy for, Mister Cocky? He hasn't started yet."

"Yes I did."

You looked back at Rocket, confused. "What?"

"I did start it. It's on level 1 now."

You look at Peter. He confirms it's on. "You don't feel anything?" he asks. You shake your head.

Rocket give you an odd look and says he's turning it up to 2.

Peter jerks again, softly grunting. "Hey, how high does this go?"

Rocket answers that it goes up to 10, and Peter makes a face that makes it obvious he's regretting his life choices.

"Oh, I can feel it now," you say, your mouth twitching upward in a grin. "It kinda tickles."

"That doesn't seem right?" Rocket switches it off. "Switch your leads, I want to make sure there's not a short in the wires."

You and Peter do what's asked. As soon as Rocket sees all the leads are stuck down properly he cranks it up to 2 without warning.

Peter jerks forward and grabs the table with a grunt. "Dude! What the fuck! A warning would be nice!"

You, however, only start softly giggling with a, "Hey!"

Rocket scratches his head, and turns the knob to 2.5.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and tries, but fails, to sit back up straight. You also close your eyes, but it's because you've brought a hand to press on your forehead as you lean back in your chair, still giggling.

As soon as Rocket turns the knob to 3, Peter taps out.

Rocket turns the device off and looks at you suspiciously before glancing at Yondu and Kraglin who only shrug in response. "I don't get it? That's not supposed to happen?" Rocket says looking his new device over.

"I'll have a go." says Kraglin. "I bet Pete's just being a baby."

This earns a chuckle from Yondu and an annoyed outburst from Peter, who challenges Yondu to do it with Kraglin if they're both so tough.

Smirking, Yondu actually agrees. You and Peter hand over your leads and Yondu and Kraglin put them on.

Rocket repeats the same process. He starts them out at 1, and neither react. He goes up to 2, and Kraglin winces like Peter had. Up to 3, and Kraglin grunts and starts to grip the table while Yondu only acknowledges he can feel it pinching, but from the look on his face you can tell he's just putting on a tough act.

Rocket turns it up to 4 and Yondu exhales out his nose while looking up at the ceiling. At 6 Kraglin taps out and Rocket turns the device off.

Yondu laughs and tells Peter, "Guess everyone here is tougher than you, boy." to which Peter calls bullshit, says he wasn't ready, and demands to go again, this time against Yondu.

Peter doesn't make it past 4, and you laugh at him, prompting him to glare at you and say, "You wouldn't make it past 4 either!"

You call his bet, laughing, "Guess I'd need to go up against Yondu or Krags then, because we know you sure can't."

Before Peter can retort the rest of the team has come over to see what the fuss is about.

Rocket explains that you're seeing who's the toughest, and this promptly makes Mantis and Groot, in their innocence, want to try. However, this is immediately shot down by Gamora, who says that any game, or whatever it was that you were doing, where you willfully electrocute yourself, was stupid.

Drax, however, says he'll have a go, and Peter jumps on this, telling you, "There you go! Go up against Drax. If you can outlast him I'll finally say you're tougher than me."

"Quill." Yondu says in a warning tone, the implication clear that he didn't think anyone could beat the behemoth and that he knew that Peter egging you on like that would only result in you pushing yourself too hard to prove him wrong and getting hurt.

"Relax, old man!" Peter turned to you with a smug grin. "You can take it, right?" Peter is really pushing his luck, but you agree, taking back your leads from Yondu, and Rocket instructing Drax what to do as he takes Peter's chair.

Once you were both settled Rocket made sure you were ready before turning the device up to 1, then after a moment 2, and after another moment 3, where you had left off before.

Drax was just sitting there unfazed, but you were giggling again like before, prompting Drax to ask you what was so funny.

"It tickles!" you say, covering your face again and giggling harder once Rocket announced he was turning it up to 4.

"I bet you're faking it just to mess with us." Peter grumbled at you as Gamora gave him a strange look.

They heard Mantis giggling and looked over to see Mantis pulling her hand away from your arm, her antennae glowing. "Nope. Not lying. I don't sense any feelings of deception."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense, but here's 5." Rocket said, turning the dial.

You jerked in your seat, drawing one foot up into your chair as you tilted your head back laughing, still covering your face with your hands. "Ok! Ok! Wait a minute!" you squeak.

"Are you saying you give up?" Peter said with a smirk. "Guess that means you can't say you're tougher than me."

You flip him off. "No! I didn't say that!" This makes Yondu chuckle. Like most of the rest of the team he had started grinning at your reactions. You may be being stubborn, but he supposed you being tickled was better than you being in pain, though by all accounts it didn't make sense. He had done it himself, and it most definitely didn't tickle.

"Well it's up to 5, you couldn't get past 4, Pete." Kraglin corrected, letting Peter know that you technically had just proved you were tougher by being able to go to a higher setting than him.

"That's not the deal we made. Besides, how can it count if it only tickles? The higher settings are bound to hurt." He knew his logic was flawed, but he was stubborn too, he wasn't just going to hand you a victory.

Seeing as you weren't giving up yet, Rocket went ahead and dialed it up to 6.

"How you doing Drax?" Kraglin asked.

Drax just shrugged. "Fine. It's not the most pleasant feeling, but it's completely bearable."

They didn't ask how you were doing. It was pretty clear how you were doing. You hadn't quit giggling this whole time, much to Rocket's frustration because it just didn't make sense. It was, however, the only thing keeping Gamora from making Rocket stop. She knew Drax could take almost anything, so he'd be fine. You didn't seem to be in pain at all, so she assumed you must be safe.

Rocket dialed up to 7.

Drax nodded his head. "There it is. I can feel it more now." However, there wasn't an ounce of pain etched into his face. Dude obviously had one hell of a pain tolerance.

You were still curled in your chair. One hand covered your mouth while you giggled, the other rested on your knee. You tried to psyche yourself up. It was only a tickle. You weren't a baby. You got this, right?

The foot that had been in your chair then slammed to the floor as you lurched forward with a shriek of laughter, gripping the metal armrest of your chair as your other hand wrapped around your middle.

"How can that still tickle!? It's turned up to 8!" Rocket questioned in disbelief, holding up the device to Yondu as if to prove it.

"Eight!?" you cry, "You were supposed to tell us, you rabid raccoon!"

Drax began to laugh as well and in disbelief Peter said, "Drax? Seriously?!"

"It doesn't tickle," Drax clarified, his laughter dying into a light chuckle. "It's just very funny to watch the smaller Terran react."

You attempted to glare at Drax for referring to you as the "smaller Terran," but failed at it. You stomped your foot on the ground as you felt the tickle get somehow worse, and knew Rocket had turned it up again. "Rocket! Please!" you whined, making a few of the others laugh. Maybe you don't got this.

"That one was for calling me a raccoon, asshat." Rocket said with a grin, his previous frustration seemingly gone in favor of mischief.

You quickly reach for the little shit, but you recoil as he jumped out of reach, a smug grin on his face as he turned the dial to the last setting.

"And that one was 'cause I can."

Drax barely reacted, but you were suffering.

Shit. Shit. Nothing had ever tickled like this before. You don't got this. You still had a death grip on the arm of the chair and you were laughing so hard you couldn't sit up straight. Screw the bet, time for begging. "Ok! Ok!" you squeal. "Rock-Rocket! Ahaha! Ok! I'm sorry! Please! I can't- I give up!"

Rocket and Peter laughed triumphantly as you continued to plead for mercy. Yondu had pity on you and chuckled saying, "Alright, Rat. That's enou-"

He was cut off by a metallic squeal and a snap that made everyone jump. The sound was only followed by the sounds of your dying laughter as you caught your breath.

You threw your leads up on the table, having had ripped them off when you couldn't take it anymore (and after having finally realized that was an option.) You finally look up at Rocket, still giggly and gasping for breath as you say, "Youhoo suck! Eheheh... you- you little brat... haha... Jeez..." Your eyes were glowing a bright blue that slowly faded as you raised an eyebrow, noting how your companions expressions have changed to something resembling "WTF??"

"What's with the faces?" you ask, only to follow Mantis's eyes down to the arm of your chair, or rather, what used to be the arm of your chair.

You had snapped it, but that wasn't all. It was now twisted both outward & downward and the place you had been gripping it had been crushed to form to the inside of your fist as if it had been made of foam board.

You hear someone hesitantly say, "Ya ain't Terran... are ya?"

You look back up at your friends' expectant faces with a nervous grin, squinting and blushing as you rub the back of your head. "Well, aha... This is awkward..."