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todoscript · 4 years ago

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you receive a love letter in your shoe locker from an anonymous admirer

characters: bakugou katsuki, kaminari denki, kirishima eijirou, midoriya izuku, shinsou hitoshi, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff. very slight angst.

word count: 3.2k+ total, 400-700 per character

warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, feelings of doubt (mostly all fluff though)

author’s note: i’ve been on spring break so i found some time to write this! i absolutely love writing for these six (not like they’re my faves or anything pshhhhh—)

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

he’s already fuming the moment you open your locker and hold out the pastel pink card, sealed by a shiny heart sticker with your name written in smooth calligraphy.

it doesn’t take much for him to realize some other dunce head is trying to make moves on his girl.

and he absolutely won’t stand for it.

he stomps over to you and snatches the letter right out of your hands as you’re reading it.

your complaints go ignored behind him while he inspects the writing with the most livid expression.

you know that ugly face he makes when it comes to his over-exaggerated anger? the one with his eyes all squinted and the corners sharpened upward?

that’s his face as he continues reading, growing more twisted at every mushy sentence this anonymous admirer had the gall to say to you.

at one point, he can’t stand to read it anymore so he crumbles the letter in his fist before igniting it into crisps.

you scold him for causing such a scene and letting his anger get the best of him, but bakugou is still annoyed about it regardless.

“tch, who the hell does this shithead think they are, trying to make moves on you when we’re already together?! i’m gonna kill them when i find out who it is!” he exclaims, hands instinctively sparking with heat that scares off the other students walking by.

you mentally facepalm at this. still, you go about reassuring him that you won’t be swayed and take his hand to walk to the dorms together.

“katsu, you know it’s going to take more than a love letter to make me leave you, right?”

“heh, damn right, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more that’s for fucking sure,” he sneers, a confident smirk on his face as he knows everyone else never had a chance with you to begin with. they can keep sending those letters and he’d make sure to burn them before they could even reach your hand.

on the way back to the dorms, he makes a conscious effort at pda—arm wrapped around your waist while his eyes glare daggers at any extra that even so much as looks at you the wrong way—asserting his claim over you.

meanwhile, having bared witness to that whole scene, your secret admirer is trembling in the corner. they make note to never send you another letter again unless they want their life to flash before their eyes in a fiery explosion.

KAMINARI DENKI

surprisingly enough, kaminari takes the whole situation more positively than most people expected.

in fact, he’s actually prideful about it.

just as he’s about to head over to your locker so you two could walk to class together, sero pokes his shoulder.

“hey, did you see all those written love confessions in y/n’s locker?” sero whispers behind his cupped hand near kaminari’s ear.

the blond scrunches his nose, confused. “no. what love confessions?”

“the letters that were stuffed in your girlfriend’s locker.”

again, kaminari is still puzzled at this. he realizes there’s only one way to understand what sero means.

when he glances in your direction he’s met with you fumbling around with a pile of letters balanced in your arms. his vision zeroes in on the envelopes, deciphering the fancy stationary and pretty embroidery.

oh. they’re love letters.

“other people are trying to make moves on your girl. what are you going to do about it, kaminari?” sero chimes in with an important question and honestly, kaminari can’t exactly make out a solution. or rather, he feels he doesn’t need to.

sure, he should be a little annoyed over the fact that others are disregarding your relationship.

yet could he really blame them for taking such a liking to you?

you’re pretty, smart, nice—the whole damn package.

he’d be more shocked if you didn’t have any secret admirers lurking around.

kaminari decides to leave his friend’s question relatively unanswered and continues his trek to your locker.

“hey, pretty girl! whatcha got there?”

taken off guard by his appearance, you nearly drop all the letters in your arms.

“denki, you scared me!” you exclaim. “these? they’re just some love letters some anonymous person placed in my locker. don’t worry though! i don’t plan on returning their feelings.”

smiling at how quickly you reassure him, he crosses his arms behind his head. “nah i’m not worried, babe. i don’t feel threatened or anything. it only makes sense that my girl is popular after all!”

you’re pleasantly surprised by how rationally he reacts to the scenario. though, knowing his character, he can’t just seem to leave it at that.

“yep, seems like we’re quite the popular couple!” he grabs your hand, wanting to show each other off as you make your way to class.

the bakusquad sees this as another opportunity to egg him on.

“and just how many love letters have you received since the beginning of the school year, kaminari?”

the blond freezes at the question. kaminari bites back words, but begrudgingly answers.

“...zero.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

“heya, babe!” kirishima enthusiastically calls to you, approaching your shoe locker. “ready to go back to the dorms?”

“yeah! in just a second though!” you reply.

as kirishima comes closer, he sees you occupied with some envelopes in your hand.

“what’re all those?” he asks, pointing at the refined stationary curiously.

“ah some letters gifted to me from an anonymous admirer. something about wanting to make their feelings finally known, but i’m not interested in them,” you say, clearing up everything before a misunderstanding could arise.

“oh, that’s cool.”

you quirk a brow at how relatively chill he is at this revelation. you were expecting a bigger reaction at this, but kirishima just simply smiles his genuine, care-free smile.

you don’t think much of it though. shoving the letters in your bag to dispose of later, you walk side-by-side with him to the dormitories.

little do you realize that kirishima actually mistakens this as pure, platonic admiration rather than infatuation.

to him, if they had really wanted to profess their love to you, they’d do it in person where you could see and hear them. not behind fancy penmanship and some pretty paper.

after all, that’s what a true man would do!

but as the days continue to roll by, he’s starting to have second thoughts.

“y/n, i’m telling you, with the amount of letters you keep receiving from them, you gotta find out who this person is!” he overhears mina lecturing you at your desk, going through another pile of notes that were left in your locker from that morning. lately, you’ve been greeted by an astounding number of these things each time you visited your locker.

“mina, there’s definitely no need for me to go out of my way to find this person.”

“aw, but look at all the sweet things they said about you!” mina recites a line from one of many letters. she muses about how the writer sentimentally compares your aura to that of a dandelion wisp in the wind—free and lighthearted yet fleeting and out of reach.

“how romantic!”

you roll your eyes, indifferent, but one side-glance at kirishima from your desk tells you that he’s beginning to interpret the situation differently.

the redhead has to admit that all those things that anonymous admirer said to you were… pretty sweet.

kirishima has always been a man of action—an passionate believer that actions spoke volumes compared to words alone. however, after hearing all of that, he’s wondering how he’s able to compete in that aspect.

he seeks you out during lunch and asks you something beneath a lonely corner of trees.

“y/n, do those kinds of things make you happy..?”

you tilt your head, curious about what he’s exactly referring to. one glimpse back at his demeanor in the classroom earlier with mina gives you an idea.

“do you mean all those letters i keep getting?”

kirishima nods slowly.

“well… i have to admit, it is nice to know that i’m ‘liked’ by other people,” you phrase delicately. “but all those pretty letters and sweet words don’t mean anything to me if they aren’t coming from you. besides, i always thought it’s better to let your actions speak for you, don’t you think?”

hearing your answer, kirishima’s face lights up immediately. before you can properly react, a pair of lips meet your cheek.

you rub the warm skin where his lips touched, flustered for a moment. kirishima grabs your hand, walking you two back to the lunchroom with a newfound surge of conviction in his steps.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

“ooh, look midoriya, seems like someone else has a crush on your girl.”

as midoriya’s tidying up his red shoes and bringing out his slippers for class, his male classmates inform him of the pink envelope held in your hands.

midoriya looks over in your direction. he watches as you peel the letter out of the envelope and begin reading its contents.

he doesn’t miss the slight flustered look on your features, observing how you scan through the writing while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, glancing over your shoulder as if your secret admirer was peering at you from behind.

“you better hold onto her tightly if you don’t want her stolen from you,” one of the boys warns, more so as a joke, but midoriya doesn’t take their banter lightly.

“knock it off, guys. just because someone else likes her doesn’t mean she’s going to leave me or anything,” he says this with as much confidence as he can muster, but his demeanor betrays him.

when he goes past your desk in the classroom later, he can’t seem to meet your eyes.

“good morning, izuku!” you greet him mirthfully. however, midoriya fails to return the greeting with the same enthusiasm.

“g-good morning, y/n…”

it’s hard for you not to notice that something is up by the way he heads straight to his desk afterward without another word.

throughout class, midoriya finds it a challenge to concentrate on anything but that letter you received that morning. his mind stumbles into the hole of bad possibilities—ones of you leaving him, those sweet words from your anonymous admirer making your heart flutter more than he ever has.

“—zuku… ‘zuku… izuku!”

he gets pulled out from his thoughts by your voice and turns to see the concerned look on your face.

“you okay? you haven’t touched your pork cutlet bowl this entire time.”

he stares down at his food, untouched since he sat down. “oh sorry, i guess something’s just been on my mind today.”

your brows knit together. “it’s about the letter i got today, isn’t it?”

midoriya stares at you, debating whether to deny your statement, but knows it’s pointless to try when it must have been obvious.

you take his silence as confirmation and grasp his hand that lays flat on the table.

“izuku, look at me,” you tell him and watch as his eyes slowly trail to you. “you know i wouldn’t leave you over some silly letter, right? no amount of words they can say to me could ever make me think differently about you.”

at this, a comforted smile spreads on midoriya’s face. he nods and squeezes your hand as a sign he took your words to heart before chowing down on his food, the uncertainty inside him disappearing.

SHINSOU HITOSHI

“another one?” you inquire to yourself in disbelief, opening your shoe locker to discover a rose-colored envelope waiting for you atop your slippers.

“dang, y/n, that’s like the fourth one this week!” uraraka comments, peeking over your shoulder.

“ooh! i wanna see what they wrote for you this time!” mina approaches from behind. you allow her to grab the delicate letter from your fingertips.

she over-exaggeratedly clears her throat, unwrinkling the paper by pinching at the sides. “‘you are the one who brought me sunshine when i only saw rain.’”

“aw! how sweet!” uraraka clasps her hands above her heart, seeming almost moved.

though the girls are all smitten by the love poem, you bite your tongue, hoping to suppress the urge to gag in front of them.

your boyfriend shinsou is on equal wavelength as you, witnessing the scene unfolding so early in the morning. he’s grown tired of replaying this spectacle for the past four days now.

his eyes navigate to the note and envelope in mina’s hand. by the script and the use of the same stationary, shinsou can tell the love letters you’ve been receiving are all from the same person.

“damn dude, you got some serious competition.” overhearing the girls, kaminari jabs at shinsou’s sides teasingly. “so, you gonna do anything about that mysterious guy trying to go after your girl?”

the violet-haired boy shrugs. “why should i? it’s not like i feel threatened.”

kaminari whistles at his confidence.

shinsou says he doesn’t care about it, putting on a level-headed and indifferent facade. but that was honestly far from the truth.

in actuality, he’s a bit pissed.

what kind of person goes around sending anonymous love messages to someone who’s already in a relationship? what the hell do they hope to gain out of doing this?

shinsou more than trusts you won’t be swayed by them, no matter how many times those notes discourteously greet you every morning.

you never bring up the topic of the letters whenever you two are alone, not wanting shinsou to be bothered over it and create a hassle. all in all, he’s grateful for this, and also for the fact that you make a point of never taking any of those letters seriously and dump them into the trash bin whenever the chance arises.

however, he can tell by your body language that the whole situation bothers you and makes you uneasy.

so, during one incredibly early morning, he decides to do some scouting.

he plays off his odd punctuality by saying he left something in the classroom yesterday and wants to get there early to look for it.

lo and behold, he finds a male student hovering around the lockers—suspiciously darting his head back and forth to be on the lookout for any other students.

little does he realize he’s already been caught red-handed.

“hey you.” shinsou abruptly calls out to him and the boy nearly jumps. “what are you doing here?”

the boy panics at his question, fumbling with his answer while hiding something behind his back—what shinsou presumes to be another one of those cheesy letters.

“u-um, just want to get to class early!” he sputters.

“is there any special reason you’re standing in front of my girlfriend’s locker then? ’cause last i checked, the lockers for general education students were located on the opposite side.” shinsou emphasizes his words with a bite of malice, arms crossed.

“i just lost my way is all–” the student suddenly stops mid-speech, his words and actions forcibly coming to a halt. all thoughts are overturned in the presence of shinsou’s quirk.

“i’m going to make this quick and easy for you to understand. not only are you going to forget about this conversation, but you’re also going to stop handing my girlfriend those love letters.” shinsou bends down to the boy’s height, staring at the abyss in his expression.

“and i’d also appreciate it if you kept your eyes off what’s mine.”

it’s safe to say, your influx of letters had been effectively cut off after that day.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

todoroki is no stranger to finding love letters from avid admirers and fans in his shoe locker before and after classes.

in fact, an unprecedented number of them had begun taking up all the space there after his impressive performance at the sports festival.

when he started dating you, however, he had made a clear declaration that he wouldn’t be accepting anymore of them.

but to be on the opposite end of having to watch you unlatch the door of your locker to have letters and notes practically tumbling out, todoroki wasn’t exactly sure what to make of this feeling that made his stomach twist into knots.

he notices the alarming amount of them and concludes they’re all from various students in different grades and departments.

“y/n, you’re getting pretty popular,” uraraka says, eyeing the stack of envelopes. “must be your dance performance from the culture festival! i remember you did get a lot of cheers in the crowd.”

“guess all those cheers came with a lot of fanboys, huh?” the invisible girl, hagakure, teases.

you jokingly nudge at them to stop with the teasing, but pause when your eyes cross todoroki’s. he’s giving you a look you can’t decipher—one that edges between troubled and apathetic yet you can’t tell which it is.

you send him a nod, silently acknowledging his presence as he waits for you to finish your business so you could head back to the dorms together.

watching you dispose of the various piles of letters has todoroki contemplating about what uraraka and hagakure commented on. about how popular you were getting and how your admirers have been bold enough to profess their reverence for you despite your relationship status.

todoroki’s not entirely sure what to make of this information. he doesn’t linger on it for long though when you finally approach him, your sneakers slipped on and your backpack securely hanging off your shoulders.

“ready to head home?”

a smile finds his lips at your appearance. he softly utters his response.

during the small distance to the dormitories, todoroki reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers together. as seemingly minor the gesture is at this point of your relationship, it’s a detail you mentally take note of.

usually, when it came to publicly displaying physical forms of affection, you were the one to initiate it. you have to admit, seeing the assertive side of todoroki is like a small breath of fresh air.

as you continue your short journey home, a couple of male students walking by greet you enthusiastically. though you wave back to kindly acknowledge them, you feel the grip on your hand tighten, followed by a slight tug closer to todoroki’s side.

that alone is enough for you to realize something is definitely troubling him.

“sho, is there something wrong?” you ask, steps still walking in tandem with him.

todoroki’s voice doesn’t waver in the slightest as he replies, “no, why would you think that?”

“you’ve been awfully possessive all of a sudden,” you note, “is this because of those letters from earlier?”

“...maybe.”

you quirk a brow, amused. “is that a yes or a no?”

now todoroki is silent. your steps come to a halt. not parting your laced hands from his, you turn to look him in the eye.

“sho?”

“it’s just… when i realize that there are other people looking at you the same way i do, i get… uneasy.” his gaze drops to the ground as he confesses this, hand squeezing yours. the uncomfortable churning in his stomach settles a bit now that the words are out, but he finds it hard to ease the atmosphere.

this is where you picked up from where he left off. your hand goes to his cheek, gently cupping it so you can tilt his head up at you.

“oh shouto, you have to know that you’re the only one for me and i don’t plan on looking at anyone else but you,” you assure him. todoroki stares into your eyes, and in them, he can’t find any hesitance or flutter of doubt.

at this, he lifts your twined hands and grazes your knuckles ever so softly against his lips, wondering whatever troubled him so much to begin with.

#bnha x reader #bnha scenarios #bnha headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #kaminari x reader #kirishima x reader #midoriya x reader #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #todoroki x reader #mha x reader

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years ago

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Crybaby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (College AU)

Warnings: smut, ass fingering, orgasm denial, humiliation, lots of talks about panties.

Summary: You catch Bucky trying to steal your panties on laundry day.

A/N: this is partly @buckycuddlebuddy ‘s fault tbh. Enjoy some desperate, horny Bucky. Minors DNI.

The timer on the dryer unit you’d occupied went off, signaling that your weekly load of laundry was dry and ready. Bucky cast a nervous glance around the eerily empty room, fingers twitching in the front pocket of his hoodie.

He knew it was wrong, but his laundry was done too (just a coincidence, really, not like he’d wake up at 3 am on a Monday because he knew you did your washing around that time), and you weren’t there yet. You usually retrieved your load in the morning anyways.

Just a peek, he reasoned. Out of curiosity. You wouldn’t even realize they were missing, and if you did you’d chalk it up to the washing machine eating your clothes.

You’d show up to class on Tuesday and sit next to him while he’d be wearing your pretty lace panties and you’d be none the wiser.

Fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about it.

He dug in your laundry, sifting through mascara stained washcloths and an endless amount of oversized t-shirts, until he found what he’d been looking for.

Small, so tiny in fact that he wondered how your lips could fit in them. He groaned -the idea of your pussy hanging out of the material made his cock twitch, and brought the panties to his face, rubbing his nose all over the lace. He’d fantasized of burying his face between your legs all semester long, and this seemed close enough, the closest he could get to you anyways.

They seemed stretchy, and he hoped he could manage to stuff himself inside them.

“Didn’t peg you for a panty sniffer, Barnes.”

The world stilled around him, the ring in his ears so loud that he wondered if you could hear it too.

He was so engrossed in his creeping, that he hadn’t heard the door open and click shut, nor your steps as you walked behind him, or the slight groan that the washing machine behind him emitted when you settled on it, swinging your legs.

Slowly, he turned around, your lace panties still tightly clutched to his chest.

You almost chuckled at the sight of his bulging eyes and gaping mouth. Almost.

“That- it’s not- not how it looks like- I-”

“What, you were gonna fold my laundry for me? How considerate,” you sneered, but the look on your face was far from disgust.

Derision, sure, but not disgust. The mischievous interest in your eyes sent chills down his spine, not necessarily the good kind.

He felt dread settle in his stomach, anticipating whatever consequence his actions would have.

“You do this often?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, naked legs still swinging over the washing machine.

Bucky couldn’t find the words, and honestly the gall, to speak, so he just shook his head vehemently, shuffling on his feet.

“Hm, you like sniffing ‘em?”

He remained unmoving, too humiliated to do anything.

“Oh, I got it,” you beamed, pointing a finger at him and squinting your eyes, “You like touching yourself with pretty panties, hm? Like using them to fuck your dick, and cum all over ‘em?”

He wanted to answer, tell you to fuck off and sprint away to hide in his dorm for the rest of his life, but honestly he deserved this and so much worse. He almost considered dropping out of college entirely, but that glint in your eyes kept him anchored to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, keeping his gaze on his white sneakers, “I-, I promise, I never done it before, I don’t know why-, look I won’t do it again, I swear,” he pleaded, tears pooling in his crystal eyes and threatening to stream down his face.

You cooed, honest to God coeed, a mocking pout on your lips.

You should have left, and reported him, but those pretty tears of his, the tremble in his voice, the stuttered pleas, only served to spur you on, a familiar warmth building up in your core.

“I bet if word got out of this, no one would want to hang around the resident creep anymore. Good luck getting girls then. Although, well, I don’t think you get too many under normal circumstances, do you?” you snorted, “That would be embarrassing, hm? Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He found himself shaking his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat to avoid giving you any more reason to mock him.

“It’s your lucky day then, because I have no intention to tell anyone,” you announced, stepping down to lean against the machine, arms crossed over your stomach.

“You- you don’t?” he wondered.

The notion should have elated him, but he felt himself growing more uneasy and confused with the smirk on your face.

“Won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Cross my heart,” you laughed, making a show of placing a hand on your chest.

He eyed you suspiciously. “Why?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Barnes? I wouldn’t enjoy bullying you if I’m not the only one doing it,” you chirped, “That doesn’t mean that my forgiveness should come for free, tho.”

His breath hitched, and you followed his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down his throat.

You could feel the control in your grasp, panties getting wetter with each one of his tears.

“I’ll do anything,” he swore, and you almost wished he’d fall on his knees and beg.

“Anything you say, huh?” you paused, “Strip,” you commanded, leaning back against the washing machine.

Bucky furrowed his brows and looked up in confusion, then disbelief, finally embarrassment. “Wh- what? But, but what if someone sees, I-”

“Then you better hurry.”

“But I-”

“You fuckin’ heard me the first time.”

He was startled into action, hands hastily pulling at his hoodie and jeans until he was standing in nothing but socks and underwear.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again.”

He gulped visibly, and hesitated before hooking his fingers around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his legs.

He blushed harder, ducking his head.

His cock sprung out of his boxers, and the mouthwatering sight of it had you reconsidering Bucky Barnes and all your life choices during this semester.

He was glistening in pre cum, painfully hard and veiny, and definitely thick enough that fitting it inside your cunt would be hard work on both parts. You imagined taking him in your mouth, how you would definitely choke around his girth, and your jaw would be sore for days.

Not today, though. Bad boys did not get that kind of privilege.

You bit your lips, and Bucky fought the impulse to squirm under your intense gaze.

“Something wrong?” he rasped out, praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole in case you found him too small, too crooked, too hairy.

You snorted, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Yeah, babe, the fact that I haven’t seen you naked before. You been hiding all this,” you eyed his crotch suggestively, “from me all this time?”

“T- thanks,” he stuttered, offering you a small smile, eyes trained on the ground. He tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered when you called him an endearing term, reminding himself that this was all a game to you, a game that he was more than willing to play if it ended up with his cock buried deep inside you.

You sighed then, pondering your thoughts. He was not your usual type, but he was cute in a nerdy way, shy and quiet, and he was packing more than any other man you’d had before.

Plus, this was way too entertaining for you to pass up.

“Wear ‘em.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at the command, but this time he did not hesitate to follow your instructions, a bit too eager as he slid the panties up his thighs.

The shutter of your phone’s camera brought him out of his thoughts, and his eyes widened in horror when he saw you take pictures of him. He trusted you wouldn’t spread them around, but the thrill of danger had him leak more pre cum, wetting a patch on the lace.

“So that’s your deal? You like wearing panties? Didn’t even try to act like you didn’t want to,” you snickered, “What a whore.”

The situation couldn’t get more humiliating, and he couldn’t get more desperate for you.

“Be a good boy, Bucky. Fold the laundry for me, since that’s clearly what you meant to do,” you laughed scornfully, nodding to the basket at your feet.

He walked to you slowly, bending over to pick it up, and yelped when you slapped his ass harshly, the sound bouncing off the walls and shooting straight to his aching cock.

“Cute. Now go, you got something to do and I don’t have all night.”

He sighed, and got to work, unloading each item from the dryer, and folding it neatly.

You eyed the lines of his back, the round globes of his ass, the string of your thong dipping between his cheeks. You almost lost yourself imagining how pretty he would look all scratched and marked before you furrowed your brows, observing the way he folded on of your nicer shirts that you wore on interviews and internships.

“Can’t even fold laundry, look at you,” you tsked, shaking your head, “Try that again, I don’t want to spend more than necessary ironing it.”

He obeyed, without any protest, smoothing the creases he’d created, and continuing with your load, until the dryer was empty and you were satisfied.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praised, beckoning him over.

He got closer, close enough that you could feel the heat emanating from his body. He looked so pretty like that, all teary and obedient.

You wanted to make him yours and ruin him for everybody else.

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert, you know that? A creep and a pervert.”

You saw the way his cock twitched behind your lace at the words, and almost doubled over in laughter.

The night couldn’t get any better.

“Fuck, you really are a pervert. This what you get off to? You imagine me calling you names, degrading you like the bitch you are? You want to be humiliated, don’t you?”

A desperate, pathetic whine escaped his throat, and he felt his knees growing weak with need. He was naked in a public space where everyone could see him, being belittled and humiliated by the girl he’d been pining over, and he was hard as a rock, getting off every word that spilled out of your mouth.

“Well,” you purred, fisting the hair at the back of his neck and tugging harshly, “I think we can arrange that.”

“Yes, yes, please, I want it,” he whimpered, chest heaving, “I want you, I’m your slut, I-, you can do whatever you want to me.”

You almost moaned then, intoxicated by his burning desire.

“Good boy,” you hummed, releasing his hair to stroke his cheekbone, smiling at the way he leaned his head against your palm, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“Remember you can tell me to stop or slow down whenever you want, and I will. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you added more serious, observing his face for any trace of anything but enthusiasm.

When you found none, and he nodded feverishly, you let your hand fall from his cheek to his shoulder, tracing the outlines of his lean muscle.

“Can- can you kiss me, please?” he asked, and he begged so prettily that you could do nothing but humor him, crashing your lips against his.

It was messy, rough. He was sloppy, and from the way he moved against you, you guessed he didn’t have too much experience.

Better, you reasoned. You’d teach him all he needed to know to please you, and you only.

You bit on his bottom lip, and Bucky yelped in surprise, parting his lips.

He tasted like mint on your tongue, and you sighed in content, letting your hands travel down his sides, barely grazing his skin, scratching the hair on his belly.

He shuddered under your touch, goosebumps erupting in your wake.

When you reached his lower stomach, you felt him tense, his breathing getting harder, his tongue more insistent.

He was drooling and crying, you realized, as he snapped his hips against your leg, humping you like a dog.

You broke away from the kiss, catching your breath.

“Look at you, you gettin’ real worked up and I barely even touched you. What are you, a fuckin’ virgin?” you chuckled, playing with the little bow on the front of your panties.

You’d expected him to laugh, or deny, but he just stood there awkwardly, avoiding your gaze,

“I’m not,” he grumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“Then why are you acting like one?” you prodded, but didn’t wait for him to answer, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss.

His hesitant hands groped your breasts, finally gaining the confidence to do more than linger awkwardly on your hips. He twirled your stiff nipples, rubbing his thumbs over them, movements getting more frenzied the closer he got to his release.

He crouched awkwardly to be at your chest level while still pressing his hips onto you, and tugged your loose tank top down, moaning at the sight of your tits.

“Go on baby, suck on my tits.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement to assault your nipples, latching his mouth onto one of them, and suckling. You wondered if he’d ever even touched a pair of boobs before, but his ministrations were working either way, making your walls clamp down on nothing.

You finally grasped him in your hand, his cock heavy and throbbing in your palm as you stroked him lazily, spurred on by his little whimpers.

His whole body quivered when you ran your thumb over his slit, and you marvelled at his sensitivity.

“You like it when I touch you like this, baby?” you moaned in his ear, “I bet you do, I bet you could cum already just from this. Just a handjob, like the pathetic little boy you are, hm?”

He released your tits with a wet pop, and rose to full height again, resting his forehead on yours.

“Yes, yes, please,” he sobbed, “please, princess, more.”

You complied, doubling your efforts. He inhaled sharply when you added your other hand and began twisting both your wrists in opposite directions.

“You want your princess to suck your dick, baby? Want me to get on my knees and take you in my mouth?”

He nodded against you, grinding his hard cock against your hand, desperate to chase his release.

“Or maybe you want your princess’ pretty pussy? You want to fill me with your fat cock and stuff me full of your filthy cum, don’t you?”

He began blabbering, breathing harder, sloppily snapping his hips. He had a look of pure bliss on his face, his eyes shut tightly, mouth hung open and a layer of sweat coating his forehead.

You could feel him grow and throb in your hand, and just before he was about to reach his high, you stopped your hands.

His eyes shot open and he opened and closed his mouth to protest, but you gave him no time, fisting his hair and slamming him against the washer, bending him over the cold surface.

“What, you thought I’d catch you stealing my panties and I’d let that go?” you tutted, bending over him, pressing your front to his back, whispering in his ear “Bad boys need to be punished, don’t you agree?”

A choking sound escaped his parted lips, and you giggled against his skin, licking a strip behind his neck.

You let your hands wander down the expanse of his back, settling on the waistband of your panties. You indulged yourself again, slapping his ass because you liked how it jiggled and how Bucky whined.

“You have a nice ass, you know,” you mused, slouching back to get a good vision of it, “You ever had anyone stick anything up there?”

“W-what?” he sputtered, crooning his head to look at you, “N-no, never.”

“Cute.”

He squirmed in embarrassment when you spread his cheeks, groaning when he felt your spit drip down on him. You massaged a finger around his rim, your hand coated in your spit and his pre cum.

“Relax, I’ll make you feel really good, promise.”

You gradually felt his muscles relax under your touch as you soothingly ran a hand down his back and kept whispering calming, sweet nothings in his ear.

Then, you dipped a finger past the rim.

“See, not that bad, huh?” you smiled, working your finger inside him, caressing his walls.

You nipped the skin of his back, peppering his muscles with fluttering kisses, grazing your teeth over his column.

You dipped another in, and Bucky hissed, wiggling his legs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you shushed him, “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

He preened under your praise, and you began scissoring your fingers inside his ass, working him open and looking for the spot you knew would make him beg for more.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your pussy desperate to be stuffed full of his cock.

You loved how pliant Bucky was being, obedient and submissive in your grasp. You noticed the tears that hadn’t stopped streaming down his face, and huffed a laugh.

“A pervert, a slut, and a fuckin’ crybaby, aren’t you?” you mumbled, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, holding onto the washing machine for dear life, tongue lolling out of his mouth, drool dripping down his chin, making it known that you’d found what you’d been looking for.

“Yes, fuck, please princess, gimme more,” he begged, overwhelmed with a pleasure like he’d never experienced before.

He felt like a fire had been lit in his lower belly, and it was spreading to every limb, encompassing him whole.

You grasped his cock in one of your hands while your fingers kept pummeling into his ass, feeling the rim clench around you and his cock pulsate.

You thought you could cum from his beautiful sounds alone, and you kept going until you were sure he was on the verge of a mind shattering orgasm.

Then, you stopped again, and this time Bucky sobbed, blabbering and wailing, begging you.

“Please princess, I’ll do anything, just please let me cum, please, please,” he continued, shamelessly bucking his hips against nothing.

You released his cock and pulled your fingers out of his ass, cleaning the fluids against his panties.

“You’re so fuckin’ pathetic, begging like that,” you mocked him, retrieving your phone from the pocket of your shorts.

You snapped a couple of photos of him bent over the washing machine, pent up and debauched. His balls hung from the lace of your panties, and you made sure to zero on his tear stained face.

“So pretty, my pretty crybaby,” you cooed, helping him stand up again.

He fell on his knees, clutching the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please, you can’t leave me like this, I-, please,” he blabbered.

You committed the image to memory, knowing you’d see it again soon.

You could see it in his eyes how hooked he was to you.

“Baby, bad boys don’t get to cum, do they? You can’t go around stealing people’s laundry,” you tutted, lightly slapping his cheek, “You deserve some punishment, don’t you agree?”

He hesitantly nodded, slumping down on his shins. You grasped his chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze.

“You got to bed now, no touching, and I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll know if you disobeyed, and trust me, you don’t want to know what’s gonna happen if you did.”

You smiled, and took a few steps back to retrieve your basket, leaving him to catch his breath on the floor.

“See you tomorrow at 4 pm, you know where my dorm is,” you chirped despite your own neglected arousal, sauntering to the door, “Get dressed before someone comes in, you wouldn’t want to see how much of a pervert you are, right?”

He shook his head, agreeing with you despite the sobs that silently shook through his body.

“Good boy,” you purred, hand twisting the knob. You paused, and threw him a look over yourself, “Oh, and thank you for the laundry.”

I hope you liked this! Please leave some feedback if you can! ❤️

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you

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harveywritings92 · 4 years ago

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BNHA Dad scenario: Someone hits you.

Summary: You're around 8 playing or trying to get you parents attention, someone hits accidentally or on purpose, your father took exception to this. and decided to return the favor with interest.

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Shigaraki: All the senior members of the league knew who you were and knew to never mess with Shigaraki's princess, unless they wanted to be a pile of rot on the floor.. however there were was a newbie about 18 years old who just recently joined had no idea who you were and thought you were some street brat and the resident punch bag, so imagine his surprise when he demanded you hand over your Gameboy, and you told him to go suck a lemon bad move.

You were kicked in the ribs sent airborne toward the wall and crashed into and fell to the floor clutching your stomach in pain. "Next time I ask for something you give it to me you little brat!" the boy sneered before looking down at your crying shaking body and heard you calling out. "Daddy...daddy..." He started laughing at your wailing and tried to get everyone else on his side, but no one moved they just stared at (dickhead) in horror he looked at them all confused.

"C'mon what the hells wrong with you guys?" as you were hyperventaling as the door to the back opened in stepped Shigaraki who looked around the bar confused why everyone was so quiet before hearing you crying and wheezing and his red eyes zeroed in on his daughter on the floor and (Dickhead) walking over to him with this shit eating grin holding your Gameboy …

"Hey boss you like gaming, you got any-" Shigaraki shoved him and made a bee-line towards you and he crouched down carefully helped you sit up , you were clutching your ribs. "D-daddy.." you stammered as your dad shushed you and pulled your shirt up, if they thought Tomura was mad before they were wrong! the second he saw the large bruise on your stomach, he saw red... "it's all right Princess Daddy's got you." he cooed picking you up ( he's got gloves on) keeping your face tucked in his shoulder.

Shigaraki then turned towards (dickhead) who's cocky grin turned to a confused pout as he tried processing what was going on, as your dad started slowly walking towards him, stoned faced red eyes alight with rage as he brought his free hand up to his mouth taking his glove off with his teeth, (dickhead)'s face slowly contorted in horror as he realized you weren't some random brat they picked up off streets!

You were his boss's kid! and he punted you across the bar for a toy! "Hey-I-i didn't know man,-s she can have it back-" the last thing he saw was Shigaraki's hand coming for his face, everyone in the bar looked away or down at their drinks "Someone clean that up." Your dad ordered as he calmly put his glove back on and stepped over a pile of dust and clothes as he took you to the doctor to make sure that waste of an NPC didn't break your ribs.

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Kirishima: You were both at the bank you were off to the side fidgeting with your dress waiting for your dad to finish up at the teller and decided to wander around the lobby, checking around if there any candy bowls around here, when you bumped into another adult a balding mad who's back was to you, "oops I'm sorr-" You were cut off by a loud crack! and suddenly you found yourself floor clutch your stinging cheek stunned as this angry red faced man screamed in your face. "I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR (random boys name!)!?" You there was tense ringing in your ears as you burst out wailing as the demeanor changed as he finally got a good look at you and in horror realized you were a little girl and not his son.

"uh-r" Just then Red blur came running at him and he was punched in the jaw by rock hard fist that sent him flying through the bank's glass door by a very pissed off Eijirou, who looked like was gonna kill him before he felt she daughter hug his leg, which she does when she wants to go home, his red eyes looked down at you the back the man who was being check on by the bank security, then back to you starring back at him tearfully, your dad took a deep breath picked you up and kissed the bruise forming on you cheek, and told manager he'll pay for the window. "YOU'RE MEAN!" you screamed at the man who hit you who was now awake with his actual son who was a teenager was standing awkward to the side looking embarrassed, the man flinched when your dad shot him a glare as you both passed him.

A week later the jerky dad had the gall to try taking your dad to court, the judge got one look at the security footage and your still healing face and laughed in the guys face and threw the case out.

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Dabi: Your mom was the owner of his favorite Dive bar, They don't ask questions and he don't give answers, Anyway mom had stepped out to get weekly restock delivery and left Dabi in charge, things were wrapping up for the night when you had wandered down from the upstairs apartment way passed your bed. "Hey ,Firefly what're you doing up?" he said picking you up and sitting you on his lap.

"Was the music too loud?" You shook your head he hummed you weren't feeling well and woke up, went looking for one of you parents, he felt how hot your forehead was under his chin and frowned. "Want some ginger ale?" he aske rubbing your back you uh-huh'd as your dad leaned over the bar grabbed a glass and went to grab the dispenser hose for the ginger ale.

Meanwhile some scantily dressed chick who been eyeing your dad like a hungry dog all night was angerly made her way over, in her drunken haze she saw another woman cuddled up to him instead of a little girl, stomped over to bar and before Dabi could register what was going on a nasally voice sneered "Get off my man whore!" and a manicured hand suddenly reached out and grabbed a fist full of your hair and tried yanking you out of his lap!

"Eek Daady!" You screamed in pain as your dad whipped around "What the hell?" Dabi snarled grabbing the woman's arm and using his quirk to burn her, the painted hussy let out this pterodactyl like screech and let go of your hair, then you threw up on her legs causing her to scream louder "My shoes!!!?" she shrieked and went to hit you, but Dabi had ignited his hand and stopped her.

"Get the fuck out, before I melt your fucking face..." Dabi hissed as you held on to him like a baby koala crying and shaking like a leaf, Your dad watched the bouncer throw the bitch out, while she bitched and cried about knowing the owner and how he'll beat Dabi's ass. "And then you'll sorry!" she wailed as the bouncer shoved her away. "Oh we'll see about that..." Dabi mused as he tried calming you down and making sure she didn't hurt you too badly.

True to her word the bitch came to complain to the owner not realizing that A. the owner was a woman, B. they were Dabi wife, and C) the mother of that "midget whore" who barfed on her fake designers shoes. Dabi watched from the upstairs window calmly sipping his morning coffee as the woman said her sob story and demanded compensation!

He smirked as your mom nodded calmly put the empty keg she was carrying on her shoulder down on the sidewalk, and without saying a word deck the woman in the face knocking her out cold. "There's your compensation..." She huffed then calmly picked the keg back up and put it on the truck, Dabi whistled at her "Say babe, have I ever told you how much I love you?" he said watching her from the open window your mom blushed flipped him off, he chuckled he could see her smiling.

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Katsuki: it was Kirishima it was you birthday and he was showing his quirk off to some of the kids when you ran into his elbow, knock on your butt sat there for a few seconds as your uncle and parents fussed over you, Eijirou was apologizing to you asking if you were alright? you just stared at them blankly before grimacing, causing your mom to bring her hand up towards your mouth and like that you spat a tooth out into the palm of her hand, her [y/ec] eyes widened while your dad and and uncle started freaking out...

Well.... more like your dad had uncle Kirishima by the shirt collar threatening to destroy him! while Eijirou came saying how sorry he was and it was an accident! while they were yelling your mom checked your mouth carefully counting your teeth, then sighed in relief before turning your dad. "Katsuki...." your dad didn't hear her as he was telling Kirishima to pay for you dental work!

"Katsuki." she tried again, but he was too far gone. "Alright you asked for it!" she yelled finally getting Katsuki's attention when he realized she was going use her quirk. "Hon, wai-" too late your mom snapped her fingers and your dad, still holding Kirishima, was frozen in place. Your mom calmly brought you over to your them and had you open your mouth and show him the "Damage" your dad's red eyes looked at you then back at your mom who was holding the tooth. "He knocked out that tooth... we were gonna have, y'know?" His eyes widened as he realized Shitty-Hair had knocked out a stubborn baby tooth that refuse to fall out, and were gonna have it pulled next week...

Your mom unfroze your dad and he dropped Kirishima before taking the tooth to examine it, making sure it really the right tooth, and he seemed to calm down, muttering an apology to Kirishima, then whispered something to you mom that made her blush. "You better be ready for it..." he purred in her ear, while you stared up at your parents confused. "Ready for what?" you asked innocently they both froze before Kirishima grabbed your hand. "say kiddo, let's see if (Kirishima's kid.) wants to play!" he said making a hasty get away with you.

#bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #kirishima eijirou #katsuki bakugou #shigaraki tomura #kirishima x reader #bakugou x reader #touya todoroki #daughter reader

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lilfellasblog · 3 years ago

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King Roman and the Fake Harem

Summary: King Roman has enemies directly outside his walls, pressure from inside his walls to get a harem, and no solution in sight. Until he sees the solution has been right under his nose the entire time. This is the story of how an aroace King gets a harem of advisors.

A/N: If you liked this, please reblog. It is the only way to help this fic reach a wider audience.

TW: Two brief instances of sexual harassment, one instance of groping, swearing (because Virgil), and people sneering at sex workers/ presumed sex workers.

Word count: 2385

AO3 here!

Fic Masterlist here!

King Roman sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Ugh, give me a few hours to think of something,” he groaned.

His lead advisor that he’d inherited from his father, who Roman refused to refer to as anything but Orange, protested “But sir, we need a decision soon. It’s already been a week since enemy troops positioned themselves just outside our walls, and we’ve done little besides ask them to leave. That, on top of your lack of harem-”

“I’ll have something for you in two hours, regarding the troops,” Roman said, waving Orange away.

Orange huffed and spun on his heel, leaving the throne room grumbling. Roman brushed a hand over his face. A week into being king and the enemy decides to attack? The nerve!

“You know, if you roll out the catapults to the front gate, that would take care of the troops outside the walls on that side, and then you could concentrate your archers on the rear of the kingdom walls.”

Roman looked over to the side of his throne. Sir Virgil had been his best knight, until he’d been shot by an arrow that had permanently damaged his shoulder. That was 4 weeks ago, he was still in a sling, and ever since he’d been released from the medical wing he’d been making his lack of work everyone else’s problem.

Roman raised an eyebrow. “And just how would you propose moving the catapults from the armory down 100 feet of stairs to the front entrance, hm?”

Sir Virgil shrugged. “Ramps.”

Roman stopped short. Oh, he’s smart. “...very well.” He appraised Virgil. He’ll never be able to be a knight again and he needs something to do, and he’s not too unfortunate-looking… “How would you like a job?”

/////

Virgil adjusted the silks that hid exactly nothing of his upper body so they’d sit comfortably over his still-bandaged arm and shoulder. He was about to join his first ever advisor meeting, and he was beyond nervous. He’d been rather enjoying his life as the first member of Roman’s harem (that so far hadn’t even resulted in a single flirtatious remark, which Virgil wasn’t complaining about but he was certainly confused by), and he didn’t want to do anything to fuck it up.

“Ready?”

Virgil jumped and hissed through his teeth as his shoulder was jostled by the sudden movement.

Roman was frowning. Before Virgil could apologize, Roman asked, “Are you alright? I can have a healer come over. If you’d prefer to sit out this meeting and rest, that would be a more than acceptable course of action.”

Virgil was stunned. “Huh?”

Roman nodded at him. “Your shoulder, it seems to be causing you pain.”

“Oh! It’s not too bad, I’ll be fine. Still getting used to not moving it too much.”

Roman laughed. “Yes, that I have been witness to. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Do I need to walk, like, meekly or whatever?” Virgil asked, cheeks already heating up at the future humiliation.

A look of disgust came over Roman. “No, I wouldn’t expect that of anyone under my employ.”

Virgil let out a breath. “Alright, cool cool.”

The meeting started out as expected, a few snickers from his former co-workers who were still knights, but nothing Virgil couldn’t ignore. Virgil recognized Orange by his blaze orange ensemble that hurt his eyes (no wonder Roman refused to give Virgil his actual name). When it came time to discuss military tactics, Roman spoke first.

“I would like to introduce my military advisor, Sir Virgil. Sir Virgil, if you would, please announce your strategy for driving off the enemies.”

Before Virgil could get a word out, Virgil’s former boss blurted out, “You’re trusting your military strategy with a common whore?!”

Virgil levelled him with his best death glare. “Call me that again and I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

Only Virgil was close enough to hear the King swallow his laughter at the general’s paling face. Roman cleared his throat and spoke.

“To answer your question, yes. Sir Virgil, if you wouldn’t mind continuing?”

Virgil smirked. “Gladly.” For the next 20 minutes, Virgil confidently discussed his strategy with the catapults and archers, fielded questions, and specified the ideal placements. As the meeting drew to a close and Roman went to do the obligatory schmoozing with top leaders (Virgil noticed with glee how the military personel scrambled to get out, supposedly to “update the troops”), the Lead Advisor of Common Education approached Virgil. Virgil did the customary respectful bow, which the advisor returned.

“I trust King Roman is treating you well?” he inquired, blue eyes sparkling from beneath a sandy fringe.

“Yes, very much so. This fucked up rotator cuff is the best thing to happen to me,” Virgil internally winced at his choice of words. Gonna have to work on that.

The advisor just laughed. “I suppose it must be! Surely, being part of a harem is much more comfortable than being a knight.”

Virgil shrugged, and winced as he once again forgot about his injured shoulder. “Yeah, it is. I’m just glad I can help in some capacity by being a strategic advisor.”

“Yes, yes, that must be quite fun for you,” the advisor purred. Virgil bristled at his condescending tone. “Do let me know if you require more… attention than what King Roman provides.”

Virgil wrinkled his face. He focused on Roman, and heard his attention was on Orange who was insisting that one person could hardly be considered a harem. “I think I’m good.”

“Oh, of course, of course, but do keep me in mind.” And before Virgil realized what was happening, the advisor had patted his ass.

Virgil used his good arm to grab the man’s offending hand, twist him around, bring him to his knees, and place a foot on the middle of his back.

“Ow! You stupid whore, get off-”

“What is the meaning of this?!” King Roman thundered.

Virgil released the advisor. “This guy was perving all over me, and I get I’m part of a harem but I don’t stand for that shit.”

“It was just a love tap!”

King Roman’s face was red with anger. “Sir Virgil, he encroached on your person?”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“You are relieved of your duties.”

Virgil sagged while the advisor smiled smugly. Welp, the grapes and silk were fun while they lasted. “Yeah, okay.”

Roman jerked back a bit in confusion. “What? No, you,” he glared at the now-ex-advisor.

The advisor was aghast. “Excuse me? How dare you!”

“How dare you, touching a man without his consent and then having the gall to speak to me in such a tone!”

Virgil was in too much shock to process the rest of the conversation. He came back to his senses just outside the medical wing. Roman was instructing the doctor to recheck Virgil’s bandages as they didn’t seem to quite hold his shoulder still, and sighed in relief when he caught Virgil watching them.

“Virgil, there you are! Are you alright? Say the word, and I’ll arrange for you to speak with our mind doctor.”

Virgil blinked a few times.

Roman turned back to the doctor. “Could he have gone into shock? Does he need-”

Virgil shook his head to unfreeze his brain. “No, I’m fine. I’ve had people trying to kill me, part of the job, I’m okay.”

King Roman furrowed his brow. “Are you sure? Truly, if you need to talk to someone-”

Virgil held his good hand up. “I’m fine, promise. I’ll talk to someone later if I need to.”

Roman sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. Oh! The military is deploying your strategy as we speak! I thought I’d let you know before the good doctor looked you over.”

“Dope! Wait, what?”

King Roman was walking away. “I’ll see you once you’re tended to!” he called over his shoulder.

“What are you talking about, my shoulder… actually kinda hurts, okay fine.”

/////

One successful defeat of an opposing military later, and Roman had removed yet another advisor from his circle for creepy behavior.

“Hey Princey, I appreciate you defending my honor and shit, but that was the Lead Advisor of Trade,” Virgil began.

“And I’m better off without him!” Roman declared.

Virgil scratched his chin. “I mean yeah, but also you have a trade meeting with neighboring kingdoms coming up in a week, and two days after that you have an internal trade meeting with surrounding villages and the farmers within the city walls.”

Roman started stretching his arms and back in a way Virgil had identified meant he was stressed. “And there has been even more talk of my small harem, which does not bode well for external negotiations,” Roman murmured to himself.

Virgil shifted. “Yeah, that. Why don’t you just have your new advisors be part of your harem like me?”

Roman paused. “That’s… brilliant! Thank you Virgil!”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, no problem. It’s a pretty sweet gig. Although I don’t know why you haven’t-” he cut himself off with an awkward cough.

King Roman looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I’m not… particularly interested in those activities. I apologize if I’ve disappointed you.”

Virgil let out a breath. “I mean, I’m kinda relieved, not that you’re not hot! But I’d rather not break my two rules.”

Roman preened at the compliment. “What are your two rules?”

“Don’t shit where you eat and don’t fuck where you work.”

“Ah.”

“Look, there might be enough time to get someone else up to speed before the trade meetings. But you’ll have to choose someone quickly.”

Roman sat down in his throne and looked skyward in thought. “Are you familiar with Patton Hart? He’s already organized the internal farmers into their current union. What of him?”

Virgil remembered running into him right after a difficult mission and somehow ending up with a bag of tomatoes, a bag of bell peppers, and strict instructions to bathe and sleep. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“How do you think he’d do as an advisor?”

Virgil didn’t have to think for long. “I think he’d be awesome. Want me to talk to him?”

“If you’d be so kind. And please assure him that his role would be strictly as an advisor.”

Virgil smirked. “You mean a shirtless advisor.”

Roman turned beet red, and Virgil cackled.

/////

Before Virgil knew it, the harem quarters weren’t so lonely. Patton had agreed to join, very happy with the wardrobe and quickly making a name for himself. Patton had, in turn, recommended Logan Logos to replace the other creepy advisor. Logan had run a very successful pre-K Montessori program before joining the palace harem, and he fit in with the rest of the advising circle well, already creating reforms to account for diverse learning styles. In fact, Virgil had noticed that the advisors who weren’t part of the harem started taking him and Patton more seriously once the proper and strong Logan had joined them.

The day of the inter-kingdom trade meeting had come, and Logan and Virgil would both be attending along with Patton. Everyone was nervous about how the sweet and gentle Patton would do at such a fierce and antagonist event.

Virgil’s shoulder was out of the cast and sling, although it was still tender. He clapped a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “Go get ‘em,” he said, trying to be encouraging.

Patton flushed. “Thanks Vee.”

The meeting began, along with the customary hour-long political niceties, and finally it came time for the trade advisors to speak on their leaders’ behalf.

Virgil ground his teeth at the open snickering of Patton’s garb, and he could tell Logan and Roman were feeling the same way. Patton, however, seemed to be unaffected by it all. As expected, the Kingdom of Fiery Fields spoke first.

“King Roman, we propose a 5% increase of taxes for the crops we export to your kingdom, lest we cease all wheat exports to you.”

“You may call me Advisor Hart, and for what reason? We already pay you 12% more for your crops than other kingdoms.”

The platinum blonde man stared at Patton with haughty hazel eyes. “Because, Advisor Hart,” he sneered. “our crops are unmatched in quality!”

Patton nodded his head. “Fair point. I suppose you won’t mind a moratorium on all exports of our steel to your kingdom then?”

It was as if all the air was sucked out of the room.

Platinum Blonde was outraged. “You wouldn’t!”

“Actually, we would. You are now meeting with the new King’s new advisory circle, and we won’t stand for pointless tax increases that a review of the books show only go to pay the noblewomen you’re cheating on your wife with,” Patton stated, smiling sweetly the entire time.

Half of the trade advisors around the table laughed, while the other half gawked. Platinum Blonde backed down, and the trade meeting lasted for only 2 days instead of the typical 3 since Patton effectively shut down any ego-based bullshitting that occurred.

/////

Virgil and Patton were taking turns trying to toss grapes into each others’ mouths, laughing, while Logan pretended to be irritated by their antics. The doors opened suddenly to show Orange, in his eye-burning all-orange ensemble.

“Hiya!” Patton chirped, hiding his own discomfort. They were all intensely disliked by Orange, who seemed to blame them for Roman not being interested in sex or romance.

Orange sniffed. “Advisor Logos, the noble King would like to extend his congratulations on the tax reform that redirected many of the fees of our noblepeople to educational supplies.”

Logan nodded at him. “Thank you. I’m quite proud of that myself and am very glad it came to fruition. Was their anything else you required, Advisor Wrath?”

“What?!” Virgil and Patton shouted at the same time. They whipped their heads over to Orange.

“No. Good day.” With that, Orange - or rather, Advisor Wrath - left their room.

Virgil and Patton turned back to Logan, who was seemingly reading again.

“Dude what the fuck-”

“How the heck did you know?!”

Logan just raised an eyebrow while continuing to read. “I have a way of finding things out,” he said, looking up for a second to smirk at them before going back to his book.

Virgil and Patton decided to not test Logan’s abilities.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #aroace Roman Sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #Sanders sides fanfic #Sanders sides fanfiction #patton sanders #ts sides

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retvenkos · 4 years ago

Text

survivors | d.m.

Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era - Draco x Slytherin! Halfbood!Reader, angst, slightest fluff

word count: 11.2k

tw: blood, mentions death, mentions of war, pessimistic ending

A/N: this could be read as a platonic reader, if you want.

Summary: Draco couldn’t fix the Vanishing Cabinet himself, no matter how hard he wanted to. (Y/n) hadn’t wanted to help him, but they decided to, despite themself. Neither knew each other very well, but there seemed to be an understanding. Perhaps they could fix it together, and perhaps (Y/n) could fix the broken boy, too. Or maybe both of them would be shattered beyond recognition.

and i am angry at this world because i was not one of the innocent they decided to save.

ii.

During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy didn’t feel as alive as he once did. This castle was colder and quieter than it used to be, and as he patrolled the dungeon corridors for his prefect duties, he felt a chill in the air; the cold pricked the back of his neck - that bit of exposed skin between the ends of his hair and the stiff collar of his uniform. Despite himself, he twitched at it’s touch; the cold reminded him of darker memories that threatened to pull him under, reminding him of what happened over the summer.

If he closed his eyes, he was still there.

The harsh clicking of his father’s cane as he walked down the hall, someone else accompanying him by the sound of their footsteps. A voice that sounded like the hissing of a snake - high and cold and beckoning him forth. His mother’s frightened gaze and his father’s stiff jaw. The soft pleads of protest. But who were they to defy the Dark Lord...

Draco could still hear the sound of their approach, echoing against these aged, stone walls. The incessant sound filled his senses. His fingers twitched. His arm started to burn as the sound of footsteps came nearer. Echoing, echoing, echoing...

“You would be an idiot if you weren’t such a genius.”

A voice, not at all what he was expecting, brought Draco reeling into the present. The footsteps weren’t that of phantom memories, but the sound of someone in the castle - in this dungeon with him - traversing the corridors in the few moments before curfew.

“You could make a fortune off of your skills if you sold them the right way. What other students here can make their own spells?”

Draco stepped closer to the wall, his interest peaked. He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, waiting for the voices to speak, once again. He wouldn’t scare them off. He had never been much good at being a prefect, anyway.

“Michael, we talked about this. They’re all a work in progress - do you remember what happened last time I tried them out? I won’t make a fool of myself because they aren’t perfect.”

“That was one time, and you knew things weren’t going to go well. And I can’t remember the last time Hogwarts pumped out an actually decent spell creator! The talented only come once every lifetime - you shouldn’t pass this up.”

The voices devolved into arguing for a moment, until one of them swore lowly. “It’s curfew. You need to get up to Ravenclaw Tower.”

“Think about it, (Y/n).”

“Go.”

Footsteps filled the corridor once again. Draco took a deft step backward, further into the shadows, and a fellow Slytherin rushed past the corridor, never noticing the prefect that watched them. Draco pushed his lips into a thin line, grey eyes narrowing just a bit. The echoes faded, and when the corridor was silent, he breathed. Running a hand through his hair, Draco turned away, disappearing into darkness and shadow.

iii.

When Draco Malfoy sat down next to them in Charms class, (Y/n) supposed it was an oversight. Rumors about Draco not feeling well had been circulating the Slytherin gossip lines for the whole two months that school had been in session; Malfoy had missed classes regularly, skipped out on meals completely, and seemed to be neglecting his usual bully behavior, trading it all for a personality that seemed to be more like that Blaise Zabini than the boy he used to be. Sitting next to (Y/n) had to be a symptom of this strange illness that seemed to have captured him - maybe he was too tired to care.

Yes, that seemed to be it - he was tired. He certainly looked it, when (Y/n) spared him a glance, their eyes flicking over to him for a half moment while Flitwick was demonstrating their lesson for the day.

There were dark circles under his eyes, a sort of gaunt appearance to his well shaped face, and even though he seemed to be very keen on stopping it, with his eyes focused the way they were, his hands seemed to be shaking, just slightly.

(Y/n) turned their attention back to the worn textbook in front of them, scratching notes on a spare bit of parchment. They tried to focus on the words written on the page, but their mind still wandered to the boy beside them.

Together, the two students’ thoughts swirled like winds in a tempest - never in one place at one time, but simultaneously everywhere. This world seemed to be pulling everyone in all possible directions, spreading them ever thin, as though trying to test when they would snap.

Both Slytherins, different as they were, weren’t the type to break.

Some days, they wished they were.

(Y/n) failed to notice the careful way Draco appraised them. His eyes flitted from their old school supplies to their mended robes, and yet the newness in other belongings that perhaps didn’t need to be bought anew every school year. (Y/n) eventually caught him staring, and Draco leveled his gaze with theirs.

“I need your help,” and even his voice resounded from his throat, as though he had no energy to sustain it in his chest.

(Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. “I’m sorry?”

At the front of the classroom, Professor Flitwick was giving instruction on the Reducto curse, but his voice was fading into background noise, now, as (Y/n) stared at the boy beside them. Of all the things they could have guessed Draco Malfoy to say to them, that was not one.

“You know what I asked for.”

Again, he was tired - too tired to explain his baffling request, too tired to give any kind of context as to why he had come to them, or whatever he needed help for.

“My help?” They didn’t get so much as a sigh, which was interesting, to say the least. (Y/n) wanted to scoff, but they had to keep their voice low enough for the professor to not take notice. “Why would you- What purpose—” their mind eventually caught up with them ”—Why do you think I’d give it?”

“Because I’m—”

“Draco Malfoy, yes.” The scoff escaped them, agitation setting in. (Y/n) pulled their gaze away from the boy to turn back to the front of the classroom, eyes narrowing as they pretended to read the writing on the blackboard. “What would your father think of you getting help from the likes of me?” They all but spat their words under their breath.

Draco seemed to twitch uncomfortably at the mention of his father, but he played it off with a roll of his eyes - the first real reaction (Y/n) had got out of him the entire conversation. “He’d think it shrewd of me.”

“Like keeping your enemies close?”

“Like keeping allies near. Us Slytherins are all one big brotherhood, aren’t we?”

“I think you muddied those waters when you’re obsession with blood purity extended to belittling us halfbreeds.” (Y/n) fixed Draco with a withering stare. He looked down at the desk, scrutinizing the aging wood. His demeanor shifted to something deeper than what lay on the surface, and a wiser person would have stopped there, but (Y/n) couldn’t let it go. “Suddenly you want to be family?”

Draco breathed in deeply as though by expanding his chest and allowing for more oxygen, the tension between them would dissipate. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The two lapsed into silence, and Professor Flitwick's voice floated over to the two of them, regaining precedence.

“It’s important to keep in mind this spell is very volatile. It’s unlikely you’ll get it correct on your first try…”

(Y/n) allowed themself to decompress, their shoulders dropping and their hands relaxing on the page of their textbook.

For what could Draco Malfoy possibly need their help? They weren’t even friends, but he had the gall to call them family.

“I’d settle for partners.”

The bell rang. Students around them started to pack up, hurrying to their next class. Draco didn’t move a muscle.

(Y/n) fixed him with a stare that betrayed their display of anger and showed some of the interest within. They picked up the bottle-green bag beside them. “Then I suppose that depends on how much you’ve changed over the summer,” they spat, already standing to leave.

“Quite enough, I think you’ll find.”

(Y/n) paused on their way out the door but resisted the urge to turn around, instead pushing forward through the bottlenecked door with renewed conviction.

Who did Draco Malfoy think he had become, asking for favors like they were old chums or something of the like? What did he even need help for, that he couldn’t ask his posse of loyal followers? That Blaise Zabini was smart, and Theo Nott wasn’t too bad, either. Of course, Theo was a halfblood too, so maybe Draco had managed to piss him off in his fourth year as well, when he started to sneer at halfbloods as though he were somehow greater than them. It wouldn’t be surprising, really, if Draco had somehow managed to alienate all of his “friends” in some way or another. He wasn’t known to have much of a filter with his thoughts.

Maybe that was what all of this was about. Draco had mentioned his father thinking their conversation was “shrewd” - maybe Lucius Malfoy had a little conversation with his son about not alienating the people around him. Perhaps there was a little father-son chat about revitalizing the family image with the Death Eaters and the rise of You-Know-Who being what it was. How quaint. Did they have him updating his father in person, too? Is that why he looked like he hadn’t slept since summer?

Part of (Y/n) insisted that they were being overdramatic about all of this and that they should get a hold of their emotions. No one was really at liberty of being emotional during times like these, and maybe, deep down, Draco really had become something that wasn’t beneath asking genuine help of someone without having ulterior motives.

After all, he had been tired - without real signs of deception or bigger purpose… and he was… shaking - as though genuinely nervous or afraid and.... and he had said something that made them stop in their tracks… that the summer had changed him “quite enough,” said with a sort of bitterness and resignation that was unlike any kind of Draco Malfoy (Y/n) knew…

(Y/n) slid into their Herbology seat with practiced ease, and when they went to grab their textbook, they came up with an Astronomy book, instead.

“What?”

(Y/n) didn’t have Astronomy, and this textbook was far too nice to be theirs. Maybe it belonged to their roommate? But then why was it in their bag? (Y/n) clearly had the right bag since they had pulled out their textbook in Charms, and—

(Y/n) flipped to the inside cover of the Astronomy textbook in front of them.

Property of Draco Malfoy.

Professor Sprout started the lecture just as (Y/n) swore under their breath.

Their Herbology partner turned to them questioningly, and (Y/n) asked to share their textbook for the day. Their partner complied readily enough and (Y/n) shot them a smile. The rest of the lesson, (Y/n) calculated the quickest way from the greenhouses to the Slytherin common room, where they would no doubt find Draco Malfoy skipping yet another meal and doing whatever it was that occupied his time. They had switched bags, somehow, and (Y/n) was keen on getting theirs back.

When Herbology was finally over, (Y/n) all but sprinted to the dungeons. Of all days for this to happen...

When they reached the steps that led down to the common room, they saw Draco Malfoy standing at the bottom. A book was in his hands, and as (Y/n) descended the stairs, they got a better look at it.

Their heart dropped.

Draco was flipping through the pages of a tiny, leatherbound book. It looked inconspicuous enough, a kind of journal that was old and weathered, but (Y/n) knew who it belonged to, and what was hidden inside.

It was (Y/n)’s spellbook - always stuffed to the bottom of their bag in case inspiration or genious struck All of their spells were in there - from the nearly refined to their half-baked disasters, every spell (Y/n) had ever had the idea to create was in that book, along with every failure. If Draco had looked at their disastrous attempts from third year...

“I’m not here for games, Draco.”

“Neither am I.” Draco held out the book to them and (Y/n) snatched it, also taking the school bag that was at his feet - no doubt theirs. “I only needed to check - Ravenclaws have a way of dramatizing things, and since you weren’t happy to help…”

“Check what?”

In the half-light, it was hard to tell what Draco was feeling, or at least, what he’d allow to show. But when he spoke, his voice still carried a fatigue that wore him down and made him appear as though without an agenda. “That you can help me.”

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “Again, what makes you think that I will?”

“You need money, don’t you? I recognize signs of wear when I see them, and you were rather quick to get back your used textbooks - probably borrowed, since you don’t have any older siblings and our textbooks aren’t as old as our parents. The (L/n) family must have come into financial trouble recently,” Draco reported with a sigh, as though he found no glee in this run around of his. Was this the same boy who used to flaunt his observational prowess, making scathing remarks about the most minute details of others?

(Y/n) wanted to snap that they didn’t need his money, but they had enough common sense to not be proud. The Malfoys were one of the richest families at Hogwarts. If Draco was willing to pay... at least he would be good for the money… and he had been looking at their spellbook. If he needed a spell, it would be nice to experiment on someone else’s galleon, wouldn’t it?

(Y/n) swallowed. “What do you need?”

“A spell, and your secrecy.”

(Y/n) nodded slowly, still weighing their choices. They had nearly made up their mind, but something still ate at the back of their mind, like an itch that couldn’t be satiated. “Why did you think I’d help you?”

“I knew you would.” Draco fiddled with his sleeve. “Because you want to know my secret.”

iv.

When Draco said they were going to the Room of Hidden Things, (Y/n) hadn’t expected the room itself to be hidden. It would have been ridiculous, and yet, looking at it, everything seemed to make sense. The room only appeared when you asked for it, and it contained thousands of knick knacks, all sorted and piled on top of each other haphazardly, the facade of order.

If everything ever hidden lay within this room, (Y/n) wouldn’t be surprised. The room seemed to stretch off into infinity, the walls on either side disappearing behind stacks of lost things that reached impossibly high, never appearing to meet a back wall. Everything in the Room of Hidden Things was seemingly left to oblivion, stacked and scattered with no real rhyme or reason, things left behind and obliterated from memory. As they walked deeper in, (Y/n) found themself searching, as though there was something they needed to find.

If Draco felt the same urge, he hid it well, winding around piles of lost things like one would walk around their own home in the dark, completely aware of where everything was and able to avoid things that others tripped on. (Y/n) found themself wondering, ‘How many times had he been in here?’

Draco stopped in front of a tall, imposing cabinet with wrought iron detailing. The black wood seemed so stark against the rest of the room that (Y/n) wondered how anyone could miss it, and yet, if they turned their head as to put it in their periphery, the cabinet seemed to disappear.

Funny, how it could be there, but not.

After a moment, (Y/n) was able to place why it looked so familiar. The Vanishing Cabinet. Why was it here, of all places?

“It’s broken and no mending charms have worked on it - not even in conjunction with others.”

(Y/n) nodded, opening the door to the cabinet and taking a look inside. So that’s the kind of spell he needed.

“You probably heard about Montague getting stuck in a kind of limbo last year when the Weasley twins shoved him in.”

“So it has a twin.” It was more a statement than a question, but when (Y/n) caught Draco’s eye, they found an affirmative answer that almost looked guilty. (Y/n) turned away, rifling through their bag to find their creation book.

(Y/n)’s mind was flitting about, again, trying to call up all the information they had ever learned about passageways and vanishing cabinets, mending spells and charms. To modify a spell would probably be too simple for the complexities of a Vanishing Cabinet. They would have to start from scratch. (Y/n) flipped to the page where they wrote down the methodology of apparition spells. Maybe the answer lay within the creation of the spell rather than the outcome. Apparition spells might apply to the spontaneity of the Cabinet...

Draco handed (Y/n) a book or two that were clearly ancient, the pages themselves written in fading ink.

“I found these in that pile—” he gestured to a stack of books that reached into the heavens “—they’re the only decent information I’ve found so far.”

(Y/n) nodded and moved to sit on the floor, placing the books carefully in front of them. Draco retreated to the base of the tower of books, picking up a few that were scattered around a large chair that caught (Y/n)’s eye. It seemed out of place - pulled from the pile of furniture that was closer to the entrance and devoid of the thick layer of dust that seemed to permeate everything in this haven of the lost.

After a moment, (Y/n) realized it as a makeshift bed - a blanket that looked like it once belonged to a Hufflepuff thrown over the arm, a stack of clothes next to the chair, and Draco’s bag hanging from it.

How often was he in here?

(Y/n) turned their gaze back to the Vanishing Cabinet before them, trying not to dwell on what the Slytherin Prince had become. They had a job to do; a Vanishing Cabinet needed fixing.

But why, of all things, a Vanishing Cabinet?

“Planning on disappearing, Malfoy?” Their tone was light, playful. (Y/n) turned to face him, and he was stock still.

Draco didn’t respond, just looked at the cabinet with an intensity that seemed to bring the weight of the word onto his shoulders. He tugged at his left sleeve, and for a fleeting moment, an answer was swimming in his eyes.

‘Yes.’

It had been around two weeks since (Y/n) had been first introduced to the Vanishing Cabinet, and ever since, their evenings were spent in the Room of Hidden Things, their attention split between homework and the puzzle before them.

One part of them was intent on creating the right spell. If they were able to do it correctly, this new spell could be revolutionary, potentially changing the way mending spells were thought of for years to come. With the way that Vanishing Cabinets worked, it wasn’t just the cabinet that needed to be fixed, or the passageway in between, but the space that was warped when the door to the cabinet was closed. It was mystifying, to say the least, and the possibilities were endless.

Another, more nagging side of (Y/n) was intent on figuring out why Draco needed a Vanishing Cabinet in the first place. What purpose did he require of it? Better yet, what purpose could it serve? The possibilities for this, too, could be infinite.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?”

Michael Corner, their friend of six years, bumped his shoulder into theirs. They were walking to Potions, and he had been chatting about how he hadn’t seen them in a while - not since they started slipping out of the Great Hall early after dinner.

“Yes - you think I’ve been trying to perfect my failed spells from third year and I’m too proud to tell you that I actually do listen to your advice.”

Michael grinned. “So… are you?”

“I am working on my spells, if that’s what you’re after.”

“And have you taken my advice on selling them?”

(Y/n) thought for a moment. After all, they were getting paid for what they were doing for Draco, so technically a ‘yes’ would be appropriate. But if Michael started to ask who bought it and for what reasons, (Y/n) wouldn’t be able to say.

“Maybe,” they said, lamely.

It seemed to be enough for Michael, though, and he talked excitedly about the possibilities as they made their way into the Potions classroom. (Y/n) approached their seat and Michael groaned. “It sucks that Slughorn assigned us partners. I’m stuck with Hermione Granger and, well, you know how she is. Potions could be so much better if we got to choose who we work with.”

(Y/n) sat down in their seat, sighing before fishing for their textbook in their bag. “You’re not the one stuck with Malfoy,” they deadpanned as usual, but the words didn’t fit as naturally in their mouth as they once did.

“Yeah, but when does he even show up to class, anymore?” For emphasis, Michael slid into the Slytherin’s assigned seat.

The two devolved into their usual banter, talking about common interests and idiotic assignments. Professor Slughorn walked into the room two minutes or so before class started and when Michael swore, he fixed him with a stare. Things were as they always were, but then something changed.

Draco Malfoy walked into the classroom, and Michael was surprised, but quick to slip out of his seat. He chose to hover near (Y/n)’s end of the table, and while he was careful not to stare, his eyes flicked to Draco. He wasn’t the only one; the whole class seemed to notice Draco’s presence, but Malfoy seemed to be avoiding the production of it all - very unlike him. The pallor in his skin didn’t seem to be getting worse, but the melancholic air that seemed to follow him was palpable.

Any day, now, the rumors would get worse and the speculation would start. What was eating at Draco Malfoy?

(Y/n) had been working with him closely for two weeks, now, and even they weren’t any closer to figuring out the truth.

Harry Potter seemed to have particularly keen eyes, whispering to his friends without losing eye contact.

The whole of Hogwarts seemed to be holding its breath, unsure of what was to come, but anticipating how bad the storm was going to be. Michael tried to ignore the shift in demeanor, nudging (Y/n) with his arm.

“I’m still surprised that Harry Potter ended up getting the Felix Felicis - I was honestly expecting Padma or Hermione to get it. Since when is Harry a potion making prodigy?”

Beside (Y/n), Draco stiffened. (Y/n) let out a puff of air like a subdued scoff and Michael smiled. So the Potter-Malfoy rivalry was still going strong.

Michael scratched out a note on a spare bit of parchment and stuck it in (Y/n) textbook with a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll go see if I can snag some of Potter’s notes, yeah? Maybe he can spare a bit of genius.”

With that he was off, and (Y/n) rolled their eyes before turning to the front of the classroom. Draco was still on edge beside them, his shoulders taut and head bowed in such a way that (Y/n) couldn’t catch his eye.

It was later, when (Y/n) was flipping through their textbook to the instructions for the potion they were to make, that they found the note Michael had left behind.

‘At least you know you have something to make his blood boil.’

vi.

“We’re going to need space,” (Y/n) muttered to Draco. They had agreed to meet by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky when going to the Room of Hidden Things, and Draco was already there when (Y/n) arrived. “Testing out this spell could be dangerous in such a cluttered space - the entire room could be destroyed.”

Draco nodded deftly and (Y/n) could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he was thinking of a way to fix their problem. It had been a little over a month since the two started to work together, and after being Potions and Alchemy partners, working beside each other during their free period, and spending their nights in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, the two knew each other better than they cared to admit. (Y/n) still held fast to the idea that they were acquaintances at most, but there were times when they saw him in the Room of Hidden Things, sitting on the chair he used for a bed, and they knew what he was thinking. Acquaintances couldn’t do that, could they?

Draco walked past a section of the corridor three times, his perpetually tired expression furrowed into concentration, and the vanishing door appeared. As soon as they could, the two Slytherins ushered themselves in. This time, they were met with a bright light.

(Y/n) blinked furiously, and when their eyes adjusted, they realized they were looking at the sky.

Bright blue and without clouds, the sky seemed to mimic that of a summer’s day. The sun that beat down was a welcome change from the cold winds of December, and (Y/n) let the warmth fill them as they took in the view. The Room of Hidden Things had somehow shifted into a vast, open field that was full of tall, yellowing grass.

The field seemed to stretch into oblivion, never quite ending as it reached a horizon point. (Y/n) felt something like calm wash over them. This place carried a mixture between knowledge and peace. A little ways out, but close enough to be identified were the only two things that upset the sprawling landscape - a willow tree with low hanging branches, far more serene than the Whomping Willow that Hogwarts students were familiar with, and the Vanishing Cabinet.

“What is this place?” (Y/n) still gaped at what lay around them, eyes eagerly taking in every color that seemed to bleed in the way a painting would.

“The Room of Requirement is whatever you need it to be.”

“And the Room of Hidden Things…?”

“Inside it.”

Draco looked worse, somehow, in the full light of the sun; his skin was more pale, like death had already touched him and all he had left to do was walk to his grave. (Y/n) couldn't look long.

The two started toward the Vanishing Cabinet. (Y/n) felt the distinct urge to put their hands out to feel the grass brush against their skin, to see just how real this beautiful illusion was. If the room could create this, what else could it fathom?

If (Y/n) could stay here forever, would this room create a reality beautiful enough to keep them?

(Y/n) sat their bag down a few paces away from the Vanishing Cabinet and rolled up their sleeves. Draco retreated to the foot of the weeping willow. (Y/n) checked it to make sure that it stood far enough away from the blast zone. It seemed alright.

(Y/n) placed a spare bit of parchment into the Cabinet and took a few steps back.

“Harmonia Nectere Deambulatio!”

(Y/n) turned their wrist precisely and grey wisps of light illuminated from the tip of their wand. The Vanishing Cabinet before them lurched forward abruptly and (Y/n) staggered a few steps backward. The Cabinet righted itself and after a few moments of hesitantly watching it to see if the cabinet would be pitching itself to and fro once more, (Y/n) quickly approached and opened it.

The paper inside was far worse than what they expected; the parchment shredded and burning, as though it did some acrobatic routine for the circus with very poor aim. (Y/n) quickly doused the flames and turned back to their book, scratching out the failed attempt.

(Y/n) sighed and started again, trying out a few variations of the spell they had already drafted up, praying that one of them would work. After an hour or so of the Vanishing Cabinet turning out botched attempts, (Y/n) decided they needed to rethink the spell itself, and not the delivery.

This wasn’t their first spell to go wrong, but it was definitely the hardest, since gauging what needed to be fixed was near impossible. (Y/n) figured that it had to be the passage between each Cabinet. The slicing of the paper was most likely a failure to use the passage - it was torn on its way to the other cabinet and when fragmented, couldn’t be supported through the warping of space, so it was spit back out and was lit on fire from the friction.

(Y/n)’s focus, then, should shift from the spontaneity of the Vanishing Cabinet and work on the passage rather than the walk through it. It was the space between that needed warping… perhaps they should look at their notes of Transfiguration spells, they were particularly good at warping space… a safe bet, too, since Transfiguration was fairly testable and not overly theoretical, compared to other spells...

(Y/n) looked at one of the books Draco had given them a week prior. From what those books taught, tangibles were off the table with Vanishing Cabinets. A safe bet might not fix anything. But anything else might be more risk than it was worth...

Maybe a principle of Alchemy could be used. Transmutation might be the key - not shifting the length of the passage, but shifting the properties of the passage, making it safer to traverse… of course, transmutation spells were highly dangerous when not perfected, and seeing as most of the creation of their spell had to be theory rather than tested reality...

Both (Y/n) and Draco would have to be very sure it was the route they wanted to take, and then they would have to be incredibly careful. Especially in a room where space itself warped… if anything went wrong, the spell could kill both of them.

(Y/n) had never been the best at Alchemy, but Draco was a prodigy when it came to the subject. It was one of the few classes he showed up for, anymore, and since (Y/n) had gotten better at reading him, they noticed that Draco actually took interest in the subject. He seemed to be fascinated by the idea that one thing could be made into something completely different with dedication and patience.

But how much could (Y/n) trust Draco? He hadn’t screwed them over, yet, but would he, eventually? Maybe it was only a matter of time…

But, then again, what did he stand to gain?

Both of them were working day and night to solve this problem. Draco may not have fully understood how spells were made, but his research was invaluable, and there was no way either could do it on their own. Fixing a Vanishing Cabinet was improving upon Ancient Magic, all of which was confusing and uncertain, to say the least. There was a reason why there were few Vanishing Cabinets in existence, and a reason as to why Dumbledore didn’t fix the Cabinet himself. It’s near impossible. There’s no way Draco could do it on his own.

He needed (Y/n), and he seemed to know it, too.

(Y/n) sighed and walked over to the willow tree where Draco sat, calling out to him, their voice faint, like it would be in a real, empty field. They parted the tall grass as they went, feeling the scratch of it on their legs and arms. The sun seemed to have dipped lower in the sky, but the suspension of time that the Room of Requirement always held still stood. (Y/n) could only guess how long they’d been here - a few hours, maybe - but it didn’t feel like it had been long enough.

“We’ll have to shift our theory - I think the basis of this spell has to be Alchemical properties or at the very least Transfiguration. It’s tricky, though, since this magic is so old…”

Draco was asleep, a book from the Room of Hidden Things opened on his stomach. He looked disheveled, pale blonde hair mussed up, his robes in disarray. His sleeves, always pulled low, were starting to ride up on his left arm and (Y/n) could see the skin beneath, pink and rubbed raw, as though he scratched and agitated the length of his forearm all day long.

(Y/n) sat down beside him, far enough away as to give him privacy, and yet close enough so that neither was alone. The field around them suddenly felt more exposed than before - (Y/n) understood why Draco chose to sit underneath the tree; the low hanging branches of the willow tree created a sense of security - like they could hide, if they had to.

Draco had nightmares. It didn’t take long to realize that - he twitched and fidgeted in his sleep, expression twisting into something torn between fear and pain. (Y/n) wanted to wake him from his spell, but when they looked at him and saw the pallor of his skin and the circles underneath his eyes, they knew it was best to keep him resting.

Sometimes you fight a war on two fronts, and there is no escaping it. Draco needed to rest. And who was (Y/n) to decide whether the terrors of sleeping or waking were worse?

At some point, they must have fallen asleep, too, because they awoke to Draco shaking their shoulder, his eyes averted and his hands cold. The painted sun had dipped over the nonexistent horizon, and the moon was out.

“We need to go. It’s after curfew.”

(Y/n) stood up and smoothed out their uniform, nodding deftly.

“I’m a prefect, so just follow my lead and no one will ask questions.”

vii.

“We’ll try out the transmutation theory.”

(Y/n) pulled their gaze away from their Charms essay to stare up at Draco incredulously. It was nearing midnight, and with most of the students being gone for the holiday, the Slytherin common room was empty. Draco had just entered and was on his way to the dormitories, but he stopped on his way and spoke to (Y/n) in a low tone.

“You know the risks, right?” Draco just stared pensively into the fire that blazed beside them. “Are you willing to die for this?”

Maybe it was the flames that threatened tears to his eyes. “I’m dead, either way.”

viii.

The bell rang, signaling the end of Transfiguration, and the classroom erupted with life, people closing their books and racing out the door. As far as last classes went, Transfiguration was okay, but at the end of the day, everyone wanted to get out as quickly as possible. Michael nudged (Y/n) when he was shoving off, reminding them to grab some dinner before they holed themselves up for the evening. (Y/n) shot back a retort and he flipped them off as he left, earning a scolding from McGonagall.

“Sorry, professor.” Michael ducked his head apologetically, but when McGonagall turned around, he caught (Y/n)’s eye and winked.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, shoving a quill in their bag as McGonagall fixed her attention to them. “(Y/n) (L/n).”

The Slytherin snapped to attention. “Yes, professor?”

“Would you remind Mr. Malfoy that he still has my class, even if he chooses not to attend?” McGonagall took a step closer and (Y/n) held their gaze, more surprised than anything else. “It’s not imperative he show for lessons, but he does need to turn in his work if he expects to continue with this subject.”

(Y/n) was caught off guard. “O-Of course.”

“He is slated to take Transfiguration next year, and N.E.W.T.s will not be kind to those who don’t dedicate themselves.” McGonagall looked at (Y/n) over the top of her glasses, seemingly more stern than before. “I know you and Mr. Malfoy are close - perhaps you will be able to motivate him.”

(Y/n) shrugged their bag onto their shoulders, a little too eager to leave. McGonagall seemed to take note, but waited patiently for (Y/n) to speak. “Oh, um… Draco and I are just partners in class.”

McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. Was it… amused? Knowing? “I’ve heard, you frequently meet up by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky, as well.” Her eyes still carried that intensity. Perhaps her gaze was more of a warning.

(Y/n) looked down and swallowed, mind racing. “I’ll tell him, professor.”

“Thank you.”

(Y/n) walked out of the classroom, and it wasn’t until they were in the dungeons that they dared to breathe. McGonagall's words were inconspicuous enough, but it was the way she said it that struck (Y/n) to the core. If McGonagall knew about them meeting up at the statue, what else did she know? Maybe it wasn’t much, but she felt justified to bring it up. And in that tone…

She could know anything, maybe even more than (Y/n) - and if McGonagall knew, surely Dumbledore did, as well.

When they entered the Slytherin common room, Draco was inside, sitting with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. They were talking in hushed tones, and the concern in their gaze was palpable. If it has been a few months ago, (Y/n) would have pretended like they hadn’t seen anything and gone avoided their stare. But now, they just pressed forth.

At the sight of (Y/n) approaching, Pansy stood and pulled Blaise with her, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder before leaving. (Y/n) locked eyes with the two retreating figures and there was something grateful in their stares.

(Y/n) averted their gaze.

“Draco,” (Y/n) sat down on a couch across from him and kept their voice low. “I think Professor McGonagall knows.”

Draco was careful not to show interest in his body language, but his eyes were sharp, wary. (Y/n) leaned in a bit, telling him all that happened, recalling the strange way that McGonagall looked at them and how she knew where they met up. The shadows of the fire played against Draco’s gaunt features, making him look almost ghostlike as he listened intently.

“The only reason I could see her keeping tabs on you is because of that rumor Harry Potter is spreading about you giving that cursed necklace to Katie Bell.” (Y/n) shook their head, blinking and they missed the way that Draco froze at the mention. “But either way, we need to be more careful.”

For a moment, the two just sat in silence, eyes intent on their hands as they tried to see a place beyond this present. Both were unaware of what the other was thinking, and yet they both wished the same - that is world would stop around them - if only for a moment.

The fire behind them raged and the voices of those surrounding them didn’t cease.

(Y/n) sighed and tipped their head back, looking at the glass ceiling above them, dark waters rippling from the movement of merfolk and the Giant Squid. What would it feel like to be suspended for your whole life, never coming up for air? Peaceful, perhaps.

“Don’t worry about the professors.” Draco spoke suddenly, and (Y/n) sat up to find him mimicking their actions, still looking up at the lake, his hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his button-up. “They know perfectly well they could stop us if they wanted to. They could know everything if they wanted. But they don’t.” There was a bitterness in his tone that seeped in slowly, then all at once. “They don’t meddle in anything I do. They don’t concern themselves with us. They don’t—”

Draco cut himself short. (Y/n) looked at him for a minute, their expression soft but broken - a little wondering. The wondered if they understood Draco a little more - maybe they recognized that anger, simmering on low, the fire just able to be sustained but burning out.

“They don’t save us, do they?” and it was a whisper, but it felt earth shattering.

Draco sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Not us.”

ix.

On Wednesday nights, Alchemy students were expected to go up to the 16th turret where classes were usually held to do an extra lesson. Part of their curriculum required the moonlight filtering through stained glass to complete, and Slughorn said there was no way around it. It was the only night of the week when Draco and (Y/n) didn’t go to the Room of Requirement to work on their project, the only night when they breathed just a little easier.

The sky was lighter than the usual inky night. The moon was full and brightly reflecting, and it’s solemnity in the sky was a stark contrast to Professor Slughorn’s excitement as he flitted about, giving instructions on how to complete the assignment. There were a few stars that managed to twinkle in the sky, and (Y/n) found themselves transfixed by them, wishing they were admiring the night sky for stargazing, instead of work

It was much easier, admiring something from a distance; dealing with things closer to the ground was heavier on the heart - it took more of a toll.

Draco worked beside them quietly. Things between them usually were quiet, with the occasional word or moment of recognition in the heart of the other. Questions weren’t usually welcome, but (Y/n) could sneak in a few, every once in a while. Especially during Alchemy; Draco was more relaxed up here - almost content.

Slughorn went over to Padma Patil at the front of the classroom, leaving the pair of Slytherin’s in shared solitude.

“I can’t imagine you’re sleeping well, in the Room of Hidden Things.” (Y/n) whispered so no one would hear, sure to make their tone soft, unlike anything that might set the other into a mood. Draco turned to them for a moment, impassive, but didn’t say a word. (Y/n) tried again. “I realize the Cabinet’s important, but enough to sacrifice your health? Why?”

More silence. There had been a time (Y/n) wouldn’t have minded.

“Can’t you tell me anything?”

Draco’s jaw flexed, and he was so thin it stuck out more than normal, sharp with a jagged edge. (Y/n) eyed him with a guarded expression of their own, allowing silence to lapse between them as Slughorn walked by. He checked on their progress with an impressed hum, and once the professor was out of earshot, (Y/n) interrogated Draco once more.

“I just want to know something - this is dangerous for me, too.”

Draco seemed hesitant. After a moment, he spoke, “I have to do this,” he whispered, almost more to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand why.”

“No, you don’t.” Draco looked at them sharply but (Y/n) wasn’t one to back down. His eyes flicked around the room, as if to see if anyone noticed his sudden movement, but no one seemed to take note. Still, Draco turned back to his work, shooting his next words out of the side of his mouth, eyes blazing with something that was white-hot, but not anger. “And you wouldn’t.”

“So I get to do your dirty work, but without an explanation? Did you forget we’re being watched?” (Y/n) shook their head, expression tight with anger.

“If I don’t do this, I’ll die. Is that a good enough explanation for you?” Draco’s jaw twitched and (Y/n) heaved a sigh, through with his dramatics. Every day it got worse and Draco didn’t seem to be opening up anytime soon. It was exhausting, and for what? A few Galleons? A feeling like they were somehow helping him?

A secret? Draco was fiddling with his left sleeve, again, and (Y/n) had the familiar feeling that they already knew the answer to any question they might ask.

The rest of the evening wore on in silence. Both Slytherins were tense with emotion, thoughts swirling around them, the tension in the air almost thick enough to taste. Occasionally, the sounds of others wafted towards them - Slughorn’s footsteps, excited whispers, low swears and were quickly reprimanded - but neither spoke a word or did so much as to spare the other a glance. Eventually, Slughorn dismissed everyone, walking out himself, and the only two left were Draco and (Y/n).

(Y/n) stood up and gathered their things, and after a moment's hesitation, faced Draco with a guarded stare. They breathed in, “I’m going to figure out what’s happening, Draco. But I’m not going to like it if I have to figure it out on my own.”

With that, (Y/n) turned to leave. But before they could walk away, Draco had caught their arm. (Y/n) turned back around with a sigh. He was standing, now, and the moonlight that filtered through the stained glass window drowned him in deep shades of red.

“Do you know my family’s allegiance in this war?”

(Y/n) felt their blood turn cold. “Well, I…” they stammered, “I figured—”

“Then you have your explanation,” he cut them off bitterly, and was quick to look away, releasing his hold on them and cleaning up his things.

(Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. Tightening their grip on their bag, they walked towards the door to open it, but their hand rested on the knob. Their mind was like a tempest - never in one place at one time, but simultaneously everywhere, trying to remember everything they had ever believed in and everything they thought they knew.

“We’re meeting again tomorrow, right?” And (Y/n) hated the way their voice sounded; soft and unsure. They looked back to see Draco - really see him - but his expression was just as conflicted as ever, just as pained and stiff and grasping. It was almost as though he were drowning in his own sin, bloody and red.

After a moment, he nodded, grey eyes pausing, for once, never leaving theirs.

“Then I’ll meet you there.”

Draco passed (Y/n) the apple and they set it down in the middle of the Vanishing Cabinet, it’s lively green skin stark against the black cabinet. They shut the door carefully, and took a step back.

Yesterday, for the first time in their five months of working together, a piece of parchment Vanished properly. After three different theories on the spell, about 12 different spell variations, and many late nights, it was finally working. There was a sort of peace in that, and yet something akin to dread seemed to settle in the air - almost thicker than the dust that permeated the Room of Hidden Things.

Draco seemed to feel it, too. His weight seemed to settle heavier in his bones, his entire essence dragged downward, somewhere where he couldn’t be found. They weren’t going to be saved by anyone but themselves, but sometimes it seemed Draco didn’t have the fight in him. Not anymore.

His hands were shaking, and the boy made to fix the cuffs of his sleeves. (Y/n) reached out and grabbed his hand and he turned to them, sharply. (Y/n) didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hands once, then let go. His hands stilled.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

It was best done as a whisper, with the slightest curl of the wrist. The light was soft and melancholic. The Vanishing Cabinet didn’t make a sound nor shudder, just stood there, imposing as ever.

Draco opened the cabinet. It was empty.

Despite themselves, both smiled.

He closed the door.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The wrought iron was cold as (Y/n) pulled the cabinet open, once more. They picked up the apple, same as before, and it was perfect. (Y/n) turned back to Draco and gave him a solemn nod. He walked over to the bird cage that stood beside his makeshift bed, pulling out the white songbird within. It sang.

Draco closed the door.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The singing stopped, and (Y/n) didn’t need to open the door to know that it worked. But they did, and the cabinet was empty. When the cabinet was secured again, and all that was left was to say those three words, they both hesitated. The two Slytherin’s stared at each other, unwilling to breathe in fear that it might not work.

Or worse, maybe it would.

Draco lifted his wand slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, but each word carefully crafted. “Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The silence was deafening. Draco’s eyes flicked to (Y/n), and when he saw his own fears reflected in their gaze, he swallowed hard.

Inside, the bird was dead, it’s tiny, white body sitting in a sea of darkness. (Y/n) picked it up, knowing they had to determine how it died to fix what had gone wrong when it rematerialized. When the bird was cupped in their hand, it’s body was still warm.

They turned around and Draco was crying.

xi.

The Room of Hidden Things was a maze. Without windows or any real sense of the passage of time, tit could feel claustrophobic and dense. The candles and torches the endless room used for light threw long shadows and at times, there was something lonely about the place. On occasion, though, when (Y/n) and Draco spent afternoons amongst the clutter and set candles near them, the room could feel cozy - maybe even warm.

The two had been working quietly for a half hour or so when (Y/n) felt the itch to ask a question. As always, they pondered letting it pass, but their curiosity got the better of them. They set their quill down and turned to look at the boy across from them. “Tell me something about Draco Malfoy that no one else knows."

Draco, used to questions by now and in a better mood than most days, didn’t bother to look up, but responded, anyway. “Why?”

“You learned a few secrets of mine when you skimmed my spell creation book. It’s only fair that I get to use something against you.”

“You know about this place.”

(Y/n) looked at him unimpressed, but still, Draco didn’t raise his head. They sighed. “Give me something more than that. Technically, this is my secret, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his quill stopped scratching, and he closed the textbook before him. “Like what?”

“Like…” (Y/n) shrugged as Draco watched them, his grey eyes lighter than usual, less filled with the weight of all things. “Alright, I’m allergic to pumpkin, but I wanted to try pumpkin juice so badly in our first year that I had to go to the infirmary on the first day of school—” (Y/n) was smiling at the memory, and it was the first bit of happiness they had allowed themself to have for a while. “—it was nothing too bad, and Madam Pomfrey was quick to fix me up, but I couldn’t taste for the next week. A real shame, too, seeing as the first few feasts are always the best.”

Draco’s lips were pressed into a thin line, only the very edges curling upwards, so slightly anyone else would have missed it. A genuine smile. (Y/n) was proud of themself for having coaxed it out of him. Funny, how much they had started to care.

“Something idiotic, then?” and the lilt to his voice was almost amused.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “You have to have something.”

Draco thought for a moment and (Y/n) watched him as he tried to pull a memory. They noted how much younger he looked, here, in a light dim enough to be considered conspiratorial, but bright enough to be distinct from the rest of their existence. It was almost as though they belonged here, two more lost things in a sea of used belongings.

“I tried to grow out my hair like my father’s in the summer before our first year.” Draco’s voice was soft in reminiscing, but it grew louder with fondness. “A cousin told me I looked like a girl and I cut it off that same night. My mother fixed it for me in the morning, right before we went to Diagon Alley.”

(Y/n) let out the ghost of a chuckle, but when Draco joined them, their laugher grew, echoing through the endless room.

xii.

“So... tell me, is Slytherin gossip really just made up of lies, or are you actually hanging out with Draco Malfoy? Is that where you’ve been sneaking off to?”

Michael and (Y/n) walked side by side, catching up for the first time all week. They had been heading to lunch when Michael realized he left his quill and ink in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, so the two decided to take the walk back together. Somehow, their conversation landed on gossip around the school, and of course, Michael had to bring up Draco.

(Y/n), used to dodging questions by now, simply rolled their eyes. “I don’t know, did you actually join a secret army last year and not tell me about it?”

“I already told you that Harry himself didn’t want any Slytherin’s involved. How was I expected to go against the Boy Who Lived?” Michael defended himself poorly but passionately, pushing his dark hair out of his face. Suddenly, his narrowed. “But yes, I did. So does that mean you’re admitting to hanging out with the Slytherin Prince?”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s only because we’re partners in Potions and Alchemy. Slughorn has this weird thing about classroom symmetry.”

Michael chuckled at (Y/n)’s annoyance, but continued pressing in the way that only a Ravenclaw could successfully pull off. “Then do you know what’s wrong with him? There are bets going around, and I just put down 8 Sickles on him having some rare illness that Pomfrey doesn’t know how to heal.”

“Is him being a werewolf one of the theories?”

“It was, actually,” (Y/n) snorted and Michael turned around to face them, walking backwards down the hall, “But after Padma saw him in Alchemy class during the full moon, the idea was thrown out. Seamus Finnigan lost a Galleon or two.”

“Any other ingenious ideas?”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was bumped into abruptly by Harry Potter, walking the other way with a bewildered and shocked expression. He reeled backward and Michael apologized, but all Harry did was nod absentmindedly before continuing down the corridor, walking quickly as though trying to create some sort of distance.

“Weird.” Michael huffed, watching Potter as he retreated. The two friends shared a confused glance before continuing down the hall, and after a few steps, (Y/n) slipped on something slick.

The floors were wet with Harry Potter’s trailing footprints. (Y/n) looked at Michael and they both had the same, strange urge.

Follow them.

The two set off down the hall, neither speaking a word as they followed the trail. No one else was in the corridor but them, and the sound of rushing water filled the corridor as they got ever nearer. The footsteps led to the boys bathroom, which must have busted a pipe or two, judging by the flooding. Inside, someone was muttering a healing incantation, their voice echoing with a concentrated sort of aggression. Michael looked at (Y/n) questioningly before stepping inside, calling out.

“Hey, is everything alright in here?”

The bathroom was a disaster, but in the middle of the floor was Draco Malfoy, still and lying in a pool of his own crimson blood. Professor Snape was crouched over him, trying in vain to stop the bleeding as it drenched his shirt and dissipated into the water around him. (Y/n) stood rooted to the spot, their breath coming in short and their heart pounding their chest. They couldn’t take their eyes off of him, life ebbing away from him, the only indication that he was still alive being his laboured gasps.

They wouldn’t sustain him for long.

“Get. Out.” Snape looked at the two with a ferocity and Michael turned to leave, tugging on (Y/n)’s arm with an expression that was seemingly everything at once - pouring forth from busted pipes, flowing down the corridors...

For a moment, (Y/n) didn’t feel in control of their own limbs. Michael called their name, an urgency lacing his tone, and (Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. The world came into focus. They shook their head.

“Go,” they whispered, and it only took a precisely aimed stare to get Michael to disappear.

Snapped out of their daze, (Y/n) rushed forward, kneeling beside Draco and ignoring the professors command to leave. Their hands shook as the pulled their wand out from their newly soaked bag, but they uttered a healing spell under their breath - something they had created in their fourth year - praying to Merlin that Draco would live.

Snape stared at them for a sharp moment, with a look that seemed to be knowing and confused at the same time.

Together, the blood that they were kneeling in made its way back into Draco’s body, but the wound - a deep gash on his abdomen - still wouldn’t close. When Snape said he needed to take Draco to the Hospital Wing, (Y/n)’s clothes were drenched and their face was damp with tears they hadn’t realized they wept.

(Y/n) trailed after the professor, not caring they were missing class, their mind still hyper focused on Drac’s survival. They had never seen so much blood outside the body. And with him lying on the flooded floor... how much had escaped him? He would have bleed out, had noone arrived sooner...

Madam Pomfrey didn’t allow (Y/n) to hover while she worked, so the Slytherin sat outside the heavy doors, still dripping with water but not caring as they tried to calm their breathing. They would be waiting outside when Pomfrey finally allowed visitors, and when they Draco again, they couldn’t afford to let their fear show so plainly.

Slowly, their body returned to something fit for survival - worried but functional. Their heart rate was erratic, and their jaw no longer trembled. (Y/n) dried themselves off and waited, sliding down the wall until they sat with their back pressed against it.

They wouldn’t leave until they knew Draco was okay. They couldn’t leave him.

Not like this.

Snape was allowed to wait inside, possibly helping the Healer, and two agonizing hours later, the doors opened and the professor stepped out. His robes swished about him and despite everything, he still carried his usual composed confidence. The Slytherin Head of House turned and fixed (Y/n) with a stare that left them feeling vulnerable - as though any secret they ever had had just been told, without uttering a word. For a brief moment, (Y/n) wondered if professor Snape was a legilimens, or if they were just shaken, still.

But then another thought crossed their mind. ‘Did it matter?’

“You can go in.”

(Y/n) was inside the infirmary before Snape had time to turn away.

The Hospital Wing was silent, and their hurried steps echoed in a way that made their heart beat louder their chest. Madam Pomfrey didn’t look surprised to see them, just apologetic. “He’s unconscious for now. It should wear off in 20 minutes or so. He’ll be fine.” She pointed to a nearby chair and (Y/n) pulled it up, sitting at Draco’s side and eyeing him closely.

After seven months of spending nearly every waking moment together, (Y/n) knew Draco Malfoy better than anyone else. They knew all that he had once been and all he became.

(Y/n) knew the toll that his secrets took, and how unrelenting they were as they tore at everything Draco was. Harry must’ve known, too. He must have sensed it - maybe all those months ago, when he looked at him in Potions as though ready to duel. But to nearly kill Draco?

(Y/n) didn’t know what had happened - or just who Harry Potter was. But they couldn’t believe something like was intentional.

(Y/n) had to believe Harry didn’t know what he did.

This war made monsters of them all, but did the best of them have to succumb to its dangers? Did everyone in this world have to get twisted and suffer so? They were all innocents, and yet they slaughtered each other like enemies. Did none of them shed tears?

There were many more terrors to come, and (Y/n) had to believe that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would be strong enough and kind enough to forgive them. Sometimes this world leaves you without a choice; sometimes it leaves children to nothing but ruins. (Y/n) was just a child, and they didn’t know who to save or even how to do so.

But they did know a few things. A simple, handful of facts that would have to be enough to get them through.

Across the room, Madam Pomfrey took her leave, wandering to the back office where she kept many of her potions.

Despite everything, Draco looked peaceful as he slept - something (Y/n) had never seen, despite the two dozing off plenty of times while working together. He was always in turmoil, no matter his conscious state. So to see him so still was unnerving; it was almost as though he had finally given up.

(Y/n) noticed the sleeves of his shirt had ridden up, and before they could reach out to fix them for him, they noticed the end of a curling tattoo on his inner, left arm. They stared at it for a moment, the curling end of a snake, sitting inside of a skull. (Y/n) considered it, expecting fear to grip their heart but feeling something like sympathy, instead.

They already knew, deep down, what was branded there. They had known for a while. It wasn’t a revelation, and part of them didn’t want to reach out and expose the rest of the tattoo. Did they need to confirm it, now? It was silly, the idea that seeing it would make it more real.

They saw it every day in the way in hands shook, or in the anger in his eyes. They didn’t need to see a tattoo to know what Draco Malfoy had been branded. Sometimes, (Y/n) believed that the ink on his skin didn’t make him different, at all.

How quickly they had grown to trust him. And yet, how quickly he revealed himself, when the two of them were the only souls still awake and bleeding.

(Y/n) pushed the rest of the sleeve down, covering the exposed skin. A cold hand grabbed their own.

Draco stared at them, grey eyes alert and panicked. For a moment, he didn’t seem to breathe. (Y/n) pulled away and his grip went slack, his expression still torn and frozen in place, the only difference being the tears that were welling in his eyes.

“It’s alright, Draco.” He was running from a catastrophe, these days. He seemed to live in the fallout of terrible revelations. A younger Draco wouldn’t recognize him, if he could see himself, now. “I already knew.” Draco tried to scoff, but it came out a sob. Did it somehow hurt worse, the admission of knowledge rather than a sudden reveal? Did it paint him, to realize he had been known all along?(Y/n) tried to offer a smile, but it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s observant.”

“Why are you helping me, then?” His voice was hoarse and unsure.

Why, indeed?

“You and your whole family will die.” Tears pricked at (Y/n)’s eyes, though whether they were of frustration or sadness, they did not know. Perhaps it was both.

“Others will die because of us,” Draco breathed the words, as though he didn’t want to admit it to even himself.

“They’d find a way inside Hogwarts somehow - nowhere’s safe. But… but if we do it this way… maybe more can be spared.”

“Everyone will die,” Draco shook his head, every emotion he had ever felt spilling over, seeping out of him like all of that blood collecting on the bathroom floor. He has been holding it in for months, and now he was letting go all of it go, bursting forth until he had nothing left. “You don’t know them like I do, we — we’re all dead.”

“Not yet,” (Y/n) wiped at their cheeks furiously, resolve making their voice strong. “We can still save most of us. It’s Dumbledore they want, isn’t it?”

Draco let out another choking sob.

“Why don’t we just tell him?”

“Don’t you see?” Draco was shaking with emotion, his face red and streaked with tears. His every word was punctuated, trembling with a mixture of anger and sadness and fear. No matter where he went, there was so much fear. “I’m the villain in their story.”

(Y/n) took in a shaky breath and put their hands in his. They were still crying, but it wasn’t for themself. “You’re not a villain, Draco. You’re just a boy,” they whispered, but the sound of it seemed to echo around them. “And we’re a brotherhood, right? So I’m here for you. Even if it is just us.”

And they cried together, two voices who’s echoes sounded like one.

xiii.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

This time, the songbird lived. It sang through the thick wood of the cabinet, it’s lonely tune bright, as though it knew spring was upon them - as though it knew nothing of the impending frost, and the death that was sure to follow. Draco and (Y/n) didn’t need to open the door to know that it worked. But they did, and the tiny, white body ruffled its feathers before flying into the sky, chirping happily as it circled the towers of lost things, alone, the last living thing inside the room.

Draco stepped back from the Cabinet, his entire being trembling. It wasn’t until (Y/n) reached out to still him that they realized they were shaking, too.

They both knew it, but neither felt they had the courage to say it.

“This is the end.” (Y/n) forgot to clear their throat.

“Of Dumbledore.” Draco turned to them, all of his life in his hands, all of his regrets on his face. His voice was thick and his eyes were dull. “But not the war. Potter may still win. Somehow… if he survives.”

Both of them knew this world wasn’t kind to survivors.

But (Y/n) held his gaze. “Will we?”

xiv.

maybe one day they will find me under all of this rubble.

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @theletterhart, @locke-writes, @randomfandomimagine, @brokenandheadoverheels, @timeofmadness, @writerdream22, @lotsoffandomrecs, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena // message me if you want to be added!

#harry potter #golden trio era #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x platonic!reader #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy x you #gender neutral reader #angst #slight fluff #reader insert #one shot #imagine #long fic #fanfic #fanfiction #hp #i honestly considered waiting to publish this but i've held onto it since october and it's time to let go #feedback is appreciated

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gay-doodlebug-with-adhd916 · 4 years ago

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A pre-Easter post, thoughts from a gay Christian (long post)

So, in these days leading up to Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I've been trying to read through the Easter Story in my Bible and the verses/chapters related to it. Although I feel like I've read the story a billion times, I always feel as though every Easter is spent reading this story with other people, hearing other people's interpretations of how Easter played out and Jesus's crucifixion in other people's words. For the longest time, I spent Easter thinking of it as a communal holiday (as in community with people, it's obviously related to the taking of the communion lol), and even then, it is a holiday to be enjoyed with other people who celebrate Easter, completely. However, I think for the longest time I commercialized it in my head as a kid, saw it as this super exciting thing with fun colorful clothes that everyone wears and Easter egg hunts and fun food, and when the games were taken out of it as I grew, I think I diminished it to nothing, as some holiday that "doesn't matter anymore".

All that to say, as someone who's been quarantining since last March, I've spent over a year now, for the most part, in solitude. As a person who may potentially be celibate as an adult, I recognize that this is an exaggerated version of how life at home may be for me forever. And this year has really caused me to realize how completely essential it is for me to keep communicating with God, keep praying, keep depending on Him. Obviously, it's important for all Christ followers to do this. However, I've recognized that praying and reading the Bible and speaking to God as myself, not some over-glorified version of how Christians think other Christians "should be" is one of the few things keeping my head on my shoulders, one of the few things that doesn't make me feel so lonely I feel like the inside of my head is screaming. And I feel like learning to better recognize and celebrate and prepare my heart for something like Easter is such an important thing for me to do as a gay Christian who may potentially be celibate.

This is the story of what our religion and faith and celebration is really all about. This is the fundamental part, the core. Jesus literally died for all people living on the Earth past, present and future. Cishet and queer, of all socio-economic statuses, of all races and abilities and neurotypes and ages. The celebration of this holiday is celebration that the claim "God hates f*gs" is not only wholly inaccurate, but also blasphemous and contradicts every essence of God's being. This is a holiday for queer people like me, and other people who have been treated like they were "too filthy" to enter the walls of certain churches, this is a celebration of the acknowledgement that some churches don't represent the essence of God. This is a holiday for people who love their neighbors, people who have lost their neighbors, people who grieve losing someone and people who grieve being lost by someone. Sometimes I see Easter treated as some "all American" holiday where conservative families do their once a year church run because that's the mainstream thing to do, and I feel discouraged because it is treated like some holiday only accessible to the people who hold signs outside of pride marches and tell people to repent and stop being queer, the people who hold God, America and football all at the same height of importance, and have the gall to jeer at people who honor God in ways that they deem to be "un-American".

But this year, I am taking extra care to read the Bible closely in these days leading up to Good Friday and Easter. I read Psalm 22, and I will read about Palm Sunday, I'll read about the Passover and Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, and how Jesus washed his disciples feet. I'll spend careful time reading about how Jesus spoke to the criminal on the cross next to Him, the way that Jesus treated Thomas even though Thomas went through doubt, the way that Jesus healed the ear of the person who was against him and reprimanded his disciple who cut the ear off. I'll read about the horrific ways that Jesus was treated and crucified by the ultra-religious, political and self righteous leaders at that time, the way that he was sneered at and treated as vermin even though he never, ever deserved it. I'll think about how Jesus thought of each and every one of us as he died and the fact that he saw his mother and those closest to him at the foot of the cross in anguish, begging him to not die, the fact that ultimately what those who crucified him hated the most about him was his determination to love every person he interacted with and treat them with dignity and respect, humanity. The fact that he defended a prostitute and protected her from the perverted political leaders who brought her to Jesus in an attempt to take her dignity away before stoning her. I'll never forget that Jesus was crucified because the self-righteous couldn't handle the idea that a perfect God could truly love every imperfect person, not just the ones who managed to hide their imperfections using their high socio-economic status or the laws that they had partial control in.

And on Good Friday, I will grieve the crucifixion of a perfect savior who chose to fully love people like me, crucified by people like those who would try to convince me that I am going to hell despite believing in Jesus, simply because I am not straight.

And once Sunday comes, I will let myself cry, if I want to. I will thank God that He fights for me, even when those who go against me claim to follow Him. I will thank Jesus for thinking of imperfect people like myself when he was on that cross and I will truly mean it because I do- my gratefulness for the fact that such a perfect God thinks of me, let alone loves me, is something that grows exponentially the more I grow and realize how truly big and terrible the amount of hate in the world is.

And after Easter, I will remember how Jesus treated those who hated him for not being the type of self-righteous ultra political-religious person they were wanting him to be, and I will remember that as a Christ follower, our biggest goal should be to strive to be like Jesus. So I will remember, although life can be difficult in a world and a time where many many people see the concept of gay Christians as a simple impossibility, that I am here for a reason, and I've been made the way I am and in this time for a reason. I will remember to bless those who persecute me, instead of cursing them, rejoicing with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. I will remember that those who are persecuted on Earth will be highly rewarded in Heaven, and that the loving and protecting of a neighbor who has been hurt can do much more than fighting someone who only wants to be correct at the end of the day. I will continue to pray that God changes the minds of those in the church who struggle to believe that Jesus died for everyone and if God wants to use me in that process, so be it. But as I stay primarily in solitude throughout quarantine, I will pray that God opens my mind and helps me love others because I know that I am just as at fault as everyone else in this respect. I will spend this time reading His word and praying about it, asking questions and allowing myself to be emotional if I want or need to.

I know this was long, but if you made it all the way down here, hi! Thanks for reading all that, and if you're also a Christ follower and you celebrate Easter, I'd love to hear some of your thoughts on Easter and some things you like about it!

If I remember, I will try to keep adding updates on my account about chapters/stories/verses I've read or any new thoughts I have in this process!

Love you~

Doodlebug <3

#Good Friday #Holy Week #Easter #Jesus #crucifixion #Christian #gay Christian #Bible reading #Happy almost Easter!#Easter Sunday #Happy Holy Week #Jesus went to the Mount of Olives today #Yesterday was the iconic day when Jesus cleared the temple #Tomorrow is Holy Wednesday #And the day after that will be the iconic Maundy Thursday #And most of y'all know how the rest of this goes

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

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TLTNL- OCCLUMENCY

It took Lily several moments to come back and realize how deeply she was nestled in James' side, and she hardly had the energy to pull away after that. It felt callous, to keep going after hearing the fate of her friend, but the only way she knew to help was getting to the bottom of these books, to Harry's memories. She just knew that would be the key to saving everyone, it had to be. The moment he understood how to let them out of this place, she could go and save Alice, Frank, and everyone.

With that thought in mind, it still took her a few moments to process why Remus wasn't still going, and she had to clear her throat hard for a moment before calling to him.

He jolted in surprise, almost as if he'd forgotten where he was. She couldn't blame him, but he finally agreed that part was done and she begrudgingly let her infant leave her arms, but some color finally came back to at least Remus' face as he cradled the infant and she found her place to start.

They found Kreacher in the attic.

Harry was glad he wasn't the one reading again. He could feel some nasty catch in his throat, but as he tried to quietly clear it, it almost came out as a sob. He only just managed to turn it into a cough, his face more troubled now than ever to understand what that could mean.

Sirius still couldn't care less, but Harry found it odd upon his reappearance he had stopped muttering about them quite as much, and Harry had caught Kreacher staring at him when he thought no one was looking.

Sirius was frowning in unease in here though, a trickle of worry starting to replace his calm. Kreacher wasn't like Dobby though, his wretched thing didn't have the gall to go against him, and it's not as if he abused Kreacher like Dobby had been. He mainly ignored the imp unless he did something that deserved a kick from the room.

Harry did not mention his vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over.

"Oh boy," James muttered. He'd already been watching Sirius with concern, he'd seen the confusion and beginnings of something on his face at the mention of Kreacher, but now something else was entirely masking that. Hearing about how flamboyant he'd been during Christmas had been the most they'd seen of their Padfoot yet, and Harry hadn't even been in the same way to enjoy it. Now somehow things were flipping right back around! Was it really so impossible to have everyone be happy for a moment?

As the day came along for them to head back to school, Sirius went back to his reclusive ways of avoiding everyone. Harry was honestly considering joining him, since for the first time in his life, he didn't want to return to school.

Lily was worried that's all they seemed to feel in here anymore as well. School, while not an ideal time in their life what with Voldemort trying to kill them all, was where they all had their best memories. It seemed that way for Harry as well, and yet the horrible things that so often happened to him there seemed to rival the good of his first home.

Going back would mean being under the thumb of Umbridge again, no Quidditch practice, and more homework than ever with the exams coming up at the end of the year, not to mention Dumbledore still avoiding his presence. In fact if it weren't for the DA, Harry would have begged his godfather not to make him go back.

"The worst part is, I may cave in and agree with you by now," Sirius grumbled.

On the last day before they went back to school, it still managed to get worse.

"That was pleasant, honestly just what we needed," Remus groaned as Lily now clearly dreaded just flipping to the next page.

He was up in the rooms with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, the two girls watching the boys play a chess match when Mrs. Weasley poked her head in and called for Harry, because Professor Snape wanted to see him.

Lily stuttered to a halt in surprise, her lip already curling in agitation of thinking of Harry back around him for any reason when they'd had quite a space since the last time.

The boys were already grumbling and shifting around in agitation as well, knowing without a doubt any reason Snape was singling Harry out wasn't going to make them feel better even without the books warning.

Harry did not immediately register what she had said;

"Honestly I try to ignore most sentences with his name as well," Remus agreed.

as he was yelling at his castle to knock Ron's pawn off the table already, and asked Mrs. Weasley to repeat herself, which she did.

"That wasn't any more pleasant to hear a second time!" Sirius groaned.

Harry's mouth fell open in horror.

Lily almost wanted to laugh if she hadn't wanted to do the same thing.

Harry exchanged looks with the other three. Hermione was so surprised her grip on Crookshanks even failed, the cat had been squirming for ages trying to get free and now ran amok chasing all the pieces off the board and no one noticed.

Sirius wouldn't deny he was stalling as he demanded, "why not just kick him out of the room then?"

"Hermione's always been big on letting Crookshanks where ever she is. If anyone suggested making the cat get out, she'd get really offended and say she'd just leave to," Harry almost smiled again, even if his brow was still creased with worry for whatever was fixing to happen.

Harry repeated Snape just to be sure, Mrs. Weasley correcting it was Professor Snape.

"He's certainly done nothing to earn that respect," James said bitterly.

"I'd call him Professor Snivellus though," Sirius smirked.

Ron asked what he could want, but his mother had already left, so Ron asked of Harry if he'd done anything?

"That presumption is almost hurtful," Remus rolled his eyes.

"If it wasn't so often true," Harry sighed.

The only thing Harry could think of was he'd finally achieved a T on his last assignment.

"Still not worthy of such a highly esteemed house call," James snarked.

He took his time edging all the way down into the kitchen, and stood in the doorway for a moment to see Snape at one end of the table, Sirius at the other with a letter.

"Well some good will clearly come of this," Lily said with even more worry now. "The two are going to kill each other, and that'll give us a little more breathing room."

"I'm hurt Lily," Sirius frowned at her, "as if he could actually kill me, if I wanted him dead I'd already have the stake ready."

Lily just rolled her eyes at him.

He hesitated until one noticed him, Snape telling him to take a seat.

"Tell him what to do, not at school, even then he doesn't deserve to-" James trailed off into more disdainful mutterings that Lily was trying to ignore in favor of curiosity of all this.

Sirius said, while leaning back on two chair legs and glaring at the ceiling, he didn't think Snape should be giving orders in his house.

"Ha!" Sirius barked, all three boys looking far to pleased in Lily's opinion.

Snape scowled at him even as Harry edged in and took a seat next to Sirius. Snape began he was supposed to see Potter alone, but Black-

Sirius cut in he was his godfather loudly.

Snape spoke more quietly that if it made the man feel involved in something, then he may as well.

James flushed in agitation. He was already worried sick Sirius was going to do something to get himself hurt, shut up in that house. He couldn't help thinking about the last time he'd been shut away for his family's good, and someone else had given him up, resulting in all of this happening. If Snape pushed the right, or in this case the wrong buttons, he didn't want to imagine what Sirius would do to prove him wrong.

Sirius let his chair fall with a bang as he glared daggers at Snape now, demanding what he meant by that.

Snape coolly replied he knew how frustrated Black was he could do nothing useful for the Order.

Remus' face flushed with fury, his jaw tensed and ready to do more than snap something back for that. First Molly, now Snape, he was sick of everyone putting him down for doing exactly what he'd been told to do!

Lily kept her face buried behind her hair and the book closer than it strictly needed to be, because she didn't want the others to see she couldn't come up with an argument for that one. Sirius was still on the run, his face could very well still be in the public image. She'd be just as worried about him doing anything as well, and even though she'd love to slap Snape for saying that to him, she couldn't come up with anything else to say either.

Sirius flushed without response while Snape turned to Harry and told he was to be learning Occlumency the rest of the year.

Lily froze in confusion, studying the word as if looking for a mistake. She'd considered the idea, but had ruled it out because whatever was happening to her son was too unknown, why add the extra strain of such a complex bit of magic that they didn't even have proof would work. This wasn't like normal Legilimency she'd heard about, there was no eye contact to what Voldemort was doing, so how would this help?

Harry cut off her train of thought by asking uneasily what that even was, his expression making it clear he wasn't going to enjoy relearning the answer, and indeed while James gave a brief explanation, only more worry lines appeared.

Sirius hardly waited for Harry to wrap his head around such complex magic before howling in frustration, "I still don't understand why he's there! Where the bloody hell is Dumbledore!?"

"We've been wondering that one all year, what makes you think we're getting an answer now," Remus ground out.

Harry asked what that was, while Snape sneered more than ever while explaining it was defence of the mind against external attacks. Obscure, but useful.

Harry couldn't help an extra little scowl, how Snape managed to make the most simplest explanations put him as if he were stupid for not knowing, when his dad had explained even better than that without making him feel idiotic at all.

Harry felt his heart thudding uncomfortably. That made it sound as if Voldemort could possess him, but they'd ruled that out!

"No, no Harry," Lily quickly agreed. "Not possessed, he's not controlling you or forcing you to do anything. If, well if this does work the way it's supposed to, then that just means you won't see inside his head anymore."

Harry could not force himself to relax though. It sounded like a great plan...if it worked. He hoped that was his pessimism saying otherwise.

Harry demanded why he had to learn such a thing, and Snape said Dumbledore found it a good idea he take private lessons once a week.

"Then I actually can't wait for them to start," James snapped. "Dumbledore'll finally have to do some explaining, there's no way he can avoid looking at you while teaching you this."

Harry opened his mouth, a nasty warning already going off because of that.

He was not to tell anyone about this of course, least of all Umbridge.

"Really? I thought he just told her every little detail of his life!" Sirius snapped.

Harry asked who his teacher was?

"Thought that was obvious," Lily's brows pulled together in confusion as she glanced at Harry. "Dumbledore's the only one I'd trust to do this, considering how advanced it is for you. I'm not even entirely sure McGonagall knows how."

Harry had no energy in him to say anything otherwise, he was already holding his breath against blurting something out that was going to be still more unpleasant.

Snape did not look pleased as he stated himself.

Lily was now convinced Dumbledore was out to kill her son as much as Voldemort was.

"Wha-" James's voice failed him, he couldn't even put into words every way this was a bad thing!

Sirius did. He said a few things that made Lily's ears want to curl before stating in no uncertain terms, "there is no way I was told about this! Otherwise I'd have broken off his nose and shoved it up his arse for suggesting such a thing!"

"You mean Snape, or Dumbledore?" Remus tried to ask in a pleasant tone of voice, failing miserably.

"Both!" He barked. "The one person worse than Voldemort rooting around in Harry's head while he learns to block it, I still question why that vermin's allowed to teach children! Now he's being given more-" he strangled off with a deep throated noise promising violence that no one would have stopped.

It took a moment for him to catch his breath before he almost said in a calm voice that was nearly as scary as his yelling, "there's no way this is going to happen. Dammit, I should have had some kind of say in this, there's no way I'll let him do this to Harry."

Harry still wasn't sure if he was threatening Dumbledore or Snape more, but he still tried to offer with whatever assurance he could, "I don't think it lasts long." He broke off uneasily, mostly for trying to remember this, but some even larger warning to do with this.

"That wasn't anymore reassuring," Lily grumbled, forcing herself to keep going now.

Harry had the sensation of his insides burning, wondering what he'd done to deserve this.

James couldn't help recoil a bit at Harry's rhetorical question. All his son had ever done was have him for a father, and it had given him nothing but misery his whole life.

Sirius snapped why Dumbledore wasn't the one doing this.

Snape said the headmaster had delegated, and though Snape had not begged for the job, he was to show up in his office a six on Monday. If anyone asked, he was to tell he was taking remedial Potions.

"That's as unbelievable as Snape teaching Occlumency!" Remus spluttered. "He certainly hasn't stolen a heart long enough to be helping Harry extra with a class, I'd more likely believe he was actually torturing you!"

"Saying he had detention for the rest of his life would even be better," James agreed.

"You're not far off," Harry grumbled, his head starting to pound worse than ever at the idea of this. It helped nothing his detentions with Umbridge were going to seem laughable here soon.

Snape tried to leave then, but Sirius snapped at him to wait one moment. Snape only paused to glance back long enough they could see his hand in his robes, Harry was sure now gripping his wand.

"Oh boy," Lily muttered, her joke from earlier looking more likely by the second. It helped nothing the sneer on James' face showed he'd be egging his friend on any second.

Sirius took no care of that as he warned if he heard these Occlumency lessons were being used to give Harry a hard time, Snape would answer to him.

"There's my Padfoot," James smirked, Lily having to fight the urge to smack him upside the head for doing exactly what she'd known he was going to do.

Snape sneered that surely Black noticed how much like his father Potter was.

"This isn't going to be good," Remus groaned, his eyes already flashing furiously. Snape belittling James in front of Harry infuriated them enough, but now he was going to try the same in front of Sirius. That murder was becoming more apparent by the second.

Sirius agreed to this with pride, Snape finishing viciously that this obviously meant criticism bounced off his arrogance as well.

"I think that's the nicest thing he's ever said about me," James looked bewildered now, unsure just how mad he was supposed to be at that.

Sirius jumped to his own feet then, pulling his wand furiously. Harry called after him in surprise, but neither gave him notice as Sirius growled he didn't care what Dumbledore said, he'd never believe Snape was reformed!

Severus was not impressed, saying he couldn't take a man very serious who'd spent the past six months hiding in his mother's house.

"You'd think he of all people would know better than to do that," James just had time to say before Sirius snapped.

"I'm going to very Siriusly rearrange his face!"

Remus tisked sadly, "haven't heard one that bad since first year."

"He hasn't tried to insult me like that since first year, then I taught him better," Sirius said, his face still too red to return Remus' attempt at a smile. "Clearly he needs a reminder."

Sirius returned how Malfoy was doing, he couldn't believe the man let his lapdog out of sight.

Snape returned by pointing out Malfoy had seen the real lapdog at the train station, asking if that had been his plan all along, to get himself spotted so he wouldn't ever have to leave this place again? It had worked.

Sirius had his wand aimed in Snape's face now, snarling in outrage Snape had just called him a coward! Harry jumping in between the two, telling them to stop.

Sirius looked at Harry like he'd never seen him before. "Of all the times you try to stop a fight? Neville I understood, but I completely deserve this one Harry!"

Harry's face was set though as he matched his godfather's glare. There was something about this moment, a fight brewing that involved Sirius. He didn't like it, and he tried to make Sirius realize he didn't always have to jump into a fight. "And cursing him would do what? You're already in enough trouble Sirius, this wouldn't help any-"

"I was helping you," Sirius snapped, looking stung Harry wasn't more thankful for this defence.

"I didn't need your protection with this, he's said worse to me," Harry said back, still looking more beseeching than anything, "and you, why'd you suddenly snap?"

"I think I've shown plenty of patience listening already, excuse me if I hit my limit," Sirius growled, now looking as affronted at Harry as if he'd just called him a coward as well.

Harry just kept frowning at him, neither clearly grasping the other's point. The worst part was, Harry wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to say. That Sirius shouldn't be involved in a fight? Harry didn't need to know his godfather long to know that wasn't likely, so why was the idea filling him with such dread...

The others were watching with deep unease, it was unsettling for Harry to be arguing with Sirius like this, and they weren't even sure why he was either. Harry had backed down though, muttering an apology he clearly didn't really mean, just looking for an excuse to look away and move past this.

Sirius just gaped for a moment, before scowling but unbelievably letting go as well. If Harry wouldn't tell him what his problem really was he wasn't going to pry it out of him, especially if it somehow involved him not standing up to Snivellus for any reason.

Sirius tried to push Harry out of the was Snape stood his ground, both clearly itching to send a curse any moment, but Harry wouldn't budge. The door swung open, then, the whole of the Weasley family and Hermione coming in, Arthur in the front as he announced to the kitchen he was cured!

"There's the bright side," Remus told Lily mockingly, more tense with unease at the fight in here than the one between Snape and Sirius which was so common place he could practically picture himself in the background.

Lily gave him an extra huff, still glancing at Harry and Sirius who weren't looking at each other. She wondered if she was the only one who agreed with Harry, Sirius was being an idiot picking a fight with Snape now of all times. The real bother was that she had no clue why Harry thought that way, and clearly neither did he.

They all froze in place at the scene before them, the two adults squaring off and Harry firmly in the middle.

"I know I can't picture it," James grumbled, still watching the two critically in here. He couldn't picture anything in his mind's eye that wasn't Harry with his wand on Snape as backup, what was Harry playing at trying to mediate that one?

Snape began to step out without a glance back. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.

Arthur spoke first with shock, finally snapping the two men into their surroundings. Snape stalked out with one final reminder of his office, on Monday, at six. Sirius glared after him with his wand still clutched in his hand.

Remus shivered in unease of the last time Sirius and Snape had been in the same room, he'd be cheering Sirius on just for some pay back of that disastrous night. Instead he threw out a question that had only just occurred to him, "where did you even get a wand?"

Sirius looked to him in confusion, before the question clicked and he said, "don't know, maybe Ollivander got me one. If Dumbledore told him to trust me I'm sure he would do it."

Harry had already presumed Azkaban took a wand away and snapped it, but it was the little questions like this he'd never bothered to ask his godfather that bothered him the most. He'd spent so much time worrying about Sirius in his past, he hadn't a chance to ask him much of anything. His worry from before was rising up with more force than ever, that he should be taking the time while he had it to ask Sirius anything and everything. He'd only made him smile once in his life, and that had lasted all of a second. He didn't want Sirius to ever think he didn't care, that's the conclusion his godfather could easily draw from Harry, so he quickly blurted, "I'm sorry Sirius, I just got worried watching you start that fight...I don't know why. I-" he stumbled off though, as useless with an apology as he was explaining himself to begin with.

Sirius sighed, but seemed to take it with good grace, he just couldn't seem to stay mad at Harry. "It's alright, I guess. Not like you did something irredeemable, like side with him."

Harry looked affronted at the idea, causing him to laugh, and Harry flushed with warmth at least he was doing something right in here he'd never taken the time to do in his own past.

Arthur again asked what was going on, and Sirius only said with a scowl just a chat between two old school mates.

"I claim that as the most ludicrous lie you've yet told," Remus told him pleasantly.

"And that's saying a lot," James snorted.

Then he shook himself, forcing a smile into place as he congratulated Arthur on his cure.

Molly agreed as she led her husband to a chair and still watching the door and Sirius with unease while explaining Arthur's healer had finally found an antidote to keep that wound closed, and her husband had learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, she finished menacingly towards her husband.

James grinned a bit, all too easily picturing that one as if from his own wife.

Arthur agreed meekly.

Dinner that night was lively enough for most, several members of the Order coming over to congratulate Arthur. Sirius sat several spots away from Harry and was forcing himself to laugh at Fred and George's jokes, but when he thought no one was looking, he was glowering at his untouched plate.

"I can imagine that didn't bring back the best memories," Sirius muttered, still unsure what it had tried to awaken in Harry, but already knowing thinking back on all his fights with Snape, and having Harry try telling him to stop rather than having James at his shoulder would make him wish more than ever to not be where he was.

Harry wanted to tell him that Snape's insult meant nothing, no one in the order thought him a coward for doing what Dumbledore told him to do.

"That was not what was really bothering me," Sirius scoffed. "As you so pleasantly informed me, he's said much worse."

Harry wasn't much reassured.

Yet Harry wasn't even sure if he could say it if he had the chance with the ugly look still dominant on his godfather's face. Instead he began telling Ron and Hermione the whole thing.

Hermione was happy at the news of Occlumency lessons, that would make his dreams stop and he wouldn't be sorry about that.

"I think the nightmares will still be more pleasant than more time with Snivellus," Remus scowled.

Ron said extra lessons with Snape was worse than the nightmares.

Sirius perked right up at once, snickering away that Remus had mimicked Ron, who only rolled his eyes indulgently.

The next day was their return trip to school, Harry and Ron making it to the kitchen first to see Tonks and Lupin already present having a tense conversation that stopped when they saw their audience.*

"Always nice to feel talked about," James said, looking affronted at Remus, who looked just as hurt and confused at himself. He had a hard time imagining hiding anything from Harry.

Breakfast was a quick affair before everyone huddled up near the front door for one last goodbye. Harry looked anxiously to Sirius, he had a bad feeling about this departure.

The feeling was made even worse doubled up inside of him now, he looked likely to be sick.

Harry still wanted to tell him Snape's words shouldn't mean anything to Sirius, but was worried his godfather was planning some trip beyond Grimmauld place to show something.

"Would you give me a little more credit?" Sirius demanded of him. "If I didn't go out and do it already, than that man isn't going to be the one to cause it, I'll do it because I want to."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Harry demanded, his throat nearly restricting the words at the idea of Sirius leaving again!

Sirius just grumbled a bit, the only thing the others caught were his wishes the Ministry would hurry up and clear his name already, he couldn't take Harry's panicking much longer. Harry agreed with that at least, wishing something would quiet his mind, at least that.

Sirius was the one to pull Harry aside though, pressing an object into his hand that was quickly wrapped and the size of a small book.

"Not another book!" James said in exasperation.

"It was to light," Harry disagreed, thinking back, and somehow now feeling worse than ever. His vision started to blur out of focus, and he tried to pass the moment by quickly cleaning his glasses on his shirt, ignoring his hands shaking the whole time.

Harry anxiously asked what it was, Sirius saying a way for Harry to tell him how Snape's lessons were going. Harry tried to open it, but Sirius said not here, he didn't think Molly would approve, giving her a swift look as she was hugging her children feet away. He promised Harry could use it when he needed him though.

"You really couldn't have just said what it was," Remus said with intense curiosity.

"Think I might know," James said as he thought about the little description Sirius had given, but it resembled their old mirrors. They still used them on Order meetings to keep in contact with each other, had Sirius possibly rebuilt another pair to do the same with Harry?

When he realized the others were looking at him expectantly, he just shrugged without answering further though. Whatever Sirius had just given Harry, he wanted to know about it as much as anyone, and he wanted to hear about Harry opening it more than some idea.

Harry agreed even as he slipped it into his pocket with no intentions of ever opening it.

"Harry," Sirius spluttered, hurt really coloring his face now. "It's a gift, you took the last ones happily enough."

Harry wouldn't meet his eyes again.

He would not be the reason to make Sirius leave this place just because Snape treated him any way in the coming lessons.

Even as Sirius groaned with understanding, he didn't feel any better. "You have got to stop worrying about me so much!"

"Kind of hard to do when you won't stop giving me reasons," Harry said back softly, a tight lump balled up at the back of his throat. He couldn't seem to look at his godfather much at all as these memories were returned.

Sirius just huffed, highly tempted to do something that would make Harry have to look at him, at least in exasperation or something, but Lily was still going loudly over Sirius who she thought was being an idiot again.

Sirius didn't wait for a response anyways, giving Harry a last clap on the shoulder before ushering him to the door. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave him a last goodbye as well, Arthur giving him a wink and telling Harry to watch out for snakes for him.

All of them laughed, probably harder than they should have, but all of them could appreciate a man who joked about what he went through.

Sirius got one last chance to give Harry a one armed hug before he was out the door with Lupin and Tonks their escort, the later of whom was disguised as an elder woman today.

Harry was very glad he wasn't the one reading, as he felt his heart growing heavier by the moment. It would be a long time before he came back to Grimmauld place...and that should be a good thing! It must mean Sirius would be free of there soon...how could that be a bad thing?

Tonks stayed very close to Harry's elbow as they only went to the street corner before Lupin flung his arm out with his wand, summoning the Knight Bus.

"Look, you're teaching him how to do that on purpose," James snorted, none of them thinking much about Harry looking so pale. He was clearly still thinking about Arthur's attack after the man had just brought it up again.

It appeared with its usual loud BANG, the conductor Stan Shunpike hopping off to give his usual greeting before spotting Harry-

but he couldn't say more as Tonks hissed at him if he shouted his name she'd curse him into oblivion while pushing Harry onto the bus.

"Well someone's in a grumpy mood," Sirius snickered.

Ron climbed on after him, saying with glee he'd always wanted to ride this thing.

"That doesn't last long," Lily chuckled.

The last time Harry had was night, when there were beds all around. Now the triple decker bus was covered in mismatched chairs, many of which were still tipped over from the last stop, one person's groceries had scattered from beneath theirs now covering the floor with frogspawn and custard creams.

"Pleasant," Remus crinkled his nose.

Tonks took note there weren't enough of them to all sit together, so she had the twins and Ginny stay up here with Remus, and she'd go up top with the other three.

"Can't deny I love this match up," James said a little wistfully. Remus had taken no part in singling Harry out for any conversation since he'd met back up with him over the summer, and that continued to hurt worse the more opportunities he missed. It was like listening to the third book all over again, that constant wonder of what had happened to their Moony. Instead he said aloud so as not to focus on that, "I do love you seem to be spending time with the twins, really makes me wish we could hear those conversations you get up to."

Remus just frowned, as unable to answer that as Harry, but he wholly doubted they were anything as lively as James was thinking, considering he seemed to have lost all sense of fun after his friends had died. Even getting Sirius back hadn't seemed to help with that one bit.

They climbed all the way to the top, Harry and Ron taking two seats at the rear while Hermione and Tonks sat at the other end. Then the bus took off with another wrench to their surroundings, throwing Ron out of his seat at once. Harry only just managing not to do the same by hanging onto a lamp welded into the wall.

Stan had followed them and asked how Harry had been.

"I guess I should still be glad he's not calling me Neville," Harry said airily.

He'd seen his name in the papers a lot lately, but it was never anything nice, which he hadn't of guessed by meeting him last time, just went to show.

Harry had a strange expression on his face. He wasn't mad at Stan like he was everyone else in the world for thinking him crazy, but he wouldn't quite call that a compliment either.

Harry couldn't come up with a response to that as the bus went on, stopping and starting for its passengers, every time making its usual BANG and explosion of stopping and starting.

By the sixth time this happened and Ron pulled himself back into a seat, he muttered he'd changed his mind,

"Really, he fell every time?" Sirius asked with disappointment. "I learned to brace myself by at least the third."

"Brace yourself against what?" Harry demanded. "I nearly ripped my arm out of socket hanging onto that thing to keep me upright."

"Permanent sticking charm on one of the chairs," Sirius grinned, "if you'd been on the second floor you'd have seen it."

"I wouldn't call that bracing yourself so much as disturbing public property," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Ernie wasn't pleased," James snickered, "it's still there when they put the beds up, so it's just a random chair that looks funny there."

he never wanted on this thing again.

Stan told them their stop was coming up next, that bossy woman had paid a bit extra to move them up the queue.

"Tonks is getting better and better, bribing people to get her way," James snickered.

As if on cue, the next BANG had them speeding through the familiar streets of Hogsmeade.

Harry had never thought about it before, considering he'd never left the school on holiday before, but he suddenly asked, "would we always have gotten there and back by the bus?"

"Depends on you honestly," James shrugged. "Some families don't want to make the trip back to London in the weather so they put together with the school to let you come back through the Floo system, some pony up for the Bus, others do take the train again."

"Why can't you have all those options every time you go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, thinking it would be easier on the Weasley's the other two ways.

"Tradition," Lily said. "Since they built Hogwarts they created a magical way to get in and out of the schools borders, and so they created the train to make it an all access kind of thing. Holidays make it a bit more chaotic, constantly checking people in rather than letting them all in at once."

Lupin and Tonks stepped off with them at first, making sure they all still had their luggage, while above several passengers were pressing their noses to the glass to watch them.

"A bird would be very useful right about now," Sirius grumbled.

Tonks was watching their surroundings more than noticing who she was hugging goodbye, muttering they'd be safe once they were back on the school grounds.

"She's being really paranoid today," Sirius kept snickering.

"Maybe she's just proving a point, being so young and all," Remus shrugged.

Lupin purposely seemed to get to Harry last in saying goodbye, telling him that everyone, especially Sirius, wanted Harry to really try at these Occlumency lessons.

"Wish I'd told him that myself," Sirius snipped.

They wanted him to be able to protect himself, so he should work hard at it.

That made all of them frown with unease, the two Marauders most of all. Remus hadn't shown he found this a better idea than any of them in here, so why the change this time?

Remus in particular looked troubled at his own words, though he was the only one thinking of the possible reason, and had no want to share it. This more than likely meant he still trusted Dumbledore absolutely, and when he said Harry needed this than he just automatically agreed. He had no proof of this, but it bothered him he hadn't gotten to hear him talking about this with Sirius. Though he was fairly confident he'd have curled up in a corner and died already if he'd had a book just about what he'd been up to in the meantime, he hadn't seen any evidence it had been anything good.

Harry agreed heavily, saying he'd see him again.

They dragged their things back to the school gates, Harry still wishing he were on the bus more than what he was heading back to.

"How has your Monday actually managed to grow worse!" James groaned.

He spent his time leading up to Monday evening dreading it, Snape somehow managing to be even more unpleasant in the lesson before.

Sirius pressed his hand to Harry's forehead in concern, practically yelling in his ear, "I think his brain melted at some point, there's no way he could be delusional enough to think otherwise!"

Harry pried his fingers away with a glare he couldn't hold for long above the twitching lips for the antics.

It helped nothing the DA kept seeking him out in the meantime, asking if there was going to be a gathering tonight.

"This actually manages to get worse already!" Lily groaned. "Now it's going to be even harder to plan your meetings now that one day a week is tied off!"

Harry said with remorse it couldn't be because of the...remedial Potions.

"That's actually what you told people?" James demanded, looking faint. "Okay Sirius, check him again, you may be onto something."

Sirius leaned forward again, but Harry smacked his palm away even faster, shaking his head at the two.

When Zacharias heard this, he laughed loudly in the Entrance Hall, saying he must be the worst ever as Snape had never offered such a thing before.

"How does this keep getting worse?" James said with disgust.

As he walked away, Ron offered to jinx him.

"No need for permission, the act speaks for itself," Remus said with chipper.

Harry told him to forget about it.

"You know, maybe Harry needs some medicine to cure this suddenly passive phase, it's starting to worry we," Remus couldn't help adding to the joke, Harry rolling his eyes harder than ever.

He turned and nearly ran into Cho, both exchanging an awkward hi before Hermione not so subtly dragged Ron off to the library.

"Subtle," Lily chuckled, her smile only growing as all of the boys snapped to her attention and Harry groaned with misery louder than ever. He should have stolen the books over night and edited all the parts with Cho's name out.

She started by asking if he'd spotted when the next Hogsmeade trip was.

"Congratulations Harry, you are officially two years ahead of your father on this accomplishment," Sirius beamed with actual praise while Harry's face already began glowing red again.

When he said he hadn't, she told it was on Valentine's Day, and Harry just looked on in confusion why she was bringing this up.

"Oh, oh Harry my poor boy," James's eyes lit with mirth. "You see when a girl likes a boy, especially a girl you've kissed-"

"Dad," Harry pleaded between gritted teeth. Looking back now he was well aware of what Cho had been asking, but he'd like to see his father at fifteen trying to talk to his mum. Surely he wasn't all bravado like he claimed.

James only kept himself quiet by the bare amount, wanting to hear this more.

He began to say he supposed she'd want to-

She eagerly interrupted only if he wanted to!

Harry's confusion grew, he'd been fixing to ask he supposed she wanted to know when the next DA meeting was, but that was an odd response.

Sirius' shoulders were already shaking with silent laughter, chuckles escaping regularly while Harry considered snatching the book away from Lily and burning a few particular pages. Surely this couldn't be that vital for them to watch!

His speech stumbled and just stood there, Cho suddenly looking mortified as well as she tried to walk away. Harry was left standing there, his brain working frantically,

"I give it twenty-four hours before it clicks," Sirius managed semi-intelligibly.

"Give him some credit," James tried to say while getting some air back. "He'll figure it out as he's lying in bed tonight."

Remus was laughing too hard to add in while Lily was trying hard not to join in and also looking pitifully at her boy.

then something clunked into place.

All three boys lost it and were still slumped back in their seats laughing as Harry excused himself to the bathroom, not coming out for far longer than was necessary. Upon his reappearance, they began snickering all over again, but Lily kept reading quickly before they could build themselves up again.

He called after Cho, running to where she'd made it to the stairs to ask if she wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him on Valentine's Day.

"Valentine's day is my favorite holiday!" Sirius declared.

"That's a pretty big set up you've got, first date being then and all," Remus forced himself to say while wiping away the tears.

"No pressure or anything," Harry hissed.

"You'll be fine Harry," Lily soothed, her own smile still unable to dim as she watched him. "Just be yourself, that's obviously what she's fallen for."

Harry was growing more glad by the minute he hadn't tried asking for advice on this, and was now terrified what Hermione and Ron were going to say as well.

James failed to add for a moment for the quick realization Halloween hadn't been mentioned this year, and he couldn't have been happier considering it's previous mentioning's.

She agreed at once while turning crimson, Harry stammering in relief that was all settled then.

"Articulate as always," James jumped back in with glee, beaming at his muttering son.

They departed then, Harry all but bouncing up to the library to get his friends. By six however, even having finally asked out Cho,

"I think she technically asked you out, so that shouldn't count," Sirius critiqued.

"I think he should take whatever he can get, all things considered," Remus said with an obvious nod at James, while Sirius conceded the point.

could not make him walk down to the dungeons feeling anything but dread. He only paused long enough to wish he could be somewhere else, before knocking and entering.

"You do that a bit," Lily told him, the smile already dimming again, "knock then enter, I'm not sure you got the message you're supposed to wait in between."

Harry almost wished to go back to talking about Cho now, rather than all of the dower faces around him again. He couldn't fool himself any more than them this was going to go well.

Snape's office was dark and shadowed, the shelves filled with slimy pickled things, and the cupboard full of ingredients he'd once been accused, not without reason, of robbing.

"I disagree, just because you did it doesn't mean he should accuse you of doing it," James scoffed.

"And yet, if you're going to get accused of doing it, you might as well just do it," Sirius shrugged.

Lily was eyeing the pair, and looked hopefully at Remus as he said, "Rules are like paperclips. Meant to hold things together, fun to bend, and easy to twist out of shape."

Then she sighed and went back to reading loudly before they could impart any more wisdom.

The first thing he focused on though was the a Pensive sitting on Snape's desk, it looked exactly the same as Dumbledore's.

Lily raised an inquisitive brow, but looking up she saw they only looked cross at the idea, James already muttering about hypocrisy. Knowing full well Snape wasn't so stupid as to actually do that, and he in fact likely had one of his own, she just kept going.

Snape called for him to shut the door without looking up, and Harry did so while feeling like he was imprisoning himself.

"Honestly, I don't even feel like you're exaggerating," Remus sighed.

When he turned back, Snape wordlessly gestured to a chair across his desk, and Harry sat matching his glare, dislike etched into every bit of Snape's face.

"A talent he perfected early in life," James scowled, shifting in agitation, automatically wanting to move between Snape and his son picturing such an expression being aimed towards him.

Snape began that though this was not a class setting, he was still to be addressed as Professor or sir at all times.

"Only when you deserve it!" James snapped.

"So, when it snows in July," Sirius agreed.

Harry agreed yes, sir.

"I can just hear the sincerity," Remus rolled his eyes, even Lily couldn't manage any degree of respect reading about this. He'd done nothing to deserve it, nor could she yet find reason this wasn't more torture for her son. Maybe if someone would answer some questions of why Harry was being put through this she'd give in a little, find the gratitude buried in her for Snape doing this.

Then he asked why Dumbledore thought he needed to learn this.

Snape took his time answering that as the Dark Lord was a highly skilled Legilimens- Harry interrupting to ask what that is. Snape began to explain it as the ability to extract feelings and memories from a person's mind, Harry interrupting to confirm he could read minds!

Snape sneered this only exemplified Potter's inability with subtlety.

James felt his jaw tensing already, fighting back the urge to wave in Harry's face how founded Sirius' reaction had been now. Harry couldn't ask a single question without being insulted!

Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing that only Muggles referred to this as mind reading, as the mind was no book to be flipped open at will. It was a complex structure and many layered thing, at least most minds were he finished with a smirk.

"Clever." Remus managed to make the word sound like an insult.

Those who mastered Legilimency could penetrate and delve into the recesses of one's mind, something the Dark Lord had mastered. Only those who knew Occlumency could shut off their feelings and emotions and lie to a Legilimens.

"Oh bollocks," Sirius groaned, quickly explaining before anyone could ask, "remember Harry's first year, that Stone and he was worried Snape read his mind and knew what he knew?"

"Oh," Remus groaned.

"I'm still not quite believing he managed to accomplish this, as hard as it is to do," James snapped.

Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind-reading to Harry, and he didn't like the sound of it at all.

"In layman's terms, it is," Lily agreed.

"Snape's just trying to make himself seem intelligent by correcting you," Sirius scowled.

"And failing," Remus grumbled.

Lily shot them all a look of agitation. They were no better than Snape constantly insulting him after everything he said. Still, she'd rather ignore them for now, as they at least knew all this, she still wanted to know why Harry was supposed to so young.

Harry asked if he could know what they were thinking, even now.

Snape corrected distance mattered in magic, and it would normally still be impossible on these school grounds with the many enchantments blocking outsiders, on normal circumstances eye contact was a key to this obscure branch of magic. However, the Dark Lord and Potter seemed to share a special connection where these rules didn't apply, therefore the Headmaster wished him to learn to close this.

This didn't feel like much of an answer, as it was all they had worked out for themselves last year, what they wanted to know was why it was becoming more intense!

Harry demanded to know why Dumbledore wanted it stopped? Harry may not like it, but it had become of use so far, Mr. Weasley could have died.

"I can see what you're doing Harry," Lily said softly, "but what it does to you still outweighs whatever potential you're thinking. It's dangerous, you come away from it in pain every time worst than the last, and an open connection is certainly not healthy! If," she stressed the word, "this does work, than you certainly need to use it, or your fears from earlier really could happen, and Voldemort could know what you do. Best to shut this off if you have a chance."

Harry wanted to argue the point, that anger flaring in him again from the other night. His safety shouldn't make anyone's else's death okay. He couldn't do that to his mother though, her eyes pleading with him to at least give this a chance. It felt pointless to argue that, considering, and so he held his tongue between his teeth, for now.

Snape took a long time to answer before saying Dumbledore theorized that before now, the Dark Lord had not even been aware of this connection, but because of what happened over Christmas-

Harry supplying what had happened with the snake and Mr. Weasley.

Snape said dangerously he was not to be interrupted,

"How dare he ask for clarification! It's as if he's supposed to be reading his mind already," Remus snapped.

continuing that the event was such a powerful occurrence into the Dark Lord's mind-

Harry again interrupting he hadn't been in his head, but the snake's.

Snape again stated he was not to be interrupted.

"Maybe he wouldn't if you'd say something useful," Sirius ground out.

Lily was about ready to snap the book in half in frustration. Severus was trying to say so, if he'd quit being interrupted by these petulant boys! She'd gathered it for herself already though, and by their stark expressions, they had to and were just lashing out.

So their guess had been right, and Voldemort had seen inside his own snake? Controlled Nagini? Just what kind of magic was that? It was infuriating they kept getting more questions than answers.

Harry did not care if Snape was angry, at last he seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business;

"Who'd have thought from him of all people," James said with further anger at Dumbledore. He still wanted his answer of why that man who'd claimed so much responsibility for Harry's life had suddenly disappeared when Harry needed him most.

and leaned forward eagerly without acknowledging Snape's rebuke to continue asking how this had happened, how he'd shared Voldemort's thoughts?

Snape spat the Dark Lord's name was not to be spoken!

"Naww, does the poor little Death Eater need his Dark Lord's permission to take a piss as well?" Sirius snarled in disgust, he couldn't imagine being so afraid of something he had to use some other stupid name to call it.

There was a nasty silence as they glared at each other, Harry breaking first by reminding Dumbledore called him by his name.

Snape responded Dumbledore was a powerful wizard who may feel secure enough to do this, but the rest of them...he trailed off by rubbing at his forearm where Harry knew the Dark Mark to be.

"I'd like to burn something else into his skin," James snarled.

Harry realized he was not getting any further with this and switched back to asking why-

Snape cutting him off to finish explaining Potter had been inside the snake's mind because that's where the Dark Lord had been at the time, in possessing his own snake he'd dragged Potter along while he slept.

Lily tasted copper in her mouth, and hadn't realized she'd been scraping her teeth against her lip as she paused for breath in reading this, so hard it cut her lip. She couldn't stand this, thinking about this connection happening to her son, having to have this explained by someone who detested him. Why couldn't Sirius be doing this if not Dumbledore, at least he'd show some kindness in his effort to explain. What on earth possessed Dumbledore to entrust this task to someone so despised, it's not as if Harry trusted him, so she couldn't blame him for questioning all of this the way he was.

None of this was helping the revelation of why this had happened, not that they'd really gotten that, more of a confirmation they were right in saying this was different.

Harry asked how Dumbledore knew all this, was he just guessing?

Snape snarled the reminder he was to be called sir, as up to this point Harry had been doing so, but in his haste for answers had neglected this the past few questions.

"After every other word eh? You sure demand a lot of special treatment," Sirius sneered.

Harry impatiently added the formality, still trying to ask how anyone knew-

Snape stated it was enough that they knew.

"No, it is not." James said flatly. "There is no way Dumbledore put this together without some theory as to why it happened!"

"It's that bit of Voldemort he accidentally put in me," Harry quietly reminded, still unbelieving they'd taken that in stride back in his second year when it still made him feel contaminated if he thought about it too long. He began running his hand through his hair in agitation again, brushing his bangs down over his scar despite how unnecessary it really was in here, the only place where they never wanted to look at his scar for the reminder of what it would mean to them.

"Well, yes but I thought that was more like-" Sirius waved his hand at Remus for help.

"Magical residue? Maybe a bit of magical backlash from a spell gone wrong that emanated from his wand," he offered.

"Yes, that," Sirius kept going. "I didn't think he meant, literally! The worst side effect we've put down to that so far was the Parseltongue, but this seeing into his head bit is..." he trailed off shaking his own head as he ran out of words to describe all this.

Harry started edging away from Sirius a bit, his skin crawling with nerves. Sirius looked really upset about this, and if Harry's reminder had somehow put the thought into his head there was something wrong with Harry-

Sirius scurried that idea from him at once as he reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "Would you stop doing that. I get it's a nervous tick, but it's unnatural for me to see even a hair lying flat."

Harry brushed his hand away even as he couldn't help smiling at him again.

The important part was now the Dark Lord was as aware of this as well, and could now possibly in return reverse the process to see into Potters thoughts as well-

Harry interrupted he could make him do things, hastily adding the sir this time.

Snape sounded unconcerned as he agreed with this conclusion.

James made a blistering noise, already wanting to tow Harry out of the room himself so he could have a private chat with old Snivellus!

Lily on the other hand finally put together why Snape of all people would have been picked for this. She'd never gone through the process herself, but had heard tales from some of the oldest seventh years who had begun the process of learning it, and all they spoke about was how excruciating the process was. Someone like Sirius would probably go easy on Harry then, considering he was even younger, but some cold hearted distance could be a better teacher, until he took it to far and Lily would have to start breaking fingers. Still, in the wake of this revelation, she felt a small bit of thawing around his name she hadn't felt in a while. She didn't know why Snape was doing this, simply because Dumbledore told him to? Yet he was doing it, and that finally earned him a morsel more of respect than he'd gained this whole time he'd been in Harry's life.

Which brought them back to Occlumency.

Snape ignored Harry for a moment more as he pulled out his wand and took a few more memories from his mind, putting them into the Pensive without explaining why.

"He's really not that hard to figure out," Sirius scoffed, while Remus more kindly explained, "if you're going to learn Occlumency, even though he's going to be the one going through your head, it does make sense for the teacher to ah, put away any thoughts they wouldn't want on display." He finished with a disgusted twist of his own lips though he'd had to refer to Snape like that.

Then he put that away, telling Harry to stand and take out his wand as he did the same. He instructed Potter that he was allowed to try and disarm, or defend himself from this in any way he could.

Harry asked what exactly Snape was going to do.

Snape explained he was going to break into his mind, and Potter was supposed to resist. He'd heard he'd been through the Imperius Curse, and the process to break free needed much the same aptitude. He'd need to block his mind and prepare himself.

"Aptitude," James repeated with a sniff, still considering what Harry had done an even more impressive feat than his Patronus.

He'd need a similar power to break free of this. He'd need to block his mind and prepare himself, then without further forewarning other than to brace himself, shouted Legilimens.

"What?" Lily shrieked as she glared at the page, her nails nearly breaking through in frustration. "That's all the information he gives you, to block and prepare yourself? I am going to kill him!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Harry couldn't help but ask a bit timidly in the face of her wrath.

Lily took a deep breath before answering, "I'll be honest, I'm not sure, never having studied it myself, but I know there must be more."

"I actually find it a bit like casting a Patronus," Remus shrugged, "concentrate on one thing to block out what you're really thinking."

Harry looked to him in surprise, asking, "is that why Dumbledore and Snape never figured out Sirius was an animagus from you? Can you do this?"

"Oh, no," he quickly waved off, "at least I wouldn't think so, most likely I avoided thinking about it all together." He finished with a terrible wince for even thinking of what he'd think of Sirius in the future. He tried to shake that off around a suddenly burning throat, "been practicing it a bit, all of the Order has I thought."

"Dumbledore never said anything to me," James said in surprise, Lily nodding as well. Remus looked just as shocked.

"Err," he said uneasily, exchanging an uneasy look with Sirius, who looked just as mystified. "We only started practicing on each other last week because Dumbledore mentioned something about it, I'm sure he will to you two soon."

The couple still exchanged an unsatisfied look, but didn't argue the point. The only reason Remus and Sirius had been here to begin with when this started was because they'd just returned from a two week long mission, so it wasn't impossible to believe something new had happened, just surprising.

Lily managed to shake the whole thing off by going back to finding out what Snape was fixing to do to her son.

Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before he had even begun to summon any force of resistance.

"That is most certainly not how you're supposed to practice," Sirius hissed, especially on someone's very first try as a beginner! "Give him a little warning for what's fixing to happen, how about a suggestion for how to block it other than brace yourself!"

Harry shivered as he ran his fingers through his hair, his head already aching again from this experience.

The office swam out of focus, instead memories taking up Harry's vision; being five years old and watching Dudley with jealousy riding his first bike, being nine and Ripper chasing him up a tree while the Dursley's laughed,

"Oh yes, because this is really what I wanted to remember!" James snarled in outrage, already wondering how many times Vernon had strangled his son in between those memories again!

the sorting hat, Cho drawing near him under the mistletoe-

Harry tried to shut them off, Snape shouldn't see that, it was private!

Remus couldn't help but hum curiously even while he was scowling for Harry's closed eyes, he could only imagine thinking about all of those things again would hurt him at any time. Still, it was fascinating that this was just a touch like his Imperius training, and Harry's resistance stemmed from his will of what he did and didn't want to show someone.

He felt a sharp pain in his knees, the room came back to him, and he saw Snape rubbing his wrist and watching Harry with a calculating look as he asked if he'd intentionally performed a Stinging Hex?

Sirius was growling hatefully even as a twisted smirk appeared. Finally Harry was getting just the smallest payback, and Snape couldn't do anything, considering he'd told Harry to fight back however he could. Not that this would stop Snape from giving Harry a detention on top of everything, but he could dream.

Harry realized he'd fallen to the floor and quickly stood again, saying he hadn't.

Snape brushed off that wasn't an utter waste of a first attempt, but he'd lost control.

"He never had control," Lily spat, her hand twitching more every moment to rest on her own wand, sick of his teachings that were now hurting him more than just bad grades.

Harry asked if Snape had seen what he had, and Snape agreed with a twisted smile some of them, before asking who's dog that had been?

"You're ugly step-sister," Remus grumbled.

Harry petulantly muttered his Aunt, Snape moving past and telling Potter he must remain more focused, to repel with his brain and not his wand.

Harry snapped he was trying, but he wasn't told how!

Snape's response to this was to mind his manners while smirking again.

"No!" James snarled, "no he will not be doing anything of the sort so long as he continues to torture you with smirking!"

Harry was starting to miss Umbridge's detentions as he rubbed hard at his forehead, the anger around him while comforting on his behalf, helping nothing with the pain of all those memories flashing back to him so suddenly, already leaving him feeling weak kneed even while sitting down.

Then he told him to close his eyes, and Harry gave him a filthy look before doing so, feeling more vulnerable than ever, as Snape told him to clear his mind and empty all emotions.

"That is actually impossible," Sirius scoffed. "The moment you try to do anything of the sort, you start feeling annoyed because you can't do it."

Harry tried to offer Sirius a smile no matter how forced it felt.

Harry couldn't even begin to manage that, his anger at Snape still pounding through him, it would be easier to detach his legs.

"Or his," James huffed.

Snape realized this at once, telling him he wasn't focusing enough, but then launching the spell at him again; Harry saw the Hungarian Horntail shooting fire at him, his mother and father in the Mirror of Erised, Cedric Diggory lying before him, his eyes empty of life.

Lily inhaled sharply, the burn of that memory crackling through her full of so many things, double upon her son. What she would give to take that all away from him...

Harry fell to the ground again, crying out with fear, his brain aching so bad it felt as if it were being pried from his skull.

Snape seemed to have released the spell himself this time, looking angrier than ever as he told Potter was only handing him weapons, he was not making any effort to resist.

Harry insisted he was between clenched teeth, struggling this time to get to his feet.

Snape no more believed this, repeating his command to clear all emotions!

"Yeah, after he'd already been through the most traumatic thing in his life, so helpful!" Remus said aghast, looking from Harry to the book and not for the first time wondering how the poor kid still had any sanity after all he'd been through.

He called Potter weak for so willingly displaying his emotions.

Harry said back quietly he was no such thing, his hatred for Snape rising more every moment, on the verge of attacking Snape any second.

"I'm well past that," James vowed, his hatred for the slimeball in school holding nothing for what the man had become. His abuse of Harry, his belittling of his best friend, what he'd tried to do to Remus and Sirius. No, there wasn't a chance in Merlin's mind Snape was going to live when James got out of here.

Snape clearly cared nothing for this, telling him to prove it, and then starting again; a hundred dementors swarming around him on the edge of the lake, running with Mr. Weasley down a long dark corridor, Harry expecting to go through the door at the end, but being taken by surprise at the sharp right turn down a flight of stairs-

Harry began shouting in surprise he knew!

He found himself this time on all fours on the floor, Snape glaring down at him as he demanded what Potter realized?

"Realized what?" Sirius tried to keep the savagery out of his voice while speaking directly to Harry.

Harry didn't answer, but it was clear from his face he wished he hadn't. He was drawn tight into himself now, his eyes fixed on a point none of them realized. Whatever he'd just put together, he was going to live to regret it.

Harry did not at once answer, still savoring his moment of realization as his forehead stung worse than ever.

The dream he'd been having of the long dark corridor, he'd visited it! It was the same place he'd headed down on his way to his Ministry hearing, the same place Mr. Weasley had been attacked at a few months later. It was a real place, and it was the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic.

Lily finished with ice replacing her veins. She couldn't help her mind flashing back to his first two years, how he'd figured out where something was being kept and so had launched himself after it.

"Oh," the Marauders all muttered, but they'd already put this together last night, not that it made any more sense now. Why was Harry reacting again?

Harry wasn't even sure himself, he could just feel the difference. Of having an answer in knowing, and his memories also doing the same. In here it was a relief, but for his time then he didn't want to know what he'd do with this.

Instead of answering Snape's question, he asked what was in the Department of Mysteries?

When Snape demanded why Potter would want to know this, he explained his realization, and concluded this was what Voldemort wanted, something from inside.

Snape scowled and corrected there were many things inside that place, few of which he would understand, none of which concerned him. Did he make himself clear?

Harry rubbed hard at his ear to get rid of the ringing noise suddenly erupting, some lie hidden in Snape's words he no more wanted to understand at this moment than his last realization.

"That you don't know either and you're just failing to sound smart again," Remus grumbled, even if he knew that not to be true, or at least, Snape may be as aware as the rest of the Order, still didn't mean he had to acknowledge it happily.

Harry snapped yes, hardly acknowledging what he said as he rubbed at his painful scar.

Snape concluded that was enough for now, he wanted Potter back here on Wednesday.

"I thought he said once a week!" Lily snarled in frustration. "What's this coming back two days later?"

"He reset them for Wednesdays, guess he just wanted that extra day to torture me my first back," Harry said bitterly.

Harry said fine at once, trying to turn to leave, to find his friends.

Snape instructed before he went to sleep, he was to clear his mind of all emotions, leave it empty and blank.

"I do not understand how that would make things harder for someone to read my mind," Harry said, venting all of his frustrations with his jumble of emotions into this problem he could complain about. "Wouldn't that make things easier!"

"I can see it working both ways," Remus sighed with frustration. "To many emotions, and the Legilimens can peel them all apart and see what's causing them, yet being of no emotion means you're also more likely to feel one very strongly if a memory does pop up. I really wish we had more practice at this, I do agree this just can't be that helpful-"

"Coming from Snape of all people," Sirius finished bitterly. Remus rolled his eyes as that hadn't been what he was going to say, but also had nothing to argue the point.

He'd know if Potter wasn't.

Harry hardly acknowledged this as he left, finding his friends in the library, and taking a seat while still shivery, aching, and feeling feverish.

Lily was blinking more than was necessary to keep her eyes focused, rather than constantly darting to her son. He was shaky and pale in here from remembering this happening to him, she imagined he was even worse at the time.

Ron and Hermione looked at him in concern as they caught sight, he glanced at himself in a window and saw how white he was, and thought his scar was standing out more than normal.

"I'm sure that's just your imagination," James said evasively. "It's a mark, can't be glowing or anything."

Harry sighed, his fingers tracing the familiar pattern without answer.

He told them everything that had happened, his realization of the door and where it was.

Sirius wondered if there was something else about that, something that had been bugging his mind earlier at St. Mungo's, but then that heart breaking scene with Alice and Frank had taken place, now he was trying to remember what he couldn't even remember before!

Hermione said this made sense, remember Sturgis Podmore? He'd been caught trying to break into the door at the Ministry, it must be this one, it couldn't be a coincidence.

They hadn't much of a chance to question that themselves, but none of them could disagree with Hermione either. Lily still hesitated a moment before saying, "do you think something happened, and he was trying to get whatever it was out, but got caught?"

"That could be," James agreed, his brow creased in agitation they didn't have more information about this. Why would the Order suddenly decide to move it? What had been the change there?

Too much was going on they just weren't privy to, Harry never seeming to be told enough.

Ron still didn't understand why he'd be doing that, and Hermione agreed it didn't answer everything.

Harry asked Ron if his dad ever mentioned anything about that Department, and Ron said the only thing he'd ever been told was the people who worked there were Unspeakables, because no one knew what they did unless you worked there. Weird place to keep a weapon.

"Sounds more like a disaster waiting to happen," Remus corrected with a huffy breath. He couldn't find much more comfort the Ministry had whatever this was over Voldemort, considering how many Death Eaters they knew had access to the place same as the Order.

Hermione kept her attention more on Harry, asking if he was alright?

Harry tried to say he was fine, still trembling in his seat as he concluded he didn't like Occlumency.

Sirius brushed up against Harry in commiseration, he hadn't much of a talent for it either the few times he'd tried.

Hermione was sympathetic as she said anyone would feel the same after what his mind had gone through. She suggested they go to the common room to continue working, but that place turned out to be worse as Fred and George were demonstrating a new item.

"Finally!" James burst out so loud Lily nearly dropped the book in surprise before glaring at her husband, the baby across the room giggling madly as he heard his father's voice. "I've been waiting ages to hear more about this!"

Lily hesitated for a moment before going back with the smallest of smiles, but he wasn't wrong. This was something normal, to giggle and envision what the twins were up to again rather than snake attacks and what Voldemort was up to.

They were declared as Headless Hats, only two galleons. Fred was waving one around, bright pink and with a fluffy feather on it.

Sirius hummed thoughtfully before shaking his head slowly. "I guess they all can't be Skiving Snack boxes, this is more like a cheap one second trick."

"Still, credit to them for putting this together, it's more than anyone else ever bothered to do," Remus shrugged as he grinned lightly.

George placed one on his head, and for a moment he just looked rather silly, than only his head and hat vanished while he continued waving at the crowd. Some girls screamed while others went wild, roaring with laughter and clamoring for one.

George removed the hat and traded it to one for two galleons, Hermione ignoring her homework to watch, clearly being marginally impressed by this one.

"A first for her I'm sure," James snickered.

Obviously it was an Invisibility Spell, but it was clever it extended past the item it was bound to down to the object below it, she imagined the spell wouldn't have a long life though.

Lily was smiling in appreciation as well, she would love to meet the twins just to ask them how they'd managed to only make the charm extend across the head rather than the whole person like most spells of that type would do. They were ingenious little buggers.

"I think I'm getting jealous," James pouted as he caught her grin. "You think they're cleverer than us?!"

"Then you dear? No, never."

James actually pouted at her for the sarcasm, while Lily took advantage of Harry laughing loudly to keep going before she was accosted by all three of them.

Harry did not answer; he was feeling ill.

James let the moment go just because Lily's picking had managed to push that feeling off of Harry for even a second in here, he'd get back at his wife later.

Harry shoved his homework back into his bag, saying he'd do it tomorrow.

Hermione encouraged him to at least write it down in his planner so he wouldn't forget.

"Forgetting was never the problem," Sirius rolled his eyes, "it's finding the time to do it."

Harry begrudgingly pulled that out instead, the little book telling him not to leave it till later, calling him a second rater as he jotted down Umbridge's undone assignment.

"I can't decide what I want to burn alive more, the woman or the work," James huffed.

"Need kindling to get started," Remus offered helpfully.

Hermione beamed at it.

"Ergh, as if that wasn't Hermione's quote already, now we have inanimate objects doing it too," Remus grumbled.

Harry quickly stuffed it back out of sight, making a mental note to drop it in the fire the first opportunity he got.

Causing all four of them to snort with laughter at Harry's unintentional continuation of the joke.

He made it to the stairs repressing chills, he felt as sick as the night he'd had the snake vision, and was hoping lying down for a bit would help.

Lily started fidgeting with the pages uneasily, hating that Harry's humor was already drying up in here again, he was already back to rubbing at his scar. She'd lose her mind if he suffered another of those visions again already, surely another Order member wasn't going to be attacked so soon after the last! She wanted Harry to just this once tell her she was being paranoid and reading those signs wrong.

He'd only just stepped foot into his dorm when pain exploded across his forehead again, falling to the floor and knowing nothing but this.

Lily made a keening noise of frustration, fighting back the urge to throw the book away and run to her son now. She didn't know what she'd do if he fell back into that fear of what Voldemort was doing to him, they'd only just gotten it through his head he was safe here, but if something happened now-no! She cut the thought off, watching him steadily until he forced himself to meet her eyes. He still had his hand pressed firmly to his scar, his eyes shining with fear and pain, but he was aware enough to egg her on, to reveal this new horror.

A laughter that wasn't his rung through him, jubilant and triumph waring with a current of pain that wouldn't leave.

Someone was shouting his name, and Harry came back to himself on the floor of his room, Ron leaning over him with concern, his hand still prepared to tap Harry on the face more if he didn't respond.

"Why does Ron think smacking you is helpful!" Sirius burst out, his eyes to wide from continued panic.

"He's as violent as you?" Remus offered, staring shrewdly at the book and forcing himself to do no more than that, rather than go for his wand with the baby still cuddled up in his lap.

Ron asked with worry what had happened, Harry unsure himself, he could just feel Voldemort was happy. Ron helped him to his bed, Harry fighting back the urge to be sick. He tried to explain better, saying something good had happened, something Voldemort had been waiting for.

"The weapon?" James began in a panic, if they lost that he didn't want to know how much worse things were going to get.

"No," Harry spoke in a detached way, trying to think back to that feeling while also not let it consume him into laughing maniacally in here as well. "No, it was something else-"

"Okay, okay, I'm almost done," Lily cut in gently, trying to hurry up and finish now before Harry did something everyone would regret.

He was very glad that Dean and Seamus were not here to watch this time.

"Why, it's not like he can think you're anymore crazy," Remus muttered to himself. He honestly couldn't imagine how Seamus couldn't believe Harry anymore after what he'd seen, surely he knew Harry couldn't push a lie that far. What had happened to Harry should have been proof enough for any non believers something was going on in the magical world.

Ron tried to change the subject by saying Hermione had asked him to come up here and check on him, she knew his defences would be low after Snape had been fiddling with his mind.

"How is that helpful!" James snarled in frustration. "Making him more vulnerable, I'm going to rip someone's tongue out if they don't explain why Harry's being put through this, and it's just making things worse!"

"Start with Dumbledore," Sirius told him helpfully with the same scowl in place.

Still, it would help in the long run, right?

Harry did not answer. His foray into Occlumency had not been promising, and now he was left wondering what had made Voldemort happier than he had been in the past fourteen years.

Lily hardly had a second to look to her son, her mouth seemingly set in that uneasy frown she held for him and everyone of his time for this happening, when the sensory alarm went off.

Someone else was here.

HPHPHPHP

I know the timing is unbelievable, but it makes for a great cliff hanger rather than happening in the middle of a chapter and cutting off whatever's going on. Sorry for asking for a little suspension of disbelief for the timing.

I would be terrible at Occlumency/ Legilimency. I know that's how most people even try to fall asleep, but I actually let my mind wander and create things in my head until I fall asleep without realizing it. Also I get really easily distracted. So on these basis, though I'm not really sure if I trust Snape to be supplying the most helpful advice learning this, you think you'd be any good?

*I actually read this really interesting fan theory that Tonks and Lupin were having an argument about them getting together. Lupin was again telling her she was to young for him, and you know what Tonks does? Disguises herself as an elder woman for their return trip in spite. Also why she's so extra on edge during the trip, trying to prove to Remus she takes her job as seriously, (shut up Sirius!) as anyone his age. Just something that amused me.

#The Life That Never Lived #Harry Potter #Fanfiction #reading the books #HP #OotP #Jilly #James Potter #remus Lupin #Siruis Black #Lily Potter

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griffinsandpeacocks · 4 years ago

Text

The Prince and His Wolf

Phoenix was not one to typically resort to violence. The key word being typically. There was a short list of things that could spark the urge in him though. One being someone hurting his lover, his Prince, Ben Florian. He saw Arie tighten his hold on Ben’s wrist saw the wince and slight flinch from his boyfriend and he saw red. Ben saw his eyes go wide and fill with rage and he held up a hand to him to try and calm him only for Arie to grab his chin to force him to look at him and then suddenly Phoenix was there a fist connecting with Arie’s face as a stream of angry ancient greek is leaving him and Ben is grateful the punch freed him as Arie went to the floor and side away from him. Phoenix moves placing himself between Ben and Arie and he is seething.

“You ever touch Ben like that again and next time it’ll be Shaderoot that connects with your face. Scratch that I see you touch ANYONE like that here and I will gut you!” Phoenix is shouting many students have turned to look and see what’s going on as now it’s more than just loud gibberish to them it’s a language they know, and a voice few people had heard at the current volume. Ben moves and wraps his arms around Phoenix who relaxes but he keeps his eyes trained on Arie glaring daggers at him.

“You still hit like a girl.” Arie says flatly and Ben sees Phoenix’s eyes flash before suddenly he is clutching at air and a large sandy pale wolf with cherry petal pink highlights stands over Arie snarling and Ben acts quick scruffing him and pulling him back though he struggles as Phoenix struggles snarling as he tries to lung back at Arie.

“Phoenix you can’t rip him to pieces just becuase he was rough with me!” Ben says forcing his voice to be as sure and commanding as he can. Phoenix stops struggling and bares his fangs at Arie and growls a low threatening sound his ears are flattened to his skull and his tail is almost like a board it’s not up nor down, he shows what Ben recognizes as what a beta status wolf would display.

“Congrats Prince Ben, it seems you have a large attack dog.” Arie sneers at Phoenix who lets out a vicious sound like a snarl and bark and the demi god flinched away standing quickly and backing away even as Ben pet’s Phoenix stroking along his spine and watching the fur spring right back up.

“I have a protective boyfriend. Who really seems to hate you. I’ll let the mess up pass this once. Phoenix won’t be stopped the next time though. I can’t always be around to stop him and I doubt anyone else capable of doing so would bother if you’re the one he bites. Never touch me again, don’t talk to me, leave me and for that matter, Phoenix, alone. Is that understood?” Ben asks calmer outwardly but panicked that his father will do something once he catches wind. Arie glares down at Phoenix and holds up his hands.

“As you wish... Your highness.” Arie says and it’s hissed like a curse as he turns and storms off a quickly forming bruise is blooming on his cheek and Phoenix wishes he’d not just bared his fangs when he’d been inches from the bastard’s throat. He keeps growling a wild fierce anger burns in his chest but once the demigod has long gone and his scent is fading slowly the fur that’s raised over his back and haunches lowers though his growling doesn’t abate he paces in front of Ben head lowered. He can’t look at anyone he just wants to run through the woods until the anger stops burning his chest like a blazing inferno.

“Phoenix.” It’s the King someone had fetched him. Phoenix froze mid step and stops growling. He sits at Ben’s side and looks at the King as he takes back his human appearance and keeps his eyes down.

“Dad, I-” “Don’t start Ben. I heard he only lashed out to protect you. I’m not here to punish him. Only remind him he should meter his responses. I heard you punched a demi-god. Not that you’d taken on a wolf form to scare them and everyone else that saw it.” Adam says and Phoenix sighs and looks up at the King he is angry still can feel it can tell Adam sees it by the mild surprise on his face. After all Phoenix had never felt this angry since he’d lived in Auradon.

“If I’m to be honest, your majesty, I only shifted form when he had the gall to sass me when I told him to mind his manners. I didn’t want to scare anyone else just remind...” Phoenix clears his throat to stop himself from swearing “Him I can in fact hurt him. That and he should mind not to hurt those weaker than him.” He explains feeling twitchy and he wants to go into the forest. It’s wild there there’s small rabbits he can chase down or maybe even a deer. He needed to do something with this burning rage. Arie dared lay hands on Ben and all he wants to do is rip the demi-god into pieces to scatter to the winds.

“Ben?” Adam asks and Ben smiles to cover up everything that had gone wrong.

“I misread a situation and he made an advance and when I back peddled he grabbed me and Phoenix intervened. He was just protecting me.” He says and Adam looks closely at Ben wondering if he doesn’t have the full picture he looks at Phoenix and then at Lumiere who had fetched him when he had heard Phoenix raise his voice initially. He had heard a death threat and gone for Hades but found Adam first.

“Mon Roi, I think it best to leave them be. It looks like Phoenix was just acting in the best interest of Ben.” Lumiere says and Adam sighs looking back to Ben who smiles wider looking hopeful and Adam caves he growls and Phoenix bares his teeth a bit in a wince as he fights the urge to growl back. When Adam leaves Phoenix looks at Ben. He is still feeling on edge he gently takes Ben’s hand and pushed back the sleeve to peer at his wrist and rubs it looking up to check if Ben will wince and reveal any pains.

“I might bruise but it’s not sprained if you’re checking for that.” Ben says softly and he wraps his arms around the godling when he rests his head against him.

“Phoenix, I heard you’re little outburst in greek... Please next time get me or another adult. I don’t want you to get in trouble becuase of that piece of trash.” Lumiere says patting his shoulder as he walks away. He tosses a reminder to Ben over his shoulder he had a fitting for a new suit and he shouldn’t be later for it.

“I’ll be out for a run, you go ahead and get fitted, love.” Phoenix says softly smiling at Ben though it is a fait and weak one it is an attempt Ben appreciates. Phoenix walks out past people that clear away from him and he ignores it and once he’s past the trees he lunged forward and shifts to run wild. He doesn’t howl he just dashes out until the smells of civilization are distant and faint. He catches the scent of someone and follows it deciding to distract himself as it’s odd a person ventures this far out into the forest. He recognizes the smell once he’s closer he trots after them.

“Altia, what has you out here? Practicing some hunting to keep those skills sharp?” He asks shifting as he gets close to Altia, Artimis’ daughter, well adopted daughter, another demi-god. She looks at him unimpressed a rabbit skinned gutted and prepped to cook and a small fire in a carefully dug pit starting to burn.

“Aye... I wanted to make sure I don’t get rusty, Mom would throw a fit.” Phoenix nods and sits by her. She radiates a calmness he needs right now.

“My twin brother’s pissed you off has he?” She asks keeping focused on her task and he nods not looking at her. She and Arie look nearly identical. The only difference is she had their mother’s eyes, a cool bright green like summer leaves. Arie looked like a mini Apollo. Blond, blue eyed, and arrogant to a fault. Altia refused to acknowledge her association with Apollo instead asking Artemis to train her to be a huntress under her wing. Artemis had accepted merely to annoy Apollo.

“He grabbed Ben who I saw wince and I saw red. Only time I think I’ll willingly get near him.” He says softly in anger as he takes some small dry twigs near them and carefully adds them to the flame. He sees Altia out the corner of his eyes take a second rabbit from a side pouch and butcher it as he builds up the fire.

“He’s got a knack for making you crack, I’ll give him that; though really he should know better after the last time. I’m shocked he isn’t dead.” She notes and Phoenix sighs. He doesn’t like the idea but Arie set him into a dark place in his mind and it could get him killed one day if he kept poking at it. Or perhaps Phoenix himself should just learn better control.

“He owes that fact to Ben. He pulled me back off Arie before I got the idea in my head to snap my fangs on his throat.” Phoenix sighs and he lays back watching clouds roll by as Altia cooks them some rabbit. After that they discuss some of the classes they’re taking and Phoenix enjoys helping her through some of the math she is struggling on.

They eventually come back and Phoenix watches as Arie gives him a wide birth and he paused to give the demi god a cold stare and watch him skirt the area. As angry as Phoenix is faintly that old fear is rearing it’s head. Currently he’s too angry to really flinch back. He goes back to Ben and smiles as the Prince jumps up from bed having been reading.

“How was your run?” Ben asks as he kisses the godling and Phoenix smiles. Ben being so affectionate was always nice and calming.

“Met Altia out in the woods, we sat and chatted and I helped her with some math examples. We came back a bit ago. I’ve calmed down. I won’t go looking for Arie. Though I wasn’t joking Ben.” Phoenix says suddenly his face looks serious and solemn and Ben realizes his boyfriend can look startlingly alike to Hades.

“About?” Ben asks cocking his head curious and Phoenix looks down and sighs. Ben preferred to go for nonviolence. The greek gods tended to only do violent.

“I could hurt or kill Arie. I am a full blooded god intentionally or not I could hurt him easily becuase I wasn’t watching the strength behind a blow. I’d like your help in getting it arranged so I can either go to a different class than him or at least the teachers keep us away from one another.” Phoenix asks and Ben nods and the afternoon is spent asking teachers if it be possible to swap Phoenix’s classes so he and Arie are not together in them or if that isn’t possible for him and Arie to not be near each other. After all if all they could do was make sure exposure was low at least they had done what they could to prevent an altercation.

#disney descendants #lore based hades #My OC Phoenix #ben florian #ben descendants #my OC Arie #My OC Altia #lumiere live action #Prince Adam #live action beast #apollo mention #artimis mention

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unlockthelore · 5 years ago

Text

Good Enough

Yuusuke is used to people trying to get under his skin but the world can only push so much til he pushes back.

Part of the Smile Bomb series. For more updates, follow the smile bomb tag on this blog.

For the umpteenth time, Yuusuke has to remind himself that he isn’t a junior high student anymore. He isn’t the punk kid who ran the streets of Sarayashiki, facing down any number of delinquents stupid enough to get tangled up with him. Hell, he wasn’t even human anymore. Not completely. A thought that hits too close to a place he doesn’t want to think about on a good day, and refuses to acknowledge on a bad one.

All of the reminders in the world are necessary to keep him from ripping into the owners of whispering voices and snide glances, uproarious opinions of things they hardly understand. Sometimes, the reminders come in the form of firm grasps on his shoulder or a hand at his back. Faces of people who know him — who understand the shadows that haunt his face or the brief flicker in his eyes — who take the shift in his mood seriously and separate him from those who don’t.

Seldom is it Kurama, guiding him from a room when his ki is strong enough to flicker the lights. Taking advantage of the momentary break in conversation to lead him somewhere quiet. Calm him down with a backward count from one hundred. Yuusuke’s anger never makes it past sixty-nine but it’s mostly out of his humor and the exasperation in the fond roll of Kurama’s eyes. They stay there, together and speaking quietly. Kurama reminding him that they’re there for him and he doesn’t have to deal with this alone — and Yuusuke doesn’t have the gall to tell him he’s wrong.

Or that he doesn’t understand.

If anyone understands, it’s them, and Yuusuke has to remind himself that he’s not alone.

Occasionally, it’s Hiei he seeks out when he wants a fight. But that also means running into Kurama but the fox knows when to leave the two of them be. Hiei doesn’t say anything when Yuusuke throws his coat aside and takes up a stance. He doesn’t question when they’re beating each other badly enough that the ground shakes and the world becomes red. Or when the marks appear on Yuusuke’s skin, reminding him of just how far removed from humanity it is. To Hiei, it doesn’t matter. Human, mazoku, he still strikes with the same intensity but when the dust clears and they’re both beaten bloody — he glances Yuusuke’s way and asks him if he’s gotten it out of his system.

Yuusuke thinks to question what he means but Hiei’s not an idiot.

He knows.

And hell if Hiei doesn’t understand. Yuusuke sees it in the way others look at him when he’s by Kurama’s side. Silently questioning what he did to earn his place there. Hiei doesn’t pay them any mind, not in public, he treats it like it’s nothing. But Yuusuke notices it at a glance when the crowds get too dense and tensions run high. Hiei separates himself and Kurama follows suit, comforting him because he’s right there by his side. It helps when Hiei returns and Kurama seems relieved but there’s still a ghost of it in Hiei’s eyes. And another strand of his patience is snapped.

Yuusuke asks Hiei if he’s gotten it out of his system.

Hiei says nothing but Yuusuke figures that means they’re both working on it because he said nothing about his issues either.

The world dealt them shitty hands but the people they’re with make it better.

And that’s why most of the time, it’s Kuwabara and Keiko who calm Yuusuke the most. They’re what he was fighting for. A life with both of them. Laughing and carrying on as if they’re all on the same playing field. As if death and circumstance hadn’t pushed them all off course. Kuwabara is doing well for himself, studying and staying out of trouble, but he still comes around to pal about. Keiko reminding the two of them that the floor of their ramen shop isn’t a wrestling ring. A tiny quirk at her lips telling that she’s not really mad. And when Kuwabara leaves, Yuusuke feels a tiny ache but Keiko’s there and she squeezes his hand and he feels a different kind of pain.

The whispers Kurama tells him to ignore, the ones Hiei endures, the ones Kuwabara disregards, the ones about Keiko and what he did to deserve her wears at him now and again.

And it’s only a matter of time before he snaps.

But he’s not that kid anymore…

He’s better now. He’s good enough. Right?

─── 幽☆遊☆白書

Keiko doesn’t say a word when they come back to their little upstairs apartment. With the shop closed and their evening freed up, Yuusuke collapses in front of the television and loads up a game. It’s one of the fighting tournament ones that Genkai continuously kicked his ass at and he’s determined to at least figure out how to beat the character she always uses. The game absorbs him and he tries to push away the muttering of Keiko’s colleagues, the ones who went to high school and college with her, who recognize him as the Urameshi Yuusuke. He snorts when the character on the screen lands a good blow, flattening his avatar on its back.

I heard he had over two hundred thousand people ready to move on command. You know he was kicked out of school and his mother got him back with her connections —

Comments about his mom aside, which in Yuusuke’s opinion was reason enough to drive his fist into someone��s gut, it wasn’t their business. And he doubted that it was a coincidence that his record was common knowledge. Iwamoto and Akashi coming to mind immediately, and Yuusuke hopes that they thank Takenaka for everything he did because revenge was looking sweet for many years.

And really? Did they think he could just summon two hundred thousand people to fight for him?

Bitterly, he thinks on the monks who followed beneath Raizen’s regime and now turn to him. They served his ancestral father and claim his tactics during the Makai Tournament was reason enough to follow him. Yuusuke sneers as his avatar gets back to his feet and the fight resumes. His thumbs flicking across the control, pressing down until he hears a click a bit too harsh to be normal.

Don’t look at him too long. He looks like he’ll slug you good.

Who wouldn’t want to slug someone when they were the topic on everyone’s tongue but the peanut gallery was too chickenshit to say anything out loud?

Glancing down at his hand, he scowls seeing a sliver of dark ink peeking from beneath the cuff of his dress shirt. Keiko insisted on him wearing the damned thing. Said it made him look handsome and was loathsome to disappoint her. Although, he wouldn’t agree to a tie or buttoning the damned thing up to choke him. Keiko didn’t seem to mind but even that came up.

Doesn’t he know where he is?

Yuusuke grinds his teeth together. He knew just where he was and who he was with. Keiko never had any issues with him, so everyone else should just butt out.

The weight on his shoulders shifts and Yuusuke instinctively tenses up, his nose twitching as he inhales mikan and vanilla, sighing softly.

Keiko.

She doesn’t say anything until he pauses the game, her hands sliding down his shoulders and linking in the middle of his chest. Her weight comfortable against his back as she leans into him, chestnut brown hair tickling his cheek.

“You didn’t listen to them then,” Keiko whispers, warm breath caressing the shell of Yuusuke’s ear and he suppresses a shudder, keeping his gaze firmly on the screen. “Why start now?”

A twisted sense of superiority and validation pools in his gut but he recognizes the bad habit for what it is and pushes it aside. The controller nearly gives beneath his grip. Soft lazy kisses trailing beneath his ear and along the curve of his jaw loosening the white-knuckled hold. Keiko’s voice is soft in his ear, beckoning for him to calm and his eyes flutter shut as he loses himself in another smatter of kisses along his cheek.

“Yuusuke…”

He grunts at the sound of his name. It’s concerned and imploring, seconds away from a trademark call of ‘I care’, and he knows she means every word. It’s just difficult to understand why. He’s grateful that whichever deity was looking out for him sent her his way but he wonders if he’s the right one for her.

Tucking his hand in the crook of her elbow, Yuusuke sighs and tips his head to the side, brushing his lips against her cheek and nestling his nose in the locks escaping the messy bun she tied her hair in.

“… Everyone who said I was no good for you and that I caused you trouble didn’t matter, Kei… but I saw it, hell I saw how hurt you were and I just… it’s different…”

For so long, Yuusuke was just running ahead and he hoped that Keiko would be right there beside him. If he had to give her up like a man, then so be it, but that was impossible. If there was one thing he hoped he’d always have, it was a place at Keiko’s side. He wanted to hold her hand and see her smile. All of the stuff he thought was impossible with a happy life and an enjoyable existence, people who cared about him — a family — he wanted to do it with her.

“You shouldn’t care what they think,” Keiko replies simply, but there’s a quiet urgency to her voice that draws his ear. “I waited for you because I wanted to.”

Yuusuke swallows the lump in his throat. He remembers that day on the beach bittersweetly. Running across the sand to get to her as quickly as possible, listening to her call out that she was done waiting and he prayed that his luck hadn’t run out. Then she looked at him and his world was righted. With her in his arms, her lips pressed to his own and time seemed to matter less. He decided at that moment he’d do everything and anything in his power to make up for it. So she’d never have to sound that desperate again — so they’d never have to be on separate paths again.

For as long as she lived.

Curling his open hand into a tight fist, Yuusuke puts on a brave face and his sternest voice. Ignoring the controller's dull thud as it clatters to the floor. Shifting enough to meet her eye, he grimaces. “I put you through hell, Keiko.”

After a beat of silence, Keiko shrugs lightly. “I can put you in your place when I need to.”

Yuusuke's mouth fell open. He was a mazoku, not fully, but still. Power-wise, he was pretty sure that he was above most average humans. The idea of getting his ass kicked now was more of a matter of how than when. Especially if what Hokushin told him about his kind was true. Keiko was no slouch when it came to fighting but he doubted --- well, no, even if her old age Genkai could put him on his ass. With the right training and enough anger…

Oh, that thought shouldn't have been as attractive as it was.

Realizing how quiet he was and the knowing look in Keiko's eyes, Yuusuke ignores the heat rising to his face and the pitch in his voice. “Wow, really? In my place? I come back from the dead as a demon, find out that I’m basically a king and you’re still gonna kick my ass?”

Keiko grins at him in response, a dull pain to his cheek as she pinches and pulls barely registers over her voice. “You better believe it.”

Her smiling face guides him from the trails of thought that this won't last. She deserves someone better. Someone who can give her a life she deserves. Who can grow old with her. But saying that might deprive Yuusuke of her entirely, and he swallows his fears for both their sakes.

His ki rounds out around them in a dull blue sheen. He's not sure how his energy still manifests as anything light. Far from anything sinister like the Elder Toguro or the gaudy blinding light of Sensui. Kurama mentioned the color of one's aura had more to do with the soul than what they were.

"At the soul," the fox's voice softened in his memory, a ghost of his hand resting on Yuusuke's shoulder with a comforting weight. "You're like the sky. There's more to you than meets the eye."

Yuusuke huffs and rests his head against Keiko's, watching with an amused smile as she curls her fingers in the light of his aura. Her own is a warm yellow. Reminding him of the sun. It's part of why he thought she was a goddess made flesh. There was only one Yukimura Keiko, and she wasn't perfect but she was perfect to him.

Easing her clasped hands from around him, Yuusuke shuffles about on the carpet enough to face her and pull her into a hug. Keiko doesn't go without a fight. A minor scuffle with both of them smiling eough that laughter bubbles up between them. Her arms draping over his shoulders and her face pressed to the hollow of his throat. She doesn't have as many scrapes and bruises as he does, but he knows that many of them are covered up. Her scars are more internal while his are the opposite.

Pressing his fingers to her lower back and trailing them up her spine, the cream-colored dress shirt she wore only felt like a hindrance. If he tore through it then she might be pissed and Yuusuke didn't want to sleep on the couch tonight of all nights.

“… Hey Keiko?”

“Yeah?”

Allowing them to bask in this silence for a few minutes longer, a wicked grin curled on Yuusuke's lips when Keiko's fidgeting started. His arms locking around her middle and body rocking backward, a dull pain --- barely there --- registering when his arm hits the floor.

“Gotcha.”

“Yuusuke!”

A sharp squeal of his name in his ear lost in breathy laughter as they rolled about, narrowly clipping the couch. Like they were kids again and had nothing better to do but mess with each other.

Yuusuke snickers, smiling down at her as she lays beside him. The bun her hair was in now ruined and the hair tie surely lost somewhere. Eyes bright with mischief and sparkling crinkle at the corners when he peppers noisy kisses along her cheeks, soaking in every giggling laugh and light push as if he was basking in the sunlight. Cradling the back of her head, Yuusuke's fingers tangle in dark brown locks and he practically beams as Keiko laughs and curls close to him.

Burying his face against her hair, the words muffle but are spoken with no small amount of affection.

“Thanks Keiko.”

Keiko sighs, her arm slipping beneath his own and anchoring them together in a tight hold. “You’re welcome.”

Uncomfortable though it may be, Yuusuke wouldn't mind laying here with her for as long as they could. He could even drag down a few pillows and the blanket off the back of the couch. Make it a little sleepover. Just so he wouldn't have to seperate from her so soon.

“Mind if we stay here… just for a little while?”

“Sure.”

“… Can we order takeout too?”

“From anywhere you want.”

Yuusuke snorts, leaning back to catch a glimpse of her face. “Woah, you’re really heavy on the being nice thing today, huh?”

In the dim, its harder to see her smile but the light from the television halos her just right and Yuusuke almost forgets how it is to breathe. “I just wanna make sure you’re doing okay,” Keiko says, palming his cheek with a touch so light it takes Yuusuke a second longer than his senses usually allow to register it even happened.

He feels his world narrowing down and the edges that are too sharp and jagged blunt immediately, everything curving in toward her. A million words rest on Yuusuke's lips but they're none too kind and all about himself, and he knows that Keiko wouldn't hear them. Not without giving him an earful. And he didn't want to argue with her. Not tonight.

They could have their playful spats another day when emotions weren't too high.

Tipping his chin up, he brushes his lips against her crown, whispering against her skin. “You’re too damn good.”

Keiko laughs and Yuusuke's heart stammers as she taps his chin, guiding him into a sweet kiss that ends far too quickly. “Remember that the next time you call me a nag,” she teases, tracing the line of his nose to the corner of his lips, her tongue poking between her own.

Yuusuke snorts, pretending to consider it. “Mmmmm, no promises…” He says, flashing a smile when she sticks her tongue out at him with renewed vigor. His tongue loosening more than he'd usually allow but for Keiko, it's difficult to put up his walls. “I like you even when you’re nagging.”

Her tongue retreats and she stares up at him with wide curious eyes. It dawns on him that he never told her that before. All the complaining he did as a kid returns to memory, but he did feel touched. Somewhere deep beneath all the irritation and dislike for authority.

“You do?”

Yuusuke sighs. He wasn't that kid anymore, but part of him still was. That kid would always be a part of him and he wouldn't toss him away. He had a reason to be angry with the world, and he got better over time. But they both had something in common. Yukimura Keiko would always be a blind spot, a strength and able to find a chink in the armor.

And they loved her.

“When you’re nagging, when you’re mad, when you’re happy, when you’re sad…” Yuusuke presses light kisses to her cheeks with each reason, trailing down from her cheekbone to her jaw then the corner of her lips. Each one is featherlight, enough to linger ut not enough to start anything. Kisses that he knew Keiko loved just as much as it riled her up. “I love you all the time. Even when you drive me crazy.”

He doesn't quite expect anything from that. Soft understanding warming Keiko's face and curving her smile, a gentle tug pulling him closer as their lips slot together. Only the thin fabric of their shirts keeping them apart but even that just takes a moment and a bit of patience to be nothing.

Distantly, it dawns on Yuusuke when he's unbuttoning Keiko's that they match. And the television flickers as a new wave of love and appreciation washes over him.

#yu yu hakusho #yyh #yusuke x keiko #kurahi #yusuke urameshi #yukimura keiko #kurama #hiei #kuwabara kazuma #fanfiction #my fanfiction #smile bomb

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abandoned-ficlets · 4 years ago

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Legally Tooru

Summary:

Legally blonde, but make it Haikyuu~.

Cast List:

Oikawa: Elle,

Ushijima: Warner,

Iwaizumi: Emmet,

Tendou: Vivienne,

Hanamaki: Paulette,

and Matsukawa: Kyle the Postman.

That’s it. That’s the tweet.

“You’re,” Tooru stares at Ushijima’s characteristically stoic face. He takes in the otherwise neutral features that are betrayed by the faint crinkle between his brows. “You’re breaking up with me?”

Ushijima nods curtly but his eyes are not meeting Tooru’s. “Yes.”

“You brought me to this expensive restaurant to break up with me?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t proposing. You’re breaking up with me?”

A brief pause. “Yes.”

Tooru just blinks at his boyfriend, one that two minutes ago, Tooru had been completely sure was about to get on one knee and ask to share the rest of his life with him. The words still aren’t sinking in, no matter how many times Tooru turns them over run his mind.

Was it really just a few hours ago that Tooru had been scrambling around the mall, looking for the perfect engagement outfit? Hinata, Kindaichi, even Kunimi - everyone from his volleyball team had come to help him pick the perfect ensemble. Looking down at his light blue button-down and black slacks, he knows he looks gorgeous. They had been so sure-

“Is this some sort of prank? Because that’s very unlike you, Ushiwaka.”

“Tooru,” Ushijima breathes, all the air letting out in a large sigh. “I’m on my way to Harvard. There’s no way that you’re so naive not to expect this.”

/Sure/, Tooru had known that Ushijima was leaving - it was all the man had talked about for the past two months, but Tooru had assumed that he would be coming right alongside, sort of like carry-on baggage. The two are inseparable, have been for the past four years. Ushijima had just said that he loved Tooru less than a week ago. There’s no way-

“Are you /sure/ you’re not pranking me? Are cameras going to pop out from behind the corner and it’ll turn out we’re on some tv show?”

“…”

“Or are you just trying to lower my expectations because the ring is too small? Oh Ushiwaka, I could care less about the size of the diamond, as long as it’s not /minuscule/, I love you after all, not the ring-“

“Oikawa,” Ushijima snaps, loudly. The people from the next table over glance at the pair in interest and Ushijima notices, having the gall to look embarrassed. He continues in a quieter, but no less frustrated, voice. “We need to break up and you can’t avoid it like this. Listen to what I am saying.”

So Tooru does; he listens to Ushijima’s words and he discovers that he doesn’t like them much at all. Once the shock wears off, he finds that he’s angry. Very, very angry. The angriest he’s ever been at stupid Ushiwaka, and he’s been angry at his boyfriend more times than he can count.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

The couple again looks at their table but Oikawa pays them no mind, way too busy causing a scene to care about what the nosy, middle-aged pair thinks.

“Oikawa, I-“

“No, you don’t get to say anything right now. This is bullshit and I want you to know it,” Tooru says and Ushijima’s mouth shuts so quickly that Oikawa would laugh if he weren’t so angry.

“How long have we been together, Ushiwaka?” Ushijima opens his mouth as if to answer but Tooru keeps speaking before a sounds comes out of the man’s open, dumb mouth. “Four years, Ushiwaka, that’s right. You said you loved me. You said there is no one else in the world that you’ll ever love more than me, right? Now you’re breaking up with me because you’re going to Harvard? Because you’re scared of a little distance? That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s not why we need to break up, Tooru.”

“Then why-“

“Because you’re not serious enough!” Ushijima snaps. After that, the words tumble from his mouth, spilling like a burst damn. “I’m going to be a senator one day, Tooru. How can I be with someone like you if I want that dream to become a reality?”

For a long moment, Tooru is silent.

Then comes the hurt.

“I’m not serious?“ Tooru sneers, the effect marred by the way his voice chokes up with unshed tears. “I’m in love with you. How much more serious can I be?”

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima says, his voice the most open that Tooru has ever heard it. He tries taking Tooru’s hands in his own but Tooru snatches them away immediately. “I thought that you’d understand. My future has been planned since I was ten years old. I’m going to Harvard and you can’t come with me.”

��

After that, time becomes a blur. Tooru thinks that Ushijima offers to drive him home. He knows that he refuses that offer. Fuck Ushijima’s Ferrari. Fuck Ushijima. Tooru can walk now that he’s single and Ushijima can shove that drive right up his-

“Congratulations!” a chorus of voices echoes in the corridor of the house.

---

--- He can’t hear what they’re saying about him, but he doesn’t need to. Tooru can feel their whispers looming over him like the imposing shadow of a giant. Sometimes, Tooru feels like he can’t breathe.

But whenever Tooru is beginning to feel like he can’t take it anymore, Iwaizumi swoops in. It’s like he has a built in depression sensor.

“Why are you inside, dumbass? It’s beautiful outside. We have to enjoy it,” he says on one particularly sunny day. Tooru had been studying at the , feeling motivated and bright. But then he’d seen Ushijima’s study group huddled in a corner, heads bent low towards their books. He had walked up to the table, just a simple “hi” on his tongue. But then, Tendou had cracked a joke at Tooru’s expense and their entire study group had laughed; even one corner of Ushijima’s mouth had lifted up in amusement. Tooru had just been abut to walk out of the library, turn on the television and drown his sorrows in a tub of ben and jerry’s, but like always, Iwaizumi had known.

Tooru looks outside for the first time in two hours and sure enough, the sun is shining brightly. “Oh,” he blinks up at Iwaizumi’s scrunched up features. “If that’s what you want, Iwa-chan.”

As they’re walking out, Iwaizumi mumbles something, too quiet for Tooru to catch.

“What was that, Iwa-chan?”

“I said,” Iwaizumi huffs, and his voice is annoyed and embarrassed, “Don’t pay attention to those assholes. You’re smart, much smarter than any of them know.”

Tooru blinks, feels his heart beating uncomfortably in his chest. To cover up the feeling, he smiles a little too widely at Iwaizumi. “Oh, Iwa-chan,” he pretends to swoon, fanning himself. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” ---

“Throwing yourself at him won’t help, as I’m sure you’re beginning to understand.”

“I’m certain I have no idea what you mean,” Tooru replies in a faux-cheery voice, laying on the sweetness extra thick.

“Oh, don’t you?”

“I’m here because I’m passionate about being a lawyer. Why is it that you’re here, Tendou-kun?”

Tendou pauses, smiles, but the expression looks more like a wolf baring its teeth at a defenseless deer. Inwardly, Tooru flinches.

“I’m here because I get a thrill from being a lawyer. Because I’m not afraid of a challenge. “

Tooru narrows his eyes, if the man wants a fight, he has no idea what he’s getting into; Tooru will not lose. “That’s funny,” he says, stretching out the words so they fill the empty space between the two men, “I feel exactly the same way. And I’m not afraid to go after what I want.”

“Good,” Tendou shoots another one of his not-smiles. “I look forward to all of the challenges that Harvard will offer us.”

“As do I, Tendou-kun.”

Tendou looks towards Ushijima, Tooru’s eyes follow. “Could have fooled me.”

---

Iwaizumi stiffens in Tooru’s arms and Tooru pulls back to stare at his face, but the emotions on the other’s face are impossible to read, a shadow falling over Iwaizumi’s eyes. Iwaizumi motions with his chin over Tooru’s shoulder.

Ushijima is standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, tall and as imposing as always. He commands attention, that much will never change. Tendou is nowhere to be seen.

“Go,” Iwaizumi says, pushing Tooru toward Ushijima with the snap of both arms before Tooru even has a chance to process the situation. The action isn’t strong; Iwaizumi is being unusually gentle. He directs a small smile at Tooru, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Prince Charming awaits.”

“Iwaizumi, wait-“ Tooru begins, but Iwaizumi is already walking away, head bent toward the ground and shoulders curled in on themselves. Tooru can feel his heart beat up to his ears. He needs to go after Iwaizumi, /he needs to tell him-/ But then Ushijima is clearing his throat and Tooru looks back towards him.

Ushijima nods once at Tooru, and there is a warm look in his eyes.

“Congratulations. You were amazing out there.”

“Thank you.”

#OMIGOD #now this one is embarrassing #i wrote this when i was obsessed with legally blonde the musical #legit OBSESSED #haikyuu!!#abandoned

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willow-salix · 5 years ago

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Isolation update!

Day 74 of Isolation on Tracy Island

“What on earth are you two doing?” Gordon asked, popping up out of nowhere like a tropical jack-in-the-box, his shirt flapping in the breeze, making us both jump.

We were doing nothing more exciting than stretching out on the couch, where I had forced John to settle by laying on him and then demanded he read to me. And since that was actually a pretty normal occurrence, I was at a loss as to what he was referring to. Knowing him he'd just declared today to be "eat with your toes day" or something equally ridiculous and was annoyed we weren't playing along.

John stopped reading to glare at him. I lifted my head off his shoulder to join in with the glaring.

“We were trying to have a quiet moment without constant interruptions,” I told him. Why did he have to have so many brothers?

“I told you we should have gone up to Five for a few days,” John sighed, picking up the book again and continuing to read from where he had left off. I snuggled closer to listen.

“This supernatural soliciting

Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,

Why hath it given me earnest of success,

Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.

If good, why do I yield to that suggestion

Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair

And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,

Against the use of nature? Present fears

Are less than-”

“That! That’s what I meant. What are you doing?” Gordon interrupted again.

“Trying to read Macbeth, obviously,” I grumbled.

“Why? It’s rubbish. No one reads that sort of thing any more.”

“Sure they do. Did you not read Shakespear in highschool?” I asked.

“Only when I had to, not for fun," he sneered that last word in the same tone people use when they have just trodden in something disgusting or realised there is no milk left in the house.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” I told him.

“You two are so weird, there are billions of books out there and you are reading one so old that hardly anyone can even understand it any more.”

“We understand it, or we wouldn't be reading it,” John sighed. “It’s not our fault that it’s too intellectual for you.”

“I could understand it just fine if I wanted to!” Gordon protested. We snorted in disbelief. “Hey! I can be an intellectual too, I can be smart. Move over!”

He shoved our legs out of the way, forcing us to sit up and dropped down next to me on the couch.

“Do you have to be here?” John asked.

“Yes. I’m going to prove that I’m smart, keep reading.”

John sighed but continued where he had left off, obviously knowing that there is very little point arguing with him.

“Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical.

Shakes so my single state of man.

That function is smothered in-”

“Nope! I can’t do it! It’s just so boring!” Gordon wailed.

“Heathen!” I smacked him with a cushion.

“Out of my sight! Thou doth infect my eyes!” John flicked his forehead.

“What was that?” Gordon asked, beginning to laugh. “Did you just insult me in your weird Shakespear language?”

"Yes, because we invented old English," I sighed.

“Thou art a dull and muddy-mettled rascal.”

“Did you just call me stupid in old english?”

“Yep,” I grinned. “He did. It isn't boring, Shakespear is a total G.”

“Yeah, right, still sounds boring to me.”

“Macbeth is a masterpiece, it's about a Scottish dude and his mate who meet these three witches and they, out of the goodness of their hearts, give him a prophecy telling him that he’ll become king of Scotland but that his mate will father a whole line of Scottish kings but won't be king himself. Feeling like this is totally his destiny he isn’t prepared to wait it out and see what happens, he wants to be king now, so, with the urging of his wife, he kills the king and his mate. He is crowned but he becomes overwhelmed with guilt and paranoia. He goes back to the witches and they tell him that he must beware of some other dude named Macduff but that Macbeth is incapable of being harmed by any man born of a woman. So Maccy B, he gets a bit cocky and thinks it's all good for a while, even though Macbeth’s wife is going a little cray cray and taking the whole handwashing thing a wee bit too seriously. But then Macduff gets in on the action and brings an army with him, they storm the castle and Macduff tells old Bethy that he was born by cesarean-”

“Untimely ripped from his mother's womb,” John added.

“And Duffy beheads Macbeth and this other dude named Malcom that I forgot to mention, becomes king. See? It’s great!”

“Love, you just butchered Shakespear so badly that even I didn’t understand half of what you just said.”

“It’s my gift to the world,” I shrugged. “My ability to sum up a plot so badly that even I’m not sure if it makes sense. But I thought I did OK with that one.”

“Yeahhh, not so much,” Gordon teased. “I tuned you out three words in.”

“John, insult your brother for me, I am no longer talking to him.”

“Thou yeasty folly-fallen bladder.”

“How dare you, sir! I have no idea what that means but it sounds bad.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“What’s the point?” Scott chose that moment to walk in, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“John is insulting me!”

“What did you do?”

“Insulted him.”

“I was asking Gordon.”

I cracked up laughing, Scott always has our backs.

“He said that Shakespeare was boring and then was mean to me after I took the time to explain the plot to him. Now I’m not talking to him.”

“Did you explain it the same way you explained The Witches of Eastwick to Virgil? Because I’d seen it and I didn’t understand that either.”

“My talents are wasted on you all,” I nudged John and quirked an eyebrow in Scott’s direction. He rolled his eyes but dutifully dragged out a premium insult.

“Sense sure you haven else could not have motion; but sure that sense is apoplex’d. ”

“Oh my god, you can still do that?” Scott laughed in amazement.

“Do what, insult people?” Gordon asked, clearly confused.

“John was in a Shakespearean insult team in highschool, they actually took part in competitions, he was obviously the champion, won them the league and a bust of Shakespeare’s head as a trophy.”

“Obviously,” I agreed, patting his hand proudly. “Dude got mad skills.”

Gordon's eyes flicked up to the bookshelf on the balcony above our heads where a small gold bust sat.

“You are so weird.”

“So you frequently tell me. Now, will you two kindly go away and leave us in peace?”

“Oh no, no way,” Scott laughed. “I want to hear more, in fact, I’m calling the others.”

And that’s the story of how John spent more than three hours blowing their minds and damaging their egos with a never ending volley of insults as they goaded him into more and more outlandish attacks. Here are some of the best.

Thou hath not so much brain as ear wax - to Gordon because he’s not intelligent enough to appreciate old english.

Thou qualling ill-nurtured lout - to Alan who kept chanting “me next, me next”.

Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed- to Virgil because he was in the middle of trying to tame his hair when he was summoned.

Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver’d boy - to Scott because he was brave enough to attempt to insult him back.

Thou fawning spur-galled harpy!- at me when I stole his coffee

You should be women, and yet your beards forbid me to interpret that you are so- to all of them.

Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters- to me, because I’m a strange, strange lady and asked for another insult.

Thou fusty onion-eyed nut-hook! - at Virgil, no reason at all.

Draw thy tool. My naked weapon is out- after flipping a certain finger at Scott.

Thou wimpled bat-fowling puttock- at Gordon because it was his fault that John was stuck insulting people when he had just wanted a quiet afternoon.

Thou currish bade-court hedge-pig- at Alan while examining his chin growth.

What, you egg! Young fry of treachery! - at Alan when he sided with Gordon.

Assume a virtue if you have it not- at Gordon when he protested his innocence.

Thou artless tickle-brained haggard! - at Virgil when he compared John’s nose to Shakespeare’s massive hooter.

Thou villainous weather-brained barnacle!- at Gordon, just because, and now everyone is calling him a weather-brained barnacle.

Get thee to a nunnery- to me when I said his Shakespearean accent was strangely hot.

Thou puny rampallian baggage- at Gordon, for no reason other than he’s short.

Thou art some fool, I am loath to beat thee- at Scott when he attempted to start a Shakespearean rap battle (don’t ask, it didn’t last long)

Thine face is not worth sunburning- to Virgil who thinks he’s too cool for sunscreen and has a red nose because he fell asleep in the sun again.

You yourself, sir, shall grow old as I am if like a crab you could go backwards- at Jeff who wanted to know just what the heck was happening in his lounge and why we were all screaming with hysterical laughter.

I scorn you, scurvy companion. What, you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you moldy rogue away!- at Alan when he tried to steal one of John’s cookies while he was distracted.

Away, you bottle-ale rascal, you filthy bung, away!- At Gordon when he also attempted cookie theft.

The insult lashes came to a halt when Grandma called us for dinner.

“Hey, John?” Gordon whispered as we bundled down the stairs to the kitchen

“Yeah?”

“I dare you to insult Grandma’s cooking.”

“No, my love, it’s not worth it, think of the children!” I gasped.

“What children?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

I shrugged. “Our non-existent children, I just thought I'd go full movie heroine for dramatic effect. You do what you want, you’re all crazy.”

He narrowed his eyes as he thought about it, then nodded. I should have known, no Tracy can resist a dare.

Grandma plonked down plates of something that might have been chicken, but also might have been sausages in a gravy for gruel straight out of a Dickensean nightmare.

I watched John out of the corner of my eye. Would he actually do it? He took a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for it. I couldn't blame him. He pushed the plate away and opened his mouth.

“Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish! Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.”

I think John’s grounded now, but the boys still haven't stopped laughing...

#savage john is savage #Shakespearean insults #john tracy #gordon tracy #Thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderbirds in isolation #isolation island #social isolation #john tracy appreciation society

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quirkfics · 5 years ago

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a commission for the fantastic @marigold-magpie !

wordcount: 4k warnings: smut, lemon, praise, body worship, keeping warm, marathon sex, touch starvation pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Female OC (Ai)

This entire trip has felt like an utter waste of time.

He knows it’s not, that it’s his impatience speaking. He can hear both Sensei and Kurogiri repeating the phrase, over and over as he watches the snow covered hills rolling by. If he’d found more though, if he’d just gotten a chance to-

The absolutely pitiful sigh of a noise that Ai has been making for the last half hour interrupts his thoughts. Again. Tomura presses his lips together, noticing the slowing windshield wipers and the atrocious lack of visibility, and easily puts two and two together. He can’t ignore her forever, but he waits anyway, barely glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He drums his fingertips impatiently over the armrest, waiting- and then catches her trying to watch him. Her lips are pursed in a pretty little pout and the longer he waits, the more her eyebrows lower in disappointment.

He should acknowledge her distress. Tomura only scowls a little harder.

Ai sighs again, dramatic and drawn out, just to drive her point home as the car slows and the windshield wipers slow to a pitiful crawl.

"Problem?" Tomura finally asks, snorting when her expression immediately smooths into a sweet smile. She’s always like this, yo-yoing into a better mood as soon as she gets what she wants. And usually? That’s his attention.

"We’re going to have to pull over and wait this out," Ai says, her smile wavering for a moment as she tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear. “Even my car isn’t going to get through this.”

Tomura grimaces. They've been searching these damn mountains for ages now, and all they've come up with are mere crumbs of a trail for a man who’s supposed to be as large as a mountainside. The lack of progress has been grating on him, and he wants to get out of this fucking place nearly as much as he wants to find Gigantomachia.

Not badly enough to risk their safety though.

He turns his scowl to the window, watching the heavy snowfall with distaste. The chill has been seeping into his bones this entire damn trip, and it’s been no kinder to Ai. He doesn’t want to hole up on the side of the road with nothing for entertainment, with little for warmth. Never mind that it’s dangerous, that if an officer or someone who keeps up with the news stops to help… Well, turning them to dust won’t be a problem for Tomura, but it will put a damper on things. It will announce their presence here, and- His eyes dart back to Ai, to the thick sweater that covers her curves and the sweet pout of her mouth. It doesn’t matter how much he worries about it all, they have to stop.

Maybe he doesn’t like the venue, but he sure as hell is enjoying the company, when she’s not acting like an absolute brat. Not that he’d ever willingly admit it.

“You’re right,” Tomura mutters, and for a split second surprise is bright on her face.

“I am,” Ai agrees, and it makes Tomura want to sneer.

“Find a place to stop,” he demands instead, looking back outside the window and ignoring her gaze currently trying to burn a hole in the back of his head. It’s slow going though, finding a spot wide and stable enough to park in. The tires lose traction once, and even Tomura will admit that it sends his heart racing. As soon as the car comes to a complete stop in a flat location, Tomura unclenches his fingers.

“You could have said please, Tomura,” Ai says archly, turning off the engine. “I do like to feel like I’m appreciated.” The key turns over and the sudden lack of whooshing air in the car leaves Tomura’s head ringing. The cold starts to creep through the cabin, leaving Ai rubbing her hands together for warmth, shoulders still tense because of his waspish tone. They can’t exactly sit there with the engine idling and burn up all the gas, Tomura knows that, but it’s frigid and he hates it.

Tomura digs in his pocket, pulling out his phone and desperately hoping that they’ve got some kind of signal- but the bars are empty. “You?” He asks, glancing at Ai when she pulls out her own, unlocking it with a smart little twirl of her finger across the screen. For a moment, Tomura is distracted by how cute the motion is, by the way her pretty lips are pouting again. It's utterly ruined when she starts whining again.

“This is miserable,” Ai whines, dropping her phone into her lap and knocking her head against the back of her seat. “I thought this would be a snap and we could-”

“You and me, both,” Tomura interrupts, trying to ignore the ache in his bones as the car grows colder.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Ai grumps, straightening back up in her seat.

“So?” He asks, and then rolls his eyes when she frowns harder. “‘We could’ - I don’t know. Get out of this weather. Go back to the base? There’s nothing else to do up here on this frigid block of ice.” It’s… It’s strange, being in such a small, enclosed space with her. It would be with anyone, really, but especially with Ai. His shoulders are starting to shake and his feet- he probably shouldn’t have worn these particular shoes in the snow. His toes are aching, and he’s fairly sure that his socks are damp. He stretches his hands out to try and ease the tension in them, and then promptly closes them again. The last thing he wants to do is brush his fingers over something accidentally and leave a hole for more cold air to come in. What they have is bad enough.

Ai frowns at him, like she can’t quite believe that is what he came up with, and then her violet eyes drop down to his shaking shoulders. A bright little smile blooms on her mouth as she leans over the console. “Cold?” She asks sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes, but before Tomura can snap at her or summon up even a wisp of annoyance, Ai is taking off her shoes. She has the gall to grin, unbuckling herself and hurriedly climbing over the center console, uncaring when her hip and thigh brush against Tomura’s arm. The contact makes him tense, makes him want to lean against her, just so he can prolong it, but then she’s in the back. “Into the back seat,” Ai declares, barely waiting for more than a breath before she’s huffing, leaning back towards the front to meet Tomura's eyes. “Well? Do you want to be cold and miserable, or warm up?”

Tomura doesn’t think he can politely word any kind of answer, so he grits his teeth, unbuckles and starts tugging roughly at the ties of his shoes. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting - he knows that they’re both going to be huddling together for warmth - it’s the smartest idea, but seeing Ai laid out on the back seat, adjusting a throw blanket over herself… Tomura’s heart starts beating a little faster. She’s curvy and her clothes look soft as does her skin and the sweet arch of her mouth-

Tomura kicks off his shoes and clambers into the back seat. He throws himself down next to her, feeling testy and awkward as he tries to adjust, and then Ai grunts in discomfort. She shoves him in the back when he half rolls onto her arm. “Hey,” she starts, as soon as he tugs too hard at the blanket, nearly yanking it off of her. “You’re meant to-”

“Shut up,” Tomura mutters, turning towards her, heart pounding as he yanks her close against his chest. He crosses his forearms behind her back. It’s logical, he reasons in silence. Body heat is the best way to keep warm, and if she doesn’t like it, then she’ll tell him. She always tells everyone when and if she doesn’t like something or someone, and if she decides she doesn’t want this? Then she can suffer a bit of frostbite, hopefully in absolute silence. He doesn’t care- but holding her like this, even with his pulse near choking him, feels… Good. Really good. He can’t recall what it was like to place the flat of his palm and all of his fingers against anything, but if he could, he would stroke his hands down her back or wrap her long dark hair around his fingers. He hopes she doesn’t push him away, doesn’t put a halt to this because he.. He needs it. Her touch, her warmth. He wants- Tomura stops breathing when she tilts back her head, hand resting gently on his hip, and then presses a tender, eager kiss to his throat.

He’s figuratively frozen, waiting for her to pull away or bite him and insist he give her room, that he takes his hands off of her- Instead her mouth moves to another carefully chosen spot on his neck and she repeats the gesture, gentle, reverent. Her lips part, tongue darting out to trace over one of the scars on the hollow of his throat, left behind from his own fingernails, endlessly scratching, gouging at his own skin. He doesn’t know that he’s ever felt something so.. Soft.

He both wants and abhors the feelings rising up to drown him. Being touched, being needed- He has to be so careful with anything and everything that he doesn’t want to turn to dust. It’s a hassle on his best days, worth burning everything down for on his worst. What’s the point of the world around him if it may as well be intangible? God though, Ai- The soft noises she makes as her mouth pays homage to his scars, as her tongue laves over them or she sucks them into her mouth? Tomura is aching. Even with her typical coy smiles, with the way she pouts or stamps her feet, even with the blistering arguments she gets into with anyone who tries to tell her that something isn’t her due - Ai is the only one Tomura wants.

He can’t get enough of her attention, even if he ignores it half the time, even if he flinches away from most of her casual touches or from anyone who even dares get in close. Right now, pressed against her, cock hard and twitching as she hooks a leg over his thighs, Tomura doesn’t care about his usual hangups. He wants to get closer, he wants more, wants her to keep looking at him from underneath the fan of her eyelashes, wants her to touch him, to keep him warm with her hands and her mouth, wants-

Tomura hisses when she sucks a little too hard, her hand starting to wander underneath his partially rucked up shirt. He tenses, a cruel thought occurring to him far too late for his comfort.

“You’re not being a tease?” He rasps, grabbing hold of her wandering hand with only three fingers and gripping just this side of too tight. “You want this, want me?” He knows he sounds needy, almost childish, but he can’t find it within him to care. He needs an honest answer. Ai pulls back, frowning, and Tomura can’t quite understand why his heart flip-flops when he sees the expression. He doesn't like it, wants her to go back to simpering, to trying to please him, desperately wants her answer to be something positive.

“No,” Ai says sharply, and for the first time today, she doesn’t have that wheedling tone, that sulky look in her eyes. "You think I'd waste my time teasing?" She asks, reaching up to tug viciously on a lock of his hair. Tomura sneers, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, her snapping, the way her cheeks flush when she's angry. The way the pain is almost synonymous with pleasure as it makes his cock throb. He ruts against her, eyelids growing heavy when she makes a sweet little noise of surprise. She doesn't move away, doesn't push him or pull back, she leans into him, like she truly wants him too.

“Let me prove it,” she says, voice immediately softer, kinder, and-

Tomura could stop it, just to rile her up. He could do it in a million and one ways, guaranteed to push her buttons and leave her seething, trapped against the back of the seat with nowhere to go. They could try and sleep, it would achieve the important thing here - conserving body heat. But.. he would rather let her prove it. Prove herself.

He releases his hold on her hand, lets her tug him close, thigh flexing. His hips arch and then Tomura is tilting his head back to curse because she’s wonderfully, blisteringly hot between her thighs, dressed rucked up around her waist. “Fuck,” he growls, letting his eyes fall closed as he rolls up against her. He’s still chilled, the back of his neck is uncomfortably cool and if he thinks about it too much, he knows his back is cold, but suddenly it feels like there are way too many layers between them.

Ai’s hand slips back beneath his shirt, fingers chilled at first, but growing hotter as she strokes over his chest, over his nipples, and then back down to the fair trail of hair disappearing beneath his trousers. Part of him wants to rush, to demand she touch him where he wants, for her to strip- but Ai’s mouth is brushing over his, tongue touching against the scars on his lips and Tomura can’t find it within himself to move. She tastes like her lip gloss, faintly sweet, but beneath that is Ai. Tomura’s mouth opens, slowly, hesitant to deepen the kiss, but Ai makes wonderfully encouraging noises, thumb stroking rhythmically over his hip bones, thigh tensing where she's hooked it over him. Tomura rolls his hips again, grinding his cock against her as firmly as he can, just to get her to make noise, to hear that desperate, needy sound caught in the back of her throat.

“Tomura,” Ai whispers, one hand fumbling with the button of his trousers. It takes her a few tries because of the angle, because of the way they’re pressed so closely together. “Do you- do you know how badly I’ve wanted you?” She says, starting to pant against his ear and when Tomura reaches down, pulls back his hips so he can brush a knuckle over her, his brain seems to short circuit. “How often I’ve thought about your hands on me?” She asks, grinding herself against his knuckle, until he can feel her wetness soaking through her underwear. It’s utterly tempting to rip the offending material away, to push it to the side and rush things along, but everything Ai is saying keeps him still. He wants more of everything - her touch, her mouth, everything she says. He knows a platitude when he hears one, he knows when people are paying lip service - but Ai sounds like she means every single word.

“That lovely mouth?” Ai whispers, teeth nipping at his earlobe. His cock pulses again, but Ai falls back into sucking kisses along his throat, slowly pulling down his zipper. He doesn’t want her to stop talking, doesn’t want to interrupt what she’s moving towards, but .. He needs it, those words.

“What else?” He demands, thrusting as soon as her hand wraps around him.

Ai whimpers when he adjusts his hand, pushing aside her underwear so he can rub his thumb frantically against her clit. “Your- I think a-about how pretty your cock is- you’re so hard,” she whispers, stroking down until she can squeeze the base of him. Tomura curses, rushing to kiss her, knowing it’s messy and irritated that his teeth clack against hers in his haste but fuck, he wants her so badly. Ai moans, trying to roll her hips in time with his rubbing, but Tomura can’t make himself slow. The sounds she’s making whenever he hits that fast rhythm have him too impatient, and then Ai’s hand is squeezing him almost too tight as her thighs shudder. Her cheeks are red and her lips look swollen and she’s whimpering- and then she’s letting go of him, seizing his hand to still his fingers.

“Wait, wait, fuck, Tomura I need a second,” she gasps, leaning her forehead against his collarbone. “You sure know how to-” She squeaks when he presses forward, rubbing the head of his cock against her oversensitive flesh.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “tell me and I will.” He grinds a little harder, enjoying the feeling of thrusting against her, enjoying the wonderful heat of her. Breath whooshes out of his lungs when she pulls him closer instead.

“Keep going,” she whispers, taking his face in both of her hands to press another kiss to his mouth. Tomura groans, hips rocking, sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. The cold is- minimal now. An afterthought. He doesn’t much want to roll out from under the blankets, but there are still too many clothes between them.

“On me,” he says, careful to only stroke two fingers and a thumb down her thigh. “Get on me,” he adds, when Ai simply blinks, gaze clouded with lust. “Please,” he hisses, and then his heart skips a beat when she smiles. He can’t get enough of this. They roll, with Ai settling herself over his thighs, trapping his cock against his abdomen so she can grind herself against him. He plucks at the hem of her sweater dress and then meets her eyes. “Take it off?” He asks, and then wants to buck when she stops moving, keeping balance with her hands on his chest.

“It’s cold,” she whines, and then has the audacity to roll her hips again, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head. Tomura sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

“Isn’t this,” he says, punctuating the word with an upwards thrust, “supposed to help warm us up? I can use this lovely mouth,” he says, almost mocking, even though- even though the words mean everything to him right now. The way she touches him, the way she talks about his body - Tomura is starving for it.

“Rude,” Ai snaps, but she bites at her lip and Tomura can almost taste victory- and then she changes the angle of her hips and presses. Tomura slips into her, cursing up a storm as she makes soft, breathy little moans that nearly have him coming before he can even blink. As soon as she’s fully seated, licking at her lips, hands trembling against his chest, Tomura arches.

“Such a tease,” he growls, shivering when cold air seeps underneath the blanket from his frantic movements. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses, and can’t even summon up a wit of irritation when she smiles.

“It’s cold,” she reiterates, wiggling until she’s laying on him, tugging at the neck of his shirt so her mouth can reach the skin of his chest.

He has to concentrate, nearly has to hold his breath, but then Ai starts moving, her thigh highs catching on his trousers as she starts to lift her hips up. Tomura places a hand on either hip, pinkies and ring fingers curled inward for safety and pulls her back down.

“Tomura,” Ai gasps, thighs tensing on either side of him, “I thought I was the one setting-” She whimpers when he thrusts again, and stays wordless for a few moments, hands stroking gently up and down his sides. “You feel so good,” she whispers, like she wants to keep the admission secret, like she’s afraid he might stop.

Tomura’s cock twitches and he tilts his chin up, glancing at the ceiling and the rapidly darkening windows. All of them are fogged up, beaded with condensation, and he’s fairly sure the whole car is covered with snow by now. He picks up the pace. He doesn’t care how long they’ll be stuck here any longer, having Ai in his arms, hearing her say such sweet things as she works him over- Tomura is so fucking close.

“Good,” he pants, fingers pressing tightly into her hips as he fucks up into her. “I want to- Ai,” he almost snaps, starting to lose his rhythm. He thinks he should tell her to move, to get off of him or he’s not going to last, but Ai picks up his slack, meeting his every thrust his abdomen is burning with the effort, until his legs are trembling with the force of holding back.

Ai’s mouth finds his neck again, tongue tracing another scar, and then that’s it. Tomura bucks a little too hard, pulling at her hips until he slips out of her and then comes over his own belly. He’s seeing stars and he’s plenty warm, but as soon as Ai is settled back against his still hard cock, he wants more. Ai makes an appreciative noise and doesn’t resist when he takes himself in hand, pressing the head of his cock back into her. “Please?” He asks, breathless and shaking from overstimulation. He wants to squirm underneath her, to thrust back up into her heat.

Ai leans close, and says yes against his mouth. She muffles his groan, tongue against his, hair a curtain as it pools to either side of him, half spilling off of the seat.

This is better than anything he could have dreamed up, than anything he could have put together, mulling over her sly little innuendos and imagining- He could only ever hope to imagine how good this feels. Everywhere she touches feels like it’s hot, like he’s coming back to life after being out in the snow, after months - after years - of barely there touches and aborted gestures of kindness.

“Can’t,” Tomura says between messy kisses, “get enough.” The sight of her on top of him, the way her dress is pushed up to her hips, baring her thigh highs in the perfect way, and the way her hair is a mess, spilling over her shoulders as she sits up- He’s not sure he can come again, not any time soon, but the way she squeezes him, rocking her hips so her clit brushes against his skin.

“Then keep going,” she breathes. Tomura can’t stop staring, at the blush heavy on her cheeks, trailing beneath the neck of her dress, at her parted lips- He loses time, fucking into her until his abdomen and thighs are burning with exertion. Eventually he has to roll them back onto their sides, and something about the angle change must be good because then Ai is falling apart again, whispering his name and leaning her forehead against his chest, hands shaking.

Tomura slows, just enough to keep himself hard, to keep grinding into her and then stops completely so they both can catch their breath.

“Have I?” Ai asks, sounding almost drowsy, eyelashes dark against her pink cheeks. Tomura snorts and then she’s shuddering all over again.

“Have you what?” He asks, only half serious. He knows exactly what she’s getting at, but he wants her to say it, wants her to get riled up one more time.

“Have I proved myself?” She asks, her normal sharpness coloring every word. She still doesn’t open her eyes though, just relaxes against his chest when he laughs a little roughly.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he offers, knowing she’ll want more, that she’ll push for it.

“Humor me then, Tomura,” she groans, muffling her voice into his shirt. The windows are fully covered with snow now, a strange shadowy blue, and now that they’re not moving-

“You proved yourself,” he confesses then, happily pressing in a little closer.

#tomura shigaraki x oc #shigaraki tomura x oc #tomura shigaraki x female oc #shigaraki tomura x female oc #lemon

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