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yandere--stuck · 3 years ago

Note

hi so i'm so sorry if you don't take requests for it but i saw a post for it so i assume you dO- again so sorry if you don't, but, could you do either Yandere Cesar (+ Mark is optional ^^) x reader or Yandere Jonah and Adam x reader, for Mandela Catalogue? again i am so sorry if you don't want to write this or even don't prefer any poly requests!! -Backrooms Anon

Don't worry about it! I LOVE poly yanderes!!! I hope you like it! c:

Note: This isn’t my actual headcanon on what I think Alternates do to their human counterparts, but I thought it'd be an interesting take.

---

You cracked your neck as you stepped inside your home, letting the bags you had packed fall to the floor to be taken care of later when you had gotten some rest and your back didn't hurt as much.

Despite your initial hesitancy on taking a small vacation out of town, you had found yourself glad you had taken it. It was fun, relaxing, and you didn't have to worry about any Alternates for a whole week! You had hoped that the whole situation would be dealt with by the time you got back, but beggars can't be choosers. And nothing in your home seemed different or tampered with, so you didn't have to worry about robbers or Alternates coming inside while you were away.

Sighing, you moved to turn on the television, before pausing, finger hovering just above the button… Before deciding against it. Better safe than sorry.

You turned, spotting your home phone on one of the side tables next to the couch. You'd check your messages! A much better way to check on the outside world, anyway. Your friends had clambered on about wanting to hear about everything you did on your trip. Plus, it was a good idea to check up on them and see if you had missed anything.

You'd preferred to answer your messages upstairs, so you could relax on your bed as you listened, but you were far too antsy to catch up on what you missed. Hitting the voicemail button, an electronic voice spoke in stilted tones. "You have 20 new messages."

You made a face at the machine, brows furrowed in confusion. Twenty? Had you forgotten to tell someone you were leaving? Had you told them the wrong dates?

The phone beeped. "Message one."

"Hey, it's Mark. Uh, I know it's really late and you're probably gone by now, but, uh… You know, buddy system stuff and shit. Um… Cesar said something happened with his mom. I think she's gonna be okay, but he said he's on his way to the hospital. He, uh, asked me to set up his cameras and stuff to, y'know, keep watch, I guess, and see if he can see the thing that might've did it, so… Yeah." You heard him chuckle a bit. "So, if I don't leave another message, uh… Something got me, I guess. I really hope you're still home, holy shit, heh. But, it should be fine. Alright. Bye."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Mark's message, a smile rising to your lips. He and Cesar were some of your closest friends in the county. Man, you three went way back. In fact, out of everything you could have missed on the trip, you missed their company most. Just hearing Mark's voice again made your chest bloom with warmth.

You clicked to message 2.

"Alright, update. Um… I'm not dead, so that's good. Cameras are all set up. I hate going in his house, but hey, what are friends for? Cesar hasn't gotten back to me about his mom, but maybe he fell asleep over there or something, I dunno. But, uh, just wanted to let you know everything worked out so you're not freaking or anything. I'm on my way home now."

You knew everything would have likely worked out fine, but you couldn't help but feel a little relieved at Mark's confirmation. But, if that was the end, then what were the other messages for?

Message 3.

"It found me, it found me, it found me," Mark's whispered hurriedly, voice straining. "It was in his home. It was in his fucking home and it found me and it followed me home."

You felt your stomach drop, a sick, dark feeling burrowing into your abdomen.

"It- It tried to get his mom and now it wants me. I- I called the cops, though, so… So, I think I'll be okay. I just… I know you're not there, but- but I need you. I need you and Cesar. I… When you get back, I wanted to tell you… No, I'll… I'll tell you when you get back. I promise."

Message 4.

"They're still not here. I… I can hear it. I can hear it. It doesn't sound Human. They… I know I'm probably scaring you, and that's dangerous, but, I need… I need to tell someone. Because, when I'm talking to you, when I think I am, it feels less scary. It sounds like a recording. It keeps stuttering and the pitch keeps changing. I can't stand it. I'm really, really hoping they get here soon."

Message 5.

"It's night. It's night and they're still not fucking here. They couldn't have forgotten about me! Or could they? I- I dunno. I tried calling Cesar but he's still not answering. And neither is anybody fucking else.. You're away, but everyone else should be home. It's like I'm shut off from the outside world."

Message 6.

A muffled sobbing came out of the speaker. Every sob was followed by a sharp whimper. You were only able to listen for a few seconds before going to the next message.

"They're not coming, are they? I'm never getting out of here. Will it leave eventually? It'll… It'll give up and get bored eventually, right?"

Message 8.

"I… You know, I kept listening to it. Over and over. And I thought maybe it was Cesar's mom. Maybe it really had gotten his mom. Maybe the Alternate killed her already and Cesar didn't know.

But now, I think… I think it's him. He's… It's not him, but it is and- I know the real him is out there, but it keeps telling me to come out, and- and that he won't hurt me, and… I want it to be true. So bad."

You squeezed your eyes shut, stinging. You wiped at them with the back of your hand. When… When had you started crying? God… Mark's voice. It hurt so badly, hearing his pain, his fear. You wanted to take away all his fear, to soothe him and tell him it'll be okay.

Message 9.

"It's hard not to listen. Can you hear him?- It. It. It's not him. It's an Alternate. It's not him. It's gettin' in my head. I keep telling myself It's not him, but it's getting hard to believe. Doesn't help that his- It's voice is starting to sound more like him."

Message 10.

"It's not him, right? I wish you were here. I wish… I wish I had you to talk to. Tell Cesar I don't blame him, if I don't make it out."

Message 11.

You could hear shaky, shallow exhales of Mark's breathing fizzle through the speakers. Every once in a while, you'd hear sniffle and whimper. "What if… What if it wasn't Cesar on the phone? What if this was a trap from the start? Cesar… He's… He's gone, isn't he?"

You were frozen in spot, too gripped with fear for your friends that you couldn't move. No. No, Cesar was fine! He had to be. He had to be, God, please-!

Mark began sobbing into the receiver. "He's gone! He's gone, he's gone, he's gone… And it-! It took him! It took him from us, and now I'm alone…"

Message 12.

All you could hear was the sound of Mark's voice, softy mumbling your and Cesar's names to himself.

Message 13

"Help me. God, please help me!"

Message 14

"It's so hard. It's so hard not to listen. I can't. I can't do this…"

Message 15

You could only make out mumbling of Cesar's name, over and over.

Message 16

"Maybe… What if this is Cesar? No one… No one knows what happens after an Alternate gets you. What if… What if he's in there? Like, they were separate, and now they're one whole… Thing."

Message 17

"He wants me. He wants me. And he wants you, too. He keeps saying… He… He wants us. He wants us both so badly. He wants to be with us. He wants to be in here. I… I can't-"

Message 18

"He sounds so much like him now. It… He. He's… He keeps saying he won't hurt me. He has a surprise. I… Believe him. It's Cesar. It's Cesar, I know it. I'm gonna be with him. I… Maybe it'll be nice, even. Maybe they've been lying. Maybe we shouldn't be afraid of this. If… If something happens… I love you. I- I love you and him, and I always wanted to say that. I'm gonna let him in.

Message 19

All you could do was lean forward, straining to hear, as you stared wide-eyed at the machine.

"I understand now." Mark's voice. "I understand now."

Then, a sharp ringing tone blasted from the speaker, making you jump at the sudden volume. The noise fluctuated and seemed to warble through the speaker, fluctuating in pitches and tones. Scrambling, your ears ringing, you palmed at the button to play the final Message.

Message 20

You waited holding your breath as you waited for something to break the droning silence of the final message.

"Hey! It's Mark. Just wanna say that that, uh, thing was a whole goof. It got kinda overdramatic at parts, but it was just a joke for when you come back home, heh. Just to double confirm, here's Cesar."

"Yeah, don't worry, everything's cool here, and my mom's fine. And… Oh, tell them about the thing."

"The thing?"

"Yeah, you know…"

"Oh! Oh, right, um, heh… I meant what I said about my, uh, my feelings for you and Cesar. Um… Yeah, I already told him, so… If you wanna, um, talk about it later-"

"He's nervous."

"Shut up! But, yeah. Maybe a practical joke isn't the best way to admit feelings, but… We really love you and want you to be a part of-f-f- w-with us. I… We love you. See you soon."

You let the phone go silent, simply staring as you tried to process everything you had just learned. But, you couldn't react. Couldn't move. Trapped as you ruminated on the messages that you had just heard.

Just a prank? Mark and Cesar didn't joke like that, wouldn't make jokes like that. As much as you wanted to believe that your friends were safe… You knew it was a lie.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of it thrumming in your skull. It felt like… like the walls, the whole world, was coming down on top of you. It all felt too silent, but too loud.. There was nothing you could do. Who could you call? What could you do?

Your friends were… Were dead and-

You let out a yelp, startled by the sudden ringing bleat of your phone. For a breath, you simply stared down at the machine, before scrambling to pick up the receiver, nearly dropping it as you attempted to answer the incoming call.

You took a shaky breath. "Hello?"

"Hey! It's Mark. I knew you were back, so I wanted to call and check up on you, see if you got my other messages, y'know?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but found yourself unable. All the things you wanted to say, wanted to believe, tangled like a knot in your mind, incomprehensible and stuck.

You heard as he said your name. Then, again. It didn't sound quite right. Didn't sound like how you remembered. You were sure. But, maybe, you were wrong. Maybe it was all a joke. Maybe you were losing yourself in your panic. You weren't sure of anything anymore.

Finally, you found the words. "... You're not really Mark, are you?"

"What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" The thing with Mark's voice said. "Cesar's here, too, and-"

"That's not Cesar. You can't trick me."

Silence.

You could tell the Alternate was still there - both of them, if it wasn't lying about "Cesar" being with it.

Your breathing picked up, huffing through your nose in anger as the messages played over and over in your mind. These things… They had taken your friends from you! Your best friends…! And, maybe if this never happened, then maybe Mark would have confessed. You'd be together, and…

"I know what you are," You hissed into the receiver, grip so tight on the phone that your hand shook. "And I'm not afraid of you."

All sound went dead on the other end, before,

"Y̶͍̻͒͝ͅō̴̺͙̗͠͝u̷̺̭̤͗́̓ͅ'̶̰̙̦̾r̸̛̗̝̼̿̓͌e̴̘̣̎́͊͠ ̴̦̟͓͙̕l̶̢͓̞̈́y̵̛̳͖̺̘͒į̸͌̃̕n̸̯̓̃g̸̥̰̖͌̀̆,̶͈̈́" A warped voice blared in your ear." I̶̡͔̹̱͍͑̏̚-̵̢̫͍̄͌͜Ḭ̴̂̂ ̸̼̰̾c̵͔̪̠̪̦͌̍͐̌ă̵͚̮̞̩̭̄̓n̴̝̪̙͌̅̿̌͊ ̵̡̨̥̞̜̑̄̉̌͘ḫ̵̥̠͖͇̓é̸͎͉͝ạ̶̪̬̈́̕-̴̡̢̩̮̒̉e̷͙̽ạ̴̙̿͌͋̈́r̷̲̤̍̿͘-̴̩̟̿ę̵͚̬̲͉̇̄̈́͒ḁ̵̠̐͌̄r̴̗̲͓̮̃͝ ̸͉͖̗̼͒͋̇͗͗y̵̖͈̭̐̒̃̇o̷͈̞̟̪̿̀̈u̷̞͌͊r̸̨̡̘͖͈̀̿̈́ ̴͎̳̦͕̿͋͆̍̉f̵̟͈̠͓͐̂ḙ̷̌̈́ä̷̦̭̻́̒̃̃͝r̵̤̫͍̮͆̓̈́.̵̱̫̳͓́͑̐̉͠ "

"I'm not! I'm not afraid. You can't hurt me. You took them from me, but you won't get me, too."

Another voice, suddenly breathing close to the receiver. Cesar's Alternate?

"Ỹ̷̼̑͗͒̍ǫ̷̢͔̗̮̓̋̌̅u̸̦̭̾̎̃̈́ ̵̪̻͗̒̓f̸̼̎͊͗o̶̠̎ŗ̴͈̭̦̑g̶̗̯̜͎̎o̷̭͠t̸̤̠̑͌̀ ̷̳̒́t̶̼̱̞̎͛͑ọ̶̦̚ ̷̧̍l̷̦̉̆̌͋ȯ̸̯͉̐̾͠c̸̢̛̫̀̄͂k̶̜͎̹̜͋͛ ̶̩͍̹̙̦̓̾͝t̴̡̛͍̹̮̣̃͛́̆h̴̨̲̯̭̉̓́e̵͍̳̬̐ ̴̧̝̉͊̆͆̽͜͜d̵͔̹͚̺͈̋o̸̺̗̫͕̿͆͒́o̴̲̯̯̦̾r̷̩͘͜.̷̲͚̣͛"

No. No, you couldn't have.

Racing to the front hall, you grasped the know and gave it a twist.

Unlocked.

No, no, no… This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Maybe… Maybe it was nothing. You hadn't heard anyone come in, had you? And how would they be in your house if they had called you from Mark's?

… Unless, they hadn't.

Slowly turning your head, your eyes ran over the steps that led upstairs - to your room, where your other home phone was stationed by your bedside.

You were… You were just being paranoid. They weren't inside. You'd just check real quick to calm your nerves. Slowly, you crept forward, stepping quietly up the stairs and into the dim light that shadowed the mouth of the stairway.

How would they have found you? Could they have seen you as you went home and followed you home?

In your room, it was… Quiet. Too quiet. The air felt suffocatingly still and bitingly cold. Every step you took was centuries long, your mind taking in everything in slow-motion, as it did in dangerous, high-risk situations.

A flip of the lightswitch, darkness receding. Your bedside phone, unattended.

Nothing.

It was nothing. You were overly paranoid. They weren't here. You were alone.

And the lights flickered out.

You could feel your heart as it skipped a beat. The cold drop of your stomach. The feeling of suffocating terror as it curled around your lungs.

In the dark, you see the lights in their eyes.

You can't scream.

All you can manage to do is turn away and cower in the darkness, your back to the Alternates. You brace for the end.

There's hands on you. Nails a bit too long to be a human's drag along your skin from over your clothes. Two bodies pressing close against you. One set of lips at your neck, the other letting out warbled chuckles in your ear.

Cesar.

I̷̡͠ ̵̜̄͗ẗ̸̗̄o̸͔̹͂̓l̷̺̑-̶̼̠͑́ ̶͇̅͝ţ̶̣̂o̵̯̅l̷̛̯d̷͈̅ ̸̻̩̐͝y̵͙̌͜ŏ̶̭̱̎u̴̞͑͜.̸̻̿ ̴̛̬̲͂I̵͈̐ ̴͐͜ͅt̸̠̓̓o̵̖̅l̴̡̰̏̎ḓ̴͂̈ ̴̲̫̎͂ḩ̵̐͑-̸̨̛Ḭ̸͕̈́'̵̰̃m̶̪̒̎!̶̩̈́̒ ̴̤̱͝I̸̼̞̋ ̴̤͊͠w̴̦͝a̶̮͉̍n̴̨̧͌̇t̶̝̋͒ė̸̪̑d̴̩́ ̴̡͛b̵̧̤̾͝-̸̚͜ ̸͚͒b̷̭̈́ȍ̵͚̈́t̴͙̱̓̌h̵̥́ ̵̠̳̊o̸̽͜f̸͔̫̽̕ ̷͚̋̉y̷̩̅́-̴̨̜̉y̵͚̤̾͋o̴̻̮͌̀ủ̷̥̻.̵̣͇̂̌ ̶̰͛Î̷̩'̶̡͒͘d̷̬̖̃͆ ̴̋ͅg̷̺̓e̵̜͆t̷̩͚̚ ̴̥̱̊b̶̩̙͘͝o̶̦̓̽t̷͎̂̀h̷̺͊ ̸̹͂̓ő̵͎͔͠-̶̐̈́͜ọ̴̹̃͂f̸̅͐ͅ ̴͓̯̚̚y̷͈̜̌̄o̶̤͐͝u̵̗̍!"

Mark.

"W̶̯̉̌̐̔̃e̷̲̗̳͕̼͐ͅ ̸̧̦̳̟̹̘͖̎̽͌͠l̴̢̡̙̻͖̩̽͌̍̿͒o̷͖̒̐͠v̷̨̧̡͓̈́̊̀̿̌̚ė̶͚̱͇͆̿̒́̕ ̵̮͓͔̞͍̟̎̽͐̊͋̏͘ͅy̵̯̥̠͓̮̅̚ö̵̩̺̟͖̭̅͆͊̃̉̍ͅų̷̫̦̣̣̗̇̏̊̑̐̕.̶̡̯̙͚̄ ̶̝̱̐S̶̛͍̯͖̯̥͖̏̈-̴̲̤̙͆̈́̑̆͒̀ͅs̵̥͍̖͗̈̉̂̋͆̕-̵̨̛̹̝̥͔̯̃͆̃͒̿̎s̴̡̲̰̹͘ͅö̷̤̞͙̭̪̦̣́̄͒̈̀̈ ̷̠͇̀͆͂̏͊̔̋m̶̲̟̗͖͒̎̑͛̈́́͗u̷͓͐͗̍̑͆ç̷̨͖̗̻̩̐̓̋́̋̅̚h̵̢̦̻̣̱̆,̵̠͊.I̶̧͆ṯ̸̈̀ ̸̝̀͘ͅf̶̺̀-̸̠͋͋f̷͚̈́͊ê̶̯̭ě̴̘̇-̵͕̆̓e̴̲̒ë̷͓́͝ĺ̵̨̞̓s̴̖͑ ̶̟̻̋͂s̴̢͗̔-̸͈͓̌̏s̶̢̓̊ͅo̸͔͕͋̚ ̸̳̖̒g̵̝̰̀ǭ̶̗̈́o̷̥̽̈d̶̢͇͝,̷̧͖̈́ ̴̩̺͆̈́Ï̴̙ ̸̺̎̆ṕ̴̰̘r̷͉̯͐o̷̦̺͆m̶̢̖̀i̸̼͚̽ş̶̬̑̕e̸̫̊.̸̛ͅ ̶͍̂Y̸̢̪̅o̶̪̭͘u̵̩͌͊'̶͎̋͝r̵̰̠̄̽ẹ̶̀͠ ̵̝̏ḡ̸̯͒-̴̬͔͂g̶̢̃o̴̘͒̇-̷̙̽o̸͖̅͘ȉ̷͕̉ͅņ̷̳̾g̵̯̮͆͆ ̵͚́t̵͖̱͠ọ̵̙́̒ ̵͔͜͝u̶͈̰͋ṉ̵̛͌ḓ̸̓e̵̝̜͝͝r̷͉̥͌s̵̗͗̃t̷̀͜-̷̱̣̿ ̶̢͊s̸̫̍t̴̯̀ã̷͜n̴̳̟̊d̵̳͂̕.̷̭͖́̕ ̸̛̖W̶͉̃e̸̜͙͋'̸̛̣̚r̷̛̘͙̿e̵̺͛͊ ̴̛̯g̶̹̻̅͑-̴̡̩̍ğ̷͎ȯ̵͚̪͂i̵͔̤̅̽n̷͉̦͗g̷̘̔̒ ̷̤̽̀t̵̲̋͐o̸͎̝̊̈́ ̴̮͂͆b̶͈̃̄e̴̠̺̅̚ ̴͋ͅç̷̘̓õ̶͙̑m̶͎̜̓p̵̗̮͐l̴͈̜͊̽e̵̡̤͂̈ṭ̵̡͛̈́ë̴͍́.̵̼͝

And you were made whole.

#mandela catalogue x Reader #tmc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere mandela catalogue #the mandela catalogue x reader #alternate x reader #alternates x Reader #yandere Alternate #cesar torres x Reader #alternate cesar #alternate mark #yandere #suggestive #LONGGGGG #backrooms anon #poly yandere #yandere x reader x Yandere

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

nostos.

well it’s not exactly monster fucking but um... here there be monsters.

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

TW implied non-con, nsfw-ish, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, um somebody gets munched...

Every good writer needs peace and quiet. Fresh air and a change of scenery.

You’re not running away, it’s more of a… tactical retreat. Two weeks disconnected from well meaning friends, pushy family members and your eternally irritating editor, with nothing but the beautiful, sprawling forests to keep you company.

The mountains are familiar, if isolating, you think, leaning against the porch railing with a warm mug in hand as the breeze picks up and the tall maple and birch trees rustle in response. The leaves are turning vibrant reds and gold with the falling temperatures and even in the eerie quiet of the cold morning, you can’t deny that it’s breathtaking.

It reminds you of your childhood, the countless vacations you’d spent here with your family, always in autumn, always in time to watch the leaves change before the first snows of winter set in. Fond memories of running through the trees chasing after cute little bunnies, giggling even when you tripped up and scraped your knees. There was something mystical about the forest back then, something special. But it’s been years since you’ve been here last, and the first time you’ve ever come alone.

And yet it feels different somehow, colder despite the nostalgia. You’re no longer a child, looking at the world through innocent, wondrous eyes. The forest is just a forest.

Of course, you weren’t an idiot; disappearing off the grid was one thing. Disappearing off the grid without anybody knowing where you were going was another entirely. They’d been surprisingly supportive of the plan – until you told them where it was you were planning on running off to.

‘Why go back to the mountain, honey?’ your mother had asked, her smile wavering and an odd tightness in her eyes. ‘Why not go to the coast instead? Or spend some time in the city?’

But this isn’t a fun little vacation. You don’t want to be distracted by beaches and crowds, you need space to finish your book and time to work through your mess of an emotional state without any interruptions. You want to be untraceable, at least for a week or two.

God knows the last thing you need right now is your ex tracking you down to try and apologise again.

Part of you had thought – somewhat naively, perhaps – that by coming back you’d spark… something. Your memories of the mountains are full of warmth and happiness, but as you stare out into the wilderness, all you feel is a cool chill that runs down your spine and the goosebumps that prickle at your skin.

Setting your now empty mug down, you pull tighter at the thick knit cardigan draped over your shoulders. Enough reminiscing, your manuscript awaits.

—

The mountain’s too quiet. You don’t notice it so much during the day, the sound of music softly pouring from your laptop and the gentle clacking of keys as you type enough to distract you from the eerie stillness outside the cabin. Even at night, you’re preoccupied with dinner, and then curled up on the couch with a warm throw rug watching reruns of your favourite shows on Netflix.

It’s only when you lie down, burrowed into the blankets to try and sleep that you notice just how silent the forest at your doorstep truly is. At first you think it’s simply being away from the hustle and bustle of home. There’s no cars driving past, or the sound of neighbours floating through your open windows, there’s not even the distant hooting of owls or dogs barking.

But it’s more than just quiet. There’s nothing. Even the trees seem to still once the sun falls beneath the horizon. And it shouldn't bother you, shouldn’t unsettle you, and yet…

The first few nights, you don’t sleep well. Tossing and turning in bed. When you do sleep, your dreams are plagued with unpleasant things. Not nightmares as such, but an uneasiness that bleeds into otherwise pleasant thoughts. On the fourth night you wake, gasping for air. Whatever dream you’d been in the grips of fades like smoke, and as you draw in another shuddering breath your throat itches and burns.

Water. You need water.

You don’t switch on the lights as you fumble your way down to the kitchen, trying to preserve what little remnants of sleep are still in your system. Even with the moon almost full and the night sky clear, the canopy shrouds it.

And it’s in that darkness, as your eyes flicker up from the faucet, that you see it for the first time.

A shape, huge and looming, silk shadow against black.

For a moment, as your heart hammers against your ribs, a chill creeping down your spine, you don’t dare trust your eyes. Maybe you’re asleep still, dreaming, or your mind’s playing tricks on you, because there’s nothing that should be lurking in the woods outside of your window that size.

Two golden, cat-like eyes peer back at you.

They’re still there when you race to flick on the lights, unblinking, curious as you skitter backwards, hand over your racing heart.

You’re tired, emotionally drained and this–

This is nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination, a child creating monsters from the shadows in their bedroom. Yet even as you run back to the safety of the bedroom, yank the curtains shut and huddle under the meagre warmth your blankets afford you, squeezing your eyes shut, you feel it out there still, watching.

And in the stillness of the mountains outside, you swear you hear footsteps.

—

You wake to fresh snow, too early in the year, even at these altitudes. It dusts the ground, covering the mossy paths in glittering white, clings to the branches of the trees – the red leaves looking like droplets of blood scattered across a grey sky. The snow will undoubtedly melt as the sun rises, turn to slush and mix with the dirt, but for now it’s a thing of beauty.

For a moment, you allow yourself to forget how tired you are, how unsettled, venturing out from the cabin with wide, excitable eyes. It never used to snow when you were here as a kid, and while you get the occasional snowfall back home, it’s nothing like–

You stop dead in your tracks.

There’s two human footprints imprinted on the snow – only two – right outside your bedroom window, crisp and clean, as if they’d been left just moments before.

—

Your mother sounds worried when you call her. Of course, you don’t tell her about the lone footprints at your window, or the creepy pair of eyes you’d seen through the dark, you know how that sounds. You’re not crazy, and even if some part of you truly believed what you’d seen, your mom is the last person you’d admit it to.

Once upon a time, when you were little, she’d indulged in stories of fairies and spirits, but that was a long time ago. Now she turns up her nose and sneers at the myths and legends that your grandma still spouts, dismissing them with a scoff.

It’s not the kind of thing well-adjusted adults talk about in polite conversation.

She’s a good woman, but you can’t tell her this.

And you’re not even sure you’re entirely sold on it either. The eyes could have been from a wild animal – big cats might be rare in Japan, but they do exist here. You were half asleep (half terrified) when you had seen them, you don’t want to make a fuss over nothing. The footprints are less easy to explain away. If there’d been tracks leading away, you could convince yourself that it was a lost hiker and nothing more.

But there weren’t any tracks leading away; just the two footprints. And what kind of hiker doesn’t wear shoes in weather like this? It’s possible that this is some kind of prank, a mean spirited trick designed to unsettle you – a job well done, by the way – but you can’t quite bring yourself to believe that either.

In any case, you’re hardly going to admit over the phone that you’re freaking out over some footprints in the snow. God knows she’s already worried enough about your mental state, has been ever since the breakup, and you’re not going to give her any more ammunition.

But perhaps there is something to that maternal instinct, because despite your best efforts to reassure her that you’re doing just fine, that your novel’s going great and you’re so glad you came out here, she still sounds entirely unconvinced.

“Honey, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong,” she tells you, her voice strangely hesitant. “You don’t sound yourself, are you sure everything’s okay?”

You don’t know why you called her at all. You always have been a shitty liar, and she’s always been able to see right through you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly the fresh air’s doing me good,” you tell her. “It’s weirdly quiet here though, I’m not used to it,” you laugh, and even to your ears it sounds hollow and fake.

There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the line, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture it, your mom leaning against the kitchen counter, teeth worrying into her bottom lip–

“I just don’t like you out there all by yourself.”

Relax, what’s the worst that could happen?

The words almost, almost slip out, an instinctive reaction to a mother’s well meaning but overbearing concern. But it feels like tempting fate, and whether or not you’re fully convinced that there is something strange happening, you’re not that bold. Instead you begin to tell her (again) that everything’s fine when she suddenly speaks again.

“Bad things happen in those mountains. Just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Abruptly, the line goes dead.

Pulling the phone from your ear, you glance down at the illuminated screen, only to frown when you see the little ‘SOS Only’ flashing in the top corner. Huh, you’d had a few bars when you’d started the call, but…

The weather’s gotta be messing with your signal. Stranger things have happened, right?

Shaking your head you resolve to give her a call tomorrow. And yet, even as you try to put her parting words from your mind and throw yourself back into your writing, you can’t help but feel that familiar sense of cloying unease seeping through your skin once more.

What the hell had she meant, ‘bad things happen in those mountains’?

—

A good night’s sleep can do you wonders.

Well, theoretically speaking. You can’t remember the last actual decent sleep you’d had, but regardless, the point stands. All you need is an uninterrupted eight or nine hours, and this… paranoia will go away. Things’ll be clearer in the morning, so long as you sleep.

The mantra doesn’t help you any, of course.

You don’t need to peer through the window to feel those watchful eyes staring. And maybe it would be easier to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of your neck if it weren’t for the noises.

Music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the mournful wails, like a wounded animal crying out in pain. It’s incessant, inescapable, reverberating inside of your eardrums until it’s all you can focus on.

It’s instinctual, you think, the urge to creep from your bed and try to find the creature making that sound and help it. But even as your feet touch the cool floorboards, your gut clenches, hackles rising. Something deep inside of you warns you from leaving the safety of the cabin.

Whatever creature is making those noises, it’s not calling for help.

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but you must have because at a certain point in the morning you blink your eyes awake, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

And this time it’s not snow that greets you, but the mangled remains of a doe ripped apart on your porch. Deep, jagged gouge marks run along its flank, organs spilling from the cuts and there’s little left of its neck, the whole thing torn out with teeth. Yet for the gruesome injuries, the only blood you find is congealed, pooled beneath the poor creature.

Whatever happened to it, it didn’t happen here. The knowledge doesn’t soothe you like it should – the park ranger you spoke to on the phone mentioned that while it’s rare, sometimes bears venture a little too close to buildings, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it.

He sounds even less interested when you tell him this doesn’t look like a bear attack, but promises they’ll send someone down in the next few days to check everything out. In the meantime, he suggests, it’s best to stay indoors.

Yeah, not gonna be an issue.

And so with no feasible way of moving it, you’re left with the butchered corpse of a doe just outside your front door. And the thing that bothers you isn’t so much the body, though you still can’t look at it without wanting to throw up, but the fact that it was just… left there.

Not eaten. No, aside from the missing throat, the deer’s all there. Ripped apart with its guts spilling out, but otherwise untouched. Growing up you had a cat, the sweetest little thing, but every once in a while she would get out of a night, find some poor little creature to torment and without fail, she’d bring it back home, leaving it half dead on the doorstep like a gift.

‘See what a good hunter I am?’ she seemed to say, smugly sauntering back inside.

It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t hunger that drove her, but instinct. As you stare out the window at the doe, at the milky white emptiness of dead eyes, you wonder whether that’s the same here. There’s no tracks in the dirt, no blood smeared across the ground – it wasn’t dragged here. No animal could’ve done this.

A gift?

Or perhaps something less benevolent. A threat. You’ve crossed into territory you don’t belong and the deer, cruelly ripped apart and left to bleed out on your doorstep is a line in the sand.

Either way, as tears fill your eyes, a sob tugging free from your chest, you realise that it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know whether you trust your eyes and your ears anymore, but there is something deep inside of you that tolls like a warning bell and as much as you’d like to bury your head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong here, you can’t.

Bad things happen in those mountains.

You need to leave.

The next ferry to the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but it’ll have to do. Once you stop shaking and calm down enough to carry a conversation, you call the local cab company to arrange a pick-up first thing.

You can survive one more night, you just need to throw yourself back into your writing… if you can only just ignore that sense of foreboding prickling at the back of your neck.

—

There’s a boy running through the trees, giggling as he glances back at you. His hand’s outstretched, wrapped ‘round yours tugging you along as he laughs at you to hurry up.

It’s late, the sun dipping below the horizon, but you don’t wanna go back just yet.

You’re having fun, playing in the forest. And the light is golden, filtering in through the pretty red leaves, your sides burn a little from all the chasing and laughter but it’s a good kind of ache. You don’t want today to end.

His name is Kohsuke, you remember, and he lives down in the village by the valley. He’s only one year older than you, and you’d follow him anywhere.

You think you might be a little in love with him.

‘C’mon, hurry up! It’s only a little further!’ he calls, and you nod, scrambling over the fallen trunk of an oak tree. There’s old spirits who live in this forest, he’d told you, and today you’re finally gonna see one.

It’s dark now. Cold too. You’re tired and hungry and you kinda want to go home, but Kohsuke won’t let you. ‘Just a little longer! Don’t you wanna see them?’

You do. Of course you do. It’s just that you’re starting to get a funny feeling in your stomach… Can he hear the footsteps too? Is somebody following you?

There’s a voice in your ear, a soft, silky purr that makes a shiver roll down your spine, but you can’t make sense of the words, they’re not in any language you understand. You don’t tell Kohsuke – he can’t hear it, otherwise he would have said something. You just clutch his hand tighter, skipping closer.

‘W-we should go back, Koh,’ you murmur, wincing when it comes out in a childish whine. ‘We’re gonna get in trouble.’

You aren’t supposed to stay out playing after dark, he knows it as well as you do. ‘You trust me, don’t you? Stop being such a chicken!’ he snickers as your cheeks heat.

The voice at your ear growls, low and threatening. You need to go back, now.

You blink, and the scene changes.

You’re curled up on the forest floor, hands covering your eyes. Somebody’s screaming – Kohsuke – crying out your name through ragged sobs, pleading–

There’s a crunch, a ripping sound, a wetness sprayed across your cheek.

Kohsuke’s not screaming anymore.

Something warm and heavy touches your head, drags through the locks of your hair and you just huddle tighter, eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf as more tears spill. You don’t wanna die here.

The crunching sounds continue, and you keep your eyes tightly shut. It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.

It can’t–

A loud knocking jerks you back to consciousness, your body jolting upright, almost swiping your laptop off the table as you try and gather your bearings. Right, you’d been working on your novel, sitting up at the kitchen table, you must have dozed off… A quick glance out the window tells you that you must have been out of it for a while – the late afternoon shadows are starting to creep in, the sky a golden orange.

What the hell was that dream?!

“Hello? Uh, anybody home?” a masculine voice calls, another loud knock sounding. “We got a call about a wild animal attacking deer…”

Oh, you think, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, the wildlife people, yeah. You feel a little nauseous, feverish and trembling, though maybe that’s just the result of your erratic heartbeat.

Swallowing down the bile in your throat, you turn your attention to the door. Truly you hadn’t actually expected that they’d send anybody out to investigate, much less that they’d arrive before you left, but you can hardly turn him away now.

Especially not when there’s a freshly butchered deer corpse lying only a few feet away from your front door. Quickly, you run a hand over your hair, taking a moment to try and collect yourself before you answer.

It doesn’t work – there’s a knot in your throat and for every step you take towards the door it feels like your legs are gonna give out from under you. You move in a daze to unlock the door, only just remembering to school your features into an expression slightly less alarming as it swings open.

A ranger, tall with a shock of black, messy hair that reminds you oddly of a rooster greets you with an easy grin. “Oh good, I was starting to think nobody was home. You the one that called?”

Distantly, you nod, fingers clutching at the edge of the doorframe. The ranger glances over at the remains of the deer, still lying in a pool of half dried blood, studying it for a moment, hazel eyes sweeping over the deep gashes in its side. You can’t bear to follow his gaze, you’re not sure you can look at that thing again without throwing up.

He whistles lowly, shaking his head, “Well you don’t see that every day,” he laughs.

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. It’s not his fault, you know that, but you can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks at the cavalier attitude. This is just his job, you get it, but you don’t exactly feel like laughing right now.

“You still think a bear did this?” you retort, the words coming out a little sharper than intended.

But the ranger takes it in stride, shrugging as his smirk widens. “A bear, huh?” Amusement glitters in his eyes, sharp and mocking. “Why don’t I come inside and you can tell me all about it?” he offers, stepping closer towards you.

And there’s no reason for your heart to skitter, your blood running cold as he looms over you in the doorway, still wearing that stupid, irritating smirk. There’s no reason for your insides to clench either, or for the tiny, jerky step backwards you take, your body moving of its own accord.

The ranger pauses, head tilting to the side as he stares at you.

Really stares, like he’s waiting for something. And as discomfited as you are (and as much of an asshole as this guy is), a weary apology is halfway to your tongue when he shifts slightly, propping an arm up against the door – the last, dying rays of light catching his face.

It’s just for a second.

A heartbeat.

But long enough for you to watch those hazel eyes shift to gold, pupils elongating into slits.

You stumble backwards, breath coming in a short, ragged gasp as your eyes widen into saucers. “What are you?”

The ranger before you chuckles and you catch a glimpse of his teeth; pearly white and glinting, sharper than they had been only moments ago. “Why don’t you let me in and find out for yourself, kitten?”

You shake your head, retreating further into the cabin, heart pounding.

“No? You don’t like this body, is that it?” he asks, a cruel edge to his smirk as he takes a half step backwards and slowly spreads his arms. “Something more familiar, then.”

And you don’t think there’s any room left in your heart for more fear, your stomach already twisting in sickening knots, but you blink and standing right there in front of you is Kohsuke.

It’s a punch in the guts, a knife slipped between your ribs, yanked ruthlessly through your still beating heart. He’s beaming up at you, those same adorable dimples, the same ridiculous bowl cut, bleeding youthful innocence. “How about now?” he asks, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers like he expects you to take it. “You’ll let me inside now, right?”

A strangled noise escapes you as you fall to your knees. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision – you blink them away but more take their place.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, and you wail in response.

It’s too much. You shake your head, hugging yourself tightly, as if your arms are the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

He calls your name – not in Kohsuke’s childish lilt, but that deep, ancient purr that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me in.”

“Go away,” you gasp through tears. “Please– please go away.”

The creature shifts again, the dark haired ranger back in Kohsuke’s place. He eyes you, those unnatural gold irises watching with utter enthralment as you sob pathetically on the floor, still pleading – though you know it’ll do you no good – for him to leave.

“Last chance, kitten. Let me in, or I’ll make you come out.”

He – it – doesn’t sound nearly as put out by the prospect as it should be.

And you don’t know why giving permission matters, all you know, all you care about, is that it’s keeping that thing at bay for now. It can’t come inside and so long as you don’t leave the safety of the cabin, it can’t hurt you. The words are nothing but an empty threat.

Right?

You shake your head, defiant even as your voice hitches and trembles, “No.”

“Stubborn little thing,” the creature croons, the smirk on its face widening until the visage no longer resembles anything human – mouth splitting its face in two, rows of long, sharp teeth revealed. “So be it.”

A low growl resonates in its chest, and you can only watch, petrified, as thin, vein-like black marks begin to appear over pale skin, growing thicker, cracking as shadow curls from underneath. The creature itself starts to grow too, limbs elongating as muscles ripple and swell, claws bursting forth in place of fingernails, shoulders broadening – until it’s towering over you, wreathed in thick shadow, grinning with that terrifying mouth.

This is the thing you’d glimpsed that first night. A creature ripped from nightmares and primal fears, strong enough to tear you apart with a single hand. That’s what it’d done to Kohsuke, to the doe, what it’d do to you if you gave it half a chance.

“You wanna play, kitten?” it asks, head tilting to the side.

Slowly, it backs away from the door, keeping its gaze fixed firmly on you. For a moment, you think that it’s going to disappear back into the forest, or plant itself by your window to watch for another night, waiting you out till dawn, but instead it stops by the old oak that overhangs the porch and stills entirely, simply… waiting.

“Let’s play.”

Abruptly, the oak beside it bursts into flames. It takes only a heartbeat for the entire thing to be engulfed, red and orange flames licking along the trunk, the gnarled, spindly branches, even the leaves are alight, burning away into ash and floating off in the breeze. The heat from one tree alone is searing, the crackle of burning wood and your own horrified, shuddering breath the only sounds in the night.

It snowed only a few nights before, but the fire spreads with unnatural ease, flames racing across the canopy, embers lighting up the undergrowth, and in the space of a few seconds there’s an inferno raging through the forest before you. And through the smoke and the red, burning haze, the creature watches, smirking.

The heat from the wildfire sears painfully at your skin, the air around you suddenly thick with smoke, stinging your eyes, choking your lungs, and yet you can’t seem to tear yourself away. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, some kind of… hellscape.

And for a moment you forget that there was a purpose to this, too lost staring in mute horror as the forest you’d played in as a child burns–

At least until a single leaf from the oak tree, edges curling as it’s consumed by flames, falls, carried by the breeze and lands on the wooden railing of the porch. With a soft whoosh, the old wooden beam catches fire, and with your chest heaving, panicked breaths falling from parted lips, you rise to your feet as flames spread, the fire eating everything in its path until the entire porch is alight, burning.

Run.

You don’t know if the voice in your head is yours or not, you don’t have time to care. You scramble for the back door, throwing it open, and you run.

Run until your lungs burn, til’ your bare feet are scratched and bleeding, run, pushed forward by the sweltering heat at your back, the chilling crackle of laughter that follows. You run through tears, through pain and air so thick with smoke that it hurts to breathe.

And you know the creature’s giving chase, you know that you won’t – can’t – outrun it, nor the inferno that blazes around you. You know that it’s futile, that you’re probably running to your death, but that’s human, isn’t it?

To run when you’re scared?

The sky’s awash with a hazy red glow when it catches you, throwing you to the ground, and still you try to crawl. Desperate, choking on broken pleas and sobs, nails raking through the dirt as you try to pull yourself forward.

And when your pants are ripped from your legs, a puff of warm air ghosting over the nape of your neck as you’re shoved back down, those long, black arms settling either side of you, caging you in – you know that you’ve lost.

“Mine,” the creature growls, and you barely have time to scream before its cock shoves into you with one brutal, merciless thrust. “Mine.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo tetsurou #yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader #monster fic #horror fic #tw noncon #tw: noncon #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: minor character death #tw: animal death #i am sorry #except not really tho

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scribbling-dragon · 3 years ago

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Flower husbandos? Or seablings idc which

I have some for flower husbands!

These are from Jimmy's section:

When he or Scott miss a class they’ll write the notes for each other (after their relationship is better) and come around to drop them off. They normally end up spending more time with each other than they intended, but they get their work done anyways.

He eventually starts breaking into the Smajors house, and will sit and chill in SCott’s room until he wakes up. The first time this happened Scott almost froze him completely, and then proceeded to freak out when he realised it was Jimmy.

He’s now a little too familiar to waking up with someone breaking into his room, but JImmy still does it because it means he gets to see sleepy Scott, when he’s all confused and a little dazed. (Scott’s a light sleeper, but when he wakes up he is incredibly disorientated.)

Jimmy has a cat, Norman, and Norman is absolutely entranced with Scott’s wings. He likes to burrow beneath them, and will often sit on Jimmy’s lap when he’s tucked beneath one of Scott’s wings.

Norman is the only cat that doesn't outright attack Scott’s wings, and therefore he is the best cat in the world (according to everyone that has met him)

The only reason Jimmy doesn't live full time at the Smajor residence (like Joey does) is because he wouldn't be able to bring Norman with him due to all the injured birds that Scott fosters.

And these are from Scott's section:

He likes to spend quality time with Jimmy, and they’ll often sit there and just relax around each other

Their first date was Jimmy’s idea, and they went to an aquarium together, because Jimmy found out that Scott really liked marine biology. They sat and watched the weedy sea dragons for hours, because both of them were just completely entranced by the small creatures

Scott likes to bake, though he rarely does it because of the mess he makes when he does. Jimmy asks him why they have so many cookbooks on their shelves, and Scott admits that they're his.

Jimmy almost immediately asks if Scott can make him something, because he has an incredibly strong sweet tooth, and Scott really cannot resist the puppy eyes Jimmy seems to have mastered during his time spent with Xornoth

He actually has fun baking this time, and he doesn't worry about the mess as he chats with Jimmy. He doesn't make anything overly complicated, but Jimmy still ends up with flour in his hair (even though he wasn't baking) and cake batter on his clothes.

#asks #neohood #juno's vigilante au #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands

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swtki · 4 years ago

Text

HP Boys: Surprise Pregnancy Head Cannons

Summary: The HP boys and their reaction to their s/o (afab) being pregnant when its not planned.

A/N: This takes place post Hogwarts so all characters are 18+, though no real smut happens in this so its not an 18+ fic.

WARNINGS: UNPLANNED PREGNANCY, MENTIONS OF PRO CHOICE OPINIONS, MENTIONS OF SEX IN LITE TERMS, SWEARING, FLUFF, MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL, ALSO THIS IS SUPER LONG SORRY LOL

Draco

So everything is going great for the happy couple, you two just moved into a flat together and are working normal jobs, drinking wine like adults.

And sure, Draco knows he wants to marry you, but he knows you’re not ready to settle down like that so he just plans and dreams.

Due to poor choices, when you’re late by two weeks, you know what it probably is.

Draco doesn’t even notice that you ran out to the store and came back and hid in the bathroom for 10 minutes. CEO of minding his own business ig

You just kinda...walk up to him and hand him all 3 tests while your eyes fill with tears because what if he demands you get an abortion?

Or what if he fucks off to god knows where?

But instead he just looks at you with the most un-draco like smile. Like his face was soft and it looked like he could cry any moment.

“Oh my god,” He says, putting his hand on your belly, “I can be ready for this, but if you aren’t then we can you know...”

“No, I want it” then both of you rejoice bc yay baby!

Cut to 6 months later when your feet hurt so bad you have to lay down and watch while Draco fails to put a crib together.

He eventually gets it done tho.

And when the time comes, he’s built and arranged everything for your bundle of joy.

Harry

So you guys are probably already married, but with everything at the ministry going on, it makes Harry less than a family man.

You both agree that it’s probably better to wait so you can be home and yk...raise it.

Well smart man Harry forgets that to not have a kid you need to use protection.

So of course when your period is late you don’t think about it, until its four weeks late.

That night, you and Harry are laying in bed, and thats when you tell him.

“Harry..I’m late.”

“Late for what?” headass.

You: 😳😐

Him: 👁👁😲😲

He’s hesitant to say anything, because he knows its ultimitley up to you what happens with it until its out.

“I think I want to keep it...you know it wont remember much for the first year and a half so if things are stressful it will be okay and-“

“Love...Its going to be perfect”

Mf built the crib in like 45 minutes I swear.

And of course he forced you to keep up with your vitamins, pre natal care, and appointments.

Swear tho you’re about to kill him because cofFeE

But the way he holds your baby 🥺 its his most valued thing ever now.

Ron

Ron is iffy on the kid thing sometimes.

He does want them, but only later when you guys have lived and travled.

So no, you two haven’t planned nor is it even in the picture when your wedding roles around.

It’s in the early days of the marriage when you see his family at the burrow on the way back from the honeymoon.

And of course Molly knows

Because Weasleys are hyperfertile I swear.

She takes you into the kitchen and puts her hands on your arms, shes got that big Mrs.Weasley smile on too.

“I knew it!” She says and pulls you in for a hug, “How far dear??”

You’re just standing there like🧍🏻

“I can see it by the way you glow! Oh my you and my Ron must be so happy!” This woman doesn’t notice that you’re confused.

“Wait what? Mrs. Weasley what are you-?” Then you count the days, “Oh. Well I guess I just found out for myself”

Her face falls slightly, but then she tells you can make you a potion that will tell you if you are or not, stan.

The stupid potion turns green when you spit into it, so everything is confirmed.

That night, you and Ron are getting ready for bed in the guest room and you decide to tell him.

“Ron, sweetie. We need to talk.” He looks like he’s gonna start crying but sits next to you on the bed.

“Y/N...I know its scary but please, we just got married I don’t want to divorce quite just yet 🥺🥺”

“Ron I-“ you start smiling, “I’m pregnant you dufus.”

He just freezes, for a while. Not saying anything, he just looks at the wall with his mouth ajar.

So you get up and go to Ginny.

“Gin, I broke him.”

“Ew, I don’t want to know about how you and him”

“No, I told him that I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, yeah that would do it. Just I don’t know... Give him a minute?”

You give him several, getting a glass of water then heading back up to the room.

Ginny was right, he needed a minute.

“I don’t...I wasn’t...you were.?”

“You don’t have to stay, but I think we can do it. Plus, you would disapoint your mom if you left so...”

“Okay...we’ll do it. I’ll be the best damn Father you have ever seen.” He says, talking to your womb.

Well...he’s a father I’ll give him that.

Pro of having a Weasley baby: free crib thats already put together.

Even if it looks like a death trap.

“We’ll put some blankets over it don’t worry”

You know how some Dads hold their parters hand during the delivery? Yeah he got sick and was moral support from the outside.

To be fair, you weren’t screaming in pleasure by any means.

Scary. But beautiful.

He shows the kid to everyone, he might be more in love with the baby than he is with you.

Ron see’s the appeal of having kids now.

Neville

Moving in with your boyfriend is always fun, right up until you guys go at it so much you forget protection more than once.

You think about it, then move on with your day.

Until the doctor calls, then “oh fuck”

Romance Neville bf

“Why aren’t you having any wine? I thought it was your favorite?”

“I don’t think fetal alcohol syndrome is my favorite.” BRO HE SPAT

But he looks up with tears in his eyes, and runs over to you to grasp you in a hug.

“Oh my god! You’re pregnant! Oh my - We’re gonna be parents!! Oh my god we’re gonna be parents oh-“ Que you petting his hair till he’s calm again.

Lets be honest, this man probably swapped the herbology books for the parenting guides.

“Well I mean I’m just wondering if we should go with this color or this one”

“Nev, it doesn’t matter. Our baby will not care.”

“I read in my book that Infants actually can recognize mood in-“

He won’t let you do anything during your pregnancy.

Gotta love a man who cries because he loves you so much and you’re having his kid.

“I never had a father, what if I do it wrong? What if the baby hates me and runs away at seven?”

“We’ve got quite a lot of time before then.”

He was there during delivery, letting you crush his hand like a champ.

You can’t help but cry when you see him sleeping on the floor next to the crib, its so sweet.

Fred

You two most likely already had two kids, so you decided to wait a bit so your hands weren’t quite full.

Well...your body decided not to wait.

A test provides the two lines, another wild child.

The two toddlers already run around like thing one and thing two, only with red hair.

I think Fred would gladly make the family dinner, and wear an apron. He’d own it, as he should.

But mf gotta not drop the salad bowl when you tell him of the fetus inside you.

“Fred we are going to have a bee-ay-bee-why.”

Your five year old has just begun to spell 😐

He’s happy tho.

Like over the fuckin moon.

He buys the two kids big brother/sister shirts too 🥺🥺

He knows the drill pretty well, so he isn’t too worried about the future.

But its funny that he still freaks out about the crib and feeding chair since he gave it away, you know because you guys werent having another kid.

He packed a hospital bag and kept it in the trunk, counting down the days.

Hours of delivery (He just sat back and held your hand) only to end up with a room full of 7 Weasley family members.

Fred always said that 3 was his lucky number :)

George

You guys were taking it slow, no marriage until you both felt it was time. And certainly no children before that.

Well you know...things changed when the test was positive.

You slid it over on the table, tears pooling in your eyes. He was stunned and quiet, which made you burst out sobbing because you knew that neither of you planned on having a baby.

But to your surprise he starts to smile.

“I want whatever you want, I’m staying by your side no matter what.”

“I mean...would it really be so bad? A house, a kid, a dog?” He holds your hand as you think aloud.

You both give it a week to think it over and the virdict is to keep it.

Thats when he decides he has to marry you, asap because he loves you and will never let you go especially now.

He loves to gush about the carrier of his child, to him you are a godess.

He’s the Dad with a predestination complex.

“Y/N, I just see him being a star quiditch player”

“George, we don’t know if it’s a him.”

He rolls his eyes “Okay then I can see her being a star-“

He made Hermione take you out for a movie date so he could rearrange your bedroom, since you only had a single bedroom flat.

You come back to a new set up including a cot.

Damn pregnancy hormones make brain go 🥺😭😭

He freaks when your water breaks lol

ceo of driving like a maniac to the hospital.

He can’t hold your hand, he’s pacing back and forth, sweating and maybe crying though he’ll never admit to it.

You get the joy of watching him cuddle the baby while refusing to give your child to you.

“George I’d like to hold-“

“No, you need your sleep honey, don’t worry”

Hogging the child.

Cedric

Its no secret that Cedric wants a baby someday.

And he makes it clear your wedding will be spectacular too.

However, finding out you’re pregnant the week of your dream wedding was a shock.

A shock that made you bang your head into the wall because how could you be so stupid?? We had a plan??

So you decide to wait until after the wedding, that way it wont add onto the stress (happy stress) of the wedding.

Cedric keeps trying to fill your glass at the reception, to which you kindly refuse saying you want to remember the night entirely.

Yeah he’s like 🤨 mhm okay.

You can only pick at the dinner because ew salmon doesn’t sound like an option if you want to keep the contents of your stomach.

As everyone waves goodbye to the car, and you both set off into married life, he leans over.

“I may be out of my mind, but are you...?”

“Pregnant.” His face lights up, pulling you into a hug.

Finally, your car pulls up to a small cottage with lush garden scapes all around, putting a hand out, he walks you both from the car to the door.

“Ced, where are we?”

“Home.”

Somehow it was perfect with Cedric, even when it was rushed.

He loved talking to your womb, even if it was weird that he was talking about the babies future brothers and sisters.

“Cedric, slow down. We haven’t even had this one yet”

Basically he is father of the year before he’s a full father.

He’s there while you deliver, holding your hand and telling you how great you’re doing.

He doesn’t even complain when you insult him <3.

He updates you on everything.

If his eyes aren’t on that child, he’s either asleep or dead.

I think Cedric was meant to be a family man, because he loves everything about being one.

Taglist: @truly-insatiable @amourtentiaa @imdoingathingmom @annasdani @anchoeritic @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @cedricsyellowscarf @faeinorbit

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spacedikut · 3 years ago

Note

i love your blurbs sm, can you write one about in quarantine with spence?

“im running out of new things to try.”

spencer’s looming in the doorway, enviously watching your position of comfort - you’re on your twelfth book, cuddled up in the duvet, using every pillow on the bed to your advantage.

he’s been pottering around in the kitchen all morning - he’s recently discovered his mathematical mind makes baking come naturally, and he’s beginning to translate that ability to pastries that he’s only content with if you shove into your mouth whole.

you hum. “you could clean,”

“already done.”

“rearrange your books?”

“did it yesterday. and five days before that.”

“...are there any puzzles you haven’t finished?”

“i’ve done them all at least twice now.”

you laugh, then, because it’s barely midday and this crisis usually happens at least right before dinner - to which you suggest he attempts to make said dinner and... he tries his best - and spencer frowns, displeased by your response and evident lack of empathy when it comes to his struggle. and what a struggle it is.

he shuffles towards the bed, kicking off his slippers (which he made himself - penelope sent a kit), revealing his mismatching socks (that he crocheted), a rush of air pushing out of you both when he lands on you.

“it’s not funny!” he whines, worming his way into your neck. “i have a shipment of new books arriving tomorrow, but every time i track the delivery it shows the same ‘delivery in progress!’ message.”

“for once, your constant need to be learning has come to bite you in the butt.”

that wasn’t the correct response, apparently - although he doesn’t move from being burrowed in your side, his lithe fingers momentarily dig into your side, just enough to get a reaction and for him to pull back and show you the pout on his lips. he’s asking for sympathy and you’re making fun of him.

he pauses, calculating as he waits for you to catch your breath. “what about a pet?” he asks.

although you’re fond of the idea, there’s one tiny issue: “that would require going outside, mr homebody.”

he huffs, moving from your chest to resting his head on your stomach - prime head scratching position.

“doctor homebody.” he mumbles uselessly.

he flicks through his options like a catalogue in his mind - he’s done knitting, crocheting, sewing, anything involving needles and patterns, really, and he’s done his fair share of baking and cooking and he made that lopsided cake that one time. he’d reread every single book in your apartment before the first lockdown ended, and although he’s more than happy to do it all again...his brains needs something different. something other than being stationary and only using his upper body to flip pages and stir pots and weave fabric through holes.

with a soft hand rubbing against the bare skin of your thighs - he’s also started taking skincare very seriously - he tentatively asks, “we could...dance?”

you pause, questioning whether you heard him correctly.

“did you hear me?” spencer asks, turning to face you, fingers poking under the book that rests on your chest to lift it so he can see your face. you look very confused.

“dancing?”

“yeah.”

“you want to dance?”

“im not great, but...”

“you really want to?”

he can’t decipher if the expression on your face is building excitement or disgust. it’s terrifying - one will lead to future embarrassment (when he inevitably stands on your toes) and the other will lead to imminent embarrassment (when you call him a gangly freak). “i would like to, yes. if you’ll be my partner.”

“spence!” you sit up abruptly, forcing him to follow, and now he’s confident it’s excitement contorting your face. “are you kidding? of course! this’ll be so much fun,” you’re wiggling from under him and leaving the bed. spencer watches you with a warm smile. “i’ve always wanted to see you dance, ever since i saw the videos of jj’s wedding.”

you move towards the record player in your room, shuffling through the vinyls you own with pursed lips and bright eyes. spencer watches, leaning back on one arm, lovesick and surprisingly not even a little worried about how difficult this will be for his uncoordinated self.

(the mention of wedding has him asking if you’ve got any music fit for a waltz - of course you do - and has him tearing up with you’re close and softly singing along to what spencer decides will be your wedding song)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #headcanons #spencer reid blurb #mine #uh oh uh oh uh oh (to the tune of Beyoncé’s crazy in love)#ask #anonymous

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ironhusband · 4 years ago

Text

Read on AO3

Honestly, Bucky had expected that dating Sam would be easier than this.

With everything that he and Sam had gone through to finally get together, he had wanted everything to be smooth sailing once he finally had Sam. Their perfect happy ending, cut straight from the movies and into their lives. They deserved it.

That wasn’t real life, however.

When Bucky finally had Sam in his arms, there were a myriad of relationship things that Bucky had to learn. He had to get used to all of Sam's quirks and he had the entirety of Sam’s family to win over. He had to learn the way to this obscure place where Sam liked to buy his orange juice and he had to study for days to remember that Sam’s aunt liked orange jewelry. But if Bucky was honest? He didn’t mind that part. He didn’t mind getting to know what Sam was like in a relationship or meeting Sam’s family. That would never be a hardship for him.

What he did mind was that stupid fucking drone.

It all started with Sam and Bucky making out on the couch. This wasn’t unusual in itself; sometimes the news was boring and Sam and Bucky got distracted. Sucking on Sam’s tongue was more interesting than anything else, frankly.

Sam was pressed against the couch by Bucky’s hips, his hands wandering under Bucky’s shirt as Bucky took Sam’s lips between his teeth. Sam removed his hand from Bucky's shirt to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, causing Bucky to pinch Sam’s waist. Bucky was coming up to change the angle of the kiss and-

When he looked up the drone was staring directly at them.

It took a long time for Bucky to recognize that their home was safe and not, as a reflex, shoot at any sort of intimidating sight and sound. Still, he startled and yelled, “why the fuck is your pet staring at us?!”

Sam looked back at what made Bucky exclaim and smiled at Redwing. “Oh, hi, there, little guy,” he cooed, “enjoying the show?”

“Sam,” Bucky hissed, annoyed at his boyfriend’s reaction, glancing back and forth between the drone and Sam, “he is staring at us."

Sam shrugged, wrapping his arms around Bucky's shoulders, "so?"

Bucky spluttered, exasperated, "He is recording us. How can you be so calm about this? What if he puts this on the internet?”

“He won’t put this on the internet,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Why not?” Bucky challenged, knowing the real reason. Sam was still insisting it was Redwing who put the footage of him falling through the tree on the internet, and he was determined to make him confess it was his doing (that video got 1000000 likes!).

“Well, first of all,” Sam explained, straightening up, smug grin on, “because no one wants to see you kissing.”

“You want to see me kissing,” Bucky countered.

“My one flaw,” Sam teased, “and two, his camera isn’t on. He just likes flying around sometimes.”

Bucky glanced at the drone, whose cold, robot eyes, peeking just beneath the shell on the drone, stared back at him. “Can’t you make him stop?”

“I wasn’t listening when Stark did the seminar about the AI inside him. Lost the manual too.”

Bucky looked at the drone again, and then quickly turned away while he muttered, “there must be a deactivation code.”

“I sorta don’t want to find it,” Sam confessed, “I like his quirks.”

“But he isn’t supposed to be flying around with his camera off. It isn’t what he was made for.”

“He’s sleepwalking,” Sam said, fondly.

“He’s creepy.”

Sam gasped, “how dare you say that?!”

“Robots shouldn’t sleepwalk!”

“Redwing isn’t a robot! He’s a drone!”

“Same difference!”

“It is so not same difference. Besides, Redwing is better than just a normal robot, he is-”

He and Sam bickered for the rest of the evening and Bucky forgot all about the drone when they moved into the bedroom. But it began like this.

~~~

Bucky woke up to get milk the next morning. Sam usually got up earlier than Bucky, waking to go run. He would accidentally wake Bucky up by kissing his cheek before he went out (running reminded Sam of Steve and sometimes he needed a little reassurance), and then Bucky would burrow into the blankets for half an hour before getting up to eat cereal. Bucky liked the early hours of the day when he had the house to himself and could wake up properly before Sam would get home. Before they moved in together, Bucky had made the mistake of getting up after Sam had already returned from his run, and he didn’t have the brainpower to retort when Sam called him a heathen for pouring his milk before his cereal.

When he got up this morning, the drone was there, staring at him.

Bucky was mid-yawn when he yelped at the flying thing in front of his face.

“Holy fucking shit, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” he exclaimed at the drone, clutching at his chest.

“That’s not good,” the imaginary Sam in his head said, looking, amused, at Bucky’s clutching-his-pearls position, “you need to watch your heart at your age.”

The drone didn’t say anything. Bucky rolled his eyes. “What are you looking at?” he challenged.

The drone still didn’t say anything.

Bucky moved cautiously, one leg in front of the other while he watched the drone, “I’m just getting breakfast.”

The drone turned his head towards him with his every moment. The whirring, easier to hear in the quiet morning, gave Bucky chills.

He glanced once at the drone and then once at the refrigerator before deciding to ignore the robot. Even if it was creepy that his camera wasn't on but he could still follow him, what would he do? Shoot him? Sam disarmed the drone every time he was off duty. So Bucky opened the fridge and got out his milk, blocking the drone from his view with the door.

Sam hated it when he did it, but he unscrewed the milk and drank some of it (”we exchange spit regularly, I don’t see the big deal.” “You put it so romantically~”). Cold milk always helped Bucky wake up and he “ahh”ed when he stopped feeling the thirst he always felt when he was just waking up.

He shut the door of the refrigerator, and apparently, Redwing has gotten twenty steps closer.

He screamed at the drone near his face and threw the cap at him.

~~~

Turns out, Redwing’s camera was on and Sam laughed for 20 minutes at the footage.

~~~

The next time it happened, Bucky was coming home from one of his therapy appointments. The BARF sessions were always a pain in the ass (reliving his past wasn’t remotely fun) but Bucky knew he sometimes had to go to them to make sure he wouldn’t go all Winter Soldier again. Anything to keep Sam safe.

Bucky liked to come home and cuddle with his boyfriend (who usually also had an exhausting day of being Captain America) when he got home, but today was different.

A purring Redwing was found in Sam’s lap when he went into the living room.

“Hey!” Sam greeted, seeing unable to give him a welcoming kiss due to the robot in his lap, “how did it go?”

“The usual,” Bucky replied casually. He eyed the drone, “does he usually... do that?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “he noticed I was bummed so he came to cheer me up. Isn’t that right, Red?”

Sam pet Redwing’s red-paint-coated shell and the robot buzzed happily.

“Weird...” Bucky mumbled under his breath and then flopped next to Sam, “why were you bummed?”

“I fucking hate the UN,” Sam announced, “excuse me for not wanting to end up at jail for accidentally scratching some rich dude’s car.”

Bucky kissed Sam’s cheek, “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

“’ Is okay. We’ll settle it all eventually. Just wish that I didn’t have to do it.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky pointed out, knowing how much his boyfriend loved being Captain America.

Sam smiled shyly, that smile of his that made Bucky fall head over heels for him, “no, I don’t.”

Bucky kissed Sam’s neck. Sam’s smiles would always get him soft, which meant he had to kiss every inch of him. Sam giggled at Bucky rolling the skin between his lips and he brought a hand to the back of Bucky’s head to caress his nape. Bucky kissed further down his neck, reaching Sam’s collarbone and-

Sam gently pushed him away. Redwing was buzzing irregularly in his lap.

“Hey, there, little fella, don’t be mad,” Sam tried to appease him by stroking him, “Bucky just distracted me for a moment.”

Bucky huffed, disappointed at the interruption. “Not fair,” Bucky grumbled, “I had Sam cuddling dibs.”

“Awww,” Sam teased, his trademark smug grin on his face, “are you jealous?”

Bucky huffed and pushed his shoulder, “no, I’m not jealous. I love you and your weird robot.”

Sam laughed and didn’t retort, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder as they turned on the TV.

~~~

Bucky did get a little jealous when Sam had to sleep on the couch because he didn't want to disturb Redwing ‘napping’ on his lap. He was still jealous, despite how adorable Sam looked with the blanket around his shoulders and drooling on the backrest of the couch.

~~~

Bucky could have handled hogging Sam or Redwing hovering or wondering if the drone was recording while he and Sam were just being domestic, but he drew the line at forcing him to stay in his apartment.

“Okay, freak,” Bucky announced to the drone, “I’m going shopping. Do you need anything?”

The drone didn’t respond. Bucky pulled the jacket on and stuffed his keys in one of the pockets. The drone followed his movements as he got ready to go outside. “I’m going out now,” Bucky informed him before he turned around to leave the apartment.

The drone was staring right back at his face as he moved towards the door. Bucky didn’t jump this time, long used to how Redwing could sneak up on people. “God, how do you do that? Did Stark figure out teleportation or something?”

The drone flew mute, as always. Bucky sighed and went to open the door but Redwing blocked his hand before he could reach the knob. “Ow! Son of a bitch!” he cursed as his hand crushed against the drone, “what, what’s the matter? I can’t leave my home now?”

The drone didn’t respond.

“You know, most pets beg for their owners to take them outside.”

The drone still didn’t respond.

Bucky sighed, and reached for the door, more gently this time, and managed to successfully open the door.

Bucky cheered triumphantly, “not so tough now, huh?”

The drone didn’t show any sign that he understood but when Bucky tried to exit he blocked his way.

“Seriously?” Bucky huffed. He moved an inch to the left quickly and the drone zoomed towards him. “Seriously?” he complained and tried to move another inch, slower this time. The drone followed his painstakingly slow movements, centimeter for centimeter. “You motherfucker.”

He tried to get through the door from the left side and the right side, but wherever he went, Redwing followed him. “I’m going to walk out of this door like a normal person,” he told Redwing, “I’m not going to limbo under you, or jump over you, or fight you or anything like that, so. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

Three minutes later, Bucky found himself on his knees, face to face with the drone, “you know, if Sam didn’t like you so much, I would dismantle you piece by piece.”

~~~

Sam paused at the open doorway, looking at his boyfriend and his drone staring at one another.

“Are you having a staring contest?” Sam quipped, “because that’s our thing.”

“It won’t let me leave,” Bucky complained.

Sam raised an eyebrow, walking through the front door, “it? You used to call him him.” Redwing followed him, softly nudging Sam’s head and asking to be pet.

Bucky threw his hands in the air in frustration, “him is for things who aren’t menaces!”

“That’s not my experience,” Sam joked, petting Redwing as it asked.

Bucky glared at him, “that’s not funny. That drone is the executor of Tony Stark’s will and it is trying to kill me!”

Sam laughed, “don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“Two days ago, I swear I saw it give me a withering stare while it was on your chest.”

“He’s a drone, Bucky,” Sam emphasized, “they don’t have expressions.”

“Doesn’t stop him from doing all the other human stuff!”

“Bucky,” Sam shook his head, “Redwing likes you.”

Bucky scoffed, “if Redwing was armed, it'd kill me in my sleep.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“When’s our next battle? I bet it'll finish the job then!”

“If only I had a schedule of that...”

“That thing drives me crazy!”

“Bucky!” Sam exclaimed, “all those things Redwing does, he does because he likes you.”

Bucky blinked.

“Think about it,” Sam began explaining, “for weeks after you moved in, he hasn’t moved from his spot, but now he has suddenly decided to move?”

“It has decided it can no longer be passive about me anymore?” Bucky suggested.

“Or-” Sam suggested his interpretation, “-he decided he can trust you and he wants to get to know you.”

Bucky peaked at Redwing behind him, “seems unlikely.”

Sam raised his hands, “don’t ask me to explain his bad taste.”

Bucky looked at the drone, “it likes me.”

Sam nodded, “and unfortunately, so do I.”

"It has a weird way of showing it," Bucky pointed out.

Sam grinned, "well, so do you."

~~~

“What do I do?” Bucky whispered to Sam, panicked.

Sam shook his head. "Pet him, you moron," he told him fondly.

The drone has decided to land in his lap. Changing Redwing’s batteries was like feeding a dog, and now Redwing has decided that Bucky deserved affections. Bucky carefully put his hand on top of the drone’s surprisingly warm metal and started rubbing his hand on the shell.

“There you go,” Sam congratulated him and put his head on Bucky’s shoulder, his hand on the drone, joining the petting. He turned on the TV, “what do you want to watch tonight?”

Bucky looked at Sam, at how calm and happy he looked because of Bucky and Redwing getting along. He looked down at the drone steadily purring louder in his lap.

“Yeah,” he thought, “this is a happy ending.”

#sambucky #winterfalcon #sam wilson #Bucky Barnes #redwing #winterfalcon fic #sambucky fic #winter falcon #falcon #winter soilder #captain america #druwrites #bucky barnes x sam wilson #sam wilson x bucky barnes #marvel #MCU #fatws #falcon and the winter solider #userpavi

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xanthippe74 · 4 years ago

Text

Drarry ficlet: Momento mei

2399 words | general audiences | angst with a happy ending

Thanks to @glittering-git for the beta!

Read below or on AO3 here.

Memento mei

It seemed like a blessing at first.

In the months after the war ended, the articles chronicling Harry’s deeds in the Prophet slowly waned from full pages of lavish words and photographs, to barely a mention of his name. Harry felt lighter for it, free. By the time the first term back at Hogwarts was almost over, he could go to Hogsmeade without worrying about flash bulbs startling him every time he stepped out of a shop.

“They finally got tired of you, mate,” Ron said with a laugh as they trudged back to the school after a morning of Christmas shopping. Harry scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it, none too gently, into Ron’s grinning face.

Harry and Ginny’s break-up didn’t get so much as a mention, even in Rita Skeeter’s gossip column, which had been relegated to an ignominious corner ten pages back from the front page. When he came out as bisexual and briefly dated Terry Boot that spring, he braced himself for a fresh round of publicity. It never materialised.

Harry looked in the mirror of the eighth-year boys’ bathroom and found he was truly comfortable in his own skin for the first time. His life wasn’t going to be scrutinised and dissected for public consumption anymore. The people around him didn’t think he was a freak or a waste of space.

One year after the war, with a handful of NEWTs to his name, Harry was at a loss for what to do next. There was no particular career he felt inclined to pursue, so he put his energy into renovating Grimmauld Place and spending time with his godson. He wondered at times why no one had offered him a job—Ron and Hermione had been deluged with letters—but he never mentioned it to anyone. It would have sounded awfully big-headed to expect anything to be handed to him like that, much less complain about it. While his friends began training programmes and apprenticeships, Harry Vanished broken furniture and stripped mildewy wallpaper off the walls. On the weekends, he met the usual Hogwarts gang for pub night or a party in someone’s cramped flat.

Harry looked in the mirror on his way out to meet his friends, giving his hair one last check. Maybe he’d meet someone new tonight. He winked at his reflection before leaving his newly-renovated bedroom.

Two years after the war, Harry didn’t think twice about walking through Diagon Alley on a busy Saturday. There were no stares or requests for autographs, no whispers when he paused to look into a shop window. He met friends for leisurely lunches. He ate ice cream at a table in front of Fortescue’s and watched people strolling by in the summer sunshine. Once, Harry walked the entire length of Diagon without realising that George had flicked a spell at the back of his head as he’d left the joke shop.

Harry looked in the mirror when he got home and was bemused by the things that didn’t warrant a second glance in the magical world, like hair that shifted between purple and orange every five seconds. He went over to Andromeda’s house to show Teddy, who laughed to see his godfather’s hair change colours like his did.

Three years after the war, Harry’s friends started forgetting to invite him to things. At first, they laughed it off as absentmindedness or a simple oversight. “I’m sorry, Harry! It must have slipped my mind,” was an excuse he began to hear more and more often. And then they began to look confused when he confronted them, like it was strange for Harry to expect to be included at all. As the months went by, the hosts of the get-togethers weren’t the only offenders—not a single person seemed to notice when Harry didn’t show up for something. When he mentioned it later, they would only lament all the fun he’d missed out on. His frustration curdled into self-pity.

Harry looked in the mirror the day he found out he’d missed Lavender’s engagement party, studying his unremarkable features and the unremarkable haircut he’d had since he was eighteen. Was he really so boring and unimportant that nobody thought about him much anymore? He didn’t mind in the least that the wizarding world wasn’t fawning over him, but it cut deeply that the people dearest to him no longer seemed to want or need his company.

It was only when his closest friends stopped recognising him that Harry began to suspect that something was terribly wrong. The first one was Luna, but she was often so lost in her own thoughts that it didn’t strike him as odd that she’d drifted past him in Diagon without saying hello. Then Molly looked at him blankly one day when he arrived at the Burrow for Sunday roast, as if Harry were a stranger who’d wandered in by accident. Thankfully, Ron was passing through the kitchen and greeted him as he usually did. Molly gave herself a little shake and ushered them both into the lounge.

Four years after the war ended, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt didn’t mention Harry’s name in his speech commemorating the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hagrid didn’t invite Harry to tea for his birthday, as he did every year.

And when Harry popped into Neville’s flower shop to wish him happy birthday, Neville responded to his greeting with a baffled look. Harry watched in horror as he turned to Hannah and mouthed the words, “Who’s that?”

Harry spun on his heel and went right back out the door.

Either he was going mad or everyone else was. He walked around London for half the night, unable to think straight. The city was a vast ocean, and Harry felt like a small boat that had been set adrift, tossed around by waves of panic. When he was calmer, he decided to turn to the two people he knew he could always count on for help.

On his twenty-second birthday, Harry woke up on his sofa and rushed to the Floo to call Hermione before she left for work. He was flooded with relief when he heard footsteps approaching the fireplace. Ron’s face appeared in the flames—and immediately twisted into anger when he saw Harry.

“How did you get this address? Who let you into our wards? Get out!”

Harry sat on the floor for a long time after Ron had slammed the Floo connection closed.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

Oh, god—Teddy. Harry scrambled to his feet. Would Teddy shy away from Harry as he would from a stranger, the next time they saw each other? He stumbled up the stairs and dry heaved over the toilet.

Harry looked in the mirror and prodded his chalky face with his forefinger. Did he look unrecognisable to everyone but himself now? Did they see a different face, a different person when they looked at him? Or were they all under some kind of spell that erased their memories?

How had he been forgotten by everyone who loved him?

Forgotten.

You will be forgotten.

The phrase echoed in Harry’s head, causing him to sink down onto the bathroom floor. Over four years ago he’d heard those very words, snarled by a Death Eater as she’d been dragged out of the Great Hall by Aurors after the final battle. Harry had been so exhausted that the dank weight of her magic settling upon him had immediately vanished from his mind.

“The Dark Lord will always be remembered! But you will not, Harry Potter. You are nothing compared to him—utterly insignificant! You will be forgotten!”

Harry went to St Mungo’s to see the Healers, who shook their heads at the young man who insisted he was supposed to be famous. When they couldn’t fix him, they called in an Unspeakable who specialised in breaking obscure curses. After an hour of waiting, a man in hooded grey robes swept into the examining room. He didn’t show the slightest sign of recognition when he introduced himself to Harry as Unspeakable Malfoy.

Harry looked in the mirror above the sink while Malfoy cast diagnostic spells at him. He tried not to cry.

Malfoy didn’t make any promises when he was done with his spells, the results of which he recorded in a small notebook. He promised to send an owl if he found anything and asked for Harry’s name again so he could write it down.

If Malfoy couldn’t fix this, Harry decided on his walk home, he’d have to leave England. If he went someplace where no one had heard of him, they couldn’t forget him, right? The tears he’d held back at St Mungo’s slid down his cheeks as he thought about how much he’d gained, and now lost, since his eleventh birthday. Maybe he didn’t have the most exciting life or a career to boast about, but there were people who loved him. There were happy times and an old house that he’d turned into a home with his own hands.

Harry went back to Grimmauld Place and waited for word from Malfoy. He paced through the high-ceilinged rooms and climbed the long flights of stairs until his legs ached. He caught himself holding his breath, listening for a knock on the door or the roar of the Floo. When they never came, he went out to the back garden instead and lay on its small rectangle of grass. He considered where he might go—California or New Zealand. Or maybe some South Pacific island where it never got cold.

At last, Malfoy’s owl arrived four days after he had examined Harry. He’d identified the curse and, more importantly, found the countercurse.

Back at St Mungo’s, Malfoy greeted Harry coolly and ordered him into a chair. The countercurse was a droning chant in a language that Harry didn’t recognise, accompanied by complex wand motions that made him dizzy to watch. He closed his eyes until it was over, hardly able to breathe.

When the casting was finished and the room silent again, Harry opened his eyes and found Malfoy gaping at him.

“Potter? What the hell?” Malfoy looked over at his notes on the table, then back at Harry, his eyes widening even further. Then he said, faintly, “Well, Scarhead, that was quite the predicament you got yourself—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. Harry launched himself out of the chair and crushed Malfoy in a hug, laughing tearfully into the shoulder of his Unspeakable robes.

“Gracious, Potter, a simple thank-you would suffice.” Malfoy wriggled out of Harry’s arms and stepped back to cast a diagnostic spell at him. “Do you feel any different?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Not really. Lighter, maybe?”

“You’re probably just relieved to be famous again,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “It must have been terrible not to see your own picture in the newspaper every day.”

“No, that part was actually nice. It was having my friends not even recognise me anymore…”

The rest of the words got caught in Harry’s throat. Malfoy’s expression turned sympathetic, and when he spoke again, it was with surprising gentleness.

“Well, then. I suppose you’d better go see them now, hmm?”

He accompanied Harry to the Floo in the reception area. Harry tried to glance at him as they walked, but he’d pulled up his hood to hide his face from the other people in the corridor. No wonder Harry hadn’t heard anything about Malfoy in the past few years—he’d buried himself in the depths of the Ministry, learning to undo Dark curses.

And letting the wizarding world forget him, Harry thought with a pang.

Harry shook Malfoy’s hand and thanked him. Whatever happened next, he knew he wouldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy, with his sharp gaze and clever mind, anytime soon. Malfoy, too, seemed to consider Harry for a few long moments before he stepped into the Floo.

This time, the only reason why Hermione and Ron were surprised to see Harry was because they weren’t expecting him on a Thursday evening as they were squabbling over what to make for dinner. He almost started crying again when Ron cuffed him on the shoulder and asked him if he wanted a beer.

Hermione noticed that he was upset first, of course. When Harry explained the curse, she blamed herself for not catching that something was wrong. Ron looked towards the pictures on the mantelpiece and swore under his breath. There weren’t any pictures of Harry there.

The good parts of Harry’s life returned to normal after that, and he was almost bursting with renewed gratitude for the people around him. Diagon was off limits again, since the vultures at the Prophet remembered to hound him, but that was a small price to pay. Harry threw himself a belated birthday party in Grimmauld Place, and the rooms were filled with music and laughter and shouted toasts in his honour. He never wanted the night to end.

Harry looked in the mirror before going to bed in the wee small hours, and he smiled with contentment at his bleary eyes and the glitter caught in his hair.

He’d invited Malfoy to the party on a whim, but received a polite note declining. Harry tried again and again—a Seekers game? Lunch in Muggle London? Tea at Grimmauld Place?—until Malfoy finally gave in. He showed up on Harry’s doorstep in jeans and a soft, well-fitted jumper. Harry found himself staring.

“Did you forget that you asked me to dinner, Potter?” Malfoy smirked.

“Oh, no,” Harry breathed. “How could I forget you?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Five years after the war ended, Harry spends his Saturdays teaching Teddy how to fly on his first broom and Sundays being climbed on by two or three small Weasleys who know he keeps sweets in pockets. He orders Christmas gifts by owl post to avoid star-struck witches in the Diagon shops. He slips into the Leaky Cauldron under his invisibility cloak to meet his friends for drinks.

And when Draco reads out the ridiculous articles about him from the Daily Prophet, Harry chucks the crusts of his toast across the breakfast table at his boyfriend and says he almost forgot how much of a prat he could be.

“You didn’t forget anything,” Draco says pointedly.

And Harry has to agree. He didn’t.

#my writing #drarry #drarry ficlet #now with AO3 link and header!

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imekitty · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt: Vlad and Jack get stuck in an elevator together and thanks to security cameras Vlad can't use his powers to leave nor finally kill Jack. Tensions rise thanks to Jack's happy and oblivious attitude causing Vlad to explode at him and spill everything he's bottled up the last 20 years

I can't promise this is good.

-----

Vlad checked his watch as the elevator he was in began its descent. Only three o’clock, still plenty of daylight left for his other errands.

The elevator stopped and opened. Vlad walked out but froze when he caught sight of someone in the lobby, someone huge and tall and wearing an orange jumpsuit.

Shit.

Vlad walked back into the elevator.

“Vladdy! Hey!” yelled Jack behind him.

Vlad pretended not to hear him and pressed the button for the highest floor. Maybe he would just fly out of the building once he lost Jack.

“Hey, hold that for me, V-man!”

Jack was moving quicker in his direction now. Vlad jabbed the “close doors” button and watched the doors glide toward each other.

Jack began running. Vlad watched the doors close, almost, almost—

Jack’s massive gloved hand jammed between the doors. With a grunt, he forcibly pushed one of the doors back, metal scratching against metal. Vlad narrowed his eyes.

The elevator shuddered as Jack stepped inside. Vlad gave him a perfunctory smile.

“That was close,” said Jack. “Almost didn’t make it.”

“How unfortunate that would’ve been,” said Vlad through his teeth.

“Oh, can you press 3 for me, Vladdy?”

Jack beamed at him with that stupid oblivious grin he always wore. Vlad pushed 3 and also 2 for himself. The elevator doors did not close. Vlad pressed the “close doors” button. After another pause, the doors closed with an unpleasant grinding noise.

“So what are you doing here?” Jack held up a packet of papers. “I just need to get some things notarized at the bank here.”

“I’m here for meetings,” said Vlad, trying to sound cheerful.

“Yeah? Mayoral meetings?”

“Oh, I won’t bore you with the details.”

The elevator began moving up.

“Well, Mads and I are both really proud of all the great things you’re doing for our town.”

Jack grinned again. Vlad did not doubt his sincerity.

“So you’re here on your own?” asked Vlad. “Maddie did not join you?”

“No, she asked me to—”

The elevator shook and lurched up a couple feet before jolting to a stop. Vlad felt his balance shift as his legs stumbled. Jack grabbed hold of his arm.

“I got you, V-man. You good?”

Vlad wrenched his arm free and stood tall, straightening his tie. “I’m fine.”

Jack looked around at the walls surrounding them. “The elevator’s stopped.”

“It has indeed,” said Vlad.

Jack pressed a few buttons on the control panel. Nothing responded, no movement. “Definitely stuck.”

“Seems that way.”

“But someone will fix it soon.” Jack nodded. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

Vlad looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and sighed. Even if Jack weren’t here, he wouldn’t be able to phase out. Not without finding where the security footage was kept and destroying it.

“I’m thankfully not in a rush. I’ve got plenty of time to get this done.” Jack stretched out his arms. “But what about your meetings? Are you gonna be late?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Vlad shook his head. “No, it’ll be fine.”

“I guess the mayor is allowed to be late for whatever he wants, huh?”

Vlad forced a curt half smile.

“But maybe we can call the front desk and ask if they’re getting someone to fix it.” Jack pulled out his phone and tapped the screen before raising the phone to his ear. “Hi there, we are in your elevator and it seems to be stuck. It’s not going anywhere. Do you have someone to fix it? Yeah? All right, well, we’ll just wait here, then.” Jack ended the call. “They’ve called maintenance. They should have us moving in a jiffy.”

“Good to hear,” said Vlad.

“So.” Jack switched his packet of papers from one arm to the other. “What should we do?”

“Do? What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, I said they’d have us moving in a jiffy, but I was exaggerating.”

“Really? Were you now?”

“Yeah! So we’ve got some time to kill. This is a good chance for us to talk!”

“Talk?”

“Yeah!”

Vlad looked from one side of the elevator to the other. “Talk about what?”

“Anything! We don’t really get to talk anymore. I miss our college days, don’t you?”

“Do I?” muttered Vlad.

“Back when we used to goof around, crash frat parties.”

“I think it was you doing most of the goofing around. And we had to crash them because we were never invited.”

“Yeah, and I never understood why. We were so cool!”

“It was probably due to your incessant blathering about ghosts.”

“Ah, yeah.” Jack looked at the ceiling and smiled. “I really miss when we used to stay up late at the university lab. Like when we worked on that proto-portal. Remember that? Weren’t those fun times?”

Vlad shook his head. “No, actually. I don’t miss that at all.”

The two fell quiet for a moment.

“You know.” Jack flicked through the documents in his hands with a thumb. “You never told us what happened exactly.”

“What do you mean?” asked Vlad, weary.

“With the proto-portal. When it zapped you in the face?”

“Oh. That.” Vlad shrugged. “What about it?”

“Well, I mean, what happened with that?”

“It zapped me in the face, like you said. You were there. You saw.”

“Yeah, I know, but what happened after that?” Jack frowned. “Maddie and I never heard from you again. Not until the college reunion a couple years ago.”

“I was a little busy being hospitalized and nearly dying,” said Vlad dully.

“Yeah, we heard,” said Jack. “And we tried to get in touch with you, but we couldn’t find which hospital you were at.”

“I didn’t want anyone to find me.”

“But even us? Even me?”

“Especially you.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “But we were best friends, weren’t we?”

“I might’ve described us that way in the past, yes.”

“What does that mean?”

Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“I was really worried about you, Vlad.”

“Worried?” Vlad scoffed. “Really?”

“Of course I was. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You weren’t worried about making sure you put ecto-purifier and not diet soda in the proto-portal’s filtration system,” said Vlad. “You weren’t worried about making sure I was out of the way before turning it on.”

Jack sucked his teeth. “Yeah, I was a little trigger happy, but I was just excited. Weren’t you?”

“I was not excited about getting blasted in the face with soda-infused ectoplasmic energy that burrowed in my skin and tore it up, no.”

“Was it really that bad?”

Vlad folded his arms. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Jack nodded. “Okay. Well, maybe we can get coffee sometime or meet somewhere more comfortable—”

“No, I mean I don’t want to talk about this with you. Ever.”

“But why—”

“Because it was your fault!”

Jack shrank away from him.

“You were careless and selfish and destroyed my life,” roared Vlad. “I was in horrific pain and everyone who saw me stared at me like I was some freak. And I almost died. I wanted to die sometimes. Couldn’t even look at myself in a mirror.”

Jack tightened his hold on his documents and looked down at the floor.

“You never think before you do anything. You’re reckless and oafish and that hasn’t changed at all.” Vlad thrust his hand toward the elevator door. “Just look at what you did to the elevator!”

Jack looked at the door. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” spat Vlad. “You forced the door open and now it’s broken and we’re stuck in here. Because that’s what you do, you destroy and ruin things for other people.”

“But I didn’t want to miss seeing you.” Jack’s voice had a small whine. “I don’t get to see you enough, Vladdy.”

“Right, of course. You were thinking about yourself again. You broke the elevator because you wanted to see me. Just like you zapped me in the face because you didn’t want to wait any longer to try out the proto-portal.”

“Vladdy, please—”

“Don’t call me that. We’re adults now.” Vlad paused. “Or at least I am.”

He looked up at the camera and pursed his lips. With his arms folded, he clenched his fists, knuckles cracking.

Jack did not speak for some time. Vlad could only hope he would keep shut up until the elevator started working again.

“I am sorry, you know.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. Of course he couldn’t possibly expect Jack to stay quiet for long.

“I really didn’t know that would happen,” said Jack. “I didn’t even see what happened to you until it was too late.”

Vlad scoffed.

“I just thought we were on the brink of something incredible,” said Jack. “And I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Vlad lowered his gaze to the floor.

“We were on the brink of something incredible,” he said softly. “I wanted it as well.”

Jack side-eyed him but Vlad kept his head down.

“And I suppose…” Vlad shrugged. “I know I couldn’t have done it on my own. Not without you. And Maddie. Probably more so without Maddie.”

Jack hummed amusement but said nothing.

“But you were the one who got me into all this,” said Vlad. “Ghosts, I mean.”

Vlad recalled Jack’s nonstop yammering about ghosts that kept him up at night when he really needed to be doing his homework instead. Yammering that at first annoyed him but began intriguing him, challenging what he thought he knew, pulling him into a new direction to explore the supernatural.

And allowing him to meet the first woman in a long time who had actually smiled at him. A woman he would have followed anywhere, into the Ghost Zone and wherever else she wanted to go.

“None of what I have now would’ve happened without you,” said Vlad. “Not that I’m about to thank you for any of it.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me either,” said Jack.

“And I don’t,” said Vlad. He blew out a sharp puff past his lips. “But at least things turned out almost okay for me.”

“Almost?” said Jack. “What isn’t okay for you now? Something I can help with?”

Vlad wondered what Maddie was doing right at that moment. How he wished he could have gotten stuck in this elevator with her instead.

“No,” said Vlad.

The elevator shook and restarted its ascent. Jack grinned up at the ceiling.

“Hey, they fixed it!” he exclaimed.

Vlad also looked up but said nothing.

The elevator doors opened. Vlad had no idea what floor it was but knew he was getting off anyway. He stepped past the threshold.

“Vlad. Hey.” Jack stepped out with him.

“The bank isn’t on this floor,” said Vlad curtly.

“Yeah, I know,” said Jack as the elevator doors closed behind them. “I think I’m gonna take the stairs the rest of the way.”

Vlad raised his brows before huffing and shaking his head. “I have things to do.” He started walking away.

“Vlad.”

Vlad turned back to him. “What is it, Jack?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “You have my number, right? If you ever want to talk about anything. Maybe whatever it is that isn’t okay for you right now.”

Vlad chewed the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms, remembering the failed hits he had put on Jack, how the only thing that kept him from killing Jack in that elevator was a surveillance camera.

“You really still think of me as a friend, don’t you?” said Vlad.

Jack blinked. “Well. Yeah. Don’t you?”

Vlad studied his face for several long seconds before smiling.

“Of course,” said Vlad.

Jack smiled back, looking relieved. Vlad’s facial muscles cramped as he kept up his own smile.

“Please give my best to your lovely wife,” said Vlad. “I really must go now.”

He turned and walked away at a brisk pace, balling a fist against his chest out of Jack’s sight.

#danny phantom #vlad masters #jack fenton #imekitty writes #prompt writing #chaosblade7 #proofread once

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faithfulwarrior-og · 3 years ago

Text

Drunken Confessions

Rating: T | Word Count: 1,449 | Warnings: swearing, mild suggestive content

Raya has a little too much fun at a party and gets drunk. Namaari takes her back to her room and long story short: drunk Raya is a handful.

Raya is drunk off her ass. She had gotten a little too into the dance party and lost count of how many drinks she’d had. Now Namaari is carrying Raya bridal style up a freaking flight of steps in Heart castle to get her to her room.

Raya is giggling and swatting Namaari’s ear cuff so it swings back and forth.

Namaari sighs. “Please don’t yank that out of my ear.”

“Pfffft you’re so *hiccup* silly…”

“You’re going to be so fun to be around tomorrow,” Namaari mumbles, shaking her head.

“HELL YEAH I AM!!”

Namaari practically drops her. “Dragons! Can you not flail like that?”

Raya wraps her arms around Namaari’s neck and snuggles into her. “This better?”

Namaari swallows. “Sure.”

Raya sighs. “Mmmm you smell so good. Do you *hiccup* like snuggles? Cuz I do.”

Namaari rounds the corner leading to Raya’s quarters. “That’s nice,” she says.

Raya nuzzles her face into Namaari’s hair. “It’s wayyy better than nice,” she adds, hiccuping again.

Namaari is unable to keep from chuckling at how funny Raya is behaving. “Oh yeah?”

Raya tosses her hand into the air. “FuCk yeah dude!”

Namaari laughs despite herself. “Raya, there’s people trying to sleep.”

Raya wipes her nose. “That’s cool. I’m gonna go sleep.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

Raya starts tracing Namaari’s collarbone with her finger. Namaari tries not to blush but fails miserably.

“‘Maari, one time Snisu suggled with me and that was so cool.”

Namaari nods. “Mmhm.”

“She is the fluffiest Sisu ever,” Raya says.

Namaari chuckles. “Oh really.”

Raya hiccups, “Uh-huh,” then begins counting on her fingers. “She snuggles me, Tuk Tuk snuggles me…” Raya pokes Namaari’s nose. “Boop! Do you like snuggles?”

Namaari blinks. “Umm sure.”

Raya giggles drunkenly. “Fang princess likes snuggles.”

Namaari frowns at her. “I will drop you.”

Raya gasps and clings to her. “No!”

Namaari coughs. “Okay, stop. You’re choking.”

Raya loosens her grip. “Hehe you like it.”

“Raya.” Namaari goes beet red while Raya just giggles.

Then Raya bursts into tears.

Namaari stops at Raya’s door and sets her down. “What? What’s wrong, dep la?”

Raya collapses against her and Namaari caresses her back, hoping she’s offering some comfort.

Raya sniffles. “You snuggle.”

Namaari squints. “Is that... bad?”

Raya nods into the crook of Namaari’s neck. “Mmhm. No. But yeah.”

Namaari gently pulls her back so she can see her face. “Dep la, I don’t know what you mean, how about we go get you tucked in.”

Raya slumps against Namaari as she is practically carried into the room and over to her bed.

Raya hiccups. “How come you teld— didn’t tell me you had a human?”

Namaari looks down at her. “A human? What—”

Raya flails her arms up. “A human. Y’know. To snuggle!”

Namaari watches as Raya flops onto the bed face first. “Raya.”

“What,” she says, her voice muffled.

“I snuggle with my serlot, okay? Now let’s get you into bed—”

Raya starts crying again, flipping over onto her back and wiping her eyes.

Namaari crosses to the bed. “What??”

Raya whimpers. “That’s so precious…”

Namaari sighs and takes Raya’s cape off for her. “Come on, lightweight. Sleep time.”

Raya smirks and sidles up to Namaari. “Taking my clothes off and *hiccup* everything, dep la?”

Namaari flushes. “Raya, you’re drunk.”

“Pffft. Not.. drunk.”

“Raya—”

Raya begins to unwrap her top. “You missed a couples layers dep la—”

Namaari grabs her wrists and puts the loose part of the shirt back. “No no no, let’s—why don’t you just sleep in your clothes?”

Raya pulls Namaari against her and brings her lips within inches of hers. “But I don’t want to…”

Namaari clears her throat and gently pushes Raya away. “O-okay, well, let’s change into your night clothes over there then.” She inclines her head toward the changing shade.

Raya slumps against Namaari and exhales. “You’re no fun, binturi!”

Namaari rolls her eyes. “I know. So cruel of me.”

Raya looks up at her suddenly. “We should dance.”

“No.”

Raya pulls Namaari close and starts swaying. “C’monnn jus a lil dance?”

Namaari gently pushes her back. “Raya, you need to rest. We just finished dancing.”

Raya pouts. “I knowww but I wanna dance moreee…”

Namaari shakes her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Raya scowls. “Yer NO FUN!” She then proceeds to mumble all manners of expletives.

Namaari rolls her eyes again. “Okay, bed time.”

Raya swats her hand away. “But I didn’t change!”

Namaari sighs. “Okay. Fine. Go change.”

Raya shuffles to her changing screen and nearly topples over halfway there. Namaari pinches her nose as Raya finds the fall incredibly funny.

Namaari waits as clothes are thrown all over the place—Raya also seems to find this hilarious—and then Raya says, “Ok ready?”

Namaari squints. “Ready for wha—”

Raya steps out with a smirk from behind the screen in very provocative sleep-ware and Namaari would swear her neck cracked with how fast she stared at the opposite wall.

“Damn it Raya!” she exclaims, her face a deep red. “What are you doing?? And where the hell did you even...” Namaari shakes her head at that. “Never mind. Just..get into bed okay?”

And then Raya is behind her, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. “What’s the matter, dep la?”

Raya’s breath tickles the back of her neck.

Namaari gulps and makes to gently pry her hands away when she feels soft lips press where Raya’s breath was a moment before.

Namaari manages to turn in Raya’s arms. “Raya, no. We can’t. You are drunk. It’s time for bed.”

Namaari goes to push her back but the look Raya gives her then makes her heart constrict.

“You don’t want me?” she asks, clumsily caressing Namaari’s cheek.

Namaari huffs. “No I—” She stops. “I— it’s not that…” She huffs again. “You’re drunk. I’ll be happy to talk about this with you later. Another time. When you’re not drunk. Okay?”

Raya is softly crying again. Namaari pulls her into a hug and murmurs, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s not that I don’t want you, dep la. Don’t think that.”

“Just wanna kiss you…” she slurs against Namaari’s neck. “I keep telling me.. to tell you that. And I never do.”

Namaari freezes, telling herself over and over that everything Raya is saying and doing means absolutely nothing.

The Heart princess snuggles her head against Namaari. “Please don’t leave. Stay and snuggle, please?”

“Raya…”

“Please?”

Namaari sighs. Why does she have to give those damned puppy-dog eyes? “Okay, but just for a minute.”

Raya grins and sprints to the bed to dive onto it. Namaari can’t believe she doesn’t fall on her way there with how wobbly she was.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear something more comfy, dep la?” Namaari asks. She doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea when she wakes up. The last thing she wants is for Raya to not be able to trust her again.

Raya is already burrowing into the covers. “Nah I’m too sleepy.” *hiccup*

Namaari shakes her head, smirking despite herself. “Okay.”

Raya pokes her arms out and beckons Namaari over. The latter chuckles and climes in beside her. Raya immediately puts her arm over Namaari’s torso and snuggles into her neck. Namaari reminds herself to breathe. She gently brushes Raya’s hair out of her face and her hand lingers, softly combing through silken locks.

“Thet fels nice,” Raya mumbles, barely awake.

“Good,” Namaari whispers back. “Sleep well, dep la.”

“You too binturi,” Raya whispers.

Namaari laughs softly then stops altogether as Raya kisses her cheek.

“I love you,” she says.

Namaari’s eyes well with tears as Raya drifts to sleep. She continues to massage her scalp until her breathing evens out and she begins to snore lightly.

“I love you too,” Namaari whispers.

The Fang warrior slowly worms her way out of Raya’s embrace, careful not to wake her as she replaces the covers and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

She smiles at how peaceful Raya looks, still breathtaking even with a little trail of drool pooling onto the pillow. Namaari scoffs in amusement. That woman is going to have the worst hangover in the morning and be a literal gremlin. Namaari wouldn’t have it any other way, though. She loves that gremlin.

She retrieves a blanket from the end of the bed and curls up on the little seating area that Raya has in the corner of her room. It’s surprisingly comfy due to the millions of pillows that all smell like the soap Raya uses on her hair. Namaari falls asleep quickly, trying not to worry about what today might mean for their friendship.

#drunk raya #namaari of fang #raya #namaari #ratld #ratld fic #fic #fanfic #ratld fanfic #rayaari #rayamaari #raymaari #ramaari #raya and the last dragon #raya and namaari #raya x namaari

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

Change Of Plans

Summary: As the reader and Dean begin their romantic weekend away, mother nature decides to visit the reader a week early and throw off all of their plans. Dean however is intent on making sure the reader feels okay and is still enjoying their time together...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,500ish

Warnings: language, period talk, nudity, implied planned smutty times

A/N: Because we all know how much it sucks when a period drops by early unannounced. Enjoy!

______

“Of fucking course,” you said as you sat on the toilet at the cabin. You’d glanced down and grumbled, stomping your foot on the ground.

“Y/N? You okay in there?” asked Dean from the other side of the door. You rested your elbows on your knees and put your head in your hands. You let out a shaky breath and heard him crack the door. “Sweetheart?”

“I got my stupid period a stupid week early. I’m never early. This was supposed to be a romantic weekend away and I feel like shit and I’m bloated and I don’t even have supplies,” you said. Dean stepped inside and squatted down beside you. He ran his hand over your head and you peeled your hands away from your face.

“There is no reason this still can’t be a romantic weekend. We don’t need sex for romance or long sweaty hikes or any of that stuff. We will still have a great time. I’m going to run to the store in town and get you some stuff. How about you take a hot shower and I will be back by the time you’re all done?” he said. You nodded and he kissed your forehead as he stood. He waggled a few fingers and he dashed outside, the roar of the impala echoing through the house.

You wadded up some toilet paper in the meantime and were able to go back out to the bedroom. You flew open your bag and groaned. There was a brand new pair of lingerie that would not be used along with two of Dean’s other favorites. It wasn’t like you two regularly dressed up. Dean’s birthday. Valentine’s Day. Your anniversary. Your back from Purgatory anniversary. There were spur of the moment times when you would put on something sexier than your usual stuff under your clothes and tease Dean. There were times like when he wore the tightest, most drool worthy pair of boxer briefs in a pretty green that matched his eyes.

You went over to his duffel and zipped it open, sighing to yourself. Those freaking boxer briefs were sat right on top and he never, never wore them unless he was planning on you taking them off of him. Underneath there were new condoms and lube. A cramp rumbled low across your abdomen and you groaned.

“Why do you have to ruin everything? One nice weekend with my boyfriend with no hunts and no stress and you have to come along early and fuck it all up,” you said. You shut his bag and grabbed sweatpants, a pair of clean plain bikini underwear and his hoodie. A few minutes later you’d washed out your underwear and jeans as best you could and had them going in the washer with some cleaner sprayed on them. You stood under the shower, your cramps stronger now but the heat from the water was helping combat it for the moment. The first day was always the worst.

“Y/N, I’m back,” called Dean. He came into the bathroom after a minute and you looked over to him setting some things down on the counter. He put a package of new pads and tampons down along with the thicker ones for sleeping. A bottle of pain medicine was set next to it before he opened it up. He filled a glass with water and walked over to you. He dropped it in your hand and you popped them in your mouth before they could dissolve, quickly swallowing them down.

“I know we don’t got your heat pack but I found something at the pharmacy I hope works pretty good,” he said.

“Thanks, babe.” You gave him a kiss, sprinkling water droplets all on his face. “You want to come in? We could still have fun with you.”

“You feel like shit, sweetheart. Relax, don’t worry about a thing. I got the heating thing warming up out on the couch. I’m gonna see if that restaurant we were going to go to tonight does delivery,” he said. He pecked a kiss to the tip of your nose and you smiled before he skipped out.

He was still happy, happier than was normal for him. It wasn’t faked or forced. The two of you still had a quiet weekend to yourselves.

By the time you were exiting the bathroom is some comfy clothes, the pain meds had kicked in. The dull throbbing lingered but it wasn’t as bad as it would have been. You found Dean in the open kitchen and family room area. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve henley and was humming to himself as he worked at the counter.

“What are ya up to handsome?” you asked. You wrapped your arms around him from behind and ducked your head under his arm.

“I my dear am making us some Boulevardier’s,” he said.

“Oh. We haven’t tried that one yet,” you said.

“I think you’re gonna like it. That little cocktail book you got me for my birthday has come in very, very handy,” he said. You nuzzled his back as he finished up. A burst of pain shot through you and you grunted quietly into his shirt. “Go rest, sweetheart. I’ll bring this right over.”

You nodded and went over to the giant couch. Dean had shoved the ottoman up against the jutted out portion of the couch giving the two of you the equivalent of a king sized bed to sprawl on. You crawled onto it and picked up the large rectangular blanket-like pad with a cord that was sat on top. Instantly you felt the heat coming off of it. You laid back and rested it over your lower abdomen, warmth creeping into your skin. You sighed and shut your eyes, Dean quietly taking a spot beside you. He put his arm over your shoulder but didn’t try to move you. He knew for whatever strange reason you needed to be still, let the heat burrow deep down and ease the pain for a bit before you could shift comfortably.

“I fucking love this thing,” you mumbled against his shoulder fifteen minutes later.

“Yeah?” he asked. “I can feel it on my leg. Feels nice and toasty. I bet we can use it for when your feet get cold in the winter too.”

“You’re a saint, Dean Winchester,” you said. You scooted closer to him and opened your eyes, Dean smiling as he sat there with you, one arm resting against the couch end and holding a glass, the other keeping you safe and close. “This works way better than my heating pad at home.”

“Good. I can’t imagine what a period feels like. I know how tough you are. It’s gotta suck.”

“You get used to it,” you said. “Can I try my drink now?”

“Here you go,” he said as he swapped his glass for the other one on the end table beside him. He handed it to you and you took a sip.

“Oh I like that. This one is on the make again list for sure,” you said.

“Hey, watch this,” said Dean. He picked up a remote and hit a button, the fireplace under the tv coming to life.

“Mmm, it’s gonna get so warm in here you might have to take off your shirt,” you said.

“If you promise to wear it to bed I will,” he teased. You sat together quietly, the mixture of medicine, heat and alcohol lulling you into relaxation. The cramps were still there and your stomached was bloated but it was tolerable, faint echoes in the back of your mind. “You awake sweetheart?”

You peeled open your eyes and turned up to face him. You tried to get a kiss but you couldn’t arch much farther without moving. He bent his head down and did it for you, lingering his lips against yours. There was nothing behind it. No sexiness. No desire for more. Just slow and gentle and warmth.

“Let me know whenever you get hungry and we’ll order dinner,” he said. “Oh and they have chocolate icebox pie. We are getting minimum of two for dessert.”

“Sounds yummy,” you said. You lifted your head up when you heard a rumble. The sky was pretty dark for only four in the afternoon and big fat drops of rain were coming down fast. “That storm got here quicker than they said it would.”

“Doesn’t really matter. I don’t plan on leaving this place again,” said Dean. He rubbed his hand gently over your core and you smiled. “Pain better?”

“Much more manageable,” you said. “Thank you. For taking care of me today.”

“You don’t gotta thank me for that. It’s my job,” he said. He kissed your forehead and shut his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind a quick cuddle nap before dinner though.”

“That sounds absolutely perfect, Dean. Just what I need right now.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

________

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #period fic #dean winchester x reader #comfort fic #spn fanfiction #dean x #dean x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction

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saeyoungchoismaid · 5 years ago

Text

#48 w/ Mammon

Pairing: Mammon x gn!reader Genre: angst, fluff, vague smut Warnings: smut but it doesn’t go into detail Summary: after being with Mammon for so long and watching him go back to his old ways, you decide that you don’t want to be with him anymore Prompt #48: “I love you more than I love {item/thing}, and that’s saying a lot.”

You watch Mammon go with a frown, seeing him count the cash in his hands that's he's going to put in his account. So, he can use Goldie. You sigh once he's gone, burrowing under his blankets.

You just don't understand. When you both started dating, he was all about you. Lucifer’s-trying-to-kill-him who? Grimm who? Gambling who? His mind was filled with you and you alone.

So, what changed?

Now, all he thinks about is money, which you thought you'd never have to witness again. Sure, as the avatar of greed, he can't help it. But since dating you, that addiction to money has lessened significantly.

But here you are, lying in bed alone as Mammon leaves to go make more money. He does this every day all day, not spending a lick of time with you except for when he comes home to go to sleep, where you're waiting for him in his bed.

But then, instead of greeting you with a sweet kiss that warms you up inside, he'll just start talking about how much money he made that day. You aren't really sure how he's going about making money and you don't really want to know, nor do you really care.

After a couple of weeks of this though, you can't do it anymore. You've kissed the man maybe ten times within the last week. You need your kisses.

That night, you sleep in your own bed, finding it incredibly uncomfortable since you’ve grown so used to his luscious sheets and soft mattress.

You miss wrapping all four of your limbs around him, snuggling your face in his chest or neck. You miss his face being pressed to your head, kissing it and whispering sweet nothings to you until you fall asleep.

Before you can stop yourself, you're crying. You just want your boyfriend back. Your dork of a boyfriend who gets jealous so easily and needs one hundred kisses to be reassured that you only love him. Your boyfriend that would hold your hand under the table during meals. Your boyfriend who’ll constantly tell you just how much he loves you.

When he comes home, he's excited to see you and tell you how much money he's made. He walks into his room with a grin, looking to the bed to see your beautiful face. He pauses halfway through the door when you and your beautiful face aren't there, his brows furrowing as he begins to worry.

He walks to the closest bathroom, hoping you were just in there taking a shower or getting ready for bed. He starts to panic when you aren't in there either, his heart starting to race. His legs move before he can even process what's happening, his two limbs bringing him to your room.

He pants from how fast he ran to get here, staring at your door with fear for a long moment. What happens if you're not in there? What if you're in one of his brothers' rooms? What if you’re out in the dark Devildom and you’re in danger?

Before he can ponder anymore, he gently knocks on the door, holding his breath as he hopes that you're inside. "Go away," he hears, the reply shaky and harsh. He frowns as he turns the handle, glad it's unlocked.

"Baby? Why are ya ‘n here?" he says softly as he peeks his head in, frowning more when he sees you curled up on your bed with your back to him.

"Baby," he tries again, voice even softer.

He then hears a sniffle and all his worries amplify by three hundred. "Baby, are ya crying? What's wrong, baby?" When you don't immediately reply, he tries to fill in the blanks. "Are ya hurt? Did my brothers say somethin’ to ya? Do I needa go fight someone? Cause I will. I might lose but I'll-"

"Shut up," you snap, your voice thick with emotion. His eyes widen as his mouth snaps closed. He stays quiet, waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. When you don't, his worries grow even more.

"Darlin’," he whispers, fingers lightly brushing your back to try and soothe you.

"Don't touch me!" you shout, suddenly sitting up straight. He removes his hand from you quickly, faster than he would've if he was burned. He stares at you, hurt flashing through his eyes.

"I..." he trails off, trying to find the right words to say. "I don't understand. Let me help ya. Just talk to me, love. What's wrong?" he says quietly, wondering if that'll set you off again.

Your eyes flash to his and his heart absolutely breaks at the sight. Your eyes are red and swollen, making him wonder just how long you've been crying. Why didn't you call him? You should know that he'd drop everything to be by your side. So, why didn't you contact him?

"I want to break up," you croak out before clearing your throat, wiping at your wet face. "I want to break up," you try again. His eyes are the size of saucers, his jaw dropping to your bed.

He then starts to laugh it off, shaking his head. "Funny. No, seriously, babe. What's wrong?"

"Stop calling me that! I just told you! I want to break up! You're what’s wrong!" you shout, your face puffy from crying.

You see his heart shatter from the expression on his face, almost making you want to take it back. But you can't. You have to end this. You won't be happy if you continue to live like this.

Almost instantly, his eyes start to water. He doesn’t understand. He voices this to you. "I don't understand. Why? What did I do wrong? Lemme fix it," he stutters out, his throat starting to get tight as he tries to stop from crying.

You shake your head, looking away from him. Every time he cries, you cry. You can't cry in front of him, you have to stay strong. "Baby, please! Lemme fix this! I dunno what I did wrong bu-"

You caught him off with a sharp, cruel laugh, it not being the beautiful laugh that he's used to. "You don't know what you did wrong? It's so obvious."

The gears in his head are turning wildly, his brain working on multiple things at once. What did he do wrong? Do you really want to break up? How can he make it up to you? How can he get you to stay with him? Is this some sort of cruel joke?

God, he prays it's a cruel joke, as ironic as it is. He'd rather have everyone pop up from their hiding spots with cameras pointed at him and make fun of him while laughing. And then you'd smile that blinding smile of yours and tell him you're sorry, that his brothers made you.

But none of that happens. You just stare at him with a cold look, waiting for him to agree to break up and leave so you can cry until you have no more tears to shed. He doesn't do that though. He just stares right back at you, crying his eyes out.

"'m sorry that I dunno what I did wrong! 'm sorry for whatever I did! Just lemme make it up to ya! Tell me what I did and I'll never do it again!" he promises. He can't lose you. He might actually wither away to nothing if you do. What's he supposed to do? Go back to living hundreds of years without love other than his obsession with money?

He doesn't want that.

He wants you.

You scoff at him, looking away from him again before you start crying again. "I'm sick of being second. To money, of all things. You aren't going to change. You're the avatar of greed, so I understand. You can't help it. I'm not mad at you for it. I just want us to be over, my suffering to be over," you reply softly, cursing yourself for going soft. You just had to look at his crying face.

His crying pauses momentarily, shock taking over his sadness. That's what you're upset with him about? He starts to laugh, relief taking over his entire being.

Your eyes widen and move back to him. You can't lie, you're a little freaked out. Why in the world is he laughing now of all times?

You sigh, ready to tell him it's over and to get out when he grabs your hand. Your words die in your throat, your eyes moving from his face to your conjoined hands. You always grow weak when he touches you, you can’t help it.

"’u're so stupid. I'm so stupid. We're so stupid. But we'll be stupid together." You gape at him a bit, having trouble believing that he would call you stupid right now.

"Excuse m-"

"Baby, the money is for you. I've been workin’ so hard to get this money for ya," he whispers, his eyes shiny from the tears that were falling from them only seconds ago. You gape at him once more, trying to wrap your head around what he's saying to you.

"What?" you whisper softly, afraid if you spoke any louder, your voice would break. He laughs and suddenly pulls you into a hug, your eyes growing in size at the affection.

He laughs brightly, practically squeezing the life out of you. "I love ya so much. I love ya more than I love any of the money I could ever have, and that’s saying a lot. The money is for ya. I didn't want to tell ya cause I wanted it to be a surprise but I'm savin’ all this money for ya. Way to ruin the surprise. And don’t even ask me what the money is for cause part of the surprise is already ruined," he says lightly, teasing you at the end.

You gently push him away with watery eyes, your mouth hanging open. Before you can stop yourself, you start to sob. You can't even speak from how hard you're crying. His eyes grow wide again, watching you plummet into his chest to cry there.

"Hey! Woah! You should be happy! Why in Hades are ya crying?" he shouts, his hands coming to soothingly rub your back. You cry for a couple of minutes, just wanting to be in his arms. He doesn’t mind holding you, moving to where he's laying on his back and you're on top of him.

You pull away with a gasp of air after letting out a big sob, looking at him with bright red eyes. "You moron! I didn't know what you were doing! I just missed you constantly and I had this giant ache in my chest! You're so stupid!" you wail between shaky sobs and the hiccuping gasps for air that you can't help from how hard you’re crying.

He smiles up at you, tucking your hair behind your ear so it's not hanging in front of, or on, your wet face. "Shh, baby. I need ya to calm down first. Take some deep breaths for me, ‘kay? There ya go. I want to see my beautiful baby smile nice ‘n pretty for me."

You take some deep breaths, your chest getting lighter with each breath. Once you've calmed down, you give him a small, watery smile. He grins, cupping your cheeks with his cool hands.

"There it is! There's that smile! Oh jeez, I think I just fell ‘n love all over again! What the heck am I s’pposed to do now?" he says loudly, wanting the whole Devildom to hear about his love for you.

You giggle and try to cover his mouth, making him violently shake his head to try and get your hands off enough for him to speak. "Ya can't keep me quiet! I love (Y/n) and there's nothin’ anyone can do about it!" he screams at the top of his lungs.

You squeal with laughter, trying to get him to shut up. You eventually do the only thing you can think of that will successfully shut him up.

You push your lips to his, his head instantly stilling. He smiles into the kiss, your chest the lightest it's ever been. His hands curl around your back, sliding under your shirt to smooth over the bare skin of your back. You hum into the kiss, your chest growing fuzzy when one of his hands finds yours to hold.

He pulls away when his hand successfully finds yours, smiling lovingly up at you. "'u're so beautiful. I love ya. I love ya so much," he says softly up to you, ending each sentence with a kiss. You giggle before giving him another long kiss, trying to not let a smile break it.

"I love you more," you playfully argue, sticking your tongue out at him. He grunts and swoops in, taking your tongue into his mouth. You happily allow him to do so, humming lowly as your free hand comes up to tangle in his hair.

After making out for some time, you pull away for air to stare down at him. The atmosphere has definitely changed within the last fifteen minutes. First, it was filled with despair and rage. Then, it was filled with love, happiness, and relief. And now? Well, now you're looking into his half-lidded eyes with eyes clouded by lust.

"Lemme prove to ya that I love ya even more," he whispers, sensing the change of the mood. You smirk and happily connect your lips with his again.

You kiss until you're breathless once more, his hands wandering to find bare skin. He eventually doesn't like the fact that you aren't naked, pulling away from you to switch places with you. He tugs your shirt off before trading places with you though, throwing it onto the ground.

You smile up at him, watching him take off his shirt before connecting your lips for the nth time. You kiss for a while, Mammon's hands eventually finding their way to your nipples. He plays with them as his lips travel down, licking and sucking on your neck.

Your hands wander over his own chest before going down, being interrupted by his pants. You whine and tug on them, letting him know you want them gone. He pulls away from your neck with a smirk, pulling his pants off but leaving his boxers on.

You groan, wanting to have him inside of you already. He chuckles lowly at how impatient you are, smiling after giving you a sweet kiss. "Patience. I said I wanna show ya how much I love ya," he whispers, slowly slipping your bottoms off. He then proceeds to kiss just about every part of you, your body writhing as you try to keep from touching what his boxers are hiding.

After a while of foreplay, he finally gives you what you want. He makes sweet love to you, very different than what you two normally do. Not that you're complaining. You love to see this sweet, soft, vulnerable side of him.

You want to love him forever, to die loving him. He loves you with everything that he is and would do anything to prove so to you.

MASTERLIST

200 Followers Quote Prompt

More with Mammon

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kindofinprogress · 4 years ago

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What. A. Git.

Harry Potter fell in love at 18.

At least, that’s how old he was when he realized he was in love. He’d felt quite at home in this state so surely it must have happened when he wasn’t looking. Perhaps it happened when he was 16 and playing quidditch with her in the back garden of her home or later that year when an untamed amount of anger filled him at the sight of another boy near her in all the ways he’d wish he could be. Maybe it happened after their historic first kiss in front of 50 of their peers or the subsequent, equally as historic (although much more private), “walk” after said kiss. Maybe it was later, when he was 17, sometime in the nine grueling months he had to spend away from her- where all he could do was try and not think about how much he missed her. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that, right? Or, it could have happened the second, the very mind-clouding moment, that he got to hold her in his arms again after those nine months and the battle that ended the war in which he lost so much. But not her. She managed to come out on the other side and he couldn’t thank enough deities about it if he tried.

Whenever it was- he was sure he was fully, irrevocably, assuredly, enduringly, and all of the other painfully cliche words one could come up with, in love exactly one month after she left on a train for her last year of schooling.

Harry Potter was pitiful. That’s the word that Ron used, anyway. Well, if not being able to stand missing Ginny, his Ginny after the longest, grueling month of his life then that was fine. Alright, perhaps it was possible he’d had worse months so maybe he could tone down the dramatics. But, Harry rationalized, last year he had countless “worst” months- one right after the other in what at the time seemed like an endless string. And even back then he would have given up the world to be able to drop everything and get one good look at her. And he could do that now- quite easily and with a lot less at stake.

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It was after dinner at the Burrow where Harry sat in a room eating a delicious plate made by a stern and loving woman who’s laugh and annoyed tuts reminded him of his Ginny, sat next to a man with his Ginny’s wonderful curiosity, and surrounded by her brothers who had a mischievous edge to their jokes which only his Ginny could rival that he decided he would do just that. Drop everything and go see her- no matter how pathetic that made him in the eyes of his best mate.

Dinner was a more quiet affair these days. Spirits had livened up just enough at the end of September to where everyone could joke and ask each other about their days with genuine interest because they didn’t always end up back at sorrow-filled points but not enough that not at least one persons’ eyes welled up with tears by the end of the night. Or that someone had to excuse themselves when they almost mentioned Fred. But tonight, it wasn’t the collective longing for Fred to fill his seat at the dinner table or the mention of Teddy and the painful reminder that a 60-year-old woman and an 18-year-old man were now his main caretakers rather than his young and kind parents that created a knot in Harry’s throat. It was the mention of Ginny and the oh-how-busy-she-must-be fussing over her too-short letters home and her oh-so-important exams at the end of the year. After she came up Harry was in no mood to answer questions about his training, or if he and Ron would want the leftovers from tonights’ dinner, or to stay ‘round for after dinner drinks with the boys. Harry did stay, not from a lack of trying to leave though. Ron practically plucked him out of the floo and forced an ale into his palm. “Lighten up, we’ll see them at the end of October in Hogsmeade. No need to let a few miles soil our night.”

So, fine. Harry stayed and sulked over exactly one drink. He bid the clan of red-headed brothers goodnight while Ron went to the loo. Harry got home, put on his pajamas, washed his face and wrote a quick note to Ginny to meet him in the Shrieking Shack on the following night- October first. It was a Thursday and Harry figured it was too early in the year for any professors to be dishing out detentions to a castle full of grieving students and it wasn’t a special feast that night so the only thing that might get in his way would be Hermione’s time table.

The next morning, after about 5 more “you’re absolutely pitiful”’s from Ron, and a detailed description of exactly what he was to tell their training Auror his excuse for skiving off in the middle of a work week Harry set off for Hogwarts.

He arrived in town with enough time to stop by the Hog’s Head and grab dinner at the dusty bar and a quick conversation with the aloof Aberforth. The night’s air was well chilly as he made his way to the old, creaking shack and it wasn’t much better from inside. Harry made quick work to try and warm the place up with some charms but only managed to make it bearably stuffy before the door from the secret passage swung wide open and a red blur launched into his chest. Harry took in her flowery scent and dug his fingers into her hips bringing her as close as possible to him. Ginny looked up and met his eyes and Harry couldn’t help but bring his mouth to hers. The kiss was simple and all-consuming. It made his mind swirl. When he finally broke it and got a good look at her face he couldn’t help the soppy grin that overtook his features. It was so easy to let the world melt away and feel so happy with his Ginny around.

“Hey, you. You didn't just come all the way here to stare at me all night did you? We have pictures for that sort of thing you know.”

“Sorry.” He blurted. “No, that’s not what I came for. But it is quite fun. Be quiet and give me about another minute, would you?”

“Harry!” She giggled and swat at his arm. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck before untangling herself from him. “Why did you come? Is everything alright?” Her expression softened with concern in a way that made her look so absolutely endearing Harry swept her up and rightfully snogged her. When they broke apart, panting and out of breath minutes later he apologized again. “Sorry- couldn’t help it.”

He gave her a sheepish smile suddenly feeling just as pathetic as Ron had painted him to be. “I just. Er- I missed you. Is all. And I- I just wanted to see you. Is that okay? I’m sorry, you didn’t have anything important going on did you? Practice? I don’t even bloody know when you practice and I just made you drop everything because I’m a pathetic sop. I’m sor-”

Ginny shut him up with one of those small pecks that took his breath and all coherent thoughts away. “You silly man. Of course it’s alright, Harry. It’s more than alright. I’ve missed you too. I do have to admit you made me nervous with that note. It didn’t say anything!”

“Oh, bugger. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it freaked Hermione out enough to let me off the hook from studying with her tonight. We’ve been going over the same bloody chapter all week, Harry! I know you warned me but Godric, Hermione is boring me to tears and I think she’s enjoying it!”

Harry laughed and they exchanged another small moment of pure bliss. She had a way of doing that, Harry noticed. Filling a moment with everything. Filling him to the brim with happiness in the most minute ways. In that moment Harry wondered if that’s what his father felt for his mother. Later, Harry would reason with himself that James must have- for if anything was worth falling in love and marrying a girl straight out of school in the middle of a war that that feeling -this feeling- must have been in.

“Please, do carry on about your wild school year full of studying and classes.”

“Oh, only if you promise to drone on about your stuffy old coworkers and shoes that pinch your toes.”

“Hey, I’m serious! I want to know everything. I know you don’t put it all in your letters. I can tell your hand gets cramped when your writing gets all crooked and starts leaning on its side- which happens in every letter so I know you haven’t included everything you’ve wanted to.”

So Ginny spent the next half hour telling Harry about everything she felt was too little to write in her letters. Truthfully, she thought they were too little to be mentioning now when they had such a short time together but he truly seemed to be enjoying the conversation so she kept on only so he would keep looking at her like that. Like she was enchanting and everything. Ginny got the sudden courage to do something she’d been terrified of for weeks. “I had my career meeting with McGonagall my first week.” Harry searched deep in his brain for something to say to that- try as he might he couldn’t think of any specifics to ask- surely she’d mentioned this to him before. It was one of the most important meetings 5th, 6th, and 7th years had yearly and Ginny must’ve- “I didn’t mention it before because what we talked about just kind of happened. I just blurted it out without meaning to and she encouraged me, Harry. Me! She really thinks I’m capable of it.” Ginny let anticipation hang in the air for a second- reveling in the way she had Harry’s undivided attention. “She’s getting scouts from all over to come watch me play! I’m going to play quidditch professionally, Harry! Well, maybe. I have to be impressive enough for them to actually offer anything but-”

“You’re going to be amazing, Gin. Those scouts won’t know what hit them.”

“Oh, Harry. I knew I was right to wait to tell you before anyone else.”

Harry’s heart swelled with pride. He felt like he’d won a prize at that. It was in that moment that Harry realized he needed this for the rest of his life. To be the first one she shared good news with, to never miss out on being her biggest supporter, to get to watch her smile like this. To be around for all things Ginny Weasley.

It was ridiculous, then, the thought that before this visit he hadn’t known he was in love with her. She was Ginny Weasley. Beautiful Ginny who had boys falling at her feet, kind Ginny who took care of everyone she came in contact with, brilliant Ginny who was quick as a whip, brave Ginny who fought in a war at age 16 and faced much darker still at age 11- his Ginny. His talented, talented Ginny who was going to be a professional athlete. How cool was that? She was so cool and brave- his Ginny. Just looking at her now, talking a mile a minute, blushing at the confession that she’d been worried about her family’s reaction to her decision- about his reaction, eliciting confidence- he knew he was head over heels in love. She deserved the world and Harry would do anything to be the one to personally hand it to her.

Harry spent a while celebrating with Ginny and reluctantly left her to go to bed -way past her curfew- after about her tenth yawn. With promises to write and see each other soon Harry left on his way home feeling much lighter than he had in weeks.

Harry had always thought when he felt love for the first time it would be a bit more climactic than this. But strangely, this felt much better than any notion of falling in love he’d built up in his head. This was easy… natural. Nothing dramatic or flashy just… just the sheer act of being with Ginny was enough. And he was so fine with that.

It wasn’t until much later- in the early hours of the morning when Harry was finally crawling into bed that he realized he hadn’t even told her he loved her. What. A. Git.

#hinny fluff #hinny #harry x ginny

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