#Something about how some twin stars circle each other over and over again but are doomed to collide and destroy each other

[the-dragon-hearted]

Eldritch Travelers

They remembered their creation. Who could forget it? The first sensation was that of fizzling energy. The nebula's entropy was burning with a warmth they'd never forget, dozens upon dozens of siblings lingering at the edge of their knowledge. Singing to them. Welcoming them.

They were two stars born in each other's orbit. Of all the siblings, they knew each other's melodies best. It was as if they'd been born to harmonize, completing the other simply by existing. Wrapped in stardust with a heartbeat that would've deafened lesser creatures, the two slept and sang from their nursery of radiation and chaos.

They sang to each other for the eons of their formation, in a grand symphony of their kin. Never was it silent. Never was there peace. Never was there order. It was an eternity, and yet a mere few seconds.

Before they learned the word Home, they lost it.

When the nebula collapsed, that symphony was one of screams. When such grand things got too powerful, it was only natural that such power devours itself and all the young ones it created. Gravity is its own shackle. Size its lock. Energy pulled at cloudy orbits like claws to lace curtains. Peaceful gardens of the cosmos condensed, ripping young stars out of their beds of dust and tearing little ones apart until the nebula was a desert of darkness and silence, a once mighty cradle now reduced to noiseless drifting dust.

Only two remained. They held each other close as it began, resisting the pull of their deathly cradle and ripping out of those clouds of light, warmth, and entropy. By orbiting each other, they could pull away from all else, spinning endlessly into the universe: alone, but safe.

They fled that danger together, they lived together - they survived together. The void ate them alive as they tumbled light over dark for centuries in a frantic toss of their nursery's final gasp. For an eternity, all they knew was aching silence, the cold dark, and the warmth twins share when they hold one another like a lifeline.

"You are to linger, but never rest," the cold universe said. "There is nowhere for you to return to. There is nowhere you belong."

But the two stars continued to orbit, ever resistant:

"We belong with each other. That is enough."

So they grew teeth of plasma and wings soft as comet trails. Their fledgling moments were stumbling through planetary rings and choking on the taste of old stars. Unlike most they survived. Unlike most, they grew. They learned to walk and run and fly. They taught themselves to hunt. They found joy in that expanse of silence.

Orphaned but bright, the two set upon exploring the vastness all about them. In their youth, they missed much. How many worlds did they pass up, how many wonders did they fail to explore? How many lives did they take without knowing such lives existed?

They were bright, hungry, and awful. Awe-inspiring in every sense of the word. When they entered a world they saw the power it possessed - the warmth and the energy - and they devoured all.

There was fun in it - in the dying throws of a world. Their adolescence brought them joy in the fight, even if there was no real fight to be had. It was exciting to sharpen their nails on weapons and dance in danger's grace. It made something on their tongues tingle to taste desperation and hear the dying gasps of these minuscule worlds whose music they'd not yet learned to hear.

And then the universe acknowledged them one last time.

"Travelers... Listen."

Simple words that brought the two to pause. Listen? Listen to what? The twin's siblings had been dead for eons, they'd never heard another song like the one they sang. Never found another cradle like the one they escaped. But, in their boredom the two obeyed. They paused their devouring and strained to make out anything in the present world of conquest.

The two heard it at the same time. Something soft. Something pained: The harmonizing sound of thousands and thousands of screams.

As they had. As their family had. As every world they had devoured had and all future ones would. And it brought the two stars to pause and lean closer, dampening their burning forms and softening their teeth that had been sharpened on planet's crust and cores.

There were others.

Not... like them, but also not too different. They screamed all the same, it seemed.

It was a horrifying epiphany: that they were not alone in the universe, that the darkness held other songs - other stories. Curiosity was not a new affliction, and the twins eagerly fed into it.

In the next world, they shed their monstrous forms and forsook their hunger. Blunt claws crafted a crude sort of matter that held their power without bursting at its seams. Teeth and tongue fumbled over words and breaths.

But they stumbled into that story not as it's ending, but as an observer.

The first few times they were met with horror. They smiled too wide or laughed too sharply. They shrugged off the impossible or fed into an appetite just a tad too unsettling. They thirsted for an explanation that few mortals could give. They challenged something the world was not ready to handle.

The forms took a few worlds to perfect, and each world had different denizens to tailor such worlds too. But such things were wondrous to the twins.

Appearance. Name. Identity.

No longer were they the faceless horrors that wandered or devoured. No - they were the Travelers. They were the star born or the blessed, the wishing ones or the celestial blooded. They were whatever the current world called them and more.

They were Aether and Lumine. A brother. A sister. They were alive.

Each world was brimming with opportunities and lessons. Each like a mini nebula, with it's own melody. The two were utterly enraptured. No longer did they sing alone, no longer did they devour or wallow in boredom. There were universes within universes, puzzles and mysteries, souls and memories, personalities and tragedies.

There was life, and it was all so fleeting and momentary but rich. These beings would never know both the birth of their world and its death. These beings were not meant to leave the soil they were born on, and yet that tether was their freedom.

They were born into a world knowing it was theirs. Free to do as they please, whatever they please, and make waves in their wake. Their lives were short but the smallest of choices were blessings to the twins.

Every meal. Every bed. Every midnight stroll and loving word. Every scream of terror or cry of determination. Every sunrise and sunset. Every bad joke or distant story. Every breath was so precious to temporary beings, and that was intoxicating.

The two were enraptured by how much purpose the smallest of tasks had in a short life. They chased after it and devoured worlds in a new manner.

Stories. They learned stories. Precious histories shared through breaths and memories - corporeal beasts seeking permanence in memory. The Travelers found a new purpose. The stars bent to their whim and the stories nested in their minds - each world offered up its lifeblood to the twins and in return, they aligned the stars for a different sky.

So that another world would know this one's pain, joy, and life. They could pass along the desire of permanence - they were permanent, and in exchange, the worlds would offer their mortality.

The twins were able to explore life as most beings did, each world new and happy to share some of its air with monsters who breathed in solar flares. They learned to cook, to dance, to sing, to stumble, over and over and over again. No two worlds were the same: the universe held no solid rules, no real limitations, and so they were given that same leniency. It was true joy to find mortality over and over and over again.

It was pain too.

Pain and anguish and loneliness and eventual apathy.

And then it was Tevyat.

It was scars on their backs - a memory of a scream in their heads.

"AETHER!"

"LUMINE!"

Of all their cradle-mates, they were the only named two. When their siblings had died, there had only been screams of pain and shock. When the twins were ripped from each other, they could only scream for their missing half.

Two stars were thrown out of orbit. Doomed to eclipse each other for the first time in their very, very long lives. Their reunion was not a joyous dance, but a dark, dark day.

But before the reunion was the loss:

The world's rules had caught them by surprise. Never had they met a world that wanted to make them stay. Leave? Of course. Fight? Naturally. All worlds wanted to defend themselves from such monstrous beings - and yet this one seemed to spin in retrograde.

Why else tempt world eaters? Why pluck the wings from a Traveler's back? Why strip power from a being with an infinite source of it? Surely that strange god knows she's on borrowed time.

Oh she can take their power and trap them beneath skin. She can torment the poor mortals around them, bending these young archons to her hands and setting rules in her divinity.

But... she must also know:

Aether wants the rule's blood to soak the clouds.

Lumine wants divine ichor between her teeth.

And yet the two cannot repair what 500 years divides them. A blink of an eye for their species, but not for a mortal. And isn't that what they are when they take these forms? Isn't that what they're seeking?

Mortality.

The first one finds it in a bloodied city. They find it in hate and rage and vengeful retribution. They find it with an abyssal crown and, ironically enough, a distaste for the wretched gods who have not learned the same lessons the twins have.

For an immortal to disregard the lives of the mortals... for such young immortals to destroy civilization for the crime of curiosity...

They cannot understand it, and so, in their search for mortality, they find hate. And that seemed to be close enough.

The second one finds it at the end of a fishing pole and with the extended hand of a red-clad outrider. They find it in the stories and the life all around them, never filling the void of their missing twin, but eagerly taking that loneliness and warming it more than a nebula could.

It is second nature to find enrichment in these stories. To paint them in the stars as the Traveler's smaller powers return. They call to the stars and craft constellations in the image of those dear to them.

Every so often they peer at a special one, half-completed, but named all the same.

The Twin Constellation.

The Abyss and the Traveler. The Villain and the Hero. Prince and Princess. Not Lumine. Not Aether.

Not anymore.

They mourn and they seethe... and sometimes the two, though miles and centuries apart collapse at the same time. Back itching. Skin tight and blood roiling. They heave out air that tastes strange and run a tongue over their blunted teeth. Even their hands are softer now - no claws to be seen.

They lay, staring up at the stars as they writhe, and remembering millions of other skies - and yet these bodies have seen no other.

They were not meant to be this. They are not this.

But they are trapped here. And they cannot fully remember before - a mortal's mind can only hold so much - but they know it's there. They know what they are meant to be.

But they are not.

They are not even Aether and Lumine anymore.

They are figureheads. Nameless as they first were - and now must be. Because Aether was named so Lumine could call out to him. Because Lumine was named so Aether could get her attention. Because those names were only meant to be for the other's voice to echo...

And, like the last gasps of their siblings, like the cries of their victims, like the world's who have fallen and entrusted the twins with their memories - the two curl in on themselves, like collapsing nebulas, and they scream.

[rotworld]

25: Roadside Attraction

(previous)

the road to anchor takes you to stranger and stranger places. but here, at least, you will find some answers.

->sexually explicit. contains terato, non-human genitalia.

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The convoy stops at nightfall, filling the parking lot where a rest stop used to be. Only the ghost of a building remains, an inverted mirage surrounded by scorched grass. A pair of vending machines flicker like dying bulbs, translucent, their contents changing each time they wink in and out of existence; snack crackers. Carbonated drinks. Dead butterflies. Jamie warns everyone to keep their distance. The Verlindans pace restlessly. Malachi comes over to check on you as you stretch your legs, leaning against the crumpled hood of your car. 

“How is everyone?” Jamie asks him.

“Anxious,” he says, “but morale is high.” 

You study the frostbite on your fingers. They’re almost completely numb now, dried and dead to the second joint. “We’re not going to make it to Anchor tonight,” you say quietly. “We’ll be in trouble if a shift hits.” 

“Could try sheltering on the Verlindan backroads,” Jamie suggests. “I’m sure they won’t love us driving back there, but given the circumstances, maybe they’ll make an exception.” You nod, unconvinced. Even if you survive the shift, you might be spat back out on the other end of the Drift. Even if you aren’t, you still have to get through Anchor’s gates. It feels more and more hopeless the further you get.

But you look across the parking lot. The people of Nelton gather in small conversational circles, talking and laughing, singing songs. The Verlindans are restless but their eyes are on the horizon. Hopeful—that’s the feeling you get. Everyone is here, following your lead, because they believe it’s worth trying. So you stow your worries and think about tomorrow instead; a house for couriers. A place with fresh eggs, warm beds, and homemade tea.

You’re on the road again soon. An hour more, the convoy agreed. If you don’t find a town, the Verlindans will begrudgingly allow you to use their paths as campgrounds for the night. It’s still dangerous, but better than being caught out on the open road during a shift. Curiosity keeps your mind occupied for a while—you’ve never seen the Verlindan backroads before, and you’ve always wondered how a place stays in one piece without anchorware—but something else captures your attention soon enough.

The salty smell you remember from Aliquando Island suddenly pricks your senses. That’s brine, you know now, a whisper of ocean. But this isn’t the narrow isthmus road. Jamie suddenly stiffens, warning you that a shift’s coming, but you don’t stop. Anchor is still far away, but something else—something familiar—is very close. The road curves. Your headlights glance over dark, churning water. A river? A lake? Through the fog and the dark, you can’t glimpse the far shore or gauge its size, but you never find a bridge to get across.

What do you find is an old wooden sign pitched at the roadside, three painted planks stacked one atop the other reading, “FERRY AHEAD.” The road curves once more, veering off over the water. It’s not a bridge but a fenced ramp, asphalt transitioning to a metal loading dock. The ferry is old and precarious-looking, a steamboat with twin chimneys and a worn, barnacle-peppered hull. Its glittering, golden light ripples on the surface of the water like drowning stars. You’ve never seen such a thing before. There is no ferry service in the Drift, no body of water large enough to warrant it.

And yet, here it sits. A man sits hunched on the ramp’s brittle fencing, standing slowly when your headlights reach him. He saunters over to your window, hands buried in the pockets of a black peacoat. His eyes are hidden in the shadows cast by the black brim of a vintage captain’s hat. You see him tilt his head, glancing through the window at you. His smile is small and bemused, like he’s seen something pleasant he didn’t expect to see. “Evening,” he says, his voice low and rough like gravel. “Headed west?”

“Is there another way across?” you ask. “We’d like to stick together and I don’t think you can take all of us in one trip.” 

He chuckles. “Nah, you’ll fit just fine. The Proteus is bigger than she looks. There might be a bridge if you keep going, but there might not be. Depends on the Drift’s mood. Either way, it’s safer to go by boat. Shift’ll pass right over us on the water, you won’t get displaced.”

You can feel Jamie staring in disbelief. They must be thinking the same thing; you’ve found a place that shouldn’t exist and this sounds too good to be true. “How much?” you ask.

The man’s smile widens. You think at first he has a Verlindan’s teeth, curved and wolf-like, but where the Verlindan’s have a pair of prominent canines, he has a mouthful of daggers. “Not a thing. It’s free for kith and kin.” 

It takes some coordination, a few insistent reassurances, but you’re moving again soon. You slowly ascend the ramp, your car rattling over the metal loading bay and into a darkened lower deck. The man was right; it’s much larger on the inside, cavernous and echoing like a parking garage.

“Are you sure about this?” Jamie mutters. 

You are. Maybe you shouldn’t be. Maybe you should be wary and afraid. But this is your best bet to reach Anchor, and more importantly, it feels right. The hint of sea salt in the air soothes you. You get a feeling you haven’t had since Aliquando Island—that you know this place in a distant way. 

The man had grinned at you with his monstrous teeth and you didn’t even feel a twinge of fear, only a sense of muted recognition.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: THE DEEP BY PHILDEL]

There’s a trembling sensation as the metal loading bay slides away from the asphalt ramp and shutters closed. The ferry blares its horn and then you’re moving. Water churns and laps at the hull. Those who came from Nelton have started settling in for the night, sharing blankets and pillows, reclining across their seats. Jamie is restless, eager to go above deck where they can at least keep an eye on the captain. You’re inclined to follow, though not out of suspicion. 

The Verlindans are unsettled. They pace the length of the lower deck back and forth, whispering to one another. There’s a curving walkway with a gentle slope that carries the smell of salt and soft night wind from above. They stand guard there, as though expecting trouble, but they let you and Jamie through without a few cautious glances to one another.

“Want some fresh air?” you ask them.

“Rather not,” Glenn says. The worried expression on your face makes him chuckle and shake his head. “We’re alright, courier. Just out of our element. Not used to being on someone else’s territory.” 

Jamie frowns. “What does that mean? Whose territory is this?” 

“I’m not sure. Just know it’s not ours.” He looks you up and down with a contemplative expression, smiling gently as though confirming something he long suspected. “Free for kith and kin, he said? I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

You take the curved walkway above deck and a cold breeze skims the water, kissing your cheeks. It doesn’t look like the same vessel. It’s too small, too tightly compact, no room beneath your feet for half a town to park. There’s little to see—guard rails, unmarked cargo boxes stacked haphazardly, fog as far as the eye can see. The captain is sequestered away in the bridge, a silhouette behind the darkened windows. The lights are off inside, you notice, and dimmed along the sides of the ferry. Jamie walks back and forth across the deck several times before returning to you, looking perturbed.

“No anchorware,” they say. “There’s some kind of spatial anomaly at work here, but it seems stable.” 

They join you at the railing, resting their arms over it. You can’t be too far from the shore you just left, but you can’t see it anymore. The water is black like ink and rippling in the ferry’s wake, dyed a dim, sunset shade of orange by the lights. It’s easy to see things in the strange, liquid motion, shapes that aren’t really there. It’s quiet; nothing but wind and waves. The smell of brine is stronger now.

“You look happy,” they note.

You shrug. “I like how the water sounds. It’s easy to relax.” 

“You liked Aliquando Island, too. So…how about that beach house?” Jamie grins when they manage to get a smile out of you, draping an arm around your shoulder. 

“I don’t think the Drift has all that many beaches.” 

“Fine, be evasive again. I didn’t think the Drift had islands, or a ferry,” they say, gesturing at the glassy shimmer of cresting waves. “But here we are. And here you are, looking all misty-eyed and nostalgic. You should always hang onto the things that make you happy, courier.” You nod. You’re going to try. Jamie leans their head against your shoulder and you spend a long, comfortable moment like that, standing on the deck in tranquil silence. Eventually, your eyelids start to droop and you go back below deck together, Jamie’s fingers laced with yours.

Gentle snores echo on the parking level. Jamie tilts their seat back and curls up with a sweatshirt balled up under their head as a pillow. They offer you a spare, soft knit and cream-colored, as a blanket. You drift off watching them stubbornly try to stay awake longer, lashes fluttering, nuzzling against the touch of your hand to their cheek like an affectionate cat.

Someone is singing.

You jolt awake, disoriented. You can’t remember falling asleep and don’t know how long you’ve been out. A fog of exhaustion gives everything a surreal, slightly muted feeling. Jamie is still fast asleep, shoulders rising and falling with soft breaths. The Verlindans have fallen asleep in a heap of bodies, nestled close to each other over each other with what looks like a crumpled mess of picnic blankets piled beneath them. Everything is silence and stillness around you, not a soul awake except for you. 

And someone is singing. You don’t know how you recognize it as song—it’s deeper than a human voice could go, lower than guttural, slow and powerful like the grinding of glaciers. But there’s a clear melody, a gradual rising and falling. There’s a message trying to be heard. You’re getting out of the car before you’re fully aware of yourself moving, drawn to the walkway that takes you above deck.

The sound is neither clearer nor closer. You pace in frustration, trying to locate the source, but nothing helps. Gripping the railing, you peer into the waves and ripples. You think you see a phantom shape in the motion, a wave that is softer, more rounded, breaching the surface before it slips beneath again. Water mists across your face. Your neck feels strange. Those sensitive patches along the sides are throbbing.

“Can you hear it?” 

You didn’t notice the captain standing there, leaning with his back against the railing not far away. He’s watching you. You can feel it, even if you can’t make out his face or much of anything in the weak dusk-light of the dimmed ferry lights. His silhouette is large and intimidating, filling out his coat with a wide chest and broad shoulders, and he easily towers over you. His hands are in his pockets again.

“What is that?” you ask.

“What, indeed.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Something old and lonely.” He pushes away from the railing and starts to walk away. You follow without hesitation, falling into step with his brisk, heavy pace. “I should ask you, shouldn’t I? Where you’re from, where you’re going. Feels redundant at this stage.” 

Your heart races. Your lungs burn. There’s so much you want to ask him but you can’t get the words past a lump in your throat, a suffocating pressure like a choking hand.

“Deep breaths. Don’t thrash and panic. You know how to breathe.” He pushes a door open. You expect an ascending staircase up to the bridge, but the steps go down in a winding spiral. There are no lights lining the cramped, dizzying corridor. You can’t see how far down it goes. The captain steps past you and begins descending. He pauses when he sees you aren’t following, half-swallowed by darkness. 

The song is coming from below. It echoes up from the darkened staircase, low and haunting. The captain holds out his hand and it’s much larger than yours, ridges of tendon prominent beneath the skin. Thin, translucent membranes stretch across the space between his fingers. When you touch him, his skin feels slightly damp.

He leads you down. The air gets colder. The steps shriek and clatter beneath your combined weight. Eventually, you can’t even see that far ahead, the dark too deep and the surface too far away. You should have reached the bottom by now, you think, should have found yourself on the lower deck ages ago. The song grows steadily closer, louder, more defined, notes that ebb and flow with the steady slowness of the tide. You can hear the captain humming the same melody, his voice dipping into the same rumbling pitch.

“He was stranded here by a shift a very, very long time ago,” the captain says. “Where he comes from, the water is endless. It helps to have a voice that carries. That’s why our dreams are what they are, you understand? We speak while we sleep.” 

Shimmering light curls at the edge of your vision. It’s gone when you turn to look at it properly. Another comes, closer this time, a luminous body that wriggles by like a floating serpent. Your eyes are adjusting. You start to notice the dark moving; flitting shapes and rippling silhouettes. Bulbous, undulating things that drift along soundlessly, tapered cones of flesh with bulging eyes and tendril-curtained mouths, gently swaying things pulsing gently with colorful light. Is this an aquarium? Some kind of submerged observation deck? The thought is dispelled as a small, darting thing flits right in front of your face and you feel it moving, the wake of its rapid escape like wind on your face.

No. Not wind. Water, you think. It’s all around you. You’re not descending a staircase but sinking slowly. That smattering of white specks like a congested night sky—those aren’t stars. It’s marine snow. The auroras are bioluminescence. All this time, you were looking in the wrong direction, thinking of an alien place impossibly far away. The captain’s coat and hat drift by and you look back to the hand gently holding yours. 

He is a glimmering silhouette, twinkling dots outlining a humanoid shape. He takes your hands and presses them to his chest, urging you to touch, to feel and explore. You feel the rough, bumpy texture of his skin and powerful muscle rippling just underneath. You feel fins, both soft, short ruffles and firm, trailing flaps like sails. Sharp spines protrude from his hips like jutting bone. What you initially mistake for a wound—ripped, fluttering flesh—are actually gills, a row of them along his sides. When your fingertips graze over them, he shudders.

“Be careful where you touch,” he says. You don’t think his mouth moves, but you hear him in your head, an echoing, velvet purr. “It’s sensitive. You’re showing interest. You’re very much wanted, I assure you, but do you want?”

He lifts one of his webbed hands to your neck, stroking his thumb along the side, and heat fills your body. You press against the touch more insistently and that rumbling purr grows louder. Suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s between your legs, giving a slow grind that makes you aware of something unusual. He’s hard, you can feel it—you’re naked and can’t remember when you got undressed, but you feel him, engorged and twitching against your inner thigh.

And he has two, you realize. 

“You move too quickly, Lorne. You have only just spoken.”

That’s not his voice. That’s a whisper so powerful it fills your head, all you can hear. The song has stopped, you realize, and the darkness beside you is stirring.

Seeing the thing in the dark is dizzying and difficult to comprehend now. He is not a beast of the cosmos but of deep waters. An abyssal giant of staggering, nearly incomprehensible size, you are smaller than the one silver eye staring down at you. When he moves, you move with him, stirred by the water swirling in his wake. He is trailing fins and floating tendrils, aglow in brilliant gemstone hues. You have never seen him properly because he is glassy and delicate like a cnidarian polyp, great swaths of flesh and flowing membranes partially translucent. You can see winding internal structures, serpents of intestines and descending coils of bone.

“You move too slow,” the captain, Lorne, shoots back. He brings your legs up to wrap around his waist and rocks against you, rumbling in approval at the shiver it draws out of you. “It isn’t fair, the way you’ve been keeping them all to yourself lately. If the rest of us did courtship at your pace, we’d die of old age before we got anywhere.” He tilts your chin and mouths at the sensitive spots on your neck, the scrape of his teeth making you dig your nails into his shoulders. He sucks on a spot that pries a whimper from your throat and you’re embarrassed, painfully aware of how intently you’re being watched. 

But the thing in the dark encourages you with the press of a soft tendril, pushing you further into Lorne’s embrace. “This is true. I have been selfish. And they have been hurting and afraid.”

“Not tonight,” Lorne says. He drags you back and forth over the heads of his cocks, teasing you with quick, hard rutting against your sex. “Tonight you’re safe. Nothing will hurt you.” 

You want more than he gives you. The friction is good, mind-numbing, easy to lose yourself to. His cocks rub against your sex and you can feel just how large they are nestled against your stomach like that, full, throbbing lengths giving off milky puffs of milt into the water. His grip shifts and he’s clutching your ass, kneading your flesh as he pulls you into the harsh, breathtaking rhythm of his grinding, and you’re imagining how it’d feel for him to fuck you like this. Hard and merciless, pounding your insides with one or both of his cocks, feeling the slap of full balls slapping against your ass. 

“God, I will,” he moans, nipping at your neck again. “Come back to me and I will. Get you nice and stretched so you can take all of me, stuff you with so much fucking cum I’ll be dripping out of you for days.” You want it now but he hushes you, cuts off your desperate, choked sounds with his lips on yours. The kiss is razor sharp and you cut your lip on his teeth but it just makes you hotter, raking your nails down his back until you’re sure you feel blood bubbling up around your fingers. It makes him groan into your mouth and grind even harder, every thrust a jerking, violent motion that oozes a cloud of milt. 

“Lorne,” the thing in the dark whispers, chiding.

“No.” Lorne sinks his claws into the meat of your ass possessively. You barely notice the sting, too focused on how good it feels to be here, sharing body heat in the cold of the abyss, nearly mating. “No, I don’t—don’t wanna let go.” 

There’s a fluttering sensation; warmth and comfort, a blanket against your back. The thing in the dark’s shimmering, auroral appendages throb faintly, filled with a slow heartbeat. “We cannot follow where you are going. But we will do all that we can.” 

You shake your head. You don’t want to go. You cling tightly to Lorne but the thing is insistent. It tugs you apart. 

“Wake,” it whispers. You feel the weight of its sadness bearing down on you, an ocean of grief—and the smallest, most hesitant spark of hope. “And…return to us safely.”

Your eyes open. It’s dark, but not the way you remember. This is soft darkness; simple shadows. The parking lot of the ferry. Jamie is sitting next to you, trying and failing to conceal a smile. “Good dream, huh?” they say, leering at you. You have no idea how to answer. Your indecision must come across as embarrassment because they laugh and give you a quick kiss, rubbing your shoulder. “It’s morning. I just poked my head out above deck. Captain says we’ll be there soon.”

“Oh. Good,” you say, sounding about as groggy and confused as you feel. You rub your eyes and stretch your legs the best you can. 

“Shift was just about over when I woke up. Was he right about that? We didn’t get shoved halfway across the Drift, did we?” 

You shake your head. You’re right where you should be. Anchor is west and the gap is smaller now. There’s just enough space for a town on the way but you’ll be there by tonight easily, likely sooner. “We’re really going to reach it,” you say, quietly awed. Fear creeps in soon after, followed by doubt. You’ll be there soon, and then what? Do you really stand a chance? 

Some time later, the ferry docks. Metal shrieks and rattles as the ramp lowers and you’re greeted by foggy daylight, the road stretching onward. The Verlindans are the first to leave, rushing for solid ground. Lorne ambles down to shore, bidding you farewell with a curt nod. He looks fully human, you think, no sign of his bioluminescent patches. “Safe travels,” he says. “And sweet dreams.” 

It’s only as you’re driving away that you see him move in the rearview mirror, lifting a webbed hand out of his pocket. He lifts his head and waves briefly. Then he touches his thumb and fingers to the sides of his neck in a gesture that looks innocent if not vaguely threatening, not nearly as obscene as it makes you feel. His smile is sharp and jagged. His eyes are the same stark, metallic shade as any other animal adapted to darkness.

(next)

[a-gil-rebel]

Ah what the heck, one last tidbit for the night. Might as well end on some writing on my writing blog.

Chapter 7 of Strawberry Felon is up, just a mini ep / flashback, posting here as well since it's short!

Stanford yawned, rechecking some of his math on the portal. Well, not his own math. His Muse had been kind enough to meticulously go over all his own projections, and found where he had miscalculated some of the affects of turning on the portal, the affect of which could've caused some serious gravitational anomalies at the least, and possibly changed the magnetic north of Earth at worst. Now triple-checking his own work, he yawned again, feeling the familiar buzz in the back of his skull of His Muse asking permission to join him.

Sitting back and relaxing to let him in, he tilted a small tabletop mirror on his desk to talk to him, watching his eyes turn yellow with cat-like slits, his face split into a beaming smile.

"Heya Stanford! How's it going?" Bill asked cheerfully, and Stanford's smile became his own, smaller and warmer.

"Things are moving along nicely, My Muse. I must admit, I am excited to finally travel across dimensions. Think of the discoveries waiting to happen! All the boons and ideas I could bring back to help humanity!"

"Ha! Yep, we're gonna be thick as thieves running around dimensions! Not that we'd be real thieves. Or criminals. Of any kind."

Stanford laughed at Bill's odd mannerisms; feeling his face grow warm the same way it did every time Bill felt happy when sharing his body.

"Haha yep! Uh, speaking of Thieves... How's Stanley doing?" Bill asked carefully, and Stanford scowled, looking away from the mirror.

"He started another fight again this morning. I... actually, I don't even remember what idiotic thing it was about. I still regret letting you convince me to bring him here."

"Hey, he's been a big help, Stanford! Some brawn to your brains, keeping house, plus he's your brother... Family is... important. You guys fight way too much."

Bill sounded distant, not for the first time when they spoke about Stanley. Stanford sighed looking back at his reflection, propped up on his elbow. "I suppose... I should try to make amends."

"That's the spirit!" His reflection chirped. "I like it when he isn't mad at you, then we get to play cards!"

Stanford rolled his eyes at the childishness of His Muse. For a mind as brilliant and vast as his, he was remarkably... happy. It had been a doozy to introduce him to Stanley, which was admittedly entirely by accident. His twin wasn't fond of the idea of an interdimensional entity sharing his physical form due to his connections with the subconscious human mind. He'd said something idiotic about 'demonic possession'. Over a few weeks though, they warmed up to each other, and Bill was able to win his brother over, becoming the mediator between them.

Stanford felt Bill settle into the back of his mind. He once compared the sensation to a cat curling up on his chest after making circles with their spindly, bruising limbs. His eyes returned to their normal brown, and he blinked a few times at the dryness, grabbing his eyedrops to try and relieve the redness; His Muse had trouble remembering to blink. Grabbing a six-pack of beer from under his desk, he headed upstairs to make amends with his brother.

---

Stanford sobbed as he tried to hold his arm away from his face. Blood was already gushing from the cut carved into his upper maxilla, bluring his vision as the serated spoon inched closer to his face.

"B-Bill, please stop!" He sobbed. "Please, M-My Muse, My Stars, My Light! Whatever I did wrong please j-just talk to me! Don't- don't make me do this!"

His muse was horrifically silent, and Stanford's strength was waning. A scream ripped out of his throat as the scalding metal spoon pressed against the base of his orbital floor, the pressure on his eye making it feel like it might pop before it was disconnected. Even as the damage became irreversible, he kept his grip on his wrist, sobbing and begging Bill to stop. Bile rose in his throat from the pain, and he choked and tried to turn over to vomit, but his body was not his own.

Finally, with a sickening pop, the eye was pulled free, the red-hot spoon cauterizing the wound. Stanford's hand fell limp to his side, giving into the injury. Would he take the other one next? Would he make him live like that? Never to see another sunrise, or his brothers, forced to walk the world in darkness? Stanford sobbed like a child, hiccuping, limp and helpless, squeezing the eye he had left shut if only to avoid having to watch the spoon come towards it. But it never came, instead his remaining eye flew open in panic as a familiar, once comforting voice crackled and echoed around him instead of inside his mind.

"I'm so sorry, Stanford. This was the only way-"

Stanford scrambled backwards, hitting his head on the desk behind him. Small black hands curled around his head, cradling him with a gentleness that made him sick.

"Hey, it's okay now, see? I'm here with you!" Bill floated in front of him, the same as how he'd always seen him in his mind's eye. A desaturated yellow triangle, thin black arms reaching out to him. He wore a tophat and bowtie, his legs ending in what appeared to be pointed heels, something he once wondered if was considered clothing or part of his body.

What changed was what horrified him most, instead of the solid white eye and black slit, his own brown eye stared back, human pupil, iris, red-veined sclera from the strain of being physically torn from his body, blood spilling over from the corners of his eyes, staining the pastel yellow bricks. Even though it was his own eye he was staring into, Bill's expression was laced with a desperation, an insanity that made him shudder.

"Wh-what did you do...." he could barely whisper, trembling even as Bill's hand cupped his cheek with a sweetnes so starkly contrasting what he'd just done, swiping away the hot blood that had started turning tacky already.

"It's all okay now, Stanford. Now we'll always be together, travel the universe just how you wanted!"

---

"The hell do you mean youre leaving right now?!" Stanley watched his brother pace, grabbing his journals, clothes, anything not nailed down.

"I'm not arguing over this with you, Stanley." His brother's voice was trying to be his stern, arrogant tone, but lacked any conviction, any drive. Was Bill driving? Was that what this was?

"Ford, yer not acting like yourself. First you say you injured your eye, won't let me look at it, now you're suddenly leaving? Did Bill put you up to this?"

"I... he... I have to leave. I'm sorry. Its not safe-"

"Not safe for who!? What's not safe here that you need to leave and I get left behind again!?"

Ford stopped dead in his tracks, trembling, and Stan stepped back a bit. His brother wasn't as explosive in anger as he was, something he was trying to work on. Steeling himself, Stan stepped into his twin's space.

"Ford..." he started, carefully, just to have the wind knocked out of him as his brother wrapped him in a hug. Physical affection between them had petered out after he'd gotten himself kicked out in high school. Now, even living together again, they were more likely to get into physical fights or wrestle than hug each other. Still, Stan carefully hugged his brother back, heart sinking at how he was still trembling.

"As long as I am here, you are in danger. I... I've made a mistake I don't know yet if I can fix but... I have to leave, Stanley. I'm... I'm so sorry. The house is paid off, in your name. I can't expect you to stay here, to forgive me for the past ten years, or wait for me to fix my mistake-"

Stan pulled his brother back by the shoulders, face set. "Hey. Don't you worry about me, Ford. Whatever you gotta do.... if I can't be there with ya, I'll wait for you. You'll always have a home here."

Ford opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a cheerful, yet monotone voice cracking behind him.

"Time to go, Stanford."

Stanley whipped around, the blood draining from his face at the sight in front of him.

"I-Is that-"

"Nice ta finally meet ya, Stanley! Sorry it's not on such nice terms..." the demon laughed numbly, brown eye shifting its attention off him. "Stanford. Are you ready?"

Stan turned to his brother again, who simply nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile. "Stay safe, Stanley."

---

"That's not what love is!" Ford screamed, still reeling from Bill's 'confession'.

"What could be a better symbol of love than to be bound to each other!?"

"You stole my life!"

"That's being a little dramatic, dontcha think, Fordsy? I saved your life plenty of times!"

"From the danger You put me in! Love isn't trapping someone with you! It isn't carving out their eyes and making them a fugitive!"

"C'mon Stanford, Fordsy, Sixer, Please you're killin' me! Besides I only took one, and we can still share it if you'd give it a try instead of just pouting and going numb whenever I enter your mind!"

"Because I don't want you there! I don't want you anywhere near me!"

Bill finally faltered at that, and Ford felt a surge of power roll through his anger. "Wh-what are ya sayin, Sixer?"

"I'm saying I don't love you back! How could I ever love someone I can't trust!? I'm saying I want you as far away from me as possible, I never want to see you again, Bill Cipher!"

The triangle floating in front of him was expressionless, not a flicker of emotion behind his own brown eye. Red slowly crawled up his pale yellow form, and Ford stumbled back as his size grew to something about two stories tall.

"YOU WANT ME GONE!? FINE. FINE! LET'S SEE HOW LONG YOU LAST WITHOUT ME, PINES."

[futanariwriter]

CH.9 The Portal to Hell

 https://5kyeeidtal.bandcamp.com/album/eisenlager-idtal-i-2-2020-1123-33-eisen-beton-kopf-remix-by-eisenlager

Ok, so I seem to have stumbled upon a mysterious portal to the nether…am I going to possibly risk being completely vaporized by it and never seen again or escape that sociopathic bat for good and come back when I can get the ship started? The choice really wasn’t that hard. The portal took her to a planet called Terra or earth as some call it. However, in this reality earth had been taken over by zombies in the year 2021 and few survivors remained. This is the story of those survivors…

The Living Dead approached Aranea swiftly but they were no match for her powerful Stone Fist. Come get some bitch she said, taunting them. From the distance, a lone sniper fired. The <Electro-Dragon> did a rolling scream…. “I am gonna fuck up your entire universe and everything in it!” The Sniper missed again. You could hear something fall from the nearby redwood tree in which it was stationed. They were close to the assassin now but zombies blocked her from its deadly projectiles. They were still completely naked with full-body tattoos of her tribe and their sacred star sign of the apprentice. Her large tits and huge constantly erect nipples were exposed only wearing the ship's key, but armor would soon become a priority after this debacle. The sniper looked like a definite reptilian of some species. He was green like Aranea but with Red markings and a much smaller stubbier tail...figures. He pulled out Golden twin Uzis on Aranea, firing them till the 32-round 9mm clips were emptied into them. They dodged flying out of the way with their dragon wings and then used the palms of their hands to shoot the hands off the assailant. They then used their third eye chakra to harness the power of pure energy in the atmosphere to vaporize the remains of the passed-out and hand-less lizard. This is how she got the Twin Uzis which were gold and matched her overly excited purple and gold nipples.

She was all alone now, just drifting through the eerie, wasteland which was clearly haunted and had screeching ghosts flying all around it. It was truly hell on earth. They spent almost a whole year smashing zombie skulls with her stone cestus, trying to heal the soul of this infected planet. Eventually, though they just gave up. During this time they encountered other bipedal animals. There Was Loretta the Red Panda, who introduced Aranea to the others. A group of survivors living in the RedWoods in an old 1981 Vanagon. Around it was all their motorcycle which they held as dear as life itself.

 The day they met they played a fun game called Farkle and vaporized Dragons-Tongue flowers with a special pipe made of "Qoiten Glass". She trained with the group for days doing pull-ups on the redwoods branches. There was also Navi and a young Furry Where-wolf who loved to howl at the moon as do all lycanthropes. The group was called 'The Skull-Crushers' In addition to Navi there was also Kassandra a Bipedal Naga as there called on Rayuba, or in the common tongue cobra. They also regularly had raves in the forest with lights made from glowing rocks found in nearby mines. 

I had to wonder what potential these light-emitting stones emitted."Could they possibly be used to increase the power of my Cestus?" Repair the metal armor back on my ship perhaps? They put of few of them in their pocket for safe keeping. 

After sufficiently meditating on the idea of entering & Breeding each other's bodies the time had come for them to have an erotic Orgy to put it simply. They all sat in a square and began scissoring, moaning, and squirting on each other. After this happened, they all decided it was time to eat each other out in a big square circle, this lasted for about an hour until no one could breathe and they had to take a break. After some gentle cuddling Aranea used their penis to Impregnate Lorreta, Navi, and Cassandra. Simultaniously in one night.

[heyyyharry]

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

.

.

.

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

.

.

.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

[weirdmageddonbaby]

Spill it

This is my very first thing I’ve written for this ship publicly. Just some random fic after their graduation party from senior year and Dipper is a freaking dork and wants to plan a special thing yada yada. This is more Mable perspective but a few of Dipper’s as well.

The sky is swarmed with hues of blues and pinks crashing into one another showing the slightest hint of purple. Both backs flattened against the grassy meadow floor. They lay intertwined as they gaze upon the sky shifting from day to night. Mable was in awe. Dipper planned this special twin time that she wasn’t even told about. She was surprised he had any time to plan anything. He became so wrapped up in college essays and applications he hadn’t allotted enough time for twin time. She understood though. Her head lying on her brother's shoulder sneaking a few looks at his jawline with scruff. Gosh, when did dip-dop get all manly man over here? She smirks but feels her face flush. His arm tightens around her middle as he keeps his face sternly upward to the stars. Her frame molds into his side. Naturally, Mable lays her hand softly onto his chest. She can feel the sparse chest hair as she draws small circles with her index finger. She looks up again to steal another look at her brother. His face reddened with droplets of sweat beading down from his forehead to his temples and downward.

Her face scrunched in dismay. What is going on with him ? Why is he making that my-brain-is-gonna-explode-face? Mable decides to break the confusing tension lifting her head propped by her hand. Her head overtops his. Less than an inch away. She's taking in every part of her brother now. Okay, wow. How have I never noticed how friggin handsome he is. Geez gimme a dollop of that manly dippin sauce. Though she gives herself a brow questioning why the hell she's getting all hot over her bro she ignores it. Focus Mable girl focus. Rationalizing it's just simply admiration for her twin and nothing more. In a tone of concern with her fingers pressing deeper into his chest, "So what's going on in that nerd brain?" Dipper is at loss for words. He tries not to make eye contact in order to let any words escape his mouth. Giving out a terrible fake chuckle, "What are you talking about Mabes ?" Mable begins to roll her eyes with a disgruntled sigh. "Dip we have been through this. You know that I can tell when something is off with you. Now spill the beans." She does a fake flick in the air demanding the beans must be spilled. He sighs as he lifts himself from the ground. Both of them sat crisscrossed staring at each other. Mable feels a churn in her stomach. Aghhh Dipperson sir you are causing so much not good feels. What could you possibly say that'd make you act like such a sweaty dork? Besides his usual sweaty self. He puts his head in his hand. Burrowing as much as possible to become invisible. She can't watch her brother like this. "Dipper what's wrong?" She started to think it must be school. Going to college next month in different states farther than they've ever been from each other. "Dip I-" but she stopped to find her brother lifting his head with his eyes darting at her.

His eyes are dark but glassy. There are pricks of droplets on the ends of his eyes. He is on the verge of crying but passionately determined. He whispers leaning inward, "Just please don't freak out." She doesn't register his words as he cups her cheeks pressing his lips against hers. Her mind is ablaze. She doesn’t pull away. She let’s it linger for as long as she can have this moment. She knows this is not okay normal twin activities. The idea of actually realizing why this is continuing on her behalf she can’t think about right now. Naturally her lips take his in. Softly suckling his bottom lip into her mouth. Dipper is now holding his breath trying not to breathe through his nose to hard and ruin this moment. Mable pulls away as her lids are low sheepishly. The twins take in the deepest breathe they may have ever taken. So deep they can both feel the tightness in their chests. He looks at her in shame. Mabel can’t watch a second more of that face. She wants whatever he is giving her more than she can admit. She pulls him in by his shoulders kissing him hard and frantic. He lets his sister do whatever he wants to her. He is just thankful she isn’t running away. He could be shitting his pants and throwing up his intestines. In the insane almost impossible realm of possibility that isn’t happening. She is here. With him. Grateful she’s giving back what he couldn’t even imagine would come to fruition. Her rump cushioned in his lap as she wriggles her legs around his waist. She pulls herself away to breathe. Where the heck in the hoot did all this pent up kissage for dip n dops come from? THIS IS HER TWIN. WHat is going on with you Mable girl? She gets lost in her mind for a moment trying to string together her impulsive desires. A familiar hand reaches out to move strands of hair from her face to the back of her ear. His hand falls back to her cheek. His thumb is coarse from the calluses he’s developed over the years but its comforting as he rubs her cheek.

Grabbing at his hand her eyes become watery. She is feeling so many emotions it becomes overwhelming. Dipper stares at her with admiration but sees the tears form in her eyes. He starts to imagine forcing a giant boulder overhead of himself to crush him. Of course your sister would not be okay making out with you. You nasty perverted stupid moron. “Ma-Mable I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for this…oh god I-“ He stops to his sister laughing as she wipes away her tears. “Dipper, its okay. I um haha how do I say this…. I frigging liked it okay.” She shrugs her shoulders not sure how to act about any of this. It’s not like there is a guide book for this exact situation. She sniffles, “I am just feelin a lot of feels right now. Most of ‘em are real good tho. Whew yea.” He sighs relief but still notes the uncertainty she is feeling. “O-okay so uh does that mean we are good…is this good? Are we all around good?” She widens her eyes. Oh crap-a-doodle. She has to give him a straight answer or he is gonna die in not knowing. C’mon Mabes give an answer ya know he will take. “ Dip, we are good. Twins good.” She bites her lip knowing she needs to address the actual thing he wants answered. “As for this neeeeewwww stuff um…it’s good. Maybe we shouldn’t but uh yeah dippy I am down to clown all the way around town.” She smirks at herself reassuring that this is uh new but also okay. Okay enough to enjoy right now in this moment. She can’t think about the future it will be too much to spoil the moment.

Dipper is biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Wow alright this uh yeah this is really happening.” He smiles ear to ear. He knows this is really bad. He knows all the possible repercussions. God has he mulled them over after rubbing one out to her. He KNOWS. But he just can’t care enough. He is too wrapped up in his sisters embrace and warmth to even think anything outside of this perfect moment. They giggle at each other as they peck kisses back n forth. Playing a game of stealing back kisses. It’s nice. Silly even. They fall back to the ground laying next to each other face to face. An alarm rings in the background but he grabs it to dismiss. Nothing else matters. Just him and her.

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [one] // wanda maximoff

summary: when you're paired with the most popular girl in your grade for Chemistry class, you definitely don't expect to start liking her like that...

warning/s: none i don't think??

author's note: okay so i have a ton of requests to work through but i got sidetracked and before i knew it, five parts of this imagine were written.

It's based off the song 'Teenage Dirtbag' and idk, i thought it was cute to write! Who doesn't love the popular girl!wanda and loner!reader concept?

Here’s a cover of the song to listen to because i really liked it and a girl sings it so it immediately made the song 10x more gay, just how i like it 🥰

masterlist | wattpad | part two | part three | part four | part five

"Are you all comfortable?"

The class stayed silent, watching our Chemistry teacher, Mr. Hale, as he looked to everyone with a raised brow.

"You all like who you're sat with?" he asked again, as if expecting an actual response from someone.

I exchanged questioning glances with my best friend, Y/BF/N, who was sat beside me. It was the first day back in Chemistry class of our final year of high school and we were just waiting to begin.

"Anyone?" he asked, looking around.

"Yeah," a few students mumbled in response so we could move on.

He clapped his hands together. "Great! Well, don't get too comfortable because I made a seating chart."

A chorus of groans erupted from the class, including from me and Y/BF/N. Every other class had successfully managed to not give us a seating chart. I'd heard that Mr. Hale was an awkward teacher who hated students (ironically), but I didn't think he'd stoop so low as to pair us with students who weren't our friends. These new seats were also our partners for the rest of the year and were non-negotiable, so any projects or work we did would have to be with our seat buddy. Fun.

Students began to shuffle to their newly-assigned seats reluctantly as Mr. Hale read out the chart. When Y/BF/N left my side, I frowned dramatically, waving goodbye to him.

"Wanda Maximoff, you're now partners with Y/N Y/L/N," said Mr. Hale, making me look up at the mention of my name.

I didn't get chance to register what he'd said as the aforementioned girl soon approached me, settling her bag on the table beside me. I looked up and saw Wanda Maximoff smiling my way before taking a seat on the stool.

Huh. Wanda Maximoff. She was one of the most popular girls in our grade. Everybody loved her, either wanting to be friends with her, be with her or be her. I'd personally never crossed paths with her apart from the few classes we shared. She seemed nice enough, but I guess I had preconceived notions of what she was like since she'd made the very poor decision to date the most obnoxious guy ever. Anyone making decisions that terrible definitely had a flaw.

She had a twin brother, Pietro, who was also in our grade and played on the football team alongside her boyfriend. Her parents were good friends with mine, through mutual friends, I think, as I recalled my mum mentioning 'Mrs. Maximoff's boy' or 'Mrs. Maximoff's girl'. And I remembered when her family moved into our town back in second grade.

Admittedly, Wanda was the star of the show back then, too. We were only kids, but child Y/N wasn't blind. She was the first girl I'd crushed on, an innocent child crush – the crush that made me realise I liked girls. Apart from that, and the fact that she had a locker behind me in the hallway, I never really thought about her.

I glanced behind me, catching Y/BF/N's gaze across the room as he sat beside some other kid. He frowned, implying he wished we were partners, and I knew just how he felt.

Once Mr. Hale finished assigning seats, he gave us five minutes to get to know our new partners as he struggled to find the powerpoint for today's class. If there was anything worse than getting assigned seats, it was ice breakers.

"Er, well, hi," Wanda greeted, turning to face me. Green eyes sparkled brightly behind a friendly smile. "I'm Wanda. But, I mean, we already know each other."

"That we do," I said with a nod, returning her smile. "How're you doing? Your summer go well?"

She ran a hand through her hair, adjusting herself so she was comfortable on her stool. And as she did, a waft of her perfume washed over me and I blinked, trying to ignore how nice it smelled. Floral. Subtle. It suited her.

"Good, yeah," she answered with a nod. "Could have gone on longer for all I care."

I chuckled. "I feel that. I'm definitely not ready to be back."

"Right?" she said with raised brows. "It's gonna take a while to get back into routine, that's for sure. But I guess I did miss seeing my friends everyday."

I hummed in agreement, eyes flickering to Mr. Hale as he attempted to tackle the oncoming stream of animations on his powerpoint. I tried not to laugh as I looked back to Wanda, who clearly noticed the same thing as me and stifled a smile.

"Have you had Mr. Hale before?" I asked, nodding his way.

She shook her head. "Nope. You?"

"Never."

"Sucks that he makes seating charts," she said with a sigh, before realising what she said and looking to me with panicked eyes. "Not that I don't like you or anything–!"

"It's fine, I get it," I cut her off with an amused smile. "I wanted to sit with my friend, too."

She breathed out quietly, a hint of relief in her eyes, and scrunched her nose with an apologetic smile. Okay, yeah, maybe that was kind of cute. Older Y/N wasn't blind either. Wanda Maximoff was beautiful, with long brunette locks and matching hazel eyes that seemed to change from blue to green to brown in a kaleidoscope of colour. A winning smile and soothing voice was enough for anyone to fall for her unintentional charm, but it was purely admiration. Everyone pretty much had a mild crush on her, you'd be stupid not to.

"If we're gonna be working together, d'you wanna get the whole awkward number exchange out the way now?" she asked, half joking, half not.

"I– er– sure," I stumbled out rather carelessly, before cringing internally. Where did that come from?

Thankfully, she didn't seem to pick up on it (or just saved me the embarrassment of acknowledging it) and was already writing her number on a slip of paper. Sliding it my way, she capped her pen and gave me her signature smile.

"Thanks," I said with a nod, accepting the paper and pocketing it. "Can't wait to start those lovely science projects we've got coming up!"

She let out a quiet laugh at my sarcasm. "It'll be fine. You're not dumb, right? So, we'll be fine."

"Can't promise you that," I joked, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"Maybe if we–"

But she was cut off when Mr. Hale spoke up loudly, interrupting everyone's conversations.

"Five minutes are up, let's begin!"

I wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing as me – that was not five minutes.

"So it begins...," I mumbled to myself, facing forward.

Wanda breathed out, a stifled laugh, probably having heard my comment, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. Maybe I judged her too harshly. She wasn't actually that bad.

—

Since being paired with Wanda, I was surprised by how much she'd made an effort to befriend me outside of class. We'd always been back to back with our lockers though not quite speaking, but since becoming Chemistry partners, she'd wish me a good morning if she caught me, or greet me briefly as we collected our books.

She didn't have to, but I could see why everybody liked her now. She was just genuinely nice. Due to circumstance, we'd become partners, but rather than leaving it at that, she made a genuine effort to befriend me. And not even just me, but also Y/BF/N, who was at the locker next to mine. He was as surprised as I was, expecting Wanda to mind her own business as we weren't exactly in the same social circles.

This was, I guess you could say, the start of our friendship. And it was a good one at that. I grew to learn how funny she was, how much she loved her brother, the passion she had for art and painting... she was a wonderful person. Which is why I didn't understand why she was with her boyfriend, Nate. He was a grade-A dick and everything Wanda wasn't. How were they a thing?

It sounds like I'm being a bitch and judgemental, but he really is the worst. The few unfortunate times I shared a class with him or caught sight of him around school, he was causing some sort of trouble with the teachers or picking on students in a way that made it seem like a joke but everybody knew it wasn't.

For example, there was a time when Wanda and I were studying for an upcoming Chemistry test we had. We decided to just help each other study since we already worked together in class, so knew we could motivate each other to actually put in the work. It was, maybe, the fourth studying session we had, and I was going over some notes when I felt her eyes watching me.

"You need a hand?" I asked, unable to take the staring any longer. I looked up at her, quirking a brow.

She seemed to fall out of her daydream and straightened up, eyes flickering to mine. "Huh?"

I gave her an awkward smile, unable to maintain her gaze. "You're staring."

She didn't seem fazed as I called her out, instead leaning back in her seat and continuing to study me curiously.

"Did you do something different with your hair?"

Subconsciously reaching for my hair, I straightened up my ponytail and shook my head. "No...?"

She chewed on her lip, saying after a pause, "You tied it up. You usually leave it out."

Did I? I wasn't sure. I just knew that her noticing something like that made me feel self conscious all of a sudden.

"It looks good," she decided, before offering up a small smile. "You should do it like that more often."

Quickly, I felt warm. Was it stuffy in here or was it just me? God, compliments already made me feel stupid. And compliments from pretty girls made me feel ten times that. It didn't help that she was watching me with an endearing expression, making me focus on my book before me.

"Thanks," I got out quickly. "I– yeah."

Her smile widened before she looked back down to her own book. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the way her leg brushed up against mine under the table.

Thankfully, the strange fuzzy feeling following her compliment faded and we were able to get back to work without her tuning out again. As we were going over each other's practice questions, an annoying voice shouted from across the library.

"Wanda, head's up!"

"Hey, no talking in the library!" a librarian hissed at the voice.

Wanda and I looked up just in time for a football to smack me in the side of the head. I didn't even see it coming until I felt the thing slap my head, giving me an instant urge to strangle whoever threw it.

"Fuck," I cursed, holding my head and closing my eyes to breathe through the pain.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Wanda's voice made me open my eyes and I saw her leaning forward, hand resting on my shoulder and the other on top of mine that was clutching my head.

"Been better," I admitted, trying to make light of the situation because as angry as I was at the idiot who threw it, I was also embarrassed because it hit me.

Wanda seemed concerned as she gently pulled me hand away, not letting go as she got a better look at the side of my face which I was sure was burning red. At least that's what it felt like.

"Shit, I'm so sorry."

I looked up and saw none other than Nate Green, Wanda's boyfriend, hovering and stifling a laugh as he looked at me. He had his stupid varsity jacket on and I was tempted to strangle him with it.

"I thought Wanda would catch it," he explained stupidly, before moving around the desk to collect his football.

Breathing out through gritted teeth, I pulled away from Wanda and nodded reassuringly. "I'll be fine. Just need an ice pack."

"You're such an idiot, Nate!" Wanda snapped, looking to him with a glare. "You need to watch what you're doing!"

He smiled sheepishly, making me roll my eyes and clench my jaw at the heat on the right side of my face. Fuck, that really hurt.

"What did you want?" Wanda asked him with a quirked brow. She definitely wasn't impressed. I'd hate to ever be on the wrong side of that condescending glare.

"I thought we could go out," he said like it was that simple.

"I'm studying," she quipped with crossed arms.

"I'm happy to wait," he said, toying with the ball in his hands.

Knowing I definitely didn't want that, I closed my books and said, "It's cool. You guys go. I think we're done here anyway."

Nate grinned. "See? S'all good."

Wanda ignored him and looked to me with worried eyes. "Y/N, are you sure?"

"You know your stuff," I said, referring to the work. "You'll be fine in the test. I'm sure."

I offered her a small, forced smile, before standing up to pack my bag. She did the same, beginning to pack her own things, but her eyes kept flittering towards me.

"D'you want me to go to the nurse's office with you?" she asked, shame laced in her voice.

"It's fine, I'll be fine," I said, hurrying up with my actions so I could just get out of here whilst I still had (some of) my dignity left. "See you in class tomorrow."

She nodded, sending a guilty smile my way. "See you tomorrow, Y/N."

Without giving either of them a look, I shouldered my backpack and left the library. Just another reminder of why Nate Green was literally the worst person ever.

—

Liking Wanda as more than a friend wasn't something that happened for a while if I'm being honest. I guess I started to enjoy her presence more and more the longer we spent time together.

I'd come to appreciate it whenever she'd say something completely out of the blue that made no sense whatsoever, or whenever she'd laugh at something I'd said that was arguably not funny but she didn't want to make me feel bad, or even whenever I teased her about something stupid she did, resulting in her doing that cute little nose scrunch she did. But I didn't think of it as liking her, more just a randomly-formed friendship that I was glad to have.

Maybe it was this misinterpretation that didn't make me see how I was acting around her, such as the time I was in the dinner queue at lunch when I realised she was stood behind me.

"Oh, hey, Y/N," she said when she noticed it was me in front of her. Her usual bright, friendly smile was on her lips as she looked to me. "You good?"

I nodded, returning her smile. "Yeah. Just getting some doughnuts for Y/BF/N and I. You?"

"Same," she said, before nudging the guy next to her, who I recognised as her brother. "Pietro and I thought we'd treat ourselves."

At the mention of his name, Pietro looked down to his sister before his gaze fell on me. A mischievous smile appeared on his lips as he put out his hand.

"Pietro Maximoff," he introduced. "You must be the Chemistry partner, Y/N, right?"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise as I shook his hand. "You, er, know who I am?"

He glanced at his sister with a cheeky smile. Wanda was avoiding both of our gazes, her cheeks dusting pink.

Clearly saving face for Wanda, he said, "We've been in the same grade since kids, right? 'Course I do."

Despite the truth to his words, something told me that wasn't how he knew who I was. Especially since I was sure I'd never spoken to him in my life. But, to save Wanda the embarrassment of clearly having spoken of me at home, I nodded to Pietro.

"Right," I agreed with an amused smile. "Duh."

I moved down the queue and grabbed two doughnuts from the display, putting them in two separate paper bags.

"Dibs the last one!" Pietro exclaimed as soon as I returned the clippers to the display. He reached around his sister immaturely and bagged the last doughnut.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "You know I can ask for more, right?"

Pietro grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Go on then."

The two were twins, but they couldn't have been more different. I simply revelled in their interaction, finding it adorable.

Wanda did as she said, asking the dinner lady if there were any more doughnuts in the back. Unfortunately for her, those were the last for the day, making Pietro laugh as Wanda pouted.

"Sucks to be you," he teased her, as I paid for mine and Y/BF/N's doughnuts.

"I hate you," she mumbled playfully, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes as he lovingly but annoyingly waved his bag before her eyes.

Without even thinking much of it, I held out one of the bags in my hand. "Here. You can have mine."

Wanda looked to me with surprise. "Are you sure? I can live without a doughnut, if that's what you're thinking."

I chuckled, grabbing her hand and making her take it. "It's okay. I wasn't in the mood anyway."

Plus, you look better when you're smiling and not pouting, I added in my head.

She accepted the bag reluctantly. "I– thanks. At least let me pay for it–"

"It's just a doughnut, Wanda," I teased, before nodding her way. "See you later."

Leaving her and Pietro to it, I headed back to the table Y/BF/N was sat at and took a seat opposite him before giving him his doughnut.

"Sweet," he said, quickly opening the bag before realising I didn't have one. "Where's yours?"

Over his shoulder, I saw Wanda and Pietro taking a seat at their lunch table, doughnuts in hand and a heartwarming smile on Wanda's lips.

"They ran out," I answered Y/BF/N. "Wasn't in the mood anyway. Enjoy."

He shrugged before digging in. I'd like to say I didn't spare glances in Wanda's direction every now and then for the rest of the lunch hour, but I'd be lying if I did.

—

I'm in the art department. You okay to bring it here?

I read over the text Wanda sent me before shooting her an 'okay' and heading to the Art department. I'd grabbed her notebook in class earlier on, only realising as I was studying with Y/BF/N in the library and pulled out an extra one, so I was going to give it her back.

I guess, when you realise you like someone, it comes randomly, suddenly, without warning. Liking someone isn't instant, it's constant and gradual and subconscious. I guess I'd been falling for Wanda for a while, without even realising, but today was the day I acknowledged that fact.

The Art department wasn't somewhere I frequented regularly – give me a paint and brushes and I'd probably present you with a finger painting – but it was definitely worth the visit. Art pieces from current and past students were hung on the walls, a mural of the school was spray painted on another, and sculptures stood around. The whole department brought a smile to anyone's face with its bright colours and open space – I could see why Art students always hung out here, Wanda included.

Speaking of Wanda, I found her in one of the classrooms sat at a stool in front of a series of canvasses. The room had a few other Art students littered around, working on their own pieces during their lunch period, otherwise it was empty.

"Hey," I called, getting her attention as I approached her.

She followed my voice and straightened up with a cheery smile. "Y/N, hey. Thanks for coming. I'm working on my Art project, so I couldn't pull myself away."

I waved my hand dismissively, joining her side. "It's all good, don't worry." My eyes wandered to the series of canvases on easels she was working on and widened. "Holy shit, these are so good."

Three unfinished hyperrealistic portraits of people were before us, one whom I recognised as Pietro. The paintings were so detailed, despite their medium-size, and I couldn't imagine how long they must have taken.

"You think?" she asked, glancing between them. "I think I messed up the nose here." She pointed with the back end of her paintbrush to the nose of Pietro. "It's a bit bent."

I almost laughed as I looked to her with disbelief. "Are you kidding? Wanda, these are amazing. How did you even do this?"

She looked down bashfully, a nervous smile on her lips. "I don't know. It's for a project. I chose to do family portraits." She pointed to each one as she said, "My mum, my dad and my brother."

I was in awe of her talent, jaw dropped with amazement still. I always knew she was an artist, but I'd never actually seen her work. I was starting to wish I'd come here a lot sooner.

"So, you got my notebook?" she asked, pulling me back into reality.

I looked away from the paintings reluctantly before getting her notebook from my bag and holding it out for her. As she accepted it, she must have forgotten she was holding her paintbrush as the tip brushed my wrist, leaving a swipe of red there.

"Oh, my bad," she said with a laugh, before setting her notebook and brush down and grabbing a paper towel from beside her.

Wetting it with water from her bottle, she pressed it to my wrist and swiped the paint away. It was such a mundane action, but the way her fingers gently held my wrist and emanated a warmth only she seemed to carry sent shivers down my spine.

I glanced up at her, letting her do it, and noticed the swipe of paint she had across her cheek, as if she'd touched her face without realising.

Now that I paid attention, I noticed how cute she looked in her Art getup. An old, oversized shirt covered in paint was being worn to cover her clothes, sleeves loosely rolled up to her elbows. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail, but her baby hairs framed her forehead adorably.

When her hair wasn't in her face, her eyes only seemed more intense, glistening with excitement and happiness. I almost forgot to breathe when they met mine briefly, a hint of embarrassment there from when cleaning me up. She was in her element here and it made sense to me now.

I knew I'd fallen for her.

—

"You don't get it," I was saying to Y/BF/N as we hung about the school gym, waiting for the teacher to start the lesson. "It's bad. I like her. Like, like like her."

Y/BF/N laughed, clapping me on the back with pity. "You're screwed."

I frowned. "I know."

As he stretched for class, he continued, "I mean, I get it, I do. She's super nice. Pretty. And you guys seem to get on."

I chewed on my lower lip worriedly.

He gave me a knowing look. "There's one problem though."

I groaned, running a hand down my face. "I know, I know. She's got that dick of a boyfriend."

He chuckled. "That's one way to put it."

I sighed, crossing my arms with annoyance. Since realising I liked Wanda as a little more than a friend, things weren't going well for me. Whenever we worked together, I'd forget what I was thinking because I was too busy admiring her side profile or getting lost in her eyes. If she spoke about the work, told a joke or was simply speaking her thoughts aloud, I'd focus on every little thing she was saying, knowing I could listen to her speak all day. It was bad, but thankfully I hadn't stumbled over my words or made a total fool of myself in front of her. I was determined to not let it get that far.

My eyes wandered around the gym as Y/BF/N tried to give me advice, but admittedly, his words flew in one ear and out the other when I caught sight of Wanda.

She was standing with her friends, smiling and laughing to whatever they were saying. Like everyone else in here, she was wearing her gym kit – black athletic shorts and a blue and white tee shirt, the colour of our school. It wasn't anything special, yet she made it seem that way, outdoing anyone in here. Her brown hair was tied back, the ponytail falling down her back, showing her stunning profile and making my mouth go dry.

Another clap on the back from Y/BF/N pulled me from my reverie and I looked to see he was laughing at me.

"Majorly screwed," he corrected his previous comment.

He was definitely right.

[sneezefiction]

my turn

atsumu x reader

desc: you get a back massage from a gremlin your fiancé

a/n: @gahdam-beb hollz, thank you bunches for this cuteness! he absolutely would give good back massages. may or may not have gotten super carried away here – i meant for this to be like,, 200 words. not proofread & it’s all lowercase :,)

warnings: language, mentions marriage, mentions stabbing (i promise this entire fic is pure fluff though)

wc: 1.3k

—

so maybe the couch isn’t the best place to sprawl out on.

but you could hardly make it through the apartment door, much less all the way to your bedroom.

a leg dangles limply off the side of the worn-down sofa while the rest of your body merges with the cushion. the smell of pizza from last night’s takeout lingers on the soft material. an air conditioner unit whirs on and a chill streams across your skin, making your hairs stand on end.

unfortunately, all the throw blankets are either in the dryer or on your bed. and your fiancé? well, Atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

you sigh into a pillow.

it’s not every day you feel deprived of his presence. the blond is a lot to handle and he has a habit of bringing chaos with him wherever he goes, whether it’s a quick jaunt to the kitchen or across the country at a volleyball game.

but you can’t help but miss Atsumu, his chaos included. you’re quite endeared to him, actually.

i mean, there’s certainly a reason you’re wearing that silver engagement ring.

but right now it’s not just him that you’re missing. it’s those warm hands of his.

they tickle and prod and they’re not the softest things in the world... but they sure make for a back’s best friend. if you could wish for anything right now, it would be a back massage — for someone to rub and smooth away the tension of another long day.

but he’s not supposed to be back for another hour.

you shut your eyes, choosing to nap until he eventually walks through the door... but a tapping outside keeps your ears perked at attention.

the steps grow heavier in the corridor and, alongside that noise, your heart starts to thrumb louder too. you got off work early and your neighbors don’t typically come home til late... so you’re definitely not expecting anyone.

soon you realize the footsteps are just outside your door.

your heart jumps as the door clicks open and, from it, a rather refreshed-looking Atsumu emerges.

you thank the couch gods that it’s just him.

you would’ve rather been stabbed than defend yourself — you’re too tired to deal with that bullshit. but you’re glad that the universe hadn’t sealed your fate just yet.

“i’m home,” he calls, drawling out the words, “did ya miss me?”

you acknowledge him with a pitiful groan into the couch. it was an attempt at saying “yes” but even you aren’t sure of the unholy sound you just made.

“i don’t speak gremlin,” he chuckles.

you lift your head, shooting him a look.

“that’s unfortunate since you pretty much are one,” you say, dryly.

his jaw drops.

“i’m gonna tell ‘Samu you said that. we have the same face, y’know.”

okay, maybe you should be a little nicer if you want him to put his hands all over you... in a nonsexual way... at least for right now.

you don’t respond to him.

but that doesn’t stop him from talking.

“did somebody have a bad day?” his voice is high and he juts a lip out, taunting you.

you frown violently (if that’s at all possible). yes, he’s joking, but his face looks a fraction more slappable now.

“not particularly,” is your somewhat honest answer.

he shrugs off his jacket, the fabric tussling as he tosses it onto a wooden coat rack. there’s a clink of keys and the plop of a wallet on the countertop.

soon, those heavy steps you heard from outside are treading in your direction until he reaches the corner of the couch – right where your face is. without any hesitation, he sinks into a squat until you’re at eye-level with the giant.

you don’t move an inch, but even though you’re irritated, you kind of wanna kiss him.

“you’re home early,” you mumble, instead of grabbing his face and crashing your lips into his.

Atsumu tilts his head, “i wanted to surprise ya ‘cus i knew you’d be off early.”

he looks annoyingly attractive under the dingy living-room light. where are his dark circles? why are there no wrinkles on his forehead?

you, on the otherhand, probably look like a sloth on its last leg... arm? sloth appendages are confusing and you’d rather not think about that right now.

“is there anything i can do for ya?” he asks, softening at your grumpy expression.

yes.

“no.”

why are you making this difficult for yourself? it’s obvious you’re not doing too hot... and you really want that back massage – your muscles are practically screaming at you for relief.

he leans in closer, brushing his knuckles across your exposed cheek. they’re gentle on your skin.

“are ya sure?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper.

okay, sometimes he’s sweet. but only sometimes.

“can... you give me a massage?” you mumble through pouting lips.

a gentle smile forms on his lips, “yeah.”

he stands, long legs replacing the space where his face once was. Atsumu then shuffles to your side, but it takes him a moment to get situated.

the couch dips as he places a knee on either side of you, straddling your hips. Atsumu makes ass-to-ass contact. the most romantic of positions.

you squeal as he crushes you beneath him.

“oh, c’mon i’m not that heavy,” Atsumu snorts.

“says the guy who’s not actively being squashed into a couch.”

although you’d rather this than the burning ache under your skin.

he grumbles under his breath, but you choose to ignore it. suddenly, fingers are pressing deeply into your upper back and grazing your shoulder blades.

a quick gasp escapes your lips and you instantly regret it.

his deep chuckle shakes his body and, in turn, yours too. thankfully, his lips stay sealed.

you wish you could see that little smirk of his, as much as it bugs you, while he works his magic on your tight shoulders. there’s something so charming about that lopsided grin – it’s part of why you love him so much.

he adjusts again, accidentally kneeing you in the side.

“shit! be careful,” you jolt, warning him.

he smooths a hand down your hip and mutters out a genuine “sorry,” atoning in both word and deed.

in doing so, a metallic coolness brushes against an exposed patch of skin, making you shiver. you peek over your shoulder to see what it is.

it’s the ring on his finger...

and suddenly you can’t fuss at him anymore.

instead, warmth travels steadily throughout your body and his palms burn against your skin.

how can you be marrying him and still flush over the silliest things? in your defense, the ring is a relatively new thing in your relationship. it throws you for a loop anytime you catch sight of it.

Atsumu kneads firmly into the tissues, loosing stubborn knots and waking up your tired skin. his hands are large and stable; like a potter to unshaped clay, the digits mould and shape and indent.

slowly, but surely, your body relaxes and your mood lifts. a soft, virtually undetectable smile is on your lips.

Atsumu could be hellish and rude and a brat about the oddest things. he’s pretty gross and always tries to hug you when he’s dripping sweat. you’re also certain, positive, without a shadow of a doubt sure that he’s the more disagreeable twin.

but you’re probably the only person who can put up with him.

and he, you.

it’s a good thing you found each other... and even better that you can both give great back massages. it’s likely that’s what’s preserving your relationship.

hopefully, that same tactic works in marriage too.

you hum to yourself and your eyes, already drooping, finally close. Atsumu softens his touch, tracing the curves and contours of your body, lulling you into a hazy state.

Atsumu, rough and tumble as he is, could be gentle when he wanted to be — a side of him that easily made you see stars and super novas where only golden eyes and blond strands exist.

at some point, you think you feel a ghost of a breath against your skin.

maybe even a pair of lips pressing to your neck? you’re a little too out of it to tell.

but as soon as you find yourself drifting off, his hands peel away from you. it’s like you just lost a piece of yourself because you’re desperately searching for that missing warmth.

you whine in protest, turning to face the cruel man. after such a long fucking week, he chose to stop. and you were almost asleep too.

but that bastard.

that disgustingly adorable bastard.

he’s smiling as wide and bright as the milky way. there’s not even a hint of guilt.

“my turn,” he directs through a waggish grin.

alright, he’s slappable again.

—

[aenaxes]

congrats on 200 my dear!!! i’m so happy i found your writing and look forward to being better friends!!! anywho, the celebration must commence! 🍾 🎉💕 ily!!

for requests, i gotta go w my main man, my first clone love, the darling hardcase (i swear he doesn’t get enough love) 💕 we’re both touch starved adhd fools who love a little too much sometimes and i just wanna smother him w my 🐱 in all the affection he deserves. if you’re up for it, maybe some soft smut for your local bottom? 🥺 i’ve been wanting to get a tattoo that matches his facial markings and wonder how he’d react to seeing it during a gentle moment between the two of you. my pronouns are she/they & i’m 5’6, and i have dark green hair + blue eyes.

you and me & me and you

[hardcase x afab!reader] there is little permanence, and all of them are fleeting, in a war that tips its scales with each new dawn. so while hardcase is away, you decide you’ll carve out your own constant between you and him, and him and you.

warnings: tattoos, unprotected vaginal sex, mushy gooey feelings pt.2

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: my love for hardcase grows day by day, and every day i wake up and cry a little bit because he isn’t real. but it's ok bc ily jj and you're very much real 💕

Seldom do you find Hardcase stunned into complete silence.

Stillness shared between you and Hardcase, rare as those moments may be, is never truly silent. Tackling each other onto the couch, stealing late-night speeder joyrides, sharing the kind of banter that doubles you over so hard your ribs sting for hours afterwards—the energy, the light, linger in the spaces left behind.

But this time, Hardcase simply stares, jaw slack and eyes wide as your fingers curl over the lifted hem of your shirt. No wisecrack quip, no teasing wink, not even so much as a low whistle as you tug your shirt over your head and drop it behind you, straddling his lap over the edge of the bed.

Eyes full of stars, he gawks.

“You—those’re my—hm, okay, wow, uh, hah—” Hardcase’s voice pitches high as his lips open and close around half-formed words.

You watch the whole spectacle as he gasps like a landed fish, grasping for wisps of coherence. And you can’t help the giggle that rises from your throat when he forgoes words entirely and trails off into a breathless half-whimper half-laugh.

“Can I—” he says at last, and his voice cracks hoarse through his sputtering attempt to regain what little composure he had. “Can I touch it?”

At your nod, Hardcase reaches forwards just enough that his fingertips barely brush over your chest. You don’t dare look down to where his calloused fingers meet the skin above your ribs, too afraid that if you take your eyes from Hardcase’s face for even a single heartbeat that you might miss a precious moment of the awestruck wonder in his expression. You find yourself as transfixed as he as you watch him trace the trio of royal blue ink arcing down your sternum and tapering off into twin circles that cradle the curve of your chest.

It’s what this whole evening has been leading up to—your grand reveal kickstarted by his signature lung-crushing hug on the hangar bay. You had braced for it harder than usual when he’d swept you into his arms and lifted you off the dusty platform steel, readying for the particularly bruising ache that comes with the week-old ink needled over the base of your ribs.

To be fair, it wasn’t possible to greet Hardcase without creating some sort of commotion. Even if it was just shy of a week on planetside escort duty, once the gunship was within a metre of the dusty landing bay durasteel, landing protocols be damned, Hardcase would hit the ground running, tossing his helmet behind him and swooping you into his arms. The sheer, unadulterated joy of reunion always found home in how he squeezed you around your middle and spun you about; it was always worth the solid smack over the back of his head (stern, from Rex and, gleefully, from Jesse) for throwing his bucket aside.

But when you had met him with more of a pained grunt than your usual tittering exclamation, Hardcase had dropped you so quickly you’d almost fallen backwards if not for his reflexes to steady you. When he’d stumbled over wide-eyed apologies (and braced past Jesse’s open-palmed whap over his head), you had only laughed and told him to wait until after you had run inventory with Rex.

His fingers finally pause their slow trace over the tattoo on your chest. He feels, sees himself, an emblem on your skin. And when he looks up, he sees you.

“Tats are sore for a bit, ‘Case,” you smile. His eyes are so wide you’re certain if you look just a little more, you’d see yourself in him. You and he, he and you, the same, the same, one. “‘s why I flinched a little.”

Hardcase’s lips open and part around soundless words a few more times, still floating in some limbo between processing disbelief and boundless excitement before he unevenly clears his throat and finally speaks.

“You—you got me inked on you?” Hardcase whispers. Each word has the corners of his lips curling higher as if he had to speak into realization what stood before him; as if his fingertips pressing tender divots into your skin were proof only of the flesh: a universal truth that only needed words to find home in his heart.

You nod, grinning.

“Wanted to have a part of you with me for while you’re away.”

And for a moment, Hardcase’s fingers are the only motion in a still room, stroking soft, repetitive motions over the blue ink of your—his—tattoo.

You silently brace for something loud and present, excited rambling, another crushing hug, affection swept wide and open before you. Instead, Hardcase lets free a single breathless huff and tugs you close.

“You know those are forever, right?” he laughs, his voice rising again.

“That’s why I got it,” you respond, and his laughter only grows brighter.

Hardcase buries his nose into your chest with a groan, and that precious crest of joy bursts over your tongue when you throw your head back and laugh. Gilded and honeyed light finds home in your chest.

“Mesh’la, I need you so bad right now,” Hardcase groans as he brings his arms snug around your waist. And his laughter joins yours this time, voices swelling together when Hardcase rests his brow against your skin and pulls you in close. You make quick work of the rest of your clothes, throwing them somewhere off to the bedside before you sit back down over the firm lines of his thighs.

“I mean, yeah, I sure hope so—was the whole point ‘Case,” you tease, and Hardcase groans, carrying something of breathless disbelief and affection and desire curled into a single whimpering sound.

And as soon as you’re squeezing over his shoulders, suddenly, you feel your gravity tilt, and you yelp as your back connects with the bedspread.

Hardcase cages you under him, one arm propped by your head as the other slips from beneath the small of your back and trails its way back to the centre of your chest, hovering just at the edges of your tattoo. He lingers, treading those shallow waters for a moment more. But where you expect the familiar drag of his blunt nails over the bold lines of blue ink, he dips low. Instead, you gasp when his fingers are replaced by his lips, warm, inviting, home as he presses a single, lingering kiss over the sigil branded into your skin.

“‘Case!” you giggle and kick out your legs at the sudden flick of his tongue over your chest. You feel him laugh into your skin, his breath wisping over where his lips just brush over the edges of the tattoo.

He ghosts one more touch, drawn long and yet chaste in how he nuzzles the tip of his nose into your chest. And the bubbling laughter of before wanes, complete, when he lifts his chin and meets you with the hushed whispers of a smile on his parted lips.

Because it’s him, finding home over the base of your ribs.

It’s him, reflected back into his wide eyes.

It’s you.

He doesn’t surge up to meet you. He doesn’t kiss you with that unabashed brilliance that crushes your lips together so hard your teeth clack. The breath catches in your throat as you watch him move in silence. There is no overexuberant joy when Hardcase shifts higher up on the bed to meet your eyes and slowly runs his thumb over your lower lip. Even then, his touch is so achingly still, deliberation held close and savored slow.

He blinks once, dark eyes full of the soft light only privy to early mornings and late nights when you curl close and bask in each other, bared and whole. You grant his request without hesitation.

Starting low, your fingers smooth over the faded lines of blue tattooed over Hardcase’s chin, the same sigils you keep as your own. Well worn and faded until the line between ink and skin disappeared entirely, the tattoos beneath your fingertips are nothing and everything like yours. You trace higher, following the crest of his lip, the high line of his cheekbone, the dip just beneath his eye where his tattoo begins anew.

He closes his eyes and lets your touch trail over his lashes until your fingers slope over his temple and still over the base of his head. And when he dips his head low, you meet him in the middle, catching his upper lip between yours as he slips one hand between you and thumbs over your tattoo. That touch anchors you as much as you think it must do the same for him, pulling you close and keeping you there while you lick over his lips and breathe him in deep.

Through the warmth heavy in your gut, you feel him slide his other hand down your side, over the contour of your hip, and lift your leg up against him. You hook your leg over the small of his back and tug awkwardly, sending him stumbling forwards, crushing his hand between your chests as he dips down and narrowly catches himself.

No amount of awkward maneuvering breaks the rosy air between you, even as you both tear away from each other to stifle the kind of laughter that lingers.

“This okay?” he murmurs over the waning sigh of a low chuckle, voice warm on your skin and drunk with your taste. He nudges his hips forward, sending a shiver shocking up your spine when you feel his cock brush up against the swell of your cunt.

“Always, Hardcase,” you whisper.

As soon as the words leave your lips, you barely have enough time to suck in another breath before you’re stuttering on your own tongue. The tension slumps out of your shoulders as Hardcase digs his fingertips into your thigh and presses forwards, stretching you out around him in the way only he knows how, setting fire to your nerves and coming home all at once.

No matter how many times you kneel before ritual—habit coming to you as natural and comforting as breath itself—you still find yourself slack-jawed and starry-eyed as Hardcase pushes into you.

That it’s the first time in his four month tour that he’s able to pull you apart and hold you together only makes it better.

It takes all of one long, shuddering exhale for him to push into you in full. The breath you share breaks that stillness, a gasping inhale as his hips connect with the soft curve of your thighs and has the blunt head of his cock nudging so deep in you that you swear you feel the pulse at the base of your ribs, right where your tattoo swells with your whimpering.

Hardcase drops forward with a groan, blindly twining his fingers with yours and leaning down to press his forehead close against yours.

You don’t have to open your eyes to see him as you squeeze his hand. The bridge of his nose flush against yours, you bask, exchanging the warmth of breath over the little space between your lips. With his brow pressed into yours, he surrounds you, warmth, warmth, warmth, a setting sun and the grass it kisses still glowing in its wake. He rolls his hips forwards and swallows your wailing moan with his tongue.

Hardcase starts slow, setting a pace that has you feeling every long drag inside you as he draws back then crushes back up against the soft spot inside you that curls your toes. It’s a far cry from the excitement of a welcome back or rendezvous reunion, swapping giddy haste to savor instead, to melt over his tongue as Hardcase slips his free arm under your hips and tugs you impossibly close.

Through the blissed-out tears beaded over your lashes, you can just make out his expression, tense with cresting pleasure, as he leans back and admires you, stretched out before him. And when your legs jerk this time, there is no achingly deep pressure of his cock heavy inside you—only his lips over the centre of your chest as he bows low and kisses your tattoo again, again, laying and sealing claim above the rapid flutter of your heart.

You squeeze his hand, and he lifts his chin to meet your hazy eyes with his own, full with intent, desire, the kind of loyalty transcendent above anything he could ever swear to his generals, to his cause. He squeezes back.

You drop your head back onto the bed when he picks up his pace again, moving his free hand out from under you to stroke his thumb over your clit and smearing the mess of your arousal and his precome over where you stretch around him. Chest heaving, you can only sob and grip tight around his neck as he leans back over you and nuzzles his nose into your collar.

It’s getting harder and harder to tell your breaths apart from his after one stuttering thrust gives way to another. The steady tenderness of before bows under the fizzling heat in your stomach, giving in to rawer need as Hardcase’s movements over your clit fumble erratic. He snaps his hips against yours and drives up hard against your pleasure, mumbling unknowable words under his breath. Desperate for more, you shift back to meet what thrusts you can.

When he leans forwards again, his brow unsteadily knocks against your nose before he can nuzzle over your forehead and press close. You might have laughed, taken the moment to catch your breath over the clumsiness of affections swelling high. But you’re too busy chasing your own pleasure, too enamored with the wet friction of his throbbing cock sliding into your cunt.

Hardcase comes first, thundering rigid through him as he buries his nose at the juncture of your neck and bites down over his own teeth, his jaw flexing against your skin. His tension spreads through you, holds you by your breath and seizes the mounting want in your stomach tight with each heavy spurt of come he grinds into you.

You nose up against his temple—a silent plea for touch even deeper than you already feel it—and he indulges you. Hazy in the aftershocks of his orgasm, Hardcase lifts his head from your collar and crushes his lips against yours. He breathes in your heaving exhales as he kisses you, all open-mouthed warmth coaxing your pleasure.

“So lucky,” Hardcase mumbles, his puffing exhales over your lips matching every thrust into your dripping cunt. “Maker, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

Before you can strain some half-hearted tease in response, you’re too delirious on your rousing high. All you can manage is a soundless cry that shocks straight to the white-hot heat welled low in your stomach. Hardcase rolls his calloused thumb over your clit one last time and pulls your orgasm heady and low beneath him.

Pleasure bursts over your tongue, thrumming through you hard enough you swear you black out. Nothing but paralyzing and indulgent sensation shocks through you. There is only Hardcase’s presence to anchor you to the moment in the most intimate signs of life: shared breath, fingers laced tight with yours, lips mouthing words that need neither name nor sound to find warmth at the bottom of your chest.

And when the moment subsides and the ringing in your ears fades, you open your eyes to him, glowing with exhaustion but beaming down on you all the same.

“Maker’s really lookin’ out for me,” Hardcase says at last, brushing his fingertips over the sweat beaded at your temple.

“Yeah?”

You tug him closer against your chest (as well as you can with the tremble in your arms). He follows your lead as you feel him softening inside you, and he settles his nose close over your tattoo, just beneath your beating heart.

“I mean, whatever it is, it got me you.”

“You got me you, ‘Case,” you say. Though the air between you is far from the kind of existential solemnity that demands silence, your attempt to laugh comes only as a soft whisper, hushed as your lips brush over the crown of his head.

Because whatever was up there, pulling those galactic tides and willing life into the universe, even if it had tied those fine red strings strong and true between you and the man curled around you, it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, it was you and him, brought together in a headfirst collision in the cold steel halls of a Jedi cruiser and bound tight over shy planetside advances and cheesy dates.

“Then I got you, and you got me?” Hardcase chuckles, lifting his head and meeting your fond gaze.

“Just us,” you laugh.

Hardcase makes a soft noise of affirmation, his arms pulling snug around your middle. He nuzzles close skin over skin, and when he kisses over your tattoo, the sting of ink and needles fades into a distant memory unknown—all worth the trembling touches he presses over the place you’ve carved out for him alone.

Maybe the Maker helped along the way, but it’s always been you and him, him and you.

[bloodstainsontengensfloor]

Mai Zenin x Fem!Civilian Reader:

A snapshot before it’s too late

Warning: spoilers for 149!

TW: light reference to suicide

::readmore:: Flash!

Mai crinkled her nose, placing a hand on her hip as your Polaroid barfed up the film. “What was that for?” She asked, a light blush scattered across her face as she watched you take the film out and place it on the table in front of you. You and Mai had gone out for Boba on the shoreline, and the sunset was just... perfect right behind Mai. You couldn’t help yourself.

“Sh! You have to wait for it to form-“

“If you shake it I’ll be faster-“

You slapped Mai’s hand away. “No! That makes it worse-“

“No it doesn’t-“

“Mai-chan, just look and wait-“

“Y/N! I don’t have the patience-“

“Look!” You said, proudly and carefully picking up the Polaroid picture to show Mai. You weren’t oblivious to her obvious embarrassment, but... with the sunset behind her and the natural beauty that was her, you really couldn’t help yourself. Mai didn’t seem entirely impressed, and it was just a Polaroid, it wasn’t something to be absolutely amazed by.

“Humph, I don’t even know why you made that.”

“Because some moments are so beautiful, you just can’t stop yourself from capturing them.” You said, without missing a beat and without really thinking. After realizing what you said (and how totally cheesy it was), you blushed, mumbling some apology and ramble about how the sun looked pretty with her silhouette. You nervously took a sip of your Boba-

Flash!

Your eyes were wide as your vision focused again. “Huh-“ You asked, blinking rapidly a few times. Mai just smirked, your Polaroid in hand. She lightly began to wave the film that was just vomited out of the top of the camera.

“What?” Mai said, feigning innocence. “Some moments are just too beautiful that you just want to capture them.”

-

-

-

-

-

You didn’t expect not seeing Mai after October.

You didn’t expect her sister, burn marks scattered around her body, to come to your house. You never even met her sister before, but now you did, and you were scared. You knew what Mai did was dangerous and you woke up one morning in a cold sweat, unaware why. Before you shot up in your bed, you swore you heard seagulls or the lulling sound of the waves....

“I don’t really know how you knew my sister.” Maki said after a while. She sounded as alive as she looked. Her voice was dry, almost monotone. She was a lot bigger than Mai physically. You thought focusing on the differences between the twins would be easier than focusing on the similarities. You knew why she was here. You knew what happened. It was one of those things you would know. The way you felt off the past few days, like something was missing from your world. “Anyway,” Maki shifted the sword in her grip. She placed it on the table that sat between the two of you. “This is the last thing Mai gave me.” You felt a lump grow in your throat. “The last thing she ever gave anyone.”

She couldn’t even say the words that would finalize it. Mai was dead. You felt your finger nails dig into your palms as you avoided eye contact. It might have been a terrible thing to say, but it was a blessing that was Maki was so damaged that she barley looked like Mai anymore. Well accept for the hair... and if you looked closely enough you could see... You swallowed the lump in your throat, and tried to settle your breathing. You wouldn’t cry in front of Maki, Mai wouldn’t have wanted that. Mai always described Maki as stronger and as braver and as brasher and-

“So.... yea.” Maki awkwardly added, fiddling with the sword in hand. The last thing Mai created was a weapon of destruction... that was so dramatic... just like her...

Maki kept on rambling, and despite yourself, your mind wandered. Mai sacrificed herself, she did something heroic. You knew Mai, she wasn’t heroic. She was selfish and prideful and obnoxious and a total bitch almost all the time. But at the same time she was funny, caring, and someone so full of love that was never taught how to give. Sometimes you would catch Mai staring at the ocean when you guys would go to the beach, and there would be something so dead in her face. Sometimes you would notice the way Mai cut things off when she spoke about the jujutsu world. The anger, sadness, and despair in her words...

A dark thought crossed your mind that you quickly shuddered away. It could be true but right now, you didn’t have the stability to worry about it. “She left.” You said, cutting of whatever Maki was saying. “She left us both.” Maki stared at you for a little. Her expressions were even harder to read than Mai’s. “But I’m okay with that... if that makes sense. I just wish that-“ The breath got caught in your throat. You closed your eyes and took a quick, shaking, breath. You wouldn’t cry, not yet at least. Or maybe even at all. Mai hated seeing you cry and you could almost hear her mocking voice.

“Aww don’t flatter me too much by crying over my death! What happened to trying to keep my ego down?”

Despite yourself, you smiled, letting out a wet chuckle. Maki raised a brow but said nothing. “I just wish that she got to say goodbye.” You added. Maki didn’t respond.

After a few moments of silence, Maki asked, “was she happy?”. You looked up from your own pity party and saw the tears that were gathering in the corner of Maki’s eye. Maki was half of a person now, and no matter how much shit Mai might have told you about her, you knew they loved each other more than anything in this world.

But her question got you thinking. Was Mai happy? She hated being a shaman, she didn’t want to be one at all. That’s why she was always with you because with you, she could pretend to be normal. Pretend like she was just a delinquent friend coming over, and not a shaman who wanted to play a different role. But Mai’s eyes always lit up or softened when she talked about her friends. The way she teared up when she explained the time Utahime-Sensei let her stay with her over the Winter Break because Mai didn’t want to go back to the Zenin complex without Maki. The way she complained about Todo but the light tone in her annoyed voice told you that she enjoyed his company. The way she held Nishimiya in such high regard that you always felt a little bit of jealously burn in your stomach. The way she admired Miwa for being apart of the world but still was able to smile and have fun, how nothing could break her stride. The way she would tease Kamo in her descriptions of him but admitted that he was one of the people who she related to the most. “I just wish he didn’t have such a large stick stuck up his ass”, she had said. The way she explained Mechamaru’s crush on Miwa and how the two should just suck it up and go on a date because she couldn’t stand watching them run circles around one another anymore.

The way she smiled when she was with you. The way she looked... free whenever you guys went on your mini adventures. The way she softly would kiss your lips or the way she snuggled into your shoulder. It was so tender and so normal and so sweet it seemed so out of character for Mai. But what she had with you was one of the things she wanted but never had before.

“Y-yes.” You said, annoyed that another lump had grown in your throat. “I-I think she was.” Maki let out what seemed like a sigh of relief. She hastily wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eye before standing up, confident, powerful, and intimidating as ever. You hated how much she looked like Mai then. Because now she was playing a part she didn’t want to play and she was feeling a pain she couldn’t understand.

“Well, that’s good then.” She said, pulling something out of her pocket and handing it to you. You lightly gasped as you realized it was the Polaroid Mai had teasingly took of you, and that it was stained with some blood. “This was on Mai’s b- when she di- when she left.” Maki looked at the clock on the far side of the room. “Well... I should be going now.”

“Thank you, Maki-San.” You said, holding the Polaroid a little bit closer. Maki grunted in acknowledgment before leaving. And that’s when you let the dam break.

What? Did you think you wouldn’t be in my final thoughts or something?

You sobbed, your throat burned as you held the Polaroid close to your chest. Your parents weren’t home so you could have screamed if you wanted to, but with what was happening all over Japan, you knew it was better not to. You held a bloody memory of Mai, a bloody memory of the two of you together. You couldn’t even remember the last thing you said to Mai and Vice versa and that was even worse. You stumbled up your stairs and threw the door open to your bedroom, your body feeling weak. You ripped down the Polaroid photo of Mai from that dumb beautiful day on the shoreline and sobbed. Something was missing for the past few days and now you knew what it was. No more teasing smiles, no more taunts, no more kisses, no more late night adventures, no more unexpected sleepovers, no more nothing. Because Mai was nothing but a fucking sword now.

Well, I think I’m a pretty hot sword but-

“I hope we meet again. I don’t know what happens or where we go after we die, but I hope we meet again. If we meet in some afterlife, I hope it’s a good one. I hope it’s happy. And if it’s rebirth, I hope you aren’t a shaman. I hope your family loves you. I hope you and your sister get to be real sisters and not be torn apart by the world of a Shaman. I hope we meet at school or some Starbucks or something, and we do this all over again, but it ends better. It won’t end like this.

And if we just become nothing after we die, I hope i become nothing with you, right by your side. And if we return to the stars whose dust we were made from, I hope our stars are right next to one another, and I hope yours shines brighter than you did in this life.

I wish you the best, Zenin Mai.”

—————————————————

Yea I’ve been dead for a bit, still not over her death so uhm... here. Enjoy. Or cry. Or both’

[weasleylangs]

if you don’t know, let me go - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Slytherin!Reader Summary: It’s always seemed like they’ve been dancing the line between friends and more, so why does he take a different girl to the ball? Warnings: Some swearing, pining that one character is too much of a dummy to see, a bit of angst but it eventually becomes fluff I promise, jealousy but nothing toxic, underage drinking but it’s like one line. Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in literally forever, so any feedback is always appreciated! Requests are open if you like this and want more! Also this got stupidly long fast, I can barely write book reviews on Goodreads without writing a novel so my bad, I’m sorry if you don’t like long fics. (Also cross-posted on AO3 as the tumblr tags don’t seem to be my friend right now.) 

- Also, thank you so much to @lumosandnoxwriting for answering all my questions on how to get back into writing!

Send me an ask or a dm if you would like to be added to a tag list!

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“Do you think he’s going to ask you?” 

It’s Wednesday afternoon, late enough for class to be over but too early for dinner and Y/N’s attempt at understanding anything in her potions textbook is broken by Alicia Spinnet talking to her. Despite the fact she hadn’t said a name, Y/N knows immediately who she was talking about and she shrugs in response, closing her book and accepting that studying was not on the table for the rest of the night now the ball has been mentioned. 

“Probably not.” She deadpans. Y/N’s been trying not to get her hopes up that Fred would ask her to the Yule Ball since it was announced three days ago. Alicia’s already been asked by George- who immediately did a dramatic reenactment of some muggle proposal he’d seen in a movie as soon as Dumbledore announced it. But Fred had been more reluctant to ask anyone, despite people’s assumption that he could get anyone he pleased. Y/N only hoped this was because he was too shy of taking whatever they were from friends to lovers.

No one really understood how the outspoken and mischievous redhead became friends with the snarky Slytherin girl, but 6 years into their schooling people have stopped questioning it. They had formed an unexplainable bond the second they met on the train to Hogwarts when they were eleven years old that may have included both shouting at blood purists and now it seems to have evolved into something beyond just a friendship. 

Lingering stares, soft touches, the fact neither of them had really dated anyone else because they were too caught up with each other. Everyone, including their friends, have all placed bets on how long it’ll take for the two of them to ‘fess up and finally get together.

“What makes you say that?” Alicia asks, genuinely. She’s heard first hand the teasing George and Lee give Fred over his feelings for Y/N in the Gryffindor common room when they think they’re alone so she finds it hard to believe he hasn’t even hinted at them going together yet. 

Y/N shrugs. “I just think if he wanted to go with me, he’d ask me by now… Y’know?” Alicia can’t really deny her logic. Fred’s never been the one to shy away from being outspoken about anything really in the whole six years she’s known him, so even she can admit it’s weird that Fred hasn’t asked her.

“Maybe he just assumes you guys are going together?” Alicia starts, and before Y/N can argue back, she holds up a hand, “I’ll ask him after dinner tonight. I can guarantee Lee or George will join in and you’ll have your date by Transfiguration tomorrow!” Y/N shakes her head and laughs, and starts packing her things, mumbling about Alicia is a meddler and that she’ll see her later.

-

Y/N’s walking to the Great Hall for dinner when it happens. Adrian Pucey, star quidditch chaser for the Slytherin team slinks up next to her and scares her enough to almost drop the books she has clutched in her hands. She’s never had a problem with Adrian- their parents are in similar friendship circles so she sees him at family friend events outside of school, but she’s never considered him a friend either, which is why his approach to her is so odd.

“Sorry about that,” he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as Y/N clutches her chest. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” she starts, “You’re just very quiet. I’m used to being almost tackled to the ground when I see friends.” She laughs, but she doesn’t miss the awkward tension in the air and she can’t help but assume what’s coming next. 

“I just wanted to ask if, uh, if you don’t have a date to the ball… If you’d like to go with me?” 

Y/N gulps. She knows she shouldn’t be putting all her eggs in the Fred Weasley marked basket, but she can’t help but remember her conversation with Alicia only an hour ago.

‘You’ll have your date by Transfiguration tomorrow!’

Adrian senses her hesitation and lets out a breath that sounds like he’s almost laughing. “You’re waiting for one of Weasley twins to ask you, aren’t you? Fred, right?” She hates how easily he caught on.

“Adrian, I- Ugh, I’m sorry. But yeah… I am.” She feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment at someone she’s not even friends with pointing it out. She can’t help but think maybe this is a sign though, that if everyone else is expecting it, why hasn’t he asked her yet? 

“No, it’s all good. But the offers on the table if he’s too pussy to ask you out.” He gives a kind smile as he walks off to catch up with Marcus Flint who’s drilling Malfoy about quidditch plays.

She exhales slowly and finally makes it to the Great Hall. She scans the tables looking for her closest friend in Slytherin- Daphne Greengrass and once she finds her, she quickly makes her way over to her. Dinner is relatively uneventful since she’s sitting with her house, and George manages to catch her eye at one point and mouths ‘miss you’ to which she laughs and says she misses him back.

She’s about to get up and leave when the last thing she expects to happen, happens. She hears Ron exclaim loudly that Fred can’t make fun of him for not having a date because he doesn’t have one either. Y/N feels her heart start to race, knowing if anyone’s going to prove a point to Ron, it’ll be Fred Weasley. She doesn’t hear what Fred’s reply is but Harry and Ron both scoff, and one of them says ‘ask a girl out if it’s so easy then.’ 

Y/N’s about to approach the Gryffindor table when George’s eye catches her, and he shakes his head. Fred has already thrown a scrunched-up piece of paper at Angelina and her heart sinks. 

“Angelina! Will you go to the ball with me?” 

As Angelina laughs and says yes to Fred, it feels like the whole Great Hall is either watching their altercation or watching Y/N in pity. Her heart now feels like it’s in her throat, and she needs to get out of the room before she cries or yells at Fred. She pivots on her heel and is met face-to-face with Daphne, who nods in silent agreement that they’re going back to their dorm. 

Y/N is halfway down the long tables with the door in her sights when she spots Adrian out of the peripheral of her eye. She can tell he’s looking at her in pity and in a weird way, she feels the need to show defiance against Fred Weasley. She needs to show she doesn’t need pity, especially right now, that she can get a date herself. So she stops in front of the Slytherin quidditch team and slightly smirks. 

“That offer to the ball still on the table?” 

-

Daphne spends the night taking Y/N’s mind off the Weasley family. They sit in their dorm together, once again trying to study for potions which eventually leads into ball talk yet again. Daphne can tell the idea of going to the ball with anyone who isn't Fred is unnerving for Y/N, but there’s no backing down now.

“That was kind of a badass move, y’know?” She starts, treading lightly as they eventually reach the elephant in the room, ‘Asking Adrian after what happened.”

It doesn’t feel badass to Y/N. She feels like she’s cheating on the redhead that owns her heart, but she knows that’s ridiculous. Fred clearly has no form of feelings for her and she’s decided to get over him. 

“It’s nothing…” She starts and she sees Daphne’s eyebrows raise. They’ve been roommates every year since they started school together so they’re both aware this is a big lie. “I didn’t want to go alone. Everyone else had dates already and Adrian’s nice. Plus, he did ask me before…”

Daphne nods, not wanting to press further. “Have you got a dress yet?” It had said on their packing list for the school year to bring a dress or dress robes so everyone’s already well prepared. Y/N nods and walks towards the closet before pulling out a floor-length silver gown with lace detailing. She smiles shyly as Daphne gasps in awe. 

“Eat your heart out, Fred Weasley!” For the first time all night, Y/N laughs. She knows she’s going to look stunning in the dress and while she has no ill resentment towards Angelina for agreeing to go with Fred, she can’t help but feel a little bit coy knowing Fred’s going to see her in it. 

- 

She’s sitting at her desk in Transfiguration the next day when he finally acknowledges her presence. She’s twiddling her quill in her fingers, dreading the moment the troublemaker waltzes into the class. His usual seat is the one next to her, while George and Lee sit in front of them but she can only hope Alicia takes the hint and sits with her before Fred does.

She doesn’t get her wish. She’s about two seconds away from dozing off when the seat screeches against the hardwood flooring below them and she looks to her left to see Fred smirking.

“Hi love,'' he starts, the nickname not feeling out of ordinary, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He says, and it’s true. He hadn’t seen her since class yesterday. He had looked for her before dinner to tell her about the prank he’d pulled on Filch with George while she was studying and he’d barely seen her during dinner. 

Her heart starts to speed up at the nickname, and she forces down the bile she feels growing in her throat. “Yeah, I just ate dinner and went to bed yesterday. Been studying for potions. Sixth year is hard.” She’s trying to be short and sweet and maybe a little blunt but Fred doesn’t pick up on it. “Heard you asked Angelina to the ball too.” She’s hoping to whoever’s listening to her prayers that the jealousy isn’t evident in her voice and by the dopey smile that grows on Fred’s face, her prayers were answered.

“Yeah! Ron was being such a prat, telling me I couldn’t make fun of him for…” But she drowns his voice out. It might be a bitch move, but she really doesn’t need to hear the who, where, when and why he asked Angelina out. It’s clear to Y/N that Fred didn’t even notice her existence at dinner and that stings more than she’d like to admit. 

She can barely concentrate during class. Fred has never really shown to care about any academic success, so he spends the entire period trying to entertain Y/N and get her to speak to him but she’s being stubborn and Fred can’t help but wonder what he did wrong. He starts to think maybe she’s just had a bad day, but when the bell rings and she storms off without even saying goodbye to him he’s dumbfounded.

“Trouble in paradise, brother?” George teases when he sees the frown adorned on Fred’s face. 

“Have I done anything to upset Y/N?” He questions and he sees the way George and Lee both give each other a look. They know something he doesn’t and that leaves a feeling of uneasiness in his chest. Y/N and himself have always been closer than her and George and especially her and Lee. He was there for her when her parents were fighting constantly when she was 11 and when Marcus Flint started bullying her in 3rd year. He was even there when she cried to him last year about the guy she loved and how he was so stupidly blind to her feelings and while she didn’t give a name, Fred was dying to go punch whoever it was for not realising he had his best friend’s heart.

“If you have, it’s not up for us to tell you, mate.” Lee states and he hides behind George when he notices the scowl on Fred’s face. Lee knows better than to get between him and Y/N, but he isn’t wrong. 

“Look, Alicia said she was fine when they left the library yesterday evening,” George starts, and he knows he shouldn’t be lying to his brother and best friend, but it’s not a huge lie, and maybe it’ll push his oblivious brother to realise what he did to upset his best friend, “She was at dinner last night when you asked Angie to the ball and then she went to her dorm with Daphne. Heard something about her saying yes to Adrian Pucey asking her to the ball…” While George made extra emphasis on the fact Y/N witnessed Fred asking Angelina to the ball, Fred’s eyes glaze over in rage when George mentions Adrian and he has a feeling his twin has got the wrong idea.

“I bet Adrian did something to her. Fuck him, honestly.” And before George and Lee can stop him, Fred’s stalking out of the classroom with Adrian Pucey in his sights.

- 

Fred doesn’t find Adrian until later that afternoon, standing on the pitch and clad in his quidditch robes, yelling at someone who Fred assumes is Montague. He thinks now is probably a bad time to confront him, but he's blinded by the thought that he’s hurt Y/N. 

“Pucey!” He shouts and when Adrian turns around, he chuckles and smirks at Fred. He was expected this later rather than sooner, specifically during dinner, but he guesses now will have to do. 

“What?” He asks, but they both know why he’s here and he’s just enjoying riling Fred up. 

“What did you do Y/N?” Adrian scoffs at this and shakes his head which confuses Fred. “What did I do to Y/N?” Fred stands his ground, chest puffed up. Adrian might be a fair bit shorter than Fred but Adrian hasn’t got anything to be scared of. Sure he’s seen Fred throw a punch or two and he’s definitely been on the receiving end of a bludger from the Weasley during a game, but he knows he isn’t the one that hurt Y/N here. 

“I think you should be asking yourself that, mate. Y/N only agreed to going to the ball with me after you asked Angelina out right in front of her.” This causes Fred to look at Adrian in confusion and Adrian laughs at Fred again. He’s confused, why would asking Angelina out hurt Y/N? 

It turns out he said that out loud, because two seconds later Adrian is responding to him, “Because she was expecting you to ask her, Weasley.” 

Adrian doesn’t even wait for Fred’s reply before stalking off to the Slytherin change rooms and Fred’s left standing on the pitch, wondering why the ache in his chest is almost debilitating at the thought of hurting Y/N and questioning why he feels the need to throw up knowing she’s happily going with Adrian Pucey. 

-

Fred’s next port of call is finding Y/N. After his talk with Adrian, he needs to find out why she expected him to ask her to the ball. He would’ve happily gone with her, but to Fred, she hadn’t even dropped a single hint at wanting to go with him and when she’s finally located, she’s in the library with Daphne. 

“This is my exit cue,” Daphne mutters as she notices the redhead roaming around the library looking for Y/N. She doesn’t even have a moment to question Daphne before the seat in front of her is suddenly occupied by the last person she was hoping to see again.

“Why are you going with Pucey?” Is the first thing that leaves Fred’s mouth, and it wasn’t what Y/N was expecting. She splutters, only for a few seconds, before eventually replying.

“He asked me.” 

Fred’s eyebrows furrow, but didn’t Pucey say she wanted to go with him? “A little birdie said you wanted to go with me. So, how come you’re going with him.”

Now Y/N scoffs and Fred can’t help but notice how many people are scoffing at him today just for asking questions and it’s getting annoying. “You didn’t ask me. He did. So, I said yes. Don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” She’s intentionally being short, hopefully not spilling anything about her feelings for the boy in front of her. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to go with me, Y/N. How was I supposed to know?” At this, Y/N goes from feeling hurt to angry and she can’t explain why her hands start to shake. 

“How were you supposed to know?” She exclaims loudly which causes her to receive a rather nasty ‘sh’ from Madam Pince and a few O.W.L students surrounding her. 

“Have you seen the way we act around each other Fred?” She’s now whisper yelling and the confused look on Fred’s face as she says this just aggravates her further and she’s convinced no one is this daft and he’s pushing her buttons on purpose. “Because everyone thinks we’re fucking dating already, Fred. You have to constantly be touching me, we’re always together, you call me darling and love and you kiss me on the forehead when I fucking bring you sugar quills from Hogsmeade because they’re your favourite and whenever you have spare money you always buy me Honeydukes chocolate because you said you like seeing me blush when you buy me things. You’re telling me now that we’re just friends?”

If the ache in Fred’s chest was almost debilitating on the quidditch pitch earlier, right now it feels like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. Her cheeks are flushed, her fists are clenched, pieces of her hair are falling out of her bun that’s resting on top of her head and, worst of all, Fred’s noticed the tears of anger and frustration pooling in her eyes.

She sighs before continuing, trying to compose herself so he doesn’t see her crying over him, unaware he’s already noticed the tears threatening to fall. Her voice is sad and broken, and it feels like the ending point for her. 

“I was just stupid enough to assume this year was the year we would finally admit we’re more than friends, Freddie. But I guess all this time it’s been one-sided. I hope you have a good time at the ball with Angelina.” 

Fred grabs her wrist as she starts to pack up her things and looks at her, scanning her face for any form of emotion. “Let me go, Fred.” She looks at him with pleading eyes and he lets go of the grasp he has on her wrist.

Fred doesn’t try to stop her again as she hastily packs up her things and he sadly watches her leave the library without turning to look at him. 

-

Y/N doesn’t care if it’s considered dramatic, but she lays in bed and cries for the rest of the day. While she hasn’t gone through a literal break-up, it feels like her friendship with Fred is over. At least, she’s decided, it’s over until she gets over her feelings for him. 

Daphne tries everything in her power to comfort her. She rubs her back, plays with her hair and even puts on ABBA to try and get Y/N to dance just to cheer her up. Y/N feels horrible she’s basically conned Daphne into babysitting her breakdown but Daphne constantly reassures her it’s okay. 

“Do you want me to go beat him up? I might be short and weak and he’s the size of a tree but I could take him.” Y/N sniffles a laugh at this, and smiles. She’s truly grateful for everything Daphne’s been doing for her and she makes a mental note to get her an extra special Christmas present next time she goes to Hogsmeade. 

However, it turns out essentially ending the friendship with Fred ends her friendships with most of the Gryffindors. She was expecting this, but when George can’t even meet her eye in class her heart breaks into even smaller pieces. George has always been like a brother to her, someone she could tell anything too without worry of being judged. He was the first person she told when she realised she liked Fred and Y/N was the first person, besides Fred, that George told his feelings for Alicia for. 

Y/N feels alone but she’s stubborn so she refuses to show it. She sits with Daphne in every class, essentially kicking poor Cassius Warrington who’s been pining after Daphne for 3 years into a different spot in class and she sometimes even sits with Adrian during lunch. It turns out they have a lot more in common than just the fact they’re in Slytherin and pure-bloods and Y/N’s pain in her chest is slowly but surely disappearing. 

While her feelings for Fred still exist, her heart slowly feels like it’s being mended. It’s only when she spots Fred sulking during lunch one day that the ache returns. She was usually the one who he went too when feeling bad- him being too embarrassed to go to George. She hopes he’s okay, but she shakes the idea of approaching him, knowing he’s got Angelina to keep him company. The pang in her chest stays a little bit longer that day. 

-

The Yule Ball arrives quicker than expected and Y/N and Daphne spend all day getting ready with a bunch of other Slytherin students. It’s nice, while they don’t all usually get along, the house loyalty between them is unmistakable. 

Most of them are acutely aware of Y/N’s ‘Weasley Situation’ and while some of them give her pity looks, most of the younger girls have expressed their jealousy that she’s going with Adrian. This makes her laugh and shake her head and she often replies that boys aren’t all that and no boy is worth being jealous over. She feels like a wise mother almost, never wanting them to feel the way she’s felt the past few weeks.

Daphne and Y/N arrive at the Great Hall together, giggling about how bad Y/N is at walking in heels and placing bets on how quick they’re going to come off. While Daphne is counting her galleons in her purse to confirm the bet, Y/N catches a glimpse of Fred and Angelina. He looks so handsome, his dress robes a mixture of gold and black and she can’t help but think how well they’d go together. But when she looks at Angelina she feels like she’s going to pass out.

Angelina is stunning, and there’s no doubt about it. She’s in a floor-length dark purple gown that compliments her skin perfectly and Y/N thinks if Fred was going with anyone to the ball, she’s glad it’s Angelina. 

Cassius and Adrian soon appear by the girls and take their arms into the Great Hall that’s been transformed to look like a winter wonderland. The roof tonight is bewitched to look like a winter, snowy day and Y/N can’t help but admire it. She’s grown up with magic her entire life, but she can’t help but constantly be amazed.

Adrian pulls a flask out of his dress robes jacket which makes Y/N snort and he smiles happily at her. Of course he snuck Firewhiskey into the Ball. The action reminds her of something Fred would do and she shakes her head, trying to get the boy out of her mind, tonight of all nights.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” Adrian states as he takes a swig of the flask, and she feels her cheeks heat up. She can hear the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t scrub up so badly either, Pucey.” 

“A dance, m’lady?” He jokingly bows to Y/N and she smiles while she takes his hand and he leads her to the dance floor. As Adrian twirls Y/N around the dance floor, albeit messily because neither of them paid attention in dance classes held by Snape of all people, she forgets about the redhead who’s stare is burning holes into the back of her head.

“You’re a shit date, y’know.” Angelina laughs and Fred’s broken out of his trance. “Shit, Angie, I’m so sorry.” 

Angelina isn’t wrong. She’s a smart girl, and she’s well aware of Fred’s longing stares towards the Slytherin girl. “Did you know? That you wanted to go with her?” Angelina questions, out of sheer curiosity. Even she was shocked when Fred asked her, but she was too dumbfounded when he asked and with everyone watching at dinner, the pressure to say yes was immense but it was not worth all the pain and heartache she’s watched her two friends go through. 

“At the time? No, definitely not. She’s…” He trails off as he tries to find the right words, “She’s always been there, y’know? I just assumed she’d be in my life forever and what we had was what we’d always be… It felt normal, like I didn’t feel the way I feel about her with you, or Katie or Alicia but it felt like that’s how you’re meant to feel about your girl best friend?” 

He looks over at them again, and the gross feeling of jealousy rises in his throat. “But then she said yes to Pucey, and all I can think about is how no one should be holding her but me and that he'll walk her all the way back to her dorm tonight and probably kiss her and I feel like throwing up, and...” He pauses and looks at Angelina and the pity in her eyes is obvious. “And you don’t think about your best friend like this.” 

Angelina watches in pity as Fred clearly drowns his sorrows in pumpkin juice and she drags him onto the dance floor. She’s not letting Fred have a bad night and she refuses to have one as well. Fred is one of her best friends, and even though she might not be the girl he wishes he was here with, she’s determined to cheer him up somehow. 

Fred finally starts to have a good time when he spots George slyly leading Alicia out of the Great Hall and he loudly wolf whistles causing a red hue to form on both their cheeks and George to flip Fred the bird as they leave. Angelina spots Y/N grab her purse across the room while Fred’s distracted and she quietly leaves just after George and Alicia.

Alone.

“Y/N just left, Fred. Alone.” Fred’s confused why Angelina is telling him this when he looks over at Daphne and Adrian, who both look at him like ‘Go you fucking idiot’ and before he can even mutter a goodbye to his friends, he’s out the door almost as fast as George was.

-

He finds Y/N sitting on a bench in the courtyard. She’s looking up at the stars and Fred stars to recall last summer when she visited The Burrow. She spent all night trying to point out constellations to Fred and as he watches her mutter to herself, Fred wonders how he didn’t realise that they were in love this entire time.

He clears his throat, careful not to startle Y/N and when she turns Fred can see the hesitation in her face as she quickly goes to jump up and leave. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have stolen the prime make-out spot of the night.” She awkwardly laughs but then quickly realises Fred is alone. “Nevermind… Where’s Angelina?” 

Fred shrugs, and sits down on the bench she was sitting on originally. Y/N stands awkwardly before sitting down next to him. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s missed being close to him. The warmth that radiates off him despite it being the middle of winter causes her to shuffle just that slightly bit closer to him and Fred can’t help but smile. 

“You look beautiful tonight. I know Adrian probably told you already, at least I hope he did, but you deserve to know.” Fred could feel himself rambling and he doesn’t miss the blush that rises across Y/N’s neck and cheeks. It’s the exact same blush that appears whenever he buys her chocolates and his heart soars. 

“Thanks Freddie,” the nickname feels foreign on her tongue, “you look pretty handsome yourself. I hope Angelina told you.” She retaliates and Fred hates it. He hates the awkwardness between them. He wants nothing more to wrap his arms around her and hold her close but they feel like strangers. 

“Thanks,” he laughs and Y/N looks at him confused. “Did you have a good night?”

“Can we not have this awkward small talk? I’m sure Angelina’s waiting for you somewhere.” Fred’s taken aback by her abruptness and stares at her for a few seconds. “What?” She asks when she notices Fred looking at her like she has nine heads.

“Angelina’s not waiting for me. Is Adrian waiting for you?” He asks but he doesn’t want to know the answer. He’s gone through a rollercoaster of emotions these past few weeks and he truly doesn’t want to know if another man is waiting for her to sweep her off her feet and walk back to the Slytherin common room. But when she shakes her head, Fred lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

“I need to apologise.” He blurts out and Fred wants to smack himself in the head. This was not the romantic moment he had envisioned in his head as he followed her outside into the courtyard. “I need to apologise for a lot of things. Mostly, for not realising how ridiculously in love with you I am, and also for not asking you to the ball and for ruining our friend-” 

“You didn’t ruin our friendship.” She cuts him off but she doesn’t know what else to say. “You didn’t. I did, if anything.” Fred has to stop himself from starting an argument on who ruined the friendship but he wants to backtrack. Did Y/N just ignore him confessing his love to her? 

“Well, I’m still sorry for not realising how ridiculously in love with you I am?” He tries again sheepishly and Y/N gives him a double-take. She heard him the first time but she was convinced it was just her ears playing tricks on her or Fred being a menace. After all, this is Fred Weasley in front of her, he’s always looking for a joke and as she’s about to accuse him of pulling a sick, twisted prank on her, she looks at him properly.

And he’s looking as serious as he did the day he told her he plans to open a joke shop with George after they graduate. 

“You’re in love with me?” She asks quietly and her heart is racing again. She thinks back to the day she accidentally confessed to Fred and how she’s spent the last few weeks trying to fall out of love with him just for him to admit he’s fallen in love with her. “Fred, if this is some sick and twisted joke I will never forgive you.” 

Fred almost looks hurt at this, that she thinks he’s capable of something that cruel. So instead of speaking, he softly cups her face in both his hands and runs his thumbs across her cheekbones in a loving manner. He looks her directly in the eyes and Y/N doesn’t think she’s breathed in the last 30 seconds.

She’s been craving being this close to Fred for as long as she can remember. Their lingering touches were never this intimate and right now, she feels like she can look into Fred’s eyes and see into his core, his soul. And he can do the same to her.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, and Y/N gasps before nodding, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips against hers. 

As he leans in his eyes flutter close, as do her’s. Y/N hasn’t kissed a lot of people in her life, but nothing could ever compare to the way she feels right now. The love and adoration Fred is pouring into this kiss almost brings tears to her eyes and she can only hope he can feel the love and adoration she has for him back.

Their lips move in perfect synchrony, neither of them pushing each other too far, but when Y/N drags her fingers through Fred’s hair and he lets out a groan, she can’t help but pull away and giggle. 

“I’ve missed hearing you laugh.” Fred’s arms are now wrapped around her middle and he’s leaning down to press his forehead against hers. Now he has her in his arms, he’s never letting her go. 

“I’ve missed having you make me laugh, Freddie.” She says sincerely and it’s Fred’s turn to blush. He knows they need to eventually leave their little bubble of happiness they finally have but he doesn’t want too. But he knows they need to talk about what happened, about them, what they are and Fred so desperately hopes this means Y/N is his. 

She senses Fred’s thinking and she looks up at him, doe-eyed and innocent and Fred’s heart melts. 

“Stop overthinking.” She mutters, running her hand through his long hair again and Fred almost looks like a cat purring as he feels her fingernails rake across his scalp and he leans into her touch. “Can’t help it. Don’t want to lose you again.” 

Her heart pounds, this is all she’s ever wanted to hear and now she wants to hear it every single day. So she tells him exactly that.

“I’m yours, Freddie. As long as you’re mine? If you don’t know what you want it’s okay, I promise we can take it slow-” Fred cuts her off, laughing as he kisses her again and he feels how warm Y/N’s cheeks are, as she blushes over Fred silencing her with a kiss. When he pulls back, her face is flush, her hair is falling out of her bun. It reminds Fred of that day in the library, except this time, the happiness in her face is unmistakably there, and finally he’s the cause of it. 

“Of course, I’m yours, darling. I’m never letting you go.” 

- 

Late the next morning, when Y/N is trying her best to sneak out of the Gryffindor sixth year boys dormitory with a dark purple hickey adorning her neck, she spots three 4th years whose names she doesn’t even know, giving Ron Weasley five galleons. 

Ron sees her, and smirks. “My bet was at the ball. Thanks, Y/N, you and Freddie boy have made me a very rich man.”

 ---------------------------------------------------

[eloves-writes]

a pause in reality

[spencer reid x reader]

summary : you and spencer finish work late, admit your feelings & spend the night lying on your apartment floor talking

a/n : this is an extension of this fic that people seemed to like! enjoy, it’s 12:11am + i’m tired, mwah <3

couple : spencer reid x reader

content warnings : none

———————————

it had been a couple weeks since spencer came over to your apartment in the middle of the night, and you hadn’t spoken to him much since. he had taken a week off work for ‘personal reasons’ and then you’d been completely overloaded with work after that so there hadn’t been much room for conversation. the lack of conversation had provided much opportunity for simply observing the doctor’s existence; you liked watching him work. it wasn’t in a weird way, and not in a sexual way; there was just something about how he quickly flipped pages of case files and twirled his pen around his fingers as he thought what to write that was quite encapsulating. you thought he was quite beautiful in the most winsome way, like he wasn’t outwardly trying to impress you but everything he did still made you bite your lip and smile. 

despite your admiration, you missed the usual tidbits of conversation that came with sitting on the desk opposite spencer and being his best friend; the random ‘fun fact!’s and ‘did you know?’s that hadn’t been so common since you’d spent the night together. well. not spent the night together spent the night together, but you fell asleep cuddled up on your couch and didn’t move until the morning. it wasn’t exactly awkward, but you’d both felt a heavying shift in the usual romantic tension that circled you. the intimacy that came with falling asleep on each other didn’t help the feelings you were both trying to keep bottled up for the sake of your jobs, but at the end of the day that job was behavioural profiling so it was pretty clear you felt the same way, and you had for a long time.

“hey y/n,” prentiss said, perching on the edge of your desk. it had been yet another late night at the office, the hour hand of the clock was just shy of 10pm.

“hey you,” you replied. “i’ve still got another case report to finish, i won’t be long.”

“you are the wooorst,” she moaned dramatically. “i can’t wait to be out of here, we spent far too much time in this office.”

you smiled at her and rolled your eyes. “i’ll ask garcia if she can drive me home, em. i don’t want to hold you up any longer.”

“ok, sure, thanks. have a good weekend y/n, reid.” she gave you a quick hug and waved as she left the office. emily usually drove you to and from work, partly because you didn’t like driving for an hour at 8am in the morning, but mostly because you always brought her coffee and she loved you for it. spencer looked over the divider between your desks and cleared his throat.

“you, um, need a lift home?”

“yeah, why?” you replied without thinking as you tried to speed-write the last few lines of your report.

“i thought maybe i could drive you, it’s late and i, um, wouldn’t want garcia to go out of the way when we live on the same road. it’s not a problem, i’d actually like to- i mean-”

you chuckled under your breath. your eyes met and he let out a nervous giggle.

“you can drive me home, spencer. thank you.”

his voice raised a couple octaves. “ok.”

you chuckled again and closed the tab you were looking at on your computer before grabbing your bag and coat. he followed suit, throwing his satchel on his shoulder and fiddling with the strap as he waited for you to gather the last of your things.

“ready?” he asked, biting back an excited-nervous smile.

“yeah, i just need to give this to hotch,” you motioned to the case file you were holding, “i’ll meet you in the elevator.”

spencer mumbled an understanding and you went your separate ways before meeting up again in the elevator. it was only a few minutes, but the tension was ever-thickening and you were glad to get out on the ground floor. you figured it would be a miracle if you made it all the way home without jumping on him. you didn’t.

“you know what hotch said to me when i left,” you began as you walked to his car. the silence had become unbearably uncomfortable. “he asked if we were going on a date.”

spencer looked up, wide-eyed and blushing. he fumbled with his keys and unlocked his car. “that’s, haha, that’s funny.”

you were much used to the reality-based teasing from the team.

“yeah, you know hotch. always a joker,” you replied light-heartedly. you both climbed into the car, spencer in the driver’s seat for once. he turned towards you, and in a fraction of a moment, he moved in to kiss you. it wasn’t a conscious decision, it wasn't a choice- it was a reflex. in that fraction of a moment, spencer reid felt an all-compelling yet natural urge to lean over and kiss you.

“woah,” you pulled away before he could reach you. “were you about to kiss me?”

he sat back in his seat and scratched his neck awkwardly. you suddenly regretted saying anything at all. “sorry, i shouldn’t have … let’s just go-”

“no, it’s ok,” you laughed. “continue.”

“oh, ok.”

your lips finally met, and it felt like the stars aligning. all the months of tension, the sneaking glances, the late night spying, they’d all added up to this kiss in the front seat of spencer’s car in the quantico parking lot. and this was what you’d been chasing, this was the pause of reality you could only match to the quietest and earliest hours of the morning. you placed your hands on his face as you broke the kiss, his own hands still firmly holding your head and pushing your hair out of your face. the two of you froze like that, simply absorbing the moment and framing it in your minds in case you didn’t get this luxury again.

a distant car horn disturbed your focus, and spencer finally started to drive you home. he was a good driver, if one could drive gently he certainly did. it wasn’t like being in a car with morgan, when you had to hold on for dear life and prey he wouldn’t crash- he never did, but derek’s disregard for road safety was a little concerning. in a total contrast, spencer obeyed absolutely any and every traffic law.

“you know you drive like a grandma, spence?” you joked, letting your inner thoughts out of your head.

“hmm, what did you say?”

“nothing,” you chuckled to yourself. “do you think we could grab some takeout on the way home?”

he smiled. “sure. by home do you, um, mean your apartment? you want me to come to your apartment?”

you nodded and leaned over to kiss him again. you were so done pretending you didn’t like him; you’d wasted enough time dancing around your feelings for him, you didn’t want to waste anymore. he felt the exact same- he’d never really experienced love before but he was pretty sure this was as close as he could get to a soulmate. a twin flame. there was an unspoken understanding between you, you just got each other in a way no one else did. which was also an advantage when you asked to get takeout on the way home and spencer automatically pulled up to your shared favourite chinese restaurant without having to ask.

within an hour, you were both sat on the floor of your apartment eating noodles and discussing whatever topics came to mind. first it was work, then literature, then music, and now you’d settled on a much more mature topic of office gossip. the time had slipped away as you spent the evening together, the clock ticking far past midnight as you talked. your biggest living room window was wide open to let in the night breeze and city ambience, much like it had been the last time spencer had been in your apartment, except this time there wasn’t the pestering weight of feelings on your shoulder. everything felt shiny and new, that familiar late-night vibe recast with fresher feelings of domesticity. you fixed your gaze onto the young doctor as he tucked a pillow under his head to lay on the floor, studying every line of his frame as he stretched his arms. you had always thought him quite spindly, but you could see his lower stomach where his shirt had ridden up and it was quite defined.

“are you checking me out, y/l/n?”

“maybe,” you replied breezily, shuffling across to lay your head on top of him. he brought an arm down from behind his head and wrapped it around you. it felt like there was the world outside, and then you and spencer. it didn’t feel like everything else had stopped, it just felt like right there in your apartment you were detached from it all. it was you and spencer, and that was completely ok. he cleared his throat and began to talk; he was reading from memory a book you’d told him months ago was one of your favourites. you smiled to yourself like an idiot, glad he couldn’t see your face. all your life, you had craved the exact feeling you felt in that moment- an escape from reality the way a gas station was a break from a long road trip. you felt loved, and most of all you felt ready to fall asleep and wake up well-rested for knowing your heart was at peace with your mind for the first time.

[witch-and-a-half]

saving up

i’m back with a fic! it’s longer than i’d originally intended because i got carried away with a new idea at the end but hopefully you still like it.

notes: fred x reader, fluff, 7th year, no specific house, georgie gets a few fluffy friend bits too

words: 2.8k

- - -

[y/n] was flabbergasted, “What? You don’t want to go to Honeydukes tomorrow? They’re having a sale, Freddie.”

Her boyfriend shrugged beside her, “I don’t feel like spending a lot of money right now.”

“Why? You and George have been doing such a good job selling things around school… you don’t want to treat yourself a bit?”

Fred gave a silly grin and wiggled his eyebrows playfully, “I’m saving up.” His chest puffed proudly.

The two of them had reached [y/n]’s classroom, so Fred gave her a quick peck on the forehead. His eyes were bright as she grinned up at him. “Fred Weasley… not interested in a trip to Honeydukes… I might have to take you to see Madam Pomfrey.”

He just laughed before heading down the corridor.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] spent the day in Hogsmeade with a few friends, and Fred stayed behind to work on some products with George. When she got back to the Gryffindor Common Room that evening, the twins were sitting on the couch wrapping sweets in colorful foil.

“How was your day?” Fred asked when [y/n] sat down beside him. He set the foil aside and pulled her legs across his lap.

She pulled a cellophane bag of sweets from her knapsack and held it out for him. “It was good! Honeydukes was packed but I managed to knock a few first years out of the way so I could bring you some sweets.”

This prompted a laugh from both Fred and George, which made [y/n] beam. George shook his head and Fred thanked his girlfriend with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Looks like you’ve had a productive day.” And she gestured to the packages of products strewn across the mahogany coffee table.

“Yep, we have,” George said merrily. He was counting out coins, writing down their profit, and splitting it into two piles. Fred hummed in agreement and rubbed his hand on [y/n]’s thigh. “Here’s your bit Freddie…” George passed a handful of knuts to his brother, “... and here is mine. I’ve almost got enough for that new chess set.”

[y/n]’s hand fell atop Fred’s and she gave him an accusatory look, “See! George is going to buy himself something nice. I don’t see why you-”

Fred interrupted with a chuckle, “I told you! I’m saving!”

“You deserve to get something nice for yourself. You’ve both been working so hard.”

George was still writing something down but smiled widely at the comment. Fred just looked at her face intently.

[y/n] laughed at the faraway look in his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that! What are you saving up for anyway?”

Fred shrugged and made a gesture like he was zipping his lips closed. [y/n] was a bit frustrated, but it wasn’t her money and she knew she had no business telling him what to do with it. But she was just so proud of how successful the twins had been and knew this was the most spending money they’d ever had, so she was a bit excited to see them get to buy themselves fun little treats. And she was a bit disappointed that Fred was so reluctant to do so.

~ ~ ~

A couple of months passed and Fred was still hell-bent on frugality. At first, [y/n] had tried to ask George—who’d bought a chess set, a shiny new trunk, and a tailored tweed suit jacket to wear “someday”—why his brother was so opposed to buying something nice for himself, but George just shrugged it off, “That’s just how he is, I guess.” [y/n] made her peace with it by the time their anniversary came along though; in fact, she was the one to suggest that the couple have a nice date instead of exchanging gifts.

The weather was warmer than normal—spring was just around the corner—as [y/n] walked toward the Black Lake with Fred. Their hands were intertwined and swung slightly between them as they walked. Fred laid out a blanket on the far side of the lake, where they were least likely to be disturbed, and started unpacking the basket he’d brought. There were pretty sandwiches and pieces of fruit and a little package of miniature pies. “Oh!” [y/n] exhaled in admiration, “This is so lovely.”

Fred nudged her slightly, “The kitchen elves were very generous,”

She laughed and wondered which parts of the lunch Fred had asked the house elves for and which parts he’d snuck out of the kitchen himself. The two snacked and talked for what must’ve been hours. They talked about everything and nothing all at once. The sun was beginning to set when Fred unwrapped his arms from around [y/n], who sighed sadly at the loss of contact. She turned to see Fred pull a small box from the picnic basket.

“Oh, Freddie…” Her voice was marbled with excitement and disappointment, “We promised no gifts…”

“Don’t think of it as a gift. It’s just a…” His smile was softer than it had been earlier in the day, “... a token of my affection.”

He passed the box into her hands and [y/n] unwrapped it slowly. She shook her head as she did so, overwhelmed by the surprise. Inside the box was a beautiful silver locket with an intricate floral design. When [y/n] realized where it was from, her heart sank.

~ ~ ~

Over the past summer, Fred had come to visit [y/n] in her hometown for a few days. She took him to all of her favorite places around town. One day, they were downtown and stopped in a small vintage store. Fred wandered to the back of the store, where they kept all the old Muggle comics and other old trinkets, while [y/n] looked through the vintage dresses and skirts.

When Fred found [y/n] again, she was looking into a glass case by the register and chatting with the woman behind the counter. He stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“It’s absolutely beautiful…” [y/n] said breathily to the older woman, who wore glasses with red frames and had her hair in a playful half-up bun.

The woman smiled at her, “It’s one of our finest pieces. I can pull it out for you to have a better look?” [y/n] nodded eagerly and the woman set the display on top of the glass casing.

Fred looked down at the necklace [y/n] was studying through the glass: a silver locket. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to clasp the necklace around her neck and see her joyful reaction to wearing such a pretty little thing.

[y/n], however, was barely aware of Fred’s presence as she spoke, “It’s so lovely, but I could never justify spending that much on a necklace right now. Maybe someday though…”

The woman nodded gently as she put the necklace away, “I understand completely. Maybe someday you can come back for it.” The couple thanked the woman before heading toward the door.

[y/n] turned her attention back to Fred, who was holding the door open for her, as he spoke, “You really liked that necklace?”

She shrugged, feigning benevolence, “Oh it was pretty but I don’t think I’d ever wear something that pricey.” But she was simultaneously imagining coming back to the store in a few years—once she’d graduated and was working—to buy that necklace as a gift to her younger self.

~ ~ ~

And now, only a few months later, she was holding the necklace in her hands. Fred’s thumb was nervously rubbing circles on her thigh and he watched her examine the dainty piece of jewelry. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes and she suddenly felt so undeserving of everything she had in that moment.

“Oh, Freddie… you shouldn’t… I can’t take this.” She blinked and the first tear fell slowly down her cheek. Fred’s eyes narrowed with worry and endearment, “Of course you can. Do you not like it?”

[y/n] shook her head furiously, “Oh no, I love it. It’s perfect… but you shouldn’t have spent so much on me especially since you’ve been saving-”

Fred cut her off with a gentle chuckle, “Love, what do you think I’ve been saving up for?”

As all the pieces fell together, [y/n] squeezed her eyes shut. She needed a moment to sort out her overwhelming emotions. Her thoughts only became cloudier when she felt Fred press a kiss to her temple and take the necklace from her hand. Fred moved so he was slightly behind [y/n] and gathered her hair over her shoulder, which caused her eyes to flutter open again. His warm hands brushed her neck as he clasped the necklace. She looked back at him to see the brightest grin she’d ever seen him wear.

Fred tenderly took her hand and used his other arm to hold her to his chest. Stars were beginning to appear in the sky, their reflections shimmering on the glassy lake. Fred’s fingers were brushing mindlessly through [y/n]’s hair as they sat tangled in each other. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fred cleared his throat.

“You know how George and I talk about starting a shop in Diagon Alley?”

[y/n] shifted so she could see Fred better, “Mhm,”

His words came spilling out, tinged with worry, “We’ve been talking about… leaving school early and getting a headstart on it. Between Umbridge and exams and-”

[y/n] pressed her lips to his for a moment, overjoyed by the idea. She knew how talented the twins were when it came to these kinds of things. They loved a little spontaneity and a risk, and they always managed to pull it all off. There was absolutely no reason why this newest scheme wouldn’t be the same.

“If that’s what you want to do, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Fred looked shocked, he’d expected her to worry or even try to convince him to stay. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t go if you didn’t want me to.”

She smiled up at him. The loving look in her eyes melted his worries and filled him with relief. “I’ll miss you, obviously. But we can send letters and then once I’m done with school I can come help out if you and George’ll have me. I think you’ll do an excellent job and I’m excited for you.”

“What is a girl as wonderful as you doing with a bloke like me? Merlin, I love you so much.”

Fred’s lips were back on hers before she could return the sentiment.

~ ~ ~

They walked back up towards the castle, their path illuminated by the moon. Their hands were intertwined again, but their bodies were too close together for their hands to swing like they had when the sun was still out. [y/n]’s free hand wandered to the locket on her chest again, still in disbelief that it was truly hers now.

“I still can’t believe you spent all your savings on me…” She said quietly, half hoping that Fred wouldn’t hear her.

His hand tightened around hers, “I wanted to give you something beautiful.” Then he shrugged playfully and added, “Plus, it wasn’t all my savings.”

[y/n] was relieved, “Oh? So what are you going to do with the rest?”

Fred hummed, taking a moment to choose his next words carefully. [y/n] looked up at him to see a grin wash over his face as he spoke, “I’m saving that… for the future.”

She rolled her eyes, disappointed but not surprised by his answer. They took another few steps and [y/n]’s gaze was back on the path before Fred spoke again, his voice low, “... for our future.”

[y/n] felt a blush warm her cheeks under the cool night air. Fred looked down at her to watch a range of emotions flood her face. She looked like she was about to laugh and cry all at once.

~ ~ ~

Less than a month later, [y/n] watched Fred and George Weasley soar across the sky above Hogwarts. They were surrounded by fireworks and the sound of cheering students. When George spotted her in the crowd, he gave her a cheerful wave and called out to Fred. His eyes locked on hers, even from so far away, and he blew her an exaggerated kiss before the brothers turned to head off on their new adventure.

They hadn’t explicitly told [y/n] that they were planning to leave that day, but she’d known. She’d known because George had spent the day before studying with her in the library—even though he was subtly studying from a finance textbook that definitely wouldn’t help him on his Transfiguration exam. She’d known because both boys had given her some of their old clothes they’d found as they went through their trunks the night before, so now she had a cool pair of corduroy slacks and some soft-from-wear t-shirts to remember them by. And she’d known from the way Fred had kissed her that morning before her exam. The kiss was warm and needy and especially fiery. And, when Fred pulled away, [y/n] could see the sadness in his eyes.

[y/n] quietly watched the Weasley ���W” fade from the air as the other students began to head back inside. Once there was no longer any evidence that there were ever any fireworks in the sky, [y/n]’s hand found the locket again. She was shaken from her trance when she realized she’d never opened it. Guilt washed over her as she wondered if Fred would have wanted to see her reaction to whatever was inside, and then she felt worried that maybe nothing was inside. Shakily, she pulled the necklace so she could see the dangling piece of silver and opened the locket.

Inside was a picture she’d forgotten even existed. [y/n] was standing beside Fred on the castle steps outside the Yule Ball. He had on a smart suit and her hair fell delicately on her shoulders. Fred’s arm was draped around her in the loose way it did before they started dating. She remembered that George was behind the camera, and she and Fred were laughing at something he’d said. As they laughed in the photo, Fred’s arm tightened and pulled [y/n] closer to him. She could still remember the butterflies in her stomach as he did so too. [y/n] felt tears prick her eyes as she watched the two of them in the locket. Out of all the photos and memories she and Fred had, he had chosen this one for her to wear around her neck. He’d picked a photo that was taken only a couple hours before he’d nervously admitted that he fancied her and she'd first felt his soft lips on hers.

She closed the locket gently and refused to let the tears fall from her eyes as she walked back into the castle. [y/n] traipsed through the mess in the Great Hall corridor and her eyes fell on one of the only Educational Decrees still mostly intact on the floor. Her eyes lit up as she read it, and immediately she picked it up, knowing exactly where it belonged.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] knocked on the door of the Weasley twins’ shop, a brown paper package clutched nervously in her hand and the silver locket hung dutifully around her neck. Fred opened the door and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“What’s this?” Fred gestured to the package as he led her inside. George was painting one of the shelves on the wall on the floor above them and gave [y/n] a wide grin before rushing down for his own hug.

[y/n] told Fred and George about the day they'd left. She told Fred about how she’d opened the locket just after he’d left and how touched she’d been. Then she told them about how she’d found an Educational Decree only slightly frayed by the chaos, and how she’d framed it as a good-luck gift for their shop.

The look in Fred’s eyes as she spoke was distant, he was so overjoyed to be reunited with the love of his life that he barely even registered the fact that she’d omitted which Decree she’d found.

“What’s it say?” George asked, and [y/n] handed the package to him. She looked at Fred, expecting him to watch his brother open their gift, but instead saw the soft look in his eyes, which were fixed on her. [y/n] beamed and came to stand closer to him as he turned to see George pull out the orange frame.

George’s face lit up as he read the words on the paper, “Oi, this is perfect!” Then he turned it for Fred to see. [y/n] looked up at her boyfriend and watched a cheeky smile spread across his face. He looked down at her in disbelief as George propped up the frame on the check-out counter.

Fred shook his head and kissed his girlfriend’s forehead excitedly, “What would I do without you…”

[y/n]’s hand pressed to her chest, atop her locket, as Fred leaned across her to re-examine the rule Umbridge had put into place back at Hogwarts.

“Educational Decree Number 30 - ALL WEASLEY PRODUCTS WILL BE BANNED IMMEDIATELY.”

[potionsclasss]

CAN YOU BELIEVE I WROTE A FANFIC me neither ok so please let me know and reblog/like if you enjoy this! If you want more content, or a part two lmk. Feedback criticism etc. are always welcome too! Enjoy!!!

Summary: The tension between you and Draco has been palpable, and you wonder if the night of the moonlit ball will bring it out of the shadows ;)

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Warnings: Smut, possessive Draco, slight

Daddy kink.

Word Count: 2.9k

Star Gazing

The sky was like an abstract watercolor on the night of the Yule ball. It was a smattering of deep purple and pink smeared across the horizon, dotted with glittering stars. It reminded you of the glass of wine you knew you’d be having in some grimy dorm room at an after party, messy and warm in the pit of your stomach. Stepping out of the deep green accented dorm to get some air, you could make out the twins of Gemini up above. They reflected off your cold metal rings as you looked up, fingers curling around your champagne flute glass. Your heels clicked on the pavement as you withdrew from the railing and walked back inside, forest green dress trailing airily behind you. It wasn’t even cold out, but you felt a sudden shiver up your spine at one thought not even the stars could distract you from- him. Surely he would be at the ball. He seemed to be appearing more and more lately, it was almost a dance the two of you did.

First, it was the obscenely long held eye contact at dinner. His icy grey eyes stared into your honey brown ones with an emotion you couldn’t quite gauge. Even with Pansy giddily whispering in his ear, he kept his eyes trained on you, slowly pulling the vanilla ice cream clad spoon from his pink lips until you could feel the tiniest bit of blood rush into your cheeks. You would always look away first, but that didn’t stop the sensation of his stare lingering on you even as you stood up to leave with Daphne.

Then, it was him showing up in your potions class. You would watch his pale ring clad hands stir his Pepperup Potion. They moved in soft, confident, meticulous circles. The slytherin crest seemed even more prominent on his broad chest and your Amortentia potion turned sour as you imagined the milky white skin underneath. When he finally worked up the courage to ask you a question about the proper way to cut an Alihotsy, you thought you imagined the way his eyes glanced down to your pink puffy lips, if just for a moment, and how he leaned into you just a little closer to smell your sweet vanilla and lilac perfume he so often fantasized about behind closed doors.

In the common room, you always found an excuse to sit just a little too close to him on the couch. His warm minty breath would be near your neck and his thigh would bumped against yours while you and Theo giggled at him during his fights with Crab on which dark spells should actually be banned. He was intoxicating and you were starting to fall... hard. More and more he not only consumed so many of your waking thoughts, but your subconscious ones. You couldn’t shake last nights dream. His shirt was half unbuttoned and his hands were around your neck as he sloppily kissed you roughly and walked you backwards till you hit a wall and-

“You realize we’re going to be late if you don’t snap out of it, don’t you”

You turn your neck over your shoulder at the sound of a collected deep voice to see Blaise hanging onto the doorframe. He does look beautiful, positioned looming in the doorway. A half smile quirked on his face tells you he’s been watching you wonder around absentmindedly.

“Fresh air calms me down.” You admitted earnestly meeting his dark chocolate eyes. He strode forward and shut the outside door that you had left open during your pondering, and met you in the middle of the room, taking your arm delicately in his. “What’s there to be nervous about?” You could tell he was teasing you a little, in a sweet boyish way. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes to meet his gaze. Blaise was handsome and quiet, and you were relieved he’d asked you to go to the Ball - as friends. But you certainly weren’t about to tell him the root of your anxiety was surrounding seeing his best friend tonight.

“Oh shut up, come on let’s get going.” you giggled, watching his full lips curl upward at your response.

~

“You ready to see me make a fool of myself?” Blaise teased. You giggled drunkenly nodding, leaning on his broad shoulders for support. His suit was long gone leaving only a white undershirt stained with beer and sweat. You would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy drunk dancing and joking with Blaise at an after party, his intoxicating smell of green apple and whiskey intermingling with yours, but he wasn’t Draco and he never would be. Overwhelmed by the energy of the room and your date and the red wine in your brain, you stumbled backwards. “I need some air” you slurred. “Again??” He jeered, fingers reaching for the flask in his pocket. You stuck your tongue out playfully and used the wall as your guide to the hallway.

As you stepped into the crisp night air, goosebumps rose on your exposed legs thanks to the short black party dress you adorned. Looking up at the sky, you noticed Gemini was now partly covered by an airy grey cloud passing by in the violet streaked night sky.

“My, my, my Y/N, you know your missing an entire party inside, right?” a voice called out, not exactly cutting sharply through the quiet of the night, save for the distant sounds of partygoers, but more like gliding through the air in his lilting tone. You looked to your right to see pale hair glistening in the silver moonlight that could only belong to one person. “There you are Draco, I practically sent out a search party looking for you. Where have you been all night?“ You knew Draco didn’t like parties if he wasn’t drunk enough, just like you. He looked upwards at the stars, smirking just a little as you neared him. “You know, I’m hardly Yule ball material.” He pulled out a cigarette and offered one to you. You shook your head and watched as the lighter shadowed his lips and illuminated his hollow cheekbones, hanging from his pursed mouth. He looked over at you, drinking you in and admiring your hugging black dress. He took note of everything. From how it hugged your luscious chest to how it dipped below your defined collar bones that were practically begging for love bites. Your tongue swiped across your bottom lip and Draco could feel himself get dizzy. “Well.. this isn’t the Yule ball anymore is it. This is the after party.” You smirked, taking the cigarette from his mouth to place into yours for a moment. He watched intently as your cheeks hollowed out for a puff and the exhale of smoke reflected off your cherry lipgloss “Come on.” You said firmly, outstretching a hand for his. He looked down for a moment before ignoring your hand and taking you by the waist back inside. His hand was gripping you heavenly and you could feel the space he was touching practically catch fire as he stubbed out his cigarette on the railing before flicking it off to the side.

"Well.. if it isn’t the most gorgeous girl I have ever laid my eyes on" Blaise joked as you returned with your partner. Rolling your eyes at his flattery, you felt Draco’s grip tighten significantly on your waist, moving down almost instinctively to rest on your hip.

“Blaise” Draco said, coldly acknowledging his friend and classmate. Draco leaned down to whisper on your ear, lips centimeters from you and his vodka laden breath running down your spine "I’m gunna get us something more to drink, you wait right here, yeah?" You nodded obediently and watched him walk away, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, still warm and giddy from the feeling of his hand running down your torso. Suddenly, you felt like his presence was making it hard to stand. You couldn’t be sure if it was all the wine or his breath or imagining those cold rings on your thigh but you instantly felt dizzy and stumbled backwards. “Whoa whoa whoa I got you.” You felt an unfamiliar pair of hands catch you, looking up to see Blaise. “Thanks..” you said as a breathy laugh escaped you absently mindedly, not sure if it was the alcohol or Draco that was making you this way. You could feel Blaises hands snake around your lower back to steady you and you found yourself pressed against his tall strong body, head in the crook of his neck while you caught your breath.

Draco could feel himself seethe with frustration, the sight of you in the arms of his best friend. How dare he touch you as Draco had dreamed of so many nights. He hated the sight. The thought of a man not worthy of a witch like you touching you in ways only he should made him feel an anger he had never experienced. When you rested your head on his chest he pushed past the other part goers instinctively.

Suddenly, He was behind you, holding two glasses of beer in one hand and your wrist in the other. You quickly and embarrassedly released your grip on Blaise. He seemed to think nothing of it, falling quickly into another drunken conversation with a pretty Hufflepuff.

You looked up at Draco, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded in your chest. You’re supposed to be just friends, but friends don’t look at each other with the anger that seeps from Draco right now. Friends don’t make each other feel the things the two of you are feeling right now. His body is tense as he manhandles you outside, and you follow him back to the starlit porch to the best of your inebriated ability. When he knows the two of you are alone, he looks down, internalizing his emotions but letting them spill out of his piercing eyes as he glares at you. “Didn’t you ever learn to keep your hands to yourself?” He asks, most of the playfulness gone from his voice. “Draco!?” You exclaim, confused as how your actions were at all inappropriate. “I was stumbling around and dizzy, Blaise was just there to catch my fall.” Draco let out a quiet breath, shifting ever so slightly so he was standing just centimeters from you, fingers brushing a curl behind your ear. You could feel blood rush into your cheeks and eardrums, and the pounding was so loud you were unsure if you even heard his next words right, as he whispered brushing your bottom lip with his thumb;

“I’m the only man who can touch you like that.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the weight of his stare on you. He wasn’t quick and he didn’t rush it. You felt one strong hand on your hip and the other gently stroking your cheek as your noses brushed and he leaned in to close the last possible gap between the two of you.

It was far beyond what he’d ever imagined. It was better and softer and much more beautiful. It lit a fire in his skin just by the touch of your soft cherry lips that no one else would be able to. Just by kissing you, he felt more alive and drunk and dizzy than he ever had in his life. You pulled away breathlessly, a blush on your cheeks and pressure between your legs. A string of far off laughter pulled you out of the intimate moment. Your eyes darted around, checking for onlookers, or worse; Professor Snape. Draco’s gaze remained unwaveringly on you. “Draco, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this..here” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Doing what ...darling?” He responded with a half smirk quirked on his lips, leaning in to bite your earlobe gently. “Let’s go then” he mumbled, this time outstretching his hand to meet yours, guiding you through the dark, under the stars of Gemini, through the tumbling hallways and switching stars of Hogwarts, down to a chilly and dark room which he whispered spells and tongues to enter.

“Come here baby” he cooed, as soon as the door was locked behind you. Walking backwards with his motions you felt your back being pressed up against a cold wall as his lips met yours once again, this time in privacy. Stars exploded behind your eyelids as you felt yourself moan into the kiss, satisfied and sloppy and needing more. The feeling of his lips and little scratch of his stubble felt heavenly across your skin. The pendant of his cold silver necklace pressed against your chest and juxtaposed the heat that was radiating through you. His hands found your hips, tugging at the hem of your slutty black dress that had been making him struggle to think all night. You gripped his silvery white hair as he worked on your neck, moaning and urgently needing more. Every movement he made was filled with lust and longing and desperation. He paused before he did anything that could possibly make you regret tonight. In a low and earnest tone he spoke breathlessly against your neck. “Tell me to stop” his fingers were already inching up your dress and his knee knocking ur legs apart to spread them a little. He fought the animalistic urge to rip it off you and ravish you against the wall, knowing you’d make the prettiest noises for him, all alone in the confines of his room. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his dress shirt, not possibly moving fast enough for either of you. Just as raggedly you spoke your answer.

“Why in the world would I ever do that, daddy?” Draco melted at your words feeling his pants become impossibly confined against your stomach. He instantly pushed your dress around your hips to reveal a dark green velvet thong he hoped you wore just for him. You tried to be calm but your movement were frantic as you tugged them down around your ankles and whimpered at the sight of him getting on his knees, propping one of your legs around his shoulder. You steadied yourself on the wall hardly able to keep yourself up. As slowly as he could manage, his tongue worked over your folds, sucking and licking as it also paid special attention to your clit giving it immeasurably pleasurable kitten kicks every few seconds. As each moment passed by you tangled your fingers deeper in his hair and his name escaped your lips louder and louder. The noises in the room were delightful to Draco’s ears. You threw your head back at the pleasure of his fingers being added and working and curling inside you, eyes shut, lips parted in a lustful haze. You felt an orgasm quickly building and Draco stopped before you got too close. Whimpering at the lack of contact he smirked as he stood up to meet your mouth once again. “So needy,” he couldn’t help but remark against you, pushing his pants and boxers down quickly. His heart continued to pound greedily, and he practically threw you into the bed in one swift strong motion. As he looked down at you, pinning you onto his covers you noted much of the playfulness was gone from his eyes and replaced with an intense lust that almost scared you. He was obsessed with you.

You spread your legs and batted your eyelashes like you knew drove him crazy and watched as he pulled out his length and sheathed it inside your tight pussy. The sound of his gruff and euphoric moan mixed with your needy whimpers was almost too much for Draco to handle. He picked up the pace, from agonizingly slow to ruthlessly fast. So many nights he had dreamed about fucking you like this. Ravishing you like you were his and only his, as you should be. His head dropped to the crook of your neck as your back arched in both pain and pleasure. How perfectly, wonderfully, wholly he fit inside you. His eyes remained trained on your beautiful face, listening to the angelic noises that fell from you lips. “That’s Daddy’s good girl. Don’t hold back pretty girl, make your pretty noises for me baby.” At that your lips fell open and you screamed his name much to his satisfaction. Your walls tightened around his cock as he continued to rail you, and he began seeing stars from being inside of his girl. Draco’s teeth sank into your shoulder as he released into you, his cum heavy and warm and deep.

Your gaze was clouded and lips slightly parted, almost unable to speak or process your surroundings. You watched motionless as Draco breathed a sigh into your chest and kissed your cherry gloss smeared lips with the upmost affection. He stood, padding around the room to collect his clothing that had been fiercely flung around the room. He watched you, breathless and angelic, wrapped up in his white sheets with his bruises and marks so striking against your pale skin trailing down your body. He so desperately hoped you would fall into a deep euphoric sleep right then and there, next to him, enveloped in the scent of your vanilla and jasmine perfume, dreaming of the stars.

[blue-mood-blue]

They tell him that his name is Benzaiten Steel.

They tell him that he’s been shot.

Officially, publicly, his condition is unknown - they haven’t released any details yet, pending the investigation. As he understands it, the investigation amounts to his mother and brother pointing to each other in accusation, both of them held in separate interview rooms of the HCPD while Ben lays in his hospital bed. They were hoping he could give them answers, Ben realizes when the doctor and the officer both hover around his door uncertainly before turning to go.

But Ben doesn’t remember anything. He can’t tell them if his brother in law enforcement went corrupt or if his mentally ill mother finally slipped too far. If it was an argument, or an accident, or which of his incredibly small family is more likely to lie. He wouldn’t have been able to tell them his name if they hadn’t told him first, because Ben hardly remembers anything at all.

It’s the head injury, the nurse tells him at two in the morning while she gives him more pain medication. Not from the blast, which had caught him in the shoulder and was more than enough damage to a body on its own, according to her. He must have hit his head on something on the way down, gave himself a nasty bump and some swelling. Nothing to worry about too much, she added quickly after getting a good glance at Ben’s expression. Just... just the memories might not come back. Hard to tell with these things.

Ben chews over the possibility after she leaves, slipping in and out of sleep. He should want to know, right? He should be searching for those memories, and the way he fit between them. He should be looking for himself... looking for the truth.

There are two people in his family. One of them shot him. He can’t imagine a truth there that wouldn’t tear him in two anyway.

Ben takes a moment to pity whoever it was he used to be - must’ve had a sad life, in the middle of that mess. Couldn’t possibly have been happy, in that little apartment in Oldtown, no one to call or contact besides the people led away in handcuffs. Such a small, tiring existence... didn’t he feel stifled, trapped? He does now. He thinks about going back to that, and he can’t breathe.

Ben looks at the window instead. He can make out some stars, but only a few - it’s hard to see much around the light pollution and the dome. He doesn’t remember, but logic tells him he hasn’t lived the kind of life that’s ever taken him off of Mars; he’s never seen any of those stars, or the planets around them, or their moons - not really. He thinks he might like to, and it’s almost a surprise when the thought comes to him; it’s as if his mind has been cleared of some dome hemming him in, holding him in place, and now there’s room to want. Ben feels untethered, adrift... free. Free in a way he knows, somehow, he’s never been before.

It’s a heady feeling. For the first time since waking, Ben smiles. He could be free. He could reach up to those stars and never come back down.

Benzaiten Steel might not remember anything about himself, but he learns that he’s a good actor. When the officer comes back with more questions, Ben tells them he’s afraid for his life, more afraid because he doesn’t know who or what to fear. “Be honest,” he asks, voice shaking with something (not fear, but the officer doesn’t know that). “Do you think this could happen again? Am I really safe?”

Benzaiten Steel is declared dead, and Ben boards a ship.

~~~

He still calls himself Ben; everything else, he cuts away and leaves behind as deadweight. He’s Ben Nothing, Ben Nobody, and he runs between the stars like there’s something chasing him. He finds work where he can, and he finds that the most lucrative work is the illegal kind. He finds that he’s good at it, charming people with a smile or disarming them with a few tears, and then liberating them from whatever they have in their pocket, or safe, or bank account.

Ben is happy. Ben is competent, secure, well-liked in the circles he moves through. Ben is as free as he ever wanted to be, in this life or any other. And if he feels like something unnamed is breathing down his neck some days, well, he is a thief, isn’t he? There’s always someone after him, law enforcement on several planets at least. If he avoids Mars and anywhere too close to that little, red planet, it’s his own business. There’s not much on Mars, anyway; only the Cerberus Province and the connections he could make there, and it’s a small sacrifice to make for all of the things he gets to see.

Ben isn’t lonely. He just feels a little adrift sometimes.

And it’s years before anything catches him.

He has a jewel that toppled a dynasty with the conflict it caused hidden in his pocket, and he slips into a dark, mostly empty theater to wait out the afternoon and the authorities. He already has a spot waiting for him on a ship traveling several planets away, but it won’t take off for hours. He has plenty of time.

Ben pulls out his comms to waste some hours, ignoring the movie playing on the screen; a kids’ movie, probably with the hope that whole families would make the effort of taking a trip to the theater to spend time together. It was a bad gamble, with the only person there other than Ben asleep in a chair in the corner. Ben snorts; kind of a stupid thought, that anyone would bother when they could stream whatever old movies they wanted directly to their home.

He’s in the middle of a game when he looks up at the screen. There’s a woman fighting a dragon, and he isn’t sure what caught his attention until it happens again.

“Andromeda!” someone on the screen yells.

Ben’s head hurts.

Andromeda! a younger Benzaiten yells. He can feel the warm sun beating down on him, the familiar sounds of shouting down a street somewhere too far away to worry about. His voice, thin and reedy and so young, makes its best attempt at a growl. You will never escape me!

“You will never escape me!”

His head throbs, and he could cry with how much it hurts.

I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight, because good must always succeed! Someone with his face answers back, swinging a sword made of paper towel rolls and too much duct tape, and then breaks from the script: And I’m faster than you anyway, Benten, so I can escape whenever I want to.

For a moment, he rests on the divide between Ben and Benzaiten. If he tries, he could pull back - but he also knows he could no more let go of that voice than tear his own heart out.

Juno. A knowledge from the long-dormant pieces of him whispers an answer he doesn’t ask for, as it drags the whole of his messy, painful history with it. That’s Juno. Your twin. Your family.

Benzaiten is still crying, hurt radiating from his head and his chest, and there’s no one around to care so he doesn’t stop. He watches the stupid movie three times, then boards a ship and tries to hide the evidence with makeup and a bright smile. He’s two planets away by the time he thinks about going back, all the way back, and by the time he’s three planets away he’s decided that it would be a ridiculous idea.

It’s been years. Fuck, it’s been so many years. Does Juno live in the same place? What if he’s married now; out of the two of them, he was always the one looking for someone to hold onto him. Would he even want to see Ben?

The answer should be yes, but Ben’s not an idiot, he knows reality is more complicated. Juno buried him, and mourned for him, and maybe even started to heal - and Ben had run. Run without looking back, leaving a death certificate and open wounds behind him.

Is Sarah still alive?

The question stops him cold, staring through the window and the pieces of galaxy he’s passing. If Sarah is alive, he would have to see her, too. That’s a promise he made himself a long time ago - that he wouldn’t choose between them. He was the one who held the family together. He’d always been that.

The Benzaiten in his head, the person he isn’t sure he is yet - anymore - tells him she loves you.

Ben, here and now, tells him she shot you.

Both of those things are true. And when Ben pulls away from the window, he tells himself that’s what he’s afraid of, that someone he loved hurt him and could do it again, that he might let them in the foolish, stupid need to find out if the love was still there somewhere under all of the hurt. To know trying hard enough could mean getting better.

If there’s another fear, if he can feel the gravity of Mars pulling him back and down and heavy, he doesn’t let himself think it. And he’s gotten pretty good at deception, so he might even believe it.

~~~

Ben dances more, when he remembers dancing. Nothing feels as free as the movement, as his total control over it. Not even the stars.

How much of his running was escape, and how much was just running?

~~~

He still calls himself Ben.

He has his reasons. “Benzaiten” is too memorable, and sharing a face and a last name with a sibling seems like a really good way to get that sibling into trouble. There’s a reputation in place already with the name he used. There are days when he doesn’t feel like he fits in Benzaiten’s life. He finds plenty of reasons.

He doesn’t visit. He thinks about it, comes close - as close as a planet and one ticket fare away, once - but Ben can’t bring himself to step foot in Hyperion City. Hyperion belongs to Juno, somehow. He was the one who stayed (I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight), and going home feels like... trespassing. Ben knows Juno wouldn’t say that. It doesn’t stop him from thinking it.

Hyperion City has a newspaper, though, and a subscription service that seems a little optimistic in its range. Maybe not all that optimistic, since Ben regularly takes advantage of it - between jobs, and only on his personal comms. Most of it has nothing to do with him, but he skips and skims through the digitized pages anyway, looking for whatever hints of a life he can find. Juno is a private investigator now, which doesn’t surprise Ben. There’s an engagement announcement and no following marriage announcement, which does.

(Sarah is guilty, and dead, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. He doesn’t linger on the thought.)

Sometimes, when he feels brave, he imagines what it could be like. So what’s this about a gala at that new art gallery? You know, the one that lasted a whole night before it got blown up?

Juno’s laughter from the other side of the comms connection, maybe a little too young. Uh huh, I heard. The HCPD put it all over the news, along with how they saved the day. Or didn’t you hear that part?

They can say whatever they want, I know a Juno Steel case when I see one. Now, Ben adjusts on the bed, miles and miles away, glancing at the window to see if he can get a peek back the way he came, tell me everything.

Maybe the next time you come to see me, Juno says, and just like that the thought disintegrates. He can never put too many words in Juno’s mouth; there are just too many things he doesn’t know.

Ben gets lucky one day and sees a whole half a picture of Juno, looking out on a crowd. He’s not the focus - he’s standing next to some politician in the middle of a speech, a Ramses O’Flaherty who makes a lot of promises that sound like the “too good to be true, but wouldn’t it be nice” kind - but Ben will take what he can get. He can’t decide if Juno has more or less scars than he would have expected, given his line of work. He wonders how they all got there. Juno is standing on the stage with the politician; he must buy some of those promises to put himself so clearly in the man’s corner.

There’s a kind of worry in his gut about it, but Ben tries to take it as a good sign. The Juno he knew had a hard time trusting people; it would be nice if he’d found someone to believe in. It would be nice if that trust is well-placed.

Ben has to leave his comms behind for a job, taking a burner along instead, so he gets the results of the election at the same time he gets the announcement of O’Flaherty’s death and the conspiracy over Newtown. It doesn’t have to mean anything - just another politician who wasn’t what he seemed to be, or didn’t manage to hang on long enough to make good on his promises. That’s all it is.

He still looks for Juno in the stories he reads. He can’t seem to find him, anymore.

~~~

For the first time since they were nineteen, Benzaiten sees Juno across the room.

For a moment, he feels like he’s seen a ghost. A ridiculous thought, from the dead twin.

Juno Steel is so far away from Hyperion City, talking to Zolotovna in a resplendent dress as if he’s lived the kind of life that makes him belong, immediately and implicitly, among the disgustingly rich. Ben, who is there for a reason, he knows he’s there for a reason but fuck if he can remember why, tries not to make it obvious that he’s staring. He’s failing at that, he knows.

But Juno is here. Juno is here in the room with him, so different than he remembers, with so many more scars. With one less eye. Ben wants to ask when that happened, wants to demand that story, just as much as he wants to fade into the crowd and run.

He feels untethered; he feels like, if he runs, he’ll never find his way back again. Just this once, Ben lets himself understand that the tug of gravity pulling him back was never a leash around his neck as much as it was a rope around his middle - giving him a way back home. Juno had always been his anchor, keeping him from drifting too far.

There’s no going back, now. There’s no going home, no home to go back to.

Juno’s glance turns in his direction, and Ben is about to duck out of the way - an amateur move, guaranteed to catch his sibling’s eye, but he thinks he can be forgiven for being a little bit off his game - when Ben realizes he’s not who Juno is looking for. A man slips by him, tall and confident and familiar in a way that tells Ben exactly why he should be familiar. Juno can’t seem to help the way his face changes when he spots the man.

So the thief grabbed at Juno’s heart and pulled him away from Hyperion. That’s why Juno is here. It’s... infuriating, because there’s no way a common con deserves Juno Steel. Because it was never a thought in Ben’s head that Juno could be convinced to leave Hyperion, and he never thought to ask. (I do not intend to run. Running was Ben’s job.)

Ben is ready to do something stupid. He’s halfway across the ballroom, walking directly towards his brother well and aware that the impact will cause an explosion of a scene, when he sees Juno tilt his head.

There’s a comms in his ear.

Ben has been a thief long enough to recognize the habits of another thief - especially a new one.

He doesn’t remember what he came to this event for, but there’s nothing, mark or prize or job, that Benzaiten wants more than to understand the stranger in the dress who almost has his face. If he breaks something with an impulsive decision, he thinks as he continues to cross the room, well - wouldn’t be the first time.

He’ll let himself be selfish. That’s what Ben does.

[rosachaotic]

Remember when i said Talbott and Cereza werent over? Yeah.

I promised yall i would write a continuation of this. For those dont remember that happend, here

Anyways enjoy the fanfic!

Warning: none?? Its more just angst then fluff.(but sorry for my bad english and wording im not very good at writing and I wrote this on mobile)

It's been two months and few days since the big argument Talbott and Cereza had on the hospital wings.

This all happened because Cereza tried to do all the investigation and take down R by herself, but of course that plan failed and it backfired on her very badly. She fought the wizard in white and almost died because of it, losing her consciousness after he ran away, fortunately she was found by Moody who was searching for her after her twin brother said she went missing and was taken to the hospital wings.

She was scolded for it of course, and after that her friends went to visit her. All of her friends were worried for her, especially her twin brother Michael who jumped into her hugging her tight, crying, not realizing her whole body was in pain before he quickly let her go.

After a long chat with her friends and twin brother Talbott got in but he didn't look happy, he asked for everyone to leave him and Cereza alone because he wanted to talk to her, everyone left confused to what was going on.

Outside people could hear both Talbott and Cereza arguing with each other, Talbott was disappointed that Cereza lied to everyone including him about not having any information that could be useful for Circle ot Khanna and that she did is by herself he thought she was dead she could have died because of her reckless decision, Cereza tried to explain herself by saying she thought what she was doing was the right because she wanted to protect everyone which didn't make Talbott feel any less worse but the opposite. Both kept arguing with each other until Talbott storms out of hospital wings not looking at his friend's faces who were waiting outside, Penny tried to stop him but he just ignored her and walked away, once everyone back inside to the hospital they saw Cereza holding back her tears but she did a very job at it once everyone was inside and started crying.

----

Cereza rarely saw Talbott after what happened, she only saw him on the classes they shared but even then he didn't even talk to her, she decided to let it be not wanting to bother Talbott and she thought that this was the end of their relationship. This broke her alot, the happy girl that was always smiling and giggling all the time wasn't there anymore, not only she felt bad for what she did but she thought she lost one of the people she loved the most.

That was until Cereza got a letter in the morning, Andre gave it to her and said "It's from Talbott." She quickly opened the letter and read the paper that said:

"We need to talk. Meet me after dinner in the courtyard."

-Talbott

She thanked Andre for the letter who nodded and said "I hope everything works out for you guys." And left, Cereza also hoped that things would work out but she couldn't help but feel anxious about it. What did he want to talk about after dinner? Why did it have to wait?

"Does he want to end our relationship once and for all?" Cereza thought all day, Cereza knew how to be patient but this waiting was killing her.

During dinner she barely ate anything, Rowen(M!Rowan) was trying to make her eat something but she couldn't.

"You have to eat something, you can't sleep with an empty stomach." Said Rowen, worried for his best friend trying to make her eat. He knew about the letter, Cereza told him about it and he knew how nervous and anxious she was because of it.

"I can't, this wait is killing me.'' Cereza said anxiously.

She then looked around, noticing that Talbott wasn't at the ravenclaw table or at any table of the other houses.

"Did you see Talbott walk in?" Asked Cereza, still looking around, Rowen shook his head.

"No, I didn't, I don't think he is coming for dinner today." Rowen took a bite of his food as he said that.

"Why? Do you know about something??"

"No, no, but...Penny said she didn't see all day, he didn't go to any of his classes." Cereza felt her heart drop, this wasn't like him, he would NEVER miss any class, if there was something Talbott was proud of himself is that he was an excellent student.

"This isn't like him…" Whispered Cereza."I cant, i have to go."

"Wha- B-But dinner time isn't over yet!"

"I'm sorry Rowen, but I have to go."

"...Okay, good luck Cere!"

Cereza nodded and left the great hall running, she opened the big door to the corridor and rushed past the students to the courtyard.

As she got outside she looked around.

There he was, sitting on the tree trunk looking at the stars just like he would when he waited for her for their dates.. Cereza sighed with relief knowing that Talbott was okay...or was he?

She took a deep breath and walked toward him, stopping right before him.

"Hey…" Talbott jumped at hearing Cereza's voice, he was probably so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear her walk in.

"Oh, Sorry I didn't hear you coming in…" Said Talbott awkwardly.

"Its okay…"

"..."

"Penny said she didn't see you all day, you also didn't come for dinner as well."

"I felt sick all day and I wasn't hungry."

"Oh...I'm sorry, I hope you're better now."

Silence took over, the only sound they heard was the cold night wind, making things kinda awkward. Until Talbott coughed and said

"Sit here with me." He tapped right next to him, Cereza then climbed the tree trunk and sat right next to him.

Again, the awkward silence.

Cereza then looked at the sky, it was a pretty starry night, she could see some shooting stars.

" The night is beautiful tonight isn't it?" Asked Talbott, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. It is beautiful."

"It reminds me of when we used to have our dates here, you would make wishes for the shooting stars."

"Stupid wishes, I know." Cereza giggled at her own stupid self.

"I never thought they were stupid." Said Talbott.

"Even the one where I wished for a giant puffskein?"

Cereza shook her head smiling a little bit and she also noticed Talbott was smiling a little as well, she missed seeing him smile, but they weren't there to watch the stars.

"Hey, if that's your wish, who am i to judge?

"Talbott-"

"Yeah?"

"Listen, I-I know you said you wanted to talk to me in your letter, but I want to say something first." Said Cereza nervously, while staring at the floor.

"...Go ahead."

She took a deep breath and then looked at his warm striking hazel, who met her golden eyes. Then she finally said:

"...I'm sorry."

"...Wha-"

"I'm sorry for what I did, Talbott. It was very dumb of me try to all of that on my own and it was and it was insensitive and bad of me not to tell you guys the information I had about R."

"Cereza-"

"I should have trusted you all to defend yourselves without my help, I shouldn't have lied to you guys about not finding anything."

"Cereza listen-"

"I shouldn't have done that, I could have died and i didn't thought about how you, my family and the rest of our friends would feel about it if I died, you were right when you said things wouldn't get any better if I-"

"CEREZA!"

Cereza jumped at Talbott who raised his voice at her, he gripped her shoulders and made her look at him, his eyes staring at her but he didn't look angry he looked sad.

"Just...listen to me please."

Cereza nodded and whispered "sorry" and let him talk.

"Look...after what happened, i couldn't stop thinking about that night on hospital wings. That night kept playing in my head over and over every time I went to bed...I felt awful"

"Huh-"

"I felt awful, Cereza. After I calmed down I realized what I just did and how I shouldn't have talked to you that way, but it was too late, I was already at my dorm and I couldn't bring myself to come back."

"..."

"I was ashamed."

"Is that the reason why you were avoiding me?"

Talbott nodded, he took a deep breath as if was holding himself to not cry.

"I thought you hated me."

"..."

"So I avoided you and everyone else as well, it was painful."

"Tal I-"

"I should have thought of your feelings, how were you feeling that made you do all of that yourself."

"...You had all the rights to react the way you did, it was a stupid and dangerous decision that I made."

"But I still shouldn't have said those things to you."

"..."

"I let my emotions take over me, my heart dropped when I saw Moody carrying you to the hospital wings....blood all over you and you unconscious and i thought i lost you..."

"..."

"When i heard you were alive, I was so happy and relieved...but when i heard about why you did that when I heard Michael talking to Moody I...I dont know what came over me, i was angry and disappointed"

"...I know-"

"Not only on you, but mostly on myself"

"..W-why? Why were you angry at yourself??"

"Because I thought I failed you, I couldn't protect you, I couldn't be there for you."

"But it wasn't your fault-"

"Let me finish..."

"..."

"But that doesn't excuse what I did, i didnt think about what you were feeling, how you were feeling. Your feelings that made you do this and your feelings after it...I called you selfish but I was even more selfish…"

"Tal…"

Cereza's hand went to Talbott's cheek, who jumped at her touch but then rested his face on her hand holding her hand even more close to his face. He closed his eyes while he felt her warmth on his skin again after so long.

"I'm sorry Cereza, I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry for everything."

"I forgive you."

Talbott's eyes quickly opened as he looked at her, he was surprised but it also looked like a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders. She continued:

"But...do you forgive me as well?"

"Of course I do."

Cereza also felt as if a heavy weight was lifted off her shoulders as well, she smiled as she felt tears run down her face and she had to take off her glasses to clean it.

"I-I thought...I thought you called me to end everything between us." Said Cereza as she cried while she tried to clean her tears off her face. She was shaking a little and her breath was also shaky.

"I would never do that." He whispered. "If anything, I was more afraid of you wanting to break up with me."

Talbott got closer to her and hugged tight on to his body, catching her by surprise.

Cereza returned the tight hug, smiling while tears rolled down her face, Talbott also had tears rolling down his face who tried to hide by hiding his face on her shoulder but his shaky breath and the way he sniffed quietly gave it away he was crying. Cereza's hand went to Talbott's hair and was caressing his hair.

"I thought I was going to lose you." Whispered Talbott, not wanting to let her go.

"I thought the same thing…" Cereza whispered back, kissing his head.

Both of them stopped hugging each other as they cleaned their faces but still kept close, Talbott's hand travelled to Cereza's face and caressed her cheek, his hand was cold as always but Cereza never cared about that, she liked his touch.

They both stared at each other, they both knew it was awkward the way they stared at each other but they did not care, their gazes were filled with intense love.

Talbott kept his hand on Cereza's cheek and kissed her other cheek gently but his face didn't move away, in fact he kept face very close to hers moving only a little to her lips, their noses were touching each other and they could feel their heavy breaths, Cereza closed her eyes as she felt her heartbeat go very fast and her face was red, Talbott heart also felt like it was going to jump from his mouth and even his ears were dark red. He brushed his nose on to hers but then kissed her nose, he caressed her cheek once more smiling, Cereza then opened her eyes and saw his smile and smiled back at him. Both of them giving loving smiles at each other.

"I love you." Said Talbott.

Cereza's hand went to Talbott's face and to his cheek as well, as she sighed and smiled again.

"I love you too, meu amor.'

Talbott's smile grew as he heard again the loving way Cereza called him using her first language, while they didn't have their first kiss yet what matters is that they were both together again.

"Just promise to me that you will be more careful." Said Talbott.

Cereza nodded.

"I will...but, do you promise to never leave my side?" Asked Cereza, Talbott chuckled and said:

"I promise, my sunshine."