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randomshyperson · 4 years ago

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The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - The First Year

Series Masterlist || Read on AO3

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies.

Chapters will have additional warning when necessary.

Tag list ( let me know if you want to be tagged or removed idk haha) @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia

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Part I - The First Year

Hogwarts will be fun was the first thought you had when you opened the letter in your hands.

Tony, your older brother, ruffled your hair slightly as he came down into the kitchen and watched you open the mail.

"Your letter finally arrived, huh, little witch?" He joked with a smile as he sat down at the table.

"I can't wait to go!" You commented excitedly rereading the acceptance letter for the third time.

"Miss, after coffee, can we go to diagonal alley if you like?" Jarvis, your butler, asked you politely as he poured Tony's coffee making you hesitate slightly. Tony, who had his eye on you, forced a smile as he patted you on the arm.

"I'll go with you, don't worry." He assured and you nodded.

"I wish dad would come." You grumble as you sit down and Tony sighs.

" Yeah, me too." He says. "But you know he's busy, and we can't leave it to the last minute."

You mumble in agreement as you serve some sweetbreads on your plate.

Eating in silence for a few moments, you are startled slightly when Tony lets out an exclamation.

"Damn, I forgot to write back to Steve." He announces getting up and walking over to the next shelf where there were some stationery and pen.

"Your boyfriend will be upset." You tease lightly, and Tony mumbles softly without responding.

When he finishes writing the letter, he goes to the kitchen window and opens the metal, whistling loudly in a familiar rhythm. A few seconds later, Iron, his barn owl lands in front of him. Tony stroked the animal gently before dangling the letter in his paws.

" Please take this to Steve, Iron." He ordered and the animal made a noise before flying away again.

"Jarvis, I'll get ready to go." You tell the man as soon as you finish eating and head off toward the stairs.

//-//

Diagonal Alley is a noisy place.

Tony asked you to walk beside him, but you stopped walking at the first Quidditch shop you spotted, and he had to turn back halfway when he noticed you were no longer beside him.

"Don't do that." He warned, mildly annoyed, but you glazed over at the exposed broom in front of you, and he let out a chuckle when he noticed. "Come on, Y/N, you already have a broom."

"But that's no ordinary broom." You retorted with an impressed look. "It's a Nimbus 2000, it's the fastest broom there is."

"You have the 99, I don't understand the difference." He retorted with his hands in his pockets and you shrugged.

"Tony, can we buy it?" You asked pleadingly, making your brother laugh slightly.

"Let's buy your stuff first please" He retorted with a smile and you grumbled but accepted the arm he offered for you to hang on. Jarvis walked behind you with a keen eye on your surroundings.

After you had bought the vast majority of your supplies and replenished your stocks of potions items for Tony, Jarvis took you to Blossoms and Blurbs to buy this year's books.

"Good morning! Hogwarts, third and first year books, please." You heard Jarvis tell the clerk who approached you three. Tony nodded his head signaling you to feel free to walk around the bookstore in the meantime, and that is exactly what you did.

You found many interesting books in the place as you walked among the shelves. One in particular caught your attention, as there seemed to be little miniature magical creatures trying to jump out of the cover, and you grabbed it on a table, watching the item carefully.

You smiled when an ink dragon jumped into your hand, moving your head as if you were looking around. Distracted by the book, you let out a low exclamation when someone bumped into you.

"Sorry, kid." You heard a female voice speak in a humorous tone. It is a girl taller than you, short red hair. "I ended up tripping over some of those runner books."

"It's okay." You said with a smile. The girl looked at the one book in your hands for a moment.

"Do you enjoy creature tracts?" She asks casually as she reaches for a book on the bookshelf beside her.

"I don't know yet." You say and she looks at you slightly confused, "I never studied."

"Ah, first-year." She understands and you nod in agreement. "Hogwarts too or some other?"

"Hogwarts."

"Cool, I guess I'll see you there then." She says. "I'm from Slytherin, third year."

You let out a surprised exclamation.

"Maybe you know my brother." You say and the girl takes her gaze from the books in her hand she was checking to look at you with her eyebrow raised in curiosity. "His name is Tony Stark, he's also from your house."

The girl lets out a short laugh.

"I can't believe you are Stark's sister." She says. "We're not exactly friends, but I've seen him around the dorm several times. And your brother is a pain in the ass, by the way."

You laugh lightly, agreeing.

"I am Natasha Romanoff." She introduces herself next, balancing her books in one hand to greet you. You introduce yourself with a gentle smile. "Good luck with your books." She says before turning away.

You think it's cool that you already know someone besides your brother before you start at Hogwarts.

//-//

Buying your wand is a rather strange experience.

Mr. Ollivander has a glint in his eye as if he knows everyone's secrets, and seems to disappear and reappear in his store very easily.

Tony sat on one of the stools while he waited for you, and Jarvis went to buy something for you two to eat.

After trying almost five wands, and exploding a glass vase when he tried the last one, Mr. Ollivander sighed.

"Sorry, I don't know why it's not working." You asked feeling nervous, but he smiled.

"Don't worry, dear." He said. "Difficult customers are so much fun."

He walked back in between the shelves after that, and then reappeared with three new packages.

"I remember when Howard Stark bought his wand." He told smiling nostalgically as you opened one of the packages, a black wand in front of you. "Phoenix, Cedar, slightly flexible."

"Dad has changed wands thousands of times." Added Tony wryly, but Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to mind.

The wand you tested let out a faint spark when you tried to cast a simple conjuration spell, and the man in front of you was quick to take it from your hand the next second.

"I think I have a better idea." He announced turning around, and then climbed the ladder supported by the wall, picking up a package at the top.

"Try this one dear." He asked handing you a dark wand, the wood was shiny, a color you didn't know exactly what it was, but it was beautiful.

When you grabbed the item, you felt a tingling sensation spread throughout your hand, and the wand vibrated slightly for a few seconds, causing Ollivander to let out a noise of excitement.

"You see, I knew I would find an owner for you dear." He spoke and you realized that he was speaking with the item in your hands. Soon he turned his gaze back to you. "Take good care of this one, will you, it was quite difficult to get dark elf blood for the core."

"R-right." You said with a slight frown, not quite sure what to make of that information.

Tony laughed lightly at the interaction, he should be used to Mr. Ollivander's eccentric manner by now, since he kept breaking his wands just like your father and often returned to the store to get a new one.

After paying, you and Tony met Jarvis outside, he was carrying some sweet rolls.

//-//

July ended too quickly for your happiness. You were very eager to go to school.

You spent most of August at home, playing quidditch with Tony in the backyard, curiously reading the magic books you bought, and trying to peek into the basement where your father worked, but he always caught you looking and smiled, asking you to go back to your room.

You would like your father to take you to the station, but he said he had a magic conference in September, and would be traveling for the next few weeks. Tony was upset, but he put his arm around your shoulders and asked you to hurry to get your bags.

When you finally got to the station, you were slightly nervous about going through a wall, but Tony laughed, and showed you how to go first.

You hugged Jarvis good-bye before following your brother along the way.

Tony dragged you across the train cars to the first empty cabin he could find. He commented that it would be nice if you made your own friends, but that he would like you to sit with him.

So here you were, sitting with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, Tony's best friends since the first year. The boys smiled encouragingly at you. You already knew them, because Tony kept inviting them to spend holidays with him all the time.

"Hey, Y/N, how was your vacation?" Steve asked as soon as you sat down next to him. You shrugged, saying that it was nice, but that you were looking forward to attending Hogwarts.

Soon the boys started talking about what they were excited about next year, and you did your best to keep up, not knowing exactly who the people they mentioned were, or knowing the classes they talked about.

Many minutes after the train was moving, a girl opened the cabin door.

"Hey, strangers." She greeted with a smile.

"Hi Peggy." Steve said with a smile, you frowned at the slight scowl on your brother's face.

"They're calling for us in the prefects compartment, Steve." She warned and Steve nodded, getting up. He and the girl then left, and Tony crossed his arms.

"What's wrong?" You asked noticing his posture and the way Bucky had a little smile on his face.

"It's nothing." Grumbled your brother, and as he turned his face to the window, Bucky who was standing in front of you, whispered to you.

"Tony thinks Peggy likes Steve." He recounted. "So he doesn't like Peggy very much."

"Oh." You said, pretending to understand the whole plot. It didn't make much sense to you because everyone couldn't be friends, but you figured that when you were your brother's age you would understand better.

//-//

The Hogwarts Express only stopped at night.

Properly uniformed, you smiled when your brother patted you on the shoulder, telling you that he would meet you at the castle, since the first-year students had to go by boat.

Your hands were sweating a little as you walked up to the extraordinarily tall man who introduced himself as Drax.

"First-year students, please, six in each boat." He shouted to the crowd, and the students moved closer together.

You sat in one of the first little boats, five other children you didn't know surrounding you.

"I'm so excited." A blonde girl commented cheerfully, waving her hands. She smiled at everyone as she introduced herself as "Harley Quinn".

"I bet you''ll blow something up once we get there, Harley" Added a redheaded girl sitting next to you, you could tell by her tone that they were probably friends. The blonde, Harley, laughed.

"Shut up, Ivy." She said, and then Drax was back, climbing into one of the boats beside her. He checked the boats one last time, then waved his hand, and the transports began to move.

Everyone, including you, let out a chorus of excitement.

When you noticed the castle, you smiled. It was huge, and just as amazing as Tony used to tell you.

"Wow, it must be amazing to fly over all that." You quietly observed, and the girl next to you turned her head in your direction, smiling.

"Do you like flying?" She asked, and you nodded. She looked at you for a moment and then held out her hand to greet you. "I am Diana. Diana Prince."

"Hi, Diana." You said introducing yourself next. "Do you also like to fly?"

"I love it." She says. "I hope i can make it onto the team."

"I don't know if the first-years have any chance, but I'll be rooting for you." You assure, and Diana smiles.

When the boats stop in the harbor, the students are all excited to get out and see the castle, but Drax's almost intimidating posture makes everyone properly behaved.

He leads the crowd to the staircase, and then there is a lobby. There is a woman waiting for everyone, her strict posture makes you think she is someone you wouldn't want to upset.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." She announces. "I am Professor Okoye, head of Gryffindor house."

The students exchange burbles next, but the teacher's gaze shuts them up almost immediately.

"As long as you are here, your houses will be like your families." She continues. "Your triumphs will earn you points, and if you break any rules, those points will be taken away."

She says, casting a disapproving glance at one of the students in the corner, who giggled. "In a few moments we will begin the sorting hat ceremony."

The teacher then turns around, heading toward a large bronze door, and talking to someone on the other side. You hear someone laughing near you, and you turn your head to the side in curiosity.

It was a blond boy, and he seemed to be enjoying himself as he balanced one of the gold cups he picked up from the surrounding shelves. You thought he would be in trouble if he knocked it over, and this seemed to be exactly the same opinion as the girl next to him, who was looking at him disapprovingly.

"Stop being an idiot, Peter, put that back." She complained and he laughed, shrugging.

"Gamora, you're a spoilsport you know." He retorted and when he put the cup back, it spun and fell to the floor, breaking into several pieces. The boy turned pale as Teacher Okoye turned her head in his direction.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to them.

"Reparo" You said drawing your wand as you pointed at the broken object. Some children let out impressed exclamations when they saw the bowl form again, but you just put your wand away in shame. It was no big deal. Okoye caught up with the three of you next, looking reproachfully at the boy.

"I expect better behavior during the ceremony, sir..."

"Quill"

"Mister Quill." She completed and took one last look at the boy that had with his head down before turning back to the front of the crowd again, waving for the students to follow her.

"Hey, that was pretty cool." Peter commented beside you as you walked. You shrugged, focusing on the path.

//-//

The sorting hat was something exceptional.

Tony never told you how the choice was made, and you knew it was only to annoy you. He had sometimes joked that the students faced each other in a duel, and even though you told him to shut up, you had a look at his spell book before you came.

The actual ceremony was much simpler, however.

When it was your turn to climb onto the small stool, you bit your lips, hoping that everything would go smoothly. Just as the old cloth of the hat fell over your eyes, blocking your view of the rest of the hall, you heard a voice in your head.

" Hello, dear, no need to be so nervous." Announced the hat gently. "You are a curious little thing, I see."

"Is that a good thing?" You thought, and the hat chuckled lightly.

"It might be." He said mysteriously. "Interesting what I see here. Very interesting."

"What are you seeing?"

"Your memories, dear."

"Oh." You thought, feeling slightly embarrassed. That seemed like an intrusion of your privacy. The hat laughed again, and you remembered that he was on your head.

"You're hard to sort out." He says, and you squeeze the stool. "Don't worry, I'm not going to send you home, that's not how it works."

"Oh, right."

Hat was silent a few moments.

"I see courage in your heart." He says and you try to remember the characteristics of the houses. "But that courage is well forged with your loyalty."

You swallow dryly, feeling your anxiety rising. This was definitely taking much longer than the people who went before you.

"You are as smart as your father and brother, both members of the Slytherin house." He says. "There's a willingness not to let them down."

"That's personal." You grumble feeling your cheeks flush, but the hat doesn't care to apologize for bringing up your insecurities.

"Ah, this is interesting here. A pure kindness, yet pruned in your origins of shallow paternal affection”.

You frown, not understanding what he is saying.

"You are quite adaptable child, it has always been one of your best virtues." The hat remarks, and you get the impression that the next part is only said for you. "Tell me, where would you like to stay?"

"Isn't that your job?" You retort in thought, and hear him laugh again. You rush to correct yourself, not wanting to be rude. "Sorry, hat. I don't really know. I'd like to stay where I fit in best."

"You would do well anywhere." He retorts, and you frown. "And that's pretty impressive, you know. I haven't met another hatstall since the last century."

You swallow dryly, not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"I'll work hard, sir." You tell him. "I don't want people to think I'm a special witch just because of my family. That's something I'm sure, I don't know if it helps you choose."

Hat lets out a sigh of relief.

"Actually, that's exactly what I needed."

It takes a moment for him to speak again, and when he does, you feel your whole body shake.

"Hufflepuff"

//-//

Steve Rogers is the head boy of Hufflepuff and he celebrates excitedly when you sit down at the table next to him.

"That's so cool" He comments. "I'll be able to tease Tony all year about it."

After that, director Agatha Harkness, made the announcement of the beginning of the year. If her goal was to scare the students, she succeeded when she talked about the deadly dangers surrounding the forbidden forest and the punishments for the disobedient. Professor Strange interrupted her speech as he cleared his throat, awkwardly waving for Agatha to stop saying such things, and the woman giggled.

Dinner is delicious, and then you are following the crowd of students into the communal rooms.

"Butterbeer" Steve said to the portrait on the wall, and you blinked in surprise when the painting moved to the side, a door behind.

You sighed when you realized how cozy the Hufflepuff's common room was.

"Everyone please come in." Asked Steve in the center of the room, waving to the students who stayed behind. When everyone was around him, he smiled. "The dorms are divided by gender, but you can sleep wherever you feel most comfortable. I will only suggest that none of you try to sleep with the seventh graders, because they are scary." Steve joked making the crowd laugh lightly. "We have a supply of food in those lockers, just in case you feel like having a snack in the early morning, outside of the permitted hours for walking around the castle." He continues and stands thoughtfully for a few moments. "Most of the things you need to know are on the bulletin board on that wall, and you can also ask me anything you want. Your belongings have already been taken to the free beds, but if you want any help, you can organize among yourselves or just come talk to me."

Steve smiled as the crowd moved. You headed in the direction where he said the rooms were.

//-//

You let out a surprised exclamation as something landed on your head.

"Damn, sorry!" Asked an asian girl approaching you, and pulling the small being out of your hair as you entered the room. "Groot, I told you to behave yourself."

"I am groot." Grumbled the little creature. You looked at it wide-eyed, impressed.

"Wow, is that a tree?"

The girl laughed, putting the small creature sitting on her shoulder, sitting on the bed next to the one you identified as having your things.

"Yes and no." She said. "I found Groot in my garden over the vacations, and well, I don't know what he is exactly. But I think he was trying to make my mother's plants grow."

"He's really cute." You commented approaching with your finger extended. Groot smiled, accepting your touch.

"I am Mantis." Says the girl next and you smile at her as you introduce yourself. "We're going to be roommates."

"Yes, and so is Groot." You add as you take off your cape to throw on the bed that would be yours.

After eating so well at dinner, it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep.

You dream of glowing green eyes and a red light, but you don't recognize them or understand what it means, and when you wake up, you no longer remember.

//-//

Two weeks since you started at Hogwarts, you are used to how eccentric everything can be.

The classes weren't as difficult as you imagined, but that's probably because you've had contact with magic all your life and always had an easy time learning things. All the teachers were unique in their own way.

Professor Rocket, for example, taught Transfiguration and spent almost the entire period transfigured into a raccoon, even outside of class hours. He was temperamental and got irritated very easily when students talked too much in his class, so it was not recommended to do so.

There was also Professor Fury, who had an eye patch as a mandatory piece in his daily costume, and all the students spent more time trying to guess how this happened, than listening to his explanations of defense spells against the dark art.

Your astronomy class on Wednesdays was taught by Professor Odin, who like to claim that he was a descendant of the Olympian gods, but no one believed him. He was also the father of two of your classmates, Thor and Loki Odinson, who were the exact opposite of each other. While Thor was warm and friendly, Loki was cold and reclusive, plus the former was from Gryffindor and the other from Slytherin. Surprisingly, you liked them both.

You ended up meeting the head of your house only on the second day.

Professor Heimdall taught Divination, so you wouldn't have any classes with him until the third year.You bumped into him when you were late for fifth period and had to run to the common room for your Potions books, and almost fell on the floor when you turned the corner without looking and the professor was there. He prevented you from falling with a wave of his wand, smiling gently.

" Forgive me." You said clumsily, feeling slightly intimidated by the yellow irises as the magic set you on your feet properly, as well as catching your books in the air and placing them in your hands again.

"Be careful with the castle corridors, Miss Stark." Said the man, and for some reason, you thought he wasn't just talking about this little incident.

"Professor Heimdall, let's talk in a private place, please." Asked Professor Okoye, who was standing at his side, she looked at you with a certain disapproval, and you couldn't tell whether it was because of your intrusion, or the fact that your tie was hanging loosely around your neck, in addition to the open buttons on your shirt.

After this little incident, you asked Steve who Professor Heimdall was, and he explained that he was the head of Hufflepuff, and might seem intimidating at first glance, but that he was very kind.

But so far, the professor who has intrigued you the most was Professor Erik Lehnsherr, who taught Potions. He didn't say anything that wasn't related to the subject, didn't make any comments about behavior or events at school. And he had such a stern and mysterious look in his eyes that no student had the courage to ask him anything. You heard Peter Quill make a bet with Thor Odinson that Professor Erik was unable to smile because of some particular sorcery, but you thought it best not to laugh, especially since Mr. Lehnsherr was looking at your direction.

When you had your first Potions period with Slytherin, after herbology professor T'Challa needed to reschedule classes for an appointment, you were surprised to discover that professor Lehnsherr had children.

Gamora ended up on the same bench as you, and she was talking to her sister, Nebula, about an incident that occurred in their dormitory.

"Clearly, the professors' children have an easy time getting away with punishment." Nebula bitterly remarked, and you frowned in confusion.

"I don't think it was the girl's fault." Gamora retorted as she put the ingredients into her cauldron. She looked at you quickly, realizing that you were listening to the conversation, but she didn't scold you, she just kept stirring the mixture.

"What happened?" you asked next, and Nebula looked at you with mild irritation. She seemed about to tell you to mind your own business, but Gamora smiled, moving closer to whisper to you.

"A girl lost her temper in the Slytherin dorm bathrooms last night." She told. "She's a second year, her name is Wanda Maximoff. She and her brother are Professor Lehnsherr's kids, and everyone is saying that she didn't go to detention because of it."

Your jaw dropped, impressed.

"I can't believe Magneto has children." You said making Gamora and Nebula laugh at the nickname. Last week you found out that the school had been calling Erik that since he stopped the hall chandelier from falling on the teachers' desk two years ago when he used non-verbal magic to attract the metal, and everyone started calling him that behind his back. Tony told you and you liked the story.

"I know right, he seems so self-contained." Gamora remarked looking back briefly. Professor Erik was focused on his own potions book.

"That noisy kid from Gryffindor said he's married." Nebula added next and Gamora laughed lightly.

"Peter Quill?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that's surprising." Says the girl. You both return to stirring your cauldrons in silence after that little conversation.

When you have finished your mixing, Professor Erik gives Hufflepuff five points for your good work, and you smile with red cheeks.

"You're nice." Nebula suddenly said beside you as you were leaving the room. Gamora stood next to her. "Do you want to walk around with us?"

"We're already walking." You joked and Gamora laughed unlike her sister who grimaced.

"Yep, definitely cool." She added. "Do you want to have lunch with us?"

"At your table or mine?"

Gamora and Nebula exchanged glances.

"I'm not sitting with Hufflepuff." Nebula declared and you sighed, rolling your eyes.

"You know I'm from Hufflepuff, right?"

"I'm reconsidering the invitation." She retorted and you frowned, but Gamora smiled at you.

"Will you sit with us, please?"

You sighed, nodding in agreement. You could talk to Tony after all.

//-//

Lunch at the Slytherin table became an everyday thing after that day. It took two weeks for Mantis to start joining you, and then you realized that you had a small group of friends now.

At Christmas, neither you nor Tony came home, because your father was working and you didn't want to be alone in the Stark mansion. You ended up turning down Tony's invitation to spend Christmas with Steve Rogers and his family, because you weren't really friends with Steve. Tony insisted, not wanting you to be alone, but you assured him that you would be fine in the company of your friends, and that he needn't worry.

On Christmas morning, Groot woke you up by jumping on your face. You laughed lightly because he was so small that he was like a tickle, and stood up as you returned the little creature to Mantis' bedside table.

A few hours later, as you were opening your presents at the Slytherin table along with Gamora, Nebula, Mantis, and Peter Quill, who had also stayed at Hogwarts for the end of the year, you let out an excited exclamation.

"I can' believe it." You spoke, opening the package in front of you. It was a large box, it was bewitched and only revealed the actual wrapping once you tore the paper off. It was actually a broom.

"Wow, that's cool." Peter remarked as he looked at your present.

That's how you ended up in the middle of the snow, testing your new broom while your friends cheered and celebrated below you.

"Are you sure you can fly?" You asked Peter as soon as he asked you if he could ride. He shrugged, smiling.

You and the girls watched as he controlled the broom for a few feet above the ground, and then he overspeeded it and sped away.

You all ran into his direction, while the broom seemed almost annoyed at his lack of control, and knocked him into a tree. Peter fell between the branches, onto someone who was resting under it.

When you all reached him, you frowned when there was a boy pushing Quill.

"Watch it, dude!" Warned the boy, but before you could say anything, Gamora was already stepping forward, wand in hand.

"It was just an accident." She said and the boy looked at her surprised with her wand outstretched. He crossed his arms however, not looking scared.

"Oh, you're going to spell me now, are you?" He teased.

"Piss off, Maximoff." Warned Nebula next, taking a step beside her sister. So this was Pietro Maximoff. You figured that confidence should come from being the son of one of the professors.

"I suggest you leave my brother alone." Warned a voice behind you. You turned next, only to catch sight of a girl with brown hair, green eyes that glittered with anger.

Gamora clenched her jaw, and Nebula drew her own wand toward the girl, who also had her wand in her hands.

You sighed, raising your hands as you stood in the line of fire.

"Would everyone please calm down?" You asked. "It was just a misunderstanding, and the broom is mine anyway, no need to fight about it."

It takes a moment, but Gamora puts down her wand, and everyone follows her after that. She has an insinuating smile on her face.

"You really are a Hufflepuff, aren't you Stark?" She teases, and you laugh sheepishly, putting your hands in your pockets. "Come on Quill."

Gamora warns and the boy shoots Pietro an ugly look as he leaves. You accept your broom that he hands to you, and turn around, your gaze meeting that of the girl who is supposed to be Wanda Maximoff for a moment. You feel your face heat up at the intensity of the angry look, and you look away, following your friends.

//-//

The months went by quickly as the rest of the school year passed. You managed to do very well on the exams, and didn't get involved in any near-fights again.

When the year ended and the Hufflepuff didn't win the House Cup, you thought you should have been more upset, but you didn't mind having Gamora and Nebula celebrating beside you, laughing and hugging you excitedly.

You also didn't understand why you felt your stomach turn when you caught Wanda Maximoff smiling amidst the Slytherin celebration when you looked around.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wandaxyn #wanda maximoff x yn #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy #marvel imagines #harry potter au #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader

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siriusmydeer · 4 years ago

Text

out of my league

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: the hardships of silently, and mutually, pining for your best friend.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: insecurity, self doubt, mentions of sirius’ family/child abuse, kissing, swearing, angst if you squint, trust issues, mentions of crying, insinuation of toxic coping mechanisms, mentions of trauma, angry love confession <3

note: request.

you were utterly eye capturing, almost enticing like no other. the flutter of your lashes, the flick of your hair, the compassionate aura you were completely soaked in could make peers turn their heads to gape at you.

the way sirius’ eyes recurrently shone towards your figure in any juncture the glint in his eyes were seemingly divergent, something unlike any marauder had ever glimpsed upon was the way sirius had continuously gaped at you. it was like his irises could transfigure into minuscule hearts that just pulsed at the beat of his erratic heart rate, when and wherever your presence was known.

his irises were quite fairly distinct, wrapped in solicitude differentiating from the emerald warped family, clouded with malicious intentions, that he had been born into, the decision of the sorting hat deciding his fate now cascading into the world of vermillion and gold rather than the opposing green.

his heart had always been a pure essence, frequently desiring the best for his mates, and quite merely anyone around him. but he had predominantly distasted for anything swell that was bound to your path.

since the paramount of the first potions class he had shared with you at the brooding age of eleven, sirius had unmistakably decided that you were crucial wherever he was in life. even you were eleven years old hastily copying potions notes, with your scrawny, and utterly messy first year hand writing, scribbling down the ingredients for a wiggenweld potion.

with even just a glimpse of your poor handwriting, he knew.

that was the first time sirius black truly felt seen was by the fact that you had absentmindedly taken notice to his confused demeanour on whether you were suppose to five or six lion fish spines. without a peep of a sentence you slid over your parchment in his direction, silently helping the boy.

and then, he really knew that kindness in others could be shown in the most silent ways.

you taught him.

the second time sirius black felt completely transparent to your eyes was when that pesky vermillion letter barked ‘utter nonsense’ in your opinion, on how much he had failed the noble house of black in his second year.

he felt bare, someone had grown to know about his family. he was embarrassed and ashamed, yet you encased him in your arms with the small stroke of your hand on his back once you had found somewhere private. you were completely un-judgmental, and he knew there was a place for you in his heart.

when the letter had finally stopped yapping rather than questioning him, you took the opposing route and simply ripped the letter up till it was meritless clutter onto the wooden table, he was tremendously confused, but almost in awe of your actions, furthur paying no mind from the harsh words of walburga black.

by the time similar occurrences had arisen in later years you had already become the best of friends along with three other boys. the three remaining as a boisterous bespectacled boy, a clumsy book-ridden furtive werewolf, and a stunted naive bloke.

the relationship feigning between you and the other boys had remained the same path of platonic it had walked upon for the past several years. the relationship not ultimately changing heavily since the peak of third year, the nice stone brick of puberty and changes hitting you all in the face. your feelings changing and developing as well at the other boys.

remus was in your eyes, your brother. the familiar caring and protective demeanour that had been revealed quite frequently, especially around possible romantic interests in your life; but you paid no mind to them because they simply weren't the brunette gryffindor you had clandestinely yearned for.

james could be seen as one of your closest friends, along with marlene and lily two of your familiar friends that were placed in the repetitive house of gryffindor. you had both fallen back on each other when times were particularly dreary, the trust between one another never feigning.

peter was— well peter. he was there, he chuckled at your jokes, he made efforts to hang along with everyone but he had frequent moments were he was moderately distant from the rest of the group.

but that didn’t make anyone less close.

around the time fifth year had stricken around in ‘75, this was the challenging time where more people had gotten into the romantic aspect of their teenage lives. suddenly blooming relationships as well as crushing on their schoolmates. every time the glimpse of red tresses entered the great hall, james was off in a sprint. remus as-well, being particularly flirty with fabian prewett.

but almost every recurrent day you were hit with the bound of releasing butterflies in your abdomen from sirius’ cyclical affections that were roaming the thin line of intimate and platonic. the way his sudden burly bicep would sit on the curvature of your shoulders, and the aroma of leather and potent cologne would overwhelm your senses every time he was near.

the digits of his hand fluffing through your hair in a playful disposition, the silly faces you both would partake making at each other in charms. more so, then rather listening to professor flitwick drone on about creating legs on teacups.

your hearts likewise silently pinned for each other’s meticulous affections, his mind almost begging for the times you would articulate the small nose scrunch in his direction after a particularly funny joke he had made, or the way you would amusingly punch his shoulder recurrently when you were bored.

there were so many insolent details the both of you had partaken in noticing from each other, but it simply wasn’t enough for foolish and prideful teenagers. neither of your had gathered courage, more-so disdain that kept your mutual feelings away under lock and key, rather scowling or chuckling at someone when they asked if you had been in a relationship due to the fear of rejection that lingered.

it was almost obvious with the lovesick gaze that was shared between the two of you, but clearly the blear of friendship overwhelmed the small glimpses.

amos diggory was courteous, he tended to the feelings of others, his mind was truthfully sharp and he was at the top of his classes, never acquiring one detention in his years at hogwarts. in the view point of the marauders he was most-likely a bore, goody two shoes and maybe even the teachers pet. but most girls pinned for boys like him, rather than foolish boys who had more voice cracks in a sentence then actual words.

both of you and amos shared the classes of herbology, care of magical creatures and muggle studies. so even though he was recurrently a ‘golden boy’ he wasn’t bad company to keep.

you had been frequent partners, a small wave or nod in the hallway if you saw each other, the both of you spending much time in the library together when studying for classes. so when he had gathered the courage that sirius rather failed to exhibit, and politely asked if he could take you out to hogsmeade on a date you weren’t completely bewildered.

so when you asked for maybe some time to think, his courtesy got him plenty far in life. he showed you the uttermost respect, and accepted with the response, ‘take as long as you need.’

which most likely meant, ‘take your time but not too long i’m impatient.’ but the gesture was greatly appreciated by you.

the day following the inquiry of the date, the alleged word of y/n y/l/n and amos diggory possibly going out reputedly caught wind of the meddlesome hogwarts students. around the time period for defence against the dark arts, gilderoy lockhart was gossiping upon himself with dirk creeswell in one of the most silent corridors of hogwarts, the one sirius black happen to use to cut his classes when he felt particular fatigued or he hadn't shared the course with you.

it just so happen that his ears caught the words, ‘mate, it’s so obvious that amos and y/n are going to hogsmeade. she won’t keep his offer standing long.’

this resulted in the stubborn emotions of sirius being swirled into dismal and animosity, this concluding his poor way of managing his emotions and jumping to conclusions. which only meant he had cynical passive behaviours for the rest of the day, soaking up his feelings like a sponge and not speaking a word of his issues to another soul.

since the very commencement of your friendship with the boy you had slowly accumulated to his behaviours, and the stubborn wit in your heart blearing like alarms telling you to help him along side his possible problem.

but unfortunately that only resulted in a frivolous argument between you both in the midst of his common room over a topic you were unknown too. the two rigid teenagers fairly headstrong, ignoring each other for the rest of the restless night to be left with their thoughts.

ironically the next day had been a quidditch game awaiting to play with the opposing teams, hufflepuff and gryffindor. the similar seekers going head to head for the hast golden snitch, known as alicia woo and amos diggory.

as a quidditch beater since second year you had never faltered when attending a gryffindor quidditch gamer practice in support of your two best mates, that happen to include the overcast bleary day of today. you were irritated and heavily annoyed, but you went to be left without an answer. sirius had been soaring through the sky what looked like to be tremendously anxious, or stressed. the hit of his bat against the bludger almost seeming hostile, recurrently in amos diggorys direction.

after the golden team had won the head to head match with a whopping seventy points, including the snitch they had started to clear the field ready for a celebratory party. you could practically hear james’ groan from across the pitch whilst the scarlet team had now started started to stride off the pitch in a slumber state. sirius glimpsing around suddenly at your waltzing figure in a hast rush towards him, the adrenaline of the game still swishing through his mind and the recurrent thought to stay away from you incase his exasperated words admitted too many things.

“hey!” you first shouted, grabbing onto the knit of his quidditch sweater, the first few drops of rain subsequently hitting the viridescent grass slowly. you waited for a moment, his body in place from your grip but his gaze strict on the moistening grass. the longer you awaited in response the more frequent the drops splat right onto the both of you under the dreary clouds.

“okay, what, your ignoring me now? are you a child?” you spoke abruptly while sneering, you voice breaking the apprehensive silence again, your thunderous and elevated tone mixing along with the small patter of rain begging to drench the both of you as you waited.

“answer me!”

“why can’t you just leave it alone, for once in your life you don’t need to know everything!” he exclaimed in pent up irritation, his hand pushing through his sweaty and mangled tresses in awaiting agony. “no, i won’t. so what are you so afraid of telling me for merlins sake!” you clamoured back in the same feeling of irritation for being shut out from his feelings, you had always respected him, as well as his responsive choices. but, this wasn’t a matter of him genuinely wanting space, rather than not wanting to fix the problem because he couldn’t bare to spit out a sentence and leave his pride behind for a quarter of a second.

unfortunately as every platonic, or romantic relationship endures there is a matter of differences. the platonic relationship you had shared with sirius was not always the simplest thing to endure.

the hefty bumps along the way were bothersome, and tremendously provoking. the occurrence of you blaring at sirius to stop hiding himself with barrier around his emotions from his past traumas covered with passive aggressive comments and suppressed antagonism wasn’t irregular.

the hardships of faults was a remaining learning process for the both of you.

“i love you, but i can’t have you! is that what you wanted to know so badly?! that you could run away in the sunset with diggory!” he spat his words crudely, his words rapid as he spoke, the second his voice rung through your ears the subconscious widen of your eyes could’ve ranged from speaking absolutely nothing to a million words.

“i just want you to be happy..., even if it’s not with me.” he sighed over the boisterous lightning strike, gazing bashfully at his feet.

“you, you insolent, foolish, dull-witted git!” you exasperated your words while pushing your finger into his chest in fury of his arrogance, your voice had been almost boisterous over the continuous downpour amongst the both of you alone on the quidditch pitch. a similar ash fog now roaming around as you displeasurnedly argued.

“it’s you, it always has been! maybe for once if you weren’t the most dramatic, and fairly blind person on earth you would see that!” you huffed finally prying away your stubborn disdain away from your mind for a moment, opting to release your repressed feelings after years of nail chewing, heart strumming anticipation.

he gaped at you absolutely befuddled with his jaw going completely slack in your view point, his eyebrows suddenly sinking to the middle of his forehead in colossal bewilderment. you, his alluring, astonishingly beautiful, way out of his league best friend actually reciprocated those yearning and aching feelings he spent nights tossing and turning over.

he saw the way your eyes narrowed at him in prospect, now with this new found confession what was he going to do?

he opted to move a pace closer to you, watching the way you throughly pushed your tresses behind your ears from the sopping rain drowsing upon the both of you. deciding for his his feverishly warm hands to encase around the apples of your cheeks, your thoughts rapid yet still adamantly confused about what he was doing.

was this the moment, was this finally happening?

the vertebrae in his spine tilted whilst he leaned closer to your face, your eyes anxiously fluttering shut when his lips finally grazed your own; not quite a kiss but ready to occur in any awaiting moment. the nails of your fingers grazing against the damp knit of the vermillion sweater in an pursuit to bring him significantly closer till you felt the damp knit of his vermillion sweater against your chest.

his lips finally slotted with your own, he wasn’t sure if it was the water descending down from the sky or if it was your strawberry flavoured chapstick that made the kiss so effortless but he paid almost no mind too it. the way his lips were caught between yours in the feverish torrent. the grasp on his waist only increased as the seconds ticked by. his hands subtly tilted your head, completely engrossed in the feeling of your lips. the way the significance of your lips had a hold over his entire being from the congested tension that had been swarmed through every trickle of you your senses since the day you saw the shag of his outgrown hair in third year.

it was almost absurd how one person could make him feel so many profusions of emotions. sometimes he had the urge to kiss you senseless till your lips were intently puffed, the days where he wanted to bury his face in the bend of your shoulder and weep his woes away, the days where he was itching to shout at you because of the ways you picked apart every insecurity you ever had that he didn't even believe you could have.

but he loved it, he loved you, he has you.

your lips departed for a second, the mutual puffs of air escaping from yours lips whilst stricken still by the events that had just occurred. you both chuckled for a moment at the situation.

an incredibly not solemn confession in the downpour of the rain.

“you love me?” you questioned honestly, elation slightly lingering in your tone. but more so in question of all the abstinent years you had spent longing for the other now coming to an end, the end of an era and the start of another.

“yeah, i do. i love you.”

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @artemis1orion @falling-loki @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch

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ellieswhoreeee · 4 years ago

Text

The Two of Us. pt 4

Author’s note; Sorry guys for being so inconsistent about posting guys! i promise i’ll do better but i was kinda distracted with a dina fic i’m writing🧍🏽‍♀️anyways this is the end, i hope you guys enjoy it! also i know this feels slightly rushed so i’m sorry for that :/

endgame pairings: ellie williams x fem! reader

warnings: swearing, marijuana, violence, ect.

ps: i’m still learning how to use tumblr when it comes to replying and doing other stuff so please give me time 😭

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“I knew i’d find ya’ here,” Joel’s voice was oddly gruff but soft at the same time. He was loud enough for you to hear, even from the different distances. It was nice hearing his voice. You heard the rocks under his feet crunch together, making noise as he got closer and closer to your hiding spot. You were hiding in the tree house that was built into a large tree. The tree house was small but big enough for you, even though you built it when you were younger. It was surprisingly stable.

You didn’t say anything, and just stayed where you were. Hopefully he would think that you weren’t in here if you weren’t responding to him. “Kiddo, get down from there and talk to me. I ain’t gonna leave, so you can’t hide from me.”

You sighed quietly, and crawled towards the door- which in reality was just an old blanket that covered the entrance. You hated how noble Joel was. Your head peaked through the fabric. “Did Maria send you? Tell her i’m okay, i’m just sick.”

“Actually, i came here on my own. I’ve just… Noticed the changes between you and Ellie these past few days… I think if you could just talk to her-“

“Joel, this won’t get fixed by just talking. I fucked up this time.”

“What did you do…?” Joel questioned curiously. You looked away and decided to stay quiet as you clenched your jaw. Joel looked down at the ground awkwardly, noticing the look on your face. “I know y’all kids think i don’t know anything… But i’m not dumb. People talk… I’m just waiting for her to tell me so… whatever it is, i can guarantee that i won’t judge.”

You bit your lip, and decided it would be better to talk to him. It was a little awkward when you first met but after continuously talking to him and hanging with him really changed that. He was one of the many people you were grateful for. You gave him a small smile. “I would invite you up but you’re kinda…”

“What? Too old? I’ll have ya’ know that i’m in the prime of my life.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your laugh. “Fat. I meant fat, you would break the tree house.” You were joking, it wasn’t anything serious and he knew that.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.”

He hummed, giving you a mischievous smile. He then moved towards the tree, and started to slowly climb up the ladder without any hesitation. You retreated back to the spot you were in, and watched as Joel struggled to get in quietly. He then sat across from you. He was curious about the inside- it didn’t look as abandoned as he thought he would be. “Cozy,”

You laughed. “Thanks, i guess you never been up here, huh? You should’ve seen it when me and Ellie put fairy lights up…” Joel stayed quiet for a moment. You brought your knees up to your chest and let out a quiet sigh. “You know, she’d say something dumb like, ‘it’s Ellie and I’ or something.”

Joel felt like patting you on the back and saying ‘it would be okay’ but that wasn’t what you needed right now. You needed someone to talk to. He needed to be that person for you because of how much he cared about you and Ellie. “What happened?”

“You won’t judge me?” Your voice cracked at the question, and he could tell you were scared. He shook his head in response which made you feel slightly better. You covered your eyes with your hands in frustration. “Ellie found out that i… Have feelings for her.” Your voice was quiet, and he almost didn’t hear you.

He was quiet for what seemed like forever but in reality it was only a couple of seconds. “…And does she like you back?” He questioned in the softest way possible. You removed your hands from your eyes and decided to look at him.

“If she did we wouldn’t be up here…” You replied awkwardly.

“So… You two talked about it? And you’re certain that she doesn’t like you?”

You shook your head slowly at his questions. “No, i kinda just walked away before she could say anything… But i know she doesn’t like me because she’s-“

“Dating Cat.” Joel finished for you. He already knew about Ellie and Cat. Not much, but enough to know how they dote on each other. People talk, so mostly everyone knew about them. Joel was just waiting for Ellie to tell him, and she hasn’t.

You nodded. “Yeah. Dating fucking Cat.” You spat bitterly.

Joel sighed, and continued to watch you. He noticed a lot by just watching you. You were playing with your hands, almost as if you were trying to calm your down from the hurricane that is your brain. You looked pretty sad. “Alright, i’m tired of it. You needa’ stop moping. So, we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” You asked quickly and followed him down the tree house. He waited for you, and once you reached the pebbles on the floor he started moving ahead once again. All you could really do was follow him.

“Just follow me, kid.”

“No way! I can’t do this right now, at least let me get a drink or something! I need whiskey in my system before i can talk to her!”

You don’t know how it happened. You let Joel drag you around town- just so he could get you to let your guard down. His real plan was getting you to Ellie’s garage. He asked you to close your eyes and lead you somewhere- and that’s where you are now. Right behind his house, aka in front of Ellie’s door.

“What if Cat’s here? This’ll be really awkward and pretty messed up.!” He was dragging you by your collar now, just so you couldn’t run away. You hated how strong he was. He then knocked on her door, and your skin shivered anxiously. You didn’t want to be here. You weren’t ready.

“Sorry, kid. In life, you gotta face your problems one way or another. I’m just giving you a gentle push.”

“More like a forceful shove!”

“Quit your whinin’. You need this. Closure or whatever you kids are saying these days.”

“Joel!-“

The door lock clicking caught your attention, then the door opened slowly. It revealed a very tired looking Ellie. She looked up at Joel and then down at you in surprise. “Sup..?”

Joel nodded in acknowledgment. “Heya, kiddo. Just thought i’d drop this off.” He let go of your collar, and suddenly you were on the floor. He turned on his heel and returned into his house through the back door. Fucking Joel, acting like i’m some sort of package. You couldn’t help think as you sat there.

“Fuck me,” You muttered lowly to yourself. You couldn’t even look up at Ellie. You were ashamed. You weren’t planning on telling Ellie about how you felt. Especially when you didn’t know if your feelings would last long. “This was a bad idea, i’m gonna go.” You stood up and brushed the dirt off your clothes.

You were about to walk- maybe even run away if it weren’t for Ellie talking first. “I never pegged you as a coward.”

You sighed, turning back to face her. To finally look at her. You noticed the bags under her eyes, that she looked paler than usual and her voice sounded hoarse. Seeing her this way made you sad. “Ellie…”

“No. You won’t talk right now.” She stopped you from speaking further. Maybe you deserved that. “Avoiding me, ignoring me and running away from me whenever i’m near? That’s all the things a coward would do. And that coward is you, y/n. I never thought that you were that type of person… You always faced your problems head on.”

Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was leaning against her door. It was the support she needed at the moment. Her words were hitting you hard. It was like a wake up call, just what you needed to get out from the hole you found yourself in.

But you also felt like denying her words.

You scoffed, and took a few steps back from her. You felt even more far away from her then ever. “Look, Ellie what do you want from me? You know why. Why can’t we leave it at that and move on. Never talk about it again.”

“Right, cause’ this is something we can move on from… Y/n, I need to hear you say it.” She pushed herself off her door and slowly moved closer to you.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? Are you afraid? I never knew you were such a pussy.” The way those words left her lips made it seem like she wanted to piss you off, to push you over the edge. Just so she could get your reaction.

“Fuck you, ellie… God, why do you need to hear me say it? You and your girlfriend are fucked up for wanting me to say it despite knowing already.”

She hummed, and continued to take steps towards you. “Are you scared? Is that it? Why is it that this conversation scares you but not a pack of infected…?” You scoffed, and didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to. She ended up being a few inches away from you. You couldn’t look up at her. You’re scared of doing something that you’ll regret. God, you wished you had gotten a drink or something. Maybe then you could at least blame it on the alcohol.

“What are you so afraid of?” She questioned in a whisper. Ellie wanted you to say it, she wanted to confirm that you actually liked her. She needed to hear you say it. Not insinuate it, but to actually hear it from your lips. That’s what she wanted.

Your eyes travelled from the ground and slowly trailed up her body. Your eyes lingered on Ellie’s neck, and then stopped at her chapped lips. Instinctively, she licked her lips as she continued to stare at you. You swallowed lowly, finally finding yourself looking into her green eyes. “I’m scared that you won’t like it.” Again, your eyes flickered to her lips.

“I will.”

For a split second you’re happy. But then you remember Cat. You frown, and decided to take a step back. “You’re with Cat- in love with her. That’s what you said, isn’t it? I may be in love with you but i’m not gonna let you cheat on her.”

Ellie pressed her lips together, a nod and small smile on her lips. “You’re a good person, y/n. That’s one of the many things that i love about you..” Your stomach did a flip, but you tried to listen to her next words carefully. You couldn’t be distracted by her sweet words. “I broke up with Cat. As fucked up as it is… I was only with her to try and get over you.”

“So, what i’m getting from this conversation is… You’re single?”

She laughed, and walked closer to you. “Not for long i hope.” She winked- well, tried to to. It was a pretty bad wink. But it was cute that she tried.

“I feel bad for the next person who dates you… you’re infuriating.” You whispered, watching and you and Ellie inched closer to each other.

She grinned, and watched and you closed you eyes. “You love it.” She paused for a moment, just to tease you before she finally brings your lips together in a sweet kiss. Her hands trail down to your hips so you could be flushed against her body. Your arms wrap around her shoulders loosely. She groans when you nip at her lower lip, then slides her hand under your shirt. God… you’re so enticing, y/n. Ellie was only thinking of you in this moment.

“Oi! Y/n! Ellie! PDA!!” Joel’s head popped out from the kitchen window as he glared at you two playfully.

“Right,” You pushed away from Ellie’s lips. “Joel knows.”

Ellie nodded, a smile on her lips as she continued to look at you. She was awestruck. She finally got to kiss you, to hold you and in the future there would be more memories with you. More memorable memories. “I guess he does.” She peck you on the lips and grab your hands. “You’re with me, right?”

You nodded, squeezing her hands to comfort her. God, you loved her so much. There is nothing better than being with her. You wished you had told her your feelings sooner, way before Cat. Maybe things could’ve been different.

But things are back on track for you and Ellie, and will be for a long time. Your gut is telling you everything will be fine. “Always.”

As long as you were with Ellie, nothing could go wrong.

end <3

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie #ellie williams #joel miller #dina tlou #jesse tlou #the last of us part two #maria tlou #tommy tlou #reader insert #female reader #wlw ship

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years ago

Text

enough to drive a man mad

~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning.

It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve.

“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls.

Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook.

“What?”

“What has you so worked up?”

Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts.

“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains.

Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”

Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet.

They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject.

“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”

Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter.

“Have I ever told you about my parents?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”

Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same.

“Hmm.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”

Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier is rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera.

“Do you want to visit them?”

Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”

Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt obliged to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on.

“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”

Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet me .”

“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”

Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.

Marilla looks down at the letter in shock.

Dear Mother,

I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon.

Julian

She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”

Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”

“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”

Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”

Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”

Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents.

Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.

“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”

“I’m nice to everyone.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”

Geralt huffs.

“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?”

Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song? She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song.

This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all.

She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here.

Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.”

Interesting.

Around your house, now white from frost

Sparkles ice on pond and marsh

Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh

Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall

Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun

It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all

An eternal fire, hope for each one

There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all.

Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical.

There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all.

She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him.

Oh.

She supposes he does write love songs, after all.

Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them.

“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”

Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?

Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”

Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things.

He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing.

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say.

“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?”

When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look.

Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries.

“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian?

He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here.

“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…”

Geralt shoots him a look.

“I mean, we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”

“We have someone—”

“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”

With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually liked .”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”

Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer.

“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away.

Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they were watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”

Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating.

He is in way over his head.

Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him?

If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this her is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here.

Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”

“I need help with supper.”

Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in.

She can’t wait.

She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”

Nell barely holds back a snort.

Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces.

Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”

“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in.

Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting.

Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”

Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”

Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”

Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly.

Geralt takes another drink.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”

Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room.

He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans.

“I thought I was being rather convincing.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”

Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”

Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything.

“We have to have sex.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning.

Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”

Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.

“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”

Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”

“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”

Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.

“ Jaskier!” Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind.

“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust.

Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is not what he agreed to.

Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice.

“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously.

Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity.

Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard slam against the wall now.

Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses.

Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture.

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests.

Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says.

Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”

Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees.

When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing.

“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”

Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster.

She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”

“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture.

“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”

Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”

Ethbert squints doubtfully.

Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at him if he chose to sleep until midday.

The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense.

It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning.

Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Morning,” Geralt grates out.

Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”

“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”

“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”

Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Right.”

Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him.

What? He never said he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”

Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”

“ No .”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says.

“Shut up.”

“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”

Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”

“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”

Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes.

He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep.

“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”

Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s beau .

“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.”

He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he straddled him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself.

He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers.

He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier.

To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face.

It’s enough to drive a man mad.

Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near.

Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch.

Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either.

Hmm.

Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier.

Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt just grunts and shakes his head.

Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”

“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him.

Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment.

He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace.

Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out.

“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”

“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”

“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”

Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”

Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it decidedly less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back.

“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell.

She glares, and he shoots her a wink.

Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”

“I always am.”

Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly.

Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then.

“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters.

“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”

Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!”

Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”

Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”

Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables.

Ethbert resigns himself to a long night.

Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go.

Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.

But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home.

Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing.

It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully.

Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her.

In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible

There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—

His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that.

Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look.

Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”

“Jask?” Geralt slurs.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”

“My pack—”

Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.”

He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes.

He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”

Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain.

“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself.

Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away.

“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts.

Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”

Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought.

“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling.

Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her.

He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?

Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot.

When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.

He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.

“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs.

Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”

“Geralt, you—What was it?”

“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up.

Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs.

Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation.

“A healer.”

Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers.

“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits.

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”

Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s.

“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say hmm .”

“Hmm.”

Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same.

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says.

There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.

“You got the trophy, right?”

“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”

“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”

Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him.

Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face.

He’s an idiot.

Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time.

Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds.

Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better.

Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass. He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them.

He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear.

He sighs and makes the trek back.

When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later.

For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully.

Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain.

His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again.

What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”

Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter.

“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re my idiot.”

Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called terrorizing his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least.

He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #fanfiction #contemplative writing

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jackshade21 · 4 years ago

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Buckle up, Buttercups this is gonna be a bumpy ride. It’s probably gonna be a long one cause I’m coming up with what I’m gonna say as I type this. I hope it’s at least entertaining. Also spoilers for Luca and Ponyo, if that matters to anyone.

For like a month now my latest hyperfixation has been Pixar’s latest film, Luca, as I’m sure anyone that actually pays attention to me may have noticed. During all this time I’ve seen some truly tepid takes.

It’s no secret by now that a lot of queer people have seen Luca as an allegory for coming out and for the queer experience. Myself included. I saw a lot of my own experiences as a 14 year old kid growing up queer reflected in this movie.

But we’ve all seen the backlash too. Reactionaries calling queer people perverse for daring to see themselves reflected in something.

“How dare you think they are gay! yOu’Re SeXuAlIzInG cHiLdReN!!!! WONT SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!?!?”

“UM, ACTUALLY...the director said they’re not gay!”

(not gonna waste my time going over death of the author...again. Or how Casarosa has...UM ACTUALLY...supported the queer reading because art is, ya know, subjective.)

Whether it’s seeing queer allegory and subtext in the narrative itself or just thinking the two fish boys could have a crush on each other. Bozos are acting as if queer people want them to be explicitly sexual in a Pixar film. You all know this by now.

Well, I just watched Ponyo, because it’s Studio Ghibili, I hadn’t seen it and I’m a sucker for sea people. It was a nice movie. The animation was as gorgeous as anything I’ve come to expect from the studio. The story was admittedly not the most engaging for me personally but it was fun and I enjoyed myself. I loved all the old ladies SO much. Go off you old queens I’m here for it.

However, maybe it’s cause I’m late to the party, but where are the angry reactionaries at? Cause I don’t remember seeing them when the movie came out. Maybe cause I wasn’t engaged with the fan content for Ponyo I didn’t see it? All I remember is pretty high praise being heaped onto the movie.

You know the movie about a little fish girl that falls in love with a human boy? The movie where the little human boy has to perform “a test of the truest love” and to promise to love the little fish girl so she can become human? How she turns human from a kiss? The one where the little human boy and little fish girl are literally 5 years old. You know? THAT movie?

We all know why no one cared about that when it came to the 5 year olds in Ponyo and we all know why people are jumping over themselves to denounce any queer readings about the teenage Italian fish boy movie. But in case I have to spell it out for anyone it’s...

✨HOMOPHOBIA✨

Straight relationships are seen as pure and loving, queer relationships are seen as sinful and sexual. Also I see you people ready to type “but it’s called SEXuality!” That’s a dumb argument, you know it is, so I will only say if you think same-sex attraction is only about sex you’re wrong. If you don’t know it’s a dumb argument, I hate to break it to you Susan and Chet, but you’re heteroSEXual. Put that in your tea.

And to cover my bases, I’m not saying that if you don’t read Luca as an allegory for the queer experience or that if you don’t see Luca and Alberto as anything more than two platonic best friends that you’re homophobic.You’re not. There is a perfectly valid basis for that. The homophobia starts when straight people start dictating to queer people what their experiences are and telling them they are perverse for seeing those experiences reflected in a very obvious way right in front of them. The homophobia starts when you deny queer kids even exist. All queer adults were once queer kids.

Straight people don’t get to say we don’t love and that our relationships are based solely on explicit sex. We have been murdered for the crime of falling in love with people who society deemed as the wrong people. We have fought for that right to love. I’m tried of being afraid to walk down the street holding my boyfriend’s hand. I’m tired of seeing people with their “HOT TAKES” make insinuations that queer love is dirty and only about sex. You don’t get to dictate to me about what is or isn’t queer.

Side note, Can I please get a movie about how Ponyo’s parents fell in love? You know the sea-wizard and the sea goddess? Like please? Did you see that giant water woman? RADIANT!

#pixar luca #luca #disney #ponyo #studio ghibli #sosuke #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #lgbtq #queer coding #queer representation #queer #homophobia #double standard much?#how do you even tag this #rant #rant over

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jamilelucato · 4 years ago

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The Duff || Fred Weasley

pairing: Fred Weasley x reader (any house)

summary: your life became too stressing lately, and Fred Weasley, although generally very annoying, manages to distract you just enough when he stops talking.

A/N: completely based on the book The Duff. Like completely. So reader may have some issues with her appearance. Sorry about my other fics! It’s just that, when an idea pops, I have to write. It’s a big fic. (feel like it’s one of my brightest works)

words: + 11k

warnings: insinuations and mentions of sex; body insecurities; sick father, etc

Harry Potter Masterlist || Musical Hogwarts Series

You couldn't understand what could be the fun in going to Three Broomsticks to party. The place is one of the oldest bars in Hogwarts, but not long ago, Madam Rosmerta decided to add a dance floor in one of the darkest sides of the pub, and she got one of those muggle music machines. It was very nice if your thing was dancing in sweat and rubbing your body in people.

Easy to say it was most definitely not your thing.

"Okay, that's it for you," said Madam Rosmerta, taking your mug away. It once was filled with butterbeer, but the barmaid seemed to think you had gotten it filled way too many times for a night.

"Oh, come on," you complained, "there's no alcohol on those."

"I know. But it has sugar, and you had one too many," Rosmerta said, ignoring your pout and walking away from your side of the counter so she could serve other costumers.

Your brain fought a battle to decide if it was worth contesting and explaining that not offering you more butterbeer was causing the barmaid to lose money when the stool next to you cried with the weight that was jumping on it.

"Good evening, y/n," said the boy who now sat next to you.

It was inevitable when your eyes rolled just by smelling his cologne. There was no need for you even to turn to know who it was. Only one boy in the whole Hogwarts was confident enough to wear such cheap cologne as if it was holy water.

"Get the hell away, Weasley," you cried, wishing, profoundly, to have another butterbeer with you.

Madam Rosmerta noticed the new client sitting close to the counter, and she quickly came back to serve him.

"Fred Weasley," she greeted him with her playful smile. She knew the Hogwarts teenage boys only flirted with her in hopes of a discount, but she enjoyed it, considering it rather fun. "What can I get you?"

"My usual butterbeer, Ro," he said, charming her with his smirk. She chuckled, while he passed her a coin.

"If you're getting him one, you're getting me one too," you warned the barmaid, raising a brow. Your serious approach worked because, with a sigh, she walked back with two drinks.

You tossed her your coin.

"That is officially your last one, young lady, so you better enjoy it," she threatened before leaving and playing with her hair solemnly for Fred to see.

He was still smiling when you decided to look at him. He was a bastard, but, boy, was he handsome.

"You have five seconds to disappear from in front of me now that you have your drink," you warned. Even though Fred's eyes followed the back of Rosmerta, yours was still staring at him. Maybe the amount of disgust you felt for him could pass on with a look.

"Chill, would you?" Fred took a sip from his mug, supporting his arms on the counter, finally looking at you. "If you're so bothered, the dance floor awaits."

You chuckled, frowning right after. "Look, Weasley, don't you have any other girl to fuss around?"

He smirked, thinking you were falling for his game. "Do you have friends you'd like to suggest?" he played, raising his brows. "Is Jess still single?"

"I'd be dead if I let you stay even one meter close to my friends, do you hear me? I don't want them catching any diseases," you shivered just with the thought of how many girls (and STDs) this boy before you might have encountered.

"So they are here," his eyes narrowed as if he was scanning the dance floor, searching for your girls.

"Go away, Fred," you sighed, tired of that conversation. You took one sip of your mug, but the butterbeer was no longer enough to keep your mind away from Fred Weasley's affairs. "And stay away from Jess and Casey."

"Oh, y/n, just put a good word for me, please. I mean, it is your job," Fred leaned in, closer to you and his scent attacked your nostrils again, making you lean back.

"It's not my job to help you, Weasley."

"Well, as their duff, I think it is," he drank from his mug, ignoring your confused look.

"Duff?"

Asking him what the word meant called his attention back to you, but he seemed surprised you hadn't heard about it yet. "You know, designated ugly fat friend," he replied, making a peculiar gesture with his neck as he spoke the last term.

You couldn't possibly have heard him right. "Excuse me??"

"Look, I don't mean to offend," he shrugged his broad shoulders, a gift from all his years playing Quidditch.

He noticed how fast your expression was changing.

"It's not like you're an ogre or anything, but in comparison…" his eyes wandered back to the dance floor, this time yours followed, seeing Jess and Casey — your longest-time best friends — dancing with some other students. "Think about it. Why do they bring you here if you don't dance?"

"Shut it, Weasley. They bring me here because I'm their friend; stop with your nonsense," your mind was working incredibly hard to stop you from believing that you were the ugly friend. Because that could not be the truth. Especially if everyone already knew and the one to tell you about it had to be the most annoying Gryffindor.

Fred had the nerve to reach over and pat your knee, but you jerked away from him. "Look," he said, "you have hot friends… really hot friends."

All the butterbeer you had drunk was starting to make you sick. Perhaps Rosmerta had been right, but if you had to bet in a guilt part, you'd bet on the ginger.

"The point is, in a group of friends, there's always a weak link, a Duff. And girls respond well to guys who associate with their Duffs."

"Where are you getting this info? The Quibbler?" you never meant to offend the Lovegoods, but Fred Weasley was speaking rubbish at this point.

"Don't be bitter," Fred pressed his lips together, pausing. "What I'm saying is girls find it sexy when lads show some sensitivity and socialize with the Duff. So, please, help me here, and just pretend to enjoy our talk."

There it was, in front of you, the living, redheaded proof that stupidity is capable of making people persevere for years. You already knew that Fred was a womanizing asshole, but it was unexpected to find out how worthless as a human being he is, too. Pretty faces definitely aren't everything.

With one swift motion, you jumped to your feet and flung the contents of your mug in Fred's direction.

The remaining butterbeer flew all over him, splattering his striped polo collar shirt. The liquid got his ginger hair wet entirely, which surprised you because, usually, you wouldn't have such great aim.

His face burned with anger, and his chiselled mandible clenched angrily. "What was that for?" he snapped, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"What do you think it was for?" you snapped.

"I have no possible idea."

Madam Rosmerta appeared again, giving Fred a white cloth to dry himself, but it wasn't enough. Part of you wanted to be mad at the waitress for helping Fred, but you knew she just didn't want him to ask her to take you out.

"If you think I'm letting one of my friends leave this place with you, Weasley, you're very, very wrong, " you spluttered, staring at him with fire in your eyes. "You're a shallow jackass, and I hope that we never cross paths again."

The stupid muggle music played so loud that no one but Rosmerta overheard you, and she probably found you awsome. She loved some teenage drama.

You grabbed your friends as quickly as you could. They were about protest all the way to the secret passageway back to Hogwarts, so you decided it was best to explain what was happening.

"What's wrong?" Casey asked. Her once perfect dark hair was now wet — part of you wondered if the sweat even belonged to her. For such a smart Ravenclaw, you expected more of her.

"Let's get back to school; I just can't stand to be in this hellhole for one more second, " you said, dragging their reluctant bodies along behind you.

"Why are we leaving so early? It's only, like, nine-fifteen," Jess asked, frowning a bit, looking at you with her sad big blue eyes. Her Hufflepuff charm was about to work on you when you remembered why you were living.

"I got into an argument with someone, " you said, and Jess puppy eyes quickly disappeared, opening the place for her angry face to emerge. "I threw my Coke on him, and I didn't want to stick around for his response."

"Who?" Casey asked. You'd been dreading that question because you knew the reaction you'd get.

"Fred Weasley." two girly sighs followed your answer. "The guy is a man-whore. I can't stand him. He sleeps with everything that moves, and his brain is located in his pants—which means it's microscopic."

"I doubt that, " Casey said with another sigh.

"He's a jerk," you said, hoping your voice sounded like it was final. The tunnel back to Hogwarts seemed endless.

"That's not true," Jessica inserted. "Katie Bell told me he talked to her when she was alone at the Yule Ball. She was with Angelina and Alicia, and she said he just came up and made conversation, really friendly."

That made sense. Katie was definitely the Duff if she was out with Angelina and Alicia. And you knew for a fact that Angelina left with Fred that night.

"He's charming, " Casey said. "Give him some credit." Her smile slowly faded when she remembered that you threw at him your beer. "But what the hell did he do to you tonight, huh?" Now she sounded concerned. Took her long enough.

You sighed, noticing that saying something would only make their worry and you really wanted to avoid their pity. "Nothing, " you lied, "Fred just pisses me off."

Duff. The word bounced around in your mind as you three reached Hogwarts. When you took a last look at your friends before each parted to your houses, Fred's statement that you were the unattractive, undesirable tagalong seemed to be confirmed.

Jessica's perfect hourglass body and big brown eyes. Casey's athlete's features and impeccable skin. You definitely weren't like them.

"Well, see you tomorrow for the feast?" Jess asked the two of you.

You and Casey shared tired smiles. Although Casey would've like to stay a little longer at the Three Broomsticks, she welcomed extra sleeping hours. Her Quidditch player schedule didn't leave her much time to rest.

"See you," you stated, walking away slowly, letting your feet lead the way to your dorm where you'd try extra hard to forget the whole Duff thing.

You picked your blanket up to your chin, not wanting to get out of bed so soon, even though you could very much get late for Snape's class.

Fred Weasley words were hunting you like a ghost. They shouldn't be, because you sure didn't care about his opinion. But the courage he had called you that disgusting abbreviation and how you seemed to find the one out from every single group of friends you walked past.

It had been a week and a half, so why did his words bother you? You were brilliant and a good witch, always there for your friends. Thus, who cared if you were the Duff?

If you were charming, you'd have to deal with lads like Weasley hitting on you. Ugh! That could be a Duff benefit, right? Being unattractive didn't have to suck.

Damn Fred Weasley! You couldn't believe he managed to pack your head with such superficial bullshit. Getting out of bed with a jump, you were committed.

You wouldn't think about Duffs ever again.

Thursdays were homework day, at least for you and your best friends.

When classes were over, the three of you would meet at the library for a long late afternoon, reading through books and doing assignments. And, of course, spilling some tea with whispers.

That afternoon was being way bored than you expected. It was like Jess and Casey interrupted your reading all the time to tell you something new, but that day they seemed to have nothing to say.

And when I say nothing, I mean nothing.

Suspicious.

You stared at them, who pretended they hadn't been facing you all along and turned back to their essays.

"Okay, what is it? You two are awfully quiet," you whispered, leaning closer to them, scared the librarian could hear you.

They exchanged looks before, sighing, Jess gave up on her silent treatment.

"Remember when we planned on going to Three Broomsticks tomorrow?" she pouted, trying to work her big eyes on you.

"You two planned, you mean. I never agreed on it."

"We kinda find dates to go with us," said Casey, ignoring your comment on the matter.

You stared at your two best friends, holding yourself to not laugh.

"Thankfully. I never said I wanted to go," you pointed out with a smile, turning back to your book.

Jessica didn't seem satisfied with you looking away just yet.

"We can find you a date," Jess suggested.

You chuckled. "Alright," you spat — the possibility sounded ridiculous; principally when Fred's words still echoed in the corner of your mind.

"y/n, you have to come," Casey's tone was more serious. "You never go out unless we force you. So, if you don't want a date for yourself, you are thrid-wheeling."

"Not in Askaban, I am not!" you protested, raising your voice way too much but thankfully nobody was around.

Jess tried to work her puppy eyes again. "Please," she sobbed. "If you don't come, I'll feel guilty. Do you want me to ditch Cormac?"

"You are going with Cormac??" you asked, genuinely concerned because he was younger than you, but then you recalled he wasn't younger than her.

"Just show up," said Casey, not really allowing you to object. "I'll pay you a butterbeer."

Her offer was very, very tempting. You had no idea if one could become addicted to butterbeer since yours never had alcohol, but you're getting closer to that.

"But I'll only stay 'till nine," you informed.

The two girls smiled, and Jess had to hold herself from clapping in excitement.

"That'll be enough," said Casey.

"Is your father okay?" Casey asked you as soon as Jess left, and she had the open opportunity to corner you.

She was the only one in the school that you were brave enough to confess what was happening to your father. He had been recently attacked by some Death Eaters, and the Cruciatus curse left him with severe brain damaged.

It happened during the summer, before the start of your seventh year, so you had a couple of weeks to recover from that news before going back to school.

But when your mom's first letter arrived, saying your father was getting more insane with time, no amount of preparation was enough to hold back your tears as you ran out of the Great Hall.

You were able to lie to Jess, but with Casey, you weren't so lucky. Besides, her mom worked at St. Mungo's, so she already knew about your dad way before you told her.

It had been two months since you've been ignoring your mom's letters, all of them. You are too scared to read what they've got to say, and she doesn't let you go back home anyways.

You wanted to be with him, your father, hold his hand, make him better. But your mom was firm on her decision about you graduating Hogwarts.

So, when you stared at Casey's beautiful face, you had no idea what to answer.

"He can't get better," you said, in tone way harsher than you were planning. Who knew that not speaking about a matter would make you feel more painful towards it?

Casey gulped — she was always like that: she would touch the wound, but she had no idea what to do about it later.

"Do you want me to write to my m..."

"No," you quickly answered, not even letting her finish. "I just need to graduate — then I'll deal with my dad."

"It will take longer while 'till graduation, y/n," Casey pointed out. She knew you were convincing yourself it was just a couple more months, but that was a terrible lie you no longer could satisfy yourself with.

Casey wanted to do something, but taking you out was all you allowed the girls to do to you. You hated the new club atmosphere of Three Broomsticks, but you had to admit, it was pretty distracting.

"Promise I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Promise," you said, before leaving your best friend alone in the hallway.

Snape's latest assignment stood before you, with a lot of notes from the Professor, pointing out all of your mistakes.

And there were a lot of them.

When class ended, you walked up to the Professor, gulping and shaking. You knew he didn't dislike you, but you were never too careful with Severus Snape.

"Professor, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yes?" he turned to face you; his black robe swirled with his movement.

"I just want to know if this essay was, hm, a big part of this year's grade?" you asked, avoiding looking in his dark eyes. "If so, can I do something else to improve my grade?"

He swallowed before answering, his serious tone implicating he didn't want to be having this conversation.

"You used to be my best student, Miss y/l/n, but this year you turned into the worse," he said, pausing in that terrible way only he knew. If your last year's grade hadn't been an Outstanding, I would have written you off my class by now."

You stared at Snape, unsure of what to do next and terrified of the man before you. He never treated you that way.

"Sorry to bother, Professor," you said, leaving right away, knowing very well that he had just ruined your rest of the day, including the night with your girls.

But what would you tell them? They would say that Snape was always like that. And even Casey, who was bloody smart, didn't have classes with Snape anymore. She would say for you to drop it too.

Your mind led your feet to the Moaning Myrtle's abandoned bathroom. There, your cry could be confused with hers by those who passed by. Thus, no one would disturb you.

The ghost wasn't even startled when she heard you come in, crying, and throw yourself on the floor near the sinks. Myrtle has seen you there since the school year started when you read your mother's first letter.

You usually went there at night, when you were sure you wouldn't see anyone. But after years of trusting Professor Snape — and believing that he would never mistreat you — what you heard today was the culmination.

When you decided you had cried enough, you headed out of the bathroom, holding your Potions (terrible) essay closer to your chest. You walked around the castle, but, perhaps, your eyes lost contact with your brain — the next thing you knew, you ran smack into Fred Weasley.

As if I needed more reasons for wanting to die.

You stumbled backwards, and your essay slipped from your arms, heading straight to the floor.

The ginger boy grasped you by both shoulders, his big hands catching you before you had the chance to slip over your own feet.

"Watch it," he said, steadying you.

You two were standing way too close to each other, and once again, you could smell his cheap cologne, this time it seemed to spread all over your body. Bloody hell, am I gonna smell like Weasley now? You shivered with disgust, but he misread it.

"Trouble standing up?" he joked, looking down at you with a cocky smirk.

He was really tall — you'd forgotten that, sitting next to him at the Three Broomsticks that night.

"Do I make you weak in the knees?"

Ignoring his stupid question, you knelt down to get the essay, and he did the same, grabbing it first. You forgot how to breathe for a second, hoping he wouldn't try to read it — and notice all the corrections Snape had made with permanent ink.

However, as soon as he grabbed it, he was handing it over to you.

You took it and brought it back closer to your chest, stepping away from him and his stupid perfume and stupid touch that sent weird and uncomfortable chills through your spine.

You were starting to walk away, leaving him behind when you heard:

"Thank you, Weasley," he attempted to copy your accent. "See you around, Weasley."

But you rolled your eyes and didn't even venture to look at him again.

How you managed to get out of your dorm and show up was all Jess and Casey's fault. If they hadn't been talking about you going out all week, and then Jess almost crying for you to appear, you would've rather very much stayed in bed.

You drummed your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar, your mind far away from the muggle music and your very dance-pants friends.

Your mind was tricking you in remembering about your father, something you were really trying to push away. Why hadn't you insisted on staying with Dad? Why hadn't you read mom's letters?

You kept imagining your dad, wallowing in his misery… alone. You wondered if at least your mom would visit him at St. Mungos. They were never the clingy type of couple, but maybe now she could be more sentimental.

But neither you were sentimental. So why now? Why care so much for your dad when he was never that much of an extraordinary parent?

"Evenin', Duffy."

Why did that nitwit have to sit next to you?

"Go away, Fred," you scolded, looking down at your fingers, playing with your empty mug.

"I can't, " he said. "First of all, the only reason you're here's that I taught you and your friends how to scape Hogwarts," you rolled your eyes while he continued, "besides, I'm not one to give up easily. I am set to snog one of your friends," he shrugged as if he was the biggest gentleman on Earth.

"Then go talk to the one," you suggested, not even turning to see his face.

"I would, but Fred Weasley doesn't chase girls. They chase him."

His sentence stayed in the air around as for a second before you burst in laughter. He couldn't be sober to say something like that. You faced him, finally, and confirmed — he very much had just arrived, so he wasn't drunk. He was just stupid.

Handsome, but stupid.

"Til they come to me, you get the honour of my company," he said, and then he took your mug away from your restless fingers. "Lucky for me, it doesn't look like you're armed with a beverage tonight."

You awaited for his laugh, but it never came.

"What is it with you today?"

"Already told you I'm not in the mood, Weasley," you reminded him.

"What's wrong?"

"Go...away," you warned, slowly.

You no longer good handle the tension burning inside you, it had to be released in some way, and it needed to be right then. But you didn't want to cry, not in front of a bunch of students partying, and there was no way you were going to vent with the dimwitted next to you, and punching someone would just get Rosmerta disappointed.

"Are you okay, y/n?" Fred asked, touching your shoulders carefully. He was forcing you to face him, even though he was being too gentle for his usual. "y/n?"

Then it was like your systems had stopped working — like a magic spell went wrong. Your only excuse is that you were under an unbelievable amount of stress, and you detected an exit.

You needed a distraction, and your chance was staring at you with sparkly eyes. Regret was the last thing you were thinking about.

An opportunity sat on the barstool beside you, and you lunged at it, literally.

You kissed Fred Weasley.

You grabbed him by polo neck of his red t-shirt, pulling him closer and locking your lips on his. He froze at first, but it didn't take him more than three seconds to understand what was happening, and the hand once on your shoulder was now on you cheeks.

Fred returned your urge, biting your lower lip, making his way inside your mouth with his tongue. Your hands left his neck and went to his hair, surprised to find soft hair.

His hands flew to your sides and pulled you toward him as if his hair was the secret to his horniness. As you wrapped your fingers in the strands of red hair, his fingertips dug into your waist.

It worked better than punching someone would have. Not only did it help you release the tension, but it distracted you. It's hard to think about your dad when you're making out with somebody.

He leaned into me, and I hauled at him so hard that Fred nearly fell off his bar stool. At that moment, both just couldn't get close enough to each other. Your separate seats seemed like they were miles apart.

Nothing existed, but the physical connection — there were no emotions in the way. It was amazing not to think. Nothing! Nothing… until he screwed it up.

His hand slid up from your waist, lingering along your back, and came to a stop around your boobs. Everything flooded back, and you suddenly remembered who had his lips on yours.

As fast as you jumped on him, you leaned away, taking your hands from his hair and shoving him away.

His hands dropped, one landing on your knee, as he pulled away. He looked astonished but weirdly pleased.

"Wow, Duff, that was—", but he never finished. You were already gone, running out of the bar and rushing to get to the secret passageway.

You didn't look back. If Fred followed, once you got to Hogwarts, he turned around.

When you reached your dorm and jumped on the bed, your heartbeat was impossible to keep track. You told yourself it was because of the run back to the school, but your mind was still playing flashes of the snogging session that had just happened.

It wasn't fair to remember his touch and how out of limits he was —good kisser, but still a jerk.

You didn't want to admit it, but you were madder at yourself than at him.

Two days.

That was the amount of time you managed to stay away from Fred Weasley since the little "incident".

One thing was for sure: it had numbed completely any stress your father situation was afflicting him. It had even made you forget about your recent bad grades.

Now, every time you got distracted, the only thought that filled your mind was a non-stop replay of the kiss you and Fred shared. It made you feel weirdly sick in the stomach, and you swore you could feel his disgusting touch as if it dirtied your body forever.

Jess and Casey didn't even bother arguing with you about leaving early that night — they felt guilty because they left you alone at the counter. Of course, you didn't tell them about the whole Weasley situation, but, even though Jess seemed clueless, Casey noticed your change in action.

How defensive you were towards their questions, more than usual. How you avoided spending too much time at the Great Hall.

So, when she purposely asked you to watch her Quidditch practice, you knew she was testing you. Perhaps Casey thought something worse was happening to your dad and if that was her bet, you wouldn't be the one to make her see the other side of the coin.

"Came to watch me play?" an annoying voice asked, calling your attention to your left where Fred Weasley stood flying up in his broom. His torso was tilted towards you, who was sitting in the stands.

One look was all you took for your mind to fill with disgusting memories, and your stomach was killing you once again. You faced back the field, where Casey was supposed to be practising, but, apparently, the thing was over because she and her teammates were nowhere to be found.

That explains the Gryffindor in his robes, you thought, sighing and gathering your things before getting up.

Fred was still staring at you, analyzing, expecting.

"I'm not here for you, Weasley," you spat.

Your temper surprised him, but he managed to recover before you could notice.

"What a pity," he sighed, letting the corner of his lips turn up. "I thought you wanted a second dose of fun."

You stared at him, with your angry issues burning up. If before kissing him he already had his ways of pissing you off, now it was like he was power was ten times stronger.

Your first thought was to hex him right there and then, but he wasn't worth that much worry.

"That wasn't fun, Weasley," you decided to state the obvious; something Fred seemed to have been having trouble understanding.

"You seemed very entertained twirling your fingers in my hair," he smirked, holding a chuckle while your eyes widened and you closed your fists.

"That was a mistake; I wasn't in my right mind," you said, clenching your teeth in rage. That boy was driving you crazy.

From behind him, you recognized Casey, walking on the field, already out of her Quidditch robes and holding her broom with just one hand. You knew that was your way out.

"Fine, blame it on the butterbeer," he sighed, "if it's what makes you sleep at night."

"What makes you think, Weasley," you paused, stepping closer to the end of the stands and closer to the ginger, "that I think about you at night?" you raised your tone involuntarily, letting your emotions get the best of you.

"Your body language, for one, Duff," Fred smirked again, feeling his win just because you were getting out of control.

Last time you were raged like that you had kissed him, so perhaps it could happen again.

But the nickname set you back. You were still bitter, but now you remembered why — it was because of that shallow nickname and that stupid boy.

You turned around and stepped away, to the end of the stands. You needed to get out of there as fast as you could.

"See you around too, Duff," you heard Fred shouted, but you didn't dare look back.

Casey met you at the end of the stairs, where a bunch of Gryffindors were crossing paths with the Ravenclaws leaving.

"Was that Fred Weasley? Talking to you?" was the first thing Casey asked when you were close to her enough to hear.

"Yep," you sighed, still tense because of your conversation.

"Godric! Is he hot in his Quidditch uniform!" she gasped, but different from you, she had that romantic, girly look on her face again. It made you wanna vomit.

"Please, Cass, you can find someone hotter than him," you protested, frowning.

"Someone hotter doesn't take Fred's hotness away," she argued, raising a brow towards you. She was messing with you, of course, but knowing it didn't make it easier. She didn't know about the kiss, so for all purposes' sake, she still thought you would never even touch him.

"Can't you just pine over — hmm, I don't — George Weasley, his twin?" you said, sarcastically. "If you think Fred's hot, George is too, and I'm pretty sure he's a better person."

"Too vanilla," she replied as if it proved her point.

"How would you know?" you asked, but couldn't help but burst in laughter with her, both very sure this conversation wasn't going anywhere.

Casey was right again. Not about George being vanilla — that you couldn't be sure, being that you had never talked to the chap. You couldn't manage to say more than three words to George, his presence always made you kinda weak in the knees.

But George didn't know about it, and neither did your best friends, and you intend in leaving thing at that. George was kind of your platonic crush, it was healthy to have one (probably), and he was never cross that line.

Funny, huh, how George made you feel starstruck, and Fred made you wanna kill yourself.

The thing Casey was right was about Fred being hot and charming. He was appearing more times than often in your mind, and for the rest of the week, he no longer popped as a replay of a kiss. Fred was appearing in your mind as new sexy scenarios, things a deep part of you wanted to experiment. And apparently, with him. Yikes.

You tried to convince yourself that those scenarios were with George (had happened before) but, at this point, you knew how to differentiate the two very well. And, deep down, you knew who was the ginger biting your neck and intertwining his legs in yours.

And that infuriated your guts.

"You did that for what?"

Your question echoed to the Great Hall, with a dozen of heads turning to what the little show you were putting on.

It was not your intention to make a scene, but, at that moment, you were more enraged than you'd ever been your whole life. Casey was your best friend, and you knew sometimes she was bold for the greater good, but you doubted that doing what she did was for the greater good.

Because you were feeling like shit.

She had intercepted your owl with your mom's letter about your father's condition. Casey had observed that you were ignoring your mom's messages — last night she went to your dorm room with Jess for a girls night, and ended up finding accidentally a box packed with the parchments unopen.

So she planned on getting your owl before it dropped its letter over you and she managed to sit next to you and starting reading it aloud, without telling you what she was reading.

It was only when she got to the second line of the thing — "they say they are doing everything they can and they don't want to raise our hopes, because his chance of recovery is almost none"— that you realized that it was your mom's words.

You got so angry as never before, shouting at Casey to shut up, and without overthinking, you cast a fire spell on the thing. Thankfully she dropped the parchment before it burned her hands, but that doesn't mean that she didn't get angry at you too.

Jess watched and came closer, trying to find words to say, but she didn't know what was happening and she didn't want to side with anyone.

You felt the urge to cry, but, not in hell, you were doing it in front of the whole school. You gathered your bag and ran out of that place, not looking back — even though Casey was screaming "I'm sorry", and Jessica was asking you to wait.

"Hey, wait up," a voice called, this time it didn't belong to a girl.

You froze at your spot, your feet slowly turning to face the boy following you in the empty hallway. Traitors, you wanted to say to your feet.

"Not now, Weasley," you said, trying hard to look away, but once his dark eyes met yours, you just couldn't bring yourself to walk away.

"Then, when? You need to talk," he pointed out, taking his hands out of his pockets, not yet breaking the eye contact. It was like he knew that he looking at you was the only thing keeping you there.

"You heard the show, huh."

"Just saw you, angrily walking away," he said while you nervously grabbed your bag's handle. "Thankfully, there was no butterbeer in your hands."

His attempt to joke went not as smoothly as he expected. You faced your shoes, biting your lip with the stupid idea that popped in your mind. You knew what you planned wasn't right.

But when he stepped towards you, it felt natural.

"Just shut up, Weasley," you said, before getting on your tiptoes and leaning in to kiss him.

He was surprised, again, but this time he was quick to respond and somehow smarter — he grabbed your waist and guided you to a door that only he knew existed in that hallway.

It was a broom closet, probably the brooms first-years use to train flying.

This time there was no inhibition. Fred's mouth in yours was not going to be enough to forget you fighting with Casey and your mom's words about your dad. You needed more. Thankfully, Fred Weasley was more than pleased to serve, fastly taking your white shirt off while you unbuttoned his pants.

"Are you sure of this, Duff?" he asked before pulling your black skirt up.

"I said shut up, Weasley," you reminded him, in a bossy tone. And in case he tried to open his mouth again, you locked it with yours.

Things were worse than ever before.

After Casey's episode, you hadn't talked to her ever since. She tried, the first few days, but she saw you were ignoring her and with time, she gave up. Jess attempted to convince you to talk to Casey, and for that, you started ignoring Jess too.

Your grades weren't getting better any time soon — Professor Snape was now no longer the only one complaining to you about it. Thankfully, the other Professors were more understanding about it than Severus — the school knew about your father situation.

Oh, yeah. About your parents: since Casey attempt to read you a letter, you haven't touched one yet. And you weren't going to do it anytime soon.

The only person you were hanging out with — by Merlin, you never thought that would happen — was Fred Weasley.

It was easygoing with him because there wasn't much talking to do. He knew better than to ask you anything related to your personal life — even though he tried, a lot.

You two would meet primarily at the Room of Requirement — it usually provided a bed for you, so that was more comfortable than any broom closet. If he ever attempted to make conversation, you'd shut him up with your lips and locking your fingers in his hair — that was his soft spot for sure.

You noticed he was trying to be your friend, more than just a hookup because he was lately scheduling your meetings in places where more people were around — therefore you couldn't just kiss him.

Today, you two were meeting after his Quidditch practice. In his defence, you had indeed mentioned how hot after-trainings sex could be, and that was, probably, where he got the idea.

You were waiting for him in the ground leaned in the entrance to the stairs to the stands, laughing with yourself, because, not long ago, when he mentioned you waiting for him at the Quidditch field, you thought the idea was absurd.

"There he is," you said, placing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, walking side by side with a just showered Fred Weasley.

"You came."

"You said for me to come," you replied, tilting your head towards him and chuckling. It wasn't like you and any other places to be, but he didn't need to know.

"Hey, Fred, what are we..." started George, rushing to Fred's side and gasping at the notice of you. "Oh, hey, y/n."

So nice to have a Weasley calling you by your name instead of the stupid "duff" thing Fred seemed to love.

But that was George — the George Weasley — and all you managed to do was blush and nervously say hello back.

"Well, brother, got do something with y/n first, but, later, we can..."

"— don't bother with me! I'm sure we can hang out the three of us," you interrupted Fred, glad this time you didn't stutter.

Fred practically spat out a laugh, looking at you like you were crazy. "We? With my own twin?"

You pushed Fred by the shoulder, disgusted by the bullshit he had suggested.

"We can change our plans," you elaborated. "That's what I meant, Fred."

George's eyes went from you to Fred, not sure of what to say next. He didn't know what was going on between the two of you — you'd threatened Fred that you'd kill the whole Weasley family if he decided to say something.

"Are you sure? Fred and I can do the prank later."

"It's a prank? Then count me in!" you smiled, pushing Fred's shoulder again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

There was one exact reason why Fred didn't tell you — it's because you weren't interested, especially in personal stuff and principally in pranks.

"Wow, y/n, I reckon I've never seen you so excited," George commented, smiling.

The three of you started walking away from the Quidditch field while Fred mumbled something about him being the reason for your excitement — for that you replied with pinching his left arm.

You had never laughed so hard in your life. Fred, George and you were sitting on the floor of the empty library, leaning your backs against a dusty shelf in the dark corner of the room.

"Did you see his face?" George giggled, placing a hand over his chest where his heart was beating extra fast.

All of the hearts there were beating fast.

It was almost midnight, and by the school rules, you three should be in bed, but the amount of enthusiasm you were feeling was convincing you being a reckless student wasn't so bad.

You were sitting in the middle of the twins, your hands tossed on the floor — the left one just a couple of centimetres away from Fred's. He was watching you, paying very close attention at how the red slowly painted your face back, since it had been white because of all the running from Filch to not get caught.

"Thanks for tagging me along," you said, with a small smile, looking at George.

"Anytime," George said, thinking it was the right thing to do. "You're fun to be around. I see why you wanted to hang out with her, Freddie."

You would've teased Fred about the silly nickname if it wasn't gonna ruin the beautiful moment you and George were having.

Fred watched his twin and you, giggling with each other, talking about random funny stuff related to Argo Filch, but he couldn't hear the conversation quite well. He could only focus on how you were leaning towards George, and how, involuntarily, your hand ran away from his.

"Well, chaps, I've gotta keep going," George announced, getting up and shaking the dust out of his clothes. You pouted, saddened by the departure of your favourite twin.

Fred didn't even breathe, scared that would make his brother want to stay. It wasn't like he was addicted to you — Godric, no! — but he was really looking forward to spending some time with you. Just with you.

"So soon?" you replied, noticing that one prank and you now could speak perfectly well with George. You had no idea why it became uncomplicated, but spending time with him only made you notice what you already knew — he's very different from Fred. "See you later, then."

"See ya," George then turned around and walked out of the library, making sure he wasn't being heard.

As soon as George was away, Fred turned to you, using his hand to bring you face towards him. You allowed it, not really having much choice when he touched you like that.

"Why did want to prank with us?" he asked, looking straight into your eyes.

You shrugged, saying nothing. But something in your expression — maybe the quick thought of George — gave you away.

"George," Fred sighed, surprisingly angry, but not enough for you to notice. His hand fell from your face to his side. "You like him."

"Puff! What? No. What?"

Yeah, your reaction wasn't the best. But Fred shrugged, letting his jealous side hide and acting like a jerk because it was so much easier than caring.

"Are you only with me because I look like him?" he asked, making sure his tone sounded like he was playing with you instead of really curious.

"No!" you replied, faster than you expected. "First of all, I'm not with you. Secondly, no, Freddie," — you used the nickname to mess with him — "I didn't pick you because of George. I picked you because you were there."

Fred stayed in silence, absorbing your answer.

You were suddenly lost in your thoughts, remembering that first kiss not so long ago. And then you remembered all of those lonely nights at the Three Broomsticks, where your only companies were Rosmerta and... Fred.

"You are always there."

"Yeah," Fred sighed, not sure of what you meant with that. However, he was still in jerk mode, and for that, his hand flew back to touch you, this time choosing more sensitive regions, like your belly, particularly, above the waistband of your jeans, a place that Fred had already learned to be one of your weak spots. "So, is now when you're doing what we had scheduled to do?"

You turned to face him, making it easier for him to reach your abdomen.

"Do you only think about that?"

He pretended to be thoughtful.

"Yes."

It came as a hell of a surprise when you were called to the Headmaster's office. You had been doing nothing — aside from escapades with Fred, and trying to get back to your studies, you haven't been doing much — so you didn't stall to see why they needed you.

You were even more surprised when the person awaiting fro you in the office was your mom.

"Hi, sweetie," she tried to smile but failed.

You didn't move since you opened the door and saw her, because her visit probably meant something you didn't want to be true.

"Is he dead?"

"What, sweetie? What did you say?" she asked.

"Dad. Is he...?" you whispered again, not brave enough to say it too loud.

"Oh, Merlin, no! That's why I'm here, actually. He called for you yesterday," she explained, stepping closer to you since you haven't been moving. "I sent you a letter, but you didn't reply, and I was so anxious..."

"Father called me? He said my name?" you were shocked because last time you saw him, he had no idea who you were.

"Yes, sweetie. I guess he remembers you," she smiled. "And me," she added.

"Can I see him?" you were fighting tears at this point.

"Of course, sweetie! That's why I'm here," she smiled, and opened her arms, knowing very well that all you wanted to do was bury your face on her chest, just like when you were little and scared. But this time, all you felt was happiness.

Returning to Hogwarts was hard. Not because you were sad — Merlin, that had been your best weekend ever! You father was almost completely recovered, although now and then he was saying some gibberish.

It was hard to come back because you wished you'd stayed longer with your dad, but your mom knew you needed to finish your school year before anything else.

A conversation that you had with your father kept replaying in your mind since you walked in the school. It was before you left when he encouraged you to enjoy your life because he wished he had enjoyed his more — especially when he thought he was dying, having Death Eaters play with his mind.

So when you saw George in the hallway, you knew you had to do something about your whole starstruck situation.

"Hey!" you called him.

"Hi, y/n," he faced you, a smile appearing in his lips. "Haven't seen you all weekend."

"I had to be away. Dad's stuff," you really didn't want to tell him about it right there. "Anyway... I don't know how to say this, but I've been feeling incredibly confident lately, so here it goes... Would you like to go on a date with me?"

You had no idea how you manage to say it. Perhaps pranking someone together does change a person, but while you waited for his reply, George didn't seem so hard to talk to.

"You want to go out... with me?" he played with his hair while saying it.

"Yep," you gulped, suddenly regretting you recently discovered confidence.

"Okay," he frowned for a second before smiling lightly. "Three Broomsticks, Wednesday?"

"Perfect. See you there?"

He shook his head in response, then turned and walked away. You stayed there, expecting a wave of happiness to come, but it never did. That's odd, you thought, before heading to your dorm, which, weirdly enough, you had missed.

When you pushed the door open, you saw the two figures sitting on your bed, as if they had been waiting for you for a long time. Jess and Casey looked at you as you walked n, with sympathetic smiles on their faces.

"What are you two doing here?" you asked, but you weren't mad. Just curious.

You had missed them too.

"I'm here to apologize. Should've done it sooner, but you didn't allow me," said Casey, getting up and stepping closer to you. "I now know your father is better, but you were right, that letter could have something horrible written on it and had no right reading it."

You stared at her, unconsciously reaching for her hand, anxious to meet her hot touch again. You were still happy, of course, but that talk made you bit sentimental.

"I'm sorry, y/n," she said, allowing you to hug her and hugging you back in the way only she knew how. Jess jumped out of bed and embraced the two of you; although you couldn't see her face, you'd bet she was smiling and crying at the same time.

The three of you stayed like that for a while.

"But, thank Merlin, he's okay now," Casey continued, slowly pulling away from the group hug.

"How do you..."

"Fred told us," said Jess, sitting back on your bed and suggesting you two did the same.

"Fred? Fred Weasley? How did he know?" you were completely startled.

"He asked about you. The three of us were confused because, well, he was right, nobody had seen you," Jess explained. "Long story short, McGonagall told him about your dad, and he told us."

You gulped, taking in that new information. Fred worried about you, that was new. Well, you did leave with no warning, but for a not-a-friend with benefits, you never consider he would care if you disappeared.

"Did he say anything else?" you rounded, suddenly worried he could have told them about your little escapades.

"Should him? Your father is okay, right?" Casey entered a worried-mom mood, and Jess seemed to be concerned too.

"My father is getting better, yes," you replied, but now it was too late. They were curious, you sighed, knowing very well that, as your best friends, they had all the right to know what was going on. "I may — or may not — have started a no-strings-attached relationship with Fred Weasley."

"You did what??" Casey widened her eyes towards you.

You spend half an hour explaining to the girls what was going on in your sex life, and they were good listeners, never interrupting unless you paused. You missed those girly talks so much that you wondered how you managed to spend weeks not talking to them.

"Wait. But your date for Wednesday is George?" asked Jess, clearly confused with the end of your story.

"I never had the guts before," you said, remembering how only the idea of asking George out would've made you weak in the knees a year ago.

"But you like Fred," she stated, convinced she was correct.

"What? No. Why did you...? Merlin, no," you rambled. You thought you had made it clear that being around Fred longer than necessary made your stomach sick and everything.

Jess and Casey exchanged looks as if they knew something you didn't.

"Fred's repugnant. He still calls me Duff, can you believe it? I mean, 'hello, honey, if I'm such the disgusting, ugly friend, why do you sleep with me?' " you said, laughing with yourself, imagining you facing Fred and telling him that. But the girls kept with their suspicious stares. "I did explain what is Duff, right?"

"You did," said Casey.

"Still not convinced you don't like Fred, though," added Jess, raising a brow towards you.

"I don't! Besides, now, I don't need him. I'm going on a date with his brother, and my father is fine. I have no worries," you reminded them, getting up from your bed. "Well, maybe one problem. I still need better grades."

"That I can help," said Casey, allowing her nerdy Ravenclaw shine.

You tried to corner Fred the whole Tuesday, but he seemed to be nowhere to be found, until after dinner, when you approached him when he was leaving. Thankfully, he was alone.

"So you are back," he said, looking you up and down in that way that only he knew. You looked around the hallway, scared that students leaving the Great Hall could hear you two talking, so you gesticulated for him to follow you to the broom closet — coincidently, where it all started was going to be its end too.

"Fred, we need to talk," you said, closing the door behind you and trying to find the light switch.

"You finally realized?" he sounded hopeful, with a playful smile on his lips.

"Realized what?"

He was set back with your response. Fred was thinking of something else when he asked you that, but he wasn't going to let you win. Although you really didn't have any idea what he was talking about.

"Realized you can't live without me."

"HA! Very funny, Weasley," you said, rolling your eyes.

He stepped closer to you, expecting you to do what you generally did in that closet, and, even though, his perfume made you lose your senses for a second (that didn't use to happen before, did it?).

"Well, I brought you here because... You see, we aren't doing this anymore," you swallowed after saying it — it was as if a knife was held in your neck.

He leaned in, looking down at you. His playful smile was long gone.

"You want to do it the right way. I get it," he said, pressing his lips together for a pause. "We could just jump to the fun part."

"Fun part? There isn't a...", but you weren't able to finish. His lips met yours mid-phrase, and as usual, you couldn't care about anything else but his lips.

What was the thing I need to tell him? Never mind now.

Your hands were playing with his hair, but something was different this time. There was still an urge — one that shouldn't be there, giving that you had no problems to forget right now — but you two were acting slowly, appreciating every touch.

When with Fred, you never felt ashamed of your body, but somehow this time you were very self-conscious, afraid that he wouldn't like you. Which was stupid — he had been... with you for too long to now started caring about your form.

What you didn't know what was that, if anything, he was finding you even more beautiful tonight, with the weak light of the closet highlighting every gorgeous curve of your body.

While you two undressed (with his lips away from yours), you were able to remember you shouldn't be there, snogging him and well, about to do other things with him. You had gone there to end this thing.

You sighed, too perplexed at the view of the ginger boy's body. The light was also highlighting his best spots.

A good-bye, you concluded with yourself. You were allowing yourself one last night, before staying away from Fred.

And if it was going to be a good-bye, you were sure you wanted to make it the best yet.

When you asked George out, he had been puzzled, and really scared of what to do next.

You had never jumbled him with Fred before — and after spending so much time with his twin doing Merlin knows what he expected you to never do it.

He thought it was rather cute that you took the first step and asked Fred out. Well, you did confuse the twin, but George assumed you probably were too nervous with your own feelings.

So using his best "hey, brother, this is gonna sound funny" voice, he went to find Fred to tell him that he had a date with the girl he had pining over for the last month.

George had never seen Fred say no to other girls, neither had George seen Fred stay in the castle for a Friday night, then a skip a Hogsmeade trip. You had changed Fred, even though George was sure Fred had not noticed it yet.

"What is it, George?" Fred asked, anxious to leave and meet you, no matter where you could be. He had heard that you had just got back in the castle and he just... he wanted to make sure you were alright.

"y/n, she... well," George nervously giggled. "She mixed us. She thought I was you."

"Really?" Fred was not expecting at this stage for you to mix him with his brother.

"Yeah, and hm, this is funny," George gulped before continuing. "I think she asked you out. On a date."

"She what??"

"Yeah, I guess she was on a rush, because of her father, and she said something about feeling confident," George went on. "Anyway, I said yes because I knew you'd have said yes. It's Wednesday. At the Three Broomsticks."

Fred stared at his brother as if he had solved all the problems in the world.

"She really did that?"

George shook his head yes and pointed out: "Don't mention she mixed us. It will probably make her feel worse."

"Are you sure she thought you were me?" Fred asked, overthinking it.

"Well, of course. Why else would y/n ask me out?"

You had to borrow a foundation from Jess (your skin tones were not so similar, but it was enough) because on the last night, Fred had exaggerated a little.

He never left a mark on his body, but yesterday he had overcome himself. As the brush rubbed the foundation on your neck, you remembered the night before.

"You are mine, Duff," he said, between one hickey and another. "Just mine."

Unintentionally, you lost yourself in thought, your mind continuing its replay from the night before, as you brushed your sensitive skin.

"Only I can make you feel this way; only my touch makes you shiver," whispered Fred, and incredibly, it was true. But he was Fred, and it couldn't go on.

So when it was over, and you both were too tired, you got dressed and stared at him, knowing what was coming next.

"Thank you, Fred, seriously. For everything," he watched you as you gulped nervously. "But this really can't go on. I have a date tomorrow."

"I know."

You were about to leave, but you immediately turned, facing him with wide eyes.

"You asked George out. I know," he seemed sad. And you have never seen Fred sad before. You wanted to do something, but what could you do really?

"Fred, I..."

"Look, you had your good-bye, y/n. You can get out now," Fred said. "Go hide. It's what you do, right?"

"Hey, don't turn this on me!"

"Somehow, this is my fault?" Fred asked while putting on his pants. Although angry, he didn't seem scary. "What you want me to do, y/n? I'm the jackass womanizer, aren't I? Go get the better twin."

"Fred Weasley!" you shouted his name, trying to shut him up. "We were never a couple; don't act as if you care now! Don't act like you're jealous!"

"Why? Because I can't be jealous of you? I can't care about you?" he shouted back.

"Care about me? You call me Duff, Weasley. All the damn time! How am I supposed to know you care about me if you keep reminding me how ugly, fat and disgusting I am?"

Silence fell upon the two of you.

That was the knife in your neck all along. The stupid nickname, it all came back to it. Fred had no idea how much power that nickname had over you.

"I never meant it that way, y/n," he said, gulping slowly.

"No?" you asked sarcastically. "Really? I remember you telling me I have hotter friends."

"But that was before!" he protested.

"Before what?" you asked, but his reply never came. The words he couldn't say died in his chest — buried forever. "See you around, Weasley, " you said, before opening the door and leaving, without looking back.

You shook your head, slowly coming back to reality. The hickeys were enough hidden. It didn't look perfect, but the Three Broomsticks had terrible lighting, so it would be okay.

You wanted to stay in, curled up in bed, playing in repeat your good-bye, and blame yourself for that sadness in your chest, but you were too embarrassed to dump George.

The place was crowded — Hogwarts older students were practically all there, having the time of their lives on the dance floor. You wished George could never find you, so you went to the counter to hide behind a mug of butterbeer.

"Hey there, pretty," said Madam Rosmerta, who have missed you all those nights without you. "Butterbeer?"

"You know it," you said, about to throw her a coin when someone pressed a hand on your shoulder.

"Make it two," he said, and he didn't even need to speak to you know who it was. That cheap perfume was going to be the death of you. "It's on me," he told you, tossing his own coin to Rosmerta who disappeared to get the mugs.

"He's not coming," he added a second later, hating the silence around you two.

"I figured it. When I saw you," you explained, gulping.

Rosmerta brought two mugs back, and both of you took a sip from it, unsure of what to say next.

It wasn't like you two fought last night because you hated each other. In fact, it was probably the complete opposite, but both looked like stupid cowards, afraid of your own feelings.

"Look, I..." he started, but you interrupted him, placing your hand on his arm over the counter.

"Let me say this first," you said, locking your eyes on his. "I shouldn't have asked your twin out. Even if we were just friends; what I did was a jerk move."

"You liked him first," Fred pointed out, trying to defend you from yourself.

You chuckled. "Oh, Merlin, no. I thought he had a pretty face," you explained, tilting your head towards him, and he understood your joke right away, joining in the laughter. "And he seemed like a nice guy. Like, huh, I thought he could treat me nicely," you looked away from his big eyes, facing the shelves with liquor.

"But?"

"What?" you asked him, turning to face him once again.

"I feel like there was a 'but'."

You smiled.

"But you also have a pretty face, and recently, you've come to treat me nice too," you said, and he pressed his lips together while slowly shaking his head up and down. "Well, actually, if it's just between you and me, your face is prettier."

He raised his brows. "Is it?"

"And your body too," you added, just to make him smile.

"Is mine bigger?" he asked, back to his normal joker self.

You pushed him lightly by the shoulder, not hard enough for him to fall off the stool.

"Never saw his, sorry," you decided to tease, and you both giggled.

"I'm sorry. About the Duff thing and all," he said, swallowing. "I kept the nickname because I thought it was cute. If I knew it bothered you so much, I'd have stopped. And I wouldn't have used it during sex."

"I'm okay with it now, I guess," you said. "It wasn't that bad hearing it during sex if I'm honest."

You tilted your head to the left, biting your tongue to not laugh because it was not funny. But Fred just had a way to ease your mood.

You thought silence was going to hunt you two again when Fred spoke.

"Is this the part where you admit you have feelings for me?" he smirked, placing his hands on your knees, relaxing you even more.

"Maybe," you chuckled. "Is this the part where you admit you have feelings for me?"

"Yes," he said, surprising you. "I have feelings for you."

"Well, I have feelings for you too, Freddie," you smiled, passing your fingers through his strong arms.

"You're not gonna forget that nickname, are you?" he faced away while asking.

"Nope."

"Fine by me, Duff," he replied, messing with you too. He then leaned closer, pressing his lips on yours, and it didn't take long for his hands to find your waist and bring you as closer to him as the stools allowed.

"But we are going slower this time, Weasley," you warned, parting your lips for just a second.

He smiled in the kiss.

"It's always better that way," he replied, probably remembering the soft, slow sex from last night because you were sure remembering that too.

You slapped his arm just strong enough for him to pout, but you kept kissing him anyway. When you two kissed, nothing else mattered— it was only the two of you in the world.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley x gryffindor!reader #george weasley #Fred and George Weasley #Fred and George #george weasley x reader #harry potter #the duff

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nestable · 4 years ago

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Feminism in ACOTAR

(This is a bit long so bare with me)

As a politics student and general member of the public who's curious about feminist themes, I've read a lot of feminist writings which have informed my opinion in saying that none of the acotar books can be described as feminist.

I've noticed that the big motivator behind describing the books as feminist is feyres appointment of High lady. Though that may be pivotal in prythian history, we cant ignore the fact that it is still a fairly patriachal society. Having a few women in places of power like mor, amren, feyre etc. Is not enough because women don't grow up on an island and are also influenced by patriachal views or mindsets. In short, just because someone is a woman and is in a position of power, doesnt mean that they will cater to the needs of women or are feminist. Women, especially white women(this is important because sjms writes white feminism) have often gotten into positions of power and actually ignored women and done the same that their male predecessors have done and often threw other women under the bus in order to retain their tokenism status. And the main flaw of white feminism which is the reason why it coined the term 'white feminism' is that it doesnt encompass all the intersectionalities that women reside in and only focus on a western model of what it means to be a woman and anything outside of that is backward and 'barbaric. We see this in the judgement and disregarding of POC's experiences and outlooks on life because they are different to theirs. There are more than enough examples of the white women in the series judging the illyrians which are seen by the fandom as POC's and how they maliciously drag their customs through the mud. Instead of getting these views from illyrian women themselves, we get them from white women who arent connected to that culture whatsoever and who have nothing to say except judgement and critique instead of actually helping.

We see this with the white characters views of illyrian cultures and their conclusion of the condition of women without even having a single conversation with illyrian women. Illyrian women in this set up have no agency and no voice and that leaves the women of the IC to speak for them which is counterproductive. This is wrong in that many western cultures have misinterpreted different cultures and ignored the women in those societies as being disenfranchised and have used this as an excuse to invade and colonize under the guise of liberating women when in actual fact they dont care about the women at all, and are only concerned in reaping the benefits of that culture and keeping them under their control. An example of this is rhys ignoring the treatment of illyrian women but reaping the benefit of having illyrians fight in his wars.

Feyre as high lady

It's unfair to judge feyres actions as high lady as yet because we've barely seen her act, but from the little that we know, she follows Rhys' every action and decision without question. And rhys hasn't done anything for the improvement of women's position socially or economically at all (we all know the state of the illyrian camps) in all the 500 yrs he's been high lord. Apart from Rhys, the inner circle has 2 women in the highest leadership positions and even they havent done anything and have even ignored the plight of women under their jurisdiction, (mor with Hewn city) I dont even think amren cares about anything besides her jewels tbh. So it's fair to assume that feyre will follow in those very footsteps. She already has biased and low views on the illyrians and people who reside in hewn city to the point where she participates in the 'pimp and whore' act that she puts on t deal with them. And we've never seen her speak to illyrian women so to her their voices and autonomy dont matter.

Male feminism in the IC

The only male who can be seen as being feminist in the series is Cassian because aside from simply declaring that wing clipping is illegal, he actually does the ground work to ensure it doesn't happen by offering the women to train with him. Though this is a weak cure for the issues the women face in Illyria, it's a start and far more work than anything the other characters have done in the name of women empowerment.

Another so called feminist figure in the series is rhysand. Why he's described as such defeats me, but I'll go through some points to prove that hes nothing of the sort.

1. He created a library for sexual assault survivors.

Though this is a nice effort, it can't be described as feminism because he doesnt extend the same courtesy to the other women in his territory and is only concerned with women in Velaris. Supporting women who worship you isnt feminism isnt feminism either and we know that the entirety of Velaris see the IC as blameless gods. Based on mors history, its obvious that the women in hewn city are suffering just as much if not more but hes forsaken them to live under mors parents/abusers rule. And creating a safe house for sexual assault survivors isnt as much feminism as it is human decency. Especially considering how much money hes got.

2. Banning illyrian wing clipping

Wing clipping is still a pandemic in the illyrian camps meaning that he didnt put enough provisions to ensure that it stops. Passing a law and ensuring that it is followed are two different things and rhys clearly dowsnt know the distinction. An additional point regarding illyrian women is that it was mentioned in acofas that they were joining the men in rebelling, and if that doesnt say anything about their feelings with him being high lord and how he doesnt cater to them, then I dont know what does. This also speaks to the point of the assumption that women of color dont have agency in their own societies. He said something like the men 'manipulated' the women into joining their rebellion, which insinuates that they can't think for themselves and are completely voiceless and this is a factor of whit feminism, the belief that WOC colour cant speak for themselves and are meek and susetable to being controlled or manipulated. It is a huge possibility that the women can't really express their opinions because they are suppressed by their men, however we dont see rhys interacting with any women and getting their opinion on things. He assumes that they are forced into everything and though we havent gotten the book yet I'm gonna say this is false. The reason being if rhys was such a good high lord and cared for women's issues, why would the women side with their 'abusive' men instead of their so called benevolent high lord?

3. Rhys appointed women in his IC

First of all, appointing women based on merit and qualifications is feminism, not appointing family members and you underaged bride just because 'you love her'. Though mor and amren may be qualified, and that's a massive 'maybe', they haven't done anything to improve the lives of women. Like their high lord they are complacent and Hewn city and illyria are more than enough to prove this. What rhys has essentially done is nepotism and corruption and no one can convince me otherwise.

Going further on the inner circle women, rhys was willing to sacrifice these very women to achieve his goal and this is self serving and anti feminist. The first being abusing feyre UTM and then using her as bait for the attor, then later making a deal with eris even though he knows his history with mor. If anyone believes that these actions are remotely feminist or excusable, then feminism is not for you and need help because its abusive and patriachal.

In conclusion rhys isnt feminist, mor isnt feminist, amren isnt feminist, feyre isnt feminist, azriel isnt even in the conversation and cassian is the only one scratching the surface. Also, white feminism is an exclusive and limited way to portray and execute feminism, women getting leadership positions based on their proximity to men just advances the false notion that women can only succeed if they 'sleep' their way to the top and just because a woman is in a leadership space, thag doesnt make that state of affairs inherently feminist because women are also carriers of patriarchy.

I tried to sum up my points but for more on white feminism, feminist intersectionalites and how being female doesnt make a person feminist, I advice you read Bell Hooks' writings because she touches on these topics in far better ways than I can.

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti feyre #my take on feminism #stop caling female representation feminism #anti sjm #sjm critical

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killian-whump · 3 years ago

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So There’s Something Amiss in Your Fandom...

~ A Guide for Nosy but Well-Meaning Fans ~

Maybe you’ve been a little suspicious. Maybe you’re just kinda curious. Maybe you attended a specific Meet & Greet. Maybe you happened to see a loudmouth on Twitter announcing to everyone that there’s something going on somewhere that she knows and can’t tell you. Maybe you’re completely clueless.

Doesn’t matter. This guide’s for all of us.

(As I was thinking about posting this guide, a friend happened to reblog this post right here, which seemed perfect for illustrating this guide.)

~ So, What’s Going On? ~

I dunno. What’s going on with you?

Oh, that’s not what we’re talking about, is it. No, we’re talking about some clandestine insinuation being made somewhere that our favorite celebrity has a life outside of being a celebrity and that there might be strife and issues in that life at times that makes it difficult for him to provide us with as much content as we might like to be getting. I know; it’s scandalous!

~ No, But Really, What’s Going On? ~

Well. Some people know, but aren’t telling. Some people suspect, but are talking about it privately. Some people have no clue. And ultimately... it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change how you should approach the situation or the ways you can be supportive at this (or any other) time.

But curiosity is also a normal human trait. And when it comes to celebrities, we want to know as much about them as possible. It makes us feel somehow closer to them to know the minutiae of their lives. And when something is going on and some people know it and we don’t... Well, it drives a fan crazy. That’s understandable, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re a terrible person for being insanely curious and wanting to know shit. It’s normal.

That said, whatever is or isn’t going on is none of our business. That goes for both the people who know and the people who don’t know. It’s not our business to know, to spread, to debate about, to opine on, to wax philosophical about, to relate to our own experiences, to police others’ responses to... you get the point. It’s none of our fucking business. We shouldn’t be doing anything with this information anyway... So what does it matter if we have the information or not?

It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter at all. You don’t need to know what someone ate for breakfast to know they’re consuming food on a regular basis, and you don’t need to know what life events are currently occurring in a celebrity’s life to know that they experience the same ups and downs as the rest of us - and life is absolutely full of constant ups and downs.

Besides... Anything even remotely important will be common knowledge eventually. Births, deaths, health issues, relationship changes... All of these things eventually become, well, obvious. After all, it’s kinda hard to not notice a new screaming human or the absence of someone relevant or the gaping maw where one’s face used to be or a new paramour on one’s arm. If it’s important, you’ll know sooner or later. Otherwise... Don’t worry about it.

~ But I Want to Be Supportive ~

That’s nice. No, really. It’s nice. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. The last thing a celebrity wants is 50,000 fans expressing their heartfelt sympathies.

And their heartfelt congratulations aren’t much better. If anything, having thousands of strangers expressing the same “heartfelt” responses tends to cheapen the whole exchange. Like when it’s your birthday, and all those Facebook Friends who probably can’t even pronounce your name right all pile in to wish you a Very Happy Birthday. Do the words even mean anything anymore after a certain point? They could be sending you missives in an alien language and it wouldn’t fucking matter. They don’t care, you don’t care; you’re all just going through the motions because that’s what people do.

~ But I’ve Been There! I Can Help! ~

No, you can’t. Sorry, but you can’t. No matter what your fave’s issue is, literally billions of people have probably been there before. Human lives are pretty predictable. The same shit ends up happening to most of us. Knowing other people have been there before can help in some cases, like if you have a strange growth on your forehead that might be a cannon growing out of your head... but for most life struggles, we all know others have been there. We know they can understand what we’re going through. But we still have to go through it ourselves, and really... No, individual fans can’t really help a celebrity do that.

But fans, as a collective force, can help in some ways. We can be a source of positivity and love. We can support their work and bring in new fans. We can keep our fellow fans engaged and active even through hiatuses. We can give our fave the time, space, and discretion they need to handle their life’s ups and downs on their own. But, most importantly, we can give them an escape from whatever IS going on in their life. What could be more pleasantly distracting than peeking in on your fandom and seeing the absolutely ridiculous antics they’re getting up to in honor of your glorious self?

Celebs going through a rough time don’t want to dial into their fandom and be bowled over by thousands of “I’m sorry”s and “sending love”s. They want to peek in on us and see our fanart and our jokes and our memes and their head superimposed on a gigantic crab taking over New York City or whatever the hell else it is we’re doing today. So the best thing you can do to help your favorite celebrity? Just keep doing what you do best: being a fan.

~ Okay, But I Know, So... ~

So what? Do you want a medal for knowing first? Sorry, but you don’t even get that. I guarantee there are fans who knew before you, but knew how to keep their fucking mouths shut.

If you do know something about a celebrity that you know they don’t want to be common knowledge... don’t talk about it. Don’t tell people you know it. Don’t tell people there’s anything to know. All doing so accomplishes is letting people know you value your “I know something you don’t know” cred more than you value the celebrity’s privacy - and transforming people who don’t know anything’s going on into people who now know something’s going on and desperately want to know what it is. That’s not keeping a lid on things. In most cases, you’d be better off spilling the beans entirely than pulling that shit.

And odds are, if this is something you heard about at a convention - the celebrity doesn’t truly expect 100% discretion. You simply don’t share things at a con - meet & greet or otherwise - that you don’t assume will be shared with other fans afterwards. At most, you ask fans not to share it with everyone (ie don’t post about it on your blog, don’t write a think-piece about it for an online mag, whatever), but you assume they’ll share it with other trusted members of the fandom. In fact, they may even be counting on you doing so as a way to spread the word to their hardcore fans. They literally have NO other means of spreading the word to their hardcore fans without posting things publicly to everyone.

Celebrities don’t tell fans things that they’re not okay with fans knowing. It’s really as simple as that. If they were okay telling you, they’re okay with your bestie who’s an equally big fan but just didn’t attend this event knowing, too. Sorry to have to tell you, but there’s nothing that special or unique about you that made them say, “Oh, this person doesn’t count as a fan. They’re my trusted friend.” Sorry to burst that bubble.

~ The Bottom Line ~

Shit happens. Be a good fan and have fun. THAT’s how you help.

#fandom #kw writes a thing

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tanyawritesstories · 4 years ago

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She Bites | Max Phillips x Siren!Reader

I came up with the strange idea of: what if Max was bitten by another creature? And siren was the natural answer for the reader's creature. I imagined their water form as basically the mermaids (sirens) from Pirates of the Caribbean. Enjoy my weirdness!

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: vampirism (duh), plenty of sexual innuendos, flirting, Max is a bit of a douche, insinuations of murder, blood, biting, fluff, Max and reader are unaware of each other's supernatural identities

•••

Your day at the office started slow but now it was picking up. You had just locked in your fourth sale, and began printing the finalization papers. You signed off on them and stood to walk them to your boss's office. On your way, you passed Andrew, looking the part of a hungover, underpaid college student, like he always did.

"Hey Y/N, you sure you don't want to come out tonight with us?" He asked.

"Um, no thank you, Andrew. I have something planned already," you responded politely.

"Aw, c'mon," he looked you up and down sleazily, "I can make it worth your while."

"Andrew, can't you tell the lady has important plans," the spritely voice from behind you made you tense and turn around. Your boss was standing there with a smug look on his handsome face. "She's been telling me how much she is looking forward to her date tonight."

You looked at the floor sheepishly and you could see Andrew shift awkwardly in place. "You're doing great on that presentation, buddy," Max assured the other man, "Now run along."

Andrew scurried back to his desk and Max leaned against the wall beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. "Are we still on for seven tonight?" He asked with a smirk.

You looked up at him and smiled, nodding. "Absolutely. You're picking me up at my place right?"

He nodded back. "Of course, sweet cheeks. Especially if there's a chance I can come inside after dinner."

You smirked back at him, your tone as flirty as his. "Play your cards right and maybe I'll let you."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh trust me, baby. I've never lost a game."

You took a step closer to him, booping his nose gently with your finger. "Then you should have nothing to worry about." At that, you tucked the papers for him into his crossed arms and walked back to your desk.

Of course you knew what kind of reputation Max Phillips carried. Who didn't. He was the type of person your sisters would call a man-slut. Arrogant, attractive, and brainless. Also the type you thought would make easy food.

Your clan had moved to the city only a few months ago, having come to the conclusion that there wasn't enough food in the ocean. You and several of your mer-sisters had taken to the land, tasked with feeding your family. It was getting increasingly more difficult for sirens to survive, especially out at sea. People didn't travel out on the ocean as much as they did a hundred years ago. Plus, now their boats were made of metal and a lot bigger. Even with super strength and the combined forces of the clan, they were hard to take down. Attacks usually ended with more than a few injuries and only a small reward.

Blending in with the humans was easy. Your tail turned to legs when on land and your slit eyes, fangs, and claws only came out when you attacked.

You had figured out a plan to be able to support the clan for hopefully a long time. If you were able to take control of this company, you could employ the rest of your clan to run the business and any new hires would be dinner. It was easy. Or so you thought. You hadn't exactly anticipated the charming and quick-witted sales manager standing in your way.

You had taken out a few minor employees already, none of them were missed and nothing was suspected. You had used your siren charm to hypnotize them into submitting resignation forms the day before you took them.

You were confused when Mike went missing before you could get him. You thought maybe one of your sisters had gotten to him first, but perhaps he just quit. It was frustrating to think you missed such a good potential meal, but alas you had work to do.

You knew you had to ultimately take down Ted, but Ted was wound around Max's finger. So your current target was Max. You played along with his douchey behavior, falling into the role of the shy, naive new girl that was easy to woo. It had worked thus far, getting you a date with your target victim. You planned on insinuating that you would sleep with him, get him back to your place, and then kill him. It would be easy.

You had managed to conjure up a final sale before you left for the day. You gave Max a wave and flirty wink as you walked by his office. You mouthed the words 'don't be late' before the elevator doors closed.

~~~~

Back at your apartment you had completed putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Minimal, since beauty came naturally to sirens. No matter how they looked, they were always beautiful and always praised for it.

You slipped on the sleek black dress. It was satin with thin straps and a slight V plunge in the middle, exposing a teasing amount of cleavage. You looked good enough to eat. You knew Max would think the same. You grabbed a light jacket and donned it to cover your top half. You heard the doorbell ring and looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes early, typical punctuality. You grabbed a pair of black heels, quickly throwing them on and grabbing your purse.

You found Max with a surprisingly sincere smile on his face when you opened the door.

"Good evening, doll," he greeted, "Ready for our date?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied cheerfully.

He was wearing a nice suit as usual, but he had foregone the tie and waistcoat. Instead having the first few buttons of his shirt undone. It was a very relaxed look for him, and, shockingly, you didn’t dislike it.

You walked to his car, once again surprised when he opened the door for you. You slid in and thanked him. The drive to the restaurant didn't take as long as you thought it would.

Max offered you his arm as you walked in together. You had made the reservation, not trusting him to do it. You let him pull out your chair for you as you removed your jacket. Max only noticed once he was sitting in his own chair across from you. You snatched the wine list and glanced over it. From the corner of your eye you could see him staring unashamedly at your chest where the dip exposed the tops of your breasts.

“Do you have a preference?” You asked. “Anything red is fine with me,” Max answered, his eyes didn’t leave your body even when he knew you were watching him. You scanned back over the list, picking out something simple. “You look stunning tonight.”

You looked up to find Max with a smirk on his face. Willing a blush to come to your cheeks, you looked down at your plate. “That’s kind of you, Max. But I’m afraid you’re a bit of a liar.” He pouted adorably, leaning his elbows on the table. “Nonsense. You’re the most beautiful woman in the office,” he complimented. He reached over and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You knew that was rubbish. Everyone had a crush on either Amanda or Zabeth. If someone had a crush on you it was because of your siren charm, otherwise they hated you because you did your job and got praised for it.

You ordered your food and found it easy to make conversation with Max. He kept up the perfect attitude with snarky and flirty thrown in. You weren’t learning much about him but you were learning his traits. You didn’t expect him to be such a good listener. He hung onto every word you said and asked questions here and there. You almost felt bad for spinning him the entire fake backstory you had made up for yourself. You tried asking him questions but he only answered a few before turning the conversation back to you.

By the time dessert came you had almost run out of fake information and stories to tell him. This was getting tiring, you hadn’t expected him to act like this. Most men couldn’t shut up about themselves, but you hadn’t gotten hardly anything out of him. It was strange, for sure. Max offered to pay and you let him think he was doing you a favor. He stood first and grabbed your coat, helping slide it over your arms and back. His hands stayed on your shoulders and he whispered into your ear.

“So did I play well?” You smirked turning to face him, putting your hands on his chest. “You’ll see, later.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back and led you back out to his car. He drove with one hand, the other was draped over the center console. You figured it was time to answer his question now. You took his hand and rested it on your knee, keeping your eyes out the window. You could hear him turn his head briefly to look at you. You waited until his eyes were back on the road before sliding his hand up your leg a little bit, you let go and allowed him to decide what he wanted to do next.

He took the hint and slid his hand further up your leg, pushing your dress up in the process. He stopped on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing your warm skin. You knew what he was doing, he was teasing you, trying to make you beg. This time you weren’t going to pretend, he would wait until you got home and was inside your room. If you let him live that long.

You made it back home and invited Max in. “Make yourself comfortable, you want anything more to drink?”

You strolled to your drink cabinet, kicking your heels off on the way there, and pulled out scotch for yourself. “I’ll have what you’re having, sweet cheeks,” he said sitting down on your sofa.

You turned, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. You jumped when you felt his chest press into your back, his nose nuzzling into your neck. How did he get behind you so fast? You probably just didn’t hear him. It was unlikely with your acute senses but who knows.

“Can we skip the drinks?” He whispered huskily into your ear. You reached back and ran your fingers into his hair. “You’re eager, aren’t you?” You replied making sure your tone was as smooth as his.

"I'm hungry," he said, "and I wanna know what you taste like." He ended his sentence with a squeeze to your ass that actually made you gasp. He was good at dirty talk, you were almost starting to feel bad about having to kill such a fine specimen.

You turned around in his grasp and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You expected him to try and heat it up right away, yet he surprised you once again. He took the kiss as slow and deep as you, keeping one hand on your ass, massaging it to his liking.

You broke away from his lips after a while of having them locked together, instead trailing kisses over his jaw. He took the break to place kisses and licks up and down your neck. You nuzzled your nose into the flesh of his neck, seeing the perfect moment open up.

You didn't hesitate.

Your pupils became slits, with your fingernails extending into sharp points and anchoring themselves into his suit coat. Your fangs descended into their proper places, now poised for harvesting. You barely registered the feeling of his teeth scraping along your skin before you bit down.

Your fangs pierced his skin with more resistance than you were expecting. However, that wasn’t the strangest thing to occur at that moment. You felt a sharp burning pain in your own neck, right where Max had been licking. Did he...he had just bitten you!

You retracted your fangs and shoved Max away, his teeth having unlodged from your skin. You glanced at your neck where two puncture holes were now steadily exuding blood.

"You fucking bit me!" You shouted.

Max recovered from your shove, his eyes tinged yellow, a smear of blood on his upper lip…and his own fangs.

"Why the hell do you taste like fish!" He yelled back.

You were beyond confused. "What? Doesn't matter, who the hell are you!" You grabbed a towel and quickly placed it over your bite wound.

"Me? Who are you!" He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "Ugh, and why in fucks name does your blood taste salty."

"Usually when I bite people, they die, not complain about how my blood tastes," you grimaced.

"That's what happens when you bite a vampire, sugar tits," he deadpanned.

Your mouth dropped open. Well that explains a lot, but in addition, it made you angry. How were you supposed to take over the company now?

"I didn't know I had a fellow vamp working in my building," he smiled, "Though, that doesn't explain the fishy taste."

You rolled your eyes, heading towards your bedroom to find a bandage. "I'm not a vampire, I'm a siren. Did you honestly think vampires were the only supernatural beings walking this planet?"

Max followed not far behind you, intrigued by your revelation. "A siren, like a mermaid? Where's your tail?"

"I don't have a tail while I'm on land, and no, sirens are much deadlier than mermaids," you informed gruffly. Max appeared to be thinking over your words while he watched you tend to the two holes in your neck. He was unaffected by your bite, his skin having already healed itself.

"Why were you trying to kill me?" He suddenly inquired. You looked over to see him lying back on your bed. He had removed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, comfortable as could be.

"Because my sister's and I need to eat and I don't like killing just anyone on the street," you answered.

"Are the rest of your sisters as hot as you?" He sat up as you crossed the room, watching your every move. You sneered at him, "I figured killing you was an easy way to take over the company, therefore providing my family with a steady food source, and ridding the world of one less asshole."

Max nodded along to your words. "Great idea, sugar plum, but half the office has already been turned. Tough luck," he mocked.

You swore under your breath, "Then there's no point in working for the company anymore. You can leave now."

No wonder it had been so easy to lure him in, he was playing you too. You both fell right into each other's traps.

Max rose from your bed. He walked to you and gave you a teasing smile, pinching your cheek like an affectionate grandparent. "Don't worry, fish lips. Maybe we can work something out," he winked at you.

You pulled away from him and glared as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. "See you at the office tomorrow!"

~~~~

Max hadn't noticed you came into his office as you entered the same time as Evan was leaving. The loud thud of papers landing harshly on his desk made him look up.

"My resignation form," you said, "since my purpose has been...worn out."

Max looked taken aback despite the fact that you told him you would be quitting last night. "Why is that a reason to leave?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I literally just told you, and you know about me when my existence is supposed to be a secret so…" you trailed off.

Max looked to be thinking again, never a good sign. He took your papers off his desk and promptly threw them in the trash bin. "No."

You raised your eyebrows, "No?" He nodded, "No. You happen to be doing the best work here so I can't let you go."

You put your hands on your hips. The audacity of this man! "Huh, right ok. Then I'll just walk out and never come back and there's nothing you can do to stop me," you said firmly. You turned heading towards the door.

"I could tell."

You looked back at Max, who was now standing, hands in his pockets. "Excuse me?"

"I could tell. I could walk out and announce to everyone that you're part fish and all I'd have to do to prove it, is throw some salt water on you," he threatened. You realized as he talked that he was dead serious, and it scared you. "Yeah, I did my research on sirens, believe it or not. I know how you operate," his smile evil and teasing at the same time as he moved to the front of the desk and sat on the edge. "If you stay, your secret is safe with me."

"That's blackmail," you stated obviously.

"Pfft," Max rolled his eyes, "And? Does it look like I'm giving you much choice here, sweet cheeks? You stay with the company and I'll help you, it's a lot easier for me to obtain blood, and I can do it without killing them. I can help you."

You sighed in frustration. What choice did you have? You hated him for not giving you an alternative, but the company wasn't all bad and pay was decent.

"Fine." Was all you said before walking out and resuming your work.

~~~~

Max had stayed true to his word, you had been listening, and he hadn't even hinted that you might be a dangerous supernatural creature to anyone. Maybe he was due more credit than you gave him

You were currently sitting on your sofa, wearing comfortable leggings and a t-shirt, drinking a beer while watching a movie. You were interrupted by a knock on your door. When you answered it you didn't expect to see Max standing on the other side with a cooler in one hand. He was wearing a button up with a black leather jacket and jeans, it was the most casual you'd ever seen him and he still looked so good.

"I brought dinner," he said simply. He unzipped the cooler bag and showed you its contents; four large plastic bags filled halfway up with blood.

"Max!" You whisper yelled. You ignored his smile and pulled him inside by his arm, quickly closing the door. "You can't just show me that, wait till you're inside," you sighed, "Now what do you want?"

"These are for you," he said, "and your family of fishes." He set the cooler down on the counter and proceeded to take the bags of blood and arrange them nicely in your fridge.

"You got that for me?" You asked, skeptical of his sudden kindness. "Yes, I said I would help you, so I am." He grabbed a beer out of the fridge while he was in there and took your place on the sofa.

This man was making a habit out of shocking you. He noticed as you stood shell-shocked in the middle of the room. "Did you really think I wouldn't keep my word?"

You wanted to be mad at him, you desperately wanted to be mad.

"No, I didn't think you would. I thought you were joking," you admitted. You took a seat next to him and took another sip of your beer.

"You wound me, fish lips," he sassed. You sighed, trying to maintain your current mindset of not being mad at him. “Only one thing,” you looked at him, “Can I see your tail?”

Your eyes practically rolled on their own. “Aw, c’mon,” he pouted, “I brought dinner for your whole family and saved your job, it’s the least you could do.”

“You do know that when I’m in the water the tail is the only thing I’m wearing,” you said. You watched as Max’s lips slowly turned upwards into a smug smirk. “You dickhead, that’s exactly what you want!” You took a pillow from the sofa and chucked it at his head, heading towards your room to shut yourself in.

He burst into laughter and got up to follow you. You attempted to close the door in his face but he caught it. Even with all your strength thrown against it he was able to hold it open like it was nothing.

“No, I’m genuinely curious, sweetheart,” he said once he was able to stop laughing. You stopped fighting him once you heard him. He’d never called you sweetheart before, it was normally irritating nicknames.

“I’ll think about it,” you relented. He smiled. “I did bring some of that blood just for us. You want to have dinner with me again?”

For once you found yourself smiling along with Max Philips.

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips x reader #Bloodsucking Bastards #vampires #sirens

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detroitbydark · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 11

Characters: Fox/Mouse (reader), appearances from Hound, Thire, Rule, Mace Windu, Yoda, and Padmé Amidala.

Warning: angst (y’all want me to hirt you right?)

A/N: so get ready to read nearly 6000 words of Fox’s self loathing, the CG being supportive vod, Jedi being Jedi, and Mouse being hurt yet again.

Current

The choices had been fresh ink or gut-rot barracks hooch. Fox chose the ink.

He’s down in the levels, he can’t remember which one exactly, far enough from prying eyes and questioning vod, that was all that had really mattered. The artist, a pantoran with a nice portfolio, was busy laying out the design. He can feel the cool transfer as it’s pressed over his heart and he drags in a ragged breath. This was penance. This was the closure he needed. He’d messed up. For two weeks he’d messed up and now any chance he had was gone along with her.

“You wanna talk about it, man?” The tattoo artist asks as he peels away the flimsy leaving the outline on his skin.

“No”

Two weeks earlier

Fox hates the sterile smell of the hospital, the beige walls, the gleaming metal all around. It reminds him of Kamino and a medbay he’d spent more than enough time in. He was never quite as strong or quite as fast as the other CCs in his batch, men that would go on to bear monikers like Gree and Bly and Wolffe. He made up for it in other ways. His mind was sharp, quick to come to a plan of action, he could think on his feet.

He remembers Sargent Kal coming into the CC classroom one day for a talk on urban combat- something that had piqued CC-1010’s interest from the word go- and how by the end of the lesson he’d ended up the star of the day. His observations as they’d talked through scenarios had left Kal remarking that he was “Sly as a Fox” and that the Triple Zero would be a good place for the likes of him. He was only the second in his batch to earn a name and he wore it around like a badge of honor.

Now he didn’t feel so honorable or so sly. He felt a lot of other things though. The psych droid, a loathsome device of he'd ever seen one, had talked him through what had happened in the Supreme Chancellor’s suite. It had questioned him over and over, maybe expecting the answers to change, about what his part in the assassination of Sheev Palpatine had been. He was tired. He wanted to wrap himself around his cyar’ika and pretend the whole day had been a nightmare.

That was impossible, she was somewhere else in the hospital being treated, shoved into a bacta tank. It had only been Rex’s firm voice that had convinced Fox to let the medic’s anywhere near her. When he’d let them take her limp body away from him-

Fierfek.

The handprint- a bloody partial across the left side of his breastplate, was still there.

“Commander Fox” a familiar voice cuts through the silent world of the room“ Much to think about you have“

He recognizes the Jedi Master, Yoda, immediately. There was no one else the ancient green Jedi could be mistaken for.

“I prefer to not“ being around a force wielder was not high on Fox’s current list of things to do.

“Such Is life”

“With all due respect sir,” he can hear the petulance in his own voice but he has neither the energy nor will to rein it in “I didn’t ask for this life.”

“But given to you it was, nonetheless. Choices you must make with what to do with it.“

Fox is quiet and the small Jedi Master matches it until the door opens again and General Windu joins the pair. Fox meets his gaze and the Jedi nods solemnly.

“Much discussion Master Windu and I have had these last few hours-“

“So it’s back to Kamino then? Reconditioning or Termination?” Fox can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. He doesn’t want to. He wants the world -or at least the two Jedi in the room- to see his pain. To feel it like he was.

Yoda sighs and moves to him, walking stick clicking in time with his steps. He hops up on the cold metal table next to Fox in a way that makes Fox think that the walking stick was not really necessary. He fights the urge to move away.

“A great disservice has been done to you, Commander. No, Kamino is not where you belong, deserve punishment you do not.”

The words burn. Fox is trapped between relief and a slow simmering rage, one that demands he be punished for his inability to protect those most vulnerable. First Fives. Now Mouse. He failed because he was weak-

“Stop” General Windu’s voice is firm. The look on Fox’s face must read pure terror because the Jedi huffs softly, “I don’t need to see inside your head to know what you're thinking. It’s all over your face. Do you know the kind of power Sidious possessed? To fight off that kind of insinuation would have been nearly impossible and that was before the chip-“

“The chip?” Fox attempts to rise to his feet but three green fingers press down on his arm. He looks down at the tired, ancient face of the Jedi Master and sits back down. “What of the chip? What has it got to do in all of this?”

The answer is simple. Everything.

Fox sits in cold shock as the Jedi describe to him what they’d learned of Palpatine’s- no, Sidious’ plans for the clone army. He stops them once to go to the bathroom and vomit. It wasn’t just Tup and Fives and him. It was all his vode. The entire clone army programmed to turn on their leaders, their friends with the utterance of a single phrase. He thinks of the hints Bly had made about his Jedi when they’d last spoken.

For a moment it’s more than he can fathom, and he holds a hand up for quiet. The Jedi allow it. He gives himself a minute, just one, before he pulls himself together, before he sits up straight and pushes the anguish, hurt, and the dirty feelings deep down.

“What now?” The implications of what has happened are finally becoming clear “The Republic can’t know the truth. There’ll be chaos in the streets. They’ll turn against the clones entirely” Fox worries more for his brothers than ever before. If the citizens knew…

“Correct you are, Commander” Yoda agrees..

“It needs to stay under wraps. The only people that will ever know it was anything other than an sudden death by natural causes will be us and the others that were in that room. Skywalker, Captain Rex, and-“

“Don’t say her name” it comes out as a growl, “leave her out of this.”

“There she was, Commander. Secrets she must learn to keep.”

Fox’s nails bite into the palms of his hands, “you won’t-“ he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“We will not force thoughts into her head.” Mace clarifies. “From what I’ve heard of her I think she’ll understand our reasoning for secrecy. Her injuries will be said to come from a mugging. You’ll fill out the report. Wrong place wrong time”

Wasn’t that the truth.

Fox nods slowly, “and what of my brothers?”

“Come out the chips must.” Fox flinches when a green finger taps at his temple, “but uncomplicated and quick it is.”

“We will let it be known that the chips are faulty and to continue to use them puts the clones in danger of having unforeseen medical problems.” Mace’s eyes narrow as Fox scoffs. He raises a brow challengingly, “do you think they’d rather know that they were all ticking timebombs? That at any moment they’d be triggered into mindless killers? Pawns?”

A tense moment passes with the two men glaring at one another. Of course Fox doesn’t think that would be any better.

“We’ll begin rotating troops through the nearest medical units capable of removal immediately.” Mace explains. “We can have the entire Coruscant Guard done by the end of the week and it appears with minimal down time. A day, tops.” He explains.

A quick nod is all the acknowledgement Fox can muster. He doesn’t like the idea of keeping the Guard in the dark and he hates having them undergo any medical procedure even more. He wasn’t the only clone who had lingering emotions when it came to the medbay, not by a long shot.

“I’ll go first.”

The Jedi at his side makes an agreeable hum. General Windu nods.

“As I would expect a good leader to do.”

Fox isn’t sure how much he buys into their approval.

13 days earlier

The official story was that Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine had succumbed to a sudden illness. The holonews was ablaze with stories: from the official release to the tabloid fodder. Fellow politicians waxed poetic on him as a man and a leader, someone who stepped forward when the Republic was in its darkest hour to take control of the chaos.

It was said his last words were, “and sorry I couldn’t give more for my people and the galaxy.”

If Fox’s eyes rolled any harder he was sure they’d fly from his head and ping around in his bucket. Sidious was dead. He didn’t deserve the adoration of billions or the high honors of his burial. He was a hu’tuun. The skanah was better suited as feed for the carrion birds than the marble burial chamber he’s laid to rest in with military honors provided by clones he’d have used as weapons against the very Republic they swore to protect.

10 days earlier

Four days without Mouse and Fox feels twitchy. It’s been over a year since he’s gone more than two days without laying eyes on her. Knowing that she was recently released from the bacta tank doesn’t make it any easier. He’d not wanted to see her floating in the tank for a plethora of reasons, the least of which was his own guilt. That didn’t stop him from setting up a guard rotation at her door as soon as he was cleared to return to duty. It also didn’t stop him from demanding regular updates on her care from the kits he was setting up at her room.

Ryk had been present when she’d been taken out of the tank and said she’d seemed in good spirits as she’d slowly come too.

Wren had gently indicated that she’d love some company while she was on bed rest.

Rule had given him a look that screamed, ‘don’t be a scum sucking piece of nerf fodder.’ As he’d explained that Mous’ika had been asking for him.

She’d been asking for him. Even after everything she wanted to see him.

And he couldn’t do it.

He’d made his way twice to the nurses station before turning and making an excuse to leave.

He couldn’t look at her. Sidious’ words still swirled in his head. even though General Yoda had reassured him that he was no longer under the sway of the Sith, the thoughts still lingered.

You were supposed to use her to fuck your baser urges out.

She’s using you to obtain a foothold in the guard.

She’s fooled you all.

The underlying message was unmistakable.

Why would anyone choose to care for a clone?

Fox almost wishes the headaches would return so he could focus on the pain in his head vs. that dull empty ache in his chest, a black hole behind his rib cage, but he hasn’t had one since both the Sith Lord and the chip were removed from his life.

9 days earlier

Bail Organa is voted into the Chancellorship by an overwhelming number of his peers.

It’s the best choice, as far as Fox is concerned. With Senator Amidala announcing a leave of absence to give birth to the best guarded secret since the clone army, it’s the only choice Fox finds acceptable.

Not like anyone would ask his opinion.

Organa is a good man, even if he is a politician. He’s only ever looked out for the Republic, never given in to self indulgent whims, never taken more than he deserved.

Fox touches the fresh scar on the right side of his head gently as Holonet News continues to replay the new Chancellor's inauguration from earlier. Barely more than a week and everything has changed.

General Windu was correct, medical had been able to get through the entire guard in rapid fire. All of his men were sporting matching scars, many were more than a little curious as to the actual reason their chips had been removed. He’s both insanely proud and horribly frustrated at the theories being bandied about. Some far too close for comfort.

They can never know. Nobody can ever know.

But somehow Bail Organa knows.

He’s only had one meeting, early this morning before the inauguration, in private with the new Chancellor but he’d alluded to things that left Fox speechless. He’d known Bail to have friends in high places, but he hadn’t realized how high.

“Think he’ll do better than the last one?”

Thire hovers in the doorway, unmoving until Fox inclines his head toward the open seat across his desktop.

“Can’t be any worse.” There’s no humor in his tone but Thire huffs out a quiet laugh.

There’s a lag in the conversation, not like one has truly begun, and Fox takes a breath before setting down his datapad and flicking the holo off. “How long have we known one another?” He asks looking up at his lieutenant.

“Long enough.”

“So, you and I both know that you're here for something else and It's not just to make quips about the new Alor.”

“I suppose that’s true” Thire’s face gives nothing away. Fox liked that about the shock trooper. He was reserved, yes, but also pragmatic. A problem solver, not ruled by his emotions. Which was all well and good but something about the way he’s staring makes Fox feel like he’s the problem needing solving.

“Spit it out.”

“Go see her.”

Fox raises a brow in his vod’s direction. “Is that an order”

“Respectfully sir” the corner of Thire’s mouth quirks almost imperceptibly before it falls away.

The little shit.

In reality, Fox had known this one going to come from one of his men. He’d expected Rule or Hound, the more brash and aggressive boys, to be the ones but Thire is not a complete shock. He’d never seemed particularly close to Mouse but the lieutenant did play things close to the chest.

“She had a nightmare last night while I was on watch. Woke up crying your name.”

Inside Fox crumbles. No amount of talking to a psych droid was going to fix that feeling. No amount of time would make him feel ok about what he’d allowed to happen to the woman he loved. Thire continues.

“A clone's lot is not much. They decant us. They train us. They ship us out to fight in their war. We live, maybe. We die, more likely. Nothing is given to us.” Thire runs a hand over his head, fingers scratching at the crown. “Sometimes though, a di’kut like you gets a break. That woman in that bed cried in my arms. Talked to me like I was you for over an hour and I let her. You know why?”

Fox has to unclench his jaw, work past the jealous ache rising up in his chest to respond, “why?”

“Because it’s the closest I’ll ever have to feeling that kind of emotion. I’m not ashamed to say I pulled your girl into my lap, held her close and said soft things I didn’t even know I knew into her pretty hair until she calmed down. I was happy to pretend to be your atin’shebs but you know what the real kicker is, Vod?”

Fox’s hands are like vice grips on the edge of his seat, knuckles pale white as a shinies armor. The thought of Mouse hurting is one thing, but to have someone else be the one to comfort her? It tears at him. “What?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“When she calms down she says, “I know you're not him. Thank you for letting me pretend for a minute”.

7 days earlier

He pretends like he doesn’t know where he’s going. Like talking to the kriffing psych droid really had him so out of sorts he didn’t realize he was getting on a turbo lift and heading up three flights after his appointment.

He tries to act like he doesn’t know his feet are carrying him to the room with the familiar red and white sentinel outside the door.

Rule quirks his helmet before snapping to attention.

“Commander Fox, sir?”

“At ease Sargent.” It's late, well past visiting hours but the few sentient nurses and the droids assisting them make no move to rush him along. Perks of the armor.

Rule relaxes and glances through the small transparisteel window on the door behind him before turning back.

“She just had some medicine.” He explains, “pain was getting pretty bad again.”

Fox’s bucket hides his cringe, allowing him to outwardly remain impassive and aloof, his voice even as he asks simple questions about visitors and any possible issues arising.

“No problems here sir. I think I heard her Doc say something about discharge tomorrow. She’s doing ok” what isn’t said hangs in the air.

She’d be doing better if you were with her

“That’s good. That’s good” Fox agrees, readily avoiding the things left unspoken. “Have you been relieved for dinner?”

“I have a ration bar in my pack sir.”

“Do I need to say it?”

The sunny tone of Rule’s voice tells him everything he needs to know. He can imagine the shit eating grin that accompanies it. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, sir?”

A quick glance up and down the hall shows nothing but gleaming white tile. No staff. No visitors. No one but Rule to bear witness to his moment of weakness.

“Take the night off Sargent. I’ll cover the watch.”

He stares at the emotionless visor for a beat waiting for his kit to argue, for him to make a smart comment.

It doesn’t happen.

Rule rolls his shoulders, stretching slightly as he makes his move past Fox. At the last second, Rule's hand shoots out, resting over Fox’s vambrace. The moment lingers without either speaking until Rule gently pulls the Commander in and knocks his bucket against Fox’s, pressing his forehead to his Commander’s.

Fox, claps a hand behind the sargents head and they sit there frozen for a moment in time, Rule offering more comfort in that one gesture than he’s felt in days. A Keldabe kiss to ease his fragile psyche.

“Alverde.” Rule offers quietly when the pair finally part.

“Sargent” Fox gives a minuscule nod. “Enjoy your night.” He watches the youngster head down the hall until he turns a corner and is gone from sight.

Fox manages to avoid looking in the room for five minutes exactly. He’s able to fight off the pull to enter it for another twenty. The draw of her is too much in the end and he finds himself slipping into her room before the first thirty minutes are even past.

The lights are low and the monitors and electronics surrounding her hum and buzz steadily. Everything is white and stark. His cyar’ika is nearly the same color as the sheet she lays under.

She looks small, and so achingly fragile Fox is afraid the weight of his look alone will break her. She shivers lightly and he lurches into motion, dragging the itchy comforter over her legs and tucking it around her shoulders. Her body stirs as his gloved hand grazes along her cheek.

He freezes as her eyes flutter open. Her pupils aren’t quite right. It seems to take her a moment to piece together what’s going on but when she does the realization that washes over her is visible.

“Fox” his name sounds like a long lost friend rolling from her lips. She struggles to sit up. A look of pain flashes across her face as she twists under the blankets.

“Stop that” he demands impotently, his gloves moving to press gently against her chest. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

She blinks owlishly up at him in the way only a person on good pain meds can, like she doesn’t quite understand what’s been said and she’s not sure whether she should comply or question it. It’s somewhere between bemused and scared.

He cups her cheek in his hand, “easy precious girl.” He soothes. Mouse relaxes into his touch as his gloved thumb rubs softly. Her eyes flutter shut and he can feel the soft sound she makes against his palm.

This was already far past what he intended. He just wanted to see her, to prove to himself she was really alive and in one piece despite him.

Now, he finds himself already slipping into old habits.

More focused, her eyes open. Her hand slips up and grips his vambrace. Slowly she pulls his hand away from her face. She lets her fingers slip down into and through his. Her voice is thick with sleep when she speaks and Fox has to lean in to hear her.

“I knew you’d come”

Of course she had. Fox wonders if she knew him better than he knew himself. This was always going to happen no matter how many times he’d lied to himself. He pulls his hand away. Mouse’s hangs empty in the air for a moment before she sets it down over her chest.

The quiet burr and hum of the monitors around her are the only sound between them until he reaches up to his bucket and lets the seal pop with a soft hiss.

Her eyes scan his face as he sets the helm off to the side. There’s a question there he can’t decipher. “What can I do?”

A harsh laugh escapes Fox’s lips and Mouse frowns at him.

“I think you’ve done enough, cyar’ika.”

“Fox-“ it’s a scolding tone that holds no weight when she looks like a battered doll in a too big hospital bed. She closes her eyes when he doesn’t give in and offer her more.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge of it. “I just wanted to make sure you were, ok. Alright?” He holds back from touching her again. It takes an enormous amount of will.

“I’m ok, Fox. Because of you.”

It’s a lie. All of it. It can’t be anything else. “You're in a hospital bed,” he growls, pushing up to his feet and stalking toward the window. He can’t look at her. “You spent days floating in bacta. You-“

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not because of me.”

He hears the ruffle of sheets as he looks out over Coruscant. The lights of the buildings and speeders in the sky lanes, like stars in the polluted evening light.

“Fox-“ her hand touches his arm and he spins to steady her. Anger swells up in him.

“Kriff- Mouse, get back in bed” he orders lowly, “you’re going to get hurt.”

She sways gently on her feet in the too big hospital gown but her jaw is set, “will you listen to me?”

“Will you get back in bed?” Fox pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before looking at her again. “Get back in bed and I’ll listen. Please.”

Mouse stands, arms crossed, glaring pointedly. Fox has had enough. Quick and smooth like a tactical insertion he scoops her up. Mouse makes a small noise as his arms slide behind her knees and his other arm cradles behind her shoulders. She breathes heavily as she looks up at him.

“You’re going back to bed.” He covers the small room in just a few steps. When he goes to set her down she slips her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life.

“I’m not getting back in that bed unless you come with me.”

“You’re not in the position to make demands.” But that’s a lie because, with him, she was always in the position to make demands. She just never had to.

“Please, Fox. I just want one good night. You can leave as soon as I'm asleep.”

It’s hard to say if it’s the tired tone of her voice, the smell of her skin so temptingly close, or just his own beaten down need to be close to her, regardless Fox gives in.

“The armor stays on.” He says as he settles into the bed, he tries to keep his boots off the bed the best he can. Mouse curls tighter against him. It can’t be comfortable against the plastoid but to look at her he’d never know. One hand rests along his jaw while the other wraps around his back keeping him from easily disentangling himself.

Fox can’t help himself as he slips one glove off and cards his fingers through her hair, stopping every so often to work out a tangle. Mouse sighs against him.

“Precious girl,” he hums lowly as her fingers trace along the stubble at his jaw, “go to sleep.”

“You're going to leave once I do.”

“Yes, that was the deal.”

“You’re not going to come back.”

Again, he’s struck with how well she knows him. “No, cyar’ika. I’m not.”

6 days earlier

His knuckles are wailing in pain and it feels so kriffing good. His hands, wrapped in protective tape are held tight and safe as he tenderizes the heavy bag in front of him. A low, guttural growl works its way up from his chest with each landed blow.

It’s the first time he’s felt in control in days. Even if it only lasted for his duration in the sparring rooms he didn’t care. When he closes his eyes he doesn’t see Mouse at the end of his blaster, the way her body recoiled and convulsed at the first shot. He doesn’t hear the scream that rips through her when the second bolt burns through her side. He doesn’t dwell on the voice in his head demanding the kill while Fox did everything to drag his near perfect aim away from center mass.

He pictures Sidious’ face on the bag and the pile of sloppy mash his fists were making it into. There’s catharsis in the exertion that a psych droid couldn’t give him.

“Commander, sir?”

Fox turns to see Hound stripped down to just his black under armor pants. He was a burly boy as far as clones went, thicker and more muscular through the torso, next to Hound, Fox looks almost lithe.

Fox pants lightly as he dips to grab a bottle of water and straighten back up. “What can I do for you?”

“I- do you need to-“

Fox watches as the man chooses his words carefully, finally gesturing first toward the mat.

“You wanna go a few, rounds? Looks like you could use it?”

A roll of tape is flipped through the air in answer. Hound catches it smoothly, giving Fox a happy grin as he begins wrapping his hands.

5 days earlier

There’s a neat hole in his wall, fist sized and fresh, less than a week old. Fox pretends like he doesn’t see Chancellor Organa eyeballing it with some amount of apprehension. What he can’t pretend is that a visit from the newly minted Chancellor to his office isn’t a surprise.

“Commander, you can drop the title with me.” The Chancellor says for the second time since his arrival.

“Sir, it’s frowned upon-“

“-not by me”

Fox huffs and closes his eyes to hide the roll of them. “Ok, fine. Can I get you something to drink? Some caf?”

Bail waves off the offer, “I won’t be long and it looks like you're woefully underserved.” He tips his head back toward the door and the empty desk.

A bristle of irritation tingles down Fox’s neck. “She was in the hospital. She was…” the words trail off. Part of protecting his little Mouse was keeping her involvement in the Sidious event quiet.

“I know, Commander.” Bail says quietly, “we share a friend on the council who’s made me aware of many interesting things.”

It feels like he’s being baited. He likes to think Organa wouldn't try to try to weasel information from him but his trust is a very delicate thing at the moment and he’s not willing to give an inch. His loyalty is to his men and the republic, after that only one other person had earned any devotion from him and that was not Bail Organa. At least not yet.

“If there’s anything I can do for her, anything she needs we can make that happen.”

Fox glances at the picture on his desk. It had come by courier earlier in the day. It’s been neatly matted and framed to be hung, a children’s drawing of a small green twi’lek child and him holding hands. He’d stared at it on his desk in silence for far too long before he felt something ugly bubble up. Now he had a hole in the wall. He hoped the picture would cover it.

Fox continues to look at the picture. He needs a second to pretend like he knows what Mouse needs. He doesn’t listen to the nagging voice inside of him saying it to him. He hates that voice, would smother it if he could.

“She needs time to heal.”

“I can make that happen.”

“Thank you.”

Earlier this day

“Senator Amidala” Fox greets the senator at the door, “this is a surprise. If I keep receiving politicians in my office I’m going to have to have it made more suitable.”

The senator gives him a bright smile, “it’s good to see you Fox.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “it’s good to see you too Padmé.”

They were friends, of a sort. They’d seen enough together that Fox would gladly file her under battle buddies in his short list of friends. She looks lovely, as always, absolutely glowing. Her hand rests softly over the growing baby bump she was now proudly displaying.

“You look wonderful. Congratulations on the coming Ik’aad.” He offers gesturing toward her belly. His eyes linger and he remembers laying Mouse across his bed, placing kisses in a ring around her naval and imaging what it would be like someday when he-

Fox gives his head a quick shake and refocuses on the senator.

“Thank you.” He watches her eyes travel to the child’s drawing on the wall behind his desk before returning to him. “And how are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected. Chancellor Organa keeps a busy schedule and he’s insistent that I go with him. He’s got a lot of ideas and he asks my opinion. It’s different… but it’s nice.”

Padmé slips into the chair across from him.

“That’s wonderful” but she doesn’t sound like it’s wonderful. She sounds like she was here on a mission that he hasn’t been briefed on. He raises a brow at her. They’ve known each other long enough that she should know to just come out with it.

“We’re leaving for Naboo today. I want to have the baby in the lake country. It’s beautiful and peaceful.” She lets out a tired laugh, “and far away from the prying eyes of the holonet news.”

“They’ve been very… interested in you as of late” he offers diplomatically.

Another small laugh, “to say the least” Padmé sobers. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok with her going?”

Confusion must show on his face. Her?

Padmé frowns gently, the look of pity is out of place on her serene features, “you weren’t told, were you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to speak clearly.” Fox tries to bite back the tension but it slips into his voice.

She says Mouse’s name. Her real name.

“The Chancellor asked if we would take her with us. That she needed a place to finish recovering.” Padmé is watching his face. She’s trying to gauge his reaction.

He tries to give her nothing.

“She’s an amazing woman. She said if she went then she had to be useful. She’s going to be my assistant while I’m on leave-“

Fox holds up a hand. “She’s excellent at what she does. You’ll never be in better hands.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not her keeper. Mouse deserves to be safe and happy.” He shoots her a forced smile. “That’s not with me.”

Current

He had the rancor etched into his arm after Thorn had been killed in action on a mission Fox was supposed to have led. It was an inside joke they’d heard as shinies. Something about a Jedi and a rancor walking into a cantina. He can’t remember the punchline. It wasn’t funny anyways.

The Pantoran works the needle over his freshly shaven chest. Back and forth, outlining and filling. Pressing the ink into his skin to permanently mark him with another mark of regret, penance. Everytime he looks in the mirror, stripped down from his armor and his blacks he’ll see the reminder of what never was supposed to be, the thing that he went after when he knew it wasn’t allowed. The love that nearly destroyed the person he cared for beyond all others.

“So, this picture is pretty wicked” the Pantoran says conversationally. He glances back and forth from the reference picture Fox gave him, a partial hand print pressed against his armor, the fourth and fifth finger only partially visible and the heel of the hand smeared red. “Was it done in ink?”

“No. Blood.”

The Pantoran makes a sound of understanding. The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the quiet.

Seconds, minutes, hours it’s all the same as Fox sits still as stone in the chair, the press of the needle intimately familiar.

He thinks of Mouse on a shuttle to Naboo.

This was what he’d needed. Mouse far away, somewhere safe. Somewhere no one could hurt her. Where he couldn’t hurt her. No matter what he’s told he still doesn’t believe there isn’t something in him that can be persuaded, to be flipped on, that won’t harm her.

He needed to focus on his job, his men, the Galactic Republic. There was no world in which he and Mouse would work and it was better that she wasn’t there to know that.

“Alright, mate.” The Artist sets the gun down and claps his hands once before rubbing them together. “You’re all set. Why don’t you take a looksy in the mirror while I grab the bacta gel and a dressing?”

Fox nods and pushes himself up. His back is stiff from laying still and he takes a moment to stretch and twist before stepping in front of the mirror. His eyes trace the ink. It’s a perfect replica of the picture, deep vibrant red fingers pressing into his armor, only now pressing into his heart. A reminder of what happens when he becomes selfish. When he wants more than the greater design allows for.

“It’s perfect.”

#fox and mouse #commander fox/reader #cc 1010 #commander fox #fox fanciers #tcw

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Text

You Look Nervous.

David (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: Implied sexual content (very much implied) .

Requested by @theeblueehazee : "I have a request if you're still taking them? It's another David request because I'm vampire trash basically lol maybe a story about David really liking or evening the reader, and he wants her to meet the guys. But he's super scared of them embarrassing him in front of her or afraid that they'll scare her, period, because she's a nice but really shy person? So David makes the boys swear to be on their best behaviour but Paul and Marko don't know the meaning of it lol I just love your stories!❤❤

A/N: I'm glad you like my stories! That really makes my day 😅💛 and thank you for requesting! I hope this works for what you had in mind❤

Masterlist

"Stop picking."

I look up at the blonde biker as he reaches a gloved hand over, taking mine in his as he tries to pull my fingers from my sleeves, smiling slightly as he gives me a reassuring look, though there's something off about his behaviour. As usual, he stands leaning against his motorcycle, a cigarette between his lips as he watches the crowd, but his demeanor seems tense, his eyes flicking over the writhing hoard of people almost nervously, neck muscles taut as he cranes his head around, as if looking for something, or someone.

"Sorry." I reply quietly, casting a look over his posture again, my brow wrinkling in confusion.

Noticing my gaze, David fixes his piercing eyes on me, cocking his head a bit as he exhales a breath of smoke, eyebrows drawing together curiously.

"What?"

"Oh, well, you look kinda nervous." I inform him, biting my lip as I turn my gaze away from him, worried that I've brought up something I shouldn't have, my free hand instinctually lifting to my face, where I start to chew on my fingernails, trying not to wince when I accidentally catch one of the already bitten-down ones.

"I do? How come?" The platinum blonde queries, visibly adjusting himself, though this only proves my theory.

I go to reply, only to be cut off by the sound of loud motorcycle engines revving to my right, the blonde to my left tensing again, his jaw clenching barely noticeably as he catches sight of the riders, my own gaze turning to the newcomers. Upon seeing them, my eyes widen, weight shifting inadvertently onto the balls of my feet, as if ready to up and leave.

The closest is a tall, tanned brunette with dark eyes, his expression seemingly neutral as he makes eye contact with me, barely reacting to my presence at all, his quietness as well as the fact he is shirtless beneath his leather jacket slightly unnerving me despite the very brief flash of a smile he sends my way. Just behind him is a shorter blonde with curly hair, a broad smirk plastered across his face as he catches sight of me, his doe eyes boring into me with a mischievous glint, eyebrows raised at my presence. As if mimicking me, he lifts a thumb to his mouth, where he starts biting at it, keeping eye contact the entire time, even as he leans back to speak to the last of them. This one is a lanky Twisted Sister lookalike, his dishevelled hair and choice of attire leading me to think this, though my mind briefly short-circuits when I notice him blatantly raking his eyes over my form, the action drawing a deep blush to my cheeks as I shift again, pulling the sleeves of my jacket over my hands in slight discomfort. Seeing this, David moves so he is standing closer to me, gently pressing his chest against my back reassuringly, his hand at my hip protectively. Looking up into his face, I realise he is carrying an odd expression, as if warning the others of something.

"Damn, who brought the eye candy?" The Twisted Sister lookalike remarks in way of greeting, winking suggestively at me as he dismounts from his bike, lip between his teeth, "I'm Paul, by the way."

Swallowing, I try to fight the rising blush again, leaning back against David as much as possible for support, the solidness of his chest behind me reassuring me a little.

"(Y/n). It's nice to meet you." I make the mistake of offering him my hand to shake, surprised when the other, smaller blonde skips in ahead of Paul, scooping my hand up and lifting it to his lips, which he then uses to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. Shocked, I withdraw my hand quickly, the action far too intimate to have come from a complete stranger. Behind me, I feel David's chest vibrate as he lets out a cautionary growl of sorts, both of the other blondes giggling at this.

"I'm Marko." The short one informs me, taking my hand in his again as he uses it to pull me forwards slightly, Paul quickly slinging an arm around my shoulders as I'm helplessly dragged in towards them. I stiffen as I feel Paul nuzzle at my neck, the blonde deliberately sniffing at me, his breath hot against the skin there, though I don't feel it long, my instincts kicking in as I pull away again, accidentally knocking into Marko, who steadies me against his chest, drawing a surprised squeak from me as he smirks down at me.

"She smells great, where'd you find her?" Paul comments to David, whose jaw is clenched, his muscles rigid as he watches this exchange, reaching out to gently pull me back to him, wrapping an arm around my waist again, fingers pressing into me slightly in anger.

"Aww, come on! We won't bite..." Marko teases, bursting into a fit of giggles with Paul at some inside joke until their companion gives the latter a clip round the ear.

"Hey! I didn't make the joke!" He protests, rubbing his head a bit, clearly a bit disgruntled after this, though his friend can barely control himself.

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve it." The brunette points out, rolling his eyes in exasperation at the other two before turning back to me, "I'm Dwayne. It's nice to finally meet you, (Y/n), we've heard a lot about you."

"Y-You have?" I manage, still a little shaken after my encounter with the Terrible Two, surprised that they've heard about me at all: David doesn't seem like the type to share his feelings, seeing as he's barely told me anything about himself anyway.

"Oh yeah, we've heard all sorts." Marko butts in again, lifting an eyebrow at me as I feel my eyes widen.

"Yeah, David won't shut up about you." Paul chimes in, smirking at the platinum blonde behind me, who quickly tells him to shut up, though using much more colourful language to convey his point.

"L-like what?" Internally, I curse myself for stuttering again, knowing it's not helping my case at all.

Paul goes to respond, a smirk already pasted onto his face, only to be cut off by Dwayne.

"Nothing bad, don't worry." He confirms, looking over my head at David, who appears to send his friend a grateful glance, his icy blue eyes clouded with annoyance at the other two.

"Except that you're a bit quiet which I now see is totally true." Paul butts in again, chuckling and reaching over to tilt my head his way with one finger, admiring the deep red tinge of my cheeks, "You don't have to be. In fact, we know the perfect way to get you more...vocal."

At the insinuation behind his words, I flinch away from him, looking down as Marko and Paul erupt into fits of laughter, the two of them high-fiving each other triumphantly. A sharp crack and a grunt of pain informs me that Dwayne has once again delivered a whack around the back of each of their heads.

"Just shut up, will you? Show some respect." Dwayne scolds them, brow furrowed in irritation.

"Come on, (Y/n), let's go get some food." David finally says, having stayed quiet almost the entire time, except for the noises of anger that he let out every now and then, body becoming tenser and tenser behind me.

"Ok, sure." I agree, going to turn away from the others with a thankful smile at Dwayne, who seems the most controlled of all of them.

"Enjoy your bite to eat! Make sure you get something you can really sink your fangs into!" Marko calls after us, his laughter cut short by a screech of pain, Dwayne having finally stepped in, dragging the two troublemakers off by their ears. Beside me, David visibly stiffens, eyes closing momentarily, though I could've sworn I saw them flash yellow a second ago, the platinum blonde doing his best to remain calm as he directs me someplace else, clearly eager to get away from the others.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n), I wanted you to meet my friends tonight, but I didn't realise they'd behave so badly around you, though I guess I really should've seen it coming." David apologises, taking my hand in his as we walk, giving me a guilty look, "They're good friends when they're not being so inappropriate."

"It's fine, though I think they'll take some getting used to." I reassure him, squeezing his hand gently.

"I guess. That doesn't excuse their behaviour, though." He responds, frowning again, "I'm sorry, I should've warned you."

"About them being so physical, maybe, but not about them being typical friends. I'm sure I'll come to like them in time." I say to him, carefully coming to a halt beside the rear of one of the food stalls lining the Boardwalk, having figured something out, "That's what you were nervous about, wasn't it?"

"Hm? I wasn't nervous." David scoffs, smirking at me.

"You were! You were worried about how I'd react to your friends, weren't you?" I prompt him, crossing my arms over my chest with an unusual confidence I don't often feel.

"Of course I wasn't!" The blonde goes to argue, only to catch sight of my expression, rolling his eyes in defeat, "Fine, I was a bit concerned about how they'd act, and then about what you would think of them, but not a lot!"

"Sure, keep telling yourself that." I tease, squeaking when I suddenly find myself pinned against the wall behind me, his muscular body pressing into mine as he leans in close.

"Say that again, (Y/n)." He growls into my ear, his smooth voice making me shiver in anticipation as his breath fans hotly across my skin.

"Keep telling yourself-" I try to repeat myself, only to let out a quiet gasp of pleasure when he starts kissing at my neck, mouthing at my sweet spot as my hands snake around into his hair, his own gripping my waist, pulling my hips into his.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" David purrs against my jaw as he licks a stripe up the column of my neck, before he presses his lips against mine, deepening the kiss as soon as I reciprocate, knowing I won't be able to reply now, smirking against my lips in triumph.

What I didn't know (and wouldn't know until much later) is that he had made the boys swear to behave, only to feel a surge of possessiveness come over him when he sees Marko and Paul completely disregard their promises, now feeling the need to make it well known who I belong to, even if that means risking my dignity in public.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#kiefer sutherland #marko(the lost boys)#santa carla #star(the lost boys)#request #ask #answer #answered

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himooonlight · 4 years ago

Text

who are you? pt. 5 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader

word count: 3.3k

plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him

warnings: death. lot of angst.

A/N: happy new year, everybody! I watched the show for the 5th time and I noticed some dahlias at Emily’s house so…… yeah, my imagination was running wild for this. Hopefully I gave you guys some answers with this chapter. Hopefully; who knows?

here's chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3 and chapter 4.

1922

The stage was huge and the curtains were embroidered with CC's. Caleb Covington. The magician everyone was talking about. He wasn't just the talk of the town, no; he was all over the newspaper in different states.

In the theater the decorations were either black or gold and the tall man standing in the center was wearing a velvet suit and sparkly shoes. His whole persona and aura were screaming for attention and validation, insinuating how narcissistic and egocentric he was. Because of that, no one could look directly at him without feeling uncomfortable and scared - that's why working for him was like hell on earth; not only because he would make insane demands like finding an enormous glass box in the middle of the night, but also because he wasn't very nice.

His four personal assistants were holding heavy chains, not very sure if that was a good idea. Everybody was tired, irritated and a little terrified, even though they would never say that out loud.

That their boss was mad. And he for sure was.

- This is bigger than us, I can feel it. People will talk about me for centuries!

Nobody dared to say a thing. They just kept doing what they were supposed to, wondering if this trick wouldn't be too much, questioning where the firefighters were. Even in rehearsals, everything had to be as safe as possible. Caleb, however, was eager to try out this escape idea, saying that the rest of the time was already on their way and that they could go ahead and start.

One of the assistants was pouring alcohol inside the box, while the other three were getting the chains tight around the magician's body. When five locks were put in place, the only thing missing was the blindfold and the fire.

- And now, let's burn. - Covington said. Against his better judgment, the assistent lit up the platform around the box, watching the dancing flames reflect on the glass. Going back to the audience, the four assistants sat there in silence, scared for their own life.

Caleb didn't wait. He got inside the box with the blindfold and no way to break the chains or open the locks. The box could only open from outside and nobody could get near it because of the fire. And the alcohol inside sure was a deadly combination too, of course. But Caleb Covington was always right, always sure about his odds.

Until he wasn't.

When the rest of the crew got to the theatre, Caleb was already inside the box, struggling to get out. He still had one minute to go and the firefighters were ready to help him out.

Covington didn't think it through; the alcohol wasn't cold and it was more flammable than he thought, so when the glass box exploded, not even the firefighters could save his life. He didn't make it to the hospital and the police couldn't really blame anyone, especially not the assistants for doing their jobs.

Caleb Covington died a horrible death, performing one of his magic tricks.

And while he was burning, he blamed others for not getting it right. He was too perfect to be mistaken, so he died thinking he would find a way to be bigger, better and eternal.

Caleb Covington died wanting revenge, eternity and power.

Still, he died.

1974

The year of 1974 was a roller coaster for Lily Peters. Her baby boy was born and the world was somehow brighter because of him. Somehow darker too.

His cute little nose brought joy to her heart and his tiny hand would hold her finger like if he were to ever let go, everything would fall apart.

The roller coaster started going down when he, in fact, did.

- Listen to me, Lily. - The man said. His tone was low and his eyes were pleading for understanding and compassion. He wanted a family, of course, but everything was so complicated. He just couldn't turn around without trying one more time. - We can move to a different city if you want. We deserve a happy life, don't you think? Together.

Lily was young. Reckless wasn't really a word to describe her; instead she was smart, passionate, dedicated and bright. Incredibly bright. So when she got home eight months prior with red eyes and shaking hands, her parents didn't comprehend the syllables she was mumbling. Sounded like the world was ending or someone died.

When "I am pregnant" left her lips, they were surprised. Both of them couldn't think of a single thing to say. Out of shock, they held her, petting her long hair and crying silently with their daughter. The tears weren't a result of a heavy heart or disappointment; the tears were based on joy, love and gratitude.

For both of them, at least. To her, not so much.

The baby boy's dad was an amazing man. He was a journalist known for being honest yet gentle. His articles and photos were always delicate and strong. He was always smiling, always being nice to strangers, always believing in something, in someone. He was also a dreamer; a very realistic one, for that matter. He would dream with his head up in the sky and feet on the ground.

It was hard for him wrapping his head around what Lily was saying. Maybe it was because he was older than her, but he just couldn't see things from her point of view.

- I've made up my mind. - Lily said. She kept going down and down, afraid she wasn't going to see the light again. Her decision was a blind intent to make the roller coaster to up again. - I can't keep him.

Her parents were strongly against the idea of giving the baby away. None of Lily's friends knew about the pregnancy, so there was nobody else to beg her to see things clearly. She could stay in college and still be a mom; she could have a beautiful life with her beautiful son and be happy. There was no reason to fear what other people would say; her son's presence could cure her heavy heart of any nasty remark or malicious look.

Lily was young and she made a bad choice; one that she would regret forever. But no one could blame her for not knowing better until she knew better.

- Well, I can. - The man replied. He was crying, holding his son carefully and wondering how could anyone give up on him. - I am going to keep him and be a great father to our son. He's going to be an amazing person and I'm sorry that you won't be there to see it.

It wasn't an easy decision. 1974 was the year of California Jam, when people could be audacious and careless in a crowd, but scared and small inside of their own houses. Lily was feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities of parenthood, of her own being and all the life she would have to forget. She wasn't ready, but her son couldn't wait.

- Lily, darling, are you sure? - Her parents were merely observers. They wanted their grandson around, they wanted to see him growing up, going to school and smiling. They wanted everything they could get, but it was Lily's choice and being a parent didn't give them the right to make choices for their daughter. - Is this the right decision?

The words couldn't come out, so she just nodded. The sad journalist nodded too, understanding that he was now on his own. Well, at least he wasn't alone and his soul was satisfied with his decision: he could never say that he abandoned his own child. That's something he would never forgive himself for.

The baby didn't wake up with the comotion and Lily thanked the heavens for it. If she saw his pretty green eyes she would've turned around and begged them to stay.

Ray instinctively smiled at his mom for the first and last time, still in his sleep. Lily cried when both of them left the house, wondering if she was right.

- We're going to be fine, Ray Molina. - The man whispered to his son, kissing his forehead. - You are the love of my life.

1993

- Hi. Do you have a name or can I call you mine? - Reggie's friends started laughing, embarrassed by his lack of filter. They didn't understand that their friend's words were natural, almost like an instint. Reggie didn't feel that intense connection with anyone there at the book club; let alone with someone he never met before. - Maybe I went too far with that one. I think I have the right to remain silent.

There he was again, using humor to hide things.

Reginald Peters was a scaredy cat with a very believable mask: funny remarks and the I-am-stupid façade. His personality was joyful and light, used to hide all the years his mom mistreated him and his dad ignored his existence. Reggie knew he was born to save their marriage, but it was doomed a long time ago, with no saving at all. The boy grew up with no sense of hope for romantic love and no understanding of self preservation.

And none of that was his fault; his longing for parental support or the lack of ambition in his educational life. Reggie had no one to appreciate him, to build him up, to be there for him unconditionally. That is until Luke and Alex showed up.

And then Ethan.

- Reggie, you have the right to remain silent. What you lack is capacity. - Alex said, making Luke laugh even louder.

People started asking them to keep it quiet, to what both of them complied easily - they loved the snacks there. The boys went back inside to grab something to eat while Reggie and Ethan stood there in the backyard, looking at each other, trying to understand their feelings.

It wasn't something measurable or understandable. No one could explain the feeling of coming back home that they felt when their eyes met.

They were both speechless.

Reggie and Ethan were admiring each other's details. The bridge of their nose, their eyebrows, the way their hair would flow with the wind, their freckles; everything that met the eye. Still, they couldn't pinpoint what it was.

- Hey. - Ethan replied, holding out his hand. Reggie looked into Ethan's eyes, then his lips and only then took his hand in his. Time seemed to stop around them. - I guess you do have a name, Reggie, but can I call you mine?

Ethan liked metaphors, so if he were asked to describe that moment, he would've said that it felt like lying down in his bed after a long summer away from home. It was comfortable, safe, heartwarming, relaxing. Great. And Reggie would've nodded his head, agreeing with the comparison.

Coming back to each other after lifetimes away was refreshing. Living away from each other was cruel and all the hardships were long forgotten with a simple touch.

Hand in hand, Ethan smiled at Reggie, wondering how long it's been.

It was just one lifetime, but it felt like forever.

1994

- This. You and I. - Ethan said, turning to face Reggie, who looked perplexed. Ethan falted, thinking he read the whole picture wrong. - My parents would kill me.

Reginald opened his mouth a few times, as if trying to justify himself.

- Ethan, what are you talking about? - Reggie asked with a scoff. The façade was up again, blending in with the boy's features just well. - We're only friends. I like girls. I flirt a lot, sure, but it's all a joke.

A joke.

The worst part about the "we're only friends" card is the "only" part. It was like their friendship was insignificant or insufficient; seemed like the "just friends" made each other smaller. They had the potential to be more, to take up more space in each other's life, to hold a more special value in his heart, but "just friends" limited Ethan from achieving what he really wanted.

"Just friends" sounded like "I'm by your side, but I'm not relevant enough'’ to Ethan.

- I'm sorry. I have to go. - A heartbroken Ethan said.

Ethan shouldn't be sorry - that was the first thing Reggie thought after he left. Ethan should be there, with him, holding his hand and maybe hearing a new song they were working on. Yet Reginald couldn't move, almost like his feet were glued to the ground. Above the loud music, he could hear the clock on the wall, ticking mercilessly telling him he missed his chance to let his stars, his path collide with Ethan's. Above the loud music, he felt stuck in time, not getting older, further away from paradise.

"Now or never" quickly turned into "maybe next life" to him.

1995

Death was about the living.

Death was about who stayed on Earth, wondering about the words they didn't speak and about the food they didn't taste in the company of the deceased. Death was a silence that people shared because they were told so and because they had no special powers to change it.

Death was a cry of mourning from the living, a closed coffin, the ashes thrown from a beautiful hill that the deceased could never see or that they loved very much; a dream or a memory. Death was a watch that forgot to keep running, a battery that no longer fed anything, a pause.

Death was about who wasn't dead.

Death was about many people who would feel affected by absence. Family, friends, strangers who would question their own existence because of someone's obituary.

Death was, indeed, about the living.

In that case, about Rose, Bobby and the boys' families.

About how Luke's parents almost didn't attend the funeral. Their broken heart was physically hurting them and leaving the house was hard. They kept waiting for their son's return, choosing to ignore the fact that was dead. Emily and Mitch Patterson stayed by the door, imagining their son's figure coming back home. That never happened.

About how Lisa and Jarred Mercer, Alex's mom and dad, didn't cry. They stared at their son's picture in silence. People came and went, saying they would pray for comfort, but it was just empty. Everything was empty; the words, their bodies, their soul. Losing a son shouldn't happen. It was in the unsaid manual of life: parents should go first. Burying a child was an ache no body should ever feel. The literal body really, considering how physical the pain could be. Alex's parents, for instance, couldn't eat for days. They couldn't sleep or smile. Breathing was painful, remembering was even worse.

About how Reginald's father was drunk while the priest prayed. He stayed away from everybody, just tripping on his own feet and murmuring "I'm sorry". He wasn't talking about Reggie - he was thinking about Lily, his wife, and how she didn't care about their son. He was apologizing for losing all their money, for gambling, for not being a good husband. He cried too, but his father's angry voice screaming "don't cry, you're a man" echoed in his mind soon enough. He left before anybody could see him.

About how Rose visited Emily and Mitch many times, always taking Dahlias, her favorite flower, to them. She would just make sure they ate, talk a little bit about life and play chess with Mitch. She won a few times. Alex's parents were too stubborn to accept her consolation in the form of company, but she didn't give up. After a few cookies and a few letters making sure they were alright, she got invited for dinner. She took Bobby with her and they talked about Alex like they had known each other for the longest time. His parents had many regrets and it pained Rose to see it, so she reassured them, from a daughter's perspective, that Alex loved them with all his heart. When she went to college, they lost contact, but the great memories lingered and that helped both families. That's how Rose found her love for social work and the house she wanted to live in the future: someday she wanted to buy Alex's house.

Death was about how Bobby tried helping Reggie's parents. He looked for them everywhere, but they moved out of town. Bobby even went to Lily's work - nobody knew about her. All his strength was dedicated to honor his friends and their music, so when he didn't find Reginald's parents, he decided to be famous and let them come to him. He worked day and night, finishing the songs, working multiple shifts to get money for a demo and doing his best to be more social. He needed connections, luck and money to make his plan of honoring his friends work. All he had was determination and he hoped that could be a start.

Death was about all that and many lives affected by the loss of Reggie Peters, Alex Mercer and Luke Patterson.

2002

The baby cried with such intensity and still his parents were never more delighted by any sound they've ever heard.

- Welcome to the world, Richie.

2018

The clouds were matching Lucas' humor: grumpy, dark and bothered.

He wanted to go back to the cafe, to explain his situation to Jarred and Lisa, but his guitar was stolen and his face was still bruised from his last fight. He couldn't just show up and act like everything was alright like he would usually do.

Living in the streets was easier than staying in the system. The houses he had been to, the families that treated him like a piece of salvation just like the catholic church and indulgences… he was done with that. At least he was trying to make sure he could live freely; as free as a homeless teenager could be.

He was in a park somewhere when the rain started pouring. At first it was shy. In a matter of seconds, the sky was falling down and Lucas was laughing at his luck. No guitar, no family, no food, no place to go. Lonely, cold and irritated, he started singing as loud as he could. No one was nearby and the world was his.

There was so much anger in his throat that it pained the boy a little. He was mad, sad and even confused to why he couldn't just fit in. Find a family, have a house, go to school and have friends. The closest thing he had was Richie - the cheerful boy made him feel at ease for the first time in years. They connected instantly, playing together at Alex's Foundation for musicians/people that liked music.

He wouldn't call everybody there musicians; some people were terrible singers.

Lucas missed Richie so much. Even though the boy didn't know about his housing situation, he'd always be selfless and give him food. There was one time Richie even gave Lucas his jacket, because, according to Richie, Lucas looked cold. The boy was the brother Lucas wanted, the person worth smiling at, the best friend.

After a while, the sky stopped crying and Lucas went to his usual spot, close to a 24 hour diner. Sometimes the waiter would be nice enough to give him bread or fries. He never expected anything though; he would just sit and wait. Wait for life, for salvation, for hope, for someone.

That night Lucas found Richie, Rose and death.

After the rain, life would never be the same.

#reggie x y/n #reggie x reader #Reggie fanfic #reggie #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms #reggie jatp #jatp fanfic #jatp #reader fanfic #reader

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doc-pickles · 4 years ago

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i won’t hesitate (for you) ch. 11

Jo is happy, at least she feels like she is. When someone from her past shows up, will her and her daughter's world ever go back to normal? Or will things change for good?

This is it, my final chapter of Hesitate... I actually cried a bit finishing this off because I’ve been working on it since early June and we’re halfway through October now. I wanted to thank you guys SO MUCH for your continued support through comments, likes, reblogs, and just general support. I know that this has taken forever to finish but I’m grateful that y’all have stuck through it with me.

Thank you again and I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

xoxo Nina

Pull me close and I'll hold you tight

Don't be scared 'cause I'm on your side

Know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you

I will take your pain

And put it on my heart

I won't hesitate

Just tell me where to start

I thank the oceans for giving me you

You saved me once and I'll save you too

I won't hesitate for you

A Few Months Later…

“You look so handsome, I’d jump you right now if I didn’t have a surgery with Meredith to get to,” Jo grinned up at Alex as she straightened his tie, his eyes rolling as he grabbed her hands in his. “I for one am very proud that you got this office back. It’s been nice not having to fight for on call rooms when I need a nap.”

“You’re just using me for my office, you don’t even care that I’m Chief again,” Alex chuckled as Jo wore an offended look on her face at his accusation. “You sure you should be going into surgery? You’ve been pretty out of it the past day.”

Jo’s eyebrows raised, eyes narrowing at Alex as she glared at him, “Are you insinuating that I’m too pregnant to operate, Chief ?”

“No I'm telling you, as your husband , that you should take it easy,” Alex wrapped his arms around Jo, eyeing her as she continued to scowl at him. “I know you worked until your due date with Harper, but you’re taking care of a toddler and dealing with me. Maybe it’s time to take a break before you stress yourself into labor.”

Jo shrugged off Alex’s arm on her shoulder, her own arms crossed over her belly as she walked away from him. She knew she was only a week and half until her due date, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from working.

“I’m perfectly fine Alex, I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder at all hours of the day,” Jo called over her shoulder as she walked out of his office. “I’ll see you later, I have a surgery to get to.”

Alex watched as Jo left his office, sighing as he fell into his desk chair. He’d been Chief for two months now and had never felt a stronger need to kick his wife’s stubborn ass. Even Amelia had agreed to go on an earlier maternity leave, in fact she’d been grateful that he’d offered it to her. But Jo didn’t want to admit that she might need some help and some rest before their second child came into the world.

“She’s gonna be the death of me,” Alex mumbled to himself as he began to sort through the paperwork on his desk.

45 minutes after his wife storms out of his office, Alex’s phone dings with a text from Meredith:

Operating in OR 3. Jo looks like shit.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Alex decided to check out what was happening for himself. After walking down towards the operating galleries, he quietly slipped into one above Meredith and Jo’s OR. He watched with piqued interest as Meredith worked on one side of the operating table and Jo stood almost catatonic on the other side.

“Jo, will you please go sit down,” Meredith’s voice boomed through the OR and the gallery above, her eyes moving momentarily to the woman across from her. “I can see you wincing in pain from here.”

“They’re Braxton Hicks, I’m fine,” Alex could hear Jo’s strained tone of voice even from so far away. “Can you please stop badgering me about this? I’m fine, I’m going to work until my due date just like I did last time.”

“Last time you went into labor five days after your due date and you pushed your body so far that I had to hook you up to an IV for three days after you had Harper,” Alex’s eyebrows raised at Meredith’s words, not knowing exactly what had happened after Harper had been born. “You need to take care of yourself and your baby Jo.”

Jo’s fingers moved from her side to the operating table, gripping it tightly as she took slow and deep breaths. Alex left the gallery, moving quickly to the OR with only Jo on his mind. When he reappeared in the scrub room, he watched his wife’s body curl in on itself as she tried to remain standing upright.

“Jo, get out of there,” Jo’s head whipped around at the sound of Alex’s voice, one hand pressed firmly against her stomach as she looked at him. “Come on, I’m not gonna ask again. You can barely stand up straight.”

Without much protest, Jo walked out of the OR and into the scrub room, ripping her mask and gown off before beginning to scrub her hands.

“I told you I’m fine Alex,” one of Jo’s hands slipped down to the edge of the metal sink, knuckles going white as she gripped tightly. “They’re just Braxton Hicks. You don’t need to pull me out of surgery for this.”

Alex looked from his watch back to Jo, resting his hand against her back as he fixed her with a serious stare, “That’s twice in the past six minutes that you’ve had to stop what you’re doing and clench your fists. I’m pretty sure you’re having contractions. Go home babe, please I’m begging you.”

Jo groaned, turning to Alex with an angry glint in her eye as she stared him down, “I’m not going home, I am fine and I’m going to keep working. So stop nagging me.”

Taking a deep breath, Alex watched as Jo dried her hands off and turned to leave the scrub room. He grimaced as he said his next words, knowing he would piss his wife off with them, “I’m sending you on maternity leave, effective immediately. As the Chief, not as your husband.”

Jo’s entire body stiffened, stopping a foot from the door and turning back towards Alex. The angry expression on her face grew tenfold and she looked up at Alex.

“Are you kidding me? Alex you can’t do that! I’m perfectly fine,” Jo’s voice was bordering on a scream as she pointed at Alex. “You can be concerned as my husband all day long, but you can’t use your Chief powers just because you don’t agree with what I’m doing.”

“You couldn’t even pick up a scalpel to cut in there, I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up giving birth to our kid in the middle of operating,” Alex threw his hands up, eyes narrowing at Jo. “I was perfectly content letting you stress yourself out until you just passed out from exhaustion so that maybe you’d learn a lesson, but the second you start putting other people’s jobs and lives on the line it becomes my problem as the Chief. Go home Jo and don’t come back until you're about to give birth.”

Eyes watering, Jo stormed out of the scrub room, slamming the door behind her. Running his hands down his face, Alex let a loud groan out. The last thing he’d wanted to do was upset Jo, but her stubborn nature made things extremely difficult to work around. He knew what he’d done was a low blow, but he also knew that she wouldn’t have stopped until something happened to her or their child.

It was almost 7o’clock when Alex pulled into the driveway of his and Jo’s home. Harper was fast asleep in the backseat, soft snores coming from her as Alex debated how terrible it would be if he just turned around and left. He knew Jo was going to be furious with him and he didn’t want to deal with it, but he’d promised her he would come back. He was done running and ruining things between them because he couldn’t handle a simple conversation.

Carefully grabbing Harper and the dinner he’d picked up, Alex made his way into the house as quietly as possible. He set dinner in the kitchen and got Harper into bed before he checked on Jo. Their house, which they’d only been in for four months, was quieter than he’d ever heard it. There were no excited giggles, no music playing, no showers running. The complete and utter silence was driving him insane as he slipped into the bedroom he shared with Jo.

She was laying in bed, on his side he noted, curled in on herself and clutching a pillow tightly. While it pained him to see her upset, he was glad that she’d at least been able to sleep for once. Jo had spent the past two nights tossing and turning in bed, sleep evading her as the baby in her womb did somersaults. Alex toed off his shoes before settling himself behind Jo, his hands running across her back as she slowly woke up.

“Mmm what time is it,” Jo slowly turned around to press her face against Alex’s chest as best as she could with her belly between them. “I feel like I slept for three days.”

“It’s almost 7 now, Harper is asleep and I have dinner downstairs from the Chinese place you like,” Alex’s voice was low and soft as he ran his hands down to Jo’s belly, feeling the swift movements of the baby inside waking up with their mom. Jo let out a contented groan as her fingers came up to the curls at the nape of Alex’s neck, her body instinctively moving closer towards him. “I’m sorry about what happened today, you know I’d never use my power as Chief if I didn’t have to. I’m just worried about you, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. And I know you can handle it all because you're a superhero, but please let me look after you for a little bit.”

A pang of sadness ran through Alex as he realized just how much he’d missed as he watched a few tears escape Jo’s eyes. He knew this hadn’t been easy for her, the past couple months since he’d shown up throwing her whole life for a loop, but he wanted to make it up to her, he didn’t want to hurt her again.

“Are you okay, you know pain wise? Baby still giving you a hard time,” a hard kick met Alex’s hand at his question, both he and Jo laughing at the interruption.

“Better than before, I’m not contracting anymore,” Jo sighed, fiddling with her wedding rings as she avoided looking up at Alex. “I’m sorry… you were right about me pushing myself too much. I was in a lot of pain earlier and I shouldn’t have gone into that surgery. And… I do need to take it easy. I’m so used to just powering through all the shit that gets thrown at me by myself, I didn’t have help last time and I was with Harper for two years by myself. I love you, so freaking much Alex, but when it comes to parenting I’m not used to having someone here to help.”

His lips pressed against her forehead, Alex held Jo tightly as he relished in the feeling of her in his arms, “I promise I’ll be here to help as much as I can. I’ll wake up every night if this kid has colic, no complaints.”

Jo chuckled, finally lifting her head and kissing Alex soundly. Her fingers wound their way back into his hair, one hand trailing down his body to rake across his chest.

“You know, sex is supposed to help induce labor,” a grin spread across Jo’s face as Alex laughed, dipping his head down to her neck.

“You keep that baby in there, I have a little while before my leave starts,” despite his words, Alex’s lips continued trailing down her neck, fingers following the hot trail he’d created. “Dinners gonna get cold.”

“That’s fine,” Jo’s voice was a moan as she pulled lightly at Alex’s hair. “Keep going, screw dinner.”

Alex is rounding his way back to his office when he sees her in the hospital again. He’d sent her on maternity leave just three days ago and she was already back, instantly raising his blood pressure. His wife had been relaxing, napping as much as she could between her manic cleaning spurts, but he could tell that she was itching to get back into the OR armed with a scalpel.

“Jo!”

Her head swivels towards him, one hand settling on to her burgeoning stomach as she begins to walk slowly toward him. Alex can already feel his anger rising, knowing that he’d probably caught Jo trying to weasel her way into a surgery.

“Hey, I just got here,” Jo breathed out as Alex stood in front of her. “Why are you glaring at me like I just ran over your dog?”

“You need to go home, I told you that you can’t operate,” Alex placed his hands on Jo’s shoulders, eyeing her warily as she furrowed her eyebrows. “You’re not about to trick me into letting you work just because you bat your eyelashes at me.”

“Alex, I-“

“No buts, you need to go home and rest,” Alex tried to push Jo back the way she came, but her feet stayed planted firmly on the ground. “Jo, let’s go.”

“Alex!”

He turns then, Jo’s hands gripping his arm that’s still settled on her shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed and her breathing is shallow as she stares up at him, looking almost as if she might slap him.

“If you don’t let me talk to you, I will give birth to your child in this hallway,” Jo squeezed Alex’s arm as she took a deep breath, eyes closing as she spoke through gritted teeth. “My water broke half an hour ago, that’s why I’m here.”

Eyes blown wide, Alex finally takes in Jo’s almost disheveled state and the annoyed expression on her face as she glared at him. Her fingers were gripping his arm, nails sinking into his skin even through his lab coat as she tried to remain composed.

“Oh shit okay, well let’s go then,” Alex pressed his hand against Jo’s back, leading her toward the maternity ward. “Wait, did you drive here? While you were in labor?”

“Let’s talk about that later, I’ve been having contractions since you left for work this morning,” Jo stopped Alex from walking further, head leaning against his shoulder as her breathing became shallow. “Jesus, I forgot how terrible this is. No more after this one, screw the extra bedrooms. I can’t push out another gigantic Karev baby.”

They slowly make their way down the halls and to the maternity ward, Jo stopping every few minutes to breathe through a contraction as Alex rubbed her back comfortingly. His gaze continued to float nervously to his watch, noticing how close Jo’s contractions were as they finally got settled into a room. Carina stepped into the room, greeting them both as she set up. “I swear if you tell me I can’t have drugs I might scream,” Jo pushed her face into Alex’s chest and let out a loud groan as Carina checked her, a laugh coming from the obstetrician. “What? Why are you laughing? That can’t be a good sign.” Looking from Jo to Carina, a grimace quickly formed on Alex's face as he realized that she’d come to the same conclusion he had on their walk over. Jo was too far along in her labor, probably almost ready to push.

“Well your bambino has a full head of hair,” Carina smiled up at Jo, standing and motioning for the nurse standing by the door to come in. “Your baby is ready, I’m sure you will feel the need to push any minute now.” Jo’s eyes moved to Alex nervously, her expression practically begging him to help her as she grumbled, “No way, I can’t do this again. I’m not gonna do it, Alex.”

Alex took in Jo’s teary eyes and her scared expression, his hand coming up to brush her hair away from her face. She’d told him last week that she hadn’t been scared to give birth again, but the expression on her face now read otherwise, he knew her well enough to see the fear pasted on her face.

“Hey, you got this, I know you do. You are the strongest person I know,” leaning down towards her, Alex pressed his lips to Jo’s forehead, fingers swiping away the tears staining her cheeks. “You kinda have to have this baby, but I’m here for you to squeeze my hand and yell at as much as you want. Okay?” “Okay,” Jo sniffled, one hand coming up to caress Alex’s cheek. “Okay let’s do it.” -

“Hey Harps! Come to daddy!” Alex Karev didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see his daughter before, the bouncing three year old jumping from Meredith’s grasp on her and running full speed towards him. He hadn’t realized how much she’d grown just in the few months he’d been home, but feeling the solid weight of her in his arms made him realize that Harper was growing faster by the day.

“Daddy, baby?,” Harper’s hazel eyes met Alex’s own, the glint behind them the same curious look he’d seen in Jo time and again.

“Yeah mommy had the baby, you wanna go see them,” Alex asked, eyes floating to Meredith, who wore a wide grin as she looked at the duo. “Come on, mama wants to see you!” Alex and Harper walked the short distance from the waiting room to Jo’s hospital room, both Karevs brimming with excitement as they neared the room. As he opened the door, Alex couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the sight of Jo cradling their newborn, their oldest settled on his hip.

“Hey sweet pea, come here,” Jo’s voice was barely above a whisper as she beckoned Alex and Harper closer to the bed. “You wanna come meet your baby sister?”

Harper eyed the baby in her mom’s arms, a full head of dark brown curls peeking out from the pink hat she wore. The older girl wasn’t sure about the baby, but she still settled into her mom’s side contentedly, one hand reaching out to stroke her sister's cheek. “This is your little sister Mila Alexandra, but you can just call her Mila. Can you say hi to her,” Alex looked on as Harper paid careful attention to Mila, her eyes watching the baby curiously as she stretched one tiny arm out of her swaddle to grab Harper’s finger. “I think she likes you.”

He hadn’t pictured this life, never thought he’d get a second chance to fix things with Jo. But staring at his wife and their two daughters, Alex couldn’t help but realize how incredibly lucky he was. He’d come back, he’d fixed things, and he knew that he was going to be leaving any of his girls anytime soon. Jo’s fingers reach up to brush back the already unruly curls from Mila’s face, her wedding rings catching the light from the window as she settles her hand on top of the newborn's chest.

“Why’re you standing over there? Come join us,” Jo motioned for Alex to come and sit with them, prompting him to settle Harper into his lap as he sat beside Jo. “You know, I’m happy you came back. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Well now you’ll never have to wonder.”

#alex karev #jo karev #jo wilson #jolex #jo x alex #jolex fanfic #jolex fic #greys anatomy #greys fanfic #hesitate #nina writes

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