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ambria · 4 years ago

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everytime // Sirius Black

Sweetener x Marauders

play ‘everytime’ by Ariana Grande <3

pairing: sirius black x reader

word count: 2.3k ✨

warnings: angst, fluff at the end, mentions of drinking, under-age drinking, partying, depression?, mentions of drugs and drug use, someone trying to take advantage on the drunk reader, crying? Let me know if I missed something.

This also might have a few time jumps

A/N: I wrote this in 1st person but I feel like I should make these in 3rd so that’s what I’ll start doing. But this is also my first time making a one-shot fic so cut me some slack if it’s trash. But I hope you enjoy!

I get tired of your no-shows

Taking in the warmth through my fingers I look at the door once more before glancing at the clock.

He’s late. Again

I take a deep breath to cool down my nerves and sigh. I sip the rest of my butterbeer before looking at the entrance once more and packing my stuff and walking out. I look around once more before giving up and walking back to the castle.

You get tired of my control

As I’m walking back I start to get more irritated by the step. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. Always too busy to hang out because of him with his friends or too busy because of pranks. The missed dates and the interrupted times. All for his friends. I’m clearly not a priority in his life and that has to change or I’m not going to be in it.

Walking through the castle I collect my thoughts on how I’m gonna approach this situation. But since I’m so pissed off, I’m gonna take an angry approach.

I walk up to the gryffindor common room and say the password before walking in.

As I stepped into the common room, lo and behold, the marauders spread on the couches talking loudly and laughing. Seeing that made my blood boil. As I walk over I catch the attention of the brunet,

“Y/N!!!!! Hey!!!” The Potter boy called out. I gave a weak smile. Which caught the attention of my boyfriend.

“Hey, babe.” He smiled at me. I internally roll my eyes and keep an emotionless face on. At this point all the attention from the boys is on me.

“Hey. Can we talk?” In the corner of my eye I can see Remus and James glance at each other and look worriedly at Sirius. Yeah. They know better.

“Uhh. Sure. About what?” This time I rolled my eyes. I ignore his question and grab his hand before dragging him up to his dorm.

We enter and I close the door before leaning on it. He goes and sits on the foot on his bed.

“What do you want to talk about? We were in the middle of planning.” Bouncing his knee, I can tell he’s getting impatient and just wants this to hurry up and be done with this. I get even more annoyed at this.

“What do you want to talk about? We were in the middle of planning.”- I mocked him- “This is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re always busy! Doing this and doing that!” I start to raise my voice. My face starts to heat up due to my anger. I try to calm down but it doesn’t seem to be working.

He opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off,

“Where were you today?! I was waiting for you! For our date that YOU literally planned!” His eyes widened with realization and looked at me with a guilty face. But I’m too pissed off to care.

My eyes start to water with tears of frustration but I’m nowhere near done,

“Everytime I want to hang out you’re always busy with your friends and pranks! You never have time for me anymore!” At this point tears are streaming down my face and Sirius doesn’t look that far behind.

“This is the third date you missed! Because you forgot! I’m done with being second best. Im probably not even that!” He has his head down, hands on his knees.

“I—I-I” he stutters out what I think is going to be some wack apology. But I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.

“No. I’m done.” As soon as I said those words his head shot up fast and looked at me with wide eyes.

“No-” he goes to protest but I cut him off again.

“No I can’t do this. Not anymore. This has gone on for too long. You need to fix your priorities. I hope you don’t treat another girl like this. I’m breaking up with you, Sirius.” I don’t wait for a reply and I simply walk out of the door and walk back down to the common room, wiping my tears.

They keep telling me to let go

As I make it to the common room I notice the boys are still there. They see me and go to talk but a loud sound cuts them off. Items getting thrown around, is what I guessed it to be.

We all freeze and guilt washes over me. It’s Sirius.

But I don’t really let go when I say so

I turn my head to the staircase with a sad expression before brushing it off.

I had to. I deserve better. I thought to myself.

I look over to the boys to see that they have worried but knowing expressions on their faces. I gave them weak smiles and walked away to my dorm.

I keep giving people blank stares

Drama travels fast around here at Hogwarts. So it wasn’t long until word got out that infamous Sirius Black was single again and back on the market.

My friends are starting to get worried about me because of my reaction to the breakup, or lack thereof. I know how to keep my emotions buried. I know it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism but I refuse to be sad over a boy who treated me like shit.

I’m so different when your not there

What they don’t know is that I cry myself to sleep. Everyday. I close my curtains around my bed and put a silencing spell around it and sob. For hours. It’s pretty sad.

But I keep my neutral face on for everyone else. From what I know Sirius isn’t doing much better. He’s just more open about his broken heart. Lily tells me he mopes around and doesn’t speak much anymore. Let alone prank anyone.

Everytime she tells me about him being sad it makes me want to run out the room and find him to cuddle with him and kiss him and apologize profusely for the break up.

But I remind myself that it’s not my fault and that I deserve better.

It’s like something out of Shakespeare

Because I’m really not here when you’re not there

I tried to fight our energy

It's been three months since the break up and I have developed some pretty bad habits.

I’ve secretly been drinking to numb the pain. I know it’s not healthy but I can’t seem to stop.

Once all my roommates are sleeping I drink by myself on my bed. It helped in the beginning but now I can’t stop.

I’ve perfected my fake smile so no one could tell the difference. Well one person did, but I was unaware.

I’m in a deep depression and I have no one to talk to. None of my friends know, I can’t tell them. They won’t understand.

Meanwhile,

“Pads, you can’t keep moping around. She’s moved on, you should too.”

“No, I can’t. I still love her.” Sirius said but due to him being face first on his pillow it came out muffled.

“Well then you’re going to have to work your way to get her back. Show her you’ve changed.” The werewolf suggested to his friend.

“Really?” He picks his head up to face his friends, red and puffy eyes with a hopeful expression.

They nod.

But everytime I think I’m free

As the weeks pass I start to receive notes and letters with little flowers attached to them. I know they are from Sirius but I can’t seem to open them and read. It’s too hard and I’m not ready yet.

You get high and call on the regular

Once I reach my empty dorm I run to my trunk and collect all the saved letters. I place them on my bed and chuck my shoes off before climbing on my bed while getting comfortable.

I sort the letter from how I received them. I slowly open the first one,

Dear y/n,

Looking at us now I regret a lot of things.

I don’t blame you for not seeing us together in the future.

I was horrible, but for you I am willing to change. No. I will change.

You deserve so much better and if you let me I could be that person.

But I have to fix myself in order for that to happen.

If you're willing I would love to have another chance.

forever yours,

Sirius

As I finish reading my eyes are cloudy with tears. I continue to read all of the letters.

And by the end of it I’m sobbing.

I get weak and fall like a teenager

I knew it was a bad idea to read those letters. Because after that I am ready to run back into his arms and express my love. But I can’t until I know that he’s changed.

I deserve better. I keep telling myself that.

Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?

Everytime I see him now I try to avoid him. Everytime he’s in a room, I leave. Everytime class is over I run out before he gets the chance to talk to me.

Because I know if I take one look into his beautiful stormy gray eyes I will fall all over again. And that can’t happen.

I deserve better.

I get drunk, pretend that I’m over it

It’s Friday night and today is the big Gryffindor party. Being stressed with liquor and drugs is not a good combo but I haven’t been safe these past couple of months.

I’m in my dorm room getting ready. I decide on a natural glam look with a bold red lip and a black satin body con dress with some black heels.

As I’m walking down the stairs, I can hear the music blasting and the red led lights are turned on. I part from my friends and immediately head to the liquor table. As I’m walking I fail to notice the pair of eyes following my every move.

I take a plastic red cup and I fill it up with the hardest liquor I could find on the table. After downing the cup I refill it and make my way over to my friends who are currently in the corner smoking what the muggles call ‘weed’. It’s strong but it helps me relax. Who knew muggle were so helpful.

Self-destruct, show up like an idiot

About an hour into the party everyone was either high, drunk or both. Which I was. Again me with my unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I ended up dancing in the middle of the room with a huge group of people. I feel eyes on me but I’m too drunk to care at the moment.

As I’m dancing I feel someone come up behind me and grab my hips. I turn around to see a random 7th year boy. He begins to trail his hands on my body.

He leans down to whisper in my ear,

“How about we go to my down, sweetheart?” His hot breath makes a shiver run down my spine, and not in a good way.

I began to shake my head while saying no but he clearly didn’t get the message because he gripped my wrists and tried to pull me with him. But because I was too drunk I couldn’t defend myself properly.

As I continue to struggle I see a person step in front of me, glaring at the boy,

“I suggest you let her go. Now.” I heard a familiar voice, I couldn’t tell who from my drunken state. Once the person turned around a smile involuntarily appeared on my face,

“Siri! Hi!” I giggled as he guided me away from everyone.

“Hi. Let’s get you somewhere safe.” He picks me up bridal style and starts to carry me up to the boys dorms and to his room.

I yawned and cuddled up into his chest,

“I’m still mad at you.” I mumbled. He set me down on his bed and goes to his trunk to take out some clothes,

“I know.” He said, sadly. As he’s helping me I go on a mini rant,

“You know you treated me horrible. I just wanted my boyfriend but you never made time for me. You missed dates, you cancelled on me a lot. And whenever we had time together alone you had to leave early. I just wanted you to give me your love and attention. But I was never a priority. I miss you so much, Siri.” After he tucks me into his bed he kisses my forehead and responds,

“I miss you too, baby.” He goes to walk away but I grab his hand. Which makes him turn around and give me a questioning look,

“Please stay.” I pout. He smiles and climbs into the bed with me. I turn to look at him,

“Cuddles?” I ask him with puppy eyes.

“Cuddles.” I snuggle up next to him with my head on his chest and my legs bunched up with his. He puts his chin on top of my head and begins to play with my hair.

“You know, I still love you. And I’m willing to give you a second chance, Siri.” I can’t see him but I can tell he has a huge grin on his face.

“I love you too, pup. Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” I start to drift off but before I do fully I feel him kiss my forehead again and whisper ‘I love you’ one last time before the darkness engulfed me.

Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?

****

Taglist: @blackpinkdolan

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mystic-poet · 3 years ago

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ROGUE PATHS

I wake up to find myself handcuffed to the hospital bed. The drug they injected me with to tame me seems to be wearing off. Ugh! This again. Better to get it over with, I guess. I drag my free hand into my bun and retrieve a small blade. As usual the dumb police never bothered to check in there thinking a man’s bun would just be a fashion statement. I twist to my side and turn the blade in the keyhole clockwise. My hand comes free. I learnt to pick locks when I was young, one of my many talents. I shake my hand hard to get rid of the stiffness and get up from the bed.

I stride confidently straight towards the door, not in the sneaky kind like a criminal would. As expected, a police officer stands at guard. His lips are on the verge of screaming when I silence him by waving a hundred bucks in front of his eyes. He raises his eyebrows at me and I throw in another four hundred to satisfy his thirst. That ought to shut him up. Money! The most deadly weapon and beautiful thing anyone can ever have.

□□□

Outside the hospital waits Beth. She teaches German in Crawford High. Well, it would be safe to say she taught me the art of viciousness. If angels can house demons, there isn’t any harm in a teacher being an evil mastermind.

“They shot you pretty bad in that leg, huh?” she says as I limp on one good leg. She gives me a look that was overflowing with pity. How I hate that!

“Enough with the puppy eyes already!” I snap. My right leg was hurting real bad and I would have stayed in the hospital until they mended it and made my grand escape later but I won’t want to deprive the world of its foul folks. Besides, I have business to finish.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be in the hospital,” Beth says unlocking her car and we sit in.

“They shot my leg in the encounter at the bank and I was losing blood by the second. Couldn’t get much out of me while I was thrashing in pain,” I explain.

“Did you find anything at the bank?” Beth asks raising an eyebrow at me as she drives the car out of the parking lot.

“I was close to. The property papers were in my hands before the cops caught up with me. Couldn’t read a word.”

“So, what are going to do? Got anything up your sleeves?”

“Well, I do. I am going to father’s house this Wednesday,” I say coolly.

“You do know that’s two days away, don’t you?”

“I have thought it through. You’ll see,” I say grinning.

Beth shakes her head. “Just remember I need my share of the money, Carl.”

“We talked about this a million times, Beth. You’ll get your forty percent,” I say casually leaning into the passenger’s seat.

□□□

My dad abandoned me when I was a teen. He is the owner of a multinational electronic company my late grandpa founded. Beth was the assistant manager. She was a frequent visitor in thehouse and shared a fine bond with dad until one day, she was fired when my dad accused her of a theft she never committed or so she told me.

When I was old enough, I tracked her down and discovered that she craved revenge with dad for all the wrongs done to her. She wanted to blow the lid off and reveal all the dark secrets behind dad’s firm. In a way, our common want of vengeance united us.

My dad is stinking rich whereas I was left in some community home and survived off donations. This is why I despise pity; I have lived with it all my life. I have my rightful place in the company and the fortune my grandpa left behind. But I need theofficial documents and my one chance of getting them from the bank slipped away. That’s where the part of infiltrating his house comes in. Ah! It’s been such long while since I did something of this kind. Infiltrating seems such a gorgeous word now.

□□□

“So, how are we doing it?” asks Beth pouring two glasses of red wine for the both of us. She drove us to her house for it’s probably the safest place to be.

“He is hosting some success party on Wednesday and there’s bound to be security. My idea is to go through as delivery persons. The rest will follow. You will tip toe to the computer room while I put up some distraction. I will catch up with you soon enough. Till then, find the papers,” I instruct taking a swig from my glass.

“It won’t be that simple, you know,” she says with a smirk.

“I was thinking you need that forty percent,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Fine!” she says exasperated. How I love when I am obeyed.

□□□

We are wheeling the cart that supposedly holds the cake but instead I just stuffed it with a wad of cotton. I ring the bell of the grand house with Beth beside me. The housekeeper, a woman in maybe in her thirties, opens the door. She gestures to where the cake should be kept. I look around at the magnificence of the place and its each and every adornment and decoration, from the mahogany coffee table to the velvet curtains and even the intricate designs on the glass vases, conveyed royalty. I feel a rush of hatred inside me. My father enjoyed all the money at his disposal and lived in comfort with rugs beneath his feet whereas I tossed and turned with unease in my bed every night wondering if my parents would ever make their way back to me. At least my mother passed away before she witnessed the return of her abandoned son.

“You know what to do,” I whisper in Beth’s ear. She nodded. I take my blade out and make a shallow cut in the back of my hand oozing out blood. That blade is indeed a good partner. I pocket it as swiftly as I took it out.

“Oh, I am bleeding. I am bleeding,” I say dramatically and hold my hand out purposefully for everyone to see the scarlet covering it.

“Oh dear, God. I will fetch you some ice from the kitchens,” the housekeeper says and disappears into a corridor. That’s the thing about kind people; they are easy prey.

I signal to Beth and she sets off in a half-walk and half-run up the stairs. She knows the way to the computer room from all those years of coming to dinners and teas in the house. As she turns into the corner, I rush behind her too wiping the blood on my pants.

I catch up with her soon enough as she looks straight ahead navigating through the rich corridor filled with a few guests. I walk behind her maintaining a safe distance; we can’t afford to attract any attention.

We walk into a long deserted hallway. I am sure the computer room is here and so does Beth, I suppose, as she carefully notices each door. She comes to an abrupt stop in front of the door at the far end of the hallway and opens it without a glance at me. In the middle of the room sits a computer that would be the cause of my dad’s doom. Beth turns it on and gets to work as I stand at the door occasionally peaking in. I was afraid it might have a password but it didn’t. Arrogance! Father must be sure no one could evade his computer. Well, I guess history is being made today.

“Do it quick!” I hiss at her.

“Does it look like I am not trying?” she says making an irritated face at me.

We are silent for five minutes or so when Beth says, “Carl, I found them!”

A smirk creeps across my face. “Transfer it to me. All of it,” I say in an excited whisper.

Beth turns back to the computer and presses send. The next few moments go by as quickly as the blink of an eye. I lock Beth in the computer room and somewhere a safety alarm triggers deafening my ears. I hear her muffled screams calling out to meechoing in the hallway but without looking back I descend the two flights of stairs.

I bump into the security on a landing and adopting my best worried voice I say, “A woman in the computer room. Upstairs.” The words barely escape my mouth and they run upstairs to find the trespasser while I walk out of the mansion with satisfaction.

Indeed, Beth taught me too much than she should have. Call me selfish but that’s what the world made me. I couldn’t have let Beth have forty per cent. After all, what would she do with it in jail? As for my father this episode would definitely motivate him to set a computer password. I whistle walking on the road thinking of the colour my bungalow would be.

Tagging:

@ruins-of-heart @witchpossessinghozier @some-broken-words @sinless-mind @luck1998 @ze-thoughts-are-stupid @random-lit @saamiya @colinisalright @thunder19sstuff @yalocal-deadpoet @asthetically-bookish @literature-is-my-religion @mrun-v @songfromstars @donapreachesart @i-snort-chocolates @duskobserver @apprielle24 @halfagonyhalfhop3 @klainebrittana @ray-of-darkness7 @balladofableedingpoet2112 @morticiapretz @vantaerayleigh1997 @sillylilbakaaa @church-of-burnt-romances @burn-like-starss @mjsespaces-blog @theleechwhodrinksbleach

Thank you so much for giving this a read dears!

Comments, criticism and suggestions are always welcome <3!!!

#story writing #spilled writing #writers and writing #poets and writers #writers on tumblr #writers and readers #writers community #writers and poets #story

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127-mile · 4 years ago

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Tales from the front desk: Ten.

Pairing: Artist!Ten x reader.

Genre: Ghost, haunted hotel | Fluff, angst.

Warnings: Non-explicit mentions of death, mention of loneliness. There is a scene where it looks like drugs are being used on the reader, but it is not drugs, just the hotel’s bad atmosphere.

Plot: The Neo hotel opened its door in the nineties, and if at first it was seen as a nice and cheap place to stay, it changed pretty quickly. As intriguing as the hotel is, I do not advice you to ask the locals about it, because they will react in a way you do not want to witness. Fortunately enough, it is easy to know what happened in these walls, what happened in some of the rooms, thanks to a little bird with eyes everywhere.

Meet Ten, the artist whose death is as mysterious as it is famous, he likes to wander around the hotel in search of a new muse.

Word count: +4.8k.

A/N: This is inspired by the fifth season of American Horror Story and the real Cecil hotel. More parts with different members will be posted. I already have 5 chapters ready to be written. Also, this part will be linked with Johnny’s part. Spoiler on the tile: the mafia leader.

"I must warn you," the receptionist says as soon as he steps inside the elevator. "the third floor is known to be a bit hectic, so you might want to change room, which is totally fine." this is not the idea settings you were expecting when you wanted to rent a permanent room at the Neo hotel, but you had no other choice. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"If you say so." he answers, and he cringes at the music playing in the background. He has a love-hate relationship with the way it echoes in the elevator, after so many years, it sounds just like fingernails on a blackboard. "After you." he says when the doors slide open, and you take a few steps forwards, and you wait, backpack hanging from your shoulders.

"This is the fourth door on the right." the receptionist carries the dufflebag and he stops in front of the right door. "I don't know if you have noticed, but the signals is really bad here, so I have to check if the landline is working in your room." he unlocks the door, and heads to the vintage looking phone.

The wallpaper is old, and it is peeling off in the corners, and from where you are standing at the door, you see a layer of dust on the small wooden desk and the dresser. This is probably not healthy to breathe so much dust, and mold, but this is the cheapest place you could find in such a short time.

"Alright, the phone is working," the man starts, turning on his heels to face you. He looks young, way too young to be working in this kind of hotel, when he could fit right in, in one of those fancy hotels. "do not hesitate to call me at the front desk is someone bothers you too much, I'll come right away."

"Do you think someone is going to bother me?" you ask, head tilted to the side and the man shrugs. "I do not know for sure, but the last occupants of this room had some problems with the neighbors. Nothing I could not handle, so do not worry about a thing." this is really not reassuring.

"I'll take my leave then, please enjoy your stay. The bar opens at 8pm, and the roomservice is available at any time of the day, or the night, just press the number 4 on the phone." you nod, and you push yourself away from the door to let the man steps into the common hallway. "Oh, by the way sir, can I ask you for a favor?" you ask suddenly, and the man nods.

"If someone comes in looking for me, could you please call me before sending them?" the man, Doyoung, as you can read on the badge he is wearing on his shirt narrows his eyes. "Are you trying to avoid someone? Are you in troubles?" this is not the conversation you want to have with a stranger, but this is also the only way you can be safe.

"Let's say there is a reason for me to be staying here, when I have a perfectly functional house." Doyoung hums, hands burried in the pockets of his pants. "I understand, and I will let you know. No one will come knock on your door without you being made aware of it, trust me."

"Thank you, sir." you answer, and he smiles politely before leaving. A few seconds later, you hear the creaky sound of the elevator's doors, but before you close the door, you hear him speak, and you wonder if he is talking to you.

"Could you stop following me, you know very well you are not allowed to go anywhere else than this very floor. You do not want me to call the man for the sixth floor to remind you of the rules, right?" you frown, who is he talking to in this patronizing voice? "Yes, that's what I thought. Stay away from me, and from the room 304."

You walk outside of the room when you hear his last words, but the hallway is empty, Doyoung is already inside the elevator and no one is here. Who was he talking to? Maybe to someone peeking from behind their room's door, you think.

You close the door, and do something you should never have done. You drop onto the bed, head falling onto the pillows which sends up a cloud of dust thick enough to make you cough. "Oh, fucking hell." you mumble, straightening up.

When you finally stop coughing, your lungs are burning in a very unpleasant way, and you need time to catch your breath.

After a minute or so, you lie down again, more delicately this time, and you grab your phone from the pocket of your jacket. Like Doyoung had say, there is no signal, and you can't find anything with a potential wifi password on the bedside table like in the other hotels you had the luck to stay in.

At least, you know you will not be bothered by calls, and threatening texts from the person you are running away from. This is a plus, but is getting sick because of the dust really worht the peace that it will bring you? You do not know, you need to weight the pros and cons before giving your final verdict.

After an hour, you realize that the television is not working, which means there is nothing to do in this place. Without internet, you can't scroll down social medials until you fall asleep, so you have to find something to do if you do not want to die from pure boredom.

You get up from the bed, and you open the room's door. You hear nothing but the gentle hum of the air con, so you decide to take the keys and lock behind you. Maybe you can visit the hotel before it gets dark, you do not really want to see thos creepy long hallways bathed in unnatural yellow light.

You wait in front of the elevator when you hear a noise. You can't pinpoint exactly what kind of noise it is, but it is eery. It is like a gargling sound, but muffled by something. This sound is soon followed by a loud thump against one of the many doors, but you do not have time to go and investigate as the elevator's door slide open in front of you.

Maybe it's for the best, you think.

If Doyoung said the neighbors are causing problems, you do not want to be part of it. You are here to hide, and calm down, not ot get into any sort of fights with strangers. You look at the buttons, wondering which floor you should go to, but your eyes stop on one particular button.

Roof.

You press it without a second thought, and you wait.

It seems like as you go up, the music only gets louder and louder, and by the time you are two floors before the roof, you have to put your hands over your ears to try and drown out the disturbing noise coming from the old sizzling speaker.

"This place is fucking hell on earth." you mutter as you finally step out of the elevator. You are not quite on the roof, but rather in front of a flight of stairs that lead to the actual roof. But now that you are here, in front of the stairs, you wonder if it was not a bad idea. Not because you are scared or anything, but because the roof is usually a part you can't access in an hotel. So what if it is locked?

"Fuck it." you have nothing to lose, so you climb the stairs, not daring to put your hand on the railing, you feel dirty enough by simply staying in your dusty room, you do not need more right now. There are more steps than what you would have thought, but it's fine.

And it is also worth it, because you see the chain and the padlock on the ground, and the door is left ajar, held open by what looks like a brick.

With the air con, you forgot how hot it is outside, how hard it is to breath in the stuffy air. But you stay on the roof, and you were not expecting anything, and yet, you are still disappointed in a way. There is nothing, absolutely nothing. Oh, yes, there a huge water barrels on the side, but that's about it.

You walk to the edge of the roof, and you watch as life goes on outside of the hotel. People are walking down the street, some look at the hotel in a curiosity you do not understand, others cross the road to avoid it like the plague. This is trange, but you do not question it, you are not from here, and you know nothing about the hotel, so this is not your place to comment.

"Sweetheart, please, do not add another body to this hotel, we are already crowded down there."

You turn around when you hear a man's voice, sweet like honey, and dripping with something you can't quite describe. "I was not planning on jumping." you answer, and he looks relieved. "May I join you, then?" you nod, it is not like you have other things to do, or somewhere else to be.

"So, what is a beautiful doll like you is doing in a place like the Neo hotel?" he asks, sitting down on the edge of the roof, so you take the opportunity to watch him. His side profile was definitely crafted by the gods, and his long black hair falls prettily on his face, covering his cat-like eyes.

"Enjoying summer?" he pats the space beside him, so you sit down, legs dangling in the air. "You must hate yourself quite a lot to spend your summer in this place. What happened, who hurt you?" it is a rhetorical question, you know it, but you still shrug. "I mean, you are here, so I guess I could return you the question."

"Touché." is all he answers, and you close your eyes. It feels nice to be here, even though you can't help but to think about the man next to you, a stranger who could potentially push you from the roof, straight to your death. "What did you mean when you talked about the body count of the hotel?" you suddenly ask.

"Do you know anything about the Neo hotel?" you shake your head, and he hums. "That's for the best then, do not worry that pretty little head of yours." you are intrigued, and you hate the fact that he is really not talking about it, that's mean, you think.

"I'm Ten, by the way."

You open your eyes, and you turn to face him, legs crossed. "Ten? Like the artist? Lee Ten?" he turns his head, eyes narrowed because of the sun, and the corners of his mouth curve into a smile. "You know him?"

"He was on the front page of every newspapers when he died, and everyone talked about it for a while." for some reason, he looks satisfied with your answer. "Did they find anything about the way he died?"

You watched a bunch of videos about the Ten case, mostly because it was weird when it happened, nothing could have predicted that the young and famous artist would suddenly die in such a mysterious way, and you were trying to avoid your homework at the time. "There are a few theories, but nothing was never actually proved."

"Theories? Fascinating! Tell me more, please?" you heave a sigh, this is not how you thought your first day would end up, but you are not mad about it, you guess it is better than to be locked inside your room.

"Some people said he died of an accidental overdose, some said he killed himself, unable to deal with his sudden success. I watched a video of this girl who said he probably died because of the products he used to paint, that he inhaled too much of the fumes."

"And what do you think?" he asks, head tilted to the side. He looks amused by the conversation, but you think nothing of it. "I don't really know. He was young, wealthy, and I heard that he liked the attention, he liked knowing that people talked about him, so he probably found a way to die whilst remaining in everyone's head, and mouth."

"He did like to be the center of the attention." Ten comments, more to himself than to you. "Do you remember where he died?" you look up at the sky, and you try to think about this detail. You heard it thousands of times, but for some reason, you can't think of the name of the place. You can't even put a face on the name.

"It was in an hotel, I think?" he nods his head with vigor, his smile turns into a smirk. "Does the Neo hotel rings any bell?" you open your eyes wide, and you stand up so quickly that you miss tripping over your own foot. "Oh, take it easy sweetheart."

"He died here, in this hotel!" you exclaim, as Ten stands up too. "He did. At least now I know you are not here to investigate his death, which is a shame honestly. It's been a while since anyone came."

You should have known sooner something was fishy about this place! The name of the hotel did make something click inside of you, but in your haste to get away from home, you did not think about it more. You just thought it was a name you saw online while Johnny was looking for a place to stay during some random trip.

"Wait, how to you know people don't come investigate anymore?" he shrugs, and he walks towards the door. "Let's just say that I've been here for quite a while, and I notice when things change around here." you follow him, making sure the door is still ajar for whoever decided to keep it open.

"Is this why you are here?" you ask. "And is this why you chose this name? Are you some sort of creepy fanboy? You know, trying to be where your fantasy lover took his last breath, to be closer to him than anybody ever did?"

Ten chuckles, pressing on the elevator button. "What if I am?" you stay quiet, and you step in the elevator, Ten doing the same. "Which floor?" you press on the third and he smiles softly. "I see we are on the same floor, that's interesting."

You suddenly wonder if he is part of the troublesome neighbors Doyoung told you about. "Can I ask you something?" you have no time to think about it, you just nod. "Would you pose for me?" you frown, crossing your arms over your chest. "What do you mean, pose?"

"I'm an artist, and I like to paint real people."

"You are really going all the way to be like the real Ten, uh?" the young man smile softly, but he does not answer. "But yes, I have nothing better to do, so paint me like one of your french girl." he laughs, and he leads you to his room's door, which is, the one where you heard the weird noises earlier.

"Are you alright?" he asks when he sees that you seem hesitant to take a step inside. "I- I, yes." you can't tell him what you heard, you do not want to make him angry, or uncomfortable and miss the opportunity to be a little more entertained until bedtime. "Come in!"

The room is bigger than yours, and on the walls, paintings are hung and a shiver rolls down your spine. Each painting has a different person on it, and it feels like they are watching you, they are scrutinize your every move. "What do you think? Pretty good, right?"

Yes, the paintings are incredible, and extremely realistic, but your pain is screaming at you to get the fuck out of Ten's room, and to not return, something is weighting down on your stomach when your eyes meet the ones of a man on the very first painting. "You are really talented, Ten."

Ten is beaming at the compliment, and he indicates a sofa on the back of the room, right in front of an easel. "Sit down, please. And be natural, there is nothing better than being natural." you nod, sitting down and ignoring the cloud of dust around you. He rummages through a drawer for his pain, brushes and a pencil to draw the sketch on the blank canvas.

"You are so beautiful, I could spend days looking at you." he says, not even taking his eyes off of his canvas. "You deserve to be forever on a canvas and admired by everyone." his voice is low, and you see in his face that he is focused on his task.

"How long have you been painting?" you ask, and you expect Ten to stay silent, but he hums. "My mother did not have time to take care of me, nor did she wanted it, so she used to give me paint, and old letters to keep me occupied while she was at work, or drinking with her friends. It was cheaper than a babysitter, so I started really young." not the ideal parenting, you think.

"Have you ever painted?" you try not to move, but it is hard when it feels like you are sinking deeper into the sofa. "I did, when I was in art class back in high school, but I was never good at it. I'm not an artistic person, I guess." Ten scoffs. "Art does not have to be good, or pretty to look at to be considered art. So of course you are an artist, no matter what you think. We all are artists in our own way."

This is a nice thought, and it could help a lot of people who are feeling discouraged. From the corner of your eye, you see a movement, but you do not say anything, you probably just saw a bug or something. But when it happens again, a shadow is looming over the wall, you jump off of the couch. "What the fuck was that?"

"What was what?" Ten asks, barely looking up from his canvas, he did not notice you getting up from the couch. "The shadow, I saw a shadow!" he laughs softly, putting his pencil down to stand up. "A shadow? This is only the two of us." he says, putting a hand on your cheek.

"Are you okay?" he tilts his head to the side, and you try to ignore how cold his hand is. "Why don't you lie down for a bit? You look ready to throw up." you feel dizzy, but you do not know if it's because of how hot it is in Ten's room, or because of his proximity.

He pushes you back down on the couch, and the way your back crushes against the back of the couch is enough to cut your breath short. "Close your eyes, my sweet little doll, you will feel batter later, I promise." he says, crouching down to face you. He slides his fingers on your face, and suddenly, you do not like his smile.

You want to say something, to get up and leave. You want to call Doyoung, to tell him everything, but you feel so so tired. Your eyelids are so heavy, you can barely keep eye contact with Ten. You do not want to fall asleep here, you are not comfortable, you hate this room.

"I want to go home." you say in a voice so low that Ten has to lean closer to hear it. "But this is home, sweetheart." you shake your head, no this is not home, home is where your husband is. "You said it yourself, you have a reason to be here, you had a reason to leave your house." he kisses your forehead gently. "This is your new home."

He stands up, and he opens his mouth again. "You will never have to run away ever again. You will be safe here, and never will you feel alone between these walls." Ten sits back down on his stool, and he looks at your like you are the eighth wonder of the world. "Sleep, sweetheart, everything will be better when you wake up."

You do not want it, but you close your eyes, and soon enough, you feel the arms of darkness embracing you tightly.

When you wake up, it is to a room bathed in sunlight and with a splitting headache.

You straighten up, trying to ignore the pain and how sore your body feels. You rub your eyes with the palm of your hands, and look around. You are in your bedroom, in the same clothes you came in and your phone is on the bedside table.

You remember falling asleep in Ten's room, and yet, you are here. What the fuck? Did you fall asleep yesterday, and dreamed of Ten and everything that happened after? You do not know, you are confused, but right now, you have better to do than to dwell on a potential dream.

You need some fucking aspirin.

You know you do not have any in yuor bag, so you stand up. Your vision becomes blurry, and your head is spinning, so you wait for a minute or so, and when you do not feel like you are going to pass out on the dirty carpet, you leave the room.

You try to be as quiet as possible, you do not want Ten to go out of his room, whether you actually met him or nit. Maybe he is not even real, you do not know shit right now.

The music in the elevator is too much, you should have taken the stairs, but you heave a sigh of relief when the doors slide open on the lobby.

Like the day before, it is empty, and Doyoung is standing behind the desk. He looks up when he hears the creak of the doors, and he smiles. "Good morning, how was your first night?" you stop in front of him. "Terrible. Awful."

His smile fades, and you feel bad for a second. "Oh, I'm really sorry to hear that. Did the neighbors bother you? I can go and talk to them, if you want." you shake your head. "Do you have aspirin? I have the worst headache ever." you mumble, and he nods before disappearing in the room behind the front desk.

He comes back with a small bottle of water, and two aspirins that he hands you. "You are my savior." he chuckles, and he watches you chug half of the bottle with the pills. "So, care to tell me what made your night so bad?"

"I had a really weird dream with a guy called Ten." he frowns at the mention of the young artist, so you tilt your head to the side. "Do you know him?" you really want him to tell him that no, he has no recall of a man called Ten in the hotel, you really want to believe that all of this was a dream.

"I actually do. Would you do me a favor?" when you nod, eyes narrowed, he opens his mouth again. "Can you go to the door, and try to leave the hotel? I know this sounds crazy, but I really need you to do it, without asking questions, I'll tell your everything later, I promise."

You do not know why, but you trust Doyoung with his gummy smile and his kind eyes, so you walk toward the front door, and you push it open.

But instead of seeing the street, hearing the traffic noise, you find yourself in one of the hotel's rooms. Not any room. Ten's room.

Ten is sitting on his stool, and his face and hair are covered in paint. When he sees you, his smile brigtens his face in a way you did not know was possible. "Sweetheart! What are you doing here so early? Already missing me?"

How is that even possible? You were trying to leave the hotel, how can you now be in a room, in the third floor? What the fuck is happening? "Look at that! I'm almost done." Ten grabs your wrist, and he makes you turn around to the easel.

You see yourself on the canvas, and it looks sor eal, you think that if you try to touch your face, you'll actually feel it. It is incredible, it is like looking at yourself in a mirror, but it is nothing but paint. "What do you think?" Ten is eager to know if you like the painting he spent so many hours working on.

"This is truly amazing." Ten's smile gets even bigger, and his eyes lit up, and you realize he has not let go of your wrist. "I'm glad you think so. From now on, you will always be with me."

You take a step back, but when you do, he only tightens his grip on your wrist, and it starts to hurt. "The hotel is greedy, you know, so I had to keep a part of you with me. I can't let the hotel have you entierly."

What he says make no sense, but you can't find it in yourself to ask him what he means. "I told you, you wouldn't have to run away anymore, and that you would never be alone either. There are so many people stuck in this hotel, you will forget what loneliness feels like." he sounds so excited, but you can't even pretend to be.

"Are you happy now, Ten?" you turn around when you hear Doyoung's voice. He is standing in the doorway, arms crossed against his chest, and his face is nothing but pure anger. "What is the point of keeping them here, you know very well they will refuse to see you after that, and you will be back to feeling lonely."

Ten shrugs, putting his brush down. "I do not care, I still have a part of them with me, these paintings are special. They are everything I have, and I will never be lonely, no matter if they decide to hide or not."

Ten finally lets go of your wrist, so you do not waste a second to join Doyoung. The man takes your hand in his, and he gently presses it. "Do you want to know something, Ten?" he asks, and the young man nods. "The reason why your favorite refuse to see you after you paint their portrait is simple. They are not hiding from you. I keep them away from you."

Ten's eyes open wide, and fill with tears. "What do you mean?" Doyoung's eery smile is back, and you do not like it, but you do not leave his side. He exhudes something comfortable. "You paint to avoid loneliness. But you deserve to be lonely. So as long as you will keep them here, I will keep them away from you. Be careful next time, I might just burn all of your little paintings, you deserve to feel trapped."

"You can't do that!" Ten yells, a sob threatening to leave his trembling lips, but a tear is already rolling down his cheek. "They are mine! They decided to be my muses, they have to stay with me!" Doyoung laughs, throwing his head back. "This hotel is mine, and will always be mine, I do whatever I want. And what I want, is for you to be as miserable as possible. You need to be punished. Loneliness is the punishment I chose for you."

"Come on darling, we have a lot of things to talk about, and I will also find you a better room because it seems like you are going to stay a little longer than planned." he leaves the bedroom and closes the door behind him. But you can still hear Ten's loud cries. "Do not worry, you'll never have to see Ten ever again, or at least until he decides to act like a normal human being again."

#nct #wayv #nct imagines #nct scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios

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afterhoursfic · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! Its been a while. Lost the password for my first account- Guess I'll start off with a prompt! Jaskier and Geralt have just left Posada, but every time Jaskier runs off with someone he comes back with a strong scent of desperation, not to mention he covers himself even when he's getting into the bath before Geralt, and Geralt can't figure out why. That is, until he walks in on Jaskier changing. (1/2)

(2/2) Jaskier's cock is small. And Jaskier is humiliated, and Geralt is... Turned on?? He honestly thinks it's cute, Jaskier's size, how embarrassed he is by it. So, Jaskier is pent up of course. When the witcher asks, he can't exactly say no to fucking. He just wasn't expecting Geralt to be practically worshipping Jaskier, thanking him and praising him for letting him touch him and telling him how cute his cock is. Tbh just a praise fic ive been meaning to prompt someone with for a while-

I’m sorry this took forever and if it’s not exactly like you asked but I really tried tog give off the whole Geralt loves Jaskier’s little cock vibe so hopefully you enjoy it!

They’d only been together for two weeks and Geralt had already lost count of how many times Jaskier went off to an alcove or alley with someone. He would be jealous if it wasn’t for the fact that almost every time he came back desperate, edged with just a bit of hurt, and reeking of quickly dissipating arousal, which doesn’t help Geralt’s own need.

At first, he thinks it’s some sort of game? Kink? Whatever it is, and just something Jaskier does, which is to torture himself and Geralt too by proxy, until he gives himself the best orgasms ever apparently, because there are very few occasions where Jaskier comes back, loose with a carefree smile and just oozing satisfaction as if he hadn’t felt it in a decade.

Those are the times Geralt is jealous and he’s half tempted to ask Jaskier how he does it until said bard walks, well storms into their room, the familiar stench of hurt, arousal, and longing soon clouding up the room.

He asks Jaskier if he’s alright of course because he’s not an asshole all the time, but like all the times before Jaskier shrugs him off and tells him he’s fine as he makes a beeline for his bags and the waterskin which contains half a bottle of wine.

They sit there for a few long minutes, Jaskier steadily drinking as Geralt turns his attention to the noises of the town filtering from outside just to distract himself when suddenly Jaskier moves, putting down the waterskin and stretching before he starts undressing.

“D’you mind?” Geralt doesn’t have to ask, he just turns to the bath in the corner of the room, the water stone cold, at least until Geralt flashes igni at it, and he watches as Jaskier sinks into the hot water with a groan and his back turned to him as usual.

It’s not odd per se to want a bit of privacy, but they travel together so it’s inevitable that at some point they’ll get to see everything, hell it was probably the second day they knew each other when Jaskier watched him strip naked to bathe in the river and he earned more than a few compliments. Jaskier was private and that was fair enough, but he’d always shriek and cover himself as if scandalized if Geralt even so much as glanced his way whilst he changed or tried to take a peek.

It was odd though that Jaskier would turn his back to him to get in the bath, only to then turn to face him, if he were embarrassed about his body then why show it off now? All he had to do was sit up in bed and he could catch a glimpse if he wanted, but to each their own. Clearly, Jaskier had no intention to talk about whatever was bothering him for the hundredth time already and so instead he settled back into his bed and left it be for now.

He left it for about a day before they were pulling into another village and saw Jaskier charm and flirt his way around the tavern, reeking of arousal, and he pointedly looked away when the woman dragged Jaskier into a backroom already heavily making out and using his hands to work on the ties of her dress whilst her free hand was palming at his cock.

Resigning himself to a night alone Geralt ordered another drink and reached a hand down to shift his cock a little from where it was pressing hard and insistent against the laces of his trousers. It was going to be a long night, especially with the smell of Jaskier’s arousal lingering in the back of his throat.

At least that was until the woman all but charged out of the backroom, her hair loose and dress falling off of her shoulder as Jaskier raced out a second later trying to do up his laces as he tried to catch up with her. Once she’d barged through the front door, Jaskier gave up the chase, staring forlornly at the closed door as if hoping for something else to happen, and after a long moment when it didn’t, he turned and went upstairs to their room, and Geralt briefly noted that burnt, frustrated smell Jaskier seemed to carry more and more these days and he thought he finally knew why.

Seemed to him that Jaskier didn’t have all the prowess he liked to boast about given that this seemed to be a common occurrence. It’s not like Jaskier was a bad lover, he’d heard the bard get a woman off several times on just his tongue, a lot, so much so he felt like he was lacking in the bedroom sometimes, and yet his latest conquest had stormed off and left them both unsatisfied.

He was just drunk enough that he was willing to go for answers, hell if he was desperate enough he’s sure he could talk Jaskier into a mutual hand job, anything to beat the monotony of jerking himself off quietly under the covers every other night.

So, he downed his drink in one, stood up on legs far too steady for what he was about to do, but he was just desperate enough to do it anyway.

For once being a witcher was actually helpful, it meant he could go up the stairs without being heard, so when he barged through their bedroom door, he was met with the sight of Jaskier stood over the bed, whining as he jerked his fist frantically.

Geralt felt his mouth dry at the sight, but he only had another second to savor it before Jaskier was jumping back, hand leaving his cock to try and grab the blankets and cover himself. It was too late though, Geralt couldn’t help the way his eyes shifted to see Jaskier’s cock hard and red, and no bigger than his middle finger, and yet Geralt couldn’t hold back the curse that fumbled out of his mouth as his cock twitched at the sight.

“Fuck Jaskier, this why you can’t get laid?”

“I can get laid just fine, witcher” He watched as Jaskier fumbled his hands in front of him to try and cover up, not that it mattered at this point, he could see the flush on his face, the sweat beading at his temples and smell the mix of arousal and embarrassment all in one. Despite all of this Jaskier was still hard though, shuffling on his feet as if that would help him somehow and Geralt’s mouth watered at imagining the taste of it on his tongue.

Despite the way he tried to hold himself he could hear Jaskier’s jackrabbiting heartbeat, but he didn’t bother mentioning all the times Jaskier had come back to their rooms stinking of arousal, frustration, and embarrassment and being all around unsatisfied because it wouldn’t help him here. Instead, he took a step closer, licking at his lips to taste the arousal in the air as he pointedly looked at Jaskier’s cock, safely hidden behind his hand now and he’s sure he looked desperate as he looked back up into Jaskier’s eyes.

“Can I jerk you off?” His voice is small as if he’s unsure with himself, and he supposes he is, it’s not like he’s ever propositioned Jaskier before and he doesn’t know how he’d take the rejection, if they could even go to being friends afterward.

“Is this some kind of joke, because it’s not very funny”

“Of course not, but you’ve got such a pretty little cock Jaskier, let me get you off, please” They stood staring at each other for a moment before Geralt took a step closer and when Jaskier didn’t shy away he took another step and then another until they were stood directly in front of each other “Say no and I’ll stop, but please let me touch you Jaskier, let me look after you”

He let out his breath when Jaskier nodded his head once, collapsing to his knees immediately and watched Jaskier stumble back a step clearly caught unawares, but then he’s looking up, watching Jaskier’s face as he pulls the bard’s hand away to replace it with his own, pressing his thumb against his slit to coat it with pre so he could slick his hand over his cock.

It was only when Jaskier leaned forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed and a low moan leaving his mouth that Geralt looked away, licked his lips again as he watched his whole fist cover Jaskier’s dick, and started to use just his index finger and thumb to jerk him off so that he could see the slick head of his cock past his fingers and drip pre all over the floor.

He leaned forward to lick off a drop threatening to fall, his tongue just brushing the tip of his cock and caused Jaskier to shudder violently and groan, a testament to how long he’d gone without another’s touch, and he barely restrained himself from putting his mouth over his cock then and there.

“Can I suck you Jaskier? Please let me get my mouth on you, need to taste you, see if you can reach the back of my throat-“

“Yes, fuck yes just do it” He almost didn’t recognize Jaskier’s voice, but he didn’t dwell on it, just pulled his fingers away so he could swallow his cock in one, groaning as he felt the tip just brush the back of his throat, and the salty taste of pre on his tongue before Jaskier’s cock jerked once and with a shudder he came.

Geralt easily swallowed it and kept licking at his slit until Jaskier’s nails started to dig into his shoulder, then he pulled away just enough so he could suck the head of his cock a little bit longer, a spare hand going to roll Jaskier’s balls in his hand, squeezing them just a little to coax a weak spray of come in his mouth before Jaskier grabbed his hair and pulled him off. They both ignored the fact that he whined, although he’s sure Jaskier won’t remember it in his pleasure addled brain.

“Fuck me?” He watched Jaskier blink once, then twice as he tried to think over an answer, all whilst Geralt wrapped his fingers around his cock again, ever so slowly moving them whilst he pressed kisses against the tip, down to his balls, and then back up to his hips. It served its purpose of getting Jaskier hard again, he’s sure the bard’s been neglected enough that he’ll be shooting off like a teenager all night. “You want to get your cute, little cock in me? Bet I don’t need much prep, you could just slide in now if you wanted, do you want to? Want to finally have a hole to fuck?”

“Fuck- Geralt I swear if this is-“

“No, no, just need your cock in me, want to come just on your pretty cock, please Jaskier”

“Fucking hells yes, get on the fucking bed before I come again, want to be in you when I do” Geralt didn’t waste a second, using his reflexes to good use as he stripped off his clothes to lay on the bed, and frankly it showed how desperate Jaskier was to get his cock in something because he didn’t even complain about not getting to undress him. There were plenty more nights for that but right now he needed Jaskier’s cock in him and he needed it now.

Although Jaskier probably could just slip his cock into his hole with just a bit of oil, that didn’t stop Jaskier from making quick work of teasing him open on one finger, just one so that he could just about feel the stretch of Jaskier’s cock when he pushes in. Maybe in the morning he’ll wake up early and stretch himself on his own fingers before sitting on Jaskier’s cock to see if he could feel it, and the thought had him moaning and stretching his legs open wider to get Jaskier closer to him, to tell him to get on with it.

Then Geralt was shoved on all fours, his chest pressed into the mattress and he held his breath as he waited to feel when Jaskier would push in. He couldn’t help himself when he looked over his shoulder just as Jaskier was slicking up his cock and lining up with his hole “It’s alright if you’re little cock slips out, I know you can’t help it”

“Shit” That was all he said before Jaskier started pushing in, Geralt could feel it stretching him open a little and he groaned as it pushed deeper until it nestled just below his prostate like the continent's best tease. Jaskier didn’t even have the patience to build up a rhythm, just began fucking with abandon, and thankfully his cock hadn’t slipped out, yet, but Geralt knew he was close, could feel his cock twitch inside him, and hear the groans building in his chest as Jaskier rode him closer to orgasm.

Geralt just clenched around his cock as hard as he could, heard the catch in Jaskier’s breath and the stuttered gasp as he bent over his back and came, still quickly fucking into him until his orgasm ebbed and it was nothing more than the slow drag of Jaskier's cock in his hole, brushing against his prostate on every thrust that had him tense and his own cock leaking onto the sheets beneath him.

“Come on Jaskier, I know you’ve got more than that, finally got someone you can fuck with that pretty little cock of yours, don’t you want to use it?” He was answered as Jaskier just groaned a low yes, feeling him snap his hips against him and hearing the slick squelch of the come in his hole as he set a quick pace, his cock twitching to get hard with every thrust, and Geralt couldn’t help but groan as he rolled his hips back to meet him “That’s it Jaskier, just like that-“

He was cut short by his own groan and Jaskier’s curse when on the next thrust Jaskier pulled out too far, cursing as he fumbled with his cock, smearing it across his ass down to his balls until finally, he managed to get enough control to push it back into his hole, Jaskier’s fingers gripping his hips hard as he started fucking him again.

He was right, Jaskier was eager and pent up enough that he shot off like a teenager for hours, fucking him as a man possessed, and Geralt was lost in it, Jaskier’s cock brushing his prostate with every thrust and left him groaning as Jaskier milked his cock dry. The sheets below him soaked in sweat and come and left him clenching his jaw to stop his snarls escaping, all whilst Jaskier moaned above him, pressing messy kisses along the line of his spine, his neck, until they both were drained physically and metaphorically and collapsed onto the bed in a sweaty heap.

The smell of their come and sweat strong but not as strong as the waves of satisfaction rolling off of Jaskier, of the fatigue and arousal deep in his skin, and he knows in a few hours they’ll be doing all of this again, but at least now he won’t have to scent the burnt edge of frustration to him anymore. All he had to do was get on his knees and give Jaskier his pick of holes and if he were lucky maybe one day, he could get Jaskier on his back so he could milk his cute little cock for hours, or maybe edge him if he wanted to get him as desperate as he was tonight. Either way, he let sleep take him, bone tired as he was if he was going to have the energy to ride Jaskier’s cock in the morning.

#afterhours cw humiliation #afterhours cw scent kink #afterhours cw overstimulation #afterhours fic week #afterhours cw somnophilia #somno just cause it was mentioned as an idea

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thinkingimmensely · 4 years ago

Text

Okay. IV

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

A/N: I have a sudden burst in inspiration and finally finished this chapter! Here’s to the hope this streak continues *crosses fingers*. I know it’s been forever and IDK if you guys still read this but I’m still trying my best to update as soon as I can, haha. I have also been reading fanfics again, thus a boost in creative juice.

Stay safe in these trying times everyone!

MATERLIST

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the Potterverse!

___________________

“Are you mental? What in the world were you doing back there?” You yelled as your friend laid in the sofa nonchalantly, throwing a ball up in the air and catching it as it fell back down, as if without a care in the world. You flicked your wand at the ball and it catapulted itself to the other side of the room before Sirius could even catch it again. “Listen to me!”

“What’s the point?” He groaned and turned his back to you.

You flicked your wand towards him and made him roll over and fall off the couch. “That was extremely rash. Careless and impatient of you.” You scolded as your friend rubbed his back in pain. “They changed the portrait,” you informed him as you ran a hand through your hair, “that annoying Sir Cadogan, still ranting on and on about knighthood I reckon.”

“Well, you didn’t have any other brilliant idea, did you? Besides, what were you doing there in the first place?” He finally asked. When he entered the house hours ago after his failed attempt on getting inside the Gryffindor common room, he was welcomed by darkness and a letter from Dumbledore in the counter you left. It was nearly 4AM and you just arrived a few minutes ago.

“You read the letter, didn’t you? Dumbledore invited me, plus, I wanted to see Harry.” You mumbled the last part.

Sirius smirked and approached you as you took a seat. “Did they all have their knickers in a twist?” He asked, his voice laced with mischief, as if he was actually proud with the reckless stunt he pulled.

You couldn’t help but let out a snort, typical Black and his love to get into different heart-stopping situations. That was where he and Remus differed- Remus was your calm, and Sirius was like a whirlwind bent on destroying everything he passed through. Speaking of Remus, you still couldn’t get your meeting off of your mind, and your heart still picked up its pace every time you thought about it even though it started off the wrong foot.

You kind of felt guilty with lying, even though what you said wasn’t technically a lie. Kind of. “Next time you try to go in, maybe try learning the password first, yeah? There’s a brilliant idea for you.” You murmured, not caring if your friend heard you or not.

Talk around town was filled with nothing but Sirius Black the next few days. The theories on how he got in into Hogwarts became wilder and wilder that you heard a young Hufflepuff student babble on to anyone who would listen that Sirius could turn into a flowering shrub. Sirius had laughed for ten minutes straight at that. You became busier as well- McGonagall strode in one day asking to speak to you privately.

“Dumbledore has requested your presence in his office any time you are available.”

You wiped your hands on your apron, giving your old professor a questioning look. “Um, you can tell him that I’ll be there in a few minutes then, just let me tell Madam Rosmerta-” You were about to head back inside before McGonagall cut you off.

“Actually,” She started and you stopped on your tracks and turned back to her, “I also have a request if it wouldn’t be too much for you.”

“Yes?”

She let out a sigh, “Well, I believe you are aware that Harry Potter is a Seeker in the Quidditch team?” You nodded dumbly, having no idea where this conversation was going. “Well, their first match is on Saturday and the students want to train during the evening. I have already asked Madam Hooch to oversee their sessions, but it would put me more at ease if you were there as well. For extra protection, especially since there is no sign of Black yet.”

You blinked, processing everything she just said. She was basically asking you to keep an eye on your godson- You broke out into a smile, bobbing your head immediately, “Of course!” You stopped and regained your composure when McGonagall raised a brow at you, “I mean, yes, it’s no problem at all Professor; I’ll head to the Quidditch field every time I finish here then.”

McGonagall let out one of her rare smiles and nodded at you, she then told you she would be waiting for you so you could go to the castle together. Luckily for you, Madam Rosmerta had no qualms about you leaving early today so you left without much hassle and you and McGonagall headed to Hogwarts, making small talk here and there.

When you came here with Sirius, you didn’t expect to be going in and out of the school so much; especially since you’ve been laying low for the past ten years, leaving the Ministry and all that. “I believe you know your way from here.” McGonagall told you as you entered the castle, you nodded absentmindedly so she left you in the hall.

The students stole glances at you as they passed by, some surely recognizing you from the Halloween feast. You stuffed your hands inside the pockets of your coat and made your way up the numerous staircases until you reached the familiar corridor that led to the Headmaster’s office.

You stood outside entrance covered by the large and ugly stone gargoyle. You were at a lost since McGonagall never mentioned the password to you. So how were you going to go inside now? Just before you turned on your heels to find someone who could get you in, the pathway opened as Remus came out looking rather under the weather. He stopped on his tracks when he saw you; he cleared his throat and fixed his tie. “Y/N” He tiredly greeted.

“Remus.” You answered with a nod. The both of you stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to talk about. You glanced behind him, at the stairway to the office, “Um, is Dumbledore available?”

Remus turned and glanced at stairs as well, then looked at you again, “Uh- yes, yes he is, we just finished our discussion and he doesn’t have an audience now so...” He trailed off.

“Okay, I guess I should head in then.” You mumbled and walked past him before turning back, “Take care of yourself okay?” You told him. He gave you a curt nod before walking away, so you went on to your business.

Sirius paced back and forth in the little house you shared. “Honestly, please sit down. You’re making me dizzy with all the pacing. It’s not good for the floorboards.” You snapped. He sat down next to you in the sofa and looked at you seriously. Despite the rather upbeat music that played from the radio in the corner, the room had a rather glum atmosphere.

“Dumbledore wants you to-”

“To patrol Hogsmeade and Hogwarts a couple of times in a week. Report to him if I find anything suspicious, or I see any clues where you might be.” You finished.

Sirius furrowed his brows, “But why? You’re not an Auror anymore, you don’t have to do shit for them.” He snarled. Because what ever did Dumbledore did for any of them when the Potters died? He gave Harry to those god-awful Muggles and hadn’t even tried to give a fair trial to Sirius.

You looked up to your Headmaster, you always had, but sometimes... sometimes his actions frustrated the hell out of you. Sirius took your hands in his when he noticed your visibly upset face. “I shouldn’t have brought you here with me. I think they’re trying to get you back into their fold.”

“Sirius, you must be forgetting something,” You gave him a bitter smile, “They’re not the enemy here.” Sirius sighed and dropped his head to your joined hands. You freed one and ran it through his black locks. “Besides, this just means I get to see Harry more often, and maybe help you if the situation requires it.” You smiled at the thought.

“You’ll get to see Moony-” he mentioned, “You’re bloody miserable every time you see him again, I know you, when you came back after the feast and today, after that meeting with Dumbledore, you’ve been lost in thought. You still love him, don’t you?” He sat straight again and looked at you straight in the eye. “I don’t want to see you die a little inside every single time.”

Your smile faltered; you hadn’t realized that Sirius noticed. You thought you were being discreet about it. “I...” You inhaled sharply, “I never stopped.” You admitted for the first time, letting out a defeated breath. Your eyes watered as you tried to keep your emotions in check whenever Remus was the topic of your conversation. Sirius placed a warm hand on your cheek and wiped a stray tear away.

“Moony’s a total git for letting you go.” He commented, you let out a dry laugh at that and he grinned. “C’mere” He pulled you up from the couch and held your hands, a playful glint in his eyes as he swayed to a different, but still upbeat song from the radio. He looked rather idiotic as he moved left to right in what could be called an impromptu dance. You laughed as he pulled you close and twirled you around at random moments, it was as if your worries and your hurt was being washed away and the once gloomy house was filled with laughter for the first time since you’ve been there. Remus, Peter, Dumbledore and the Dementors were faraway thoughts at that very moment because all you could focus on was your best friend who was swaying with you clumsily to a Muggle song the both of you didn’t even know the title of.

As the song neared its end, your head leaned on his neck as he held you close, slowly turning with your hands still clasped together, relishing in the company and comfort the two of you gave to each other, but reality was slowly seeping back in by then and you stopped when the song ended. You pulled away from him; the two of you shared a look as static played in the background before you retreated to your bedroom, shutting the door softly behind you.

___________________

Permanent Taglist:

@coffeeismylife28 , @oreofrappiewithblueberry

#sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Harry Potter #the prisioner of azkaban #hogwarts #peter pettigrew #the marauders

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heartofether · 4 years ago

Text

Bonus Episode #4 - Irene's Inauguration TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state your message.

[INTRO MUSIC PLAYS FOR SOME TIME BEFORE FADING OUT.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE BREAK ROOM, MIDDAY, AROUND LUNCH.]

[IRENE IS SITTING DOWN AT THE TABLE, WHILE ADEN IS LEANING OVER HER SHOULDER. THERE ARE VARIOUS OFFICE AMBIANCE NOISES HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND.]

IRENE

I don’t think I need your help setting it up, you know. I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to use an app.

ADEN

Sorry, sorry, I’m just—excited, you know? It feels like you’re about to take a big step, and I get to be the one to watch it happen.

IRENE

[SHE SCOFFS.] As if this is a major life milestone.

ADEN

Hey, I think it is! In a way. You know? It’s not common for someone your age to not be active on social media—

IRENE

Hey.

ADEN

Not that that’s a bad thing! You’re like, joining the masses though. It’s like an inauguration.

IRENE

Yeah, sure. Whatever.

ADEN

And, I’d also like to witness the outcome of my months of pestering you.

IRENE

Hey! I kept saying I was going to—

ADEN

So have you come up with a username yet?

IRENE

Um, not really? I’m guessing just irenegray is taken.

ADEN

Mmmm, probably. If it helps at all, I added a word to my username that I thought sounded nice. Kind of like, something cool and aesthetic, you know?

IRENE

See, that’s part of the problem. You actively have an aesthetic you’re trying to maintain. I’m just kind of, you know. [SHE VAGUELY MOTIONS.]

ADEN

Hey, I think that’s great that you're authentically yourself and you don’t adhere to any restrictive subcultures.

IRENE

If you wanna call it that… honestly though I just hadn’t thought about it. I mean, you know I’m mostly doing this for you, right?

ADEN

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just pick a word you like and pair it with your name to see if it sounds nice! Maybe, like, an adjective?

IRENE

Hm. [SHE THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN] I kind of like the idea of it being something forest-themed.

ADEN

That would be cute! What if you did, like, the name of a tree? [BEAT] Ooh! You could do something like cedarirene, as in red cedars, you like those, right?

IRENE

[THINKING] I kind of like that, they’re pretty… [beat]

ADEN

[HE LAUGHS AT HIS OWN JOKE] Or you could do, like, irenefir, as in Douglas-fir? Those are pretty common in this part of the states.

IRENE

[SHE CHUCKLES, THEN, HUMS IN THOUGHT.] Yeah, I’m not sure I’m going for the Christmas tree route today.

ADEN

Hey, if you end up deciding you don’t like it, you can always change it later.

IRENE

That’s a good point. [BEAT] But I think cedarirene is good.

ADEN

I like it, too.

[A PAUSE AS SHE TYPES.]

ADEN

Then just add your email and password—don’t worry, I’ll look away for this part… [KEEPS TRAILING ON AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT WHILE IRENE TYPES] Even though I’m fairly certain it’s the same login info you use for everything… which you should really work on by the way, you know that really isn’t the most secure—

[MORE PHONE TYPING.]

IRENE

Got it.

ADEN

Then you’re done!

[A BEAT.]

IRENE

What do I do now?

ADEN

Now, you get to customize your profile. You know, add your name, your bio, a profile picture—oh, actually hold on, give me your phone real quick.

IRENE

Why?

ADEN

I want you to follow me! Here, just let me search for my username.

IRENE

[SHE CHUCKLES.] Sure. Go wild.

[ADEN IS HEARD TYPING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

ADEN

…and done. Oh, actually, while I’m here, I should have you follow Carol and Julia. [HE STARTS TYPING THEIR USERNAMES IN.]

IRENE

[IN SHOCK] Carol has Instagram?

ADEN

Uh, yeah.[beat] You seriously don’t understand just how behind you are, do you?

IRENE

[SHE GAPES IN FAUX-OFFENSE] You act like I’m withering away into a pile of dust just for not using social media.

ADEN

[GIGGLING] I’m kidding, Irene! I know lots of reasons why someone may want to go off the grid. I mean, social media can be kind of, er…

IRENE

A cruel and unjust place full of corporate marketing and unattainable standards?

ADEN

Yeah. Also, it can be kind of addicting for some people. So just, I mean I doubt you’ll have that problem since you don’t really seem to care, but just—be careful.

IRENE

Don’t worry, I doubt I’ll even use it that much.

ADEN

You better at least open the app every now and then. I want to send you stuff.

IRENE

[SHE LAUGHS.] I’ll keep notifications on for you, bud… If nothing else.

ADEN

Right, so, back to your profile. I’ll let you do whatever you want for this part. Oh, you should put your pronouns in your bio, though.

IRENE

Got it. [A PAUSE, THEN] Uh, what else should I put?

ADEN

Anything you want, really. Some people like to put their age, their job, sexuality, a fun fact about themselves.

IRENE

I mean, I don’t really want to share my entire personal life with the internet.

ADEN

Then don’t. Just put some totally random fun fact.

IRENE

Hm. Okay.

[A PAUSE AS IRENE TYPES.]

ADEN

Is that… did you actually drink three cups of coffee in less than one hour before?

IRENE

It was finals season.

ADEN

[CONCERNED] I can only drink one cup, and that still makes me shaky. Were you okay?

IRENE

Gonna be totally honest, I don’t remember a damn thing from those twenty-four hours.

[THERE’S A BRIEF PAUSE BEFORE THEY BOTH LAUGH FOR A FEW SECONDS.]

ADEN

[THROUGH FADING LAUGHTER] Okay, okay. Now you just need to set a profile pic.

IRENE

I mean, I don’t really take selfies ever.

ADEN

It doesn’t have to be a photo of your face. Do you have any pets?

IRENE

Not unless my dead betta fish from three years ago counts.

ADEN

Hm, okay. Some people just make it a color they like, or if you just have a nice photo in your camera roll you want to use, you could do that. Some people use characters they like, art pieces, pictures of buildings, yada, yada, yada. Just pick something.

IRENE

Where do you get all of your info about Instagram accounts, anyways?

ADEN

Oh, it was actually my minor in college. “Aesthetically Pleasing Profiles 101.”

[THEY BOTH LAUGH.]

ADEN

I’m joking, of course. It’s just…I don’t know, the internet was kind of a safe space for me for a while? When I first moved to Daughtler, I didn’t have many friends, and my constant state of anxiety was far from helpful. Online, I could be myself and find people with similar interests way easier than I could around town, without ever having to worry about my weird real-life mannerisms that might drive people away.

IRENE

[SINCERE] That makes a lot of sense. It’s good to have support like that. I, uh, probably could have used something like that in college, honestly. I just got kind of used to isolating myself after a while, I guess. [A BEAT.] Though, if it helps at all, I think you’re pretty cool offline, too.

ADEN

Thanks, Irene. [A BEAT.] So, about your profile pic.

IRENE

Do you think Carol would mind if I made it a picture of Mothman?

ADEN

I— [HE GIGGLES.] You know what? I think she’d think it’s cute. Do it.

[IRENE GIGGLES. SHE SETS THE PROFILE PIC.]

ADEN

Welcome to the digital world, Irene Gray.

IRENE

Please, I’m not a grandpa. I know how the internet works.

ADEN

I know, I know. I’m excited to see what you post, though.

IRENE

[THINKING] I honestly hadn’t given it much thought. I guess we’ll find out… if I remember to.

ADEN

Don’t think about it too hard, alright? Just be your authentic self.

IRENE

I’ll certainly try my best.

[PHONE BEEP.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: "Love is a leash that goes both ways."

Becca De La Rosa in Mabel, Episode 36, 2019.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

#heart of ether transcripts

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natasha-romanoff-deserved-better · 4 years ago

Text

Children Of Yesterday - Ch.6

Standing in front of him, are two more children, only slightly older than the one he had found. The blonde child was freakishly skinny with dark bags under his eyes, and was standing with another black-haired slightly taller child who had a bony arm wrapped around him.

The blonde was wearing an over-sized Captain America costume that drowned him, and the other only wearing a leather jacket with sleeves that covered his hands and fell to his knees.

Tony almost chokes.

The blonde in the Captain America costume. The black-haired child standing over him. The scared, timid kid on his hip with glasses and bruises.

He knows who these kids are.

After an accident with Hydra and the time stone, Tony and Rhodey are left with six of their teammates turned into young children. Trying to keep the six young, traumatized and rambunctious children safe all while finding a cure and attempting to give them a taste of a real childhood might be their biggest mission yet.

Read Here on AO3 or continue under the read more!

!!! TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER !!!! I'm serious about this one, y'all. Please, please be careful. Details in the next line: Talks of childhood sexual abuse, as well as a scene involving a child attempting to come on to an adult due to past/pervious experiences. If you wish to skip this scene, stop reading at the part where Tony is outside messing with his glasses.

FRIDAY wakes him at 6:07am with an alert that Bruce had woken up and the others were starting to slowly wake as well. Tony pokes his head into Bruce’s room to find the young boy sitting up in his bed, an open science book in his lap.

“Hey kiddo. Find yourself a good book?”

Bruce startles slightly at his voice, having been so wrapped up in his book he hadn’t noticed Tony. He looks up, pushes his glasses up back onto his nose and nods.

“Want to come help me make some French Toast?” Bruce doesn’t seem super excited at the idea, but he closes the book and sets it onto his bedside table before standing up to follow Tony into the kitchen. Tony sets them up at the stove, before noticing Bruce only comes up to about eye level at the counter.

“Hey, bud,” He pats the counter next to the stove. Bruce only stares at him in confusion. “Hop up. So you can help and actually see what I’m doing.”

Bruce chews on his lip for a second, watching Tony out the side of his eyes. He pretends not to notice and goes about pulling ingredients from the fridge. Eventually, Bruce follows his advice, and lifts himself onto the counter. He hunches into himself, trying to take up as little space as possible, but Tony still counts it as a win.

Tony offers to let Bruce crack open a few of the eggs, but he quickly shakes his head. Tony only shrugs and doesn’t push it, instead cracking the eggs himself and then pushing the filled bowl over to Bruce, handing him a whisk. “Stir?”

Bruce timidly puts the whisk in and begins stirring slowly. It takes a few a moments longer, but Tony lets him finish the job himself. Once it’s properly whisked, Tony dumps in some milk and then pressed the bread slices into the mixture, letting them soak up the liquid.

Once soaked, Tony slaps some pieces onto the frying pan.

“Chemical.” Bruce whispers.

“What?”

He points to the cooking bread in the pan that is now starting to sizzle. “That’s a chemical reaction.”

Tony can’t help the smile that breaks through his face. “Yeah, that’s right! Do you know what kind of chemical reaction it is?”

Bruce shakes his head.

“It’s called the Maillard Reaction. That’s when the Carbonly group of the sugars in the bread and milk and eggs reacts with the amino acids. It makes something called glycosylamine.” Tony peaks at Bruce to see if he was following. The kid is staring at him with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth. He continues. “Then the glycosylamine does something called the Amadori reaction and makes Ketosamines. This is what makes bread brown when you toast it and why the taste changes.”

“Oh.” He says softly as he stares at the pieces of bread cooking in the pan. Tony can almost see the gears in his head turning as he watches it.

There’s a small murmur behind him, and he glances back to see Steve and Bucky shuffling into the kitchen, the two of them yawning and still blinking rapidly.

“Hey, guys. Sleep okay?” Steve only nods as Bucky quietly says “Yup” as they go and sit on the couch. “Breakfast will be ready soon, why don’t you guys sit at the table instead?”

Steve furrows his brows. “Breakfast again?”

Tony raises one of his. “Uh… Yes?”

“Oh. That’s cool. I like that you have lots of food.”

“So do I. No one goes hungry here, got that?”

Steve and Bucky both nod, while Bruce just continues to glare at the toast.

Eventually, the plate is piled high with pieces of golden French Toast. By then, the rest had tricked into the kitchen-- Sam waking only a few minutes after Steve and Bucky, and then later Clint, awoken by the smell of the food and dragging an exhausted looking Natasha from her room. Tony places the plates of food in the middle of the table.

“All right guys, dig in.”

No one moves. Steve looks to Bucky, who looks to Clint, who glances at Bruce, who stares at Natasha, who is studying the table. Right. Maybe not the best idea for a group of kids who are most likely all food insecure.

He takes their plates, one by one, and adds a few pieces of toast onto each before returning it to them. It’s clear this arrangement works much better, as they start to eat once the food has been expressly given to them.

Note taken. Tony leans back against the counter, nibbling on his own piece as he watches them. Clint scarfs his down, as if he’s worried someone was going to take it away, while Bruce is extremely particular- cutting his into all the same sized small pieces and then chewing them the same amount before wiping using his napkin to wipe his mouth after every bite. Steve and Bucky are thoroughly impressed with the dish- ranting and raving about it and smothering it in way too much syrup. Natasha refuses to eat hers at first, until she pushes her plate over to Clint, who eats several bites from it, gives her a thumbs up before sliding it back where she begins eating, albeit still suspicious. Sam has bitten two holes in the middle of his toast and has set to work nibbling a “smile” into the bread to make a complete smiley face.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes with another unanswered text.

…

“Where are the kids?” Rhodey asks, stepping into the lab.

Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the two pieces of metal he is screwing together. “Oh, they’re upstairs. Don’t worry, I put on a movie for them to watch, so they should be good for like,” He waves a hand around in the air, “40 more minutes or so.”

“Um. Okay. And who, exactly, is watching them?”

Tony snorts. “They’re like… six? Seven? I don’t actually remember but I’m sure they’re old enough to sit and watch a movie by themselves. I told FRIDAY to keep an eye on them, though.”

“Well, I guess in theory, yes. But do you honestly think this group has that kind of attention span to sit still for two hours?”

Rhodey snorts as he watches the smug expression fall from his best friend’s face as he realizes what’s he done.

“Fuck.” He drops the metals onto his desk and hurriedly steps into the elevator, jamming the common living room button several times on the way up.

The living room isn’t in complete disarray like he had started to suspect it would be, but he does notice right off the bat that only two of the kids remain in the room. It’s Steve and Bucky- they’ve scooted off the couch to only about three feet in front of the screen, and are watching with their mouths gaping and wide eyes.

“It’s in color!” Steven shrieks at him upon his entrance, pointing at the TV.

“Yeah, yeah it is. But, um, do you two know where the others went?”

The two of them only shrug. Helpful.

“FRI? Please tell me you know?”

“I do, sir. Bruce Banner and Sam Wilson are both currently in the living room bathroom. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton are in the air vents over the hallway two stories up.”

He shouldn’t be surprised about the vents. Adult Clint often crawled around them, but he had never put in much thought about what age his affinity for vents had started. He should have known the moment he watched child Clint climb through one to break into the SHIELD code room.

Rhodey sighs and turns back to the elevator. “I’ll go fish them out of the vents.”

Tony nods and makes this way to the bathroom, where the door is closed. He raps on it a few times with his knuckles, and calls out to the two boys, asking what they were doing in there. Their already soft voices immediately go quiet, as if he’d not realize they were inside and look elsewhere.

“Guys. I know for a fact you’re in there. Why don’t you open this door for me?”

It takes a few seconds, but eventually the door creaks open, Sam’s face poking out of the crack. “What’s the password?”

Tony frowns. “Uh…”

“Nope. Wrong.”

“Can I have a hint?”

“Um. No.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Is there actually a password, or are you just planning to say no to everything and just never let me in?”

Sam’s shoulders sag in defeat. “Fine. There’s no password.” He opens the door another few inches, revealing the mess inside and Bruce, who has shoved himself into a corner of the bathroom as he tries to frantically wipe off his hands on his shorts.

The sink along with the bathtub both look like the shampoo bottles threw up all over them. In a sense, they probably had, as evidenced by the several now empty product bottles lying scattered on the floor. Sam follows his eyes. “We tried to only do it in the sink but it was clearly too small so we moved to the bathtub.” He explains, gestured at the mixed products.

“Riiiight. And what, exactly, is … it?”

“We made potions!”

Tony is once again, not at all surprised.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. We’ll clean it all up, I promise. You won’t even be able to tell…” Bruce grabs the towel closest to him and begins scrubbing at a purple cream dollop that had splashed onto the floor.

“Hey, Bruce, it’s fine. Really. I’m not mad.”

Bruce furrows his brows at him, flabbergasted. “But we made a mess.”

Tony snorts and waves them out of the bathroom. “Yeah, well, as I understand it messes are normal kid activities. And I’d be lying if I said I never made fake potions myself.” He chooses to not mention the potions contained actual chemicals from his father’s lab and often resulted in small explosions. “I’ll have one of the bots come clean it… Or, several of them.”

“You have cleaning robots too?” Sam asks. “That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Tony agrees, and deposits the two kids back onto the couch to continue watching the movie. He’s in the middle of attempting to convince Steve and Bucky to move back some when the elevator opens, revealing Rhodey along with Nat and Clint.

The two kids wordless go and sit on the couch as well, not even looking at Tony. “They weren’t happy about it, but I got them out.” Rhodey says, gesturing to them. Now seated, Natasha is struggling to keep her head up as her eyelids close against her will before she forces them back open.

All six kids back in view, Tony lets himself relax into one of the bar stools. “Don’t look at me like that.” Tony calls at Rhodey. “Trying to find two hours to myself in the lab was not asking for too much.”

Pepper pops in just as the movie credits are starting to roll, and the kids somehow successfully manage to finagle her into staying longer, so that they could play some of the board games from the closet. Bruce is strangely stand offish with Pepper, which Tony finds odd. While the others are definitely enjoying her company, Bruce keeps himself mostly closed off, and Tony doesn’t miss the way Bruce angles himself between him and Pepper. Natasha surprises him, and instead of being weary of the mostly new adult, it only takes her a few minutes to become completely taken with Pepper. She intentionally places herself next to Pepper and looks to her for approval and praise whenever she makes a move in the game. Nat looks considerably more relaxed next to her, and he makes a mental note to ask Pepper to stop by more often.

Watching Pepper play and joke with the kids, Tony can’t help but smile to himself. He’d never realized how good she was with children, and although he would never admit it, the sight is beginning to fill his chest with a certain kind of warmth and... longing? He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and flipping on the camera. He aims at the group gathered around the coffee table and snaps several pictures. Just as he’s about to sneak a fifth one, his screen changes as the phone begins to buzz with an incoming call. He stares at it.

“Sir. It’s Peter Parker calling.” FRIDAY speaks through his voice.

“Yeah, Fri, I know.” He says and presses the decline button on his call for the umpteenth time. The warm feeling in his chest is gone, leaving only a heavy sense of guilt. It’s better this way, he tells himself.

…

The air nips at Tony’s bare arms as he fiddles with his glasses, tiny screws and bolts on the table next to him as he connects two more wires of FRIDAY’s mainframe into the nose bridge. They’d put the kids to bed several hours ago, and he’d taken the chance to sit outside and take some breaths. He’d forgotten how draining children are.

Something moves in his peripheral vision. He twists around quickly, not giving whoever it is sneaking up on him any time to hide, and then thanks god he hadn’t raised a gauntlet in warning before looking.

It’s Natasha.

She’s dressed in her pajamas- a pair of loose black shorts and a black spaghetti strap tank top, but it’s clear she hasn’t been sleeping. The bags under her eyes have grown, if possible. She’s staring at him, her mouth tight and face hard.

“Hey, Nat. What time is it?” He answers his own question this a quick glance to his watch. Almost three am. She should not be awake. “Did you need something, Squirt?”

She shakes her head, a tiny movement barely even detectable if you weren’t watching for it. But she doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at him taking measured breaths. Her right-hand hangs by her side, and he doesn’t miss the way she is squeezing her thumb in a fist.

She seems to be frozen under his attention, so he turns back to his glasses, hoping the lack of eyes on her would allow her to gather herself enough to tell him what she wanted. It does, and she takes several steps closer to him.

She pauses. Takes some more breathes. Steps closer.

She’s close enough now. Slowly, she chews her bottom lip as she lifts herself up onto the bench, next to Tony. So close, in fact, her arm is pressed against his. She still hasn’t taken her wide eyes off him. He frowns slightly at her behavior. This is weird, even for the mini assassin. Maybe she had a nightmare, and didn’t know how to ask for comfort?

“Are you okay?” He asks, sneaking a glance down at her. She’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, and there’s something in her face that he can’t quite place, but it sets him on edge.

“I waited for you.” She whispers.

“I- what?” He racks his brain for a second, before remembering the first night at the tower with the kids, when she had waited for him or Rhodey to come lock her to the bed. “Oh. Remember Nat, we said no handcuffs here. We meant that.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything to that, and Tony doesn’t push it, but he gets the feeling his answer wasn’t satisfied to her. But he can’t think of anything else she could possibly be talking about.

Natasha sucks in a breath, and he’s about to ask again but she is suddenly crowding into him, pushing under one of his arms and climbing into his lap. She slips one of her legs over both of his so she can straddle him while she faces him. There are a few tears running down her checks that he swears weren’t there before.

“Natalia, what—”

She drops her head onto his chest as if she’s hiding her face, but then she’s nuzzling into the crook of his neck and there are tiny hands on him, one his chest and one slipping into his pants waistband and-

Tony lets out a strangled noise of protest, words failing him as flight instinct takes over and he shots up. Natasha tumbles out of his lap in his rush to get away. She hits the ground on her back, only just managing to catch herself with a skinny arm thrown behind herself. She flinches away from him, as if she’s expecting some kind of blow to come.

Tony takes several hurried steps back, pressing himself against the wall behind him, away from the girl. “What the hell. What the fuck. What the fuck,” It’s the only thing he can think, his brain refusing to work properly as his thoughts race. He can barley hear himself over the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears.

He doesn’t have time to collect himself though, because Natasha is moving towards him again, but this time she’s on her goddamn knees and while he is stuck repeating cusses, she is repeating her own mantra. It’s mostly Russian, but there’s English mixed in as well. He can just barely make out desperate apologies and frantic promises to do better.

Tony can hardly look at her as he reaches down and grabs the top of her arm, jerking her to her feet and out of that sickening position. He holds her away from him, and he knows he’s probably being too rough with her, not handling this whole situation correctly, but none of his doctorate classes ever told him how to deal with your adult teammate turned child coming onto you.

She’s hyperventilating, and he thinks he might be as well, but she has a small trickle of blood running from her nose where she was knocked against his knees when he stood and she fell, and she is still watching with wide, terrified eyes but is letting him move her pliantly.

He rips his hand off her arm as if it was burning him. He switches it for leaving it up in between them, palm out. “No.” He chokes out. “No.”

Natasha furrows her brows, shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand.

“We don’t- You can’t—” He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know the right words to say, or the right actions or response. “Why?” Is the genius response.

Natasha is staring at him like he’s grown two heads. “You were taking too long!” She exclaims. “I stayed awake last night and tonight waiting for you! You never came and I do not like the waiting.” Then quieter, she adds. “Can we please just get over with?”

“I. No.” He repeats. “We are not doing that. Ever. That is—” Disgusting. Horrifying. Nauseating. He can think of dozens of words it is. But he knows she wouldn’t understand. Or worse, would think he is calling her those things. “You don’t have to do that, Natalia.”

“Yes, I do!” She explodes. Her eyes are filling with moisture again, as if she is about to burst into tears a second time. “I don’t understand what… game you are playing?”

“Nat, I’m not—”

“I just was trying to show you how thankful I am. But I made you angry?”

“You didn’t make me angry, Natalia. I just—”

She’s not having it. “Why am I here?” She stomps her foot, and continues. “—You took us from the eyepatch man to bring us here. You give us food whenever we are hungry. You call me those… other names. And you bought for us so much from the shops. And you said no fighting here so then why am I here other than too—”

“Tony?”

Tony’s shoulders sag with relief. He has never been so happy to see Pepper before in his life. She calls his name again as she steps over the small ledge and onto the balcony. She glances between to the two of them, eyes taking in Natasha’s tears and bloody nose paired with Tony’s face of shocked horror. “Uh…What’s going on?”

Natasha takes a step back, away from Tony and tries to school her features into something more neutral. She keeps her eyes locked on him though, waiting to see what exactly he was going to do or say with in the introduction of a new person.

Tony straightens up, rubs a hand over his face in an attempt to gather himself, find some kind of way to explain this without sounding completely insane. There isn’t a way though, and he sends a helpless look to Pepper.

She gets the point, and switches her attention, crouching down. “Nat, why don’t we go inside and get a tissue for your nose? I bet you’re kind of cold out there as well in just your pajamas, hm?”

Natasha peruses her lips for a second, staring at Pepper’s outstretched hand for a moment before moving closer to Pepper. With Natasha no longer so close to him, it’s easier to breathe again. Pepper gets the point and retracts her hand in favor of gently placing it on the back of one of Natasha’s shoulders and steering her inside.

Tony collapses back into his chair, head clutched in his hands as he tries to even out his breathing. It doesn’t work.

#children of yesterday #look i actually wrote something #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #clint barton #sam wilson #bruce banner #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #tony stark #james rhodes #marvel fanfiction #kid fic #marvel kid fic

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mamawaffle · 5 years ago

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Overwatch Fic Exchange

So I participated in @clareguilty‘s Overwatch fic exchange and this is the first time in probably 10 years I’ve posted anything online. I got @unseaworthy, hope you like it love!

Mostly fluff, Pre Explosion, Gabriel Reyes, Gender Neutral/Female reader, ~2000 words

You stretch, happy to finally be done with mission assignments for the week. You had pulled overtime for the last month to get ahead of schedule, and if everything during the missions went well, you would enjoy a quiet Friday Saturday and Sunday. You had packed your laptop and cellphone into your bag and had nearly signed off when a ping alerted you to a manual override for a mission. In years past this had been rare, the commander trusting the handlers- and the computers- to make sound decisions. But recently there’d be a lot more override requests, not from the agents but the commander himself.

Well, you decide sitting back down at your desk, no use in putting off what can be done now. It was a simple escort mission, one that you’d assigned Agent Thomas and Agent Elias to; two compatible, quiet agents with compatible skills. Instead, Elias had been replaced with Nunez, a weapons specialist with a predisposition for explosives. What was the commander thinking?

Movement catches your attention and you flick your attention up; speak of the devil and he shall appear. “Sir are you sure about this?”

“Sure about what?” Commander Reyes came around your desk to see the screen better. You noticed he was dressed more casually than usual, he still wore his dark pants and boots, but he was wearing a regular t-shirt instead of his hoodie or armor. You can see the hint of a tattoo on one of his ridiculously toned muscles-

With a heaving effort you pull your attention from his arms to rove over the holoscreen again, pretending you’d been invested in the information the whole time. As he came around the desk your attention drifted to the side-by-side statistical profiles of the two agents again. The commander placed one hand on the back of your seat, and the other reached past you to rest on your desk, giving you a good dosage of the cologne he wore in the office. It was a long standing debate among the other Blackwatch handlers what exactly he wore- Lieutenant Stroud insisted it was an old school Christain Dior- “a refined scent for a refined and mysterious man”-, but Agent Jones insisted that it was something more modern like-.

“Y/N,” you hear the commander call your name, pulling you from your thoughts on the old office gossip back to reality.

“Yes sir, um, I mean, Gabriel.” Saying his name was enough to make your heart stop he was so intimidating, but he insisted on it when it was just the two of you. Taking a breath, you switch back into work mode with the confidence of a woman who doesn’t have a school girl crush on their boss. “Thomas and Nunez don’t have any complementary stats at all. I mean lately they’ve had at least some overlap,” you point a finger at the mission requirements and trace it along the screen to show, “but this one really takes the cake. Thomas was already a long shot for the mission being an espionage specialist but Nunez?” You shake your head and drop the pointing hand to lean your chin on it, “he’s a pyromaniac who can be seen with explosives strapped to his back on an escort mission with a man he hates on his way to the near Antarctic tundra.”

“It’s fine,” he moves the hand on the desk to your mouse and clicks the confirm button, and a window pops up asking for your password. “Call it commander intuition, but I’ve got them paired for a reason. Sometimes a scientist escort requires cunning wit, quiet observation, and explosives.” The disbelief must have been plain on your face because the commander laughs and stands up straight. “Trust me, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

And so for the next two days you contemplated what exactly Reyes thought he was doing. You thought about it as you saw Nunez and Thomas off, you thought about it when Stroud and Jones bid you a Merry Christmas and a Happy Hanukkah respectively and headed to the states for the rest of the week. You thought about it when you overheard agents talking about how contact with Agent Nunez and Agent Thomas had been lost in the middle of an unseasonable storm. The scientists had been fine and were maintaining shortwave radio communication with the agents, instructing them on the locations of various survival items, including a single blanket that they had to share. You even thought about it as you mechanically went through the checkup portion of your yearly physical with Doctor O’Deorain, another agent with the maddening request of only using first names for those they’d become fond of.

You supposed that the commander actually could be onto something, humans made mistakes and computer programs were as fallible as the programmers who designed them. As commander he had to be observant of not just what the system told you, but collect other information and be able to pair or group agents accordingly.

“You seem fit as a fiddle Y/N, it is a shame you don’t go out into the field more often. You would be perfect for the work.”

“Hm.” You answer non committedly.

“Speaking of field work, congratulations are in order for George and June, they’ve just arrived safely from their chilling ordeal.”

Your mind belatedly connects the names to Thomas and Nunez and you look up at her. The doctor had her perpetual grin aimed at a tablet, either at your charts or at the list of agents landing on base you couldn’t tell. “Gabriel mentioned something about a celebration but I don’t think I’ll be attending.” She pulls her face into pinched disapproval.

“I uh, think I’ll pass too. I really just want to take a break.”

You move to stand but she puts a hand to your shoulder, “I do have just one more question for you though, if you don’t mind my asking.”

You shrug, “sure.”

“What exactly is our commander up to?” She doesn’t allow you a response past your confused expression. “He’s spent an awful lot of time with you in the office, and there haven’t been any truly dangerous missions for the entire month. I understand that you have been handling the bulk of agent assignment as well, and you have been awfully quiet this afternoon. Dirty conscious got your tongue?”

“I..” So you weren’t the only one to notice how weird the commander had been. You shrug again, “I have no idea, sorry Moira.”

“You don’t think that it’s odd, that previously openly hostile coworkers have become incredibly..” She lets the word trail off, searching for the right word. “Chummy.”

You hadn’t thought about it, but now that she’d pointed it out it was weird. Every pairing or group that you’d sent out for the last month had come back not only in higher spirits, but as great friends. Maybe it was a piece of the puzzle, but you shook your head no at her.

Moira pulled her hand away slowly, the serious expression relaxed into her perpetual smile again. “I only thought he’d have filled you in, my apologies for holding you.”

Understanding the words as a dismissal you flash her a nervous smile of your own and beat a hasty exit from the infermary toward the mess hall The doctor made a good point though, things were much quieter in the halls and common areas. You would have to think hard about how all of that fit into Reyes’s master plan, but after you got a bit of dinner in you.

You could maybe get in a bit of observation time if you-.

Your thoughts stop short as your round the corner into the Blackwatch mess. “Oh my god.”

The words fall slowly from your lips. It looked like Christmas had thrown up, garland lined the walls in a tasteful Blackwatch symbol with colorful lights brightening the greenery. The room lights had been dimmed so that the multitude of blinking snowflakes hanging from the ceiling could be seen well. Upon closer inspection you can see that whoever had done the puking had made sure to include other holidays too. Tiny plastic menorahs and kinara were in the middle of tables surrounded by red LED candles, and the tablecloths had various holiday characters. And at the culmination of it all, in the center of the room, a huge tree was being decorated by agents who hadn’t gone home for the holidays to the tune of Mirah Carrey

“So,” McCree said on your left, “what’d ya think?”

“I think Reyes is gonna have a heart attack.”

“Naw, it was his idea after all.” He claps you on your back as he walks past you and calls over his shoulder, “you comin or what?”

In all your fuss of maintaining a black operations organization over the years, you’d barely acknowledged the holiday other than making a few calls home and mumbled greetings in the office. Overwatch, of course, threw a company wide party every year that was about as bland as they came, and nearly every Blackwatch agent turned down the invitation every year. But this was the first time they’d thought to throw their own.

You sigh and follow after McCree. “I guess I’ll see what you’ve done to the tree.”

For the first time in years you actually enjoyed yourself on Christmas eve. You put up a few decorations with some agents and even saw Thomas and Nunez hanging off of each other. The two seemed to laugh at the whole situation when you congratulated them on a job well done.

“Make lemon cakes out of lemons,” Nunez shrugs and pecks Thomas’s cheek with a kiss. And then suddenly it clicks. Your gaze slides over all of the new couples floating around the room, there hadn’t been any fights all week and now you had confirmation.

The missions, the overrides, it was all to set them up!

You turn away to go look for Commander Reyes and bump into a solid wall of ugly blue and red sweater.

“Oh, sorry Y/N I was just-.”

You put a finger to his chest hard, “Gabriel Reyes I cannot believe,” you glance around you but every seemed reasonably invested in the festivities to not notice you, but you still drop your voice, “you were using assignments to play matchmaker.”

The commander grins at you and gently pushes a small box that matched his sweater at your chest. “Merry Christmas.”

You hiss under you breath, “Reyes I’m serious.” You push the box back into his hands, but a few of the other agents were starting to notice your confrontation. “Commere.” Taking his arm you pull him to a table that lined the wall. You sat down pulling him down with you and he pushes the box into your hands again.

“I feel like you’re not feeling the Christmas spirit.”

“Reyes-.”

“Gabriel.” He insists.

You breathe out a heavy sigh, “Gabriel what the hell?”

“Well we couldn’t really throw a party with everyone trying to kill each other,” he shrugs as if that was enough explanation in of itself.

“This is so against all kinds of protocols.”

He makes a flippant motion with his hand, “I’ve never been one for following rules. I’m sorry for the secrecy but you’ve got to admit the quiet’s been nice.”

You glance behind you, at the agents, a lot of who you would consider friends, dancing drunkenly to Christmas In Holis and at the twinkling lights and absolute treasure trove of food being brought out. You guessed this was okay, and he was right, the lack of reports being filed had made your work much easier.

“Promise to include me in your nefarious schemes next time Gabriel?” His grin was infectious and you found yourself already looking back on this as a funny situation.

“So your gift?”

“Oh yeah.” You quickly work to slip the ribbon securing the lid off of the box.

You stare down bemusedly at the mistletoe. “Isn’t this stuff supposed to be above us for a kiss Gabriel?”

He smirks, “we make our own rules here Y/N.” And he leans in for a kiss.

#I...got carried away #i also wanted to make it a smidgen christmas related which took a smidgen more time #I feel like the end is a little rushed but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#Overwatch #overwatch x reader #Gabriel Reyes x Reader #self insert

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swhurtcomfort · 5 years ago

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Can be read as a sequel to (x) if desired - tl;dr, Padmé tips Obi-Wan off that Anakin is teetering on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Anakin comes home in the middle of the night and Obi-Wan takes care of him and lulls him to sleep with the Force.

...

Anakin sat up and was immediately assaulted by the need to sneeze, several times in succession.

“Gah,” he whined nasally when he was finally able to draw a breath in. He felt a hand guiding him back down to lay on the pallet.

“I know.” That was Obi-Wan’s voice, tinny as if it were coming from the end of a long tunnel. He handed Anakin a handkerchief.

Anakin took it gratefully and blew his nose. He lied back down with a groan of discomfort.

“Shh,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s little wonder you’re ill, Anakin, you’ve not been taking care of yourself. I suspect this is a long time coming.”

He’d pushed himself too hard for too long, and the moment he had let down his defenses his body had betrayed him. Anakin turned his head and saw the sun high behind the blinds. The morning was half over.

That was bizarre, Anakin never slept in. He realized that he didn’t remember any unpleasant awakenings the previous night. Obi-Wan’s sleep suggestion had nudged him right into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.

Anakin sniffed, and a little shudder ran up his back. “I’m cold,” he croaked.

“That’s your fever. It spiked quite high a few hours ago,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You should sleep more if you can.”

Anakin slept. The fever dreams were soft and fuzzy, and he couldn’t quite remember what they’d been about, but it was at least a nice change from waking up with his heart racing and gory images pressing in on his mind. He woke once to the sensation of something occluding his ear, but it was only Obi-Wan taking his temperature.

The thermometer withdrew from his ear. “It’s come down a bit,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

And he did.

When Anakin finally came around for good, he felt more like a human again. There was a glass of water waiting for him on the bedside table – bless Obi-Wan’s soul.

As he took a long draught he glanced at the rest of the clutter on the table. The medkit sat open with the thermometer lying on top, a bowl of water with a cloth soaking in it, several handkerchiefs, and Obi-Wan’s commlink. He realized with a pleasant jolt that his former master really had been fussing over him.

He drained the glass of water and blew his nose, then picked up the commlink to check the time and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was late afternoon, but that wasn’t what shocked him. Obi-Wan had two unread messages from Padmé Amidala.

Anakin couldn’t open or read the messages without Obi-Wan’s password, so he put the commlink down. He supposed they could be professional correspondence…but when he and Obi-Wan had acted as Padmé’s protectors their communication had always been over datapad, and had usually come from the Senate or at least one of her staffers, not Padmé herself. They were always very careful to keep their personal and professional messages separate, for secrecy’s sake.

Of course, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to worry about that because he had nothing to hide. Unless…

No. Anakin smirked to himself. He was pretty sure that Obi-Wan only had eyes for his one true love, the Jedi Code. Anakin had even laughed out loud at Senator Palpatine when the old man suggested otherwise. It had seemed preposterous. But…

No, Obi-Wan would never. And for that matter, Padmé would never. Anakin clenched his fist at the thought. No. Padmé was pregnant with his child. She loved him, and only him. He refused to doubt that.

Anakin wasn’t sure what emotion was making his heart beat like that, but he told himself it was amusement. What a silly suspicion. He dragged himself upright and put clean clothes on before venturing out of the bedroom. His sinuses were congested, and the pressure felt like it was squeezing his head.

“Ugh,” he complained as he shuffled into the common area where Obi-Wan was silently working.

“You should’ve stayed in bed,” said Obi-Wan mildly, sipping his tea.

There was enough hot water at the bottom of Obi-Wan’s teapot for about three quarters of a cup, so Anakin helped himself.

“Did I miss lunch?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“And the Council Meeting?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I let them know why. It’s alright, Anakin, you clearly needed the rest.” Obi-Wan stood up and walked to the cooling unit. “When the refectory starts serving dinner in an hour, I’ll go pick us up some real food. But here,”

He walked around the table to where Anakin was sitting and placed before him another supplement drink like the one he had made last night.

Anakin had been given the same type of drink during his first few months at the Temple, to help him catch up in height and weight after years of poor nutrition. He smiled—after all this time, Obi-Wan remembered which flavor he liked best.

The smile faded quickly. He sipped at the shake, then gathered up his courage. “Have you, um, heard from Senator Amidala lately?”

Obi-Wan gave him a curious look. “Well, no. It’s been quite a long time since the Order has had resources to spare for supplying bodyguards to senators.”

The fearful suspicion in Anakin’s chest flickered up like a flame in sharp wind. Why would he lie? “Well, um, maybe you should check your comm then—you left it in my room,” he said pointedly.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan paused to sip his tea.

“I didn’t realize the two of you talked,” said Anakin.

“Infrequently,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

Anakin knew that he was tipping his hand—if it turned out there was some innocent explanation for this, Obi-Wan would know exactly what to make of Anakin’s obvious jealousy. But his heart was racing, and his mental shields were wavering.

“Anakin, you are making this up to be something it isn’t,” said Obi-Wan calmly.

“Am I?” Anakin didn’t care that he was shouting.

“Yes. Calm down.”

“I think I have a right to know if—if—”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Would you really like the truth?”

Anakin sat back in his chair, arms folded expectantly.

“Very well.” Obi-Wan mirrored Anakin’s posture, and took a moment to choose his phrasing. “I reached out to Padmé for the first time last autumn.”

Anakin sucked in a sharp breath. Last autumn had been one of the most vulnerable times in his life, in the wake of Ahsoka’s departure.

“It was the week after she left,” Obi-Wan elaborated, knowing that Anakin understood who he was referring to. “After the night you stormed out on me. You didn’t come back to the Temple for days.”

Anakin tilted his head in acknowledgement. He remembered. He had lashed out at Obi-Wan’s attempts to comfort him, then run away to Padmé’s apartment.

“I didn’t know if—I just wanted to know that you were alright, Anakin. Padmé tried to cover for you, but once I confessed that I knew about your relationship and promised that all I wanted was confirmation that you were someplace safe, she admitted that you were staying with her.”

Anakin gave him a horrified look. “You…wait, what?”

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. “We were worried. I’m still worried. There were a few other times we checked in after that, when you seemed like you might be a danger to yourself or one of us couldn’t find you.”

“Like last night?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “She messaged me after you left her apartment. She said you were sleep-deprived and agitated, and asked me to confirm that you got home safely. So I did.”

“Wait, back up,” said Anakin with a shake of his head. “You knew? You know all of it?”

“Perhaps not everything,” Obi-Wan admitted. “But I have long known that you care for her, and that when you sneak out of the Temple late at night, you are visiting her. I know that she has declined to publically name the father of her child—as is her right—so I can only presume to guess about that.”

“Argh,” Anakin tilted back in his chair, raking his fingers across his scalp.

“I know it’s been an awful year,” Obi-Wan stammered. “Sometimes it seemed like…I’m sorry, it seemed like Ahsoka was the only thing keeping you in the Order and now—”

“It’s hard,” Anakin interrupted, setting all four legs of the chair down with a thud. “I hope you realize how hard it is for me to look at all the facts at once. The Council did this to her. They kicked her out and left her at Tarkin’s mercy and you didn’t try to stop them—I think maybe you even agreed with them. But I know you cared about her, too, and that you didn’t want this to happen. I hope you know how hard it is to reconcile those two things.”

Obi-Wan looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “I do know,” he breathed.

Obi-Wan waited for a moment, before continuing. “I understand why it’s hard for you to be around me right now. I’ve been trying to give you space.”

“You have?” Anakin sniffled.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“I thought maybe,” Anakin had to pause to sneeze. He hated the way the congestion distorted his voice; it made him feel even more vulnerable opening up. “I had a feeling like you were angry with me. I thought maybe it was because of how I reacted—how I defied the council to try and exonerate her, and how I let my emotions get away from me.”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, almost in a whisper. His voice had been getting progressively quieter as Anakin’s grew louder. “Never, Anakin. I thought you were angry with me.”

“Well, I was,” said Anakin, mostly to cover up the overwhelming relief that was gripping him. “I felt like the Council was taking everything away from me—even taking you away from me. Sometimes I start shaking and it’s like I can’t think, Master. And I’m just so angry. But it always starts to feel meaningless after a while. Like, what’s my anger going to do? It’s not like I haven’t already pushed everyone away.”

Anakin wasn’t sure exactly when the tears had welled up in his eyes, but he held them back. It was aggravating his sinuses. He sniffed hard.

Obi-Wan, who seemed to have an endless supply of handkerchiefs in the pockets of his robes, handed one over.He suddenly needed Obi-Wan to say something—anything—even another lecture about attachment would’ve been better than the silence. It felt like judgement.

Anakin turned away before the tears fell against his will.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan murmured. Anakin ignored him.

“Why can’t you tell me?” Obi-Wan asked. He took a step forward, and Anakin stopped.

“I couldn’t. You never — I mean, if you ever found out about...”

“About what?”

The feverishness and the lack of rest and general crappiness of his mood were making him more loose-lipped than ever. “Just stop. I don’t want you to try and fix it. I don’t need another meditation lesson. So sorry, Master dear, your padawan is so unteachable—”

“You stop,” Obi-Wan countered. “You are deliberately goading me so that I’ll get angry too and justify this little—” He almost said tantrum, but he realized that the barb was exactly what Anakin wanted.

“You really want to know? Be my guest,” Anakin snapped. He turned back to face Obi-Wan and pushed brazenly into his former master’s mind, straining their old bond.

He showed Obi-Wan the images that haunted backs of his eyelids at night—memories real or distorted, and projections into a terrible future. Padmé’s life energy fading out as she lay in a medical cot. Blood seeping into Tatooine sand, glimmering with the reflection from his lightsaber. Ahsoka in tears, demanding to know why he remained loyal to the Order that had failed her—or sometimes it was Fives and Tup who stood before him, begging for the same explanation. Obi-Wan’s head lolling back as he lay limp in Ahsoka’s arms, a bloody gaping hole in his chest.

He felt a sharp spike of guilt through their bond at the last image, and Obi-Wan’s presence began to retreat, shields slamming back down.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, stunned.

“I can’t sleep,” Anakin confessed. “It’s taken over me. I want out.”

“Anakin, no,”

Anakin trembled, hoping Obi-Wan wasn’t about to counter with some sage advice about healers or the will of the Force, because if he did Anakin might just punch him.

But what happened was the last thing that he expected. A hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward as Obi-Wan’s other arm wrapped around. Anakin accepted the comfort, pressing his face into the fabric of Obi-Wan’s shoulder heedless of his snotty tearful self. He was shocked how easy it was just to let Obi-Wan hold him.

Anakin withdrew from the hug to blow his nose, and Obi-Wan sank wearily down into the sofa. “You know, mine are usually about you,” he said hesitantly.

“Your what?” Anakin asked, sitting beside him.

“Nightmares. Sometimes it’s Qui-Gon, or Master Tahl. But mostly you. There’s one where I’m with you in the Halls of Healing just after you lost your arm, and you’re distraught, and Vokara Che is yelling at me because I couldn’t protect you.”

Anakin stared, and Obi-Wan suddenly looked like he regretted the sudden confession.

“More like she was yelling at you for being out of your own healing bed,” Anakin quipped, trying to ease the tension. Obi-Wan had nightmares. This is the first he’s heard of it.

“How come you never said?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan gave the outward appearance of thriving under pressure, always composed and just a little bit distant. It was a sad realization, but also a comforting one. Until now, he had barely stopped to consider that Obi-Wan might be struggling too.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and ignored the question.

Anakin glanced at the supplement shake still sitting mostly untouched on the table. It occurred to him that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had them on hand unless his own healer had prescribed them, which meant she wasn’t happy with the way he’d been eating lately.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin nagged.

“I didn’t think you needed any more burdens, Padawan,” he finally said.

Anakin didn’t know how to explain that it wouldn’t have been a burden. Force, he thought he’d been suffering alone—he’d thought it made him a bad Padawan, and a worse Master. He wondered if the war had been eating Ahsoka alive from the inside too, in ways that he couldn’t see.

Anakin leaned back into the sofa and let his side rest against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan exhaled softly in amusement, but accepted the use of his shoulder as a pillow.

“I wish I could stop missing her so much,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s robe.

“Anakin, it’s alright. Ahsoka’s not gone, but your life together is, and it’s alright to grieve for that.”

“We’re always grieving something or other,” Anakin shrugged. “That’s how life goes.”

“No.” Obi-Wan said, slipping his hand into Anakin’s. “It isn’t supposed to be like this.”

There was no answer for that.

“You never got to learn what it means to be a Jedi in peacetime,” Obi-Wan stated. “I hope that you will someday.”

Anakin tried to imagine it, and shook his head. The Jedi Order and the war were inseparable in his mind. There was really no ‘before’ for him – there had been a few years before the clones and the open warfare, sure, but by the time Maul was discovered the gears had already been turning. He doubted that Obi-Wan really knew what it was to be a Jedi in peacetime either.

Obi-Wan pressed the back of his hand briefly to Anakin’s forehead, but he said nothing.

“I am sorry for talking behind your back with Padmé,” Obi-Wan volunteered. “But I am not sorry that there was another pair of eyes looking out for you.”

Anakin shifted his weight on the sofa. “She was always begging me to talk to you about stuff, but I didn’t think…well, I didn’t know how you would react.”

“Well, then I’m sorry for that too,” said Obi-Wan. “I really hope you feel safe enough to turn to at least one of us.”

“I’ll try,” said Anakin, and he meant it. “But only if you will too.”

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #hurt/comfort #sickfic #fever #emotional hurt/comfort #poor anakin's careening towards a breakdown #and obi-wan is too but like more internally #cuddly jedi #mentions of anidala #discussion of the wrong jedi arc #they're gonna be okay #long post #and i mean loooong this was supposed to be 800 words and it turned into 2500

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obsidianarchives · 5 years ago

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Beneath the Surface - Part 3

A Bond in Bloom

Before she knew it, Hermione was in regular correspondence with Blaise Zabini. What started off as a nerve-wracking task became the thing she most looked forward to during her break. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so lonely anymore, not so cut off from the world.

Having grown up solely in the wizarding world, Blaise started off with a lot of questions. What did her parents do? Why would anyone pay good money for someone to stick foreign objects in their mouth? What did Hermione want to be before she found out she was a witch?

Hermione tried to be thorough in answering his questions, and asked more than a few of her own. Blaise started off interested in Muggle Christmas, but when Hermione explained it to him, he sounded slightly disappointed.

I’m just going to be upfront and say that that sounds boring. Sorry.

My mum and I have never really celebrated Christmas. She says she doesn’t need an excuse to buy me things, but I think it’s also because my birthday is only four days before.

Hermione learned that Blaise and his mother hadn’t always been rich. Madam Zabini’s parents had cut her off after she got pregnant at the age of eighteen, and so for the first four years of his life, Blaise’s mother had worked in a shop in Diagon Alley struggling to make ends meet. Some wealthy wizard saw her there one day and was so enraptured by her beauty that he offered to take her and her young son in.

From the tone of the letter, Hermione could tell Blaise hadn’t liked Mr. Fawley, a pure-blood who seemed to have dealings with all kinds of people, some not so legal. At least, when he died, five years after discovering his mother in the shop, he’d had the foresight to look after them, willing his Gringotts vault to her.

I don’t really remember a time when we didn’t have all this, Blaise had written, but my mum often reminds me that it can be taken away. She spoils me, but she also has a very clear vision for my life. I think she worries about our position in part because of our race. She’s always warning me to keep quiet and pay attention to those I surround myself with because our class and pure-blood status only protects us so much.

She runs in a lot of circles that believe pure-bloods are superior, and I guess I accepted that for a long time. But I don’t understand why proving your worth means you have to hurt and kill others. I don’t think she would ever go that far, but I know at least one of my step-fathers supported the Dark Lord pretty heavily back in the day. I don’t know what she would do if I flat out refused the ideology that has largely kept us safe and comfortable.

It makes me feel like a fraud, acting like I believe in these things because it’s all I’ve known. I don’t know if I can be myself without putting myself and her in danger.

Hermione felt for Blaise and his precarious position, and hoped he was being careful in sending these letters out. But he was nothing if not prudent, and the way he opened himself up made her feel comfortable to do the same. She told him how it felt being Muggle-born, especially with Voldemort back in the open.

I’d lived in this regular, unremarkable world for the first eleven years of my life, she wrote. Strange things would happen to me — like the time I accidentally drowned my mum’s office ficus after worrying overnight that I hadn’t watered it like she asked me to — but everything else was ordinary. And then I get this letter telling me I belong to this fantastical place where amazing things happen. I was so excited to leave my ordinary life for an extraordinary one.

But then Malfoy called me ‘Mudblood’ second year. I didn’t even know what it meant at the time, but I got the tone, understood from the way everyone else reacted that it was bad. I’d come to this wonderful world, only to find the same prejudices as the one I was from, ones that put me in immediate danger. It’s terrifying, but I know I can’t just step aside and let it continue.

She was starting to feel bad for Blaise’s owl Adonis, who would arrive at her window in the morning and then leave again in the afternoon once Hermione finished her letter. She didn’t know where Blaise lived in the country, and worried that the journey would start to take a toll on the owl, so she’d taken to leaving out food and water for him. He would occasionally take a few sips of water, but he refused to touch the owl nuts. At the end of one of her letters, Hermione told Blaise what was happening, and asked what the owl would eat.

The next letter arrived with a package, a small note attached that read Don’t laugh. The package contained Avion Dawdle’s Premium Owl Mix. Hermione poured some in a bowl as she read Blaise’s letter, and put in her response that she had, in fact, laughed.

Blaise had started off telling Hermione that he felt like he didn’t have to pretend with her, and Hermione felt the same of him. In one letter, she found herself writing about something she’d thought of often, but which she hadn’t voiced even to Harry or Ron.

I’ve never liked when people called me ‘The Brightest Witch of Her Age.’ I do work quite hard, and strive to do my best in everything I do, but the title always feels uncomfortable. I don’t do the work for recognition — or at least not in the way others might, for awards or praise. I do it because I’m genuinely interested and want others to feel proud of the work I do.

When people call me that, I wonder if they see me as a real person or just as a human encyclopedia — even sometimes with Harry and Ron, who I know care about my well-being but sometimes fall into the comfort that ‘Hermione will do it or fix it” without thinking about how to do it themselves.

It felt like a release to get the thoughts out, and even more of a relief to have Blaise validate those feelings. In his response, he flat out told her that anyone who only wanted her around for her knowledge didn’t deserve her. Hermione had blushed when reading that, glancing furtively up at Adonis, who blinked at her, looking deeply uninterested.

…

The start of the new term came quickly, and soon Hermione found herself back on the Hogwarts Express in a compartment with Luna Lovegood, listening to her gush about her vacation with her father, where they’d spent the entire time drinking Gurdyroot juice and harvesting blue radishes from their garden.

“They turn orange in the summer, but when they’re blue they’re perfect for drawing out toxins and bad auras,” she said dreamily, “We used them to decorate the house for the New Year.”

Hermione felt cheerful and a little nervous about returning to Hogwarts. She was glad to get back into her routine, to studying for exams and learning more about the fight against Voldemort. But another thought, large and nebulous, loomed in the back of her mind. She tried not to give it space to solidify, but still the sign off of Blaise’s last letter echoed in her mind.

See you at school.

She hadn’t seen him on the train platform, and felt glued to her seat across from Luna. The thought of going to look for him on the train both terrified and excited her, but she had to remind herself why it was a bad idea. He could be in a compartment full of Slytherins, or at the very least was somewhere others might see. She didn’t want other people whispering about their relationship when she wasn’t even sure they had one to begin with. So she stayed put, fighting to keep still.

Luna noticed her fidgeting and offered her a swig of doowindle water, which she said would help “calm the mind and limbs.” Hermione did her best to decline politely, pursing her lips and looking out of the window.

Finally, they made it to Hogwarts, and after a quick dinner on her own — Harry hadn’t arrived at the school by Floo Powder yet — Hermione went up to Gryffindor Tower to prepare for the next day of classes.

After giving a hungover Fat Lady the password, she entered the common room.

“Granger!” a high voice called to her from across the room.

A tiny second year, Liam Redding, hurried over to her, a note in his hand.

“I was told to give you this,” he said.

Hermione’s heart was pounding in her ears, “Thanks.”

She hurried up to her room, grateful that neither Parvati nor Lavender were inside, and ripped open the note. It was written in now-familiar handwriting.

Meet me near the Quidditch pitch?

Excitement and nerves shot through her. She stopped and took a deep breath. This was fine. She could talk to Blaise — she had been for weeks. This was nothing.

There was more than enough time before curfew, so Hermione put on her boots and pulled her winter cloak on over her jumper. Her hair was already tied down into two braids, so she jammed her hat over her head and wrapped the bottom half of her face in a thick purple scarf that had been one of her parents’ Christmas gifts to her.

Snow was falling lightly as she stepped out of the entrance hall and onto the grounds, the lake looked like it was made of gray slush. Wind tried to worm its way through the fabric of her clothes. Hermione shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her before trudging through the snow.

Her stomach flipped when she saw the dark figure up ahead, near the Quidditch stands. As she got closer she saw Blaise’s lanky figure, a scarf tied loosely around his neck, green hat covering his head and ears. He was watching her approach, hands deep in the pockets of his black cloak, teeth playing with his bottom lip. Was he nervous?

“It’s freezing,” Hermione complained as she approached, “Why couldn’t we meet indoors?”

Blaise shrugged, looking up at the gray clouds, “I like the snow.”

Hermione watched his face for a moment, the peace that seemed to come over him, and smiled. A warm feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach.

He looked down at her then, “How are you?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m okay. Ready to get back into classes.”

Blaise nodded. They stood there silently for a moment, and he shifted his weight a bit, so that he was closer to her. His scent, cinnamon and cloves, carried over to her on the wind.

Hermione wracked her brain for something else to say. “How, er, how was your break?”

She cringed internally as she finished the question, realizing that she already knew the answer, having corresponded with Blaise the entire time. She suddenly wondered, in horror, whether they would ever be able to interact in person — was it possible to only have great interactions through paper? She felt like she knew this boy, his innermost thoughts, and he hers. Why was this so anxiety-inducing?

Blaise coughed lightly, raising a gloved hand to scratch his nose. “It was fine.”

As he dropped his hand, Hermione noticed something glitter from his wrist.

“Your watch!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm without thinking. She hadn’t seen him with it before break, and it looked brand new.

Blaise was startled, but he held his wrist closer so that she could see it, a gold band with a black face, the hands golden snakes with emerald eyes.

“My mum bought it for my birthday,” he said, “since I came of age.”

Hermione had inadvertently pulled him closer to her, his warm body now blocking the wind. Her cheeks warmed as she dropped his hand, “It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” he said, glancing down at it before putting his hand back in his pocket, “Is there anything like that for Muggles?”

Hermione shook her head, “Well we — Muggles, I mean — don’t come of age until eighteen. And there’s no specific gift.”

“You’re a witch though,” he said, “Didn’t you get a watch for your birthday?”

“My parents are Muggles.”

“Yes, but they have to learn to acclimate to this culture right? Since their daughter is a part of it.”

“I suppose that would be true,” she allowed, “If I’d told them.”

Blaise tilted his head at her, his eyes curious, “Why haven’t you?”

She realized she liked talking to him face-to-face more than writing letters. While the letters had helped her get past her own self-consciousness, she’d only had his words to go by. In person, she could watch his expressions, his mannerisms.

“I don’t know,” she said, “My parents have always been okay with me being a witch, but I guess I sometimes don’t know how to be around them. I’m not around a lot, so I guess I try not to do things that scream at them that I have another part of myself they know very little about.”

Blaise frowned, “Wouldn’t telling them bring you closer?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t want them closer. I’m a Muggle-born who is best friends with the Boy Who Lived. It would only put them in danger.”

Blaise fell silent then. At first Hermione thought he might feel put out by her response, but then she realized he was lost in thought.

“What do you tell them, then?”

She shrugged, “My grades, mostly. They can understand those, even if the system is different from the Muggle one. And about my friends,” she had told them quite a lot about Harry and Ron throughout the years.

Blaise’s eyes met hers then, but he looked nervous again, rubbing his nose before asking, “Have you told them about me?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shook her head, “Are we even friends?”

He looked away, suddenly bashful. “I mean...I’d like to be.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest. “Okay,” she tried to sound casual. “We’re friends then.”

“Alright then,” he said, sounding relieved.

It was dark now, so that Hermione could really only see Blaise’s silhouette, feel the breadth of his body in front of hers.

“We should probably get back,” she said. Harry should have arrived by now.

She could see Blaise’s shadow nod, and the two turned back towards the lights of the castle, trudging through the snow. A couple of times, Hermione’s shoulder would bump into him, or his elbow was graze her, and she would hold her breath until they slipped back apart in the darkness. Silence spread between them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Hermione wondered what Blaise was thinking.

They finally got to the front doors. Hermione took a deep breath to recenter herself.

Just as Blaise’s hand touched the handle, the doors pushed open, startling them both. Professor Dumbledore stood in the doorway, a fur-lined navy cloak draped over robes of silver and maroon. His blue eyes widened in surprise from behind his half-moon glasses.

“Ah, Miss Granger! And Mr. Zabini,” he said charmingly, “What a lovely surprise.”

“H-hi Professor,” Hermione stammered, “You’re out late.”

“On the contrary, the night is quite young,” Dumbledore looked between the two of them, “I’m afraid I have some business with Hagrid that needs attending. I do hope the two of you are ready for the excitement of a new term?”

“Of course, sir,” Blaise said politely, looking just as stunned as Hermione felt.

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said, “Oh, I’ve almost forgotten. Miss Granger, if you could present this note to your friend Mr. Potter, I would be eternally in your debt.”

He passed Hermione a small piece of folded parchment. Recognition flashed through Hermione’s mind. This must be about Harry’s next lesson. “I’ll do that right away, sir.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore smiled at the two of them, “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have far more illuminating tasks to get up to than babbling away with an old man.” He swept past them and off across the grounds, towards Hagrid’s snow-capped hut.

Hermione’s eyes felt like they would pop out of her head. As she glanced up at Blaise’s shocked expression, she felt a strong urge to laugh.

They stepped into the entrance hall, which was deserted but for the Grey Lady, moping up near the chandelier. Blaise turned towards her, dipping his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“Well, er, I’ll see you in class?” Hermione said, suddenly nervous again.

“Yeah,” he nudged her lightly with his elbow, “‘Night, Hermione.”

And with that he turned away, taking the staircase down to the Slytherin common room. As she hurried up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, Hermione smiled to herself.

…

Hermione found Harry, Ron, and Ginny stuck outside of the Gryffindor common room, arguing with an irritable Fat Lady.

“Harry! Ginny!” she called, hurrying over.

“Hey Hermione,” Ginny said as she brushed a bit of ash off of Harry’s shoulder, “Where have you been?”

“Oh, er, I’ve just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck — I mean Witherwings,” she lied quickly, internally thanking Dumbledore for giving her the idea. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah,” answered Ron, as if their last interaction hadn’t involved him humiliating her in front of their entire class, “it was pretty eventful—”

“I’ve got something for you, Harry,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard Ron, “Oh, wait, the password. Abstinence.”

“Precisely,” the Fat Lady said, swinging open. The four of them stepped into the crowded common room where students were greeting friends and taking advantage of the last few hours of down time before the homework started to pile up again.

Hermione pulled out the scroll Dumbledore had passed her at the castle doors and passed it to Harry.

“Won-Won!” came a high squeal, cutting Harry off as he opened his mouth to thank her. Lavender came hurtling into Ron out of nowhere, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him over. An annoyed look crossed over Harry’s face and Hermione grimaced, remembering Lavender’s worries about her relationship with Ron on the train.

“There’s a table over here,” she said quickly, trying to divert attention from the palpable desperation clinging to the interlocked couple, “Coming Ginny?”

“No, thanks, I said I’d meet Dean,” Ginny said, sounding resigned. Hermione eyed Harry as Ginny walked away, noting the faint optimism in his pink cheeks.

“What?” he asked when he caught her watching.

“Nothing,” Hermione said airily. She’d decided she wouldn’t probe him about Ginny unless he decided to talk to her about it, but his feelings really were obvious to anyone with eyes.

“So how was your Christmas?” he asked, very obviously trying to divert attention from himself.

“Oh, fine,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly as though the question hadn’t brought a certain Slytherin to the forefront of her mind, “Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won’s?”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something about his friends’ standing feud but she glared at him before he could. He sighed, rolling his eyes before resigning to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Before that,” he said, “I still haven’t told you what happened before break.”

He explained to her that he too had left Slughorn’s Christmas party earlier, soon after she had escaped with Blaise, in fact. Instead of heading to the Gryffindor common room to call it a night, he had followed Snape and Malfoy under the Invisibility Cloak.

“Malfoy was talking about some job he had to do for ‘his master’ and Snape was offering to help him. Said he’d made an ‘Unbreakable Vow.’”

Hermione frowned at the smug eagerness on Harry’s face. “Don’t you think—?”

“—he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he’s doing?” Harry interrupted, clearly having thought through this line of argument.

She blinked, “Well, yes.”

“Ron’s dad and Lupin think so,” he said grudgingly, “But this definitely proves Malfoy’s planning something, you can’t deny that.”

“No, I can’t,” she said slowly. She hated to agree with him when it felt like doing so would just push him further into his obsession.

Still, she let him carry on for a bit with his Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater conspiracy, inwardly hoping that Harry would find other things to capture his attention. He mentioned that he was planning to tell Dumbledore what he had overheard, and she hoped the headmaster would be able to put a stop to his spiraling.

The next morning brought something else Hermione thought might work as a distraction for Harry: sixth years were to start Apparition lessons. She signed up, excited to finally learn a new magical skill. All day, everyone chattered on about it.

“It’ll be like we’re official adults!” Parvati said excitedly at lunch while Lavender moped quietly, playing with her food and casting furtive glances over at Ron and Harry further down the table. Hermione wondered if something had happened between now and their wrestling match the night before.

“At least you two are of age already,” Lavender sighed, turning back to her chips, “I won’t be able to take the test until summer.”

Hermione had long decided to stay out of her and Ron’s business, so she just gave a conciliatory grunt and went back to skimming the Daily Prophet, which was reporting a Dementor attack and two disappearances since the start of the new year.

After Charms she went to the library, wondering if there was a book she could check out on the theory of Apparition, just so she could be prepared for the first day. She made her way over to the section on Magical Transportation.

The Apparition books were first, and Hermione scanned the titles slowly. There were books about famous Apparating records, scary stories of Apparitions gone horribly wrong (with moving illustrations), even a guide to Side-Along Apparition. She frowned at the empty space on the shelf between Apparating with Aplomb by Gilderoy Lockhart and Arctic to Tropic: How Temperature May Affect Your Apparition by Cardaroc Jumper.

“You’re predictable, you know that?” a familiar voice said behind her.

Hermione’s stomach fluttered as she whipped around to see Blaise leaning back against the shelves dedicated to Floo traveling. He held a small book in his hands, a smirk on his face.

“Hi,” Hermione said. She nodded at the book in his hands, “Studying for Apparition lessons too?”

“Nope,” Blaise said. His fingers flexed around it and Hermione suddenly remembered his firm grip on her elbow at the Christmas Party, “Some of us read for fun, you know.”

Hermione ignored his dig, knowing he was just trying to get a rise out of her. “What are you reading?”

Suddenly, Blaise looked guarded, self-conscious. He shifted the book behind his back, “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, let me see,” she said, reaching forward to get a look at the title.

His hand flew up, over his head and out of her reach.

“Honestly,” she huffed. She pushed up on her toes, trying to close the distance.

Blaise chuckled as he straightened his arm, holding the book higher. His breath tickled her ear. Hermione jumped, her fingers bumping against the band of his watch. When she landed she lost her footing, tripping forward.

Blaise’s free hand slid to her lower back, to keep her steady as he stumbled, the bookshelf wobbling behind him. Hermione caught herself on the shelf with one hand, her other splayed against his chest as she tried to maintain her balance.

The smell of cinnamon and cloves filled her nose. She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes blazed and the grip on her back seemed to tighten, sending a jolt up her spine. Hermione’s gaze fell on Blaise’s lips, slightly parted in surprise, and she forgot about the book.

Blaise’s eyes widened and then he looked away suddenly, dropping his hand. Hermione backed up, clearing her throat. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if she were under a very persistent space heater.

“You don’t have to show me,” she said quietly, embarrassed.

“No, it’s fine,” Blaise said. He held the book out to her.

Hermione took it, careful not to let their fingers touch. The cover was an eggplant purple, a curvy Black woman in a glittering dress shaking her hips on the cover. The title was written in curly green writing, A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Success, the Autobiography of Celestina Warbeck.

She looked back up at him. He was rubbing the back of his head, looking abashed. “I like autobiographies. She’s my mum’s favorite singer.”

Hermione smiled at this new bit of information. “What other ones have you read?” she asked, partly because she was curious and partly to show him there was no reason to be embarrassed.

“I’ve read loads,” he said, looking encouraged. “There was this one about the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation before Barty Crouch. He was the one who helped establish an exchange system for different kinds of wizarding money, can you believe we didn’t have it before?”

Hermione had never seen Blaise so passionate about anything. His face seemed to genuinely open up, his eyes alight.

“Seraphina Picquery was the one I read before this one,” he continued. He glanced at his shoes a moment, biting his lip. “The one I read at the beginning of break was about Dorinda Stallworth. She was—”

“The first female Supreme Mugwump,” Hermione said. Her cheeks were flaming now, as she remembered him mentioning how the book had reminded him of her. She plunged forward in an attempt to skip over the strange tension building between them. “I haven’t read many autobiographies. Well, except for Lockhart’s, but that was for school.”

Blaise’s knowing smirk was back. He reached out to take the book back, his fingers brushing her hand. Hermione held her breath. “You can borrow some of mine if you’d like,” he said, “When you’re not too busy studying.”

With a parting nod, he turned down the aisle. Hermione watched him leave, her hand tingling where their skin had touched.

…

A few days later, Hermione stood in an empty courtyard with Harry, snow glittering in her thick hair.

“And so Dumbledore said I have to figure out a way to get Slughorn’s memory, the real one,” Harry looked a little nervous, his looming fate a shadow over him.

Hermione’s mind was racing as she thought through all he had told her. “He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn’t get it out of him,” she said, keeping her voice low in case anyone happened to walk by. “Horcruxes...Horcruxes...I’ve never even heard of them…” How was that possible?

“You haven’t?” Harry sounded disappointed. Hermione felt a twinge of irritation — he always relied on her to know everything.

“They must be really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it’s going to be difficult to get the information, Harry, you’ll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…” despite herself, she was already trying to think of ways to convince Slughorn to give up the memory. Perhaps a potion or a—

“Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions.”

Hermione’s irritation turned to full blown anger, “Oh, well if Won-Won thinks that, you’d better do it,” she snapped, “After all, when has Won-Won’s judgment ever been faulty?”

“Hermione, can’t you—?”

“No!” she said before stalking off, leaving him in the ankle-deep snow.

She was fuming all through Arithmancy. Harry — and Ron — had relied on her for so much: homework, research that was outside of the purview of schoolwork, saving their lives, only to turn around and not take her advice seriously. It wasn’t that she thought she was always right, but for Harry to disregard her opinion for someone who was only dating a girl so he could be seen doing it, who couldn’t even play Quidditch without someone tricking him into thinking he was actually good, stung. When had her best friends become so infuriating?

She felt a strong need to vent, to throw her feelings at someone just for the sake of it. But there was no one. Harry and Ron were her only close friends; Lavender wouldn’t hear a word against her boyfriend and Parvati wouldn’t care. Maybe Ginny, but she had enough going on with her rocky relationship with Dean.

Her mind turned to Blaise as class ended. It had been so easy to talk to him over break, but they were in the same place now. She couldn’t just borrow Hedwig, a pretty recognizable owl, and send her down to the Slytherin common room. Maybe she could find him? But wouldn’t that be weird, not mention stalker-like? Hermione made her way to Gryffindor Tower to drop her things. She sighed internally as she helped a small first year girl pick up the large stack of books that had spilled from her hands onto the ground on the seventh floor. She should just let it go.

Rather than dwell on it, she decided she should write a letter to her parents. It was only a few days into the new term, but she figured she should try to make more of an effort to reach out than she had in the past. Something about the tense climate in the wizarding world made her want to try harder to maintain her Muggle connections, even if she could barely stand to live in that world anymore.

She made her way up to the common room after dinner, ready to spend her time by the fireplace writing to her parents. She walked up a staircase to the fourth floor, pleased that it was already moving to connect to a landing that would take her down a more direct route to Gryffindor Tower. The feeling quickly dissipated when she spotted a group of Gryffindor seventh years, recognizing Cormac McLaggen among them.

His face lit up when he saw her, and Hermione quickly averted her eyes, ready to pretend as if she hadn’t seen him.

Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she had almost gotten past the group when McLaggen shouted, “Hey, Granger!”

She wondered if she could pretend not to hear him, but he had already detached himself from his friends, his long legs catching up with her before she could turn the corner up ahead. She slowed to a halt, grimacing.

“Oh, hello,” she said awkwardly, glancing at his friends, who were clearly pretending not to be paying attention.

“Had a good vacation?” he asked, grinning down at her in a knowing way that made it clear he didn’t actually know anything. He was standing too close again. Hermione rocked back on her heels.

She shrugged, glancing back down the hall, “Yeah, it was fine.”

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, barely listening to her response, “I feel like we were cut off at the Christmas party.”

Hermione forced the bewildered laugh that was climbing up her throat back down.

He seemed to take her silence as an invitation. “There’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up soon,” he said, “Maybe we could try again? I’m sure there will be less distractions.”

Hermione took a clear step back then. Trying her best to smile as if her skin wasn’t crawling, she shook her head, “Sorry, I don’t really have time to date,” she said, “What with schoolwork and prefect duties and...other things.”

Mortified, she turned and hurried down the hallway, leaving McLaggen looking dumbstruck. By the time she made it to the common room, it was full of students, all of the seats by the fire taken. Annoyed, Hermione went up to her dormitory, resolving to write her letter in the quiet. She pulled out her parchment and quill and sat on her bed, leaning her back against the headboard. Crookshanks stalked over, curling up on top of her feet.

She told her parents about her classes, the weather, and the upcoming Apparition lessons. She stared at the page long and hard, trying to think of any other updates to give, but there was nothing to say about Harry or Ron that wouldn’t make her more angry than she already was. Honestly, angry wasn’t the word. Tired. She was tired.

For a moment, she wondered if she should include anything about Blaise. She hadn’t told them about writing to him over break, often disappearing into her room for a time to read and respond, or else waiting until they were out for work. Have you told them about me? His voice, the shy way he had looked away from her as he said it, echoed in her mind. She supposed she could tell them about him, but what would she even say? She felt flustered just imagining the ways her parents could read into her words, and she folded the parchment up and sealed it quickly before she could do something she might regret.

She slid her feet out from under Crookshanks and pulled her shoes back on before leaving the dormitory, hurrying through the crowded common room and out into the halls. As she wound her way through the castle to the Owlery, it suddenly occurred to her that her account of the weather might have let something slip about breeding Dementors. She quickly unsealed the parchment as she sidestepped the Bloody Baron telling off Peeves, and made a left at the portrait of two wizards trying their hardest to escape an angry bowtruckle.

It’s been quite gloomy here though the snow is nice.

She exhaled sharply. Good. But now, she felt the need to read through the entire thing, just to be sure there was nothing in it to alarm her parents or alert the wrong person should it be intercepted. Her eyes flew across the page.

“You should really watch where you’re walking,” Blaise’s teasing voice said from about four feet ahead of her.

Her eyes flew up from her account of her latest Herbology class. He stood facing her on the stairs leading up to the Owlery, on the second step from the bottom.

“I was just double checking the letter I’m about to send to my parents,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart rate seemed to pick up speed.

He shook his head, “Overachieving even in your letter writing.”

Hermione flushed, “Did you just get done sending a letter, then?”

“To my mum,” he said quickly, scratching his broad nose, “I finished that book this morning. Thought she might like it.”

“That’s nice,” There was a beat of awkward silence. Hermione gestured up the stairs lamely, “I’m just gonna...go send this off.”

“I’ll come with you,” Blaise said, turning on the ball of his foot to walk back up the stairs.

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled, “Alright.”

She tried to continue reading the letter back on their way up, but she could barely focus. The staircase was narrow, which made it so that they kept bumping into each other with every other step, their arms brushing against each other. By the time they reached the top, she had decided to give up and trust that she’d done alright the first time.

She could feel Blaise watching her as she looked up to find one of the school owls. Normally, she would ask Harry to use Hedwig, who she saw snoozing up at the very top of the rafters, but she wasn’t talking to him. She spotted a barn owl not too far up, and stepped forward to call her down.

“So, you only write your mum?” she tried to be casual, but she felt awkward, her voice somehow coming out higher than usual.

Blaise leaned back against the perch, close enough that their shoulders touched lightly. She felt like a live wire had sparked right in the place where their arms touched, spreading through the rest of her. She tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was no big deal. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, but he seemed just as calm as ever. She focused hard on tying the envelope to the owl’s leg.

“Yeah, mostly,” he said, “There was this one girl I used to write to, but she hasn’t sent me anything since we got back to school.”

Hermione’s fingers fumbled around the string, and she looked up. There was that look again, from after the Christmas party. His eyes were blazing, and he was leaning closer to her, as if they were sharing in some big secret. Hermione was suddenly very aware of his body, his warm scent. Their touching shoulders, it seemed, were the least of her problems, especially when he was smirking like that, his full lips tipped up lightly on one side. For a moment, her mind went blank.

“Well,” she said shakily, “She sounds lovely.”

Blaise laughed. It was higher than she expected, but warm and free. All of the building tension seemed to dissipate at the sound of his mirth, and Hermione grinned. She went off to help the owl out of the nearest window. By the time she turned back around, Blaise’s laughter had faded away, but a sweet smile graced his lips.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the exit, “I’ll walk you back down.”

She followed him towards the doorway without hesitation, and found herself racking her brain, trying to think of something to say or do that might make him laugh like that again.

“So,” he said as they reached the bottom of the staircase, “How is your start of term going?”

Hermione shrugged, “It’s fine. There’s a lot to do, but I’ve improved a lot on my time management.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows at her, “Do you mean to tell me you weren’t always good at time management?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I can sometimes overdo things.”

“I have never heard that about you.”

“Well then you’ll be surprised to learn that third year Professor McGonagall wrote to the Ministry to allow me the use of a time turner so that I could take all of the classes the school offers.”

Blaise stopped walking, his jaw falling slack. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You traveled in time to take extra classes.”

“You know I never thought about it, but I’m technically at least nine months older than everyone thinks.”

This musing seemed to be too much for Blaise. A laugh burst from his mouth and he keeled over, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“That’s — the most — you thing — I have ever heard,” he gasped.

Hermione was giggling too as she truly processed her own ridiculousness and simultaneously took that moment to congratulate herself for succeeding in making Blaise laugh twice in such a short span of time. The sound of his laughter made her feel like she was standing out in the sun, even though they were still in the dead of winter.

“What about you?” she asked, once they had both calmed down a bit, continuing down the dimly lit hall, their footsteps echoing off the high walls.

“What do you mean?” Blaise asked, still smiling, his face a door unlocked.

“What is a peak ‘you’ moment?” as many letters as they had exchanged in the two weeks of Christmas break, Hermione only ever found herself wanting to know more about him.

“Hmm,” Blaise said, nudging her gently to the right so that she wouldn’t miss the turn that led to the Gryffindor common room. “I don’t know that I’ve ever quite achieved that level of self-caricature.”

Hermione huffed, lifting her nose with an air of superiority, “You’ve obviously not been trying hard enough.”

“I did ‘accidentally’ ruin a pair of one of my step-dad’s shoes,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Selwyn. He always seemed hell bent on separating me and my mum. I don’t think I factored into his plans for her,” the ghost of a frown flitted across his face.

“He sounds awful,” Hermione said lightly, “Would the accidental nature of your vandalism hold up in front of the Wizengamot, do you think?”

Blaise grinned then, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. The way his cheekbones filled out when he smiled, the way his eyes flashed playfully...he should really warn her before he did things like that.

“It should,” he said, “It happened just before first year, actually. He’d said something cheeky, I don’t even remember what at this point. I’d gone to bed angry, and when I woke up his shoes had somehow found their way into Adonis’s cage.”

Hermione let out a cry of laughter, then clapped her hands to her mouth, worried she had been too loud.

“Adonis didn’t eat them of course — he has taste,” Blaise said, wrinkling his nose. Hermione had dissolved into a fit of giggles. “They were hideous — some bright red monstrosity he was trying to pass off as dragon leather. He couldn’t get the stains off, even with magic.”

Tears dotted the corners of Hermione’s eyes, as she tried to keep her laughter in, her hand still pressed to her mouth. She put her other hand on Blaise’s shoulder to steady herself, taking a deep breath. He chuckled, joy still lighting his face, but something softer was pushing through.

Her laughter faded away as she suddenly became aware of what she was doing. Her hand suddenly felt like lead where she gripped his shoulder, electricity running up her arm. She bit her lip as she dropped her hand, feeling strangely awkward and self-conscious. Blaise looked away, his face closing off again. Silence stretched between them, tense and confusing.

Hermione cleared her throat, “I should, er…”

“Yeah,” he said, “Me too.”

He offered her a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. As he turned away, Hermione suddenly felt disappointed. She wasn’t sure what had been about to happen, but she was sure she had ruined it.

…

Hermione was trying her hardest to manage her clearly growing feelings for Blaise, unable to see how it could end anything but badly. Still, she appreciated having someone around who made her feel like she was interesting outside of her extensive knowledge on the twelve uses of dragon’s blood. It especially helped given that Harry and Ron continued to infuriate her.

Ron was oscillating between trying to talk to her as if nothing had happened and making snide remarks when she passed. Harry, on the other hand, refused to do his Potions work on his own, instead using the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions any chance he got.

“I have to try to soften Slughorn up if I’m going to get that memory from him, aren’t I?” was his excuse.

But one lesson, towards the end of January, seemed like it would finally backfire on him.

“Settle down, settle down, please!” Slughorn said from the front of the room, “Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott’s Third Law...who can tell me—?” Hermione’s hand shot up, “But Miss Granger can, of course!”

Hermione could see Blaise rolling his eyes at the Slytherin table, but she could tell he was amused by her.

“Golpalott’s Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components,” she recited.

“Precisely!” beamed Slughorn. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott’s Third Law as true…”

Harry looked like he was going to be sick. Ron wasn’t even paying attention, doodling in the corner of his book as if someone would Apparate into the room and do the lesson for him. Hermione grinned to herself as she copied down Slughorn’s words into her notes.

“...and so,” Slughorn finished, “I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don’t forget your protective gloves.”

Hermione shot up out of her seat and grabbed her phial before anyone else could. She went back to her cauldron and tipped the hissing electric blue poison inside before starting the fire beneath.

“It’s a shame that the Prince won’t be able to help you much with this, Harry,” she said brightly. She couldn’t help herself, “You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!”

Harry scowled as Hermione turned back to her cauldron.

She pulled out her wand and thought Specialis Revelio! The potion separated into its disparate parts. She poured them out one by one into different phials. She recognized the fellviper venom immediately, and the nightshade. The others she had to check in her book. She had most of the separate antidotes in her potion-making kit, but a few she had to grab from the class stores. She poured it all back into her cauldron and set it to simmer before clipping a small chunk of her own hair and adding it in, changing the light, almost transparent peach color to a cloudy and swirling sunset orange.

Harry sighed and stood, going over to the store cupboard.

“Two minutes left, everyone!” Slughorn called. Hermione added a few more ingredients into the now thickly bubbling cauldron, which had now turned a dusky purple. She turned the fire off and started scooping it out, tipping the contents into her bottle.

“Time’s...UP!” Slughorn called, “Well, let’s see how you’ve done! Blaise...what have you got for me?”

Blaise stood by his cauldron, arms crossed. As Slughorn peeked over at his final result, he raised his eyebrows at Hermione playfully. She bit her lip and looked down at her bottle of antidote. She suddenly realized she had forgotten the asphodel on her cutting board. She quickly grabbed some and sprinkled it into the bottle while Slughorn moved on to Malfoy, who looked like he had spilled vomit over the front of his robes.

Slughorn came to their table last. He sniffed Ernie’s potion, and almost gagged at the awful fumes coming from Ron’s cauldron.

“And you, Harry,” he said, “What have you got to show me?”

Harry held out his hand, a small shriveled stone in the center of his palm.

There was a long beat of silence. Harry began to turn red. Suddenly, Slughorn roared with laughter.

“You’ve got nerve, boy!” He boomed, taking the bezoar and holding it up so the entire class could see. “Oh, you’re like your mother...Well, I can’t fault you...A bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!”

Slughorn hadn’t even looked at Hermione, had completely forgotten to look at the work she had done. He only had eyes for Harry. She felt a hot anger burn through her, making her eyes water.

“That’s the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!” said Slughorn happily. Hermione’s hands began to shake as Slughorn went back up to his desk, her potion completely forgotten.

She tossed her things into her bag haphazardly and stormed out of the room as the bell rang. She was sick of this, of putting in so much effort and getting nothing in return. School was the thing she was good at, and Harry was just stumbling through, taking up space without doing any actual work.

She fought back her tears as she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, knowing it would do no good to cry in front of Snape. She chose a seat as far from the back as possible, knowing Harry and Ron would probably choose to sit there.

By the time Harry came in, he didn’t look as triumphant as when she’d left the Potions classroom. She found out why at lunch.

“It was a disaster,” he said, sitting down across from her at the table like she wasn’t still furious with him, “Slughorn all but threw me out at the mention of Horcruxes.”

“Wow,” she said flatly, “Who would’ve thought Won-Won’s suggestion wouldn’t go as planned?”

“Hermione, can’t you just talk to him already?”

“Leave me alone, Harry,” she said sharply, opening up the autobiography of Seraphina Picquery Blaise had lent her the week before.

…

Even through her anger, Harry’s update on Slughorn’s memory reminded her that she wanted to look up information on Horcruxes. On her next break, she went to the Restricted Section of the library. She scanned the books and found two that she thought might work: Dark Sorcery and Magick Moste Evile. After grabbing them both off the shelf, she went to find a quiet corner to read.

She found Blaise instead, sitting at a table on his own, books sprawled out in front of him as he scribbled neatly on a sheet of parchment. Sunlight peeked through the cloudy sky from the high window, briefly passing over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. She hurried over to him without a thought, a smile spreading across her face.

“Can I join you?” she asked once she was close enough.

Blaise looked up, his dark eyes bright. He gestured to the empty chair across from him, “Go ahead.”

Hermione dropped her bag on the ground beside the table and sat in the chair as he went back to his work. She slid Magick Moste Evile in front of her, which let out a low ghostly moan as she opened it to the introduction.

Blaise looked back up from his Transfiguration essay, an eyebrow raised.

“Why are you reading such a creepy book?”

Hermione’s fingers froze on the first page. She hadn’t thought of this when she’d come over. She knew she couldn’t tell Blaise why she had really picked up these books, and she cast around for something convincing to tell him.

“I’m trying to understand the way werewolf bites work,” she lied, saying the first thing that came to mind, “I thought these might help.”

Blaise seemed to buy it, accepting her need to know everything about everything in the slightly exasperated way she had become accustomed to. “I doubt Snape will care if you’re able to pinpoint the exact magical property that creates the change.”

“Yes, but learning Defense is about more than getting good grades,” she pointed out.

Blaise’s eyes widened, looking startled, before he shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

They passed the rest of break time in silence, each of them focused on their own work. Hermione didn’t find anything about Horcruxes in Magick Moste Evile except for a small mention in the introduction, so she turned to Dark Sorcery in the hopes that it would at the very least shed light on what a Horcrux actually was.

Blaise started packing up his things ten minutes before the end of break. “What class do you have?”

“Arithmancy,” Hermione said, shutting the book.

“History of Magic’s in the same wing,” he said, pushing himself out of his seat. He jerked his head towards the exit, “Come on.”

He waited for her by the door as she checked her books out with Madam Pince, and then they strode out together. Hermione started to feel a little nervous, wondering what would happen if someone they knew saw them together. As if he had read her mind, Blaise made a sharp right, pulling open a tapestry and revealing a small corridor, a shortcut that would not only ensure they were hidden, but would cut across the castle to where they needed to go. Hermione ducked inside.

“I meant to ask,” Blaise said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “How are you after the bezoar incident?”

She had left her anger to simmer in the back of her mind in her more pressing quest to learn about Horcruxes, and it burned brighter now at the mention of their last Potions class. But she couldn’t let Blaise know how much it hurt. She suspected he had a bias against Harry, which she wasn’t sure was just from his being a Slytherin. “I’m fine,” she said tightly.

“Hmm,” Blaise said. Hermione looked up to see that he was frowning.

“What?”

“Nothing, just you looked really upset in class…” he trailed off, glancing down at her, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione huffed, “Well obviously I’m furious, but there’s nothing I can do. Harry is Professor Slughorn’s favorite.”

“Even among us favorites,” Blaise sighed, though he didn’t sound bitter. “I’m sorry he didn’t get to appreciate your hard work,” he reached out and tugged lightly on her hair, where she’d snipped off a bit to add to her antidote.

Hermione scowled at his sly grin and smacked his hand away, pretending that the contact didn’t sent her heart racing.

Up ahead, she could see the exit, could hear the chatter and footsteps of students just beyond the large framed portrait that was blocking them in, out of sight.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, curiosity in his eyes.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you hesitate to tell me how you were feeling?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped but she rolled her eyes, “Because if I tell you how I’m really feeling, you’ll just go into a diatribe about how that’s why you’re a loner who luxuriates in your own solitude atop the Astronomy Tower.”

Blaise laughed, but shook his head, “Nah, I wouldn’t do that. Not now that I’ve found you.”

His words made her blush, and her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Glad I could help pull you down from your tower.”

They slowed to a stop, just before the entrance. She looked up at Blaise, about to suggest that they leave one at a time, so that no one would suspect anything. But Blaise didn’t seem to be thinking about an escape. His eyes sparkled humorously, and he took a step towards her.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” he murmured.

He was so close, Hermione couldn’t see past the breadth of his shoulders. His warm scent filled her nose and her breathing turned shallow as he gently tugged on her hair again, his fingers winding their way through her tight curls. Her eyes locked onto his. There was a fire behind them, and she couldn’t look away.

She lifted her chin as he bent down, closing the already shrinking gap between them. And then his lips pressed against hers, gentle but firm.

Before she could think, before she could decide to kiss him back or pull away, the pressure on her lips was gone, his hand gone from her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open, just in time to see Blaise’s standard smirk before he pushed the portrait open and slipped out into the crowded hall.

To Be Continued

#Hogwarts #Hermione Granger #Blaise Zabini

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flyhigh-studying · 6 years ago

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What’s your SSID?

The number of data records stolen or lost increase each day. I think it is important to know how to deal with some situations that happens online. I hope these posts can help someone to be safe in cyberspace. Sorry for any grammar or misspelling mistakes lol.

You know what it is "SSID"? This can be a strange term for most of the people, but it is something really common in your daily life. The "Service Set IDentifier" is the name you give to your Wireless/Wi-Fi network. Choosing a good name to your network can add more security for you online life. Your network name can facilize an attack. If I put my name on my Wireless/Wi-Fi people will know the owner of the network and with an easy password the access can be facilized. Alright, but I'm an ordinary person why someone would try to access my network? Here are some reasons:

Change your password, so the network would be just for the attacker.

Use your network to commit a crime. Doing some bad while connects in your Wireless/Wi-Fi could turn difficult to find the real author of the crime or even incriminate you and the others common users of the network.

Sniffing your data and get knowledge about what you do online. It is like you talking with someone but between you two is this other person listening everything. Imagine this conversation containing your bank password, or your social network information and even the content of an important email or the last massages you've sent to your friend, and one random person listening everything and taking notes to utilize that data.

To summarize I can use an example. When I saw this picture for the first time a few years I go I thought about it and I now I'm going to use as an example (everybody says thank you EXO for teaching me cybersecurity, lol)... I hope the responsible for the IT in their shows don't do this anymore, the boys and the staffs must be secure.

On the wall it is a paper, if you zoom in you can see the SSID (KT-NET-EXO) and the password (123456789).

In an unpleasant scenario (that I hope never happened or happens in the future, please) a sasaeng (a bad kind of kpop fan) finds on its device this network with the group name on it. Of course would call attention right? With a simple brute force app it could guess the password in seconds because it is too easy (is composed with just numbers) and with a few computer science knowledges could see everything the members and the staffs were doing online... Their privacy would be compromised and of course their security. Your network name and password are something important to consider if you want to be safe online...

Short security tips 8/?

#cybersecurity #technology #network #password #privacy #tips: cybersecurity #original.doc

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crewhonk · 7 years ago

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strangers like me

Bucky finds himself falling in love for the first time in the 21st century not only with you, but with himself.

AN: just a little series of one shots leading up to Infinity War! Each story can be read seperately or together, all will be cohesive! (also not a joke sotry like yesterdays post)

Words: 2,000

James Buchanan Barnes used to be bright, and shiny, and a radiation of hope for the future. He used to be the guy who shaved his face for a girl, and who was friends with the local barber (he brought in so many customers because he told everyone where he got his hair done, so how could he not be). He used to meet pretty girls fathers with a smile and a strong handshake and he used to bring those pretty girls to their door and kiss them breathless. He used to dance. He used to dance at the bars, in clubs, in the street, and in Steve Rogers living room with his mom Sarah when she came home from a long day in the factories. He used to be the guy who smiled all the time, and when faced with Steve’s illness or his parent's death, or the news of another Great War would pull his closest friends together and buy them good beer and tell better stories.

Now, 70 years later James didn’t know who he was. He knew who he used to be, and he knew who he was when he worked for Hydra but he didn’t know who the man was when you combined those two things. He was short-tempered when he woke up in Shuri’s lab, not three months after Steve had left him in Cryo and dropped off the map. He was abrasive towards anyone who cared about him— he was short with Shuri in the beginning, and he was snappy with the other scientists and doctors who just wanted to help him, god damn it.

When you came into the picture, a woman no older than 22 who had stars in her eyes and excitement stored in the balls of your feet he was no different. In the beginning anyway. You were sent to Wakanda under the orders of Steve to help ease him into the world where he was no longer under the constant knife of ten words. You were persistent, and you were stubborn, and you were kind. You were so kind all of the time that Bucky almost wanted to kill you on sight for the constant forgiveness you gave him after every sour interaction (“I’m sorry.” “No need, Sgt. Barnes. No need at all.”— every damn time).

When he wasn’t able to find solace in your reaction to his angst (there was no reaction), he resorted to ignoring you. You would walk into his Lab room, and noticing that (once again) you wouldn’t be receiving any form of greeting or acknowledgment would turn on a television feature called ‘Netflix’ (he thought it was a dumb name) and play whatever movie or show that was next. At first, when you played some show called ‘Greys Anatomy’ he would scream at you to shut it off and leave his room. He didn’t need to see anything. He didn’t need to watch some dumb inters named Meredith and Alex and Christina sleep on gurneys and kill people because they lacked any medical skill. He didn’t need to see sterility and smiles and people make miraculous (unrealistic) medical saves, and he would scream at you to shut off the damned television and leave him alone. He had thrown things and flipped tables and on the very few instances he managed to make you scared, he didn’t take solace in it. Jesus, he felt bad. He had never hurt you though, he knew you were only here to help him but he didn’t know who the fuck he was. He didn’t know who you were trying to help.

One day, when it was raining heavily and the lulling sounds from the open window lulled him into an emotionless state (peaceful) you walked in, picked up the remote, and opened Netflix. You spent more time choosing something today, and you finally settled on a political documentary about the current president and the current turmoil in America. It was called “13th”, and by the opening sequences ended, he found himself bristling with rage. Not towards you, no. He was mad at how far America (once the greatest country in the world) had fallen. When you left quietly after the documentary had ended, leaving Netflix open and the remote on the table in front of the ginormous TV he found himself reaching for it. He had watched many documentaries those following days, absorbing as much information as he could (you had given him a journal when you had first met each other) by writing notes, and telling you about them in the quietest of voices. You had listened to him talk about it, and made comments where necessary and that was the beginning of a conversation between the both of you.

One day, two months after you had met, you walked in with a tiny device in your hand. You handed it to him and called it a phone and he laughed for about three minutes.

“Doll, there's no way that’s a phone.” He said after he had stopped laughing. He picked it up with his single hand (he didn’t want an arm yet, it was too soon, and he was still afraid they would paint a gaudy red star on the shoulder- not giving him the chance of forgiveness) and flipped it around. You smirked from your place beside his bed and nodded towards it.

“That, Sgt. Barnes is indeed a phone. I’m surprised you didn’t know.” Your voice was always sweet. He scoffed and looked up at you from the phone in his meaty palm. You had your head tilted slightly to the side, and the genuine shock in your eyes made his stomach tighten— not in a way he found particularly unpleasant.

“There’s a lot of things they don’t tell you when you’re just an Asset.” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to the slick black device. “And there’s a lot of things you can’t have or don’t take notice of when you’re running from them.” There was a beat of silence.

“Well, you’re brave enough to take an opportunity by the guts when you can. I appreciate that about you.” You smiled at him, and while he didn’t look up to see it, he felt it warm the room. You walked over to the side of the bed and leaned against it.

“Is it alright if I sit with you and teach you how to use it?” You asked and he blinked. He hadn’t been asked anything relating to common courtesy in just over half a decade and he had to process your words to fully understand the whole meaning of them.

“Uhm. Ye-yeah, sure.” He scooted over, and you wasted no time in crossing your legs on his Wakandan-patterned comforter. You coached him through how to use it during the following hours— from how to set a password for privacy (he was shocked they were letting him have privacy) to how to send a text message (you gave him your number to practice) and how to take a selfie (you thought it would be an important skill, eventually).

Finally, as your workday ended and you began putting on your raincoat, you directed him to open his contacts. There, he found your name next to a selfie you had taken as a demonstration for him. Underneath that, he saw Shuri’s name (sans picture) followed shortly by a name that made his heart drop to his stomach.

Steve.

He had spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his bed, awake. He wishes he could have faced his dreamless nights of sleep and nightmares over this— he’d face everything over this. He spent the entire night staring at the screen of his phone and rolling the name through his mind, and over his tongue.

Steve.

He had time, and the resources to communicate with Steve, and for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to send a message. What would he even say? ‘Hey, Punk. Sorry for ruining your life as you knew it.’ Or ‘Hey, thanks for betraying one of your closest friends for me.’ Or even ‘Hey, I don’t know who I am and it feels like I’m messaging a stranger instead of my best friend’.

So, Bucky didn’t message Steve. He would stare at the contact name for days at a time and press the message box and type sentences and paragraphs at a time, but he would never find it in himself to send it to him. He typed a lot of things, as fast as one hand could type anyways, and through that, you found that he became more and more pleasant the more he typed. You knew he would find some way to figure what was going on inside— you knew he wouldn’t talk about it in one million years, but if you provided the illusion that he was able to speak with his old best friend, something would happen.

You tapped your knuckle on his open door and smiled when you saw him dressed for the day. He was dressed in a grey tunic, with soft blue pants and a yellow scarf wrapped around his shoulder in an attempt to make his amputation site a little more pleasant.

“Hey, Seargent. How are you feelin’ today?” Your voice was once again, sweet but it no longer made him want to flip a table through the window anymore. It made his heart rate slow, and his breathing even out, and his cheeks flush pleasantly. Your sweet voice meant safe.

“How much have I told you, Doll. Call me Bucky.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and you looked around the now barren room. Today would be the day when you hiked with him to the border and show him his own very private quarters. The room was grey and plain and the blinds swayed in the hot breeze coming through the open window.

You blushed at the nickname and leaned against the door, just staring at you sandals willing the heat to vanish. “I guess it’s just habit now.”

“I was worried,” he said, walking towards you. He stopped only a foot away from you and reached past you to turn off the light. His overwhelming presence made your heart quicken, and his musky scent made your eyes flutter. When you looked up towards the super soldier, he looked back at you with an all-knowing smirk. “I was worried because I hoped that you weren’t calling me that for professionalism sake. You and I both know, this is not a professional relationship.” He walked past you and out into the lab, and you took a second to collect your bearings before following him.

He was right, though. You had long breached the realm of professionalism. He was attractive and physically young, and you saw him every day for a year at this point, and you knew for a fact that your feelings towards him were no longer platonic.

“Comin’, Princess?” His new nickname for you made a small shudder ripple through your frame and you sucked in a deep breath.

You pushed yourself off the frame of the door and turned towards Bucky Barnes. You were ready to leave this stuffy lab (god bless Shuri, but the highest floor of the lab was nothing compared the center three) and take him to a place where your…. person was guaranteed to find his own independence.

“On my way, Sarge.” You closed the door behind you and tightened the straps of your travel pack. Following him into the future.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #Bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #plus size!reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes smut #Bucky barnes angst #infinity war #white wolf #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x you #white wolf x reader

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crimsonslytherin · 4 years ago

Text

Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 2

(First) - (Previous)

Words: 1944

"Slytherin!"

That one word seemed to ring in Erin's ears. The Slytherin table cheered but Erin couldn't hear them; she couldn’t hear anything. Time seemed to slow as she slid off the stool and locked eyes with Remus and the others. Remus looked sad while the others had a mix of shock and, what Erin could only describe as, disgust on their faces. Lily looked sorry for her as she sat between James and Sirius. As Erin approached the Slytherin table her palms began to sweat and her knees almost started to shake. Her eyes darted around the table for a place to sit as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted desperately to just run to Remus. The ends of the tables had been empty for the first years but she was one of the last few to be sorted.

"Hey!" Erin blinked as sound seemed to return to her ears. She looked to the source of the voice and saw Severus. He waved her over before looking back down at the table. Erin, grateful for the invite, rushed to sit beside him.

"Thank you." She squeaked as she stared down at the table. Severus looked at her and his face softened as he saw how scared she was.

"No problem." he said before giving her a small smile. Erin gave him a small smile back, making sure to keep her lips pressed tightly together. She turned her head and looked to see Remus looking over at her, worried. Sirius, who sat beside him, turned and saw her, then drew Remus' attention away. Erin swallowed and looked down as she wrapped her arms around herself. Severus nudged her with his elbow. "You'll be fine." he whispered. "It won't be that bad." Erin nodded but kept her gaze down.

_________________________________

Erin couldn't help but cling to the sleeve of Severus' robe as they walked with the rest of their house's first years down to the dungeons where their common room was. Severus looked at her and she met his gaze. She let go of his arm before mumbling an apology. The head boy, Lucius Malfoy, told the group the password then once everyone was inside he told them where the dorms were.

"Before you get to bed, Dumbledore has asked I inform you all about a little detail about one of our new arrivals... Erin Norton.” He called. Erin jumped beside Severus and looked at Lucius with wide eyes. "Come forward." Severus put a hand on her back, which only made her jump again, and gave her a gentle push. Erin walked up to Lucius and stood beside him. "Erin here is a vampire." He said bluntly. “More specifically a dhampir.” Erin's eyes widened. The group of first years began whispering amongst themselves. "She is of no danger to you or anyone else at Hogwarts. Dumbledore wished you all to know because you would find out eventually and your house is your family for the next seven years. He does ask however that you do not go about spreading this information among the other houses."

"I'm telling my father about this." A boy said. "Vampires can't be here."

"Dumbledore has already informed all of your parents before the school year began. If your parents didn’t want you to attend Hogwarts with a vampire you wouldn’t be standing here. There are no rules against vampires attending Hogwarts." Suddenly the group erupted in questions.

"Do you have fangs?"

"Or claws?"

"Can you turn into a bat?"

"Do you drink blood?"

"Do you sleep upside down?"

"Or in a coffin?"

"Enough!" Lucius snapped before he huffed out a sigh. "I know you all have questions but it is late. Now get to bed, your things are already in the dorms by your beds." And with that he turned, his robes swishing, and left to his own dorm. Everyone immediately turn to Erin once he was gone.

"Are you really a vampire?" Cecilia, a girl with long blond hair, asked.

"Dhampir.” Laura, another girl with long brown hair and light freckles across her nose, corrected.

"Same thing.” Cecilia said as she rolled her eyes.

“Actually-“ Laura started but Cecilia cut her off.

“Show us your fangs!" Cecilia said as she jumped up and down. Erin swallowed and took a step back.

"If you really are a vampire." A boy, Grey Avery, said with a smirk. Erin swallowed once again before she slowly smiled to show her teeth.

"Those aren't fangs! You're not a vampire. Lair lair!" Cecilia sang. Erin glanced around before she opened her mouth slightly and let her fangs extend quickly. Two sharp teeth protruded from her gums above her canines. Her ‘baby fangs’ had fallen out the month before and her permanent fangs came in a week before; they weren't that long yet but when she became an adult they would grow longer to the point where they would almost touch her bottom lip when fully extended.

"You are a vampire." Avery said with wide eyes.

“Dhampir.” Laura corrected. “She’s only half vampire.”

"Awesome!" Cecilia said as she skipped over. She leaned towards Erin, who leaned back, before she poked one of the fangs. "Oh!" She said excitedly before pulling back her now bleeding finger. Erin closed her mouth and looked down at her feet. "Can you turn into a bat and fly?" Cecilia asked with wide eyes. Erin shook her head.

"Only adult vampires can." Laura told the blonde.

"Oh that's no fun." Cecilia started to pout.

"I thought vampires didn't age." A boy said as he crossed his arms.

"She won't, until she's an adult. They stop aging around 25 right before the brain stops developing and starts to decay." Laura said.

"Smarty pants." Cecilia muttered as she rolled her eyes.

"Lucky." A girl said.

"Do you drink blood?" Avery asked. Erin shook her head. Avery turned his head to Laura who nodded.

"She's young enough she only has to drink once a day. I assume she'll have to go to the hospital wing every day for it." Laura said. Erin started to hug herself again. Severus walked up to her and stood in front of her to face the others.

"We're supposed to be getting to bed." He said before he held out his hand to her. She peeked up at him before she hesitantly took it and the two started walk towards the dorms.

"You're no fun, Severus." Cecilia whined. "I call the bed next to, Batty!"

"Don't call her that." Severus said.

"I-It's okay." Erin said as she glanced up at him.

"Come on!" Cecilia said as she hooked her arm with Erin's and pulled her away from Severus and towards the girl’s dorms. Erin looked back at Severus with wide eyes but was soon pulled into the girl’s dorms.

Erin sat beside Severus at breakfast the next morning. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, she was so nervous she was almost sick to her stomach and Cecilia bombarding her with questions didn’t help either. She barely touched her food, opting to just stare at it as she pushed it around her plate. Severus glanced at her.

“You should eat.” he said.

“Not hungry.” she muttered.

“You’re sure to have some classes with him.” Severus said. Erin glanced at him. “Each class is at least two houses together. Then there are holidays.”

"Erin." Erin looked up to see Remus standing there across from her. She immediately jumped out of her seat and ran around the table to him. He took her hand and pulled her from the room. Once they were out in the hallway he turned to her. "Are you okay?" Remus asked right before Erin hugged him tightly. He put his arms around her and stroked the back of her head.

"I don't want to be in Slytherin." She cried into his robes. "I want to be with you."

"I know." Remus said. "I wish you were with me too."

"It's because I'm a stupid vampire!"

"Hey." Remus pulled back to look at her face. He wiped away her tears with his thumb. "What did we say?" Erin frowned.

"Never be ashamed of what you are." She said.

"That's right." He said. "We're gunna be okay." Erin buried her face in his robes again.

"I want to go home." She cried.

"I know, Erie, I know."

“What’s going to happen?” Erin asked as she looked up at him. Remus tilted his head in question. “Next week when…”

“Dumbledore has it figured out. He met with me and my parents before school started, I guess I forgot to mention it. I’ll go to a shack on the grounds. No doubt you’ve heard about the whomping willow?” Erin nodded. “Dumbledore had it put there for me. There’s a path to the shack from there. You have to promise never to go near it.” Erin nodded.

“Of course. But you’ll just be in that shack? All by yourself?” Remus nodded. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Dumbledore ensured me that I wouldn’t be able to get out. Everyone will be safe.”

“What about you?” Erin asked. Remus hesitated.

“I’ll be fine.” Remus said with a smile when he saw Erin’s frown. “Don’t worry.”

“But I can’t help it.” Erin said as she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his robes.

“I know.” Remus said softly.

After breakfast all the first years remained in the great hall while the other students left to go to their first classes. A timetable appeared in front of each student in place of their plates. Before Erin even had a chance to pick hers up it was snatched away by Cecilia who was already comparing hers to it.

"We have all the same classes!" Cecilia said. Erin gave her a small smile as Cecilia handed her the paper back. "I can't wait to learn more spells!" she said jumping up and down in her seat. “Defense Against the Dark arts sounds fun.” She said with a grin.

"We have charms together." Laura said with a smile.

"Looks like we have all the same classes." Avery said as he looked over Laura’s timetable with a smirk.

"Severus?" Erin asked quietly. He looked at her before he handed his over to her. She took it and smiled.

"Looks like the three of us will be together the whole year!" Cecilia sang as she looked over Erin's shoulder. "What classes are you looking forward to, Batsy?"

"U-uh..."

"Stop calling her that." Severus said with a frown as he got up.

"She doesn't mind." Cecilia said before Severus walked over to where Lily sat to exchange timetables.

"Erin." Remus said as he tapped her on the shoulder. She handed him her timetable and he handed her his. "We only have two classes together." He said sadly. "It's okay though; we'll still see each other." He assured her. Remus finally noticed the group of Slytherin were glaring at him so he gave Erin her timetable back as she gave him his back. "I'll see you later." He told her with a smile. Erin nodded sadly as he walked back to the Gryffindor table.

"Why are you friends with that Gryffindor? You're a Slytherin now." Avery said as Erin sat back down.

"He's my best friend." she said.

"Looks like he has new best friends to me." Cecilia said in singsong. Erin looked over to see the four boys talking with smiles and occasionally laughing. Erin looked down at the table. Cecilia put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Batty, we're your friends now. I'll even be your best friend. Cece and Batty!" She said before she laughed loudly.

_________________________________

(Next Chapter)

A/N: I know Lucius Malfoy was a prefect but in this he’s head boy. So Cecilia is portrayed by Jennette McCurdy, Laura is portrayed by Christina Robinson (Think of Astor from Dexter when she was younger), Grey Avery(First name not canon) is portayed by Nicholas Hoult. And Erin is portrayed by Michelle Trachtenberg (think of her from Harriet the Spy but with black hair and green eyes obviously.)

#Harry Potter FanFiction #marauders era fanfiction #Sirius x OC x Severus #Original Vampire Character #Bleeding Hearts

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babylon-bitch · 7 years ago

Text

Just Friends ~ It's Hard To Stop (part 66)

Harper White is best friends with Luke Hemmings, they always have been. Not only is she friends with the rockstar, but with the rest of 5 Seconds Of Summer, as well as a really nice girl named Erika.

Harper has a few secrets, she can play all the instruments the boys play and many more. It’s a talent she has kept hidden, only very few people know.

What will happen to the six teens, wondering around the world together?

***

Luke’s p.o.v.

The sunlight streaming through the window and onto my face wakes me up, and I take in my surroundings – a familiar room I used to wake up a lot in.

Good times.

An even more familiar person my arms are wrapped around and is pressed up against my body. Her hair a little messy that’s going to be a bitch to brush out the knots, her hand holding mine, and her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

I push some hair out of her face, and trace some random shapes on the part of skin that her shirt had ridden up.

Originally we went to bed on opposite sides of the bed, facing each other, but apparently at some point during the night we managed to find each other and cuddle up together, and I’m not complaining.

Harper shifts a little and rolls onto her back, letting out a groan then drifts back to sleep again. I remove my hand from her waist, and pick my phone up, checking the time: 8:45. I trace random shapes on her collarbone area, as I scroll through my phone.

It’s moments like this I miss from our relationship.

Those insignificant ones that you don’t talk about, but once it’s over you miss them and they’re taken for granted. You never know the significance of a moment once it’s over. I’ve found myself thinking that a lot this past year.

I miss her, I do, but I’m not going to risk losing her just so I can love her without it being a secret. I’ve just gotten her back and I’ll do anything to not lose her, I don’t think I can handle going through that again. She’s knows I still love her romantically, and I know that she still loves me, but we agreed to just be friends. I’m more than okay with that, I’d rather have her than not, so I’ll take what I can get, and try my best to not fuck up again.

Key word try.

There have been multiple situations where I have to physically stop myself from kissing her. It sounds fairly simple but let me tell you, that shit is fucking hard. Half the time it looks like she wants me to too, or she’ll look at me, almost asking for it. Maybe she’s testing me or something, but I find it at times hard to keep away from her in that sense. I’m almost glad she’s going back tomorrow because then I’m safe. I can control what I say, and there’s no chance of me kissing her or anything. Even though I’ll miss her, it’ll be easier for me.

It’s not like every moment I’m with her all I want to do is kiss her, there’s just little moments every now and then that I have the urge to just kiss her until I can’t breathe.

She’ll be scrolling through her phone, leaning against the wall or sitting down, and she’ll be oblivious to everything going on around her, and I’ll just have this urge to kiss her.

I’d never force myself on her, if it does happen, I’ll only keep it up if she’s as into it as me. That’s how our relationship works, it’s both of us, not just one of us, it’s either us or nothing, no half ass relationship.

We always said that, it’s either all or nothing.

Harper begins to wake up and she stretches, some bones cracking in the process, then she turns over on her side to face me.

“Morning.” She mumbles.

“Morning.” I echo and continue to scroll through my phone.

“Did you see any demons last night?” Harper asks after some silence.

“Um, I don’t think so.” I answer.

“Good.”

“They might be friendly ghosts, and you just upset them and now they’re coming to get you at night.” I tease.

“No! What if they travel with me back to England?” Harper panics.

“I’m pretty sure they don’t exist.” I reassure.

“That’s not what you said last night.” She tells me.

“Okay, I doubt they will follow you, Harper.” I rephrase. “But I can’t guarantee there aren’t any ghosts, demons, spirits, or creepy little girls at your place, as I’ve never been.” I smirk.

“Luke!” She whines and sits up, poking back at me.

I look at her, seeing her messy hair, annoyed smile adorning her features, slightly sleepy eyes, and part of the sun shining onto her face.

“I hate you.” She mumbles laying back down.

“Do you?” I raise an eyebrow at her, knowing the answer.

“Well kinda, your hair gets weird, your voice is annoying, then you look strange sometimes, and I guess all of you is annoying, so take that how you want.” She shrugs and I laugh, rolling my eyes.

“Now I hate you.”

“Good we have something in common.”

“What hating each other?” I question.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Mate, I think we should find something else we have in common.” I tell her.

“Maybe.”

We both go on our phone’s for a little while, showing each other pictures every now and then.

“Do you think you’ll come visit me when I’m at home?” Harper asks after a while and rests her chin on my chest, looking up at me.

“Do you want me to?” I question, putting my phone down, and giving her tickles on her shoulder blade.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Then maybe I’ll go and visit you.” I suggest. “But I don’t know, we’re gonna be really busy soon, moving to L.A. and then recording the album, so I’m not sure how much free time I’ll have for flying out to places.”

“Fair enough, me either to be honest, but we’ll see each after Christmas, I’m pretty sure.” She replies. “Will you still be here after Christmas?”

“We go at some point during January, I think mid January.” I answer.

“I go back on the 19th I think.” Harper tells me.

“We’ll have some time together, don’t worry.” I reassure her and push some hair behind her ear.

She nods and lays back down on her stomach, picking up her phone, beginning to scroll through.

“Do you think you could come visit me/us out in L.A.?” I ask her, running my hand down her back, resting it on the small of her back.

“The next break I have is in February.” She responds.

“How long is that for?”

“A few weeks, I’m not entirely sure.” She shrugs.

“Do you think you could fly out?” I ask.

“Maybe, I’m not sure.” She answers. “I’ll tell you when it gets closer.”

Silence creeps over us, but it’s the comfortable silence, there aren’t any words that need to be spoken.

Haven’t had any of this type of silence in a while, usually it’s awkward silence, which if you have ever been in, it’s unbearable and you want to stab yourself in the eye.

“Do you want some breakfast.” Harper asks after a while.

“Uh, I think my family is going out for brunch or something, so I’m alright.” I say.

“Okay.”

Harper sits up, rubbing her face and begins to stand up, walking over to her wardrobe. I watch as she searches through the hangers for an outfit, already knowing she’ll pick out a pair skinny jeans then a shirt of some sort then a hoodie.

“Hey, I’ve still got a couple of your shirts, do you want them back?” Harper questions.

“Which ones are they?” I question.

She pulls out a hanger of some shirts, some I’d just bought and she’d stolen them prior to the break up, and some I haven’t worn in ages, a few even having holes in them.

But the reason I gave the ones with holes to her was because when we would be cuddled up in bed at night, I could feel her through the holes and it gave me another level of closeness.

“Can I have the black one with the skull on it back? I was looking for it for months.” I ask.

“Sure, even if it is my favourite.” She sighs and throws it towards me.

“Do you have any other stuff of mine here?”

“I have a pair of shoes, some jewellery, your hairbrush, and a hoodie.” She explains.

“I’ve got some of your stuff at my house, life some make up, jewellery, headphones, a couple of your CDs, and hair bands, also I’m forever find bobby pins all over my room and bathroom by the way.” I reply.

“Sorry about that.” She chuckles and pulling out some items of clothing out of her wardrobe.

“Do you want them back? I started a pile.” I joke.

“You know, I think I’m alright.” She tells me. “Now, turn around, I need to get dressed.”

“Why? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” I tease.

“Yeah well now we’re just friends so it’s weird for you to see me naked.”

“Is it though?” I raise an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Yes! I’m not getting changed in front of you, Luke. So close your eyes or turn around.”

“I don’t see the big deal, I’ve seen it before, so it’s nothing new.”

She rolls her eyes and walks out the door, and I laugh.

As she’s in the bathroom, I may as well get dressed too, so I put on the shirt I’ve just gotten back and put on some jeans, then using my phone as a mirror as I do my hair.

By the time I’m all finished, Harper still isn’t back, so I go on her laptop to play some games she has on here, still remembering her password.

“What are you doing?” She asks as she walks in, her hair curled – that’s what she was doing.

“Playing Sims.” I answer as I design a sim.

“Okay.” She nods a little confused but shrugs it off and goes over to her vanity. “I got some custom content a couple weeks ago, so there should be some good clothes.” Harper informs me as she sits next to me with her make up bag.

“Yeah it’s all girl’s clothes, I don’t want to put a dress on a guy.” I remind her.

“Luke get with the times, you can do whatever you want.” She slaps my arm.

“I mean if you say so.” I shrug and put the dress on him. “Do you want me to add ‘typical’ girly things?”

“If you want, it’s your sim.”

I continue to make my sims whilst Harper does her make up, sometimes putting her input in.

“What’s it like putting on make up everyday?” I ask her as I’m building my house. “A pain in the ass.” She mumbles as she does stuff to her eyebrows.

“And you’ve been doing it since you were like 13?”

“12 or 13.” Harper confirms.

“I remember when you used to do some emo shit to your eyes.” I chuckle.

“My eyeliner went all the way to my temples.” She smiles.

“You looked kinda hot though.” I laugh.

“You think?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, then you used to wear all these chokers, and these bracelets.”

“I still wear the bracelets.” She states and lifts her arm up revealing multiple bracelets.

“Remember when you begged your mum to get all these piercings?”

“I did get some of those, just not all of them. Like I got multiple ones in my ears, then an eyebrow piercings, one in my nose, but then I wanted my lip pierced and she drew the line there.” Harper reminisces.

“The eyebrow piercing was a good look, I liked it, added a bit of spicyess.” I click my fingers in a z shape.

“Will you ever get any more piercings?” She questions.

“Probably not.”

“Whatever you do, do not take the lip piercing out, because I really like it.” She tells me.

“Do you?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

“Tattoos?” Harper ignores my response.

“Not as long as my mum’s alive.” I joke.

“How on earth did you get her to agree to the lip piercing?” She questions.

“I didn’t, then when I showed her she didn’t speak to me for 2 days.” I confess.

“Shit, I don’t remember that.” She mutters as she puts some mascara on.

“Remember when you used to dye your hair all the time?” I question.

“Yeah, my hair is only just recovering from that.” She chuckles.

“I really liked when you had blue hair.” I inform.

“What about my hair now?” She looks up from doing more things to her eyes, with an eyebrow raised.

“Your hair looks great now…” I trail off and she gives me a playful glare.

“You don’t like it as much do you?” She asks.

“It was a different time, things have changed, hair has changed.” I try to save myself.

“Whatever, I know how you feel.” She mumbles and I just roll my eyes with a smile.

“Can I do your make up?” Harper asks after a little while.

“What the fuck? No.” I decline.

“Why?” She asks.

“Because I don’t want you to.” I simply put it.

“Please.” She drags out.

“I’m not into that kind of stuff.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want to.” I sigh.

“But you said my hair looked bad!” She claims and lays in my lap, looking up at me with a pout.

“I didn’t say that.” I laugh and run my fingers through her hair.

“Yes you did, so let me do your make up as an apology.” She tells me.

“Babe, I didn’t say your hair looked bad, I just said that I liked your blue hair, and I said your hair looks great now.” I inform.

“Just let me so your make up!” She whines.

“No!” I imitate her.

“I’ll make you look really good.”

“What about my face now? You don’t like it do you? Just because you said that, you can’t do my make up.”

Harper looks up at me with face I can only describe as wanting to kill me or burst out laughing.

“Just please let me do your make up, you get it done fairly regularly, it won’t be any different. I’ll let you do whatever you want after.”

“But it’s hot and I don’t want to be hot.” I pathetically excuse.

“We’re doing this whether you like it or not.” She declares and gets up, walking over to her desk and picks up her make up bag. “So do you want a dramatic look or a natural look?” She questions as she stands in front of me.

“No look.”

“Let’s go for natural.” She mumbles to herself.

“Harper.” I whine and touch her thigh briefly.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to do this.” I pout.

“Well deal with it, it was always going to happen.” She shrugs and picks up a brush and a bottle of what looks like a melted body.

“What’s that?” I question.

“Foundation.”

“Oh.” I nod and watch as she pumps stuff on her hand.

“It doesn’t quite match your skin tone, you’re more tanned than me, but it’s not far off.” She says.

“It’s cold.” I cringe as she starts putting the stuff on my face.

“You get used to it.”

“Now what’s that?”

“Concealer.” Harper answers.

“What does it do?”

“Covers up blemishes and stuff but I’m mainly using it to cover up your stubble.”

“What? I shaved yesterday.”

“Clearly you’re a fast grower or not very well.”

“All of this is a bit much don’t you think? Like you do most of this everyday when you don’t even need it, maybe I’m just lazy.” I furrow my eyebrows.

After a while of her doing my make up, she’s getting into the intricate parts, and is concentrating.

“Luke stop moving.” She says.

“I can’t help it!” I exclaim and she just rolls her eyes and sits on my lap to stop me moving, my hand instantly going to her waist. “Geez, moving fast are we?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed.” Harper ignores my teasing and grabs some weird tube.

“Masaray?” I question.

“No, mascara.” She corrects. “You always say that.”

“Is it actually better than sex?” I question as I read the label.

“Sometimes.” She shrugs.

“Really?”

“Depends on the person.”

“What about when we were together?”

“No comment.” She says and I chuckle.

“Have you been with anyone since we broke up?

“Um, no comment.” Harper repeats.

“Come on.” I squeeze her waist.

“I’ve been with a few people, but nothing else.” She mumbles and I bite my lip. “You?”

“A few.” I confess. “When do you think you’re going to meet someone else?”

“I have no idea.” She shrugs. “I’m not sure if I’m looking for someone new.” Harper sighs as she holds the back of my neck to keep me steady.

“Blink.” She requests and I blink feeling the brush go through my lashes, and she tells me to blink a couple more times. “Again.” She orders when she does the other eye.

I look up at her as she’s concentrating on putting the lid back on. Her concentrating face has always been cute, her eyebrows furrow slightly, and her mouth opens a little, and her tongue goes to the roof of her mouth.

She’s always looked stunning, but right now I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way the sun is shining, maybe it’s the angle, maybe it’s just her facial expression or something, but right in this moment, she looks even more stunning than ever. I’ve always been attracted her, but right now I’m so drawn to her it’s almost alarming.

I squeeze her waist gently and she takes her attention away from whatever she was doing and looks down at me, a small smile on her lips. We kinda stare at each other for a while, and then I must be imagining this, but I swear I can see her leaning in, all I can do is stay frozen.

“We shouldn’t.” She whispers as our lips nearly touch.

“No.” I agree.

“But it’s hard to stop.”

“I know.”

“We can’t.”

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