#bc i had to desperately rummage through my pockets to find them

[eeriedragone]

omg not this guy again

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (9/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Finding an outfit is harder that it seams. Especially when your roommate can't really help you, because he's at his other apartment.

Warnings: fluff, angst (whoops), mentions of cheating (not Charles), mentions of smut (oral, fingering, p in v), angry Charles, text messages

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: here it is friends. did my absolute best and honestly, I'm sweating so hard. I chose the name for Charles ex bc it’s the name of the girl my best friend absolutely despises. and this is not a Charlotte hate acc. hope you like it still. feedback is appreciated!

The weather app on your phone is of relatively little help. 

Charles had said that you were going out to dinner around eight o'clock in the evening, and according to the app, it should still be fifteen degrees then, even though it's December. While he had said that "it doesn't matter what you wear," but if you were going to be spending more time with him soon, and by extension his friends, you would want to make a good first impression. 

Not that your first impression on Charles was particularly good. 

Since you promised Charles that he could sleep in his bed tonight, you try to keep the mess of clothes to a minimum. Instead of pulling each piece of clothing out of the closet and then tossing it into the nearest corner because it doesn't match what you had in mind, you put things neatly folded back in their place. 

After your roommate left the apartment, you started cleaning up your room so it wouldn't be too embarrassing if Charles stayed there tonight. After all, he doesn't need to see your underwear or the little stuffed animal turtle that sleeps in bed with you. Generally things that maybe old friends know about you, but definitely not the roommate you've been living with for two days.

The roommate who is no help to you when it comes to choosing clothes for tonight. Since he hasn't told you which restaurant it is, you don't know exactly what the dress code looks like, which is why you're now standing in front of the closet at a loss. 

In Monaco, when it comes to restaurant choice, anything is possible. You could dine at Le Louis XV, the most expensive restaurant in Monte-Carlo, or Jack Monaco, which is significantly cheaper, but you have a direct view of the harbor with the oversized and expensive yachts.

Secretly, you hope it won't be too expensive tonight. Joris would pay you back the rent soon, but you're still unemployed and unfortunately can't live quite as carefree Charles, who apparently has enough money at his disposal to have not one, but two apartments in Monaco. 

A fact that you would never blame him for. 

When you can't find anything that would theoretically go with any restaurant visit, you drop onto the bed, annoyed. It can't be that hard to find something, right? You fish your cell phone out of the pocket of your sweater and start typing. 

Briefly, you consider actually sending the message, but alas, you're so desperate that you feel you have no choice. You hit send and are about to throw the phone across the room as if you've just confessed to your school crush that you like him. 

But Charles isn't your school crush. He's your roommate and first and foremost your friend, which is why you just drop the phone on the bed next to you. 

You sit up and narrow your eyes as you go through the clothes in the open closet. Somewhere in there is a pair of dark gray, straight-cut jeans that match the white blouse you carefully hung back on the hanger a few minutes ago. 

And sure enough. After a few minutes of rummaging around in the clothes, you find the jeans and as you hold them up next to the blouse, you're relatively pleased with the choice. There should also be shoes floating around somewhere that should go with them. But at least this is a good start. 

Satisfied, you clean up the rest of the room. Since Charles has not invited you to dinner, but also to a club, you will certainly be home late, so you decide to make up Charles' bed. Your bedding disappears into the hall closet after you take Charles' things out. As you bring them into the bedroom and spread them out on the bed, you find yourself briefly considering pressing your face into the pillow. For sure, Charles smells attached to it. 

But before you can do that, your cell phone vibrates. It's a message from Charles. 

Your heart skips a beat. Do friends give each other compliments like that? You glance from your phone to Charles' pillow, then to your outfit for tonight. You bite the inside of your cheek and start typing. 

You plug your phone into the charging cord as you head toward the bathroom to shower and get ready for the evening, so you don't see the two messages Charles sends you.

-

The Ferrari feels different somehow. After Charles sat in your old Renault yesterday, the expensive Ferrari feels strange under him. Not wrong, but different. Like something is missing. 

He feels the stares on him as he steers the car through the streets of Monaco. The gray Ferrari attracts attention, with its red and white stripes and the number 16 on the side. But not just because the 488 Pista Spider is a beautiful car. 

But because people know who owns the car.

The fact that you don't know that Charles is the Charles Leclerc is refreshing for him, but the guilty conscience gnaws at him. He should tell you that he drives in Formula 1, because after all, you would be dragged into the limelight by him, should people find out that you are friends and, above all, that you live together. Before that happens, he should at least give you the opportunity to get out of it. 

But Charles is too selfish for that. 

Even though you've only known each other for a short time, Charles enjoys your company too much to mess it up. You're so normal, so kind, without asking for anything in return like most want him to do. You're just you. And by God, he's never felt better than in his short time with you. 

He expertly steers the Ferrari into a parking garage entrance, where he has to type a pin into the designated keypad next to him before the barrier. The barrier opens so that he can drive a few meters further, where a metal gate awaits him, where he also has to enter a pin - a different one. Only then does he reach the parking lot that rightfully belongs to him. 

It has been some time since he has been here. After driving the last race of the season in Abu Dhabi about three weeks ago and becoming vice world champion, he had stayed on site for a short time to soak up some sun and recover from the stress before flying back to Maranello with his team for a final briefing and to discuss the upcoming season. But even that only lasted a few days. He could have been back in Monaco by now. 

But he didn't want to. 

He knew exactly what was waiting for him here. A conversation he wanted to delay as long as possible. He didn't stay away from Monaco for so long for no reason, and he wondered if he hadn't returned too soon. But he can't, first, avoid this conversation, and second, stay away from his home. He loves it here too much for that. Just like other things he'd rather not think about right now. 

In the elevator, he puts his key in the designated hole and then presses the button with the number of the floor where his apartment is located. Just a few weeks ago, he thought that if he entered this building again, his heart would be beating wildly in his chest or his palms would be sweaty, but he is not even nervous. 

He knows what's waiting for him behind the elevator door. And he's ready to wrap things up.

Charles enters the apartment as he has thousands of times before. And just like hundreds of times before, he hears the sound of footsteps on the floor moving quickly in his direction. But never before has he felt this indifference to those footsteps. 

"Charles?" A woman comes out of the room where the living room is located and rushes toward him with her arms outstretched. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his torso to hold him close, but Charles puts his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pushes her away. "Charles, I'm so sorry. What I did is inexcusable and I will-"

"'You won't do anything,'" he interrupts her, wishing he could jump in the shower to wash her touch off him. "I'm just here to get some things. And to ask you to stop calling." He walks past her down the hall and into the room where his clothes are. 

"And I told you I would do everything I could to make this right between us," the woman says as she follows him. She places herself in the doorway with her arms crossed as he packs some of his clothes into a large gym bag. "I'm not ready to give up on us yet, Charles. I love you."

Charles can't stop the laughter that escapes him. After stuffing several pairs of socks into his side pocket, he turns to her and puts a hand on his hip. "You gave us up when you fucked that guy, Annika. And dare you to talk about love. You don't even know what that is."

As his phone vibrates in his pocket, he fishes it out. A message from Y/N. He doesn't even notice that a small smile creeps onto his face at that. 

But she does. "Who's that? Do you have a new one already?" 

Charles quickly types a reply and presses send before turning back to his clothes. "No," he says coldly. "And even if it were, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Of course it's my business!" Annika almost screeches as she takes a few steps toward him. "I'm your girlfriend, after all!"

"You," Charles zips up the bag and stands in front of her, "are the absolute last person I want anything to do with." He pushes past her into the hallway, where he drops the bag on the floor to go into the bedroom, where some odds and ends are waiting for him to take as well.

Annika follows him like a dog follows its master. "And why do you let me stay here then?"

"Because I'm nice."

"You're not that nice. We both know that."

Charles looks at the picture frames sitting on the windowsill. Among them is a picture of him and his father when Charles was little and went karting. It's a fond memory that he certainly doesn't want to leave here with her. "I've changed."

In disbelief, Annika laughs. "Never. In the two years we were together, I asked you so many times for things that should have been natural for a relationship, but what came from you? Nothing." Now it's her turn to put her hands on her hips. "You're so focused on your job that you don't notice what's going on around you! If you had paid more attention to me, then-"

"Then what? Then you wouldn't have slept with that idiot? Then we would have been happy forever? Peace and happiness?" Charles takes some pictures out of the frames and carefully lays them on top of each other so they don't scratch. He would leave the frames here, after all, they were gifts from Annika. And he definitely doesn't want to keep them. "Grow up, Annika. You knew what you were getting into from the start."

"But not that I have to share you with the whole world." Slowly, she walks toward him and as she stands in front of him, she places her perfectly manicured hands against his chest. "You're all I've ever wanted, Charles. But you were never there. And even when you were there, your mind was always at work or somewhere else, but never with me."

She's not exactly wrong about that. The season had cost him quite a few nerves and he definitely hadn't been a good boyfriend, and maybe none of this would have happened if he had paid more attention to her. But that's definitely not a justification for what she did. Charles knows his worth. And that's exactly why he clasps Annika's wrists with his thumbs and forefingers to take her hands off him. 

"For not being a good boyfriend, I am truly sorry." He drops her hands. "But that's no reason to cheat. You and I are done." Charles leaves the bedroom and grabs his bag in the hallway before heading for the elevator door. 

"You're leaving? Just like that? Throwing away two years like they never happened?"

Again, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Another message from Y/N, making his heart skip a beat. He grins to himself and types a response that, under different circumstances, he might have thought twice about. But the quicker he replies, the quicker he's out of this place and back to you. 

"I'm not throwing it away, you already did." Charles puts his phone back in his pocket and presses the button to make the elevator come. "I'm letting you stay here because I know how bad I've been to you and that this year hasn't been so easy for you either. But if I need this place one day, for whatever reason, you're out of here. And I don't care where you end up. Find someplace to live. Move back in with your parents. But this," he points to the space between you, "is over. Forever."

Annika runs a hand through her hair, then crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Then I hope for your sake that you treat them better than you treat me."

The elevator door opens, but Charles doesn't move a bit. Instead, he looks at his ex-girlfriend, who stands before him with raised eyebrows. "Who do you mean?" 

"Do you think I'm that stupid? Or blind?" She points her finger at his pants pocket. "The person you just answered immediately."

"And what's so special about that?" he asks, confused. 

Annika takes a step toward him. "You always make everyone wait for you. You make your fans wait for good results, your friends wait for calls. You even make your mother wait for you, because I'm pretty sure she doesn't know you're home yet." Annika stops in front of him. "But whoever that is - that person has all your attention. She doesn't have to wait for you. Let me give you a hint along the way, Charlie."

"Don't call me that. And I don't need your help."

"And even if you did." Annika stretches her arm out, past him, so the elevator door doesn't close. "The fact that she doesn't have to wait for you is good. Don't make her wait for you, too. It's not fair to her. And not to you, either."

As he sits back in the Ferrari - the sports bag and pictures safely stowed in the trunk - he doesn't know what to do with himself. 

Charles made it clear to Annika that their relationship was over, and it had been overdue for at least a month. But what she said at the end stuck. 

He actually keeps everyone waiting, which is why he keeps blaming himself. He could have told his mother he was back in Monaco a long time ago, but somehow he didn't. He could have told you that he's not just Charles, but he didn't, and so he keeps you waiting for the truth that you know nothing about. 

Would you even want to be friends with him anymore if you knew who he was? Or would you want to be friends with him all the more? 

Never, he thinks to himself. That's not who you are. And he can say that even though you've only known each other for a short time. 

And even though you've only known each other for two days, you're all he can think about. He thinks about how you sat together on the grass and talked about his father. He thinks about how you cried at Cars. He thinks about how you flirted with him even though, in your opinion, it wasn't flirting (it was to him, of course; he wanted to know how to win you over for a reason). He thinks about how you told him about your ex-boyfriend and how he would love to beat him up. He thinks of you standing next to each other in the kitchen washing the dishes. 

He thinks of you standing in front of him dressed only in a towel. With bare shoulders and bare legs and that - if he would get the opportunity again - he would not hesitate to pull you into the bedroom and fuck you with his tongue, his fingers or his cock in such a way that he would ruin all other men for you.

Charles closes his eyes briefly to get the image of you on his mind, and then drives off. He would love to drive to the lookout and talk to his father about the situation, but somehow it doesn't feel right without you there. 

But he can't talk to you about it either, because it involves you, and although it would certainly be best, he doesn't have the heart to tell you the truth. Not because he doesn't trust you, but because he's afraid of losing you. 

He slaps his hand against his forehead. "Get a grip, damn it," he says to himself. The two of you haven't even touched, and he's thinking about how he'd take you on every surface in the small apartment. That's just not normal. 

And most of all, it's not fair. You confided in him about your ex-boyfriend because Charles is your friend. And your roommate. And that's what he needs to be to you. 

It wouldn't be fair for him to get into a relationship with you because one, you don't know who exactly he is, and two, he can never be what you need him to be. You need someone who is there for you, who takes time for you. Someone you can laugh and cry with. Not someone who is away most weeks of the year and can't even manage to call his own mother. 

You would always be waiting for him. And even though he doesn't want to agree with Annika, he has to. The whole thing is not fair to you. 

And so he deletes the last two messages he sent you, which you apparently haven't read yet, as he parks his Ferrari in an underground garage and walks the last few meters to your apartment. 

He decides that he is your friend. Only your friend. Because he has to be, and because he can't be anything else. Because you need a real friend, and not a relationship. 

Charles unlocks the apartment door and drops the gym bag to the floor beside him. 

"Charles?" Unlike Annika's voice, his heart starts to beat faster at yours and his palms start to sweat, so he quickly wipes them on his jeans. You come out of the bathroom dressed in dark gray jeans and a white blouse that accentuates your curves. As you stand in front of him, you turn once so he can check you out from all sides. In all his life, he's never seen anyone look so divine. "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure what to wear. I hope that's all right."

His smile is gentle and he hopes you don't notice how hard he has to swallow, and he would have loved to wrap you in his arms and never let you go. But his ex-girlfriend is still clinging to him, and before you touch each other properly for the first time, he wants her washed off.

It's not fair.

"It's okay," he says with a smile and goes to the fridge for a glass of orange juice. You stop by the apartment door next to the gym bag, but don't ask where the stuff is from. And for that, he's very grateful. "I'm just going to jump in the shower and then we can go, okay?"

He doesn't wait for your answer as he pulls new clothes out of his suitcase, walks into the bathroom, undresses, and stands under the hot stream of water. Even now, he keeps you waiting, which further solidifies his decision to keep your relationship purely platonic. While he's shampooing his hair, he makes a deal with himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make this friendship work. Even if that means suppressing his feelings. 

As he leaves the bathroom freshly showered and ready to go, you sit on the couch. He's looking at you, thinking about what Annika said, what he'd like to do with you, and all the things he could lose. And all of that just isn't fair. 

"I'm sorry you had to wait for me," he says softly, reaching for your car key that's on the dining room table. It feels better in his hand than the one from the Ferrari. So familiar. Like the key will fulfill everything he's ever wanted. 

"It's okay," you reply, getting up from the couch. You take a few steps toward him and smile at him, and his heart melts. "I'm fine with waiting."

the messages Charles deleted -

next part

[pwarkluv]

❝ idk you yet ❞ - p.js

park jisung x reader | angsty, fluff | 1.6k words 

WARNINGS | TW: mentions blood, abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, smoking, lowercase au, non-idol au, high school au, badboy!jisung, mature language/cursing, reader is like an angel sent from heaven for him, jisungie just in need of love :(

SUMMARY | being an outcast has him wondering if he’ll ever be happy. cue you, the new girl, stumbling into his life (literally).

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “idk you yet” by alexander23! also AHHH this is my 100 followers special fic :) THANK U LOVES FOR 100 IM SO SHOCKED CJSBFKEJD <33 the writing is a little crappy because i’m currently on my period and my patience for sitting down and writing this went down halfway through lol but I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ENJOY THIS JISUNG FIC BC JISUNG MY BABIE AND SO ARE YOU GUYS!

whenever anybody thinks of park jisung, they think of the chains and dark clothing he wears. they think about the faint smell of smoke and men’s cologne that follows him wherever he goes. 

they think of the boy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. 

but what they don’t think about are bruises on his face he fails to hide whenever he walks into school, the dejected look on his face whenever random people give him disapproving looks, the way his smile slowly faded into a permanent frown wherever he went. 

jisung quickly accepted his reputation at school and in their little town, not having enough energy to feel insecure about it like before.

the only group of people that even remotely cared about the boy were his best friends in the whole entire world, nct dream.

they were outcasts just like him, the most “fucked up group of boys” in their town (the people’s words, not theirs).

see, they were your typical bad boy group straight out of your typical fanfic. bad grades, smoking in their free time, getting into fights, always being late to class; not a single person had hope in them.

but behind their scary and intimidating facade, all seven boys were big softies with misunderstood hearts and difficult backgrounds.

people were just too dense to look into it, only judging them based on their looks and personality on the outside. 

❝ how can you miss someone you’ve never met ❞

love was a foreign thing to jisung, the only form of love he’s ever felt being from his friends. his parents were… interesting to say the least. 

jisung’s father was a hard-core alcoholic, his mother being a major druggie. with no siblings in the house, jisung was usually their main target to push around and beat up.

and so because of this at a young age jisung learned to distance himself from other people and found different ways to release stress.

he started smoking when he was 14, the warm and hazy feeling of the smoke entering his lungs comforting him.

if jisung humored himself enough, maybe smoking could count as his first love. it was always there for him, never leaving him alone even if he wanted to quit. 

he relied on it knowing it was the only constant in his life. 

now of course the boy has heard of proper love, love like in the movies or shitty romance songs he hears on the radio.

and he won’t lie, there were moments he thought about what it felt like to be in love. but he knew that would never happen, at least not in their small town anyways. 

he just wanted to be loved. 

jisung would never admit it but sometimes he’d be jealous of the old couples walking down the street in their own world like it was just them two against the universe. he was jealous of the happy kids running around, their mother’s and father’s fondly smiling at their child. he was jealous of all the “normal” kids in his neighborhood. 

jisung wanted that, craved that. 

but most importantly, the boy wanted love.

❝ cause i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

everything hurt. 

his head, his body, his mind, his heart; everything was in pain.

jisung walked down the empty streets of their city, a trail of blood following behind him as he accepted his fate. the boy was 99% sure he had a concussion and at the very least had a few broken ribs. 

he felt like this was the end, and he was ready.

-

wandering aimlessly around town, you decided to take a late night walk to familiarize yourself around the area. you had just moved into the city a week ago, spending all seven days trying to help your family unpack and rearrange your cozy new home. 

now that you were finally free of the smell of tape and the dust of the boxes, you decided it was best to get to know the place you were living in. 

the autumn air seemed to settle at night as you shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket of some sort. the sight of a convenience store up ahead of you brought you relief as you rummaged through your pockets wondering if you had enough money for ramen.

your steps became excited as you found a couple dollars, fondly thinking about what type of ramen you should buy. you became so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice the poor boy who was staggering in front of you, or the trail of blood he left behind. 

-

jisung pushed himself to reach the convenience store a couple feet away from him, in desperate need of supplies to at least try and fix himself. 

if it didn’t help in any way then oh well, maybe death was indeed an option. 

grinding his teeth though the pain, he did not expect to feel a small body bump into him. had he been at his regular health, jisung would’ve easily been able to keep still but because of how much blood he was losing the boy was knocked down like a bowling pin.

“holy fuck.” jisung cursed the feeling of the concrete floor colliding with his ribs. he didn’t even notice the girl who had bumped into him sitting on the floor dumbfounded, freaking out over his state.

“oh my fucking god.” the girl said, capturing his attention. jisung glared at the stranger, mentally acknowledging the fact she was pretty. 

but her being pretty won’t get you anywhere, he scolded himself. she’ll leave you just like everyone else.

“a-are you okay?” she said, eyes glancing at his black eye. jisung rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “does it look like i’m okay?” he replied, his deep voice catching the girl off guard. 

“just, fuck off.” jisung said closing his eyes as he laid back down on the floor, knowing he couldn’t force himself to get up anymore. he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know she left, hearing the sound of her footsteps walk away.

the boy sighed as he laid idly on the floor, wondering what sin he committed to lead him to where he is now. not even she wanted to stay, the tears threatening to fall as his thoughts buried him alive.

“why can’t i just die?” jisung said out loud, asking no one but himself.

“because i won’t let you.” a voice replied as jisung forced himself to sit up in confusion. it was the same girl he had bumped into, but this time she had a first aid kit with her. he gave her a lost look despite knowing what she was here to do. 

jisung’s mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that a total stranger would even bother to help him. 

“now sit up.” she said softly as she bent down to open the box, the boy slowly followed her instructions. “i’m sorry this might sting.” she said though jisung didn’t mind because she was much prettier up close.

-

the next ten minutes were you trying to fix his wounds against the shitty chairs outside the convenience store.

jisung didn’t even bother mentioning his broken ribs, not wanting you to freak out. you cleaned up what you could and the boy was beyond grateful for that.

you subconsciously rubbed his back in a comforting way whenever you’d apply alcohol to his open wounds, trying to ease the sting. you held his hand for him to hold and though he was a big boy and had a high pain tolerance, he still gave it a squeeze just to keep your hand there.  what the actual fuck is this feeling, jisung asked himself as he watched your determined figure work on him.

it was cold and in order to better work on his wounds, the boy offered to give you his hoodie which strangely had no traces of blood on it. you gladly accepted, the faint smell of blood and his cologne engulfing you up. 

the sight of you in something so big and so him made his chest swell in pride.

jisung couldn’t even formulate a sentence as you cursed at the time once you finished patching him up, fleeing the scene before he could say anything with a small smile, his hoodie still on. 

❝ and can you find me soon because i’m in my head ❞

the thought of your soft hands on his, your voice, your whole presence; everything about you couldn’t seem to leave the poor boy’s mind. it was now monday, and waiting for his class to start already made him want to go home.

if only i got her name, jisung daydreamed with his head resting on the palm of his hand. the classroom was loud and bright, people occasionally giving him looks but the boy didn’t mind. 

“jisungie~ did you hear we have a new kid?” jaemin asked, poking the boy’s cheeks. the boy only gave him a pointed look before sighing. 

“hyung i don’t really care.” jisung replied, looking back out the window. 

jaemin only gave him an offended look before grumbling a bit. “i don’t know maybe you will.” he muttered under his breath as their teacher walked into the room. 

❝ yeah i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

their homeroom teacher stood in front of the class, jisung tuning out his voice. the boy once again sighed as his teacher called for their attention, explaining they had a new girl in their class. “now make her feel welcomed,” he said before turning towards the door.

“y/n, please come in.” the teacher said and jisung almost fell out of his seat when he saw you walking through the door with the same smile you gave him a couple days ago.

“hi i’m y/n and i hope we can get along.” you bowed to the class, a familiar hoodie you were wearing catching his attention. 

isn’t that mine, jisung thought to himself as he bit back a smile knowing you kept it all along. 

[cdroloisms]

Dream thought that he can bring server together, he thought that they can be one big family... Well at least he really bond them, even if they bonded to fight against him. Even if that mean he's not part of this server anymore.

right,, the one big happy family thing always destroys me

bc it’s really the driving force behind everything he’s done, the reason why he’s cut off everything he’s ever loved, moved forwards despite everything he’s ever lost. it doesn’t make what he does right, by any means, but c!dream’s longing for a better past, his clinging to a family he loved and lost - it’s so desperately, painfully human and is very much the cherry on top of his whole tragic story. it’s something that tugs at my heart every time i think about it - especially how in the end, pretty much nobody knew what drove him to the lengths he went to, and how everyone still sees him as being motiveless, or doing it all for personal gain and power. it’s reasonable, with their limited povs, but oh man does it hurt when we know his real reasoning.

this,, ended up weirdly long haha but oh man was it fun. have some dream team angst as i cry abt c!dream for the millionth time 

tws: death, grief, off-screen murder, implied mental deterioration

Two weeks after Dream dies, Sapnap asks George if he wants to come to the vault.

He almost says no. It’d be an early journey if they want to get out without anyone seeing, and he’s just- tired. He’s been tired for months even though he spends most of his time sleeping, usually can’t even find the energy to pull himself out of bed. The weird dreams hadn’t helped in the slightest, though they’ve been gone for a few weeks, and he’s not seen XD in a long time, save for a few minutes after he first heard the news. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to deal with the mental strain of anything to do with Dream at all.

But- Sapnap is still his best friend, even if they’ve grown apart ever since that fateful night with Dream, and he still knows the Netherborn better than nearly- well, everyone, now, with Dream gone. As much as Sapnap tried to put on a strong front, Dream’s death had taken its toll.

Killing Dream had taken its toll.

He’d been asleep (again) when it all went down, but he knows that somehow, Dream had escaped prison. Somehow, it ended with Sapnap’s sword stabbed hilt-deep in Dream’s chest, an unmarked grave in the forest behind the Community House that he knows Sapnap visits when he thinks nobody’s watching.

So when Sapnap asks, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, if he wants to come with him to see what belongings they can find in Dream’s old blackstone-brick vault- he says yes.

“There,” Sapnap gestures over the crest of a netherrack cliff above a bubbling lava lake, and George strains to look at what the other is pointing at. There, settled over a small outcrop of netherrack and gravel, a messy bridge of various blocks leading from it, lies the signature black and purple silhouette of a nether portal. “It’s just across that.”

George hums in acknowledgement, and they clamber down in sync. It’s been a while since he’s spent time one-on-one with Sapnap like this; George had half-forgotten what it feels like, to work with someone so different and yet know them so well. Years and years of teamwork means they fall in step almost without thinking, Sapnap easily sliding forward to block a skeleton’s arrow while George nocks one of his own to shoot it through the skull. It is a partnership built on years of bickering and banter and deep-set trust, of having to face a stronger, more agile opponent together through wind and rain and snow.

He missed it, though he’ll never admit that to anyone but himself.

He hesitates in front of the nether portal, pulling Sapnap back automatically by his sweater sleeve. “You sure the other side is safe?”

“Yeah, yeah- it should be,” Sapnap pulls his arm away, lets him enter the portal first before stepping into the frame himself. “Not a manhunt.”

“Mm,” George laughs, tired. “Just checking.”

The portal hums, purple creeping into the corners of George’s vision and filling it until it’s all he can see, and he rubs at his eyes to clear his vision as he stumbles out the other side. Sapnap walks out, seeming unfazed - it’s always been something that George has envied in the other, how unaffected he is by portals, but he’s also always had worse portal sickness than most- “We’re here.”

The place is - put lightly, a wreck, wooden planks scattered all over the floor and inch-deep water sloshing around his shoes. “What’s with the water?”

“I don’t know, someone must’ve come here after for something,” Sapnap frowns, points across the room to a chute leading upwards, filled with a crude spiral staircase of oak. “We’re going up there.”

George nods, letting him take the lead. The staircase is rickety, the bottom steps waterlogged; Sapnap grimaces the whole way up, makes some comment under his breath about how unsafe it all is, but they continue without much issue. The top of it is surprisingly unassuming - there’s really nothing around, just a small hollowed out space carpeted by savannah grass, shorn short. Sapnap tosses him a pickaxe.

“He respawned up here, that day - he’s gotta have a bed up here somewhere.” He gestures at the plain stone walls surrounding them, “My guess is that it’s just behind one of these walls. Just mine two or three blocks in all the way across, I’ll start from this side.”

“Whatever, Snapnap,” George takes the pickaxe anyway, walking over to the other side of the room and ignoring the protests Sapnap throws at his back. Mining the stone is simple, methodical; it’s a steady rhythm of the pick hitting stone and blocks falling into his inventory; if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that they’re in the middle of a manhunt, and Dream has holed himself into the wall as he always does for them to find him. He doesn’t, because thinking about manhunt does nothing but make something cold and choking claw up his throat, almost like guilt, almost like regret, and he doesn’t have the energy for that in the slightest.

His next swing rings oddly hollow, and when the block drops neatly away the wall opens to a narrow corridor. He calls Sapnap over.

“Here.” Sapnap moves with large, heavy strides, face tightening into a foreign expression of grim determination when he catches the darkness behind the one-block hole George mined, “I found it.”

“Well, obviously,” he rolls his eyes as he takes out the bottom block, looking at George from the corner of his eye. “Nice observation, genius.”

“Hey! You told me to find it, and I did, unlike you- you should be thanking me, Sapnap.”

“Whatever, Gogy,” Sapnap sighs, looking into the corridor, feet settling against the ground into a wide stance that George recognizes as the one he’d usually use in a fight. It makes something long-forgotten ache in his chest, joining the dull ball of hurt that has been there for what feels like months, “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up, will you?” The retort rings hollow, dying on his lips even as he says it, and George watches as Sapnap turns his head away and pretends not to notice.

“Let’s go.”

The hallway is dark, dusty, a hastily made thing as shown by the rough gouges made on either side by a quickly working pickaxe. It opens into a tiny room, similarly carved into the mountain with roughhewn walls of stone; George’s lips thin and press against each other as he takes a closer look at the room, stepping in behind Sapnap.

“This place is a mess,” he states drily, scuffing his foot against the floor and cringing at the trail it leaves in the dust. There’s a bed left in the corner, a thin little thing with the covers thrown off, lying halfway on the floor, and a few chests and furnaces scattered aimlessly against the walls and making the whole thing look more cramped. There are papers strewn over the floor and chests, piles of coal and wood left to collect dust in the corners. It looks like a whirlwind swept through the place, and it’s almost eerie to see this room, completely untouched since the twentieth, a snapshot in time of Dream in the middle of his spiral into madness.

Sapnap kicks at one such pile with a humorless scoff, “That’s an understatement.”

“You looking for anything in particular?” George jabs his thumb at the mess in front of them, “Because I’m not cleaning all of that up.”

“I guess- just look through the chests?” Sapnap’s face darkens visibly even despite the dim lighting, and George stifles the urge to poke fun at how the younger clearly didn’t plan this far ahead, per usual. “Just look for anything useful, worth taking back I guess.”

“Mmhm.” He moves to the left-most chest as Sapnap moves to the right, watching from the corner of his eye as the other strikes up a torch to place in the middle of the room. The lid creaks open, and he rummages through the contents, vaguely surprised when his hand meets row after row of glass bottles. He pulls one out, squints at the contents. “Hey Sapnap, is this a regen?”

Sapnap looks over. “Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes when George pockets it. “Seriously- you know Sam literally has an automatic potion brewer, right. You can just steal from that instead.”

“Or I could just steal from here,” he closes the lid, moving to the next chest. “That’s just his pots chest. He really stacked up, didn’t he?”

“Well, you know Dream. Always had to plan for the end of the world.” Sapnap closes the chest that he was hunched over, tossing over something in a flash of gold, “Was just his food chest. Don’t know why someone needs eight stacks of gapples, but whatever. We can split the god apples later.”

“Sure,” George nods, distracted as he fiddles with clasp of the next chest. This one, unlike the last, seems more worn over the bottom edge of the lid, the wood almost seeming to bear dents where fingers had pressed into the areas right by the clasp again and again. The lid eases open, and he frowns at the chest’s contents; there’s no rhyme or reason to them at first glance. There’s a half-stack of stone in the top left, a couple pieces of leather thrown in the bottom corner, a low-durability crossbow, unenchanted, that he briefly runs his hands over before throwing it back into the chest. He rummages through it for another second, about to dismiss it as a junk chest, when a well-worn book near the back of the chest catches his eye.

He pulls it towards him with careful hands, breath having caught in his throat. The cover is leather, scuffed and scratched in several places, not bearing the dull shine of a book that’s been signed and preserved magically. It doesn’t seem to be titled, no ink against the usual places on the front cover or spine, but the whole thing looks well-loved, the thread of the spine slightly frayed the leather heavily creased from where the cover had been eased open again and again.

He opens the front cover, and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Sapnap? I think I found something.”

There, nestled between the front cover and the first page, lays a pile of photographs. Unlike everything else in the room, these are clearly well-loved, well-cared for, the corners are sharp, the surfaces shiny, despite how often they must have been thumbed through and looked at. He plucks the first one off the top of the pile - it’s one that was taken from the inside of the old community house before the floor was replaced with crafting tables, string lights hanging from the ceiling in an impromptu party, Alyssa’s legs dangling from where she’s sitting at the edge of the spiral staircase, Callahan leaning against the wall with a slice of cake held between his hands. Sapnap’s sitting in the middle of the floor across from himself, both of their faces glowing softly in the flickering light - his own face is caught in a grimace, Sapnap bent over himself in laughter- Sapnap walks up behind him, gasps at the sight.

“What are-”

George passes over the photo wordlessly as he moves to the next; there’s Sam, grinning at the camera with a newly tamed Fran by his side, tail a white blur against the green of the grass; Bad, hands clutched around a bucket as he yells at someone off the frame, a salmon head poking slightly out the top; Ponk, sitting proudly in the top branches of his first lemon tree.

His breath catches at the next; it’s dim, the sky a pretty blend of purple-pink from the last remaining dregs of light of a sunset, hovering over the dark edge of the ocean stretching out towards the horizon. They’re sitting in boats, the bottom edges lit softly from the coral sitting in the shallow waters below them, brilliant halos of reds and pinks and yellows and oranges and blues dotted with the soft lights of sea pickles painting the wood in muted rainbows. Sapnap’s smiling from one in the back, head tipped to the side cheekily, right hand lifted in a cocky two-fingered salute. George is sitting in the back of a boat in the foreground, glasses lifted to his forehead, eyes mid-roll even as he grins obligingly at the camera-

And then, in the front, there’s Dream.

His mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing his freckled skin and brilliant green eyes; he’s smiling widely, all teeth, hair wet and sticking up in a ring of untamed swirls and spikes. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, cheeks red, arm stretched forward off-frame from where he’d held the camera in front of them to take the selfie. George’s thumb brushes over the photo, pressing lightly against the dusty mess of hair framing Dream’s face, pausing at the sight of his pure, unadulterated joy.

What had happened to them?

A soft, choked sound comes from behind him, and George tucks the photos away, pressing them between two random pages in the book. His eyes flicker to the book’s contents, finally, finding Dream’s familiar, looping scrawl written on the first page. The words are big and messy, all capitalized and underlined several times, the last four circled roughly.

REMEMBER WHY YOU’RE DOING THIS: ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY.

He snaps the book shut.

“George-”

“Let’s go home, Sapnap.” He throws one last look at the room, at the messy, desperate edges, the remnants of a man lost in his own reckless belief that he could build something beautiful out of blood and ash. He swallows, blinks back the image of a brilliant smile, freckled cheeks ruddy with laughter, at the golden glow of memories long-forgotten that threaten now to burn him with their warmth. He can imagine Dream, settled in the middle of this mess, pressing himself closer to the fire contained in these photographs, these memories, and not realizing how he’s being burned, can nearly see a ghost of him tucked in these shadowed corners, haunting the hopes that he had clung to against all reason with the promise that it could all be worth it.

Sapnap frowns at him tiredly, photos pressed against his own chest. “George,” he says, cautious, and George’s shoulders hunch defensively.

“Let’s go home,” he stands up, hearing more than seeing as Sapnap does the same. “Whatever closure you’re looking for- you’re not finding it here.”

[narrators-journal]

Stolas and Blitz, Creampie and Voice kink

So, this is gonna be my one and only helluva boss writing. I find I do not really enjoy writing for these characters despite liking them. I also didn't stick to canon, bc Cloaca's make me uncomfy in sexual contexts. Other than that, I had to get hella creative with the definition of 'creampie' bc I couldn't work in both kinks cleanly otherwise. Sometimes a bitch just aint that creative lol.

After such a long day, all Stolas wanted to do was watch tele novellas and drink enough alcohol to wash away the bitter after taste being around his wife always seemed to leave in his beak. However, Stella had the television remote, so that was off the table. Instead, the tall owl demon just went to their room and locked the door behind him. He didn't care if Stella threw a fit, he didn't want her to bother him until bedtime.

For now, all the demon wished to do was flop face down on the massive bed and groan into one of his many pillows. Whoever said marriage was the best part of life was on meth. He thought bitterly. Reaching up to try and rub some of the stress out of his shoulders. When that didn't work, he resorted to more involved tactics.

Getting up, the tall owl crept over to one side of the fancy bedroom and dug a toy out from the depths of his personal closet. It was a phalic thing, shaped like an imp's dick with a system of tubes that allowed the piece of silicone to produce artificial jizz.

Granted, Stalas had the power to summon something much more realistic and imaginative, but the simplicity and thrill of having a physical toy to hide made his dick twitch as soon as the demon had kicked off his pants. So, he double checked that the door to the hallway and balcony were locked, and the curtains were drawn before he set up the dildo and pulled his cellphone from his pocket while slathering his toy with lube and positioning the tip just at his entrance. At first, using general imp porn to fuel his imagination while he pushed the toy into himself.

Of course, the owl demon didn't actually focus on the pornstars in the pictures. They were plenty attractive, but Stolas only used the images for inspiration in his own fantasies of his childhood friend and crush Blitz. So it was himthat he imagined filling him up. Angling his dick to hit that special spot that made the owl's claws curl and his eyes fill with stars.

Though, the  owl couldn't quite decide which fantasy he craved to relieve his stress. Did he want to picture Blitz ravaging him like a wild animal? Taking his breath away and biting into his feathered kneck without mercy. Or did he prefer the fantasy of his childhood friend taking his time with him? Going slowly, finding all of the small spots that made the goetia puff up. He couldn't decide.

To make his situation more complicated, Stolas found that his searches were pulling up fewer and fewer enticing images. So, the fire he'd worked so hard to nurse into being was beginning to burn to embers in his belly, earning a frustrated groan. There's got to be SOMETHING to keep me going. He told himself, pausing his thrusting of his toy to rummage through his phone for any explicit photos of Blitz, or maybe any recordings of their phone calls.

Sadly, the hunt came up fruitless. Somehow, the owl demon hadn't a single recording of his spicy phone calls with his childhood friend, and he'd already examined every inch of the photos Blitz had sent him. He was jonesing for something a little fresher than those same pictures.

Not that he was complaining. The pictures were still quite appealing to Stolas. But they only provided small sparks of lust for the needy bonfire burning in him. It was more teasing than satisfying, which the owl demon hated.

So, in his desperation for anything to satisfy himself to, Stolas went digging through the saved recordings of their general calls. Rooting around in their non-sexual conversations until he found a recording of a call he'd made to the imp where Blitz sounded sleepy. That sure did it.

The husky mumble of his voice struck a chord in the bird demon. Reminding him of how growl-y his old friend got when they were meeting up for their monthly hook-up. Which breathed new life into the restless heat burning beneath Stolas' blue-grey feathers. In turn, drawing out more needy moans while his thrusts of the silicone toy into his ass grew quicker. Taking advantage of the heat before it could fade again.

So, Stolas happily used that recording of Blitz's sleepy, slow voice to push himself further into bliss. Angling his toy so it hit that one specific spot deep within him until he could feel his orgasm building. At that point, he paused his actions to make sure the toy could 'cum' with him before returning to thrusting the dildo into himself with another slew of moans.

Nothing beat the feeling of the real Blitz filling him to the brim with hot seed, but the faux-cum that shot into him would have to do for now. All he really needed was the friction the toy gave to ensure the bliss washed the owle away and his member gave one final twitch and thrub before splattering his own load onto his feathers. And while the recording of Blitz's alluring voice made Stolas crave his touch all that much more, for now, he bit back the urge to call his childhood friend.

Call him tomorrow, Stolas.He told himself while he began to clean himself up. It's far too late to call him over. Stella would find him and ruin all of the fun. The thought of his bitter wife made the owl audibly groan, but he shoved the thought of her away. He'd just gotten himself to relax, he couldn't risk ruining that by letting himself focus on her. She could sleep in a guest room tonight. He instead pulled his bottoms back on and just laid down to dream of his charming imp prince.

[seducemefanblog]

Snatched SamxMika

So uhh I had to take down my old tumblr (Seducemefreakk) bc of my mom. But I have decided to go behind her back and get on tumblr with a new email.

So I’m going to repost my old fanfiction :33

As I exited the cafe, I heard the jingling of the bells located above my head. At that moment I turned back to glance at the glass panes on the eatery’s door.  As I did I gave a small wave goodbye to Suzu. After my small farewell, I turned my gaze back towards the road, awaiting my Uber. I felt bad for leaving our outing early, but I wanted to see Sam. But I mean could you blame me? He’s been extremely busy with work lately.  Constantly working late into the night, most of the time in which I’m already asleep. We’ve barely seen each other. And today was like any other: him leaving for work bright and early. That meant that I was alone for the day. I figured tonight would be like any other work night for him recently. So instead of staying by myself all day, I made plans with Suzu. It had been a while since we had hung out anyways. 

Suzu and I met promptly at The Pink Lady Cafe at 7:00pm. We had been chatting, joking, laughing and basically having an all around good time until about 7:45. When suddenly something in my back pocket buzzed. I immediately recognized what the buzzing was coming from, and swiftly grabbed my phone from my back pocket. I unlocked it to a message from Sam “ Hey, doofus. I’ll be home early today. Hopefully…at about 7. Have you eaten? “ I slightly smiled not only because he always made sure my needs were met before his but also just from seeing his name pop up in my notifications. My mind began to trail off... “It’s crazy how much I love him. Come on, who am I kidding? I love him so much it almost hurts.” I thought. I continued to let my thoughts linger for just a moment longer before I quickly opened my messages and replied “ Sorry! I have… but feel free to get whatever, I'll try to be home soon. Love you <3” 

And that’s how the story of a very frightening night began: Me wanting to go home to my loving incubus, while waiting for my ride home during a typical chilly night. As I stood under the streetlights outside the Pink Lady Cafe my phone buzzed. I looked down to see a notification “Your uber has arrived.” I began to look around for a grey prius. I quickly spotted it, and made my way closer to the edge of the sidewalk in anticipation to get home. It speedily pulled up to me and I watched as the passenger window rolled down it’s window. As I peered in the car, I saw a man in his late 30’s , unshaven, and looked to be an all around slob. But before I could consciously think about his disheveled appearance, a skeptical voice spoke up “ Are you Mika?” I nodded and he motioned towards the backseats in his car, silently instructing me to go in the back seat. I obviously obliged. I pulled on the car door and quickly sat down and buckled up. 

During the ride, I kept noticing how he would glance at something in the rear view mirror. I just told myself he was looking at what was on the road behind us. But I quickly began to realize he wasn’t looking at the road, he was looking at me. Once I noticed this, I told myself that it's a little out of place but not something to be frightened about. Yet I remained cautious. I averted my eyes from the window to the driver's seat. As I did I really began to take in his looks. My gut began screaming that something was wrong. Yet, I tried to remain calm, I just kept telling myself I was overreacting. When my thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the lack of movement, the car had stopped. My eyes began to dart around my surroundings to figure out why. They immediately checked the traffic, no red lights, no stop signs, no pedestrians, there was no reason for us to be stopped. That’s when it went from just my gut screaming at me but also the alarms in my head. Then I heard a voice, and my eyes darted towards it. In less than a second I pinpointed where the voice was coming from. The driver's seat. I looked at the man sitting in the seat as he spoke “We’re out of gas... “ followed by a seemingly forced sigh. My foreboding feeling throughout my body was growing more intense by the second. Almost unbearable. I decided to get out of the car, if something were to happen I didn’t want to be stuck in such a small space with little room to defend myself. 

The driver followed suit, and leaned against his car about 8 inches away from me. I tried to brush it off as him just getting out to see what he could do. Though I did instinctively take a couple steps further away from him. He was leaning on the back seat’s window while I stood in front of the passenger window. I took a quick glance at him then took out my phone to text Sam. “Hey, it may take a bit longer. The uber ran out of gas. I should be home soon, hopefully.” While I was busy looking down at my phone, I failed to notice the driver sidle up beside me. As I looked up I flinched, clearly shocked to see him so close. But before I could shift my legs to move further down the car away from him: He gripped onto my raven hair and in just mere second covered my mouth. Preventing me from both getting away and screaming for help. He began to drag me forward towards an alleyway, I squirmed desperately trying to get away. I kicked and hit, which was returned by my hair being pulled harder towards the alley-way. I could feel the hot fearful tears run down my face. Everything was happening so fast I couldn’t even think. 

As we entered the alley-way he roughly pushed me onto the ground. Now towering over me. I looked up at him to see a wicked smile. A smile you’d see in a horror movie. He slowly began to walk towards me as I began to desperately crab crawl away. But was abruptly stopped by my back crashing into a big metal trash can. He was getting closer, my mind still racing with fear and panic. I couldn’t think straight. Instinctively my arms began to rummage around for things to defend myself. I didn’t find anything! I began to look harder for anything: metal, glass.. ANYTHING. It didn’t help that it was almost impossible to see through my blurred eyes and hard to feel with my trembling hands. As I was looking around frantically Sam popped into my mind. As he did sensible thoughts began to fester. Within seconds I heard myself call out “Aomaris!” 

Within a mere seconds the frantic air had changed into a serene state shortly followed by a bright light. I quickly covered my eyes with my shoulder, waiting for the light to disperse. As the light died, I looked up from my arms to see Sam and his shocked expression. I watched as his eyes darted around looking for me, and when he found me his eyes went gold for a mere second before turning back to their original emerald green hue. His gaze had only lasted a second before being interrupted by a scarily familiar voice “What the HELL?”

Sam immediately tracked down the voice to the man, now shaken to his core. But before Sam could let his rage take over the man had run. Sam stood in place for several seconds, internally fighting all of his instincts to go after the guy. Once he had made up his mind on what he should do, he had appeared in front of me within a millisecond. He immediately wrapped me in his arms, petting my hair in an effort to calm me. I laid my head on his chest tightly gripping the green shirt under his vest. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it. He must have known because I heard him mumble in my ear “Shh...it’s okay. Let it out..” 

And I did, I broke down. I sobbed so hard my voice became hoarse and quivered so much you’d think that there was an earthquake. But Sam didn’t let up, just pulled me closer to his chest. My sounds were swallowed by his green t-shirt. I could feel his warmth despite the cold metal of his dog tag pressed against his cheek. I still don’t know how long we sat in that alley way. I do know that overtime my weeping had slowled, and he used that as an opportunity to get us home. Sam made the executive decision to go through a pentagram. I felt him take a smidget of energy from me. I didn’t fight it, why would I? I could feel myself slowly falling through the ground. I knew what he was doing, he didn’t have to say it. Within a second I felt myself now sitting on the stone steps located in front of my home. 

He slowly let go of his grip around me and gently took my hand in his before standing both of us. He had a grip on my waist making sure to keep me steady, since he was still unaware if I was injured. Though when he was sure I was secure on the ground he slowly let go. I watched as he felt around his pockets until he found his keys. I watched as he took them from the inside of his vest and used them to unlock our front door. As the door swung open he again gently gripped onto my hand, guiding me inside. 

As I passed through the door letting it swing shut naturally, I took in the familiar smell of my air refresher still plugged into the wall. Sam looked back at me, I could tell he was concerned, but he wasn’t going to show it. I looked up at him beginning to wonder what was going through his mind. Sam’s complicated to say the least. It’s hard for him to express himself, so usually I speak up first. And I did.  “Are you okay?” Sam looked deeper into my eyes, probably wondering if I was seriously asking him if HE was okay... I was correct. He quickly conveyed his feelings to me on the situation “ You’re asking me if I’m okay?” he responded sarcastically. I stood still waiting for him to continue on. “Seriously?” He scoffed. I stood there taken back by his tone. “He could have hurt you! Why’d you wait that long to summon me!? “ 

His voice was now significantly raised and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. I mean was he practically screaming it. He was mad, not at me but at himself. I knew that probably didn’t even notice his temper. “Sam..” I mumbled. Even in his self-loathing state he was still able to give me his undivided attention. He aimed his stare towards me. I used this as an opportunity to make him aware of the level of his voice. “Sam…” I began, while fidgeting with my hands. He still stared, waiting for me to finish. “Sam.. you’re kinda-sorta yelling…”

He looked down and pressed his two fingers against the bridge of his nose while simultaneously letting out a heavy sigh. I looked down to my fingers still fidgeting with them. But my gaze was soon steadily placed on him by the sound of his voice. “I...I d-didn’t mean to yell at you like that.. It’s just who knows what that DICK…” he took a moment to calm himself before continuing.  “ bag would’ve done to you.” He looked up at me then breathed heavily out his nose, as if he was letting off steam. I slowly made my towards him and gingerly wrapped my arms around his neck while gently pecking him on his lips in an effort to calm him down. 

He let out a content sigh and wrapped his arms around my waist. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how to say it. I lifted my head to look up to his emerald green irises. He returned the gesture and proceeded to look deeply in my eyes, as if they would help formulate the words he had trapped inside his head. 

He took a breath in signalling to me that he was going to speak.  His eyes lingered a bit longer before looking down to the floor as if in shame. Then he spoke... “ I’m sorry for yelling at you, I-I didn’t mean to… I just… “ He nuzzled his head on my shoulder shortly followed by a muffled voice. “ I just want to protect you..” I removed my arms from around his broad shoulders, and instead wrapped them around his form and placed my head on the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around me tighter and I happily returned the gesture.

“Sam… you do protect me.” He lifted his head to look at me. “Do I?” I simply just stared back at him thinking out my words carefully before speaking “Sam, of course you protect me. Tonight could have been so much worse if it wasn’t for you. Mmm-kay, you hear me? You DO protect me, I have no doubt in that.” He sighed and removed his hands from my waist and instead took one of my hands. Which confused me. 

“Hm?” I shot him a curious look. “Come doofus it’s getting late, let’s get you to bed.” I glanced at the clock on the wall and then cocked my head at my incubus. “What? “ He said amused. I responded teasingly “Since when do you go to bed at 8:30?” He shrugged “Maybe I’m just tired.” I looked at him closer, trying to see if he was joking or if he was actually tired. As I inspected him I came to realize he probably was tired, and I suddenly felt bad for him having to use his energy to save me. But I quickly shut those thoughts out. 

“Long day? “ I replied empathetically. He simply nodded tiredly. I sighed contently then said “ Then let’s go to sleep, dork.” He dramatically rolled his eyes before chucking.  Still hand in hand he began to walk and I happily  complied to follow behind. As we reached my bedroom we both silently agreed to change before heading to bed. We both began to strip from our day clothes back to each other. I turned my head slightly to look over my shoulder.

As I did I found myself admiring a very muscly back. And at that moment I thought “damn he’s ripped” . And I mean ripped. At that moment he finished changing and turned back to look at me, and as he did I immediately turned my head away from him, I could feel the way my face had heated up from being caught. I hurried up and tried to get dressed to prevent myself from becoming a blushing mess. As I slipped my shirt on, I heard a snicker behind me- along with a familiar sound of ruffling sheets. As I was done getting dressed by then I turned around to further inspect the noise. 

I turned around to see Sam in bed, comfortable under the covers. He flashed me a goofy grin and motioned for me to join him. I quickly accepted his invitation. As I laid down next to him he put his arm and me. I eagerly laid my head on his chest, resting my hand in the same place. Soon enough his breathing slowed, signalling to me he had fallen asleep, and before I knew it I followed after.

[synchlora]

newsagogo & hot chimp & party poison im too lazy to find the symbols for them

oh boy this is gonna be really fuckin long cause i spent way too long imagining the scenario where Party meets the DJs.

some background on this scene to give Party more context: Party was a juvie hall for some time in the city and had a tracker placed in the back of their neck by BLi. they got this removed but they were attacked during this process and the person removing it was killed, so they have an open gash there. they had to immediately run and got lost in the underground, eventually making it to the desert where they wandered along the road in really rough shape.

and mild trigger warning bc i do mention a dead body here and looting. nothing in detail but it is mentioned!!

anyway, without further ado here's some shit i wrote way too fast bc this hc scene is very vivid in my mind:

“Told ya we shouldn’t’ve gone out this far,” Hot Chimp rolled her eyes at Newsie’s snarky comment, rasped out through the thin, hot desert air.

"Well maybe if you’d’ve known our directions worth half a shit we wouldn’t’ve gotten lost out in Zone 3 for two hours,” Chimp raised an eyebrow at the ‘joy sitting next to her and the two of them couldn’t help but crack a smile. They both loved an adventure, albeit one on a day as hot as this may not be ideal. They were just headed out for a quick supply run out to Zone 2, but had gotten hopelessly lost at Cherri’s vague instruction of “somewhere out by a rock that looks kinda like a skyscraper” as if half the cliffs out here didn’t look exactly the same.

It’d been several very long hours of driving the van out in sweltering heat, and the two of them were somewhat on edge from the temperature. Trying to drown out the overwhelming heat, Hot Chimp turned the dial on the radio up and let some music blast loudly before Newsie could protest. But rather than the usual disgruntled mumbles of her partner, Newsie suddenly gripped her shoulder and shook her to get her attention. Chimp dialed the radio down and gave a puzzled look before looking to where News was pointing.

Out on the side of the road, there was a body.

Obviously, it’s not uncommon to come across dusted ‘joys out in the zones, but this one looked like they were just a kid, couldn’t be older than 17. They didn’t even look quite like they were dressed right for the desert, wearing torn up scraps that were duller than anything you’d see out in the desert. This was a city kid, some random rebel so desperate for escape that they wound up getting ghosted as soon as they tasted some real freedom.

Chimp grimaced at the sight, pulling the van over to the side of the road a few yards off from where the ghosted kid lay. She gave News an unsteady look and she returned a little nod before they both got out of the car. Tragic as deaths out in the zones may be, if you’re dusted it means you don’t need your gear anymore. And there’s no point in wasting any good materials for some foolish idea that the dead may care.

The two ‘joys headed over to the body, holding their hands up to the blistering sun. They’d have to be fast, couldn’t waste any water on sweating it out while getting some supplies that may not even be worth it. News reached down to the corpse first, placing a hand on their neck to ensure that they were in fact dead and there was no hope of taking them back to be another of the many strays that Cherri takes in. Chimp looked over to her partner who simply shook her head, signalling her to start rummaging through the dusted kid’s pockets.

Not a whole lot to speak of: a couple carbons, a jacket that may be worth patching up, a good pair of shoes (which seemed like they may even fit), and- best of all- a knife that wasn’t even rusted. Just as Newsie began to lift the body so that Chimp could slip off the decently salvageable jacket, a sudden gasp of breath and an ungodly scream escaped the lips of the previously-believed-to-be-dead rebel.

Newsie and Chimp both leapt back, dropping the supposedly ghosted rebel hard on the ground, their head making solid contact with cracked up asphalt. Chimp’s gun was drawn in a heartbeat and Newsie held hers pointed low at the figure that was groaning in pain before them. The wide-eyed ‘joys stared frantically at the kid that they swear was fucking dead just a minute ago.

The dazed city kid began to stumble to their feet and Chimp practically jumped back.

“Don’t move a fucking muscle, batt rat!” Chimp held her ray gun steadily, not batting an eye at the stranger that had just come to life in front of her. The young rebel looked up to the two ‘joys, only seeming to fully process that they had weapons drawn and pointed at them in this moment. They opened their mouth to speak but quickly shut back up. Whether it was out of fear or dehydration (if this kid could even dehydrate much less die), the two DJs didn’t know.

Chimp stood still, nodding over to News who remembered suddenly that she had a radio. She took out the radio, calling to Cherri to let him know what the fuck had just happened. Not too many details, just that they’d found a near-dead city kid that’d scared the everloving shit out of them. She took a while to explain the events of the past few minutes and a garbled voice came back over the static, talking for far too long. Chimp could tell by the exasperated look on Newsie’s face exactly what Cherri had said. He’d never been one to turn down anyone who’d needed help, dead or not.

Newsie rolled her eyes and looked back between the previously-ghosted kid on the ground and to her partner who, while appearing steady, was truthfully scared as all shit. She’d never let it show though. News looked up to Chimp, looking tired but also pleading, knowing that Chimp wouldn’t exactly be happy about bringing home a half-dead city rat. But Chimp knew just as well that she couldn’t leave the kid out here, and that Newsie wouldn’t let her.

~~~~~

By this time, Party’s whole body was burning. They had no fucking clue where they were. One moment they were stumbling through the underground, the next they were bleeding out along a road, and the next they were being held at gunpoint by the two brightest people they’d ever seen in their life. Their head was still spinning from a mix of dehydration, blood loss, and the nasty crash their head had when they went falling into the asphalt road. Speaking of asphalt, Witch, they’re really burning up. Every bit of skin that so much as touched the road burned hotter than a stove.

They watched their captors (is that what you’d call them?) as they appeared to discuss what to do with them over some device that spat static and garbled words. After the shorter of the two seemed to finish the conversation they’d had over the little black box, the taller one all too suddenly approached them, ray gun still drawn.

“Get up,” she practically spat out the words, “we’re headed back to the station,” she hesitated with a sigh, shifting a glance back at her partner, “and apparently we’re taking you with us.”

Party sat there stunned, hardly able to even imagine moving their aching limbs and unsure if they could even walk anymore.

“Well? Are you gonna get up or are you gonna let yourself burn up out here,” this time the shorter ‘joy spoke up from the seat of a van that was parked a few yards away from where they sat.

“We don’t need to take ya back,” the person near them didn’t offer so much as a hand to help them to their feet, but they took that warning as final. They stumbled to their feet, breathing in sharply between clenched teeth as they painstakingly stood up and staggered over to the open van doors. All the while feeling the presence of the taller ‘joy directly behind them, watching every move.

They practically collapsed into the back seat of the van, slipping in and out of consciousness as the car went roughly over the uneven terrain. Every jagged movement of the van sent Party into another spiral of sharp pain, sending shockwaves from the open wound in the back of their neck. They tried their best to steady themselves in the back seat of the van but they could hardly stay awake long enough to even register half of their surroundings. They heard a foggy conversation in one brief window of wakefulness.

“I don’t know, we shouldn’t be so rough on ‘em. Like that’s just a kid, Chimp, we don’t know shit about them,” the voice sounded like the one that spoke to the little black box earlier.

“You saw what the fuck happened, News! I jus-,” the other voice, seemingly named Chimp, paused to tap anxiously at the steering wheel, “I don’t know what the fuck just happened back there but that ‘kid’ wasn’t alive when we first found ‘em,” that one sounded more like the ‘joy that had yelled at them earlier.

“Still,” the smaller joy (was her name News?) breathed a long sigh, “Just let Cherri deal with ‘em I guess.”

The other voice seemed to soften and took on an apologetic tone, “I’m sorry for bein’ so spooked earlier. ‘S just that scared the livin’ shit outta me,” she paused before her voice picked up somewhat as she elbowed the other ‘joy, “didn’t wanna lose ya to some zombie kid.”

A couple of giggles escaped the shorter ‘joy’s lips at the remarks made by Chimp about the ‘undead’ rebel in the backseat.

“Witch, how do we even begin to explain this one t’ Cherri?” News chimed in through more laughter. Chimp’s gentle chuckle broke through the conversation as well.

“Dunno, ‘m sure his religious ass will probably eat up whatever story we give ‘im though,” she paused and went into a dramatic more masculine voice, “Oh you’re sure they were dusted? Well that can only mean one thing, ‘s gotta be some sorta divine intervention!” the shorter ‘joy bust out into a full laughter that filled the van with a smile you could feel more than see. Party’s head panged with immense pain as the laughter rang out in their ears. They slowly slipped back away into unconsciousness as the van harshly jolted them around in the back of the car.

and that's all!! not to leave it on a cliff hanger but bro ive got even more ideas abt Party meeting Kobra and everyone else and that's a whole other long ass story that i wanna write too sgvfhbfhbgj. hope this is comprehensible, i have no clue how to write dialogue

[marvelmando]

breathe through the pain {p.parker x reader}

prompt comes from anon!

hey! since you wanted request, how about reader (who isnt a hero or anything) getting hurt and going for peter for help with the prompts 6, 26, 30 and 60? didnt know if there was a limit so sorry if so, thank you! hope you have a nice day/night!

notes: yes yes yes yes yes! this might be slightly hard just bc there are so many prompts, but my brain is ready for the challenge. thanks so much for requesting anon! and i hope you have an awesome day/night too, my lovely friend :)

also, i’m sorry for the gif and sad quote. see if you can spot it ;)

based on:

6. “You just got stabbed and you want to know if I’m okay?!”

26. “Am I not good enough for you?”

30. “Oh, absolutely not. I can’t do this without you.”

60. “I’m in love with you!”

from this prompt.

***warning: there’s a part at the beginning where a mugger is about to do... unsavory things to the reader, but it doesn’t end up happening. i don’t say anything outright, but if you’re triggered by assault or sexual assault, please don’t read this!!!! or just skip the beginning few paragraphs!!! there’s also some violence, particularly a stabbing, so if you’re squeamish, i don’t recommend reading this either, as i definitely go into some detail. also, some cursing (but with me, that’s par for the course, i’m afraid).

There was something off.

Walking alone at night in the city was an absolute no-no, especially for someone like you. But in your defense, it had still been light out by the time you left your apartment in Queens. The line at Delmar’s had been ridiculously long, and it took nearly an hour just to get a sandwich and a soda.

But you’d went alone, and now it was dark out, and something wasn’t right. The street you were taking was poorly lit, as most streets around there were. You should’ve been smart and taken the main road, but it would’ve taken you twice as long to reach your apartment complex in Forest Hills. The back of your neck burned, the hair on your arms raised in alarm. If you weren’t so anxious, you’d probably make a joke about your friend Peter and his spider-senses. 

You picked up your pace when you heard the footsteps. As they got closer and louder, you reached into the front pocket of your jeans, feeling around for the remote Peter had given you and pressed the large button in the center, knowing it would alert him that you were in danger. It was a safety precaution you two had begun earlier that year when Rhino was at large.

It was just in time, too, because just as you’d finished pushing the button, a pair of hands grabbed you by the bicep and threw you into the nearest alley.

You stumbled to the ground, bag carrying your goods flying out of your hands, but the mugger was quick to haul you to your feet and shove you against the brick wall of an abandoned convenience store.

“Hey!” You shouted, yanking against his grip as he manhandled you. “Let me go, you asshole!”

You froze at the sharp press of the blade against your cheekbone, wincing slightly as it pushed into your skin.

“Shut your mouth pretty lady, or I’m gonna shut it for you.” He leaned in as he hissed into your ear. His hot breath was soured, making you grimace and press your face harder into the brick.

You tried to push off the wall, but he’d pinned both hands between your stomach and the wall, and by the feel of him, he was at least twice your size with hands as big as your face. Those same filthy hands rummaged over your hips, clawing into your back pockets as he presumably searched for your loose change (you knew better than to carry a hanging purse in the city).

He grunted in frustration once he realized you didn’t have any. “Ain’t got no money, sweetheart?” His voice sounded like he was smirking filthily. Your heart slid across a beat as you thrashed harder. It only made him tighten his grip and dig the blade harder into your cheek. “Guess I’m gonna have to take somethin’ else, ain’t I?”

“Let go!” You growled and, noticing that the hand holding the knife was slackening as he focused on moving his hand to your waist, you shoved your head back into his nose.

You heard a satisfying crunch at the impact, and the guy loosened his grip on you only slightly. But it was enough for you to lift your foot up and onto his toes, hearing a crack there too.

Instead of cowering back, however, it only made the mugger angry. He lunged at you with a low shout, slamming his fist into your cheek. 

Your vision swam on impact, your mouth going fuzzy and ears beginning to ring. You could only barely notice that the guy had grabbed you to his chest instead of pressing you to the wall again, and it took you a minute to realize why.

Your eyes cleared enough to see Spider-Man at the entrance of the alley, and despite the pain radiating in your cheek, you grinned widely.

“Let her go!” You thought you heard Spider-Man yell to the mugger. You dazedly tried to move out of the man’s hold, but gasped at the sting against your throat, realizing he’d pressed his blade there.

“Don’t move, ma’am,” Spider-Man instructed you, sounding slightly panicked, as if he was trying to suppress the urgency. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Don’t move, Spider-Man!” The man shouted from behind you, sounding too loud next to your ear. You instinctively struggled against him, causing him to tense and hold the knife harder against your throat, drawing blood this time. Your hands flew up to the man’s arms, trying to push them away. “Don’t move or this knife slices the lady’s pretty little throat.” He sneered down at you.

You didn’t know why Peter wasn’t moving to shoot a web at this guy; you’d seen him deal with guys holding hostages before. More importantly, you’d seen him not even hesitate with guys holding guns to hostages’ heads, aiming his webs true no matter how close the criminal was to the hostage, but now? This guy only had a knife, and she’d seen Peter react faster than this guy could even move a pinky finger. So why wasn’t he moving?

You realized what you’d have to do. You’d somehow have to push this guy away from you so Peter could shoot a web at him. Maybe you were just too close to the guy, maybe there wasn’t enough space to get a web around him. 

Looking Peter straight into the eyes of his mask, you nodded imperceptibly. Before you moved, you saw his bionic eyes widen and his hand raise.

You thrust your hips forward, pushing them back as hard into the mugger’s crotch as you could. He was startled, releasing you only slightly, but recovered quicker than you expected.

Then, several things happened at once.

You think Peter yelled. Someone did, but it wasn’t you.

Then, the mugger reached down and grabbed you around the waist. A dull but sharp pain erupted in your abdomen and your breath leaving your lungs in a heavy exhale, sounding more like a sigh than a grunt.

Time slurred and dark spots popped through your vision as your feet collapsed underneath you. This was when you realized that the mugger had let go of you. 

You weren’t sure when your eyes closed, but they opened to stare at the open sky above the alley; would’ve been black and speckled with stars if not for the pollution pouring from the city’s millions of lights. But there were the stars; why could she see stars? Twinkling down at her like a billion little fairy lights, like the ones hanging around her bedroom.

“Stars,” she thought she breathed, and the next thing she knew, Peter’s unmasked face was blocking her view of the stars. She smiled weakly. “Pete, look, the stars,”

“No, no, no!” Peter reached down for the blade sticking out of your stomach. “Y/N, stay with me, please!”

You struggled to meet his gaze. “Hey,” you lifted a hand to his cheek, finding a large, blooming bruise already forming there. His lip was swollen, and his hair disheveled from taking his mask off. His eyes swam with something close to panic and desperation. “Are you okay?”

He let out a pained laugh, though it was humorless.  “You just got stabbed and you want to know if I’m okay?”

“I’m alright, Peter,” you told him, and it was starting to be true. Your head cleared slightly, and as you glanced up you didn’t see the stars anymore. You looked down at your stomach, where the knife was protruding at a weird angle. You were beginning to sit up when a wave of pain rushed over you, nearly suffocating you. “Ah, shit,” you gasped. “Maybe not, then.”

“God, Y/N, don’t do that again!” He scolded, sounding eerily similar to May. Not that you’d ever tell him, even as the thought made you chuckle breathlessly.

You watched hazily as he leaned to the side to grab something - his mask, you realized, as he yanked it on with one hand, the other holding the good side of your waist.

“Karen, call for an ambulance. Yeah, run some diagnostics.” A pause, his bionic eyes closing shut as he sighed minimally. “Good. That’s... good, at least. Thanks, Karen.”

With that, he yanked his mask off to reveal the soft brown irises you loved so much. They were so expressive; no matter how much Peter learned to school his features into an unreadable mask, he was never able to hide how much his eyes said. You were always able to read them, after years of being friends with him, but right now there was just too much, and your head was steadily clouding as shock was setting in.

“Pete, I -”

“Just hang on, Y/N, you’re gonna be all right.” He smiled down at you, not willing to move you an inch in case it caused further damage to your insides. He knew better than to remove it, of course. The only option was to wait for paramedics to arrive and take you to the hospital.

“I’m... I’m just gonna close my eyes for a bit, okay?” You slurred, your eyes growing as heavy as lead. Peter’s voice forced you back into focus, and you clung to it like a life preserver.

“No, no! Absolutely not.” He urged, eyes softening as yours focused on him. “I can’t do this without you.”

He seemed to say the last part to himself, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. The sound of sirens came into focus as they grew louder and louder.

“Just a little bit longer, Y/N, just hold on a little longer.” He stammered like he knew it was his voice that kept you awake. Maybe he didn’t, and he was saying it because he needed to, like if he stopped, he’d never get talk to you again.

His face was the only thing you could keep your eyes trained on, even as he tugged on his mask just as the ambulance arrived. Even as they swarmed around you, forcing Peter to let you go and watch as the paramedics secured the blade and hoisted you onto a stretcher. Even as you were rushed away and Peter just watched you get lifted into the back of the ambulance.

Then the doors closed and your eyelids dropped again.

“It’s okay,” you thought you heard the female paramedic say. “You can rest now.”

So you did.

---

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pressure on your left hand. Then came the smell, sterile and bright. Then, the incessant and steady beeping of the monitor.

You peeled open your eyes, grateful that the room wasn’t as bright as you’d expected. It was, however, very white. White walls, white tiled floors, white bedsheets, and white furniture. Even with the blinds partially closed and the lights turned off, the hospital room glowed from all the blinding white.

A spot of brown popped up in your peripherals, catching your attention. It was Peter, his head resting next to where he grasped your hand with his. Not wanting to wake him but not comfortable with watching him as he slept, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

He woke immediately, head shooting up and eyes focusing on you automatically, as if you were the only thing in the room worth looking at.

“Y/N,” he breathed, a smile warming his eyes and voice despite the painful-looking bruise on his cheek. He returned the light squeeze on your fingers, before reaching over with his available hand to the button that alerted the nurses.

“Wait,” you croaked, voice stiff from disuse. To his credit, Peter stopped, but didn’t look happy about it. “I need to talk to you.”

He shifted uneasily, looking worried. “Yeah?”

You stared him in the eyes. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”

Peter blinked, looking startled, as if it wasn’t the question he was expecting to hear. “What... what do you mean?” He sounded confused, incredulous.

“You know what I mean.” You snapped lightly, narrowing your eyes. “You could have easily stopped him when he had the knife to my throat. But you didn’t. You hesitated. Why?”

Peter’s eyes slid away from you, as if he knew the answer was something uncomfortable to admit. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t know!”

“Were you bored or something?” Anger rose in you irrationally. “Was it not enough danger for you?” You knew it was a stupid accusation, but you couldn’t help but let the insecurity slip, “Am I not good enough for you?”

“What? Of course you are -”

“Then what, Peter?! Why did you hesitate?”

“Because I was terrified!” He suddenly shouted. You blinked, words escaping you.

“Of course you were Peter, I was terrified too!”

“No, you don’t -” he broke off, slipping his hand away and standing up to pace the floor in front of your bed. “You don’t understand, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do! I’d be terrified too if my best friend had a knife held to their throat!” You let out a dry laugh. “Hell, I’m terrified for you, and you face worse threats than puny little knives.”

Peter growled. “It’s different!”

Your mouth opened in disbelief. “What - Peter, how the hell is it diff -”

“Because I’m in love with you!” He shouted, his ears glowing a bright red, and his eyes hardened. Your mouth snapped shut. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and I’ve been so lucky that you haven’t been in any serious danger, even when Rhino was attacking me and Toomes discovered my secret.” He was breathing heavily, his brown eyes molten with something burning and slightly sweet, despite the rage still simmering under his voice. “I’ve never had to save you from something, and last night, I... it really hit me that if I made one wrong move...” his voice broke off, the fight draining out of him.

“Pete,” was all you could seem to say. You tried sitting up, and although the pain was significantly better than the day before, the pain blossoming from the wound made you gasp and collapse against the pillow. Peter rushed over to your side, making sure you stayed down and hadn’t broken your stitches.

He was fussing over your bandages when you put a hand to his good cheek. “Pete, I’m alright. You know that, right?”

He nodded, tilting his face into your hand. His eyes were soft again, full of light and love and something that made your breath escape through your lips.

“And I love you too, Pete. I’m in love with you, to be clear.” You smiled lightly, and his eyes brightened with a hidden smile. 

“Can I...” he began to say, eyes sliding down to your lips.

Without a word, you leaned forward, and this time, you didn’t even notice the pain.

[kpopshitposter]

“Come cuddle.”

Writing Prompt Meme

YAS THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS

I think this got a lil long (I love chan so much) but basically Chan comes into the coffee shop you work in (bc coffee shop AUs will never be overdone) and you fall in love with him instantly because who wouldn’t and then he makes your life better because what else would he do

Potential warning: This contains mention of a parent remarrying and getting a lil drunk at their wedding

If someone were to ask you to describe what happened in one sentence, you’d say a volcano erupted in your heart and destroyed everything in its path. That’s what it was like to fall for him. It was a violent, sudden hot mess.

You had met him by chance and were instantly smitten. He smiled so brightly and made you feel so at ease, so calm. He had this vibrant energy about him that, even when he was simply asking for coffee, you felt beautiful despite the apron wrapped around you.

You found yourself wanting desperately for him to come in. You started trying to look your best and thinking about him all day long. He’d only talk to you in short bursts, but they were always the highlight of your day. You found yourself asking for more shifts just in case he was going to come in. It was so wonderful to have some form of consistency, something to rely on. It was so wonderful to have something become familiar to you, finally, since you moved here and started university.

One morning he made a joke about you seeing each other so often that you’re basically best friends. You tried to not seem too happy about that.

He learned your name.

You learned his. Chris. You treasured this new knowledge like it was an incredibly precious secret.

He starts to ask about you - how long have you been working here? What do you do when you’re not here? It makes you feel so special, like someone cares about you, is interested in you. At first, you’re ashamed of yourself for being so taken by him, but when your world comes crashing down around you and he’s the only one there for you, your heart whispers a very gentle I told you so.

The news comes like a slap in the face. Your father is remarrying.

You’ve never even met his new partner. How could he be doing this? How could he bring a stranger into your life in such a permanent way? To make things worse, he didn’t tell you in person. Oh, no. The coward simply sent an invitation in the post. The only type of communication you’ve received from literally anyone about anything is some weird unknown number trying to call you. Since moving, not even your old friends have kept in touch with you.

When you ring him, he didn’t answer. That wouldn’t be the last time he avoids your call.

It’s barely been six months. You thought you understood him not visiting you since you moved out of the city, but the wedding is going to be near where you live, so he must have visited the venue and didn’t even think to tell you... You’ve never felt so unimportant.

Just thinking about it makes you angry, and it’s not until Chris is in front of you and looking concerned that you realise you’ve been wallowing in your thoughts. Your sniffle comes as a surprise to you. You quickly try to wipe away the tears begging to reveal themselves.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because that would be a pointless question. Instead, he directs his request to your colleague. He doesn’t want to bring attention to you. You smile at him gratefully but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You find your chance to slip out the back and crumble to the floor of the car park.

You’re not sure why you’re crying. Maybe too much has changed at once. Maybe you feel betrayed. Maybe you thought out of everyone, you were a priority to your family. The last thought is the one that sticks with you. You’ve never been a priority for anyone, have you? Your father never cared about what view you might have on this, he never cared enough to introduce you two. If he doesn’t, who would?

The tears aren’t just half-there anymore. Your cries are coming out loudly. Why can’t you camouflage into this wall? Why, why, why? Why do you even bother?

The sound of your name startles you. You gasp, red eyes landing on the sweet-looking boy standing over you. You quickly try to rectify your image, fix your face, fix your hair, fix your clothes. Smile. Laugh. Be strong, for once.

He slowly kneels down in front of you. “What happened?” he looks like he really cares. You look back with distrust. “You might feel better if you talk to someone.” You continue to stare at him. “Oh-” he shifts and reaches into his pocket to bring out some tissues for you.

When you clean your face and wipe your nose with them you decide this couldn’t be more embarrassing.

“Please don’t keep it in, that will only hurt more.”

You want to ask him why he’s so nice to you, but you’re afraid you won’t like the answer.

“My dad is remarrying.” he tilts his head like he’s expecting more of an explanation than that. “I… that’s not the issue, that’s fine.” you don’t want him to think you’re selfish. You explain the full situation. How long does your rant go on for? You’re not even sure. You let it all out. You let everything out. How alone you feel.  How unimportant you must be. “I don’t even think I want to go to the wedding at this point.”

“Why not?”

“It will be so awkward and I’ll probably just end up having a mental breakdown in the middle of the ceremony.”

He’s somehow ended up sitting on the ground beside you. “Wouldn’t you regret not going? The way you feel won’t last forever.”

“Yeah, well, I might regret going, too.”

“But at least you can say you tried. You should still go. If you really can’t handle it you can leave early, but if you don’t even try you’ll always wonder. You shouldn’t assume the worst without knowing anything, maybe he cares so much about you which is why he’s scared to talk to you.”

That rings a little too true. You feel bad for jumping to conclusions and that kind of makes you want to start crying again.

“Even if it’s not awkward I’ll end up spending the entire time alone. I…” you take a deep breath and rub your face. Unless ... “Would you… go with me?”

“What?”

“I know I’ll chicken out without someone to force me.” you also might be finding an excuse to spend some time with him. “Plus, if it ends up being the worst mistake of my life it will be your fault that I went. It’s only fair you go, too.”

Chris looks like he’s thinking it over and you expect to hear don’t be weird, we barely know each other, but instead, he says “Deal. I’ll go with you, and if you end up regretting going I’ll treat you to whatever you want.”

“Yeah? Promise?” He scoops up your pinky with his own and presses his thumb to yours. You feel your whole body ignite with life.

“Yaaaay!” he cutely cheers, wiggling your hand. “It will be fun.”

So, that was that.

You exchanged numbers and smiles before you went back in to finish your shift.

That night, and every night, and every morning, and every afternoon, you spend time staring at your phone. You want to message him so much, but you had no excuses (at least, none that wouldn’t come across as totally creepy). You’d think about funny ways to continue conversations you might have had when he came into the shop, but nothing came to mind.

By the time it came to planning for the wedding you had stared at his number so much that you knew it by heart. So, when it popped up, you almost smashed your phone screen by dropped it down the stairs. It was a picture.

You hesitate before opening it and the moment you do you squeal. Oh. Wow. Is this a dream?? It has to be a dream right?!

You don’t know how to process this.

A second picture comes through shortly after - of him in a white suit.

You sit on a step and try to calm yourself down. He looks so cute it’s painful. You kind of want to cry (but you won’t, because that would be weird).

The pictures make this all feel so much more real. He’s taking you to a wedding. Shit. What are you going to wear??

Okay. It’s been 20 minutes and you haven’t replied yet.

[Text:] I love both omg!!!!!!!!!

Yeah. Way too creepy. You’re quick to delete that.

[Text:] You look good in both of them!

Uhhhh slightly too creepy. Delete!

[Text:] Whichever one you want.

Too aloof. You’re getting annoyed at yourself now.

[Text:] I like both of them, but probably the white one.

Nice. Send!

[Text from Chris:] I was worried I messaged the wrong number for a while.

He responded so quickly that you barely even had a chance to stand up.

[Text:] Sorry, was kinda busy :)

[Text from Chris:] What are you going to wear?

That sends you scrambling up the stairs and into your bedroom. Excellent question, Christopher! You start to rummage through things, finding the sexiest thing you own which fills you with the most confidence. You tidy up and sort yourself out as much as possible before sitting on the edge of the bed and positioning yourself to get a picture. You take as many as you need until you get the perfect one. You get a call from an unknown number and hang up. You don’t have time for people trying to sell you stuff or telling you that you’ve been in an accident recently.

[Text:] Maybe this? Not sure, it’s kinda old and I have a few better things…

You smile proudly at yourself. That was so smooth you can’t believe you - wait. You zoom in. You groan loudly. Underwear flung over your chair that you forgot to move! How could you not realise that?! You face plant into your pillow.

When your phone buzzes, you kind of hope it’s the grim reaper texting to tell you it’s time.

[Text from Chris:] You look amazing - you’ll be turning heads! :)

Maybe he didn’t notice or maybe he’s way too gentlemanly and sweet to comment on it. Either way, you feel yourself fall for him even harder.

After that, it’s a lot easier to message him whenever you feel like it. You send him cute dogs you say look like him. He sends you kittens he says look like you. You tell him about all the crazy customers you had and he soothes your soul with every words he sends you in response.

The day of the wedding comes and he’s waiting outside for you in the cab. You check yourself nervously 1,000 times and consider bailing 10,000 times. Your dad still hasn’t responded to any of your calls - all you’ve been getting is a bunch of random spam. Did he sell your number or something?! You don’t know whether you’re meant to be angry or hurt at this point.

Chris eventually lures you out of the house. When he sees you he smiles.

“Wow… you…” he clears his throat.

“Oh-” you play with the material by your sides, “you look really n- good!”

He seems to blush a little and covers his face slightly with his hands. You can barely even appreciate his cuteness because of how anxious you are.

He opens the car door for you and helps you slide in. You get another call from the unknown number, which leaves a voice message for the 20th time. You delete it instantly. You’re so fed up with being pestered.

The journey to the venue is filled with little glances and attempted smiles. You pat your chest to tell your heart to calm the hell down. He must be able to read your mind because he gently touches your arm.

The car stops at the venue and Chris insists on paying the driver. He even helps you out of the car. Under any other circumstances you’d probably get flustered by this, but you’re too afraid of what’s about to happen to really take it in.

You go in slowly, afraid that around any corner might be your father. You don’t see him until you enter the reception hall itself. He’s standing at the end of the aisle, wringing his hands. When his gaze finds you, he breaks out into a large smile and rushes over.

Okay. You weren’t expecting that.

He pulls you into a big hug and Chris smiles, stepping back to allow you space.

“I thought you weren’t coming!”

You’re so confused.

“I texted you that I was…” your response comes out struggled from the tight hug.

“I didn’t get anything.” your father frowns, releasing you and bringing out his phone.

“I called you a billion times, too.”

“You did? Let me see.”

You show him your call history and he blinks.

“That’s not my number anymore.”

“What?!”

“I tried calling you to let you know that I changed my number. I even left you voice messages. Didn’t you get them?”

“Oh…” you glance at Chris, “I thought it was spam so I didn’t answer any or bother with… why didn’t you text me?!”

“I couldn’t figure out how to, and since you moved out of the city it wasn’t like I could just come see you easily! When we came to see this hotel I tried to meet up with you but you kept hanging up the phone.”

You laugh at yourself, a bitter, miserable laugh. Chris was right. You shouldn’t have anticipated the worst. You shouldn’t have been so paranoid about answering the phone.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and you bite your lip to distract yourself from your watering eyes.

“I am, too.” you sniffle.

“Who’s this?” he leans around you and offers his hand to Chris.

“Hi, I’m Chris. It’s nice to meet you.” Chris smiles, taking his hand in both of his and lowering his head politely.

“Nice to meet you too.” he looks between you both. His name gets called and he glances away. “I have to go, it’s about to start. Take a seat at the front-” he ushered a couple of apparently less important out of their seats to make room for the two of you.

You wonder how much Chris is holding back from gloating that he was right. He doesn’t seem like he is. He just seems happy and proud.

The music starts and you’re back to being nervous. You’re going to see her. For the first time. You’re going to see her.

You’re wrinkling your clothes by how tightly you’re squeezing the material over your thighs. Chris takes your hand and shuffles closer to you.

The further into the ceremony it gets, the more you squeeze him. Your father cries. That’s how happy he is. That’s how glad he was to say I do. To this woman. Whom you’ve never met.

Your family is now only going to be half-familiar to you.

You feel so guilty. You can’t be happy for him the way he deserves. Chris would remind you that regardless of the evil feelings festering inside of you, you’re still there. You showed up. You endure the entire ceremony, and now it’s time for the after-party.

You take your seats and a deep breath. Oh. Alcohol. Nice. You pick up a bottle and pour yourself some. When you offer it to Chris, he shakes his head. You’re not aware, but he wants to stay sober out of worry for you. He’s watching you in concern as you swallow gulp after gulp. You’re trying to drown your guilt.

The newly married couple make their grand entrance and you drink and drink. Their first dance. You take more sips.

You haven’t even said two words to your new mother-in-law… and you’re starting to think that was your own fault. Maybe you’ve just been ignoring signs. Maybe you’ve been too self-absorbed. Maybe the problem here is you, not your father. He deserves so much better.

“I think you should slow down.” Chris tries to take your cup away, “Eat someth-”

“Don’t. Don’t bother.” you might not regret reconciling with your dad, but you sure as hell regret coming and you definitely are starting to regret coming with Chris. You’ve probably misunderstood him, too. You’re probably thinking he’s your friend and he just feels sorry for you.

“There’s bread h-”

“Look, can you stop?!” it’s a good thing the music is so loud. “You got me here. You’re done with your end of the deal. You can leave now.”

He looks hurt and confused but you’re only seeing red.

“It’s great that he’s happy but I don’t know who that woman is. Now she’s part of my family and she’ll have to put up with me like everyone else. You don’t have to worry, you’re excused from pretending to like me.”

“I… haven’t been pretending.”

You grab your bag and stand up. The world sways. You stumble your way past the tables. You need to get out. You’re sure nobody in that room wants to see you. You get out of the hall and into the lobby, you’re determined to get outside while ignoring the strange looks. Even when you lose your balance and fall you still are only focused on escaping.

Hands on your arm are trying to help you to your feet.

You can hear your name.

Everything is so off-kilter. It’s all so wonky and impossible to see. You fall again as soon as you’re standing just by attempting to take one step.

Soon your feet are leaving the ground. You’re being scooped up in the arms of someone you can’t really make out. You’re mumbling to be put down, trying to scramble away from the arms which are cradling you. You’re too weak and apparently too quiet, so you start to shout louder. Put me down, put me down!

But some sort of exchange where you’re being shifted about is happening and soon you’re vaguely aware of being carried into the lift.

You’re able to focus a bit better when you’re still. You start to smile and giggle.

“Are you an angel?” you ask.

The beautiful man doesn’t reply. He just watches the floor number in the lift go up.

He shouldn’t have let you drink so much.

You end up falling asleep against the lovely warm chest you’re being held against. You drift in when your weight is being tilted this way and that so that a door can be opened. You’re laid down on a bed.

A wet towel is being put on your forehead and you’re being guided up into a sitting position and handed a cup of water. It’s then that you realise it’s Chris.

Ugh.

“Why are you here?” you snap.

He sighs. “Drink this. I’ll order some food to the room.”

“I said I don’t want it!” you swat and accidentally knock the cup back against Chris, wetting his suit.

“Stop it.” he sternly says, putting the cup down on the bedside table. “You’re acting childish. Don’t fold your arms at me like that. You already figured out that your dad was trying to call you so why are you still so upset?”

“That’s why! It’s my fault that he couldn’t tell me. He probably tried to get me to meet her a hundred times and I’m sure I found a way to avoid it! It’s my fault that all of this happened! It’s my fault that I felt that way and it’s my fault that I don’t know her. He probably doesn’t want a waste of space like me in his life anyway - I’m sure he was really happy to get rid of me. On top of that you’re still pretending to care!” Your phone is ringing. It’s the same unknown number as before, which must mean it’s your dad trying to find out where you are. That makes you feel even more guilty, which makes you feel worse about who you are. You hang up, which makes you feel worse on top of already feeling worse. It’s a swirling mess of emotions.

“I told you I’m not pretending.”

“Whatever! I get that you’re a nice guy, that’s really great. But it’s not fair! You’re making me like you and you probably don’t even realise! You made me feel special for all of five minutes but your work is done. It’s fine if you don’t want to be around me-” that goes on for a while. You rant about how you’ve fallen for him and how he doesn’t even care and how he’d be dumb to like you back anyway and you rant and rant and rant and Chris doesn’t interrupt you. He allows you to get it all out. He listens to you patiently, refilling the cup of water for you each time you drink it, taking off your shoes, making sure you’re comfortable. He finds some snacks which were already in the room.

By the time you’re done complaining he’s leaning over you. One hand on the headboard and the other on the bedside table.

“Do you think you’ll remember this tomorrow?” he whispers.

You’re tense and confused. You still your body and look into his eyes. He doesn’t mind the smell of alcohol on your breath as you attempt to bitterly reply “I’m sure I will.” Jackass. What is that supposed to mea-

He leans in closer and parts your lips with his own. He steals your breath.

When you start to kiss him back he places fingers under your chin.

Chris gets on the bed and straddles your lap.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“You won’t believe my words, so I’m showing you. Is that okay?”

You’re definitely sobering up now.

“I’m thirsty.” when you say that he raises the cup to your lips. When you’re done drinking he sets it aside. “I just… I really…”

“What?” he asks when you don’t finish your sentence. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I really hate myself, you know?” you can’t believe how much Chris has seen you cry.

Chris nods. “I know.”

“What do you know? Everyone loves you.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve had really bad anxiety. I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t want to be with yourself.” he dabs the towel against your forehead. He’s still in your lap.

“Oh.” You keep managing to make yourself feel guilty today.

“Eat some of this.” he picks up the biscuits he found and opens the packet. He feeds you. Your heart is beating wildly as you take it in your mouth.

“Do we have to go back downstairs?” you ask.

“I think the wedding is over now. You can talk to your dad tomorrow if you don’t want to let him know you’re okay now. I think you should sleep this off before seeing him again.” Chris is right - your dad would kill you for getting drunk and ending up in this position.

“... You think I should sleep... here?”

“Yeah. The room has already been paid for. I’ll leave.”

“N-no.” How do you say this without sounding too desperate? “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.” Chris nods and brushes dried tears from your cheeks.

“Let’s go to sleep.”

You can barely believe that this is happening. You feel the butterflies in your stomach grow into shy dragons as he gets up and removes his blazer. He’s getting comfortable to spend the night with you. You nervously get under the covers, taking deep breaths with every movement.

You’re so shy at first, and so is he. He smiles at you when you’re both all bundled up. He takes your hand and moves it to his lips.

“This wasn’t how I imagined telling you how I felt but… I didn’t want you to be upset for no reason.”

“How long have you liked me for?”

“I’ve always kind of liked you, that’s why I kept coming back for the gross coffee you make.”

“Hey!” you both laugh.

You seem to fall asleep smiling, because when you wake up the next morning it’s still there.

There’s a moment of unfamiliarity until it all comes back to you.

Chris is still sleeping and he looks so perfect.

You try as silently as possible to get up and creep into the bathroom. You’re shocked by your own reflection. You look like a mess. As quickly as possible you start to try and clean yourself up, adjusting your clothes and your, uh, whole face, basically.

When you’re as satisfied as you can be you try to slide back into bed to pretend you just naturally always look like that, but the mattress shifting wakes him up.

He groans and stretches. He rubs his eyes and squints out at you. He smiles lazily and holds out his arms.

“Come cuddle.” he says tiredly.

You can’t believe you’re hearing this. You can’t believe last night wasn’t a dream. You can’t believe you’re actually lowering down onto him. You can’t believe this is your life now.

[readysetjo]

PS/ SS - Chapter 5 - Diagon Alley

@alluringcliche @feelsandotps @wearywanderer @xingshining

I’m wondering what personal story I’m going to share today!

Also, I’m sleepy I hope that doesn’t affect (?)/ effect (?)/ change/ manipulate/ twist/ adjust (I am avoiding looking up the difference between the words “affect” and “effect” for the 100th time in my life) my normal chapter liveblog. I was dedicated to writing this tonight, tho. 

I forget that they didn’t automatically leave after that tense evening discussion

I have a headcanon that the pouches on The Daily Prophet’s owls have a charm that vanishes the money and deposits it into a Gringotts bank account. Otherwise the birds would get so heavy-ladened after a while and I imagine that the Prophet’s bird’s would be frequently stolen from. Imagine working at the Prophet’s owlery. That would be a little fun for a time.

Hagrid just trusts Harry with rummaging through his coat to find his money. He’s either really sleepy or far too trusting. 

“yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob [Gringotts].” /// lol Hagrid so had a chat with Harry about this memory later.

I’d like to see more of the tense dynamic between Fudge and Dumbledore. I bet Fudge would have been so funny to watch come undone under the weight of being Minister and slowly going from asking DD for help nearly every day to telling the reporters/ editors at the Prophet to slip in snide comments about DD. I want to watch that train wreck. 

Hagrid’s reasoning to why the Wizarding World is separate from the Muggle one is kind of odd to me. “everyone’d be wantin’ magic solutions to their problems.” Like honestly the actual result of that would probably be a capitalistic one in which the average magical person would be able to sell their magical “solutions to problems” for money. This would just lead to the magical community becoming very wealthy. That’s not really a bad thing (on the surface/ from a wizard’s POV). I think the most logical answer is: “Our community is so different from the Muggle one that creating rules to enforce for the two societies coinciding would be so difficult that we keep ourselves separate in order that we can both create individual systems that works for each society.Also, we are trying to avoid causing strain with a power imbalance.” 

“Harry, panting a bit as he ran to keep up” /// I grew up very short with a very tall dad, so I really can relate haha. I would have to occasionally remind him how my stride was two of his. 

I wonder what Hagrid was knitting. 

I feel like the HP fandom should have had a running joke by now that any deserted store in a strip mall was the entrance to a wizarding community. Tho it seems like the entrance was not visible or had a like “don’t look at me” charm on it rather than how St. Mungo’s was hidden behind a deserted shop. 

“Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry’s shoulder and making Harry’s knees buckle.” /// That I can’t relate to lol. 

“I’m all of a flutter.” /// What a funny and great way to put that lol.

Dedalussssssss!!! One of Harry’s first magical “acquaintances” XD and the truly brave soul who (along with Hestia Jones) watched the Dursley’s for nearly a year. I don’t usually make the joke but... “Rubeus Dedalus Potter you were named for-”

“’What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?’ [asked Harry] ‘D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,’ muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’s rather not think about it.’”/// 1. I died. I forgot about this line! 2. He went on a year-long break from work to do some research. That is so Ravenclaw. 3. What if Quirrell became known for wearing beanies instead of a turban? 4. I forgot how it was possible that Quirrell could shake Harry’s hand right now. 5. I forgot why Harry’s scar didn’t hurt right now. (I’ll probably remember soon enough, but I wouldn’t mind reminders if I don’t.)  6. You know those words that trip you up for no good reason? Yeah, well I’ve got quite the arsenal of those, but one of them happens to be “squirrel” (why? idk?) and this man helped me remember that the word has two “R”s in it.

“Harry wished he had about eight more eyes.” /// Harry Spider

I wonder what is the cool new broomstick model right now. 

Gringotts colors are scarlet and gold and I never noticed before. I think they wore black in the movies or just like nice work clothes. Also, I would like to go to Shell’s Cottage and hear Bill and Fleur tell me all about how Gringotts got started. I am fascinated. 

The poem on the door about stealing from Gringotts is so funny to me bc I am just thinking about how cabs have like signs that say that the driver doesn’t carry over a certain amount of money. These are two very different philosophies of deterring a thief. 

Three times JKR foreshadowed to us just how stupid it would be to try and rob Gringotts. 

Our Muggle banks and safety deposit boxes are so much more efficient and I am grateful. 

 Hey there Griphook! Well be seeing you again!

So Dumbledore would have told all the professors what they were hiding in Hogwarts, due to asking them for their help to do it right? But did they know why they were hiding the Sorcerer’s Stone? Did they too know that they were trying to suppress Voldemort’s return? I kinda hope they did. It seems to be that Hagrid did.

I like to imagine these seemingly perpetually grumpy goblins actually love their twisty roller coaster-ish cart rides under London. 

“Harry didn’t know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money.” /// So happy for him!!

Hagrid told him to get his uniform first almost like a parent haha. 

Reminder that Harry disliked Draco for his awful character right from the very beginning and that Draco set himself up for the foul life he ended up with by never seeing the goodness in others as something that he should want too. (I don’t say this to any of you four Questers bc I think you all would agree, but I just had to say it.)

I like how popular and big football is that even wizards know what it is and use it to compare to Quidditch. OMG I’m so stupid I’m just remembering one of the best eras in post-HP publishing history and getting emotional about it. Does anyone remember the 2014 Quidditch World Cup. I obsessed over it that summer and read every word that Ginny wrote and ahhhhh I miss it. I miss Quidditch and Pottermore publishing updates with chapter art and meta and character backgrounds. What a golden era post-DH. 

I like that Hagrid said that toads went “out of fashion years ago” so that means that, at one point, toads were vogue and that’s amazing by itself. I bet the professors hated that time. The constant low croaking coming from everyone’s pockets. 

“For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in [Ollivanders] seemed to tingle with some secret magic.” /// I love that feeling when it happens in real life. Like when you discover a cute little stream on a hike or a beautiful old library. 

I sometimes wish I had the memory of Ollivander. 

The second “you have your mother’s eyes” drink!

Ollivander had some personal space invading issues. (And it irks me.)

I know I already said that I want to know about like three things in this liveblog, but I’m desperate to know more about wandlore too. I want more facts.

I kind of like that the more difficult it was to find Harry a wand, the happier Ollivander got. That’s a good attitude to have right there. That’s how you know you love your job.

Voldemort’s wand was 13 inches and Harry’s was 11 inches. That means that there’s a chance that Voldemort’s phoenix’s core feather was longer than Harry’s and, therefore lower on Fawkes’ tail. 

Gosh wands are expensive. 

Goodbye, Ollie, see you later. 

Why did they not buy a trunk in Diagon Alley? Where did Harry even get a trunk that he carries around with him for 7 years? These are the real plot holes!  jkjkjk

That chapter was a little longer than usual. But since this one has less chapters in it, we are actually almost one third through with it. That’s wild!