#and then i opened it and was completely deflated when i saw another right shoe

[melancholyprince]

So I got Uma Vanhoose recently and she came with two right shoes so I contacted MGA about it and they said they would send a replacement left shoe. Those fuckers just sent me another right shoe so now i have three useless right shoes. I'm really bummed about this bc these are the better looking heels and now I can't even use them. I don't know what to do ☹️

[softichill]

The Sounds of Nightmares unofficial transcript

Chapter 3 - The Theater of the Mind

(Once again made with @queen0fm0nsterz!!!)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

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

[Click]

[Otto sighs, shifting]

OTTO: Noone vanished last night. 

[Another sigh]

OTTO: As she slept, I was monitoring her ultradian sleep cycle. There was no REM/NREM oscillation; instead, involuntary spasms grew progressively worse. [shift] As I was about to wake Noone, her… body… evanesced. For a split instant- then returned, calm as can be. 

OTTO: [deep breath, loud exhale] Lacking sleep, I can’t be sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Yet the image of her sheets deflating… is imprinted upon my mind. [Sigh] After yesterday’s session, no less, when she claimed to hear this:

[Click, tape plays]

Recording of NOONE: “The faraway drifts near. Tread long, then, sink deep. Two flows from one, and here, is whole again.”

[Click, tape stops]

OTTO: A coincidence? [light clinking of ceramic/glass] Or, synchronicity? …(Scoff) Is that that bloody moth again?! 

[Loud smack, Otto sits back down] 

OTTO: Riddle piles upon riddle, and answers continue to elude. [Tape rewinding] I’ll sift through every word if I must. 

[Intro plays]

[Click]

[Loud clicking and clacking, electric humming, Otto screwing something in]

OTTO: [Humming drops, returns] It’s clear. Noone’s symptoms go beyond parasomnias. [Continuing to build] Her retellings are too detailed, vocabulary too advanced, as if derived from the oneiric itself. 

[Humming raises in pitch, clicking] 

OTTO: However, what I find impossible to believe is that Noone’s seen who you saw, Cici. [Chair creaks, clattering] If two people, without any contact, shared the exact same observation, is it proof of transpersonal dreaming?

[Otto’s building continues]

OTTO: But such implies concurrence! And these dreams are years apart! Then… no. [buzzing picks up] I cannot be taken to metaphysical backwaters. Sounding like my old professor. [building] I’ve remained balanced over the years by clinging to the notion that my recollection of what happened years ago was wrong. [click, humming gets loud again] But now, those memories are coming home to roost. 

[Clicks, electronic humming, building stops]

OTTO: [Shift] Before I began at the CPI I promised to finish this apparatus. I let it fall away, convinced that attempting it was fool’s work. Now struggling to put myself in her shoes, well. Fool me twice. 

[Humming gets louder, buzzes out completely as it shocks Otto and he lets out an “Oh!”]

[A small pained noise from Otto before he starts to put the apparatus away]

[Door opens]

OTTO: (Gasp) Noone! [Scoff, he walks away from the recorder] You’re meant to wait outside. 

NOONE: (Far away) What are you working on?-

[Audio cuts]

[Click, blank noise]

[Audio starts again]

OTTO: We’ve come to know each other better over the past weeks, haven’t we?

NOONE: Because we’re friends! That’s why. And, friends tell each other things. 

OTTO: Friends. That’s right. One of the absolutes I’ve come to realize is that, the more time you spend with someone, the harder it becomes to hide who you really are. The only exception to this rule is with the company of oneself- we willfully hide what we’d rather not face. Like, the Candleman you mentioned seeing, under hypnosis. 

NOONE: I don’t like that. 

OTTO: What?

NOONE: Hiding things from myself. 

OTTO: Nobody likes it. That’s why it’s important to reveal your inner face. “Depth analysis”, we call it. And so, I’d like you to think of this session as a dialogue with your unconscious mind- you are asking the questions, not me. 

NOONE: …Asking myself questions?

OTTO: I’ll help! But, as you go, I’d like you to try. So! This… Candleman. Did you see him again?

NOONE: I-I did. 

OTTO: And what was this meeting like?

NOONE: …He was much clearer. Not just him, everything about it. My nightmare. 

OTTO: Elaborate, please. Was it worse? More vivid?

NOONE: What’s it like- Uhm… as if I’m watching a film, that I’m also the star of. And when I woke… it was here, in the Coppy, that felt more like the dream. 

OTTO: Hm, more palpable. The Candleman-

NOONE: I can’t talk about him without the rest. …If this is an interview with myself, might I begin where I want?

OTTO: Of course! Let your imagination run. But don’t be afraid to interact with the dream. This is an important step in our process- the dialogue. Bring together the divided parts of yourself. 

NOONE: …The mirror. 

OTTO: Pardon?

NOONE: The one off your shelf. If I’m meant to speak to myself, well…

OTTO: [Pause] …Patients aren’t meant to have mirrors, but, here you are, my bright girl. 

[Otto gives her the mirror]

OTTO: Begin as you please. 

[Pause]

NOONE, Narrating: …In the dark… a hand let go of mine. 

[Slip noise, Dream!Noone gasps. Dream ambience begins.] 

NOONE: Opening my eyes, I lay on hot concrete, staring up at a sky with- no sun. And… before me was, endless grey, broken by- yellow lines of paint, all the way to the horizon!

NOONE: Standing, in that carpark, I heard a silence. So silent, my own heartbeat was a marching drum in comparison. …It was followed by… a loneliness, so lonely, I could hardly bear it. I had to turn away. 

[Dream!Noone walking on gravel]

NOONE: Behind me, I was glad to see a building! A shopping mall, so large I- I felt half my normal size. Its doors opened, [sliding gravel] and I ran to them. 

[running footsteps, transition from gravel to tile. Doors close behind Dream!Noone.]

NOONE: Inside the promenade, [lights click on] the lights flicked on, one by one, greeting me as the PA speakers came alive with music. 

[Tinny, slightly off-sounding mall music]

NOONE: It had been ages since I’d visited a shopping center. I didn’t know where to start!

OTTO: You saw no need to find an exit right away?

NOONE: I felt like I was in good hands. But many shops were closed, though. There were no doors, and… no displays in the windows. Or, there must have been a private entrance, because- I could see shadows beyond the glass. 

NOONE: …A-after passing by several shops this way, I grew disappointed, but that’s when… a cowboy’s voice came over the speaker. 

COWBOY, slightly overlapped with Noone: “Sale at Jujube’s Toys! Dolls, games, puzzles, and more! Ground floor by the fountain!”

NOONE: I could see that fountain in front of me! And on the other side, was… a bright green storefront, with bubbles floating out the entrance. 

[Dream!Noone walking over, doors hiss as they open. Different tinny music.]

NOONE: Shelves and- shelves of wonders lined the shop! The toys on the first shelf were very old, but… deeper shelves held the same toys I had back home, and deeper ones held exactly those I’d wish for, even Little Lotty Potty! But… these Lotties had black eyes, not blue. And their skin was… yellow, like autumn leaves. 

NOONE: The shop owner wasn’t present, so… I grabbed one and began playing on the carpet. 

[Dream!Noone humming Six’s Theme. Doll makes automated noises.]

NOONE: But, it didn’t take long for me to grow… bored. That was the first time I… I felt too old for dolls. 

OTTO: (distant-sounding) Maturity is natural as you approach adolescence. The brain loses interest in things once held dear. 

NOONE: The idea of growing up made me sad. And as if reacting… Lotty’s dress became wet. The doll was doing as its name said, but… [doll chattering] the liquid was- dark and thick. I put her down to find something else. But the choices were almost too many! Towering shelves extending deep in- the gloom of the impossibly long shop!

NOONE: I settled on the games section, but, most were meant for two. Suddenly, a staticky whisper said,

Voice, overlapping with NOONE: “I’ll play with you.”

NOONE: I-I thought it was the shopkeeper, but… nobody was around. My eyes fell upon a jewelry-making kit, with a red necklace on the cover. I took the box back to where I left Lotty, only… she was gone. The shelf above, where the other dolls had been, was completely empty too. I wanted to make the jewelry, I really did, but… I felt weird, so… I put it down. Then, the PA crackled, a woman’s voice this time:

Voice, ov. NOONE: “Jujube’s Toys is now closing.”

NOONE: [Lights clicking off] The lights shut off, bubbles stopped… and, the last thing I saw before exiting… [toy train noises] was the train set crashing to a stop. [quiet fake bell ringing, toy engine stops] 

[Dream!Noone walking out of the store]

NOONE: The promenade was empty, still. Each step [steps become echoey] echoed across the walls and floors, which were- pearl white, and had patterns like… veins. 

[steps and music continues]

NOONE: I came to three sets of stairs, side-by-side, leading to the next floor. I chose one, and, reaching to the top, I saw another open shop. Mademoiselle’s… (saying it wrong) bijottery. 

OTTO: (still distant) Bijouterie. But, regardless- you could read this?

NOONE: Yes. The letters were quite big. 

OTTO: …Have you been able to read in your dreams before?

NOONE: I’m not sure. That’s not a question I would ask myself, though, Otto. 

OTTO: Apologies. 

NOONE, Narrating: The glass case in the center of the room… pulled me in. Full of… gold, and silver necklaces. Hanging in the middle, was… an enchanting red pendant. And before you ask, yes, it was just like on the box at the toy store. T-The PA came on again,

Voice, ov. with NOONE: “A free gift to all little girls 10 and under!”

NOONE: Without asking, I put the necklace on, glowing, like a ruby teardrop. With my gift, I set to leave, but… someone must’ve left the speaker on because… I heard arguing. 

NOONE: (overlapping) “Don’t overdo it!” Said a first voice, followed by a second, (overlapping) “One more prize can’t hurt!”

[something being set down, wheels across tile, whoosh]

NOONE: From the back room, a rack of dresses rolled out. All, exactly my size.

[Dream!Noone looking through the dresses]

NOONE: It’d been ages since I’d been allowed to pick out my own dress. The telly people chose them for me. These ones were very pretty, with lace and, and bows and stitching but, one… it… it was the plaid dress I wore the day I arrived at the Coppy. How could my dress be here? [lowering pitch of voice, asking questions to herself] Your real life doesn’t have to mix into your dreams Noone, why now? 

OTTO, interrupting narration: (astonished) Pardon?

NOONE: (giggling) I’m asking myself questions. Well, the only explanation is that they could see inside my head.

OTTO: I’m not sure that’s logical.

NOONE: Let me finish! Please. You’ll see.

NOONE, narrating: Back out on the promenade, the shop gates began to slam shut. [Gates slamming] I was worried the mall was closing, but on the floor above, a set of spinning bright lights came on [Lights turn on]. The music stopped and, the PA crackled with a sing-songy voice, 

Voice, ov. with NOONE: [music] “Showtime’s patrons! Our daily motion picture will begin shortly. Hot popcorn’s popping and the seats await in the playhouse!” 

NOONE: [Lights shutting off] The rest of the mall went dark, making the lights more enticing to follow. 

[Dream!Noone walks across the mall]

NOONE: The lobby was- red from floor to ceiling. Buckets of popcorn overflowed on the concession stand. I grabbed one, and hurried to push open the huge golden doors leading into the theater.  

[Running steps, doors creak. Slightly off organ music plays.] 

NOONE: The velvet seats went for rows and rows, full of people. A spotlight hit the stage, illuminating an organ, but… there was no organ player. Only tall curtains swaying in some breeze. I tiptoed down the aisle, and sat centered with the screen. The chair seemed to hug me, and the room fell dark [crunching] as the first buttery bit hit my tongue. 

[Music stops playing, sounds of projector booting up]

NOONE: Without adverts or introduction, the film began. Images of… trees on fire and… white hooves galloping. I recognized the picture instantly because I’ve seen it a hundred times. “The Healing Horn”. [Movie plays] Only the scenes were out of order, and the unicorn… her horn was misshapen, like… a rotten tree branch. The evil prince’s face, too, was… was wrong. 

NOONE: Feeling out of place I – I looked around. The audience, I… I realized, was not people but… mannequins. 

NOONE: All of a sudden, a familiar scent entered the dream. Ocean. I was no longer alone. The dusty projector light made it difficult to suss, but a few seats over… was the Candleman. His eyes and mouth were… deep black pits inside a mess like a wet gunny sack, sagging down the floor. Without turning, he spoke. 

[Growing noise stops]

OTTO, interrupting abruptly: He – what?! [Shifting] What did he say? 

NOONE: [Sighing] It was like a – a voice underwater. The words could hardly escape the folds of skin. He repeated them to me. 

NOONE as the FERRYMAN, glitching: “The faraway drifts near. Tread long, then sink deep. Two flows from one, and here, is whole again.”

OTTO: And then? [shifting in the chair] What else? 

NOONE, as the FERRYMAN: “Here. Here. Here.”

NOONE: He just repeated over and over.

OTTO: There must be more! Try, try! Interact with the dream!

NOONE: There was no more!

OTTO: (raising his voice) Ask who he is, ask what he wants!

NOONE: (raising her voice) It doesn’t work that way!

OTTO: You were right there! Don’t tell me you did nothing?! Not a damn thing!

NOONE: Stop!

OTTO: [farther away] I’m beginning to doubt you’ve seen this Candleman! [Noone struggling] Perhaps you’ve invented the whole story! 

NOONE: Please, stop- my head!

[Otto hisses (gets hit?), sounds of something being knocked over, Noone runs out of the room.] 

[Otto huffs and stops the tape]

[Click. Blank noise. Another click]

[Various shifting noises. Silence. Door opens and someone walks, then closes it]

OTTO: [far away, stern] What are you doing? With the mirror. [Steps] You’re up to something, but we’ll let it slide. I know girls like you. 

[Shifting]

OTTO: You’re upset with me, aren’t you? [plastic clacking] Here. A pill for your headache. (Sigh) Earlier, that was… awfully…[Otto sits] that- that was not how friends act. Sleep has evaded me too. I’ve grown worried, trying to… please, forgive me. I’d very much like to hear the rest. I won’t interrupt, you have my word. 

[Silence.]

NOONE: … Fine. 

OTTO: So… you were in this theater with him. 

NOONE, narrating: … All kinds of pictured* flashed on the screen, and then he was gone, leaving me alone again. Or so I thought. The projector flickered in the booth. I dashed up, and found the door ajar. A new voice came over the PA, angry. “No patrons in the projection room!” The door was stuck, but I pushed and pushed. The PA boomed, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “You must not enter!”

[Crashing, door opens]

NOONE: The projector I saw first was shaped like… a deformed eye. Then, my attention fell to… the mass on the floor. [Slimy sound] A brain? A heart? …No. It’s muscles pumped and pumped, and its tubes ran into the walls. The voice came, both from inside the room and over the PA: 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Happy day, No One.”

NOONE: It… it knew my real nickname. The ones kids at school scribbled all over my books. How? Because it was in my head. …I asked, “You’re the one who’s been talking? All those voices?”. Then, I saw countless film cans around the room, and understood. It was so alone, it took to imitating. Then it said, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Are you going to leave? Like all the others?”

NOONE: I managed a… “Yes”. The thing began pulsing and, upset, it sort of cried out. 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “So many, they take what they want and go, or get snatched away or worse!” 

NOONE: It paused, then went on, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Whatever you desire, it’s yours.”

NOONE: … But I didn’t want anything from it. The PA belted, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “The pendant! You wanted that!”

NOONE: The pulsing worsened until another voice came within the first,

VOICE 2, ov. with NOONE: “You’ve driven another away!” [Not overlapping, repeating: “You’ve driven another away!]

NOONE: I felt bad for it. Or them… this place had been warped by pain, and wanted so badly to keep me. Even the walls began throbbing. What could I do?!

[Noise intensifies, Dream!Noone breathes heavily] 

NOONE: I – I ran. Down the stairs, out of the theater. 

[Dream!Noone runs away]

NOONE: On the promenade, the lights were flashing so as to be dizzying. The PA screeched, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Everyone needs someone! Don’t leave me alone!”

NOONE: The walls began to cry that dark thick liquid, pooling around me, I looked up. From the floor above, the Candleman stared, pointing at my chest. At the pendant. I flung it down into the liquid, then he reached a hand toward me and – 

[All noise stops]

NOONE: And all faded, as the PA sobbed,

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Don’t take her! Not this one, too…” 

[Narration stops. Silence. Shifting]

OTTO: T-There was um… uh, e-excuse me, a curious phrase. “Warped by pain”. Is that how you feel, sometimes? 

[Silence]

OTTO: Noone? Are you still angry with me? Or… distracted by the mirror? 

NOONE: Behind my ear…  there’s… a sore. 

OTTO: Is that why you wanted the mirror all along?

NOONE: [Hum] It’s like the ones I used to get. I need to see it. 

[Shifting]

OTTO: Nothing’s there. It’s red because you’ve been picking at it. 

NOONE: …I have one more question for myself. Why do I have these dreams? Water sickness, that’s my answer. 

OTTO: Noone. It’s wiped out of your system. There have been no known reinfections. It’s in your mind. 

NOONE: (with increasing distress) What if the cure is the cause? I never had nightmares or headaches before all of this, before going on telly, before – before this! –

OTTO, interrupting: (whispering) No, no, come, come, come, come here, my girl. [Shifting, Otto hugs Noone] You’re not sick. You’re perfectly fine. You’re a perfectly wonderful little girl. This time I will protect you. 

[The mirror falls on the ground and breaks]

NOONE: I’m sorry! I’m sorry, uh, you were squeezing so tight and… it slipped. 

[The mirror shards are picked up. Otto throws them away] 

OTTO: You asked why you dream. The truth? Nobody knows. My studies always assumed they were more than the brain’s way of filtering unconscious thoughts. But I had no answer either. An old professor of mine thought he did. He believed dreams come from an ever shifting plane, a quiddity of consciousness. 

NOONE: Quidd-i-ty…

OTTO: Quiddity. The essence of a thing. In this case, a semiatangible plane outside the mind. 

NOONE: Is it the same as mutual dreams? I don’t understand.

OTTO: My colleagues didn’t either. I’ve flip-flopped over the years, but I figured it was impossible to prove.

NOONE: Will I ever get rid of them, then? Will I ever leave the Coppy?

OTTO: You must understand, you are a unique case. I want to let you go, as soon as – 

NOONE, interrupting: I’m better?

OTTO: (sighing) Yes. As soon as you’re better. [Otto stands, picks something up] Now – 

NOONE: I know, I know. (Lower pitch, mimicking Otto) “Sweets for my sweet”. …Do I have to go back to my room?

[Sounds of plates] 

OTTO: I’ve- got to tidy, [wrappers] and, you reminded me there’s something I need to find. On you go. I’ll come by later. 

[Shift, audio cuts]

[Audio starts]

[Otto looks through papers, and sighs] 

OTTO: Ah, I found it. The paper that stained my professor’s career. Kept it all these years, hoping and dreading there was truth in these words… 

OTTO, reading: “We know now that there is no center to the universe. Previously we thought it was the Sun, before that we thought it was the Earth. Our species always insists that ours is the quintessence of experience. Yet scientific observation proves our folly ad nauseum. If geocentrism took centuries to disprove, the question is not if but when the same will happen to reality itself. That which we are equipped to perceive may not be the only world. Let alone the predominant one.” 

[Click]

[Outro plays]

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

*This is what she actually says. I have no idea why.

[helliontherapscallion]

Stressful Spectres (Sweet Betrayal Part 3)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse/neglect, mentions of death, slight body gore, blood

Word count: 2,873

With hands tightly clasped behind your back, you tensely paced around your office. The Pogtopians were constantly being sighted around the borders of Manberg and it was your job to prevent this. You tried everything; setting up traps, luring mobs around the vicinity, nothing worked. They just kept coming back like pesky cockroaches following pheromones. The only way you’d be able to prevent them from spying into the borders was to rebuild a wall, and Schlatt would turn your idea down the second the word ‘wall’ would leave your mouth. He gave you only two days to completely figure everything out from the last time one of the cowards was spotted running from the borders, and it seems that those two days are nearly up. 

“You should take a break, (y/n).” Without looking at him, you kept pacing and ignored him. “Stop ignoring me, you know I don’t like when you do that… Please, take a break. I’m worried about you,” he sounded just like he did from before. You felt your eye twitch. 

“...(Y/n), remember what I used to sing to you?” He chuckled, the sound being airy and far off, “‘hey hobo man, hey dapper Dan-’”

“Shut the fuck up!” You grabbed your vase and hurled it blindly in his direction. The glass shattered against the wall and you heard nothing else from the teenager. “I don’t need you anymore.” He had been visiting you for the past week or so, ever since Schlatt found out about you taking your birthday off. You were banned from speaking to the Badlanders and got a few physical punishments that would definitely give you more scars on your arms. It was your fault anyways, you were slacking off during a war when you were one of the leaders of this country.

Your door opened when you were mid pace, making you plaster a strained smile on your face and spin around to narrow your eyes at whomever decided to not knock. You were greeted by a slightly buzzed ram hybrid raising an eyebrow at you. He must’ve just started drinking. 

Whenever he was only slightly buzzed or on the very rare chance he was sober, he was the most affectionate with you. It wasn’t much, only small praises and the occasional smile, but by Ender you ate it up like you were a drug addict getting their first hit in months. You craved any type of affection, no matter where it came from or how rarely it came. You were willing to wait for it, even if it was rare. 

His amber gaze flicked around the room before it landed on the ceramic shards embedded into the carpet. He jutted his chin towards it, “fuck happen there?” 

You ran your hand down your face and massaged your aching cheeks, “nothing. Just thought I saw a rat, but my mind was just playing tricks on me.” His calculating gaze pierced through you like a spear before he narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded. He walked over to the window and looked out at the vast city, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “...Have you come up with a solution to our... problem?”

You sighed angrily and resumed your pacing, “I’ve tried everything. They just dismantle the traps I set up, kill the mobs I lure around it, they even killed the iron golems! The only option here is to put up the walls again.” 

“I know you didn’t just say what I thought you fuckin said,” Schlatt hissed out, “there’s no way in hell I’m putting up those walls again.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do then, that’s our only option,” you mumbled under your breath only to freeze when Schlatt stomped up to you. He spun you around and grabbed your shoulders, leaning close to your face. His breath smelled like tobacco and a hint of scotch, “are you questioning my authority?” You shook your head frantically. “Really? Cuz it sure sounds like you’re questioning my authority. You seem to forget that I’m your boss and you will treat me as such. Do you understand me?”

You nodded and he let you go, slightly shoving you off to the side as he walked past you. “I-I’m sorry, Dad.” He paused in your doorway, “don’t call me that. I don’t want to be the father of someone that constantly contradicts me. I’ll be back in an hour, you better have this shit figured out by the time I get back or I swear to Ender I’ll fire your sorry ass. You’re on thin ice, (y/n).” Without a second word he left your office, the sound of his dress shoes clanking against the tile fading down the hallway. 

You could feel your heart break inside of your chest and your lungs get deflated by the shards piercing them. He was the last person that actually loved you, and you fucked it up. You always fuck everything up, you supposed that it was an innate part of you. No matter what you did or what you tried, you’re always going to be a fuck up. 

No, you can’t just sit here and ponder all of your life’s mistakes; you need to be brainstorming before you lose your connection to the person you loved the most. You paced around your office endlessly murmuring to yourself. You knew he was watching you pace again standing off in the corner, the room felt off like it always did whenever he was there. You ignored him and continued your pacing. 

Just as you came up with a solution, your door was opened and Schlatt stepped into your office once more. He was swaying slightly on his feet and his suit jacket was unbuttoned. “You figure something out?” 

You put a confident smile on your face, “yes. I think we should send patrols around the border, and I think the Badlanders and Rutabagaville members would fare nicely. We can send them in groups of two and send them once in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night.” 

He nodded to himself, satisfied. “That sounds like a decent plan, you’re keeping your job for now. But don’t think I’ll forget about what you said earlier.”

You felt extremely relieved and grinned at him, “yessir. I apologize for that once again, it just-”

“Save it, you’re still on thin fucking ice… Don’t look at me like that, ya smiling freak. Your face is absolutely disgusting.” You dropped your smile and looked at your slightly scarred fingers. Light pink raised scars littered your skin in random amounts along your right arm, leading up your neck, and becoming the most concentrated on the entirety of the right side of your face. You avoided looking in the mirror, mostly out of anger because your appearance was a constant reminder of the stain your ‘brothers’ left on your life. You were still adjusting to having a blind spot in your vision, the eye having lost its sight and now a cloudy white color from the fireworks. Your eyelid on that side was permanently half-lidded, unable to open up fully even if you tried. 

You were fully aware that your appearance was… unsightly, to say the least, to everybody that looked at you (yourself included), but Schlatt was one that never cringed away from you. Hell, even Quackity (the mere mention of his name made icy betrayal wash over your entire body) avoided looking at you in the first few weeks of your injury. Schlatt was the one that loved you for who you were, scars and all, and you fucked it up. 

He squinted at you, his eyelids blocking everything with the exception of his rectangular pupils. A snort left his lips before he moved to leave you to your own devices. “I’ll inform the others of their new duties, get your paperwork done.” 

“Yessir.” 

You sat down at your desk chair with a sigh and rubbed at your aching cheeks before you picked up your pen and started on your paperwork. Well, it was yours with the exception of Schlatt’s thrown about occasionally in piles. The room was engulfed into an uncomfortable chill once more, he’s back. You honestly have no idea why he just keeps coming back to you or even if his pale spectre was just a stress induced hallucination. He just showed up in your office one day saying that he’s been looking everywhere for you. He acted and looked exactly like he did before he left, except his attitude was strangely chipper for someone that had an iron pickaxe buried deep within their forehead. 

“(Y/n), I’m back!” He sang, floating over to your desk. “Geez, that goat guy is a real jerk isn’t he?” His slightly glowing hand appeared in your vision and tried to pluck the pen out of your grasp. It swiped right through your hand, making you shiver at the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m still not used to that.”

You huffed and focused more on your paperwork. You could feel the chill getting closer, leading up to the point where he was directly behind you. The icy air gusted down your neck with every breath he exhaled. “Whatcha workin on?” He whispered in your ear. 

“Nothing that you need to worry about.” 

“So they speak! I was worried you went completely mute… Well, you did scream at me before, but I didn’t count that. That’s okay though, I knew I could get you to talk to me sooner or later. I’m irresistible, you remember how I was with the ladies.” 

“Fuck off.”

“No need to be so mean to me.” You focused on your paperwork again, furrowing your brows and trying to tune him out. “(Yyyyyyy/nnnnn), you can’t ignore little ole me forever.” 

“I can and I will.”

He gasped before laughter streamed from his lips, the sound being muffled since it was on your deaf side. “You just talked to me though! I think that’s a win for me. Do you remember when-”

“I swear to Ender, if another word comes out of your mouth I’ll make sure that the next pickaxe finds its home through your tongue and down your throat.” 

He was silent after that, leaving you to your paperwork. At least, that was until someone knocked on your office door. You sighed before plastering a smile on your face, “come in.” Your door opened to reveal the signature white smiley face mask, messy blond hair, and green hoodie.

Dream had been giving you small lessons on your swordsmanship lately, and you were getting better with each passing lesson. You were proficient on defense, so it was time for you to learn how to offensively attack. 

You saw that he placed an apple on your desk. You looked up at him in confusion. “What? You haven’t eaten anything all day, I don’t want you passing out or anything during our lesson.”

“Finally! Someone with actual sense around here! It’s so refreshing, isn’t it (y/n)? Well, it’s refreshing for me anyways.” 

Dream chuckled, “thank you.” 

Wait a damn minute.

Dream could hear him?!

Your pen froze mid sentence and rested on the paper, it’s ink pooling in one place. You slowly looked up at Dream, “you can hear him?” He looked at the teenager behind you before looking back at you, his head tilting. “Of course I can. He’s right there.” 

“Yeah (y/n), I’m right here. My name’s Lucius by the way, it’s nice to meet you!” He floated over to Dream and held out his hand, the pickaxe handle almost hitting the taller male in the chest. Dream stepped back slightly and nodded, “Dream. Eat that apple fast, we don’t have all day.” You snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the apple, taking absentminded bites while staring at your dead best friend talking animatedly to the masked man. 

So he was real after all. You were worried something might have actually been wrong with you for a moment! It was nice to know that you weren’t completely insane. 

“...meet (y/n)?” 

“Oh, I’m training them at the moment, would you like to watch?” 

“Yes! That sounds exciting, doesn’t it (y/n)?” The two looked at you expectantly, Dream’s head tilting slightly and Lucius smiling widely at you. You swallowed your bite and nodded, throwing the apple core into your trash bin. “...Yeah. Yeah it does. Uh, I’m going to get changed and then we can start our session.” 

After you got changed, you met with the two outside your door and walked out of the White House to the training grounds. The entire time you were walking, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Lucius. Every time he would turn his head, the pickaxe would move with it. The crusted blood that emanated from the wound and splattered down his pale face was perhaps the darkest color on him with the exception of his jet black hair. 

In a strange way, it wasn’t the blood or the pickaxe protruding from his head that disturbed you the most; it was his eyes. Of course they still crinkled at the edges when he smiled, but it just wasn’t the same. The black eyes that were once so full of life were a dull gray with milky pupils. 

Other than the obvious pickaxe, blood, dead eyes, and constant glowing, he looked exactly like he did before he died. His baggy sweater, albeit mudstained and wrinkled, was still a salmon color with its signature pinstripes. The mop of straight black hair was still pulled into a bun with multiple unruly strands escaping the elastic and framing his face.

Before you knew it, a pale hand was waving in your face. “Earth to (y/n)! Oh good, you’re back to the land of the living! What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Well, I mean you were just staring at me, but my point still stands.”

You moved your gaze to the dirt path, “it’s nothing, I’ll tell you later.” He huffed, but didn’t say anything else to you for the rest of the trip. Instead, he was making small comments on your surroundings. 

Eventually, you were across from Dream on the training arena holding a wooden sword in front of you defensively. Lucius was sitting in the grass a little ways away from the painted boundaries with one foot over the other and his elbows resting on his knees propping his chin up. He was watching with an intensity he always had whenever you were doing something he deemed ‘dangerous’. To be fair, sparring with the most skilled member on the server was fairly dangerous.

“Let’s see if you remember what I taught you last time.” Without giving you a warning, he charged at you with his own wooden sword raised. Your sword clashed with his and you pushed against him. The mask moved upwards on his face slightly, “good, but always expect the unexpected.” 

With a simple sweep of his foot, you were on the ground gasping for air. You could faintly hear Lucius suck in air between his teeth before he shouted “you’re doing great, sweetie, but do better!”

Thanks, Lucius. Very motivating.

You rolled away from Dream’s foot before he could pin you to the floor. Your mind flashed back to when Techno- no. None of that, you need to focus. You got back onto your feet in the blink of an eye and dodged another blow. You used his momentum against him, stepping away at the right moment sending him skidding to a stop. 

Before long, he had you on the floor again with the tip of the sword pressing into your chest. He relaxed before helping you up, “you did better than I thought you would, but there were still some obvious flaws in what you did. Using my momentum against me was smart, but with what you did the opponent would recover fast. Here, let me show you how to properly do that.” 

You improved on a few things defensively and learned a few things offensively before the sun started to set and cast shadows on the surrounding forest. Dream shook your hand, “nice work today, you’re gonna rival even the best eventually.”

“You were great, (y/n)! I didn’t know you had it in you!” I didn’t have it in me when you were alive, you mentally corrected him. “Thanks, Lucius.” You glanced at him only to be met with his body phasing through yours in an attempted hug. He fell to the ground and rolled over, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll never get used to that.” 

Dream snorted before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to nonchalantly walk back towards the White House. You and Lucius looked at each other before you ran to catch up with him. Lucius floated next to you, examining the dirt on your exposed arms and the forming bruises on your calves. He wrinkled his nose, “you really need a shower.” 

“Well I can’t exactly strip now and find a shower in the woods, can I Lucius?” 

“You just reek.”

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

“Thanks Lucius, Dream. Really feeling the love.” 

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[wonderwomanfantasy]

melting point

a part two to snowfall

Werewolf! Bakugou x Deaf!Reader

warnings: none? some suspenseful stuff that's about it

word count: 1,000 (about)

summary: what a sweet little thing you are, perfect for some big bad wolf to come to snatch you up, luckily Bakugou is there to protect you. 

As the snow settled, and the trade fair came to an end several things changed about your little town, where change so rarely occurred. The first was a foreseeable change, your family came into a bit of money after selling you wears, assuring your family would have a comfortable winter and spring. The second was that the blonde man you’d happened to run into decided to settle on a plot of land previously unoccupied. The last change was the wolf attacks. 

As far as you knew there was never a problem with wolves before, but now chickens and even cattle were being found half-eaten. It was horrible really, the thought alone of some bloodthirsty dog stalking somewhere nearby. 

Even with how scared you were, at least you kept your head about yourself. Some other townsfolk went as far as to say that it wasn’t a wolf, but a monster. You burst out laughing when you first heard that. Monsters were things for kids, tall tails that served as a warning to stay out of the woods at night. You were surprised at how seriously some people were taking that idea. 

You watched as two old women talked, catching bits of their conversation as they turned to you. 

“- I tell my kids to stay in at night- once the sun sets they have to be home,” 

“-with that beast out there- Carlson lost two sheep last week,” 

You shook your head and continued on your way. There were plenty of hunters in town, you felt safe knowing one of them would catch the animal responsible. 

You turned your head up to the glacious sky. It was the cold bitter part of winter, no snow or cheer, just waiting for spring to come. 

Luckily for you, you looked down at where you were going before you started walking again. Bakugou Katsuki was standing right in front of you. You gasped and stumbled back almost falling, luckily he wrapped an arm around your waist catching you. His smirk seemed to say  “we really should stop meeting like this,”

You squirmed and he released you “watch where you’re going,” he signed you felt your face heat up with embarrassment. 

“I could tell you the same,” you shot back, He just smiled at you and brushed past you. You glowered at him as he passed until you realized that he was carrying a stack of logs over one of his shoulders, then your face soffened. Just how strong was he? 

You couldn’t seem Bakugou, you supposed that it had been so long since anyone had moved into town that any new fae stood out, but it seemed like he was everywhere. He seemed to frequent the butchers at the same time you did, you found him buying thick woolen sheets from your mother one day then had to buy firewood from him the next, and of course, he was always there to catch you when you tripped. 

And even though he was cocky, arrogant, and angry, you found yourself falling for him. There was just something that drew you to him and you found you didn’t mind seeing him so often. 

“A defenseless girl like you shouldn’t be in the woods this late,” bakugou signed to you, appearing out of nowhere as he so often did. You straightened quickly and crossed your arms. The worst part is you knew he was right. Your parents would have a heart attack if they knew that you were lost in the trees this close to sunset.

The truth was your father had asked you to set some simple snare traps in hopes of catching a rabbit or two as a test of your independence and well, you’d gotten a little turned around. A completely understandable mistake. 

The harsh January wind whirled around you, biting at your face and piercing your clothes like knives. “Don’t you know there’s a monster in these woods? What if he caught you and gobbled you up?”  he was teasing you. And you didn’t much appreciate it, but still, he probably knew the way back to town. 

“But you’re here to protect me aren’t you?” you signed taking a step closer and putting your hand on his broad chest. For a moment he just stood there in awe, you had to admit it was pleasant seeing him so caught off guard. 

He mouthed something that looked like “that’s right” and took your hand leading you out of the darkening woods. He even stayed back so you could show up at home unoccupied sparing you your pride. You thought, not for the first time, that Bakugou Katsuki would make an excellent husband. 

It was a bitterly cold night when you saw the beast. A storm of hail and sleet beat down on your roof as wind raced around you causing the very boards of your house to shift. You were held up in the barn laying on a soft bed of hay wrapping your two goats in blankets and tucking their ears into woolen hats so their ears wouldn’t freeze. Your mother swore they would be fine, they were tough old things after all. But you had grown up with these goats, and it broke your heart to think of them succumbing to frostbite. 

When you came into the barn they had been shivering and huddled in a pile of hay, reaffirming your decision to come here in the first place. You rested with them for a moment, building up the courage to brave the elements again. 

The barn door shuddered as the rain beat down on it before it burst open. You jolted, falling backward into a pile of straw. Your sweet goats cowering behind you. And as the hail pelted your face, you saw it in the dark of the night. A set of glowing eyes and a hulking massive body creeping towards you. 

You’d never seen a wolf, but surely this was too big to be a wolf, four times the size of a normal dog. The creature bore his teeth in a horrid snarl coming to the entry of the barn filling the doorway. You trembled and prayed that someone would come to save you. There was no way you could escape. 

But suddenly the wolf shifted, tilting its head to the side and dropping the intimidating sneer. His approach seemed much less intimidating, but that didn’t stop you from crying as he came face to face with you. His hot breath beating on your face. He snorted and turned leaving the barn. You stood on shaky legs and ran as fast as you could back to the house, shaking your father awake to messily sign to him what had happened.

 It only took a day for the news of another attack to spread through the town like wildfire, and this time you didn’t feel like correcting anyone when they called it a monster. 

“I heard you fought the beast,” Bakugou teased, you had heard that too, the story had been tweaked along the way that you had bravely managed to escape instead of the monster simply leaving you alone. 

“You really are a handful, always getting yourself into trouble aren’t you?” he teased. You were used to his teasing by now but it still made you heat up with embarrassment

“And I suppose you could do any better?” you signed angrily

“I could,” he stated matter of factly. You deflated a little, of course, he was right. He was so strong and self-confident you knew he could have done much better in your shoes. 

“And if you married me, I could protect you too,” he signed leaving you stunned, had he really just proposed to you in the middle of teasing you for being a weakling?

Bakugou smiled to himself as you gingerly walked into his embrace, placidly accepting his marriage proposal. You were such a scared little rabbit, he almost felt bad. Of course, he would never hurt you or scare you like that again, you were his mate after all. He wouldn’t have even come to your barn if the rain hadn’t been obscuring your delicious smell. 

Now that he had your heart all he had to do was win over your father, and with how well he’d ingratiated himself to your family that shouldn’t be hard at all. What a sweet little rabbit you were, trapped in the arms of a wolf.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 29

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, insecurities, blood, darkish thoughts (self-hatred), fighting, violence Author's Note: heavy chap. if you’re having a bad day, take a moment, be kind to yourself and put off reading this until you feel better 💜

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 29: That Pet You Just Couldn't Keep

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Remus woke up to a bright, white light. He squinted, head lolling to the side of his lumpy pillow. The chair near his bedside was empty, saved from a pitcher of water along with a few potions Madam Pomfrey must’ve left for him, were placed on the stand beside his bed.

Something wasn’t right. Peter or one of the other Marauders were always there waiting for him after his transformations.

Too hot for a blanket in June, he ripped off his covers and noticed the bumpy, large material hiding beneath his nightgown. He licked his lips, letting air whistle down his dry throat while a sharp, burning sensation flooded his abdomen. Remus winched, groaning out while stretching to drink the potions and water. Although, as he brought the glass vials to his lips, he noticed that his arm was littered with scratches and bruises. Curious, he lifted the slit of the gown to see a large wrapping across his lower stomach and bruises in the shape of lopsided circles and rectangles travelling across his body.

Remus felt his face scrunch. Ever since the Marauders had become animaguses, he hardly sustained any injuries aside from the occasional limp or flimsy scratch. There was usually an absence of pain nowadays, not an overload of it.

What caught his attention was the scent of human blood. His senses were always heightened the week leading up to the full moon and the week following, so it was particularly strong. It caused his head to spin like planets performing a celestial dance.

Preoccupied with the scent, Remus didn’t notice someone slipping into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” A fuzzy Peter came into view. He went to sit on the edge of his bed sporting a nervous look.

“Was wondering where you were.” Remus relaxed at his appearance.

“Yeah… Erm — been busy.”

Soon enough, another sharp pain stabbed at his abdomen again. “Fuck — what happened last night?”

Wormtail sucked in sharply as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. “I… something terrible happened. Bollocks, Moons — I’m sorry...”

Remus felt his spine prickle with needles. “What?”

“We should wait until Dumbledore or James comes back.”

“Dumbledore?!”

Ghostly pale, Peter was on the verge of fainting. Remus took another deep inhale. This time, he smelt blood, but it was coming off of Peter and a few other foreign scents lingered on him. Was that… Y/N? And… Snape? Remus scanned Peter, noticing the droplet of red on his shoes.

“Pete,” his voice dropped to an icy whisper, “Whose blood is that?”

He remained quiet.

Remus moved to prop himself up on the bed. “What happened?”

As Peter spoke, every word made Remus recline into himself and he was left unsure of how to feel. The overload of information put him into a state of complete shock. His vision faded in and out, suddenly feeling very cold and dizzy compared to the hot weather.

He distantly heard Peter trying to gain his attention but stared blankly at the metal bed frame.

“Say something,” his friend tried, sounding desperate. He didn’t even know how long he’d been quiet for.

Remus worked through the betrayal in nine steps. It helped make sense of his emotions. To categorize them — making it easier to file away.

1. Shock & denial

“No,” he said, barely moving a muscle in his face. “That's impossible! Padfoot would never…”

Peter watched him pitifully. Remus’ eyes blinked rapidly, heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”

2. Process what happened (or try to)

“He… told… Snape?” He asked despite Peter repeating the story multiple times.

“Sirius was mad at Sniv — Snape, and he was provoked by —”

“I didn’t hurt him, did I? I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“He’s fine.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”

He refused to look him in the eyes and Remus felt terror ebb it's way through his skin. “Answer me!”

“As I said, L/N and Snape got into a row… she heard Sirius tell him and she went to save him…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Wormtail took a deep breath. “You… nicked her a bit and James’ antler broke off in you because… he was trying to get you off of her…”

Remus was rooted in place. What Peter just said was unreal. His stomach twisted painfully. He blinked. “Y/N’s hurt? I hurt her?”

“Yes — no! That was Snape —” “Is she here? Did I bite her?”

“You didn’t and yeah but —” “Move out of my way.” He pushed himself up wobbly.

“You lot a lot of blood, sit —”

“Get out of my way!” He threatened. Remus pushed Peter to the side, clambered to his feet. Remus gripped the bed tightly and felt a few seams rip open and blood began to faintly seep through his white bandages.

He staggered around, ripping back the curtains until he saw Y/N. Limping up to her bed, Remus almost burst into tears when he saw her. She looked so tiny, curled up and engulfed in blankets and pillows. Her ankle was propped up, head bandage and skin dull.

It felt like Peter had poured a bucket of freezing cold water on him.

He hurt her. Almost got her and Snape killed or infected. Could have hurt Prongs and Wormtail…

He was a fucking monster.

He should be put down.

From how loud he was, running around the wing, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She attempted to stretch, groaning out in pain. But then, her eyes flickered up to him and she froze. Her hand shot up protectively to her chest and face as instinctively went for her wand but stopped. Genuine fear flashed through her, making Remus instantly want to cry. It felt like an eternity passed as she gripped her sheets and opened her mouth.

She was going to scream — to take him away — call him a monster — to cry or yell for Madam Pomfrey or —

But Y/N’s body relaxed. A tried smile twisted and gaze dissipated with fear, replaced with nothing but understanding and softness; she even went as far to touch his hand but Remus wrenched it back.

“Ta-da!” She croaked. “I lived.”

Remus didn’t smile, only staring horrified.

“Yeah, that was a hit or miss...” Peter interjected. He stood behind him, ensuring that if he fell, he’d be there to catch Remus. He continued to stare like she grew another set of eyes.

“What?” Her grin deflated. “Am I that irresistible?”

That pulled a breathy laugh from Remus as he shook his head. Why wasn’t she disgusted with him?

“Thank Merlin, you’re both awake.” All their heads turned to James’s floating head before he pulled off the invisibility cloak.

James moved to pull Remus into a large hug, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’ into his ear. He held him for a while before breaking off, going to embrace Y/N who wheezed.

“Ouch.”

“My bad, my bad!” He pulled back and slipped into bed with her. Peter forced Remus to sit on the edge of her bed while he stood.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to get away, to run — not even be in the same room as her. Remus wanted to think, to make any sense of what happened.

What the fuck happened? He couldn’t even process it.

She remembered everything, right? Surely she wouldn’t be this calm had she.

“Oh, wait — Lupin, are you alright? I swear a deer came at you last night.”

James chuckled out loud, breaking Remus out of his thoughts as he looked at him and Peter. “I guess there’s no point for secrets anymore.”

Y/N looked at them questioningly, her eyes squinting from the bright light before Peter went to close the blinds shut. James got off the bed, smiling widely at Remus and Peter got onto the bed instead.

“Ugh — Pete? James? What —”

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she jerked away from James who turned into a very large stag and Peter into a fat brown rat.

Remus could almost cry at how comical her face looked.

James was so large that he had to take a few steps back to prevent his antlers from poking one of their eyes out and Remus noticed that one was gone.

He felt sick again. A hand drifted to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Y/N went to graze a finger on Peter’s fur before turning to James with shaky hands to touch one of his antlers and patting him on the head. She was speechless as her mouth open several times before forcing out, “You're really Bambi!”

James turned back, taking his glasses off to clean. “I wanted to be a lion — for Gryffindor, y’know.”

“You can’t choose, I wouldn’t be a rat.” Peter grimaced.

“They’re highly intelligent. Nothing to worry about.” James reassured and ruffled his hair.

“When did you guys learn to do this?”

“We’ve been at it for three years now. We finally were able to do it in August before school started.”

She shook her head, staring in awe.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Dumbledore came to speak to everyone later that day.

Remus had been dreading it once he came into the wing and began speaking to Y/N, a buzzing sound filling his ear. All Remus was left to do was twiddle his thumbs, waiting and completely disoriented.

When he finally approached him, Dumbledore lost his usual twinkle in his eyes. He made sure to close the long vertical blinds and again, the room filled with a low buzzing sound.

“How are you doing?” He asked. Remus, had he been in the right mindset, would have prevented the scoff escaping him. Dumbledore didn’t react but continued. “Miss L/N is recovering well and Mr. Snape didn’t receive any injuries. Just a fright.”

Remus nodded, that was good, but he remained quiet.

“Snape’s been persuaded to act accordingly for the best interest of his fellow pupils and L/N gave her word.”

Remus choked back a laugh. Snape was going to, no matter what, let his secret slip somehow.

“You’re also exempt from the Transfiguration exams, both you and Miss L/N. You’ve both sustained a degree of varying head injuries and you’ll be graded on a cumulative from McGonagall.”

Dumbledore was forcing Remus to the edge as he bit down on his inner cheek. It was useless to listen to him. “Are you expelling me?”

“No. You should not bear any blame.”

“Dumbledore, no offence, but are you mental?” Remus sputtered adding, “I endangered four students last night.”

“Yes but —” “The next time we won’t be so lucky. I’m a monster, sir. I should be.”

The headmaster sighed. “Remus, give yourself a bit of credit. Think highly of yourself.”

Remus gave a dry laugh, almost baffled at how Dumbledore was acting. Did he just gloss over the fact he could have gotten students infected? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself had he. “How can I?”

“Well Y/N seemed to think very highly of you. She made you a very compelling case along with your friends, Potter, Pettigrew and Black.”

“Black’s not my friend,” Remus countered. He didn’t care about how rude he was being.

“Remus —”

“Is he expelled?”

“No.” The answer had Remus wheeling, anger spiking. “He’s not.”

“Why not? If it isn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame then why isn’t he? He told them how to find me.”

“I understand that this is a very difficult situation and rest assured, Sirius will be punished. I can promise you. But expulsion isn’t the answer.”

Remus refused to look at Dumbledore and he must've realized he was getting nowhere with him. He stood but before leaving, he gave a pitiful look.

“I have done terrible deeds, indulged in foolish pranks that I have lived to regret, but each has been a valuable learning experience. It’s a pity that it came to this. Learn in your heart to forgive, Remus. The world is already filled with too much hate.”

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June 16th, 1976

3. Sadness & pain

Remus had been avoiding the Marauder’s dorm. He’d gone as far as begging Madam Pomfrey (who’d taken pity because she knew what happened) to let him stay another two nights before getting kicked out. Remus always healed physically faster and his wounds were already healed by the third day. Pathetically, he’d been sleeping in dingy passageways or the prefects’ bathroom before relocating after being harassed by the ghosts.

Remus had a plan, avoid them; skip classes, get longer prefect duties, never staying in one spot for too long. He wouldn’t know what would happen if Snape saw him. Although, whatever Dumbledore told him, it kept Snape quite so far. But tonight, he got tired of Moaning Myrtle sobbing.

Before curfew, Remus made it a habit of visiting Y/N, who was still stuck in the wing; both out of guilt and because she was his friend, but he couldn't stay for long — seeing her like that made him wallow in guilt.

Similar to him, Lily had visited, along with the other girls, every day. Today, Lily stayed a little longer, bleeding into the time Remus usually dropped by. He watched as Lily whisper into her ear, causing Y/N to laugh and Lily blush madly as she sat snug by her side. Not wanting to ruin their moment, Remus went to leave before they had the chance to see him.

Remus had another pressing matter anyway.

He entered one of the nearest bathrooms to give himself some sort of pep talk and stared at the mirror.

You can do this. A voice echoed in his head.

Typically, memories from the full moon came back to Remus a few days or even weeks later, his brain usually too foggy a couple of hours after and even then, he would never fully remember everything. He vaguely remembered seeing a flash of Snape’s face and Prongs but Y/N’s screams were one of the clearer memories from that night.

“REMUS! PLEASE REMUS! STOP!”

Remus looked to stare at himself in the mirror. He observed the scar on the bridge of his nose, feeling bile rush up his throat at the sight.

He was a freak, littered with scars covering himself.

He was disgusting.

Ugly.

Pathetic.

Dangerous.

A monster!

4. Anger

Sirius Black had always been loyal, so what changed that night?

He needed to leave. It was no good staying here anymore.

Remus was shaking with rage, twinged with hurt. He paced outside of the common room door and had a few options running through him. Either start a huge fight with Sirius or just… ignore it.

Avoidance.

Maybe he could ignore Sirius forever? Impossible, surely. Sirius would get bored, anxious within a couple of weeks — that was too generous — a few days sounded right.

With his mind made up, Remus crept up to his room. He could hear the faint shouts of James and pondered about just sleeping in the common room or prefects’ bathroom. Even if he did have to listen to Moaning Myrtle.

Maybe because his senses were still coming down from its peak or James was just brash, but Remus didn’t even have to press his ear on the door.

“— done ENOUGH! — hear me? You better — why are YOU crying? You bloody — understand? Understand?! You will not talk — him — best friends my —”

The only person he's told he was coming back was Wormtail and it sounded like he told Prongs.

Remus didn’t care to listen anymore as he pushed open the door. Pete was sitting on his bed, eyes wide at Remus’ presence surrounded by unwrapped wrappers. He always tended to eat while stressed.

Sirius was looking down at the floor as James stood in front of him, scolding him like a child. But, his head shot up once he walked through the door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his eyes bloodshot, puffy and circles dark. He didn’t dare look at him.

Remus didn’t acknowledge them, instead moving robotically to the bathroom, changing into his holey yet comfortable clothes before scurrying off to bed, swinging his curtains shut before casting a silencing spell around.

He’d plan to adhere to his avoidance strategy. It worked so far.

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June 18th, 1976 | 1:29 am

“Psst… Moony.”

Remus turned over to face him. “What do you want Peter?”

“Just wanted to check up. You okay?”

“What do you think? Please, leave me alone.” And then closed his bed drapes.

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June 19th, 1976 | 11:37 pm

Peter had crept up to his bed again as Remus laid there awake, thoughts swarming him.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired.” He moved to turn over and forced his eyes closed.

Peter had been nothing but amazing. Always thinking about him and his needs but what Remus wanted most was to be alone and Peter's pity and worried features did nothing but make Remus feel like shit.

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June 21st, 1976

In life, there are few things that are certain. Getting older, death, taxes… No matter how hard we try, no matter how good our morals are or our intentions, we all will eventually make mistakes. It’s either as small as burning your food or writing the wrong answer down on a test, but you’re also going to fuck up pretty bad and hurt people. Say something — do something you don’t mean and it’ll end up with both sides hurt. If you want forgiveness, there’s multiple solutions to gain that back, but the two words — obvious, there, waving in front of your face — can be the hardest words to say.

“I’m sorry.” Black muttered for the hundredth time that night. His voice was pushing Remus to the edge as he kept his face straight. Dead. Not once taking Sirius’ shitty apology baits. He continued to stare down at his book, reading silently in his dorm. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Remus was right, of course, he was fucking right. Black had grown anxious as he ignored him.

“I’m sorry.”

Remus never really considered himself violent. Sure, he’s gotten into rows that ended with a punch or hex here or there, but Remus didn’t have violent thoughts. If anything, he prided himself on not being a bonehead like Black and Prongs. But, it took every ounce not to beat the shit out of Black right there and then.

Bastard. Scumbag. You mother fucking betrayer.

Remus never liked not being in control. Not having it scared him too much, feeling more animal than man. He did everything to avoid being violent, the wolf was already violent enough and had too much control and Remus refused to let it dictate human him. There was already too much violence, he never wanted to contribute more.

He did everything not to be a monster. But it's like the wolf roared from deep within, scratching and begging to let him pounce.

Remus wasn’t violent — anyone who met him would vouch for that. Fuck, if he saw a spider, he would open a nearby window and release it. But now, he wanted to slam Sirius against a wall and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.

You piece of shit. Wanker. Twat. I want you to feel as much pain as I do.

“Moony, please let me explain —”

All the words suddenly blurred before Remus slammed his book shut, causing to become still and quiet.

Sirius trying to explain — excuse his actions — pushed him over the edge. Remus sent a venomous glare at Sirius, waiting for him to talk. His quietness made everyone uneasy.

Selfish bastard.

Any sympathy Remus held for him this past year, along with any logic, evaporated to the point where he felt a rabid thump spread through him. There was a desperation to relieve himself of it — lash out, scream, cry —

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” the rest of the Marauders watched the scene, knowing not to get involved. “It was a mistake and —“

“A mistake?”

Sirius perked up at this. That was the only word he’d spoken to him since the incident. “Honest. I did it because —” “Shut the fuck up.” Remus stood, tall and loomed over Sirius. He could almost smell the fear off him.

He had never been so mad before.

“I — I… I,” stutters Remus. But instead of it being out of shyness or nerves, it was out of pure wrath that he wasn’t able to articulate his emotions properly. He took a deep breath in, attempting to regain control over his emotions but failed as he burned with deep, seething hatred. “I am the monster that mothers tell their children to keep them in at night.”

“Moony —”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice boomed so loud that everyone in the room had to take a step back and shrink down. Remus was always so reserved, only ever lashing out in annoyance close to the full moon but nothing more.

“Living up to your name, aren’t you?” There’s a sarcastic, bitter humour lilt to his voice.

Someone so in control of his emotions, someone with an unbreakable exterior, the only glimpses they’d ever seen of Remus losing control was him snapping at someone close to the full moon but would later apologize within mere seconds. But to see him like that… it was an intrusion, something the Marauders hadn’t ever seen or wanted to before.

“Please, just calm down so we can talk.”

Remus paces around the room. “You — y’know I’ve never understood why everyone lets you get around treating others like shit. First, it was Marlene, James, me, Peter, Lily and Y/N — we all let you get away with it. Outburst after outburst, we all sat back because you were going through shit. But I can’t? I’m not allowed to get angry?!”

Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” Remus kept his voice low throughout the ordeal, only ever raising if Black interjected. “You coward, look at me!”

5. A lot of anger

He couldn’t meet his eyes so he settled to stare at the scar across his nose. It only angered him more as Remus picked Sirius up and pushed him against the wall as he fisted his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry is nothing but a word to you. I gave you my most trusted secrets. I confided in you. I was there for you when you needed it. I loved and cared for you like my own brother but I was nothing more than a pet that you discarded when you got bored. You’re only guilty because of the repercussions you’re facing. Your guilt isn’t nearly enough. Bastard. I trusted you. You’re a Marauder. My best friend. I would’ve done anything for you. You fucking ruined it.

“You did this! You did!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, mocking and loud, void of any emotion. “No, you aren’t. You’re never fucking sorry!”

Stupid fucking selfish arsehole.

“For years you’ve told me that you accepted me — cared for me — loved me like your own brother! That what I am — a-a monster — that it didn’t matter!”

“It didn’t mean anything, I promise! It was a shitty, fucked up prank —”

“A prank?! You used me as a weapon! A toy because how could anyone ever love a werewolf?” Remus’ voice was so low. “You’ve never respected me. If you had any, you wouldn’t have — you - wouldn’t....”

Everything came crashing on Remus at once.

6. The realization settles in

And after nine days, Remus Lupin had finally realized what Sirius Black had done. Before, everything he felt had been true but he hadn’t fully realized the gravity of what happened, as silly as it sounds.

Sirius turned his worst fear into a living nightmare.

In the background, one of James’ Quidditch posters, encased in glass exploded, shattering into millions of pieces from the amount of pure magic radiating off Remus. He didn’t even flinch at the sound.

James finally interjected, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Lay off him… He isn’t worth it.”

Remus eased off Black instantly. “You had no right… no right…” He pointed. Remus turned his face down as he felt tears build up.

“I trusted you,” he whispers. “Every bit.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm, going to sleep in the common room.

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June 22nd, 1976

7. Depression

When Remus finally let himself cry, he didn’t make a move to leave his bed. Even skipping meal times, leaving James or Pete to bring him food.

Everything felt suffocating, a gnawing feeling that made every part of him ache. Remus couldn’t handle anymore pain or emotions from ‘the prank’ as he felt himself slip into a temporary void.

He hugged his pillow tighter and closed his eyes once more.

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June 23rd, 1976 | 11: 37 pm

Remus had gone straight to bed again, effectively shutting up the rest of the dorm. James was ignoring Black, leaving Remus surprised that he hadn’t made a move to defend his actions. Nonetheless, he was appreciative still. Peter had been trying to appease everyone, not taking sides but still must’ve thought Sirius was in the wrong because he hadn’t talked to him much.

He didn’t ask James to choose between him or Black. Remus was never one for ultimatums but even then, it seemed like James picked him. He was beyond furious, seemingly more than Remus at this point who pathetically wallowed in his depression. He wouldn’t spare Black a second glance, wouldn’t talk to him, shut him down if he tried to speak to him. Hell, he’d even gone as far as to make it very clear to the entirety of Hogwarts that they were no longer friends, making sure to not sit with him, ever. Always choosing to sit by Remus.

They chose his side and a part of Remus felt elated to know they had his back.

This left Black alone, looking at them through tearful gazes. Remus had been ignoring all of them and they seemed to be understanding, avoiding crossing the wordless boundary Remus set in stone.

But, both James and Peter had been checking up on him nightly, always there and he could tell they were getting impatient.

When the lights went out, he heard James crept out of bed. Usually, Remus would find some sort of comfort in knowing who was approaching him, but now, it only left him feeling uneasy.

And then he felt the bed dip and James muttered out a spell.

“Hey, Moony.”

Remus didn’t face him. “Prongs?”

“Hey,” there was a loud sigh, “Do you need anything?”

What was he supposed to say? A hug? To talk? He’d much rather use his avoidance strategy, although he realized it left him alone with too many thoughts and nobody to confide in.

“M’good.” He felt James place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll always be there for you. That’s what Marau - that’s what friends are for, no?”

Remus didn’t answer and felt James move to leave. But before he had the chance to slip out, Remus peeked his head from the drapes, announcing just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Thanks for saving all of us, James. You’re a true friend.”

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June 24th, 1976

People had their poisons.

Alcohol can make you forget. It blocks out everything and makes the rest of the world fade away until you can’t remember. People gambled to feel a rush, only to realize they dug themself into irreversible debt. Shopping, food, the high from risky behaviour…

But how we manage our poisons is up to the person.

People love to deny that they have addictions. They deny they’re hooked, they deny that they can’t put it down, they deny that they’re scared or want to stop. People only see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe.

And then the truth becomes muddled with lies that it’s hard to recognize the poisons sitting right in front of us. And all we want is more.

For Remus, his poison, his bright red self-destruction button, was smoking.

Granted, he never was a big smoker, typically only smoking when stressed or bored. But he still did it, filling his lungs with poison. But maybe he was wired like that. Besides, what werewolf lives past thirty? Might as well die revelling in the poison that brought him ease…

Remus conjured a ball of bright fire from his hand; fishing out a pack of cigarettes, slipped it past his lips and lit it. He inhaled, feeling the familiar, comforting feeling before dragging it from his lips, blowing out the thick cloud of smoke that left him wanting more.

He’d been sticking to his avoidance tactic strictly now. The Marauders were hovering over him, worry evident on their faces. A few times, Lily and James both invited him to sit. They never fought anymore, or at least in front of him, and it probably was his doing — a group effort into getting him to talk.

So even Lily knew something was wrong… Snape probably told her…

The door clicked open and Remus didn’t have to turn around to know how it was.

“Leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Wasn’t gonna make you.”

He spun around, that wasn’t James or Peter. His face softened.

“Well… I’m not,” Y/N said simply, “But the others are about to.”

Remus groaned at that but Y/N smiled and turned around, ushering him over with a little wave. In one hand, she raised the Marauder’s map. “C’mon, I know a place and that they won’t be able to find.”

Remus was intrigued. He stepped out the butt of the cigarette, flicked it into the trash and followed her. Surely he’d already been there but being with Y/N seemed ten folds better than being around the other Marauders.

He followed wordlessly, passageways flying through his head but she never stopped by them. Instead, she climbed onto a ledge, slipping into an area under a large curtain. He followed, eyes lighting up in awe. He’s definitely never been there before.

“Get comfortable,” she said, flinging him a pillow and lighting a few candles.

They sat opposed to each other in complete silence. Y/N flicked back and forth, watching James and Peter scrabble around the castle looking for him. A few times, they passed by, each time leaving Y/N amused.

Remus tapped his leg anxiously. The question remained: Why wasn’t she disgusted with him? Why was she helping him? Why wasn’t she afraid?

Now alone together, those questions dangled on his tongue.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

She looked up at him, finally putting down the map. “Because you’re Remus.” She said, like it was the most obvious answer. “You’re not scary.”

8. Hold onto doubt

The answer irritated him. Another memory unfolded then and he blurted it out. “Why didn’t you cast any spells at me?”

Her brows rose, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m dangerous.” His voice was bleak and cold. “Why can't you grasp that?”

She stays quiet for a long time, her head turning to look out the large window. Y/N watched the owls and labyrinth of ancient trees of the forbidden forest and Remus was painfully aware of time slipping by.

“Do you remember that night on the astronomy tower on Halloween? I said that there’s bound to be someone looking at the moon at the same time?”

It takes Remus a moment to remember, but he does. “Yeah. You said that it’s like you’re not alone.”

Y/N turns around to face him. “Exactly. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He looked away, deliberating. “It’s one thing for me to be alone but then drag you and others down with me.”

“Remus, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I thought that was it.” He gulped. “But I could never be scared of you. The real you - the you right now. I don’t care about what you are. You are more than just a werewolf. I feel safe with you.”

The dark shadows surrounded them as she reiterated herself. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He soaks in her words for a while. This time, peering out the window as he breathes in deeply.

Okay. He decided.

“Do you want to know how I got —” he pointed at a scar on his upper forearm. “— this?”

She nodded her head.

“When James turned into his animagus form to show me for the first time, his antlers pierced my skin. I had to lie to Pomfrey and say I fell while playing Quidditch.”

Any invisible barrier between them crashed instantly as she smiled brightly and laughed. So infectious, Remus couldn't help but flash a real grin.

He never realized how beautiful her smile was.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this place, I’ll skin you.”

“I would never.”

Remus scouted over to her, pressing his back against the cool stone as they sat together in a comfortable stillness. But then she shifted, opening her arms wide. He lent in without hesitation and her arms flung around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He felt salty tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and let himself soak in her warm.

He really needed that.

Over her shoulder, he returned to watch the stars.

9. Acceptance

Remus learned from a young age that it was better to keep people at an arm's length. Get too close, they’ll dig, find out his condition, fear him and run.

He hates to say it, but he’s not surprised that his secret slipped out. He got too comfortable, got too close... It’s just that the Sirius component was surprising.

But maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ever since the beginning of the year, especially since winter break, Sirius had been reckless more and more lately, and he probably should have seen it coming. He was wild as a result of being freed from the confines of his rigid upbringing.

Sirius Black was unpredictable.

Sirius Black was dangerous when it came to secrets.

Sirius Black was one of his best friends.

Sometimes betrayal is so profound that there’s no way to fix what was lost. The damage is done, irreplaceable, unfixable.

If Remus was sure of anything by the end of that week was that,

a) James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were still his best friends,

b) He almost killed Severus Snape and Y/N L/N,

c) Y/N knew his secret and despite everything, continued to talk to him, support him, be there for him — she accepted him,

d) His walls went up a higher, became stronger and insecurities ran deeper,

e) Lastly, Remus Lupin would never, ever forgive Sirius Black for what he did. Never.

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【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[toothyleech]

𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚 + 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮 | 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟑𝟗𝟎

»»———————— ♔　———————-««

Kazuha and Gorou had been friends since they were kids, and Gorou had a huge secret he had been hiding from him since they were kids. He never hid things from his best friend—ever—but this was a special exception. Lying was not his strong suit whatsoever, in fact, Gorou was an awful liar, but that didn’t stop the fact that he felt like he had to lie to his best friend. Of course, it made him feel guilty, but he couldn’t do anything about his predicament other than hide his feelings. His feelings for Kazuha, that is. That’s right, Gorou had a big fat crush on his best friend.

There were certain unspoken rules about being in love with your best friend. The first rule was never tell your best friend you’re in love with them. It could potentially ruin the friendship, after all, and that was the last thing Gorou wanted. The second rule was not to be suspicious about how you feel about your best friend. The problem with that though was that Gorou was entirely conspicuous about how he felt, although luckily for him, Kazuha was entirely oblivious to his feelings.

It was both a blessing and a curse that Kazuha had no idea how he felt. The blessing was that Gorou never had to fumble his way through a confession, but the curse was the fact that Kazuha would never notice his feelings and they’d never be together. That was the part that crushed him. They’d never be together despite how hard Gorou pined for him, imagining how they would be together, maybe going on dates like ice skating and getting ice cream. Then Gorou could show him how agile he was on skates, and impress him to no end.

That would never happen though.

The smile faded from Gorou’s lips as he realized the reality of the situation, deflating like a kicked puppy. He rested his head on his hands, leaning against his desk and letting out a soft sigh. There was no way he had any sort of chance with Kazuha, as much as he wished that he did. He wasn’t even sure that Kazuha was interested in dating at all! Not like that particularly mattered, as he was content with just their friendship, but it still served as another purpose to make him look even more like a sad dog.

Gorou couldn’t focus on his homework no matter how hard he tried. Kazuha was coming to his house soon, and while he was excited for him to come over, he was also very nervous. He was about to break rule number one of the Crushing On Your Best Friend guide. Despite his own trepidation, he was sure he wanted to confess to Kazuha. Even if he got rejected or it ruined their friendship, he had to work up the nerve in order to confess to his best friend. There was such a small, slim chance that Kazuha would return his feelings, but the chance was still there. Gorou still had hope.

The sound of the doorbell ringing made Gorou perk up and simultaneously wilt. He was nervous to say the least, but he still forced himself to stand up from his desk and walk his shaky legs downstairs and towards the door. When he opened the door, a genuine smile lit up his face upon seeing his best friend. Kazuha looked beautiful as always, every hair in order and every piece of cloth draping perfectly across his form. He looked stunning, and Gorou couldn’t look away. In fact, he had been staring for a while.

“Hello?” Kazuha asked softly, waving a hand in front of his face with the smallest of smiles on his face. They had known each other for a long while, so they were both comfortable joking and playing around with each other. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Come in!” Gorou was quick to move aside, allowing Kazuha to come inside of his house. He was utterly smitten with the man, and it was clear by the way he looked at him. Kazuha seemed to be oblivious though, as always. “How have you been? Is college kicking your ass too?”

Kazuha gave him a warning look at his crass words, taking off his shoes before moving further inside of the house. “It’s fine.” He said simply. “I’ve been enjoying my literature class.” He declared delicately, moving towards the kitchen. Despite his polite and light words, he sure was impolite sometimes. This was only proven by the fact that Kazuha opened his fridge and began to rummage through it, which was quite rude in his eyes. Only jokingly, of course.

“Because you get to write poems?” Gorou asked, moving after Kazuha so he could jump onto his own counter and sit on it. “You’ve always been the poetic type. Waxing love poetry for someone?” He teased, his gut twisting nervously the more he spoke. This was starting to become a touchy subject. That was only exemplified by the hesitance Kazuha had as he paused his food scavenge.

Gorou’s heart dropped into his stomach upon the hesitance. “Woah woah woah...are you crushing on someone Kaz?” He leaned forward, almost falling off of the counter in the process. When he saw Kazuha bristle, however, he backtracked a little bit. “I mean like...it’s not bad if you have a crush! It’s kinda sweet actually.” He scratched the back of his head with his long nails.

Kazuha didn’t turn to look at him, continuing to rummage through the fridge slowly. “I don’t have a crush on someone.” He said in a steely manner, although he tried to keep his words lighthearted. “If I did have a crush on anyone, you’d know.”

“How would I know?” Gorou tipped his head to the side curiously, like a lost puppy. “Do I know them?” He pushed gently, not trying to push too far so Kazuha wouldn’t snap at him.

There was a small lapse of silence before Kazuha spoke again. “I don’t have a crush.” He said firmly. “But if I did...you’d know them very well.” He finally turned around, biting into a string cheese like a heathen.

Gorou almost let out a sad whimper, but he stopped himself before it slipped out. “Is it...Tomo?” He pretended to act surprised, knowing deep down in his heart that it might be Tomo instead of him. Of course, he was praying for the answer to be no, but it was a real possibility that the answer would be yes.

Kazuha sighed for a moment, putting down the cheese so he could approach Gorou and cup his face in his hands. Before Gorou had a chance to speak, he was kissed gently on the cheek.

When Kazuha pulled back, Gorou gaped at him. “What...What was that for?” He asked, dumbfounded. “What about your crush on Tomo?” He asked, watching as Kazuha fought back a facepalm.

“I don’t have a crush on Tomo,” Kazuha explained, clasping his hands together in front of his body. “I have a crush on you.” He said simply, causing Gorou’s eyes to widen.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, completely and utterly perplexed. “You have a crush on me?” It seemed too good to be true. Kazuha had a crush on him. Kazuha had a crush on HIM. Never in his wildest dreams could he have prepared for this moment where he discovered that Kazuha, in fact, had a crush on him as well. The term seemed so childish, but so true! It was a simple, gentle crush.

“I have a crush on you too…” Gorou whispered, his cheeks and ears completely red. “I’ve been like...in love with you since we were kids.” He didn’t realize that he said love until the words had already left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back now.

Kazuha paused. “You...love me.” He didn’t say it as a question, but as an affirmation, hiding his smile behind his hand. “I love you too.” He said simply, leaning forward to give Gorou another gentle kiss on the cheek.

This was nice. Gorou could have never dreamed of this. Their friendship had ended in a way, but not on a bad note. It was simply the start of something new.

[dumdumsun]

Forever and Never

A/N: I did it again, @moatsnow! I’m vvv sorry hun 🥺❤️

Warnings: ⚠️rape⚠️, mentions of alcohol and marijuana

Word Count: 5014

—————————————

Four: Good For Me

“So, Richard seemed to have been this… distraction. Because being around Stanley made you feel less than, but Richard admired you. You had no faults when you were with him. So, what made you end it? Did something else happen?”

“Yeah… The next day was his birthday.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d been texting me all morning. From the moment I opened my eyes, all throughout breakfast, as I took a shower and got dressed. Wasn’t it his birthday? Didn’t he have preparations to go through for his party that night? Of course, I wished him a happy birthday and assured him that I would attend his party. I figured I might as well buy him a present, since most people would only show up to eat food and get drunk. He probably wouldn’t have been receiving many gifts.

As I descended the stairs, I heard Pam and David rushing around the house. “We’re gonna be late, David!”

“I’m aware!”

“Where are the keys?!”

“In your hand!”

I chuckled and leaned against the railing. “What’s going on?”

David turned towards me and sighed. “It’s Jacob’s presentation today, remember? He’s doing that sort of TED Talk thing at school?”

“Oh, yeah… Well, I’m not gonna be able to go, I’d be late to Ricky’s party by the time we got back.”

“Shit, that’s right… I completely forgot about errands as well. It’s our only free day.” He ran his hands through his hair. I perked up and walked the rest of the way down.

“I can do it. I’ll already be out, buying a present for Ricky.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Pam joined the conversation as she and David approached the front door. I nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, it’ll… give me something to do today.”

Pam gave me that same bittersweet smile she usually did before enveloping me in a hug. “You’re so perfect, (Y/N)...”

“Uh… thanks.” My brows furrowed as she pulled away. I looked to my uncle for any clue as to why she suddenly became so sentimental, but he avoided my gaze, muttering something about wanting me to be safe before walking out of the house. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, baby, we’re fine. You be safe today. Don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk straight. And stay the night at Dina’s, if you can!” She called out as she left out the door. I only nodded my head in response, slowly closing the door after her. My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I fished it out to see yet another text.

Ricky: Do you wanna come over and spend the day with me?

I cringed and rolled my eyes. Wasn’t me coming to his party enough? Shaking my head, I replied to him.

Me: I’m actually booked until the party. Lots of errands to run for my aunt and uncle

To be truthfully honest, I just needed to go grocery shopping and stop by the bookstore to pick up Pam’s order. It would only have taken me about an hour at most to complete my tasks. Did Ricky need to know this? Not at all. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I snatched the grocery list from the fridge and began my quest for the day.

It hadn’t actually registered in my mind that I would need a car for the day. Our list was pretty long, which left me with armfulls of paper grocery bags, my aunt’s book tucked into my jacket pocket located on the inside. I could hardly see over the tops of the bags, but navigated myself all the way towards the diner before I heard a car pull up beside me. I turned my head to see Stan, giving me a goofy grin, eyes shielded by his sunglasses. He reached over to open the passenger door from the inside. “Hey, there, lovely.”

“Good morning there, beautiful.” I chuckled, opening his back door to store my bags in his seats before climbing into the passenger seat beside him. “Thanks so much.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He tilted his head as if he just winked, but it wasn’t like I could’ve seen it. “So, you’re shopping for Aunt Pam?”

“Uh, yeah. Jake had a presentation at his school today and I… had things to do already. So, why not? Might as well do something for them,” I explained as he began driving again. Down the road, I spotted two familiar figures exiting the diner. “Oh, is that Sydney? And her brother?”

“Indeed, it is.” Stan grinned as he turned the corner. His car pulled over towards them, Sydney’s brother excitedly pointing us out. She turned to the car with pursed lips. I turned down the music as Stan reached over to roll down the window, the glass creaking at its usual agonizingly slow pace. I visibly cringed as Sydney gave a painful smile. Once it was down just enough, Stan nodded towards her. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Her smile turned a bit more genuine. Her brother, who introduced himself as Liam, greeted both Stan and I before we all shifted into an awkward silence. Thankfully, Stan broke it after a couple of beats.

“So, it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Sydney giggled, and I detected a hint of anxiety. “Yeah, you, too.”

“So, do you wanna,” Stan pushed his sunglasses to sit in his curls. “Do you wanna, like, do somethin’ later tonight or somethin’?”

Sydney opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, all while Stan held his glowing smile. What the hell was going on? “You know, I would, but Dina and I are going to Ricky Berry’s party.”

“No shit? I’ll be there, too.” Stan excitedly sat up.

“Oh, you will?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah. Okay, right,” She chuckled. Anyone around could tell that Sydney was clearly uncomfortable, except for Stan. He was on top of the world, it seemed. “So, I guess I’ll see you there. And we gotta go. Right now.” She quickly ushered her brother down the road. I leaned towards my window and giggled into my hand. Stan slowly slipped his sunglasses back on, muttering a ‘cool’, which only caused me to laugh harder.

“Okay, what the hell is going on between you two?”

Stan gave me a look, or what I assumed was a look, as he continued towards our houses. “What? What are you talking about?”

“What’s going on with you and Syd? And don’t say nothing. You’re literally glowing right now.”

“Okay, okay,” He cleared his throat. “So, last night… we, um… Well, we may or may not have had sex.”

I hoped he hadn’t noticed me hesitate. My brain short circuited and my throat constricted. “O-Oh, really? Like, last night-last night?”

“Yeah, last night-last night.”

“Gross.” I lightly joked and Stan rolled his head towards me with a sly smirk. Chuckling, he looked back towards the road.

“Anyway, I assume you’re going to the party, too? Since you’re Ricky’s little homecoming date now.”

My eyes widened. “You saw it, too?!”

“Everyone saw it, Nugget. ‘The Power Couple’ or whatever they said.” He shook his head.

“Ugh, we are not a couple and I do not want to go to homecoming with him!”

“Then why’d you say yes?!”

“Because everyone was there! They planned the whole thing and my brain just thought to say yes!” I buried my head in my hands. I heard Stan coo from beside me with a small tut.

“My poor little Nugget. I should’ve asked you out before Ricky could.”

I peeked up at him with a warm smile. “Nah, it’s okay. It’s just homecoming, I’m not marrying him. Besides you should ask out Sydney, anyway.”

“Oh, that is the plan.” He grinned.

When we arrived at my house, I got out to carry in the bags, but I heard Stan turn off the car and exit as well. He joined me in retrieving the bags from the seats and waited patiently for me to unlock the front door. Once we were inside, we headed straight for the kitchen and set the bags on the table.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been inside here,” He commented, looking around the house with a soft smile. I hummed in agreement before our gazes met. “Does your bedroom still look the same?”

The feeling that swept through my soul as I watched Stan excitedly explore my bedroom was a feeling I’d never felt before, but never wanted to leave. He marveled at all of the little trinkets displayed on my shelves, my organized bookshelf, the board above my desk filled with every pin I’ve ever collected. But what had him giddy and pumping his fist in the air was the Bloodwitch poster on my door. “Ah, I knew it! You knew all of the words to Hey Little Girl! You used to hate that song!”

“I don’t have to like the song to know all the words, all you play is Bloodwitch!” I laughed. He pointed towards me as if to say ‘don’t deny it’. I deflated. “Okay, yeah, I finally got into Bloodwitch. I guess it was… just something to remind me of you.”

I nervously stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans as Stan slowly lowered his arm, his expression softening. His stance stuttered, like he had stopped himself from doing or saying something instinctive, before scoffing.

“Yeah, well, the school’s horrible plays are what reminded me of you.” He rolled his eyes, receiving a light slap to the arm from me. Once Stan left for his own home, I returned to the kitchen to put the food away in their respective places. I made sure to put David’s cookies in his ‘secret’ compartment within the pantry. I knew he’d appreciate it since Jacob always found them if they weren’t stored correctly. I quietly giggled to myself, thinking back to a time when Jacob swore up and down that he hadn’t eaten the cookies. In fact, I remember correctly that we both had eaten them and he was just trying to cover for the both of us. We were caught the next day and forced to sit through a fifteen minute lecture on respecting our elders and the importance of privacy.

I nearly forgot about Pam’s book, but I remembered as I passed her bedroom door. Slipping it out of my pocket, I entered her room. There were shoes scattered across the floor and the bed was unmade, no doubt from her rushing around earlier. Knowing that she’d check her dresser, I set her book just there. However, I noticed a small, rectangular beige box already sitting there. I would have left it alone until I saw my name written on it. My hand reached out to pick up the box, but I stopped. It’s probably a present, I thought. I shouldn’t open it until it’s given to me. So, with a small hum of uncertainty, I left the bedroom.

Contrary to popular belief, I actually have a pretty simplistic fashion sense. It was nowhere near as bold as Stan’s, and I suppose that’s why we were seen as an odd pair, but I had just a bit more flare than my fellow peers. Everyone was just a copy-and-paste version of each other. They wore the same skinny jeans, the same fitted shirts, the same sneakers. While I never wore bright yellows and greens, I still hadn’t conformed to the everyday go-to fashion line that was their “hot” or “cute”. Besides, Brownsville was so boring, everything and everyone there was so one-dimensional. It only made sense that their choice in clothing was the same. What I’m trying to say is that people thought I had a bold fashion sense because I simply dressed differently, but it was simply how we dressed in my hometown in Kansas. I think Stan would have fit in at home.

I was a back-and-forth routine from my dresser to my bed, texting Dina as I readied myself for Ricky’s party that night. Apparently, she had Sydney over at her house, the two getting ready together. I didn’t have a problem with it, as long as Dina was still picking me up. She informed me that she had just gotten Syd into a cute top that would show more skin than she usually did. Despite not really being her friend, knowing that Sydney was leaving her comfort zone, as small of a step as it was, had me smiling at my phone, However, that smile dropped at the next text Dina sent.

Dina: Omg you HAVE to look cute for Ricky tonight

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

Me: I don’t get dressed up for boys anymore. I do it for myself

And it was true. When Ricky and I dated, I felt as though I had to look the part of the trophy he presented to everyone. I wore clothes I normally didn’t, I wore more makeup, smiled more. Even if they were faked. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like pretending, but Ricky didn’t seem to mind. He’d simply point out that he “liked the new look”. Well, I’ve changed. My half year solitude in Kansas taught me self-awareness, and I became aware that I am fucking hot. So, I did look cute that night, but not for Ricky. I did it for my own pleasure. And I hoped they all liked the new look.

Of course, my go-to bottoms were black high-waisted jeans that stopped just above my navel, paired with a red long-sleeved crop top. To match, I added in little black and red clips in my hair and dusted black eyeshadow on my lids. Afterwards, I stepped in front of my mirror to admire my work. I remember my mom telling me when I was young that looking in the mirror will tell you everything you hope to see in yourself, and I agree with that to some extent. But looking at myself in that moment told me that, despite how shitty I felt on a daily basis, I was more than deserving of reveling in my new adaptation. I wasn’t at my happiest, and lord knows I’m still screwed up, but at least I knew who I was. I wasn’t some angry, emotional ball of anxiety, deprived of parental love. Yes, I was turned away from my father more than ever at that point, but I had realized where all the love for me resided. I was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s best friend.

Someone’s girlfriend.

Or whatever the hell we were supposed to be.

Hearing my phone ping, I picked it up and read the text from Dina.

Dina: We’re here

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I slipped on some white sneakers and grabbed Ricky’s present off my vanity before dashing downstairs. I opened the door to find Dina and Sydney standing together on my doorstep. Upon seeing me, their jaws dropped. “Whoa, you look… hot.” Syd raised her brows, and I couldn’t help but smile at her approval. Dina chuckled and nodded.

“Yeah, (Y/N), you always seem to surprise us…”

“I try my best.” I stepped out of the house and locked the front door before facing the two. “Let’s party, shall we?”

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

Music thumped from the inside of the house as we approached the driveway, some party goers trickling inside. Sydney, Dina and I all stopped in the middle of the driveway, staring up at Ricky’s house. The two seemed excitedly anxious, but I felt as if I was going to hurl my guts up. The last time I had been in that house wasn’t the most pleasurable experience.

He can’t and won’t do that to you again, (Y/N).

What I would give to go back in time to warn her.

“Shit…” Sydney breathed.

“Okay, I’m scared, but fun scared,” Dina nodded, glancing between me and Syd. “Like we’re about to skydive for the first time or something.”

“Well, I’m not fun scared.” Syd turned her gaze back to the house.

“Me neither…” My voice was just above a whisper.

“Feels like we’re about to be eaten by wolves, like… really drunk, judgemental wolves.”

A moment of silence for all confidence lost.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Dina decided. “I just wish I could inject vodka directly into my veins first.”

“I do have this.” Syd smiled and pulled out a flask. Dina and I grinned before the former took it from her best friend. She took a hearty gulp from the flask before handing it over to me. Not wanting to get too drunk just yet, I took a few sips and handed the flask back to its owner. Once we were fueled up, we headed inside. I’d spent so many hours in Ricky’s house, but so few of those hours were spent partying. The most people I’d seen in his home were about six, including me. That was when he brought me over for dinner the first time and both his older brothers attended. What a waste that dinner was. I led the two up the stairs, kindly waving at my peers who called out to me. Most of them complimented my outfit, to which I quietly thanked. As we entered the main room, the volume of the music and the voices increased so that I was swimming in my surroundings.

“Dina!” I heard Ricky call out. The three of us turned to the birthday boy as he approached us. “Welcome to the madness!”

“Hey.” Dina smiled. His eyes then slid over to me, his own smile brightening.

“And Zip… God, you look great. Really great.”

“Thanks, Ricky. Happy birthday.” I nodded before letting him pull me into his side. I placed a hand on his chest to steady myself as his head turned to Sydney, as if she’d just walked in and didn’t appear with us.

“Hey. Hey. Oh, gosh, don’t tell me. I know it. I know this one.” He acted as if he were trying so hard to remember his own classmate’s name. I rolled my eyes and removed my hand from his chest. Sydney slowly nodded her head, giving him just a bit more time to “think” before answering.

“Sydney.”

“Right! I thought it started with an S, yeah. Well, you guys go enjoy, alright? Zip, why don’t you come and party with me?”

“Oh, well, um…,” My gaze shifted from Ricky’s smile to Dina’s slight frown. Sighing, I gestured for the two to go. “I’ll find you guys later. Have fun.”

“You, too.” They replied simultaneously before Ricky pulled me away to a group of friends. As we walked, I handed the little box over to him.

“Got you something.”

“Awe, babe, you shouldn’t have.” He lightly laughed and took the box into his hands. His eyes widened when he opened it to reveal a gold watch he’d been talking about for awhile. He claimed his father wouldn’t let him buy it because Ricky needed to stop spending so much money on himself. It wasn’t very expensive, so I thought it’d be as good a present as any. With child-like giddiness, he slapped the watch onto his wrist before kissing my cheek. “(Y/N), you are the most thoughtful girl in this world.”

Why did my heart skip a beat? “It was nothing, Ricky… You always go all-out for me, so…” There was no part of me that actually liked Ricky. Remember that. I think the liquor from earlier had just gotten to me. With a soft sigh, he hugged me from behind and walked me to a nearby table where boxes of pizza were displayed.

“You hungry?”

“I am, actually…”

My time spent at Ricky’s party felt as if I were on a mission. Mission Ignore Ricky. He was attached to me the whole time, arm around the bare of my waist, around my shoulders. It was like he needed to be certain that I was still there. That he could still look at me. Everytime I tried to go and find Syd and Dina, he pulled me right back into his side. My only solution was to drink heavily. Whenever someone offered to refill my cup, I accepted. If someone handed over a can of beer, I took it. A shot? Hell yes, count me in! Anything to drown out the sound of his voice in my ears. I’m not a lightweight, so it takes awhile for my haze to kick in. When it did, I was a smiling mess, nodding along to everything everyone said. In my underwater state, I could faintly make out Ricky referring to me as his girlfriend in conversations with his friends. With a grunt, I lazily slapped his shoulder, eliciting laughter amongst them. Within ten minutes, a Rick Springfield song that everyone collectively liked started up in the speakers. We all cheered and began dancing. I happily laughed as Ricky rested his hands on my hips, the two of us grooving to the music. He shook his head as he marveled at my drunken state.

“I’ve missed this…”

“Getting drunk?”

“No. Your smile. Your laugh,” He leaned forward. “I’ve missed you.”

“That’s so… poetic.” I whispered, causing a quiet laugh to escape his throat. My eyes slid to the right to find Stan. My breathing quickened at the sight of him in a baby blue suit, sitting alone on a couch with Dina and Syd dancing together in front of him. How I wished to be over there… Especially when he looked up and locked eyes with mine. All of the air in my lungs was kicked out at the relieved smile he gave me, and I breathed out in the same emotion. He’s here…

Ricky suddenly looked up over my head, an even wider smile stretching across his face. “Bra-a-ad! You made it!” He exclaimed and walked the both of us over to his best friend. The two high-fived as I blinked rapidly, as if I’d sober up from it.

“Dude, I had to come,” Brad smiled before his attention moved to me. “Zip, hey!”

“Hey.”

“Did you come here with Dina?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s… um, dancing or something.” I giggled. Brad nodded with a raised brow.

“Someone’s been havin’ fun, huh?” He chuckled before I felt Ricky turn away.

“Hey, everyone! Bradley Lewis in the house!” He announced, cheers erupting from the party participants. They all cheered for a speech, which I found unnecessary, but leaned my head on Ricky’s shoulder as I listened to Brad quiet everyone.

“Eighteen years and nine months ago today, George Reginald Berry and his sweet wife Carol-”

“That’s not their names.” Ricky shook his head in amusement, everyone quietly laughing with him.

“They were drinkin’ a little bit of pinot grig’, and they were blastin’ some Neil Diamond. And then nine months later, Richard “Dickwad” Berry was born. And thank god for that because the Berrys’ birthday parties are the fucking best! To Ricky, everybody!”

With the cheers that followed, I found it to be my perfect time for escape. I slipped away from Ricky and squeezed through countless bodies to reach the back door. Stumbling outside, I caught myself on the railing towards the stairs that led off the deck. With difficulty, my wobbly legs took me down to the side of the house, where my hero was leaning against, readying a joint. There was no doubt my ceaseless giggling was what attracted his attention. He chuckled and watched as I stumbled towards him, falling into his side. Stan wrapped an arm around me as I laughed.

“Hey, there, lovely.”

“Hi, beautiful.” I grinned up at him, eyes half lidded. His brows drew down for a moment before he remembered his occupied hand. Removing his arm from around me, he took out his lighter, setting a flame to the end of his joint. I watched in fascination as he inhaled the smoke with closed eyes. His curls sat on his forehead, his lips pursed around the joint, his other arm made its way around my shoulders again. I rested my chin on his shoulder before he passed the smoke to me. I happily took a hit and let the peaceful silence fall between us for the five seconds that it lasted.

“So, you and Ricky… How’s that going?”

“How’s what going?” I mumbled.

“You know, you guys dating. It’s what he’s telling everyone.”

“Oh, my god, I knew he was telling everyone!” I groaned and ran a hand over my face. “I’m so sick of that. He can’t just... f-fucking, um… fucking lie to everyone like that! We are not dating, we’ve never even talked about it! What the hell, dude… I don’t even get why he’s so in love with me, Stan…”

He didn’t reply at first, but when I looked up, I realized it was because he was smoking. When he pulled the joint from his lips, he stared forward. “I mean, he’s got someone amazing, if you guys were actually dating. Believe it or not, (Y/N), you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met. And you’re fun and humorous and so driven. You’ve got these huge dreams and you’ll follow every single one of them… I’d be pretty proud if you were my girlfriend,” The second he looked down at me, I giggled loudly. He blushed and moved his eyes to the side. “I-I’m- I’m serious!”

Elevating myself with my toes, I closed the gap between us in a sloppy kiss. I could taste the alcohol on his lips and I was sure he could taste the same on mine. My hands reached up and placed themselves on his cheeks. I felt him lean more into the kiss for a second before he quickly ripped himself away, as if he were just burned. He blinked over and over as I tried to settle my blurry vision on him. Shaking his head, he sighed.

“(Y/N), you’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, we can’t do this.” He seemed to be telling himself more than to me. I pouted and loosely wrapped my arms around him.

“I love you, Stan…”

“I love you, too, but I think you should get inside and find Dina.” He ushered me to the stairs and watched as I carefully planted my foot on the first step.

“Okay… I’m sorry, Stan.”

“You’re fine, I promise.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go inside, okay? You’re gonna be okay out here by yourself, okay? Okay?” I widened my eyes when he didn’t immediately answer. He let out a short laugh and turned me around again.

“Alright, go inside and find Dina.”

“‘Kay. I love you, Stan.”

“I love you, too. I’m gonna stand here and watch you go.”

“Have fun.” I sang and ungracefully made my way up the stairs and back inside the house.

Apologizing to the many people I bumped into, I found myself in the hallway, in between the bedrooms. My head felt like it weighed tons, my eyes wanted to close so badly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and leaned into the body behind me.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

My head whirled around to find Ricky behind me. I felt myself deflate in disappointment. “Hey, Ricky…”

“Where’ve you been, babe?”

“Oh, I was talking to my friend outside.” I grinned at the thought of Stan. Ricky raised a brow in amusement and I quickly covered my mouth as to not let the moment between Stan and I slip out. His dark brown orbs flickered between me and the door behind me before he gently took hold of my arm.

“Let’s go somewhere private, okay?”

“Okay.” I whispered, allowing him to guide me wherever. Before I knew it, we were in a room. I heard the click of a lock from behind before Ricky was suddenly in front of me. My head swam as I surveyed my surroundings, quickly realizing we were in his bedroom. “Oh, what are we doing?”

“Shh, shh, don’t worry about it.” He whispered. I hummed a little tune as I felt his hands move to my exposed skin, tracing little shapes. He littered my jaw in small kisses as he discarded my top. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my torso for warmth.

“Ricky, what are we doing?” I repeated as he popped the button of my jeans loose. Gasping, I moved his hands away. “No, no… I don’t want to…” I weakly protested.

“No, it’s okay, babe, it’s okay.” He shushed me. I felt myself fall back into his cool bed sheets. I blinked slowly. Once, his ceiling. Twice, his ceiling. Thrice, him. He was on top of me, my pants were gone, and his hands were travelling places I never wanted them to be. I let out a whine of protest, but he clearly took it as pleasure.

“Ricky…” I sighed out as his finger hooked under my bra strap. “Don’t… Stop…” I squirmed under him, both my stupor and high clouding my consciousness.

I don’t remember it. I don’t remember how it felt. I just didn’t like it. I didn’t like Ricky.

Sunlight pierced my eyelids as I felt warm lips on my forehead. I opened my eyes to find Ricky, fully dressed in different clothing than I last saw him in. He was holding out a glass of water and a couple pills. “For your head.”

“My head?” I whined, but hissed right when a splitting headache spread across my skull. I sat up, holding my head. My body was suddenly freezing cold and when I went to wrap my arms around myself, I saw that I was bare. Gasping, I clutched Ricky’s covers over me. “Oh, my god…”

“Yeah,” Ricky chuckled and set the medicine down. “We were so drunk last night… Anyway, I wanna take you out for brunch, so you should start getting ready. You can wear my clothes, babe.” He spoke as he headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. My eyes travelled to my undergarments on the floor not too far from the bed.

Fuck.

—————————————

Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @juliet-does-not-give-a-fuck @moatsnow

[hxlyhead-harpies]

The Last Dream of My Soul part 2. (R.L.)

This part is a bit short but I hope that’s okay with you all! Any feedback is appreciated and message me or comment if you want to be tagged! My requests are also open. Enjoy!

Pairing: Young!Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: The very bookish (Y/n) has spent most of her life alone, aside from her best friend Lily and her beloved books. But when the infamous Marauders get thrust into her life, how could she resist the beautiful and unattainable Remus?

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.8k

Part one

By your second week eating breakfast with the Marauders you were starting to feel like you really belonged with them. James was extremely funny, in your opinion the funniest of the group. He never failed to make you laugh when you sat near him in the common room and once he made you laugh so hard in the Great Hall that you had almost choked on your toast. Sirius was also funny but in a different way. He playfully flirted with anything that moved, something that would normally make you scoff, but with him it just made you laugh. You weren’t as close with Peter, though you helped him with his transfiguration homework and he occasionally shared his sweets with you. And then, of course, there was Remus. Remus was by far your favorite of the group, though it was for reasons you’d never dare disclose to anyone but Lily. He was sweet, sending you reassuring smiles when you’d muster up the bravery to tell a story to the group. He’d slip you chocolates when you were studying late at night and fostered the same love for muggle literature as you. Every little thing he did only added to your attraction to him. In your eyes, he was absolutely perfect

You looked forward to the evenings in the common room, sitting next to the crackling fire with the marauders and Lily. Laughing at James and Sirius’s jokes and stealing glances at Remus’s face, seemingly glowing the light of the fire. You finally felt as if you had found your place at Hogwarts.

“Hey (Y/n),” Remus said, startling you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at him.

“Yeah?” you replied. He shifted in his spot on the floor, next to the couch where Lily sat with James.

“I just finished Crime and Punishment,” he said. You turned in the large armchair where you sat to fully face him.

“Oh really? How did you like it?” you asked.

“I liked it, though I have to digress- you were right- it is a bit dense,” he answered. You smiled at his from your seat, quickly looking down at your hands.

“Well of course. I told you so,” you responded. You heard him laugh lightly from the floor.

“I was wondering though if I could borrow your book? The one you talked about at breakfast the other week,” he inquired.

“Oh of course!” you said. “I can go fetch it for you right now.” You gestured towards the stairs that led to the girl’s dormitory.

“Oh you don’t have to get it right now,” Remus said. You smiled and shook your head.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll be right back,” you replied, pushing yourself up from the armchair. He thanked you as you made your way towards the staircase, but you just smiled and waved him off.

When you got to your room you rifled through your bag, attempting to locate the book. You searched for a moment to no avail, before realizing that you had left it on your bedside table. After you retrieved it you turned to head back downstairs, only to almost run directly into Lily.

“Oh my goodness Lils! You scared me,” you said, clutching your chest.

“Oh I’m sorry,” she replied.

“What are you doing up here?” you inquired. Mere minutes ago she was downstairs in the middle of a conversation. You wondered what had brought her upstairs so early. She usually didn’t leave the common room for at least another hour.

“It was getting late and I’m tired,” she replied, shrugging. “Plus James and everyone else decided to go up to bed,” she continued. You felt yourself deflate.

“Oh,” you said. “I was supposed to bring this down to Remus. I guess I took too long,” you said, holding up the book. You felt embarrassed that you had gone all the way upstairs to retrieve him the book when he had just decided to go to be without waiting for you.

“Don’t be silly,” Lily said with a smirk. “He’s still waiting for you downstairs.”

“Oh,” you responded.

“Yes he’s waiting for you all alone in the empty common room,” Lily said in a teasing sing-song voice. You felt yourself blush.

“Lily, I’m going down there to lend him a book. What do you think is going to happen?” you said. Lily just laughed, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You shook your head and headed down towards the common room, now feeling slightly nervous. When you got to the bottom of the stairs you saw Remus’s head pop up. He had moved from his spot on the floor to the now vacant couch. He shot you a smile as you walked over to him.

“Here it is,” you said, handing the book to him. “Sorry I kept you down here waiting for me, I didn’t know everyone was planning on turning in so early.”

“Oh it’s no problem,” he replied, taking the book from you. He quickly flipped through the pages, feeling the worn parchment against his fingers.

“Wow, Lily wasn’t kidding. You really have marked this thing up,” he said, chuckling. You ducked your head in embarrassment.

“Yeah… Sorry about that,” you responded sheepishly. Remus looked up at you, his eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Oh don’t worry about it. I can tell that you really love the book,” he said. You nodded silently, averting your eyes to your shoes. A silence fell between you as Remus turned the book over in his hands. You were debating whether to bid him goodnight and go upstairs or attempt to start a conversation with him. Luckily, he made the decision for you.

“At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, what is this book about?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. You giggle softly before sitting down next to him on the sofa.

“Well,” you began. “It’s the story of the muggle French revolution. It follows a man who was kept as a political prisoner, his daughter, a French aristocrat, and a drunken lawyer. It’s full of intrigue and espionage, and while not a romance, it contains what I consider to be the most romantic scene ever written,” you said, catching yourself before you continued to ramble. You look up to meet Remus’s eyes to see that he’s smiling.

“That sounds incredibly interesting,” he said after a moment. You smiled and nodded.

“What qualifies it to be the most romantic scene ever written?” he asked in an almost teasing, yet earnest tone.

“I’m not sure exactly. Something about the words is just perfect. I guess it’s just the kind of thing I wish someone would say to me,” you answered shyly. You saw him nod in your peripheral vision.

“Are you a fan of romances then?” he inquired.

“Yes, I am. They might be my favorite type of book to read,” you answered abashedly. You had always loved the allure of romance novels; Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre had been your go-to reads throughout your adolescence. You longed for a romance of your own, and since that seemed unattainable, you lived vicariously through your books.

“I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of,” Remus said, “Though I can’t say they’re my favorite types of books.” You laughed.

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me, Remus. You are a boy after all,” you said jokingly, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Hey! That’s an unfair stereotype. I’m sure plenty of boys enjoy romance novels. I am just not one of them,” he said with a smile, nudging you back.

“Why don’t you like them?” you asked. He shrugged, his joking demeanor morphing into a more uncomfortable one.

“I don’t know exactly… I just don’t picture myself wanting a real-life romance, so why would I want to read about a fictional one?” he elaborated. You felt your stomach drop.

“Oh,” you said, attempting to keep your voice even, “so you just don’t want to fall in love?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s it. I don’t think the whole falling in love and marriage thing is for me,” he responded. You hoped that you appeared to have an unbothered demeanor because it felt as if your heart was breaking.

“That sounds a little sad, don’t you think?” you asked. Remus shook his head, still appearing a tad uncomfortable.

“Not to me. Besides, loneliness isn’t the worst type of pain that one can feel,” he replied. You frowned.

“I’m not sure about that. For me, the pain of loneliness seems unparalleled. I want nothing more than to fall in love,” You took a deep breathe, playing with the hem of your sweater. From the corner of your eye, you saw Remus shrug.

“I guess that’s where you and I differ,” he said after a beat. You nodded quietly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, you stood up from your seat on the couch and dusted off your skirt.

“Well, I best be off to bed,” you said. Remus looked up at you quickly. He gave you a small smile before bidding you goodnight. You quickly turned around and rushed up the stairs.

By the time you got to your dorm, your body felt heavy with disappointment. You closed the door hurriedly behind you before flopping onto your bed. You let out a sad sigh, looking up at the ceiling, After a minute you felt the bed dip beside you and you look up to see Lily grinning down at you.

“So how’d it go?” the redhead asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Fine,” was your response. Lily groaned before laying down next to you in the bed.

“Come on (Y/n). Please just tell me what happened,” she begged.

“Nothing happened,” you said simply, “and it’s been made clear to me that nothing ever will happen.” Lily looked at you, clearly confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I have been informed that Remus Lupin is not one for romance. He doesn’t want it now, and he doesn’t want it ever,” you replied, wiping away the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Oh,” Lily said softly. “That was not how I expected that to go.” She turned her head to look up at the ceiling.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I’ve gone seven years without needing a boyfriend. I certainly don’t need one now,” you said defiantly, getting up to begin getting ready for bed. You saw Lily frown.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t want one. You’re allowed to be sad you know?” she says, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Lily, if I let myself be sad over every boyfriend that I never had then I would have been sad for the last seven years,” you replied. Lily began playing with the threads of the quilt that was splayed across your bed.

“I guess.” She got up quickly and went to join you by your dresser. “Well even if Remus Lupin is too daft to realize it, you’re quite a catch,” she said reassuringly. You giggled quietly.

“Thank you, Lils,” you responded.

“Don’t worry someday you will meet your Mr. Heathcliff,” she reassured you, patting you on the shoulder, before skipping off to her own bed. You run your brush through your hair, desperately hoping that she was right.

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

Taglist:

@goosegorl​ @serenefreakgeek​

[ophiexb]

Coming Out

Julie learns a little more about her boys- or how Julie found out Alex was gay. 

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

Julie doesn’t know much about…..any of the guys really, even her knowledge of Luke is pretty limited and was only expanded slightly by the guys' help. She knows his birthday, that he ran away from home after a nasty fight with his mom, and that he wrote all their songs. Besides that she really doesn’t know very much at all about the guys. Google isn’t help only the one article about this tragic death of a great band, their names, and nothing else.

She starts to pick up little bits of information here and there, she learns quickly that they are totally willing to talk and share way to much. She just has to make the effort on her end. Because she’s mostly banned them from the house(though she’s very aware it’s ignored completely while she’s at school.) Which means she has to come to them to learn anything or get any kind of conversation on who they used to be before they died. She starts spending more and more time in the studio, practically all her free time in there now listening to them, talking to them, and creating new music.

She learns Reggie likes country music. A lot. Almost more than rock music and it’s actually pretty funny, she makes it a personal mission to start showing him more of it and catching him up on the last 25 years of country. Reggies absolutely thrilled. She also learns he’s a huge Star Wars fan, though that doesn’t go over as well as the country music. There’s little small personal things she learns, like how his parents fought a lot. She makes mental notes to close doors a little softer and even when irritated with them she keeps her tone light. She learns that hes definitely weird, really weird. But he’s also incredibly sweet, he cares about the guys almost to a fault and loves them with everything he is. He’s a bit of a dork, but a lovable one and she finds his love for her Dad a lot more endearing. To have a true example of a loving father she can’t take that from him.

Luke is a bit harder, he’s totally willing to share a plethora of music, songs, and band related stories with her but outside of that she had to really catch him off guard. His songs exposed a lot of his feelings, it’s easy to pick things up from there. Things about his parents, about their band. Luke loves music, almost to much. He eagerly takes in all the new songs Julie shows him and asks her all kinds of questions about various artists and music related topics. He loves movies, and she loves showing him all the top movies over the last couple years. The cgi really gets him at first and she cracks up over it for far too long when she shows him a movie from this year first. She learned very quickly that starting with older movies and working up was better-he for a little less horrified at what he was warching. She also learns that the band is everything to him, which she knew but she saw the extent of how much they were a family. Luke shows love in gentle touches and concern. She watched the way he checks on the guys and touches their shoulders confirming they're okay. That they're there with him and okay.

It’s Alex she finds impossible, he’s definitely a lot softer spoken than the other two, but he’s far more sarcastic with them than her. She finds him constantly rolling his eyes at Luke, giving snide remarks and making jokes at their expense. Which means the side he shows her isn’t completely who he is. He gets worked up a little more than the other guys two, she’s caught him pacing a few times when she’s gotten off school but he immediately stops as soon as she comes in. He’s still not quite ready to open up to her the same way the others are and she’s not sure how to get him to.

“Alex...is I mean he’s just a little more…” Luke pauses looking for the right words to describe the blonde. Julie had come to him asking how to create the same bond she had with the other two. To learn about him and show him things he was interested in. Not just stuff the other guys like. “He’s just-you’ve gotta wait until he comes to you about things.”

She pouted, crossing her arms a bit. “But he’s got you guys he won’t come to me.” She gestured.

“I can’t really help you Julie….it’s. Alex is just a little more reserved I guess? We’ve known one another since we were like ten….” There was at least something. So him and Luke were friends long before the band.

She starts to pick up small things from Luke mostly about him. That after hed run away from home he wasn’t the only one living at the studio. It wasn’t full time but from the sound of it Alex spent almost all his time here as well. Enough to have bags of old clothes and personal items they’d found cleaning the loft. He didn’t cave to any of he questions about why, or when or how or anything and it was so frustrating.

She hadn’t gone to see them today, having dinner with her brother and Dad, getting caught up in homework and now she wanted to just unwind with a show curled up in her pajamas and catching up on some new episodes. Her thoughts kept drifting to them though, she should of at least checked in. There’s a soft knock and she turned slowly to see it wasn’t her Dad, the ghost hand coming around and she laughed. “Come in.” She said softly expecting Reggie, or Luke. Only it’s Alex that comes in wearing his shorts and soft pink shirt that she’d grown familiar with. She pauses her show sitting up. “Hey what’s up? Are you okay?” She worried mostly because he was alone and she’d never really seen the other alone before.

“Me?” He asks looking around a little nervously before nodding. “Oh yeah-Yeah. Luke and Reggie have been busy all day-and I guess….” He hesitates and she smiles, patting the bed next to her. This is her chance.

“Come on, I’m in the middle of a show. Your welcome to come watch it with me.” She encourages and he moves quickly at the invite coming to sit in the bed with he. He’s got his shoes off and she adjusts slightly to give him space to get comfortable before hitting play. She’d never invited any of the guys in like this and she’s sure he knows it, he’s being careful not to look around her room to much, to be respectful of her space.

“What’s it called.” He asked softly slowly unwinding more and more as the show played. His body relaxing next to hers as he curled around his knees.

“Its called Shadowhunter's.” She explained shifting slowly to sit up better with him. “It’s based off a book series; it’s pretty good. It’s about these people-they’ve got angelic blood and I guess they fight demons...there’s so much more to it than that but you get it.” He hummed falling silent as they just watch it together. He seems pretty interested and she wonders if she should ask if he wants to rewatch the whole show with her. If he’d like that. She’s so focused on thinking about Alex she’s completely stopped paying attention to anything going on in the show now.

“A-are they together?” Alex asked his voice so soft she barely catches it but her brows furrow and she looks at the screen. Catching the two characters and nodding.

“Oh yeah, Magnus and Alec-there together. In the books they get married and adopt kids and stuff it’s really cute.” She pauses because his eyes are so wide. For a moment she worries because he is from the 90s and who knows what his mindset is on all this.

“Married? But-but they can’t.” He protested softly. “I guess it’s a book or a show or-it’s fantasy but-but that’s-“ He’s stumbling and Julie can’t help but cut him off.

“Alex gay people can get married, like in real life. Not only that but they can adopt and everything-they’ve got rights now.... It got passed a few years ago.” She sits up a little better, his tone is off. It doesn’t sound like someone whose disgusted or repulsed and she’s absolutely floored to see tears coming to those blue eyes when she gets a better look at him. “Hey-woah. Woah what’s wrong I’m sorry.” She said quickly and he sits back further away from her a bit rubbing at his eyes and trying to wipe away the tears but they keep coming.

“No-no it’s. It’s not your fault I just. I never thought I’d see it.” He whispered looking away. “I never thought-I mean. It-it’s a lot.” Julie pauses for a moment looking at him and he’s really crying now his hands pressed against his eyes tightly. Her heart breaks and she wishes she could Comfort him in some way, hoping he doesn’t vanish before they can talk. It clicks now and she’s hesitant as she speaks.

“It’s come a long way in 25 years...it’s not perfect. But rights have come far, education. Acceptance. We’ve got a long way to go but it’s in media, actors are openly out...do. Do you want to see more? More stuff like this?” He nods slowly, his hands slowly moving away and she grabs her laptop, they gently lay out together Alex on his stomach alongside her the two of them close as they can be and she shows him anything she can think of. More shows with open characters, different actors who are out, she shows him when the laws passed and various couples that have adopted. He’s not crying anymore but his eyes are dark, red around the edges and he seems so deflated and yet she senses ease. He’s crying still, a slow silent cry that hurts her more than anything.

“I met a boy.” He says softly, there watching another show together, he’s curled around her pillows and she’d tossed a blanket over him. He looks cozy, his eyes still red and rimmed with tears but she smiles at him.

“Yeah? Recently?” She asks encouraging him opening up to her, just opening it up and being himself in general. She was kind of excited to hear about this guy he met to. 

“His names Willie. He’s a ghost like us.” He confirms and once he says his name it’s like he can’t stop. “And he-he makes me feel like I’m alive. He gives me these crazy butterflies and he has the sweetest laugh.” He confides and Julie beams at him.

“He sounds pretty awesome. Is that where you go when your gone all day?” He nods in confirmation a soft shy smile on his face as he tells her about some of the stuff him and Willie get up to. How he’s really helped Alex adjust to being a ghost and become more comfortable with this huge change in his life. Julie listens smiling and laughing along with his stories softly about how they went to museum and screamed, or walking around talking about celebrities and tourists.

“I’m glad you found him Alex…..you deserve to be happy.” She encourages and it seems like her words truly catch the other off guard his eyes wide and surprised and so soft. He melts almost, his cheeks red.

“Thanks Julie…” He said softly.

Alex unravels after their night together, she learns so much about him and she feels a little proud, the warmth all across her chest when she comes into the studio now and is able to talk with all of them. It’s finally happened the last piece falling into place that truly, and completely makes them a family now.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Five - Past Hauntings (D.M.)

A/N: CHAPTER FIVE!! Dates and drama, what more could you ask for? I actually wrote most of this before I even started to write Chapter Four, I was that excited for one bit! I hope you all like! All my medical knowledge comes from ER, so if there’s anything wrong, I apologise!

Summary: Draco has finally asked (Y/N) out, but will their date run smoothly?

Warnings: I made up a jinx, mentions of injuries, brief descriptions of procedures, strong reader, fluff, swearing, mean old men, mentions of food, kissing - IT ENDS WITH A BUTTLOAD OF FLUFF.

Word count: 4.2k

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four 

Draco lands on (Y/N)’s doorstep half an hour before their reservation at a bistro recommended to him by Dean.

He releases a shaky breath before knocking twice on her front door. Draco had only been to her home three or four times through the length of their friendship; (Y/N) much preferred to relax at his place and at his, she was closer to the hospital should she be called for anything.

Calming his heart, Draco fiddles with the cuff of his white shirt; ensuring that just enough poked out from underneath the black suit jacket he had chosen to wear.

It takes another knock at her door for (Y/N) to answer; she wrenches the door open with an apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, Draco, I’m almost ready. I just need to find my shoes, jacket and bag and we can go.”

“Don’t apologise,” He laughs; his nerves abating somewhat, “You were dancing weren’t you?”

(Y/N) flushes, “How did you know?”

Draco points above him; to her bedroom where he can hear the well-known sounds of ABBA playing, “You love ABBA, it makes sense you would dance.”

She rolls her eyes, “Alright Sherlock, I was dancing to ABBA and I lost track of time, is that better?”

Draco laughs, nodding, “Much better.”

She smiles, “Good. Let me go grab the rest of my things and we can go.”

Draco doesn’t verbalise his response; he simply nods at her, watching her walk away, admiring her outfit. (Y/N) wears figure hugging tailored trousers; tapered so they’re tighter at the hems. His eyes rake over her body as she climbs the stairs to her room; he chides himself for not acting like a gentlemen but the stirring desire in his veins tells him not to bother.

(Y/N) rushes back down the stairs; almost tripping on the last step as she bounces around, trying to slip her foot into her heel. Draco lurches forward; reaching for her just as she topples forward. He can’t help the laugh that leaves his mouth, “Are you okay?”

She stands with a huff; hoisting her bag on her shoulder having put her jacket on upstairs, “I’m fine. Shall we get going?”

Draco smirks; holding out his arm for her to take, “As you wish, Dancing Queen.”

-------

Draco had booked a table at a small bistro; nothing overly fancy, but still cosy enough to retain the romantic atmosphere he hopes will continue throughout the date.

It’s not an overly large restaurant; fifteen or so tables all covered with red and white gingham cloth. A small kitchen resides in the back of the bistro; the scent of Mediterranean herbs making Draco’s stomach rumble as he and (Y/N) are led to their table.

“How did you find this place?” She asks, sliding into her chair, shucking off her jacket.

“Dean recommended it to me.”

(Y/N) smiles, “I was gonna say. This doesn’t have ‘Malfoy’ written all over it.”

He raises an eyebrow, “And what does?”

She taps a finger to her chin; deliberating with a small smile, “Michelin Stars, for starters. Huge plates with tiny portions of food, and expensive wine lists.”

Draco holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. However, my father is the sommelier of the family, I simply drink the stuff.”

(Y/N) snorts, “Is Draco Malfoy a rebel?”

He blushes at her teasing tone; glancing back down to the menu in his hands. A satisfied smile spreads across (Y/N)’s face at the sight of leaving Draco speechless; he so often had comebacks ready. It was a treat to see him so affected by her.

She peers down at the menu, “What are you thinking?”

“Is it completely stereotypical of me to go for the steak?” Draco ponders.

She shakes her head, laughing, “I may have been thinking the same thing.”

They hand their menus over to the waiter; giving their orders and choosing not to drink. Instead, they stick to water. Work tomorrow would be easier if they didn’t have a hangover to deal with as well.

“How long are you on tomorrow?” Draco asks.

(Y/N) shakes her head, “Let’s not talk about work.”

“I can do that,” He comments, “What would you like to talk about?”

She raises an eyebrow, “How did you know I was listening to ABBA? I thought you didn’t care much for muggle music.”

Draco flushes, “I don’t care for a lot of muggle music.”

“But you like ABBA?”

Draco nods; trying not to roll his eyes, “I like ABBA.”

(Y/N) laughs; clapping her hands together in delight, “That is my new favourite thing about you, Draco.”

“Oh?” He smirks, “What was it before?”

(Y/N) flushes as she averts her eyes; glancing around the room, “Truthfully?”

“Now you have me worried…”

She shoots him a glare, “I won’t tell if you’re going to be an arse.”

Draco holds one hand up in surrender; the other crosses over his heart, “I promise I won’t be an arse tonight.”

(Y/N) smiles shyly, “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

(Y/N) nods; the flush spreading to her neck as she bites her lip. The specific knowledge settles in Draco; making its home in his heart.

She recovers quickly, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Draco counters; knowing exactly where she’s going with this.

“What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Draco shuffles in his seat; butterflies running riot in his stomach. He reaches for his glass of water; wetting his mouth before speaking, “I don’t have a specific thing.”

(Y/N) visibly deflates; disappointed at his words, “You don’t?”

Draco nods; deciding honesty to be the best policy, “My favourite thing about you is all of you.”

“Oh…” (Y/N) whispers; a mesmerising smile breaking over her face and leaving him breathless. She opens her mouth to say more; to say what she feels in this moment, but as the words start to form on the tip of her tongue she’s interrupted by the arrival of their food.

With practiced flourish, the waiter places their food in front of them. The smell and sight making Draco’s mouth water. He digs in after sending a broad smile over to (Y/N) who watches Draco with bright eyes and a large smile herself.

Conversation is little as they eat; the both of them practiced in the art of needing to eat and rushing off to the next patient.

They get halfway through their main courses when Draco’s pager sounds. He looks at (Y/N) apologetically, “I thought I had turned it off. I told the hospital that I was off for the night, not be called in at any time.”

(Y/N) moves to answer, but she is interrupted by her own pager sounding in her bag. She glances at Draco sheepishly; the apology glimmering in her eyes as she reaches for it. Her expression changes as she reads over the number on the screen; Draco feels so concerned he can’t help but reach for his own pager to read what’s on the screen.

It takes them less than five minutes to pay the bill and rush from the restaurant; hurrying into a side alley to apparate to the emergency room.

They’re greeted by Vera; she looks them up and down, “Did you drink?”

Draco and (Y/N) shake their heads, “We’re both on tomorrow; we stuck to water.”

Vera thrusts trauma gowns at them, “Good. We need you sharp.”

Draco’s senses hone in; attention becoming laser sharp and focused. The shift in him is visible all to watching him; the relaxed posture dropping away to make room for the attending. He looks to Vera as he slides on goggles, “What do we have coming in?”

“Large raid on one of the last death eater hang outs. A battle broke out; everyone injured is coming our way,” Vera shakes her head, “It’s even being reported on muggle news; that’s how bad things got.”

“ETA?”

“Less than two minutes.”

Draco exhales, “Where are the trainees?”

“Behind you Healer Malfoy,” Matthew Kinghorn’s voice calls out.

He turns to find all four already gowned and gloved, ready and waiting. He meets the eyes of each one, “This will be your first large trauma, am I correct?” At their nods, he continues, “Okay. Split off to your attendings; do not get in the way. Help when you can but do not overcrowd. Kinghorn, I want you with me.”

Matthew startles; already heading towards his attending. Draco shakes his head; waiting for the other trainees to file away, “I want to see how you handle a trauma situation after I saw you with our impalement. We don’t exactly know what’s coming in but stay alert. If you think you’re going to be sick, leave the room. Do you understand?”

Matthew nods; remaining silent, following Draco as the first of the injured roll up.

From there, it’s close to a blood bath. St. Mungo’s is the only wizarding hospital in the entire country; supposedly equipped to handle such traumas. However, when the patients are from two groups with such differing ideals, keeping them separated is difficult.

In his head, Draco plans to make another appeal to the Minster for Magic; wondering if Hermione could help him persuade the powers that be for another hospital.

Piercing screams distract Draco from his plans to expand the hospital. With Matthew close behind, Draco rushes towards the sound. Being wheeled in by medics is a young Auror; barely out of his twenties or so Draco assumes – his face and body have been burnt so badly by a jinx that it makes it difficult for Draco to age the patient but also for the patient to offer anything but his screams.

The moment they enter the trauma room, Draco administers a pain potion. In cases like this, the survival rate was low. The most that could be done is to offer as much comfort to the patient as possible.

Draco looks over to Matthew, “How are you feeling, Kinghorn?”

Matthew’s gaze finally meets Draco; his skin looking rather green, “I’ve never seen something so bad.”

“Cases like this are rare, but they do happen. Now, the patient isn’t getting enough oxygen with the mask, what do we need to do?”

Matthew flounders; Draco adjusts the mask on the patient’s face, repeating his words, “What do we need to do, Matthew?”

The use of his first name snaps his out of whatever stupor, “Intubate. He needs to be intubated.”

“Have you seen one done?”

Matthew nods, “Healer (Y/L/N) showed me last week.”

“Good. You know what they say, ‘see one, do one, teach one’. Get over here, Matthew,” Draco leans over the patient, “Sir, we’re going to have to put a tube in your throat to help you breath.”

The patient nods; a tear falling down his face as he realises the likelihood of him coming off the vent is low. At the patient’s nod, Draco administers a sedative – to help the patient and Matthew through this. Draco looks to Matthew; nodding his head slightly for him to begin the procedure.

Matthew bounces to life; rushing to the head of the patient. Draco hands him the scope and tube needed for the procedure; speaking him through it as Matthew visualises the cords, slipping the tube down the patient’s throat – aiming for the lungs and not the stomach.

(Y/N) joins Draco as Matthew finishes intubating the patient; the need for muggle medicine a priority when the jinxes and curses were so bad there was little chance of recovery. This particular patient had been hit with the extensive burn jinx – a nasty jinx that isn’t seen too often as it causes third degree burns across 80% of the body; spreading across the body like a wildfire, giving the witch or wizard hit a low chance of survival.

“How did you find our first date?” Draco asks as (Y/N) begins to debride the burns; giving the patient some chance of relief.

(Y/N) smiles at him from over the trauma, “It’s like you knew exactly what I wanted.”

Draco can’t help the laugh that escapes him; quickly regaining his professionalism, however and apologising to the patient even though he is sedated. He looks back to her, “Can you handle it from here?”

She nods; eyes flickering the trauma room behind, “I’ve got it. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

Draco grins at her; pulling off his gloves and gown before rushing into the next trauma. The patient is agitated; shouting and screaming at the nurses, leaving Jude Prewett scared but firm as she talks him down.

The Auror only gets angrier at the sight of Draco; hollering for the whole floor to hear, “I won’t have you treat me! I demand another Healer. Get me another Healer.”

“Healer Malfoy is the best Healer we have,” Jude reassures; eyes flickering between the patient and Draco.

The patient shakes his head; adamant, “I won’t have a Death Eater treat me. He’ll kill me just as he would look at me.”

Draco wants to shout; wants to get in the patient’s face and list all the ways he’s repented since he was a scared and vulnerable sixteen year old, doing what he thought was right for his family.

He doesn’t though; he sighs sadly, stepping back from the patient, “I understand sir, I’ll go fetch another Healer,” He looks to Jude, “Are you okay for a few more minutes while I go get Healer (Y/L/N)?”

Jude nods; eyes sad from Draco’s quick dismissal. As Draco returns to trauma room one, he hears Jude say, “I hope you know you just insulted one of the best Healers we have.”

(Y/N) looks up as Draco re-enters, “What’s wrong?”

Draco shakes his head; hating the lump that has formed in his throat, “Do you mind treating next door?”

She nods down to the patient she is currently working on, “I’m busy here. Why can’t you do it?”

“He doesn’t want to be treated by me. Wants another Healer.”

“Why?” She demands; voice angry, eyes angrier as they glance into the room behind Draco.

“We’ll talk about it later. Will you please treat him? I can take over here.”

(Y/N) looks like she very much wants to argue with him, but she decides against it. She nods quietly; handing Draco her scalpel before disrobing, “What’s his name?” She asks, referring to the patient.

Draco shrugs; focusing his attention on the burn victim, “We didn’t get that far.”

-----

(Y/N) liked to believe that she was patient; she knew when she began her training as a Healer that she would need to learn the art of patience and fast for there are some patients who have a list of medical complaints a mile long.

However, she did not have any patience for the narrow-minded Auror ranting before her.

“I can’t believe a place like this would hire him.”

“Hire who?” She asks; daring him to say it.

“Him,” He spits; jutting his chin to next door when (Y/N) knows Draco works diligently over another Auror who may only have hours to live due to the extensiveness of their burns.

“That man you’re spitting about happens to be working on your colleague.”

The Auror rolls his eyes, “My colleague wouldn’t be in his mess if it wasn’t for families like his. I knew who he was the moment he walked in the room; Lucius Malfoy’s brat.”

(Y/N) grits her teeth; continuing to stitch up the man’s arm; refusing to rise to his vitriol. He takes her silence as permission to continue, “I’m surprised we didn’t find his father there. We certainly found a lot of his friends; hiding together like rats, plotting their next uprising as if the last one worked. Who are they going to worship now? The Dark Lord is gone.”

“And yet,” (Y/N) breathes, “You cannot say his name without being scared.”

The Auror glares at her; not happy to have his courage questioned. He remains silent through the rest of his treatment; seething at her words, knowing that she called him on his bullshit.

(Y/N) removes her gloves, standing from her chair, “I would say that it’s been a pleasure to heal you given that you’re an Auror, but it hasn’t. I will be contacting your superior for the abuse you’ve shown my colleague – who, for your information, has nothing to repent for. I understand questioning the adults that followed Lord Voldemort, but you do not get to question the children who were innocent bystanders in a game they didn’t understand.”

The Auror laughs menacingly, “Speak to my superior, see if I care.”

(Y/N) grins, “I will. You’ve ballsed up big time – want to know why?”

The Auror remains quiet so (Y/N) tells him anyway, nodding towards Draco, “Your boss is one of his best friends.”

The colour fades from the Auror’s face and (Y/N) admits to herself that she rather enjoyed telling him what’s what. Patience is something that (Y/N) is still learning; even almost ten years into her career, but what she will not stand for in any form, is bullying.

----

Draco takes a moment of leave from the burn patient when his family arrive in floods of tears; asking about statistics and whether he was positive that nothing could be done.

He doesn’t see the commotion, but he hears it; her voice travels down the hall, easily leading Draco to her. He finds her gesturing wildly to an unprepared Harry Potter.

Harry catches his eye; pleading silently for help. Draco makes his way to her side; placing his hand on the small of her back, “What’s happening here?”

“I was just tell Harry about that lovely patient we have

“Auror Flintlock?” Draco asks; taking the chart from (Y/N)’s hands.

Her hands settle on her hips, “Potter, you have to do something about him. He was wildly inappropriate towards Draco.”

Draco sighs, “Patients can refuse to be treated by certain Healers, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) purses her lips; her attention still fixed on Harry, “I want to see him at least written up and giving an official warning for how he continued to speak after Draco left the room.”

Harry nods, “He’ll be written up, (Y/N). He’s been skating on thin ice for a while.”

(Y/N) folds her arms; a victorious look on her face, “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry smiles; nodding at them both, not missing their closeness. He makes a mental note to mention it to Draco the next time they go drinking. Harry looks towards trauma one, “How’s he doing?”

Draco pats Harry’s shoulder, “80% thickness burns to most of his body. It was a nasty jinx, Harry.”

“How long does he have?”

“Hours,” Draco states plainly, “His family is with him now.”

Harry nods; silver lining his eyes, sighing, “Good. They should be. He’s been on the force less than a year.”

With little else to say, Harry leaves Draco and (Y/N) – fulfilling his duty as an Auror; going to comfort the family of one of their own.

Draco and (Y/N) retreat to the break room; never officially being on in the first place. Like always, the ancient television set only displays the muggle news in a hushed volume; the red banner skirting across the bottom of the screen announcing an unexplained explosion on the outskirts of London. The news anchor repeats how lucky it was that no-one was hurt. Draco represses the urge to roll his eyes; muggles weren’t hurt, that’s correct and he’s thankful for that, but his emergency room is filled with Aurors and Death Eaters alike – all injured and vulnerable because of what happened tonight.

Draco settles at the round table in the middle of the room; sighing in relief at getting off his feet for a little bit. (Y/N) sits next to him; her hand reaching for his across the table. An act of affection so naturally displayed that it sends Draco’s heart rate through the roof.

He regrets the fact that their date had been cut short, but with any luck, (Y/N) wouldn’t mind a repeat. He thinks to their brief conversation in the bistro and for a second, he wonders whether she would protest much to his version of wining and dining. Reservations needing to be made weeks in advance; wine lists four pages long – each bottle with multiple zeroes behind the name. He realises he would like to show her the world in which he grew up; the fancy dinners and balls, but he also accepts that he would be happy in any world as long as he’s with her.

“Are you staying with him?” (Y/N) asks; concern in her eyes.

Draco nods, “I’ll stay with him through this. Matthew will need me to help pronounce.”

(Y/N) nods, “I’ll stay with you too.”

He reaches for her hand, “Thank you.”

She squeezes once, shrugging, “One thing’s for certain, you’re not a boring date, Draco.”

“It’s about to get even more wild,” Draco drawls.

“Oh? How’s that?”

Draco points to the pile of unfinished paperwork near his locker, “We have all that to work through.”

(Y/N) fans herself, “Slow down, Romeo. Paperwork is a second date kind of thing isn’t it?”

Draco laughs loudly, “So you see a second date?”

(Y/N) beams at him; pulling a pen from her bag, “I see a second date.”

------

Two hours later, Matthew interrupts their squabble about news anchor’s to say that the young Auror’s oxygen levels have dropped. Draco stands; knowing it won’t be long now.

It isn’t. Less than ten minutes after entering the room, Draco helps Matthew pronounce the young Auror; explaining the death kit and how the nurses do it.

(Y/N) looks up when Draco re-enters the break room; the question written over her face. Draco nods; silently confirming her suspicions.

They apparate back to his place; neither of them hungry after such an extensive trauma. (Y/N) throws herself on the couch; groaning at the softness, “You know, this is the comfiest couch I have ever sat on.”

Draco laughs; picking up her legs and settling them over his as he sits down next to her, “Are you just saying that because you wore heels all night?”

(Y/N) frowns down at her bare feet; having kicked off the offending footwear the moment she landed in Draco’s flat, “That could be part of it.”

“I knew it!” Draco declares with a broad smile, “You only agreed to the date so you could lay on my couch more.”

(Y/N) stretches her limbs out, “Can you blame me? This couch is a gift from Merlin himself.”

Silence falls between the two of them; it’s not awkward – far from it. It’s the kind of silence where they both know they’re thinking over the night’s events and remembering the young Auror who passed less than two hour ago.

“You didn’t have to do that earlier, you know,” Draco whispers.

(Y/N) sits up the couch; swinging her legs around. She cuddles up to Draco, “Yeah, I did. I saw your face in there, I had to do something.”

Draco shakes his head, “It wasn’t the first time; it won’t be the last either.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t the first time?”

“I mean that it wasn’t the first time a patient has refused to be treated by me,” He sighs; heart heavy as he thinks of the early days of his career when the mark on his arm was as dark as the day it had been seared into his skin, “There are still those who have not forgiven my family for their involvement in both wizarding wars.”

(Y/N) frowns; staring up at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco shrugs, “Truthfully, it hadn’t happened in a while. Auror Flintlock was the first patient in almost a year to refuse my treatment.”

“You still should have told me.”

“I know,” He admits, “Will you forgive me?”

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “I don’t know,” She starts, “What’s in it for me?”

Draco chuckles; leaning in to her, “What would you like?”

(Y/N) takes it upon herself to connect their lips. She brushes her lips against Draco’s softly; to gauge his reaction. Draco gasps gently as the touch; unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. She pulls away; a hairsbreadth away from him, but he surges forward, reconnecting their lips in a kiss that screams pent up emotion and long-lasting love.

She lets him take control of the kiss; surrendering herself to his mouth and wandering hands as he presses her further into the couch.

They’re a mess of hands, lips, and tongue. Her hands work on the white button down he wears; unfastening the buttons and pushing it from his shoulders before running her hands down the flat expanse of his stomach.

Draco shudders at her touch; briefly wondering if whether this is what it feels like to internally combust. He’s dreamt of this for long so; sometimes waking up in the middle of the night with the taste of her in his mouth and desire lighting up his veins.

Her hands continue wander as he slows down the kiss; slowing their pace so they move together languidly. He doesn’t want to rush a thing; he wants to feel every inch of her set him on fire.

Breaking the kiss, Draco pulls her from the couch. She throws him a puzzled look as he leads her into his bedroom. Draco gives her a questioning look; searching her eyes for permission, making sure she hasn’t changed her mind since the couch. With a small smile, (Y/N) tugs Draco towards her by grabbing his belt.

He connects their lips once more, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

**********

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti @nebulablakemurphy @pointlesscoconut @cherrylita @harpersmariano @slytherinlovesgryffindor @falconfeather23435 @namoreno @johannalauraaa

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @sophia-gwendolyn​ @ravenclawbitch426​

***if your username is in bold, I was unable to tag you.

[unbridgeabledistances]

ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

--

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

[mostly-marvel-musings]

The Outsider

Request: Enemies to lovers with Thor by @jennie22feona​ I hope you like this love ;)) This was a challenge because Thor is so lovable. Happy reading!

Fall Prompts Masterlist

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff, a few curse words.

Permanent Taglist: @godofplumsandthunder​ @ladyacrasia​ @agustdowney​ @raspberrymama​  @littlegasps​ @swaggysposts​

Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged!

Word count: 2.1k oops!

…

“Well if you don’t try, it won’t get better now, will it?”

Steve reasoned, patting Thor’s shoulder as he passed him, carrying his dish out to the dining room where the team were gathered for dinner. Thor frowned looking down at his own plate, staring at the lasagna you’d made for everyone.

It was one of those rare times when he was staying at the compound, not busy saving the nine realms. The team got together for meals more frequently after the Ultron incident.

A real sense of family developed over the years, friendships were formed as new people became a part of the Avengers. Thor had no problems getting along with anyone in the past, except you.

He met you during the battle of New York, watching you fight like the strongest warrior alongside Natasha and Clint with your unparalleled combat skills.However, you seemed distant and gave him a cold shoulder when the team hung out. Every attempt of making conversation was met with an eye-roll or a look of disgust, and usually ended up with you walking away from the scene.

Thor sauntered out to join the rest, taking a seat right opposite you and digging in.

“Oh (Y/N), this is delicious.”

“Indeed. So tasty.”

Everyone complimented your dish, as you looked around the room, positively beaming. You met Thor’s eyes and he gave you an awkward smile, clearing his throat before shoving a large bite in his mouth.

“You know Asgardian feasts are the greatest. Nothing can ever compare.” He smiled proudly, hoping you’d appreciate his ‘attempt’ to make nice.

Steve shook his head in exasperation, while your smile disappeared. You went back to concentrating on your food, jamming the fork in the food a bit too forcefully and muttering,

“Well it’s not bloody Asgard.”

Nat placed her hand on yours soothingly, and turned to look at Steve, who was equally bothered.

“I’m sure about that Thor, but (Y/N) here has prepared this lovely meal for all of us, don’t you think that’s nice?”

Thor opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off,

“Don’t bother Steve. It’s fine.”

Everybody remained relatively quiet for the rest of the dinner, Clint tried to break the awkwardness recalling funny incidents that happened during the last mission.

Thor kept stealing glances at you, guilty for having made you this upset. He’d actually enjoyed the food quite a bit, but his efforts at making small talk had left you deflated.

…

Two weeks had passed since you’d last seen the proud Asgardian God, not that you would ever admit you had been counting.

You were busy chasing potential Hydra leads with Steve, who on multiple occasions mentioned that Thor was trying to get to know you better but didn’t know how to.

“He’s so stuck up and proud, I just can’t stand him Steve!” you’d stated.

The captain had tried to play mediator several times before, however it hadn’t gone too smoothly. You expressed that it was best to not try anymore, some people just don’t click.

After a particularly tiring sparring session one evening, you strolled into the kitchen to grab a drink, when you heard cabinets opening and closing as you approached. Thor was searching for food, you deduced, as you watched his rummaging from the kitchen doorway.

You didn’t want to face another awkward conversation, so you figured you would just tip-toe around the fridge, grab a drink and get away without him noticing.

Having successfully retrieved a bottle of beer, you turned away from the fridge and collided against the large chest of the God of Thunder, who had chosen at that exact moment to walk out.

You hit your bum pretty hard on the marble floor, back going next but Thor’s instincts kicked in and he saved your head by placing a hand underneath while bracing his body with his other hand to prevent crushing you. The beer bottle smashed from your hand splashing liquid everywhere, as a yelp left your mouth.

“Lady (Y/N) I am so very sorry, I did not see you. Are you hurt?”

His voice soft, worried as you felt his breath on your cheek, you had shut your eyes on impact, scared that you were just about smushed.

Peeking an eye open, you saw Thor’s face right over yours, brilliant blue eyes studying your face, concerned. You felt frozen, lying on the kitchen floor with Thor’s body on top of yours.

“I’m fine.” The creeping pain in your back and ass said otherwise, with Thor’s help you scrambled to a standing position, heat warming your cheeks, heart still racing. You were very much aware of Thor’s grip on your upper arm as he still ran his eyes over your sweat-covered gym clothes.

A sharp sting in your left hand drew your attention there and you saw a piece of glass lodged in the side of your palm, blood trickling from it. Thor saw it too, jumping into action as he grabbed a towel from the counter and approached you.

Exhaling loudly you braced yourself, carefully pulled the shard out, more blood rushing to the surface. Tears stung in your eyes as you pressed the towel down on the cut.

“Probably need stitches.” You muttered as the towel changed color from white to red, already walking out of the kitchen.

“Please allow me to assist you, Lady (Y/N).” he called after you, following you towards the elevator.

“Uh no, I think you’ve done enough.” Muttering rudely, you entered the elevator and pressed the button to the compound’s infirmary.

Thor followed you anyway, stayed by your side while you got stitches in the med bay, explaining to the nurse how it was completely his fault, even riding the elevator back with you to your apartment floor after the wound was attended to.

You didn’t say much the entire time, pangs of guilt coursing through at his thoughtfulness. Discourteous as you had been, this man still tried his best to help but, your stubborn self refused to admit it was all your mistake.

…

Leaning on Steve for support, you limped towards the common area for a movie night. You had a sprained ankle from your latest mission that hadn’t quite healed yet and was bandaged.

“Easy. Are you comfortable?” Steve carefully propped your leg on the wooden table, before placing a small pillow underneath.

“As I’ll ever be. Thank you Rogers.” You gave his hand a grateful squeeze and placed the large bowl of popcorn in your lap.

“Your hand isn’t fully healed yet. Seems like you’re losing your edge, (Y/L/N).”

Glaring at his statement, you already regretted telling him about the kitchen incident. All hopes of this embarrassing event staying between two friends had gone to shit when Nat and Sam brought it up earlier today and Steve hid his face, sniggering.

“I’m not losing anything, you’re about to lose your arm if you keep this up.” You threatened, though you both knew you were kidding.

Your banter got cut short when the Asgardian God walked into the room, swinging Mjolnir in one hand and a large candy bar in the other.

You had literally been avoiding him ever since, excusing yourself to fake phone calls when he was around, eating dinners alone in your room under the pretext of wanting to be with yourself.

And now, knowing Steve – Mr Goody-two-shoes, he would ask Thor to join you here, and he did just that.

“Hey Thor, we’re watching old classics today, come join us.”

Steve ignored your death stare and continued to look at Thor expectantly, who seemed undecided for a bit, but then smiled and walked over to the couch, accepting Steve’s invite.

You threw a handful of popcorn at Steve when Thor wasn’t looking, he merely shrugged, mouthing ‘you-should-talk-to-him’.

Thor took a seat next to you, keeping a considerable distance in between while you resumed the movie. Halfway through it, Steve made an excuse to go to the bathroom only to never return, leaving you alone with the Asgardian.

You’d fallen asleep before the movie got over, not realizing when Thor had covered you with a blanket or when he’d moved closer to support your head on his shoulder.

The noisy crunch of popcorn from your right, brought you back to consciousness as you noticed the bowl now in Thor’s lap, and his other hand wrapped securely around your shoulders.

He was so warm. You didn’t have the heart to move away.

“I’m sorry did I wake you?” he asked, removing his hand away, much to your disappointment.

“Yeah. It’s—it’s fine though.”

Scrambling a foot away, the previous distance returning, you felt your cheeks flush.

A few minutes passed as you both watched the second movie that had begun, before Thor broke the silence.

“How did you injure your ankle?” pointing to the bandaged limb.

“If I tell you, you’ll laugh. It’s embarrassing.”

“I will do no such thing, you have my word.” He replied sincerely, turning to face you fully.

You began telling the story honestly, how after the mission you were walking towards the jet and accidently tripped on a previously unseen stone that had resulted in a nasty sprain. You skipped the part of how actually your mind had wandered to the day you and Thor had that kitchen mishap.

He seemed genuinely concerned for you after hearing it and like he promised did not laugh.

“You know the healers on Asgard would’ve been able to mend it in no time.” He added.

“Your ability to bring your Godly realm into every conversation blows my mind, really.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“Well, all of you have such incredible stories from Midgard to share, and I feel like an outsider, I just thought sharing stories from my home planet would make for interesting conversation. Which I now realize is the cause of your annoyance, so I’m really sorry about that.”

He frowned, a sad look flashing in his face, before he replaced it with an understanding smile.

You felt terribly guilty for never having thought it that way. He was just trying to make conversation. He was a literal outsider, always taking great interest in wanting to know about ‘Earthly traditions’, having nothing to add to that hence sharing his Asgardian tales.

Wow. And you had been a real bitch about it this whole time.

Suddenly Steve’s words came back to you, all he wanted was try and get to know you better. Well now, it seemed like you had blown your chance of that ever happening as you kept staring down at your hands, unable to form a response.

“It seems like my presence is no longer wanted, I’ll leave you be, Lady (Y/N), enjoy your eve—” Thor began but you cut him off.

“No wait! Please.” You said almost too loudly, grabbing his wrist as he was half rising from his seat.

“I owe you an apology, several to be honest. You have been nothing but kind to me and I was a bitch. That little kitchen accident was all on me, I tried to sneak past you because I wanted to avoid an awkward situation. You helped me through that even though I was so rude. Hell, I even faked being busy to avoid dinners. This makes me such a terrible person and I am so sorry Thor. You didn’t deserve it, really I’m so so—”

In all of your gesture-filled apology frenzy, you had missed Thor leaning in slowly with an amused expression on his face, before his lips made contact with yours taking you by surprise.

His soft lips covered yours, hands moving to cup your face gently as he kissed you, feeling you relax against him and return the kiss.

It ended sooner than you’d hoped, breaking apart you found yourself grinning like an idiot, touching your lips, as if to make sure it had really happened.

“You’re not a terrible person (Y/N). You’re a strong, poised warrior. Maybe a little set in your ways.” The God added quietly, making you giggle as your forehead landed against his chest.

After a few moments you figured it was time to head back to bed, seeing as it was way past midnight. With Thor’s help you stood up, who ducked down and took your hand in his.

“Allow me to escort you back to your chambers.”

All you could manage was a shy nod, and he had effortlessly picked you up and had begun walking towards your room.

From a dark corner, Steve groaned as he removed a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to Natasha who had a victorious grin on her face.

[oblivious-embodied]

A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU. 

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt. 

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet. 

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

                                                     --------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with  dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it. 

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat. 

One that doesn’t bode well. 

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong. 

Malicious. Cold. 

Unwelcome... 

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous. 

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call. 

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back. 

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami. 

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back. 

“Master! I felt an odd energy.” 

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week. 

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary. 

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!” 

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!” 

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat. 

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“ 

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.” 

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player. 

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player. 

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing. 

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so.  As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

                                                   ----------- 

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy. 

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.  

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in. 

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets. 

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child. 

He moves on. 

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication. 

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation. 

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.” 

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

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery  — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice. 

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy. 

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze. 

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young, 

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont. 

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it. 

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought. 

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

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time. 

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death. 

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help. 

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine. 

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone. 

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous. 

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late. 

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration. 

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows. 

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms. 

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.  

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car. 

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street. 

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused. 

Fu walks away with a small smile. 

He has a feeling this might actually work out well. 

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

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor. 

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed. 

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks. 

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas. 

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure. 

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good. 

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again. 

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying. 

She really, really does not want school to start. 

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door. 

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!” 

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away.  “There’s my beautiful girl!” 

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it. 

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman. 

“Good morning!” 

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...”  she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her. 

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes. 

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens. 

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.  

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.” 

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks. 

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes. 

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes. 

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut. 

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car. 

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all. 

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before. 

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard. 

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.” 

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!” 

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed. 

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off. 

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school. 

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

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion. 

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

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath. 

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones. 

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command. 

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face. 

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different? 

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. 

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.  

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics. 

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.) 

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice. 

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.) 

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty. 

Her school bully.  

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips. 

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest. 

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue. 

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!” 

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest. 

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room. 

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé. 

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé. 

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention. 

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?” 

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in. 

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats. 

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news. 

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat. 

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory. 

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons. 

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice. 

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly. 

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!” 

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.” 

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice. 

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl. 

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron. 

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces. 

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

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

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.” 

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath. 

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment. 

Where is s— he?

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

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone. 

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived. 

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.  

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants. 

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain. 

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door. 

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand. 

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up. 

Huh, interesting... 

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from. 

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more. 

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!” 

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment. 

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!” 

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!” 

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.” 

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.” 

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.” 

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket. 

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation. 

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

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

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up. 

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note. 

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face. 

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist. 

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“ 

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door. 

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better. 

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

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about. 

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed. 

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

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him. 

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair. 

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored. 

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane. 

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes? 

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem? 

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face. 

The man smirks. 

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow. 

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response. 

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

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

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground. 

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage. 

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working. 

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her. 

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?” 

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors. 

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school. 

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

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe. 

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet. 

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

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

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It’s useless. 

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand. 

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.” 

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore. 

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.” 

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame. 

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“ 

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.” 

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left. 

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said. 

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form. 

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him. 

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“ 

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes. 

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother. 

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories. 

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes. 

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here? 

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede. 

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening. 

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade. 

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns. 

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way. 

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry. 

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news. 

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon. 

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death. 

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger. 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention. 

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it. 

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips. 

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box. 

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils. 

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead. 

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality. 

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions. 

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal. 

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.” 

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some. 

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.” 

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball. 

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

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

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news. 

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles. 

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes. 

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize. 

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded. 

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper. 

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs. 

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center. 

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her. 

It continues to get closer. 

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks. 

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles. 

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...” 

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under. 

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?—   thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter. 

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.” 

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?! 

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks. 

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder. 

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door. 

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

 “MAMA-“ 

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.” 

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence. 

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

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

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible! 

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated! 

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works! 

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room... 

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death! 

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory. 

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern. 

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him! 

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?” 

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food. 

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!” 

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral. 

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross. 

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.” 

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...” 

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.” 

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression. 

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.” 

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!” 

“Well It’s how I live.” 

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.” 

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!” 

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN! 

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?” 

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.” 

“What do I say again?” 

“Claws Out.” 

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

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

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“ 

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!” 

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.” 

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“ 

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!” 

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?” 

“Yep!” 

“And I can become this Ladybug by….” 

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet. 

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help! 

“Spots On?” 

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out. 

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this. 

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.] 

[sourbat]

hmm maybe magmel and first time making the other laugh?

hello. this is over 4k words, because of course it is

Rating: T for swearing and suggestive conversations

Read it on Ao3, or keep reading below

A general meeting occurred exactly at twelve. The subject: team building.

Melmord couldn’t tell if the presentation was a punishment aimed at him, Magnus, both, or something Offdensen deemed necessary for the betterment of the company. Admittedly, their first few days partnered together could have worked better. Melmord ended up writing a few complaints regarding the threats of violence during the first two days, a meeting with human resources after a suggestive comment about deserving a busted lip on the fourth, and practically begging Offdensen to “have a word” with Magnus regarding his short temper close to the end of their first week as workmates. He assumed Charles wouldn’t bother, and either tell Melmord to make it work, or accept that Magnus was, to some extent, equal parts partner and penitence.

But was the powerpoint necessary?

“Here’s, ah, a slide I think many of us here can relate to,” Charles’ voice broke through the stuffy air and uncomfortable silence hanging in the meeting room. “Behavioral Management in the Workplace.”

Across from Melmord, and sitting close to where Charles stood, was Magnus. Arms crossed and legs kicked up on the table’s edge, he was high on alert, defensive and incredibly unapproachable. There sat the first musician Melmord was charged with since meeting Dethklok. The first real talent Melmord was assigned, and when Melmord tried greeting him the first time, had a ball of phlegm hacked and unloaded right between his feet. The first prisoner Melmord had the pleasure of meeting, speaking with, and discovering a shared hatred of Offdensen, though to what extent Magnus refused to share. There were a lot of things Magnus Hammersmith declined to provide Melmord, including the reason behind his imprisonment, his prior relationship with Charles, and why the hell he was “worthy” enough to come back. The file Offdensen handed him hours before his assignment only contained the basic information, the kind of trivia any committed Dethklok fan would already know. The whole “stabbing Nathan Explosion” thing was new and certainly worth discussing drinks over one night, but aside from that? He inquired to know more about Magnus, of course, but according to Offdensen, had to “earn it” on his own time.

Melmord shrugged at the backdrop of words playing around him, setting his interest on the exposed, pink scar resting dead center between an older, paler set of scars already adorning Hammersmith’s chest. Technically speaking, Melmord didn’t know what killed Magnus Hammersmith. The pink, healed scar suggested something involving the chest: a heart attack perhaps? Heart failure? But if that was the case, what made Dethklok’s infamous rhythm guitarist worth the trip to hell and back?

“Fjordslorn?”

Melmord returned to the darkened meeting room, to Offdensen’s reflective glare cutting at his throat. Next to him, Magnus remained positively disengaged. At the center of the table was a hat filled with shreds of paper.

Melmord raised a brow at the two. “Come again?”

Melmord watched Charles bring his eyes to a close, then raise his hand and signal a klokateer to hit the lights. With a restrained sigh, he asked, “Can you manage several unsupervised minutes conversing with your client without upsetting him?”

Carefully, Melmord made a quick glance to the projector, images blurred from the additional light now blaring in the room. The title of the slide read something along the lines of exercises, and beneath it a list of team activities. He saw an image of a small, happy-go-lucky group of hoods huddled together, pulling cards from a bowl.

A team building activity? Really?

Melmord returned to Charles. “Sure, as long as you’re back before we perform the trust falls.”

Offdensen’s eyes narrowed, frown thinning to an almost white line glowing with disapproval. It’s a slap on the wrist compared to what he was used to from Charles. With a sigh, he shut off the power point, then turned to Magnus.   

“Magnus.” He placed a hand on Magnus’ shoulder, steady against the jolt that arose at the contact. It was like Magnus had been struck by lightning. He looked ready to leave his seat. Tear at his jacket and toss it to the floor. Melmord almost flinched in reaction, watching silently as Magnus’ eye lit up, not with fear, but pure indignation.

He turned, disgusted, entirely repulsed by the hand that remained, but with a swallow, made it all disappear. An exhale, and his shoulders sank. His wild hair deflated. He withdrew. “Charles,” Magnus returned, voice not carrying a shred of what Melmord was sure he’d seen just seconds before. It still wasn’t fear, but it was something. Another fine reminder that they shared a common enemy. 

Charles slipped off Magnus, then headed to the door. Behind him, two klokateers followed.

“Gentlemen,” Charles announced, then opened the double door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If there’s any problem, these two will, ah, act as mediators, understand?”

He shut the doors behind him. The gears immediately stood in front of it, blocking Magnus and Melmord’s only exit. 

Melmord waited until he heard the footsteps disappear, then started to relax. Finally, the devil was gone. The lackeys were still hanging around, but there was a change in the air. Even Magnus, who’d been so rigid, finally let go of his arms in favor of having them drop and rest on his knees as he sat.

Glancing at the door, Melmord chuckled, “Can’t stand the man, but I got to give it to him: he makes a mean presentation.”

Magnus’ bad eye twitched. He sank into his chair, the heel of his boots now barely hanging from the table's edge.

“Damn, not even a snicker?” Melmord asked, shrugging at the less than stellar response.

“I’ll laugh when you finally say something warranting it.” 

Was there ever a day in which Magnus didn’t have a stick lodged deep in his ass? Well, so much for the presentation doing its job, not that Melmord could give it any credence to begin with. Hopefully Offdensen wouldn’t test them on the subject later.  Melmord could handle a difficult client, but failing a test?

“Well, I appreciate the honesty,” Melmord said, coming to a rise. 

He left his chair, kicking back his seat with the sole of his shoe. He glanced at the hat filled with colored pieces of folded post-it notes and rolled his eyes. Did Charles really assign someone the task of writing conversation starters and then folding them into some worn hat? For what purpose, other than to waste their precious time? Melmord could go on, but left the thought to hang at the edge of that foreboding cliff. After death, time was literally the only thing Melmord had, which meant Charles wouldn’t return until whatever sick lesson he wanted to teach had finally resonated. That, or in increments of five minutes, like the slide suggested.

With a sigh, Melmord reached for a folded sheet of paper. “How about–”

“You do realize this is a waste?” Magnus loudly interrupted. “Charles has us together for the sole purpose of watching us bicker.” 

“And you’re fine with proving his point?”

Magnus sneered at him. “Excuse me?”

The paper crumbled in Melmord’s hand. “Contrary to what he’s told you, I’m not a complete fool.”

Magnus remained unimpressed by the declaration, and merely shrugged in response.  A nasty jab at the pride, but Melmord knew that was the point. This wasn’t supposed to be easy. Some clients will be difficult.

“Offdensen wants us miserable,” Melmord continued, reopening his palm to find the crumbled shred of paper. “Guy’s been busy. Too busy to fuck with us as much as he’d like.” 

That had to be it. Why else would Offdensen award him with the challenge and opportunity to train and work alongside a musician? Magnus was well known in the music industry as someone difficult to work with, to the point that once his name was on a project to help boost sales he was cut and kicked from further creative output. But was that punishment enough for someone as bored and desperate as Melmord? It wasn’t like Offdensen was offering him freedom or the chance to promote from his position to an official member of the dethstaff for kissing up to Hammersmith. Just the order to work with him and do everything in his power to get some new, original creative content from Hammersmith. That was all, and Melmord hungrily took the job knowing the rumors shadowing the man. He’d been that eager to take on the project. They both had, so whatever hesitations and challenges they posed were merely products of their own undoing. This presentation, cringe inducing as it was, held no contest. This was a test posed by Charles, and right now they were playing into his hands.

“He’s relying on us to do the job for him.” Melmord snickered as Magnus’ attention suddenly came alive. “You said it yourself, right? So, you going to prove to him we can’t get along, or can we get this cheesy team building crap done and over with?”

He held his ground, patiently awaiting Magnus’ response. There was a long, drawn out silence that followed. Still, Melmord waited. He knew he couldn’t delve into the nitty gritty with Hammersmith. The man wasn’t prone to easy persuasion. But Melmord hung to that hunch that they were both desperate to chat with anyone aside from their malevolent overlord, and leaned against the table until Magnus finally snorted a hot burst of air through his nostrils. 

“Fine,” Magnus replied stiffly. “I’ll placate you and Charles if it means making it back to my room sooner rather than later.”

“A fine goal,” Melmord responded, keeping his tone as neutral to avoid offending the older man. He had Magnus working with him for now, and that was a start. If he could get through a few questions and make it out without upsetting Magnus any further, then maybe Charles would put an end to this silly game. Hell, maybe Charles would congratulate him on a job well done.  

He snorted at the thought as he unfolded the paper. The post-it read:

Are you making the most of your second chance at lie? Why, or why not? 

Melmord stared blankly at the wrinkled sheet. He read it over one more time, his jaw clenching and teeth grinding as it played out in his head. Was that correct? Lie, or did the klokateer charged with writing out the questions make a mistake? Were they capable of such?  Did Charles write this? Was this part of the game? Was this for him?

“Well?” Magnus asked, still disinterested. He rubbed his sole into the table’s edge. “What does it say?”

Melmord put on a smile. “Your… favorite mixed drink?” 

Magnus tugged the base of his beard, eyes cast upwards as he thought a moment. “Whiskey sour. No egg white. Fresh cherry.”

Short, quick and to the point. But it was a response, and it was something Melmord could most definitely use in the future. It had always been a habit of his to take his new clients out for a drink, and to continue inviting those who were easily swayed into making poor decisions under the influence. Though he doubted he could take Magnus out any time soon, he could at least make a note of his preferred poison and give him a good time soon, should Magnus allow it. A hard liquor man, too. Non-conventional, either. Not afraid to go against a recipe for his own comfort, not that Melmord needed the drink to figure that one out.

“Nice, a whiskey man,” Melmord replied coolly, then selected the most nonthreatening drink he could still compare with Magnus’ choice. Equally unconventional, but recognizable. Nothing too fancy. “I’m a tad less refined. Cuba Libre, heavy on the white rum.”

“Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” 

“I like to have a good time,” Melmord replied. He rolled the sheet into a tight little ball, then tossed it over his shoulder. “To add on, I like it with two lime wedges and sativa. Huh, guess we have something in common.” 

“Which is?”

“We both like our vitamin C.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “You’re not funny.”

The statement arrived less harsh than the previous comments. Another good sign. Melmord shrugged. “I got plenty more where that came from.”

Magnus shook his head at the thought, then turned inward to the hat filled with conversation starters. “Guess it’s my turn,” he said, dropping his long legs from the table. They landed hard with a thud that rattled Melmord.

He froze as Magnus reached for a shred of paper. “Oh, you–”

Magnus picked up a sheet from the messy pile. Anxious, Melmord pressed more of his weight against the table, dug his nails into the fine wood. His eyes locked on fingers unfolding a small pink slip of paper. Magnus raised the sheet up and quietly read the line. Silence returned, and Melmord swallowed thickly at the sight of Magnus’ pupils shrinking to a dot at whatever was scribbled on the sheet. Melmord had no idea what sort of questions had been laid out for them, and whether the previous one he read was written with him in mind. If any were written with him in mind. God, if only he knew what sins Magnus committed beforehand, what foolish dance he engaged with Charles to be trapped in this predicament. 

A clock ticked. Melmord shrank into his chair. “Well?

Magnus finally lowered the slip. “How many years have you been working in the music industry?”

Relief.

Melmord fell into his seat, lighter and mind temporarily cleared of doubt. With a hand, he fixed his hair behind his ear. “Seven together,” he answered smoothly, replying to Magnus’ recovering stare with a honey sweet smile.

An interview question? Well, a tad conventional, but he appreciated Magnus’ effort for trying to hide the truth and keep with the peace. And an interview question, while lackluster, was something Melmord could manage without effort. 

“I’ll be real, music’s been an on and off relationship for me,” he explained with a strong command of his words. “I take my business where it’s booming, and music? That girl’s volatile. I’ve had my hits, but I’ve also experienced my losses, and although my manner of style suggests I like a good time, I prefer my career like my relationships: easy and stable. You dig?”

There was a little bit of everything there. Plenty of options for Magnus to pick and comb through, select and build off from. Vague enough for anyone listening to not make any sense of, and be forced to interpret on Offdensen’s order at a later point. 

And to his surprise, Magnus smiled at the question. “Indeed,” he replied, bringing his arms back up. But when he crossed them, Magnus didn’t keep his appendages close to his chest, but instead let them rest upon his stomach. “Well, by this point… I’ve been living it for about half my life? Let’s see, I didn’t get discovered until I was about twenty-three…” 

Melmord lifted from the scarred chest, to the thick array of dark brown and graying curled laced throughout his many waves. Melmord quickly performed the math, and like clock, devised a compliment. “You’re lookin’ pretty damn for someone…” he stopped once he saw Magnus start to regrow his frown. “I’ll be quiet.” 

Magnus’ fingers tightly wrapped around his thin, frail waist. Melmord tried not to notice, but quietly cursed himself for his impatience. Why did he go and inject humor the second things were just starting to let up?

Magnus huffed, clearly offended by Melmord’s attempt. “…to make a long story short, I’ve been on and off projects. Much like yourself, I chase after success. If something stops sounding like a good idea, I cut my ties and move on.” 

Short, vague and to the point. Great. 

Still smiling, Melmord clasped his hands together and hoped there was more to come. He had Magnus relaxing a second ago, surely he hadn’t fucked up so monumentally that he was back to square one. That couldn’t possibly be all, could it?

Melmord playfully shook his head at the silence. “That can’t be all though? Given your history–”

“What about my history?” Magnus inquired stiffly. With his thumb and forefinger, he raveled the pink post-it sheet into a compressed  ball, then brought it down on the table, crushing it with his fist. The smack echoed in the small, stuffy room, and old rumors about Hammersmith’s unpredictable behavior arose to smother any remaining familiarity that sparked between them.

“Nothing.” Melmord pointed to the hat situated on the table. “My turn.” 

Magnus’ heated stare never left his hand. Melmord scooped folded sheets of green, blue and yellow post-its, letting several fall from between his spreading fingers until only one remained resting on top of his open palm. Hesitantly, Melmord picked it up. He unfolded the sheet and carefully read the sentence to himself: 

How did you die?

Melmord’s throat dried at the final word. Somewhere, he heard his screams getting lost in the winds, the distant howl and pleas of his animal spirit calling to the heavens for another shot, a second chance at life.

“What does it say?” 

Magnus’ voice disappeared under the growing nausea, the darkness numbing Melmord’s senses and drowning out his thoughts, his ability to push words out from his constricting throat. This question. Was this question just for him? 

“Well, Fjordslorn?”

Melmord lowered the yellow sheet. “Uhm, what’s your favorite…”

Wind spiraling. Falling. Magnus watching from afar, growing smaller, fading.

“My favorite what?” 

“…Brittney Spears song?”

“What?”

“You know?” Melmord blinked, surprised by how soft he’d gone. He cracked a nervous, strained grin. He fought the deafening rumble of an incoming train threatening to crush and end him, and scrambled for a chorus line, a melody or title that he resonated with. Anything, but what was daring to crush him a second time. “The artist?” he added with forced gusto. “I, uh, really have a thing for “Femme Fatale”. Yeah, that one. Some real bangers in that CD, let me tell you.” 

Magnus was incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“I know,” Melmord said, rolling the paper between his sweaty palm and the table underneath it, “It’s recent, and there aren’t many big hits in that one, but here me out: I’m pretty sure “How I Roll” was written specifically for my Friday night benders. Like, it’s a “party and get fucked” song, but it’s confident and in control. Just the right amount of chaos before crashing into bed with a stranger. My kind of anthem if you ask me.”

Melmord heard the words coming out from him, and wanted to scream. Of all the impromptu questions for him to come up with, this was arguably one of his more cringe-worthy ones. Pop subjects were best regulated to other pop artists, preferably the budding kind lacking any sense of identity. To bring up another artist in front of someone already so seasoned, and of an entirely different genre. And fucking Brittney Spears, too. If Melmord wanted to come off non-threatening, that artist and song certainly did the trick. Magnus was busy staring at him, mouth agape and being supported with the help of a hand. Eyes glazed in a layer of perplexing aura, a haze from which the hard rocker was trying to discern from a joke. This had to be a joke, right? But it wasn’t and Melmord, panicked, went on about the song’s upbeat rhythm, the positive notes surrounding female sexuality, and how up until recently, resonated with the whole “nine lives” bit.

“Like, doesn’t even have to be for Friday night’s either,” Melmord went on, to the point where the men guarding the door were now invested in his argument. “There’s a lot of workout potential in that release. It’s a fun song. She’s having fun and living her life.” 

“Melmord,” Magnus interrupted as Melmord mentally scrambled for something palpable. Lost in the moment, and caught red-handed by Magnus, he stuttered himself into muteness. He was a man proudly poised in his seat, but behind the visage, he was shaking, sick and at a complete loss for words. Across, Magnus leaned close. He pointed at the flattened, yellow thing resting on the table. “What did the paper actually have written down?”

Without moving, Melmord brought his eyes to the stained paper. Did he have it in him to confess what he had read to himself, and why it affected him so? Could he effectively call Magnus’ bluff and return the very same question towards him without risking a black eye or tossed chairs? He wanted to stay on Magnus’ good side. Magnus looked concerned. That was a good sign, right? Did it matter? Did being honest matter if it meant facing the deadlights charging at him at over 100mph?

Melmord carefully resituated himself into place, brushing his coat down and fixing any slight wrinkles starting to form. He reclined into his seat, resting his hands behind his head. “We’re doing trust exercises, and I just poured out my heart and soul to you,” Melmord stated as best he could without faltering. “Now you’re telling me you don’t trust me? I’m hurt, Hammersmith.” 

It was so quiet Melmord was sure he could hear the maggots in the walls squirming from the line he uttered. A chair groaned. A klokateer coughed.

Magnus was beside himself. He stared at Melmord, dumbfounded that he’d have the gall to use humor to deflect, and after so many warnings about how unamusing he’d already proven himself. His jaw sank, as did his hands. And then he snickered. He shut his lips and fell into a low, short chuckle that was further muffled by him slowly covering his mouth. 

“Alright, Fjordslorn,” Magnus replied. He fell into his seat, hair flowing over it as he drew a fine smile for Melmord. “I’ll let you have that.”

If it were possible, Melmord would have slipped in his chair. He slipped a sigh through his barely parted lips, letting the fear that collected spill out while Magnus regained better control of himself. When he was feeling a little better, he asked, “How about a song title, while we’re at it?” 

Magnus snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Alright,” Melmord conceded. “I'll take the laugh, though. Save it for a rainy day, if you don’t mind?”

And just like that, the topic was dropped. Easier than Melmord could have hoped, and over a terrible joke, a sad attempt to deflect from the conversation. It wasn’t very funny, but Hammersmith laughed, and Melmord hardly had a chance to process the significance behind the act when Charles returned a few minutes later. It was hard to say whether he was pleased or upset at the peaceful scene he had entered. Magnus smiling, and Melmord so relieved. Charles merely looked over the table, the few tossed pieces of conversation starters, and gave a short nod.

Two new klokateers followed after him, one wheeling a cart carrying something that was covered in a sheet. The second klokateer picked up the hat. Both Melmord and Magnus watched from their seats. Neither had bothered removing any more shreds of folded post-its from the hat. While they never commented on it beyond what was already hinted by Magnus, both harbored their own suspicions regarding the remaining questions posed. While it was pointless to make accusations, both agreed to keep their mouths shut about it and agree that Charles carried some ulterior motive. Whether that motive was to unsettle or unify would remain unspoken, as neither were willing to take a risk and openly discuss Charles when his men were within earshot.

“Offdensen,” Melmord greeted dryly.

“Charles,” Magnus murmured, eyes avoiding said man as he took to the front of the table. 

“Gentlemen,” Charles greeted with his usual, contained tone. “Glad to see the two of you chatting. Are we, ah, ready to begin the next set of exercises?” 

“Yes, but only if you let me catch you first,” Melmord sarcastically jested and, to his delight, heard another snicker from Magnus.

“Now is not the time for jokes,” Charles stated firmly, earning the shuddered grimace of several cornered gears. Such a reaction would normally crumble Melmord’s resolve and make him regret his decision, but in angering Charles, Melmord only humored Magnus more, and as Charles’ eyes narrowed in annoyance, Magnus broke into a fit of airy laughter, enjoying every second of his flushed face, many lines and trembling bottom lip. How could Melmord possibly regret speaking when Magnus’ antagonistic laughter carried the schedule off course, and jabbed at the once unmovable figure that haunted their every waking moment. 

Best of all: this time, it sounded real.

[killingkueen]

Fic: Nooner

Summary: Belle wants to ask Gold something. It’s very important and can’t wait. Obviously. || A companion to Seeing Red, but you don’t need to have read it.

Rating: E (this is just porn); specifically mutual masturbation and a tiny bit of cum play

AO3 link

Thank you to the spectacular @paradigmparadoxical, who keeps the world turning.

OOO

“—but close enough in shape and color.”

“That’d be great! Honestly, whatever you have to do, you know? Mary would be devastated if nothing was salvageable.”

Belle closed the door behind her, the bell chiming merrily.

“A moment, dearie,” Gold called absently, bent over the display case inspecting whatever David Nolan had brought in. “Most of them aren’t,” Gold continued with David. “But if Mrs. Nolan doesn’t object to a couple glue lines on the ones that aren’t shattered, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s more than we expected, honestly.”

She hovered at the door, wondering if she should come back tomorrow—her lunch break was only so long—and perhaps she would have, if the view were different. Belle liked watching Gold in his element: behind his counter, the sun just missing him as it stretched across the floor of his shop. It left him in shadow, despite the lights overhead. He might not enjoy working with the public, but he was good at it, letting his knowledge and expertise guide him.

Gold wrapped the glass pieces back in the towel that David had brought them in, placing the bundle carefully in the shoebox. “I’ll dig around for the figurines I have,” he said. “They might be too small, but I have a few sources that would likely have more appropriate sizes. If it comes to that, I’ll call you with an estimate.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” Belle could hear the relieved grin in David’s voice as he reached out a hand to shake Gold’s.

Gold’s lips twitched into a polite smile. He let go and turned to greet his new customer, finally spotting her.

“Miss French,” he said, voice deepening. His smile became no less placid, but he looked more present than moments ago, his eyes brightening. “What a surprise.”

“Hey,” Belle sighed, smiling in return. There was no way there was enough time left on her break—even taking the rest of the day off wouldn’t suffice. 

David coughed, catching the changed air between them. “Well, now that I got the mobile squared away, I think I’ll be leaving. Thanks again, Gold.”

“You’ll be hearing from me,” he said automatically, eyes glued to Belle. He didn’t turn to watch David leave.

For that matter, Belle wasn’t inclined to do more than offer David a quick smile in goodbye when he passed her. She made quick work of flipping the closed sign and lock, before prancing up to the counter.

“Can you fit me in, Mr. Gold?”

“It’s quite short notice, Miss French. I’m afraid I have to charge a fee.” 

“And what would that be?” she asked slowly. She relished the way his eyes trailed down to her lips.

“Nothing too steep, I hope,” he said, leaning forward.

Belle happily met him for a sweet peck. When they parted, she bit her lip. No, there was not enough time in the world with this man.

“Tea, sweetheart?” Gold asked.

“I was thinking lunch? Maybe? Eventually.”

He raised an eyebrow, gaze darting to his locked door.

Belle cleared her throat. “Let’s talk in the back.”

“Talk, hm?” There was the beginning spark of mischief in his eyes as he swept the curtain aside, holding it for her pass by him.

“Yes. Talk.” Belle put on her most stern face. It was hard to keep up when he was smirking like that, when he popped his hip as he stood in the backroom, waiting for her first move.

She cleared her throat. “So,” Belle began. “I want to see your—cock.” 

She hoped she wasn’t blushing. It would be really silly if she were blushing, considering all the things they’d already said and done to each other. But Gold murmuring dirty things so sweetly into her ear while he moved in her felt vastly different when she tried to say the same things in the light of his backroom while they were still fully clothed.

Instead of cringing in secondhand embarrassment, Gold’s smirk deepened. “Do you, now?” He hooked his cane on the edge of the worktable and reached for her waist. Belle accepted the kiss, letting it deepen. She sucked his bottom lip until his wandering hands trailed to the zipper on her skirt.

Belle stepped away reluctantly, her hands running down Gold’s arms until she was loosely holding his hands—and it was with a huge amount of self-restraint that she didn’t abandon her plan right there and let him have his nefarious way with her.

“I mean, I want to actually see it.” Belle pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. Gold’s eyes strayed to her mouth longingly.

Gold turned their hands so his thumbs were rubbing circles into her wrists. The gentle movement belied his filthy smirk.

“You’ve seen me plenty,” he said.

“Yes, that’s true.” Belle trailed her eyes downward. “But, see, I had this completely random thought while I was doing something very important at the library,” she started.

“Reading on the job again, Miss French?”

“And,” she said, admitting nothing. “I realized I have never seen a hardening cock.” At least her  voice was steady, even if she had to dart her eyes away from his face.

Gold gave her a blank look, his thumbs pausing.

“I’ve seen you hard, but never how you got there,” Belle elaborated.

“Huh.” Gold thought on that as she took a deliberate step back, his hands brushing against hers as they let go. She then took another, until she could lean against his work table.

“If that’s what you want, I suppose I have no reason to say no.” Despite his confusion, he started to work at his belt buckle, so that was something.

“It really is,” Belle said, toes curling as she watched.

He got as far as unzipping his trousers before asking, “Do you mind if I sit for this?”

“Not at all,” she said, but Gold was already limping to the cot. He waved away her help as he settled, slipping off his jacket and placing it carefully on the pillow. He unbuttoned his waistcoat, folding it on the jacket. 

Next, he toed off his shoes, then toed them to the side so they wouldn’t get in the way. His fingers fidgeted with the top buttons of his shirt, not sure if that should go, too.

“The point is to be seen, yes?” He glanced at her, still against the table, but couldn’t hold her gaze. It dropped to his feet, and he focused on peeling off his socks instead.

“Do—do you not want to?” She thought they had gotten past his initial shyness; considering how often they’d seen each other naked, she thought this request would be easy.

Gold opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. “I guess you could say I’m not a fan of being scrutinized,” he finally admitted.

“I have already seen it,” she reminded him. “And I like how it looks when it’s hard. I only want to see how it gets there.”

“Do you?” Gold asked. 

“Yeah,” Belle said. If Belle were to rank the aesthetic appeal of a human body, a penis would rank near bottom—dicks were strange and beyond the obvious use for them Belle never understood their appeal. Not that she saw the point in mentioning that. 

She was still honest when she said: “It’s yours, that’s why I like it.” 

Gold, thankfully, believed her; he undid the trouser button, and lifted his hips so he could slide them and his briefs down his thighs, letting them pool at his ankles.

He smiled at her, and it was less the filthy smirk of minutes ago than the tender melting of his eyes, a soft tilt at the corner of his lips. A wonder (a privilege, an honor), that such a small assurance from her was enough to get him to look at her like that.

It was really, really hard for Belle not to walk over and straddle him. It would be the work of moments to push her panties aside and sink onto him like a rock at the bottom of an ocean. She just had to remember she wanted to see this through more. 

He spread his knees, welcoming her greedy eyes, but the tails of his silk shirt obscured his lap.

“You’re still hiding,” she accused.

He hid his grimace well with a smile that reached his eyes. Before Belle could offer an alternative, his hands were already sliding each button through the eyehole, and then his front was bared to her. 

Gold was a slim man by nature, his thin frame hinting at a wiry strength. His skin was smooth and tanned, framed by the shirt he left hanging off his shoulders, open. He was welcome to leave it on; the purple was a good color on him.

Belle was too far away. If she was going to watch the show, she needed a front row seat. Slowly, as if to keep from spooking a wild animal, she crouched to her hands and knees. Crawling was the work of moments in the cramped space of the backroom. She stopped as she reached the cradle of Gold’s knees, her eyes never leaving his cock.

He made a noise in his throat at her approach, and his cock gave an interested twitch, but otherwise stayed very pink and very soft.

Gold blew out a breath of air from his nose. She watched as he ran one hand down his stomach, over his hips, then cupped his sac underneath. Before his other could grab hold of the shaft, Belle stopped him.

“No hands,” she ruled, tapping his knee until he let go of himself. “I can’t see.”

Gold frowned. “How do you think this works?”

“I don’t know. It just happens, right?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” he said, shifting his hips.

A few moments passed.

“Aw, does he not like being put on the spot?”

Gold snorted. “Keep staring like that, it’ll perk up.”

Belle regarded his nethers curiously. “Usually you get hard so quickly. You’re almost always ready to go by the time I get your clothes off. It’s actually quite flattering.”

“Happy to please,” he murmured.

Belle had never been this close to his flaccid member before. It wasn’t exactly shriveled, but it was limp like a deflated balloon, pillowed on his balls, head pointed down. It humored her to see that it fit quite neatly on top of his scrotum, the dick being a little narrower, a little shorter—like nesting dolls.

Her gaze broadened slightly, taking in his spread thighs, the hair he kept trimmed, the V of his hips that stood prominent, despite the rounding belly above. Belle knew exactly how the skin below his belly button tasted, knew how he’d jolt in pleasure if she cupped his sack in her hand or trailed two fingers behind to tease at his perineum. 

“He is shy, isn’t he?” she said, her mouth feeling dry. She was getting impatient.

“Stop calling it a ‘he,’” Gold huffed, trying to smother his indulgent smile.

“Maybe I can help?”

“Your, ah, mouth, perhaps?” Gold said promptly, licking his lips. He spread his legs further, an invitation for her to settle between them.

It was a tempting offer. “I would feel it, not see it.” 

A fascinating sensation, surely—to put her mouth on his soft cock and feel it harden, lengthening against her tongue. How different would his skin-warm flesh feel before the blood warmed it further? Would the heat of him burn her? And if she palmed his balls, if he thrust his hips, how long until he grew too big to fit completely in her mouth?

Belle leaned forward on her hands, watching him twitch. “Next time, definitely,” she promised.

“Your breasts, then,” 

She realized then that she had him at a disadvantage, what with being fully clothed while Gold was very nearly naked. And that sent something through her, didn’t it, a heat that was as familiar as her hands. She was warm before, but now felt a blaze alight under her skin, right in her groin.

They could play with that later. Belle started to undo the buttons on her blouse, pulling at the fabric to release it from the waistband of her skirt. She’d leave it on though, like his was. Her bra was not front latching; she shrugged the straps down her shoulders, then pushed the cups down. She wished, not for the first time, that she was better endowed. Never would her breasts be described as being contained by her bras; they were comfortably blanketed.

From the look of rapture on Gold’s face, he didn’t mind. His hands were squeezing his knees, likely to keep from pulling her closer and ruining her game. His eyes were dark and hungry, focused entirely on her chest.

Belle bit her lip, cupping herself in her hands, pushing the mounds up and then together. At his groan of approval, she flicked her nipples with her thumbs. The welcoming pull that sent through her was almost enough to close her eyes, but she couldn’t forget her purpose.

Her eyes trailed down, back to Gold’s cock. Was it bigger than it was, moments ago? She pinched her nipples, pulling them out, then pushing in, leaning into the movement. The jolt was deeper than her belly; she could feel it right in her cunt. She couldn’t keep her mouth from opening in a silent gasp of pleasure, but her eyes stayed focused on Gold.

And there, finally—he began to swell, his cock growing and lifting off his balls as it filled with his hot blood. Slowly, it came to swing between them, long and hard. If he gave his length a pull or two (with a slight twist at the head that she knew he favored), maybe it would fall back against his belly, sitting as he was.

 And wasn’t that an idea.

“Did you know erections produced from oral sex are longer than erections without?” she asked without thinking.

His answering laugh was surprised, short. His eyes, still dark, still heated, melted somewhat into a look of complete adoration.

“If you want it longer, by all means,” he panted.

Belle hummed, eyes scanning up and down his length carefully. The skin was flushed like the sky at sunset; the tip darker than the peach at the base.

“You’re already perfect,” she decided, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to the tip. Her tongue flicked over him, teasing inside his slit.

His hips twitched, and he released a rush of breath at the contact that turned into a moan of disappointment when instead of taking him into her mouth, she leaned back on her heels.

Belle gave him an encouraging smile, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Go on, then.”

He looked at her blankly. “What?”

“I want to watch.”

“Watch what?”

“What do you think?”

She hadn’t had a plan when she first walked into the shop. Nothing concrete beyond asking for what he so delightfully just delivered. But the view was too good to pass up, and ordering him around sent such a delicious thrill down her spine. Belle settled back on her heels, expectant.

Gold’s throat bobbed. His hand loosely gripped his shaft. He took to this request with a surprising but welcomed ardor.

“There’s lotion. In that drawer." He nodded to the cabinet by his chair.

“Unscented?” she teased, slipping off her heels before standing up. She didn’t trust herself to walk in a straight line in this state.

She found the bottle near the front, brandishing it proudly when she turned back to face him. “The question is—” she started.

While she was digging through the drawer, Gold had freed his ankles from his trousers, his shoulders and arms from his shirt. He now sat bare and hard on the cot. Belle froze—couldn’t help but stare.

“Take a picture,” he teased. “It’ll last longer.”

“Maybe I should,” Belle murmured. “Give me something to keep me warm when you leave me cold and alone in my apartment.”

Gold whined. He held his hand out for the lotion, and when Belle gave it to him, he grasped her hand in his, turning it so he could press a hard, needy kiss to the palm of her hand.

“I love your cock,” Belle said, getting comfortable at his feet. “I don’t tell you enough, just how much.”

He whined again, fumbling with the bottle. When he was lubed, he wasted no time wrapping a hand around himself. To Belle’s delight, he started slow, with firm strokes. His other hand cupped his balls, fondling himself as he stared at her with open want.

“It’s so hard and thick. I love how it feels in my hand, how it tastes in my mouth.” The words came much easier than before. Gold leaned forward slightly, desperate to hear them. “And especially my wet, hungry cunt.”

Belle was wiggling her hips before she realized she had started tweaking her nipples again. Fuck, but she wanted him so much. She could feel the moisture that had seeped into the gusset of her panties. 

She spread her legs wider, giving herself more purchase to run her hand up and down her thighs and then hike up her skirt. As Gold twisted his hand at his tip, she pushed her panties aside so she could swirl her fingers through her moist curls. 

Gold’s grip was firm as his hand gripped his cock and he pumped it a little faster up and down, watching Belle the entire time. “Fuck, Belle,” he moaned when she used two of her fingers to open her cunt lips, showing him how wet he made her.

Smooth and musky, she could smell her scent mixing with his, and she inhaled deeply, wanting more of it. 

He squeezed his erection, hand tightened on his balls, and Gold watched, rapt, as Belle slipped a finger inside of herself, where she desperately wanted him; his fingers, his tongue, his hard cock. 

He was leaking precum, could see it glistening on his fingers. She pictured him sliding against her labia, how it felt to grind against his shaft. Her thumb pressed gently across her hard clit, finger pinching and twisting her nipple. She watched his hand work himself, matching his pace as she added another finger.

“Belle, love,” he panted in answer, stroking himself harder and faster, listening to her sweet moans as she brought herself closer and closer to orgasm. She knew he was close, could almost see his cum boiling in his sac.

Gold’s eyes stayed trained on her cunt, to the gushy slide of her fingers and fuck, she can practically feel herself dripping on his hardwood floor. She gasped, cunt squelching at the image of making him lick it up.

She made a sound, drawn out and low, as her fingers curled in her just there. She desperately tried to keep her eyes open, to keep watching as Gold fisted his cock, and she nearly succeeded. Wave after wave rushed through her, and she felt electric and loved and beautiful. With a final gasp, she fell forward, catching herself on Gold’s good knee.

His movement had slowed at her orgasm, but picked up with a frenzy when she sucked her fingers into her mouth with a happy hum.

“Belle, please,” he cried, desperate. “Please, fuck.”

“Anything,” she promised, looking up at him with hooded eyes, mouth already watering at the thought of swallowing him down.

“Your chest,” he said. “Please, please, may I?—”

Belle blinked, surprised, but straightened enough so she could settle in front of his frantic hand. His eyes were glued to her tits as she bared herself, making sure her shirt and bra were out of the way.

The first ropey splash at her collar bone made her toes curl, the warmth surprising her more than it should. The second, the third, accompanied by a low groan. Gold squeezed his cock in one hand, cradled his scrotum in the other, making sure every last drop was wrung from him.

Belle felt the cum cool even as it dripped down her chest, but she wasn’t paying much mind to it, not when the lines had disappeared around his mouth, when he was so lovely and content, the sweat making his hair stick to his face. 

Their eyes caught, and he smiled. Belle let the laughter burst from her, and she ran her hands up and down the insides of his thighs, kissing his knee.

She was probably hours late to the library. Her clothes were disheveled and if she got cum on her shirt she was going to die of embarrassment, but she didn’t care. She was laughing with the man she loved, who loved her back.

“This is called something,” she said, when her laugh subsided. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, her knees felt a little raw from kneeling unprotected. She felt better than she had all week.

“Ah, a necklace, of some sort.” His hands found hers on his thighs. He laced their fingers together.

“Opal necklace, was it?”

“Pearl, I think,” Gold said. The crow's feet at his eyes crinkled. It suited him, this contentment. The blush of his orgasm was clearing up, his cock drooping down again, yet he kept the rosy glow, the liquid adoration in his eyes.

“That’s right,” she murmured. With her finger, Belle smeared some of the mess across her collar bone, careful to miss her blouse. “You’ve given me a pearl necklace.”

It was getting tacky. It’d dry soon. She wondered what it would feel like to have to peel it off her skin. She had to admit, the image was a lot less fun than how it was put there.

Gold watched her fingers, chest rumbling with a sound that wasn’t quite a growl. “I’ll buy you real pearls. As many as you want.”

He’d look at her the same, she knew; whether she was spread out on a bed wearing nothing but a dozen strings of pearls, or here in the back of his shop with her shirt hastily opened, her skirt hiked up around her hips.

“I’d rather you make me dinner,” Belle decided. She pushed herself up just enough to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. 

With an anchoring hand on the back of her neck, he took her hand—the one she’d used to finger herself, the one smeared with his cum—brought it to his lips and sucked them into his mouth. 

Belle could only sigh in approval as his tongue licked her clean. When he finished, he placed an open-mouthed kiss below her collarbone, sucking in her skin, their moans mingling as he cleaned her there, too.

Soon her chest was wet and sticky with his saliva and what cum he hadn’t licked up. She was quite pink, too, from his love bites. With a final kiss over her heart, Gold reached over to his suit jacket so he could pull the handkerchief from the front pocket and started in on the mess still on her chest.

“No, you’ll ruin the silk,” Belle protested half-heartedly.

Instead of answering, he flashed her a crooked smile. 

“I’m making fish tonight. With broccoli and potatoes. You should come.”

“But it’s your week with Bae.” She hadn’t been serious about dinner, at least not immediately so.

“The lad should get used to you being around, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think he likes me much,” she said, chewing on her lip.

“He doesn’t know you well, is all.” He kissed her temple. “You tend to flitter off every time he shows up. He thinks you’re avoiding him.” Anxiety had creeped into the corner of his eyes, dimming the warmth.

“I’m trying to respect his boundaries,” she said weakly.

She liked Bae; it was hard not to. But she was also keenly aware that Gold was the stable parent, and that the life of a single father and his teenaged son might not always have room for her. But perhaps that was a tad short-sighted. There would never be room for her if she didn’t stick around long enough to get comfortable.

“Come to dinner, Belle.”

She hummed. “What kind of potatoes?” 

“Roasted,” he said. He kissed her below her jaw. “With garlic and herbs.”

“And for dessert?” she asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, skin still bared and warm.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something when Bae goes to bed.” He caught her mouth in a kiss, swallowing her laugh as it bubbled from her chest.

[youarejesting]

Hope in the Sheets.4

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers,

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things. What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Reference to a previous sexual encounter, pregnancy, Toxic Family.

You were sitting at the bar drinking your fourth glass of orange juice, the sweet citrus flavour was really hitting the spot. Laying your head onto the polished shiny wood you could see the dance floor lit completely. Jimin swept the floor and mopped it diligently, of course they cleaned up thoroughly when they closed the bar but Jimin prefers to clean again. 

You felt a fondness blooming in your chest watching Jimin dancing around with the mop in hand. Yoongi was setting up and testing each speaker individually and testing out his equipment.

There were two hours left before the bar opened and Seokjin began ordering some food, Jimin got a text as he was putting the mop and now empty bucket away. Yoongi leaned over to read it —That guy had no shame— “Hoseok is on his way over”

“Really?” You asked a little nervous to see Hoseok so soon, you hadn’t even figured things out, you weren’t ready to see him. 

“You sound surprised but we have pizza night every second friday” Namjoon smiled exiting the staff room, smelling clean and fresh his hair combed back. 

A part of you happy for the oncoming pizza boxes heading your way. Seokjin began by placing a container in front of you, you opened it excited. A large part of you hoping it was some fried chicken, only to see plainly seasoned roast chicken and vegetables. 

Seokjin had already started acting protective, reading the pamphlets and telling you, you can’t have barbeque, raw fish, deli meats or soft cheese. So you were enviable of their pepperoni cheese heaven.

“We haven’t had pizza night since before the renovations behind the bar, did you see the difference compare to last month when you had come in?” Namjoon added unmoving as Jimin gracefully spun around him heading towards the door unlocking it for Hoseok to come in when he arrived. 

“I don’t really remember much about that night and what I do know I have tried to repress” You couldn’t help but pout looking at the plate of beans, you could eat most veggies but beans were the worst. You pushed the plate away and Seokjin pushed it back and you looked up with puppy dog eyes and he shook his head.

“He could not have been that bad,” Yoongi said, missing the exchange between the two of you, especially the way you were making rude gestures to the manager. “I have danced with Hoseok, he knows how to grind.”

“What’s all this?” Namjoon said, sitting at the table and looking over the pamphlets Seokjin was reading. “Who is pregnant?”

“I didn’t want to tell you?” Seokjin looked at Namjoon his lips pursed the way they do when he tries to keep a straight face, “but I am pregnant”

“Haha, guys can’t get pregnant” A small voice chuckled and you saw a familiar face. He was freshly showered and looking well dressed in black boots pants and button up. 

“Oh everyone this is Jeon Jungkook, Seokjin and I hired him to help with the door and any rough housing” He gave a nervous smile, looking around. He opened his mouth to talk when the front door opened. Jungkook turned squaring his shoulders only to be deflated by Jimin carrying drinks “Jungkook sit down this is Hoseok”

You smiled pulling out your seat to the left and gesturing for Jungkook to sit. Hoseok faltered whilst removing his jacket for a moment, questioning why you had let Jungkook sit on your left. Genuinely sorry, you gave him an apologetic look. He laughed and walked across to the bar where he pulled out a pair of your spare shoes from his bag and placed them in the staff room. You found out last time that he was the one leaving your shoes at the bar but to actually see him do it was really sweet.

“Do you work here as well Noona?” The apprentice bouncer asked pulling your attention away from your neighbor and best friend.

“No, I just stop by every Friday for pizza night” 

“But you're not eating pizza?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“I will trade you some beans for a slice” you grinned and he nodded picking up a slice and turning to you and freezing “um… maybe not”

“No, you need to eat healthier,” Seokjin argued. 

“But they are disgusting!” You whined letting your head fall back. 

“Eat them or no ice cream” He stood up heading behind the bar for a tub of ice cream that was used for special cocktails. 

“ice cream?” You almost gave yourself whiplash with how fast your head lifted. 

“Eat the beans and you get ice cream!” He said sternly and Hoseok moved around the table and stole a bean. “And no help from Hoseok” huffing and putting them in your mouth grumbling as you chewed. 

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” He said

“I hate it, the texture is wrong, it’s not food”

“But you did it, so what ice cream would you like?”

“Cookie dough?”

“Can’t have raw egg, I got chocolate, vanilla and strawberry”

“We have coffee too…” Jimin’s voice died out with the glare Seokjin gave. 

“This house is a prison” you frowned, throwing a stray bean at Seokjin and he laughed handing you a bowl of chocolate ice cream. 

“Hey are we partying tonight?” Hoseok asked around a mouth full or pizza, how could he be so damn handsome even when he is doing the weirdest things. “Ah but you haven’t gotten changed from your work uniform”

“No, I am just having dinner and heading home, tonight” you sighed “doctors orders”

“Oh well I guess, we can go out another night or something” he said being polite and waiting for you to talk about your doctor's appointment, Hoseok never pried with things like this. Jungkook was a charming young man and Yoongi asked for a dance. 

It was Yoongi’s version of bonding, he held your waist and gently moved to the music and you laid your head on his chest. “You okay?” He asked the gravel in his voice was almost purr like and woke you from your daze. 

“Just tired” the words mumbled as you hugged his torso, his heart beating a steady rhythm. 

“You are thinking too much, no more thinking tonight, just go home and get some rest and think some more tomorrow” pulling away he looked you in the eyes taking your face in his hands he kissed your forehead. “I will support you and your body no matter the decision”

“Thanks Yoongi, I decided I’m not going to get the prescription. I think a part of me already loves them way too much” touching your lower belly, allowing yourself to be a little excited, if only for the moment. 

You were worried and you should be. This was a big deal, but something about the support the boys gave you made it almost exciting. You began to day dream about a baby just like Hobi running around your apartment and cringed, taking the child to school on the bus before going to work. 

Blanching at the thought, you needed to put the baby first and your life right now wasn’t good enough to support a family. It was time to stop thinking single and start thinking like a mother. 

Maybe Yoongi was right, it was time to stop thinking, get through the night and plan everything tomorrow. With you in tow Yoongi led you back to the other, he placed your hand in Hoseoks and told him to take you home. 

Hoseok nodded getting your coats and thanking them all for dinner, he reassured Jungkook he was in good hands and told him to relax. Hoseok helped you dutifully into your coat looking longingly at the bar you frowned feeling bad for him. 

He took your hand in his warm one and walked you to the door opening it for you like a gentleman. He noticed how miserable you seemed and took your hand racing down the sidewalk until he arrived at a small convenience store. 

“Wait here.” He turned to you and paused looking you over with a smile “you look really pretty today”

You visibly reddened a considerable amount enough so that Hoseok noticed grinning and ran into the shop. Watching his head pop up over the aisles as he ran back and forth, you had no clue what he was looking for but clearly he did as he raced back and forth not once appearing lost.

He emerged with a biodegradable bag filled with an assortment of midnight snacks. He opened the bag letting you peek inside. “I got all your favourites, we can go home and watch some late night telly or one of your favourite movies” 

Your mood skyrocketed. Grasping his hand, swinging it enthusiastically on the way home. Hoseok stepped between you and a group of men smoking and drinking on a bench. He gave them a curt but polite ‘good evening’ and continued guiding you along. 

The two of you made it to the door seeing the door had been pried open. “Again, I hate this stupid appartment, let’s hope they got bored before they reached our apartments.”

They got to their doors and thankfully noticed that they were not broken into. “We need to add a few more locks on the doors.”

“Or you know move” You laughed

“Come on the rent is almost nonexistent and the pizza shop is in sight, what else do two bachelors need in their lives.” He laughed flopping onto your couch and grinning at you upside down.

You placed the snacks into a bowl and placed it on the coffee table as Hoseok began flipping through the channels. “Knocked up is on you wanna watch that?”

The scene that happened to play was at the restaurant where Katherine Heigl announces she is pregnant and the father makes a witty clueless remark.

“No thank you,” Your tone was clipped and he thankfully changed the channel.

“Yeah it’s a bit overplayed. What about Juno, it just started?” He shrugged

“Nah,” You said, sitting beside Hoseok laying against him and closing your eyes to push back tears you were overwhelmed.

“Animation numbness?” He asked, turning on your Disney plus you laid there without opening your eyes “anything?’

“Yes” He put on his favourite ‘Peter Pan’ and pulled you up to lay against his chest sensing you were not quite alright. He sang cutely in your ear along to ‘We’re following the leader’ with the children on the television.

You got to the part where Wendy sings ‘You’re mother and mine’ before the tears started to fall. Hoseok noticed the way your chest shook against his and sat up. “Hey Little Darling, tell me what is wrong.”

“Everything.” You sniffed burying your face into his chest and he patted your head threading his hand through your hair soothing the raging emotions.

“Tell me little darling,” He whispered softly, trying to calm you and give the support you need. “Is it about the doctors, are you sick, is something wrong?”

“No nothing, it’s fine,” The finality in your voice made him go quiet, of course he was upset but he respected your decision and just held you. “I think... I might go to bed.”

The abruptness of your decision made him sit up, “Are you sure, I can stay and I won’t pry”

“I really should sleep, this is something I have to figure out by myself and then I can talk to you okay,” You said standing and he nodded standing grabbing his coat and heading to the door. Before you could shut the door he turned pulling you into a hug. 

“I am here for you okay, don’t try to do it on your own, not when I am here and willing to help you, okay” he looked at you grabbing your shoulder and making sure your eyes would meet his before he continued “I will be by your side no matter what, trust me okay. I love you sleep well”

You would be lying if that I love you didn’t hit a little different, you nodded “Thank you Hoseok let me process and then we can talk okay.” Shutting and locking the door you began taking a few deep breaths. There was undeniable comfort from Hoseok’s words and it made you believe everything was okay. 

Taking out your phone with shaky hands you searched for a name you hadn’t contacted in a long time, even their name in your phone was mocking you. You clicked ‘Mum’ followed by the small phone icon before placing the phone to your ear.

Your hands trembling, you didn’t know what to do. You heard your mother answer with her familiar underlying snobbish greeting. 

“Good evening?”

“Hey Mum,” You caught yourself before your voice cracked, never giving your mother the satisfaction, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, what do you need?” Her voice clipped and you bit your lip trying not to fight, this wasn’t why you were calling. You journeyed into the bathroom feeling a little sick, your mother always brought your anxiety back ten fold.

“Nothing, I was just wanting to tell you…” You squared your shoulders and stared at yourself in the mirror. It was a challenge, you were telling yourself to be a proverbial man. “I am pregnant.”

“Of course you are, you wasted your college degree by becoming a carny and now you are pregnant. I was waiting for you to stuff your life up more. And what now you need money, to help get rid of the thing, come home and we will take care of it. Maybe this will be a reminder to keep your legs shut”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, I am an adult don’t ever contact me again, because I sure as hell am never going to” You hung up placing your phone down and the sickness faded like a weight off your shoulders your mother was not a part of the equation.

Walking to the kitchen you sat on the breakfast bar stool and pulled out a book and began writing out a plan. There were things you needed to do. Of course telling Hoseok was important but you were planning without him. Because if he rejected you and this baby well then you were on your own.

It was always best to plan for the worst case scenario. A better house; the baby cannot live in a broken down high theft studio apartment. A drivers license; you definitely couldn’t take the child to school on the bus everyday before going to work and as for work you needed a serious job. You paused; these were the first important things.

Opening your laptop you began looking at houses and loans, saving tabs and looking at a driving school, there was no time to party. Texting Seokjin ideas he told you he would help you with some of the lessons and you were grateful that he would help you.

[Jimin: Hey, I thought...] [Jimin: And feel free to stop me but...] [Y/n: Spit it out Jiminie] [Jimin: I might have a better job for you, I just thought that the theme park would be too physical and at somepoint you won’t be able to lift and such.] [Y/n: Oh wow, I hadn’t thought about the lifting and standing business but I did think I would need more money and a real job, what do you have in mind?] [Jimin: You are qualified for it and it is a desk job, that pays well.]

You kind of felt good about everything, Jimin gave you an application for the desk job and depending on what you heard back you would have to give your two weeks notice at the theme park.

[Jin: As tomorrow is Saturday, How about your first driving lesson?] [Y/n: I mean sure, I have booked in to see the Realestate and I have filled out papers for a home loan, I can’t live here, it isn’t safe for a child.] [Jin: I will be there in the morning and I will drop off some healthy meals...] [Jin: I am slaving away in this kitchen so you better eat them.] [Jin: We don’t want the little one getting hungry, okay?] [Y/n: Okay, I get it. We will drive and look at houses tomorrow don’t be late] [Jin: I am never late.]

Seokjin was really getting into his role as fake father. But it made you feel like you had some sort of support behind you and that made you happy. You were exhausted laying on your single bed and decided not to dwell on things any more that evening. 

The next morning Seokjin knocked on your door, upon opening he looked at you with horrified eyes, “Your front door has been smashed in, why do you still live here?” He huffed placing bags on the bench, “you better understand that I love you, look at all these dinners I prepared”

“Thank you Jin, for everything, I really can’t thank you enough right now” You hugged him and he held you a little longer than normal perhaps waiting for you to break down.

“Are you ready to go?” Seokjin said, opening the front door to reveal Hoseok standing there looking absolutely confused.

“Go where?” His voice croaked a little evidence of his recent rising.

“We are looking at houses” You said nonchalantly, “Do you want to come?”

“Sure let me get dressed,” He ran back inside and Seokjin looked at you cautiously and you nodded. The three of you got into the car and Seokjin began instructing you to drive and you were doing pretty well even Hoseok who is scared of almost everything was calm.

You all spent the day looking and discussing houses and your price range and the possibility of a home loan, Hoseok just listened. He seemed amazed by the length you were going to, just to get a home or at least that’s what it felt like.

You looked at different houses and you knew which one you could afford but you couldn’t help but dream about one of the more expensive ones that they had accidentally showed you. Even Seokjin and Hoseok saw you smile when you looked at the places.

The last house you looked at was overrun with grass weeds and trees, garbage in the yard, a broken window and everything needed fixing but it was the cheapest.

The neighbourhood wasn’t bad, but the plumbing was, there was no electricity either which meant you had a lot of work cut out for you. Nothing could compare to your dream house, it had french doors to a back porch and a large backyard with a neat garden.

After inspecting each property you went back to the real estate office and stood outside in the fresh breeze while the agent made a few calls about your loan flexibility. Seokjin went to get coffee from the Cafe just down the road and to enter the real estate office when Hoseok grabbed your arm gently and blushed apologetically, “Hey can we talk just really quick?”

“Sure Hobi,” Your eyes scanned his sheepish form and he opened his mouth but quickly shut it, “What is it?”

“Is it about the break in, I can totally understand if it is, We can find a new place together, something nicer, and with more space in a better neighbourhood.” He looked flustered he wanted to express so much he was fumbling over his words, “Just I don’t want it to be cause of something else, I don’t want it to be about me, or something I have done”

“Hoseok, I have something to tell you,” Your heart was beating out of your chest, “I got some news from the doctor and well I have to get my life in order because this is serious Hoseok”

“Oh god!” He clutched you in his arms, “Don’t say you are dying, please anything but that, I can’t live without you”

“No Hobi, I am pregnant, I have to get my life in order, I can’t raise a baby in a broken studio eating tinned food, I need a proper job and house and…” He pulled back to look at you in a mix of shock and relief “I am scared, and alone”

“You are pregnant, like really pregnant?”

“Yes, and I am pretty much disowned too, so I have no help from home and have I said I was scared because I am shaking” You sniffed tears falling and he held you

"I will be there for you" He smiled, “We can get a house together and raise a baby. Wait. Who did this?” 

“I got you a smoothie cause you can’t have Coffee” Seokjin smiled handing a coffee to Hoseok and a smoothie for you. You saw Hoseok’s eyes slid to Seokjin and flick back to yours.

“Him?”

It looked like Hoseok was about to punch him when the Agent stepped out and guided us back into the office, I spoke with the bank and they said you are only eligible for the broken down bomb site of a home.

But amongst the deadly glares of Hoseok and the disappointment on Seokin’s face at the bank’s refusal to lend any more he went to speak. “What about if I add a Ten thousand dollar deposit?”

“No, No deposit I will take it. I have some time to fix it and I intend to.”

“You can’t live there, it is creepy.” Hoseok said

“I can and I will, I have to make a safe environment for a baby Hobi, I can’t sit around in our apartment and wait for someone to stab me in my sleep, I have fate in my hands and I am taking it” You walked into the realtors office and signed the forms, the house was now yours.

You sighed stepping out of the realtors and Seokjin said, “the boys and I will help you clean up”

“I can get some of the guys from work” Hoseok said, appearing more like he was trying to outdo Seokjin, instead of genuinely helping. Either way you were thankful for their help.

The clean up was going to be a huge task and you needed all the help you could get.

Tags: @brbkpop​​​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​​​ @munchyn​​​ @unadulteratedlyunique​​​ @jinhitwhore​​​  @knjkitten​​

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