#but i will eventually cross-post and write up a summary of how things were supposed to go

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 4

Part 4

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's probably a bad idea to post it today, but fuck it ... I'm having too much fun writing this. And don't tell me I didn't warn you - it's gonna be a ride 😅.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol, very suggestive (lowkey smut)

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other? Or will the reader decide to stay with the handsome and talented Sigtryggr?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 4,1 K

The whispers started small—a passing comment from a mutual acquaintance here, a vague mention in the industry gossip there. Gisela had done her best to shield you, brushing off any mention of Sihtric with a casual dismissal, redirecting your attention to new projects, exciting events, or people who would, in her words, "help you look forward, not back."

But eventually, the whispers grew louder, impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t been looking for updates on Sihtric, but it was almost as though the universe itself had decided that you wouldn’t be able to escape his shadow. It started with a model at a shoot, casually mentioning that she’d seen him out one night, barely able to stand, clinging to the arm of someone you didn’t know. The words "worse than I’ve ever seen him" lingered, simmering in your mind.

At first, you ignored it. Sihtric wasn’t your concern anymore, you reminded yourself. He had made his choices, just as you had made yours. But more stories came—different people, different places, each one painting the same picture of a man who was unravelling, barely holding himself together. The Sihtric they described was a stranger to you, and yet those stories struck a painful chord deep in your chest.

One evening, as you sat across from Gisela at your favourite café, her attempts to distract you from the topic finally fell short. You’d reached your limit.

"Gisela," you said, interrupting her as she rambled on about an upcoming exhibition. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Her eyes widened, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "Tell you what?" she asked, feigning innocence, though you both knew exactly what you meant.

"About Sihtric." Your voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension. "About what’s happening to him."

She sighed, placing her cup down with a slight clunk. “I didn’t think it was something you needed to hear. He’s not your responsibility anymore. You deserve to live your life without his shadow looming over you.”

"But he wasn’t always like this," you replied, voice barely more than a whisper. "I know him, Gisela. Or I thought I did."

Gisela reached across the table, her hand finding yours. "You did know him. But that’s not who he is now. Whatever he’s become, it’s because of his own choices."

“Gisela,” you said, setting down your coffee and looking her in the eye. “Do you think… Maybe my refusal to speak with him made things worse?”

Her brow furrowed, concern and frustration blending in her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“All these stories about him… spiralling,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “He just wanted to talk, you know. And I just showed him away in the worst way possible. I can’t help but feel that maybe, if I’d just been willing to listen to him, he wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

Gisela shook her head, her expression firm. “You can’t think like that. You have every right to protect yourself. Talking to him wouldn’t have changed anything. He’s responsible for his actions, not you.”

You glanced away. “But our last conversation, Gisela. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way I turned him away, how angry and cold I was. Maybe I was… too harsh.”

“You weren’t harsh,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “You were clear about your boundaries. You have every right to those, especially after what he put you through. Don’t start blaming yourself.”

Despite her reassurance, the memory of that day lingered in your mind like a shadow. That look in his eyes, the desperation just beneath the surface, how he had struggled to find the words. And how you had shut him down, leaving him standing alone on that set, without a chance to explain himself. It had felt empowering then, taking control of the situation, reclaiming your peace. But now… now, you weren’t so sure.

“Maybe,” you whispered, almost to yourself, “I should’ve just listened, if only to give us both some closure.”

Gisela’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “Closure doesn’t come from reopening wounds, and that’s all he’d do. He’s gone too far down this path—he’s not the person you knew.” 

Gisela squeezed your hand. “You have every right to protect yourself. You don’t owe him anything—not after what he put you through. He’s doing this to himself, and I don’t want to see you dragged down because of him again.”

You didn’t answer. Wrapping your hands around the warm coffee cup, you stared into the swirling steam rising from the dark liquid. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? 

That night, alone in your apartment, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time you closed your eyes, fragments of that last encounter on set replayed in your mind: Sihtric’s hesitant steps, the way his voice had cracked when he’d asked to talk, the look of devastation as you’d turned your back on him. You’d told yourself it was for the best, but was it really?

You picked up your phone, fingers hovering over the screen.

Before you could think it through, you sent a message to Gisela.

"Do you think I should try talking to him? Just once?"

The three dots indicating her reply popped up immediately, and then her response followed, firm and direct.

"No. That chapter is over. Don’t reopen old wounds."

You put the phone down, staring at the empty space in your living room as her words echoed in your mind. Gisela was right, of course. She had been there through it all, had seen you at your lowest, helped you pick up the pieces of your life, reminding you of who you were outside of him. But this wasn’t about reopening wounds. This was about understanding. For your sake, and for his.

With a steadying breath, you made a quiet decision. Tomorrow, you would reach out, you would go to the set and talk to him—not to rekindle what was lost but to speak out, to lay the ghosts of your past to rest. Maybe it would bring peace to both of you, to let you finally close the chapter for good. 

You arrived at the set the next morning with that quiet resolve still fresh on your mind, the familiar hum of voices and equipment doing little to settle your nerves. Today, you would finally speak to Sihtric. 

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, and maybe it would leave you feeling just as hollow as before, but at the very least, it might ease the nagging feeling that had taken root since your last conversation. There was no script in your mind, no clear sense of what you would say. Just a need for… something. Resolution, maybe. Closure. Or perhaps, deep down, a glimmer of hope. What? No, shut up! You almost slapped yourself in anger. What hope?

As you waited, you glanced at the door every few minutes, each time your heart skipping a beat, only to settle back down when he didn’t appear. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one adding another layer to the knot forming in your stomach. 

You had run through a dozen different ways to start the conversation in your mind, but none of them felt right. How do you confront someone you’d once loved but had shut out entirely? What could you even say that would bridge the distance between you after everything that had happened?

You clenched and unclenched your hands, feeling more foolish with each passing minute. A part of you cursed yourself for not following Gisela’s advice, for not simply letting it go. “Leave it in the past,” she’d said, her voice filled with quiet insistence. And yet, here you were, waiting for a man who’d hurt you, hoping he’d arrive so you could dig into the buried pain between you both.

What was it you expected to hear? A confession, an apology, an explanation? The truth was, you didn’t know. You just felt as though you couldn’t move on with this weight still hanging over you, with the sense that you had played some part in his downward spiral. Was it really closure you were looking for, or did some part of you, a part you’d never admit aloud, still care for him, still believe there was something worth salvaging?

The chatter of the crew buzzed around you, but you barely registered it. Occasionally, you caught snippets of conversation—small whispers about Sihtric, talk of his “new habits” and frequent no-shows. The makeup artist mumbled something under her breath about his inconsistency, a sigh of exasperation barely audible. 

You stayed, doing your best to keep a composed front, pretending to focus on the tasks in front of you. But beneath the calm façade, a familiar ache simmered—a sinking disappointment, perhaps even a touch of anger, that he hadn’t shown up. You tried to tell yourself it was about professionalism, about the wasted time, the disrupted shoot, but deep down, you knew it actually wasn’t. You’d finally been ready to talk, to face the unresolved tension between you, and Sihtric had left you waiting, his absence a silent answer in itself.

As the hours stretched on and the last hopes of his arrival slipped away, the emptiness grew. The loss felt oddly profound, a quiet ache that lingered, as though something vital had slipped through your fingers, even if you couldn’t name what it was.

—--------------------------------------------

Just as you finished slipping on your heels and checking your reflection one last time, a soft knock echoed from the door. You opened it to find Sigtryggr standing there, a calm, admiring smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance. His suit was impeccably tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his tall, lean frame, and his long hair was pulled back in a way that softened his strong features.

“Wow,” he said, his voice warm as his eyes lingered on you. “You look… incredible. Absolutely stunning.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down, a little flustered by the way he looked at you. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, and his fingers were warm and steady around yours. As you turned to grab your purse, he tilted his head slightly, studying you with gentle curiosity.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. “You seem a bit… distracted.”

You took a breath, glancing at him before looking away, feeling the weight of the day’s thoughts pressing down on you. “I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt weak even to your own ears. “It’s just… been a long day.”

Sigtryggr’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he searched your face. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here. No pressure—just… if you want.”

You felt a warm reassurance in his words, his genuine concern like a balm to your lingering unease. You managed a small smile, grateful for his presence. “Thank you. Really. I… I appreciate it.”

With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “No need to thank me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Tonight’s about enjoying ourselves. Let’s make it a good one.”

You slipped your arm through his and offered him a small smile, feeling a comforting sense of calm settle over you. Sigtryggr’s quiet confidence grounded you, his warm presence lifting your spirits just enough to face the fashion show you’d agreed to attend with him.

The venue buzzed with energy, lights flashing as photographers captured the evening’s best-dressed attendees. You and Sigtryggr moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with designers, editors, and models. 

The night felt almost surreal, as if you were floating through it, your worries temporarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the glamorous whirlwind of conversation and clinking champagne glasses. But then you spotted him.

Across the room, Sihtric was leaning against the bar, a glass dangling from his hand, his face flushed and his eyes somewhat unfocused. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair dishevelled, and his grip on the camera strap on his shoulder was loose, like he had already forgotten that he even had it. 

You froze as he caught sight of you, his gaze narrowing before flickering over to Sigtryggr. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he began making his way toward you, his movements slightly unsteady.

“Is that him?” Sigtryggr asked, catching your tension. His tone was gentle but alert.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away as Sihtric approached, his expression dark and unreadable. The familiar ache twisted in your chest, but you straightened, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say or do.

“So,” Sihtric sneered as he stopped before you, eyes flicking dismissively between you and Sigtryggr. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?” His voice was laced with bitterness, words slurring slightly as he swayed on his feet.

“Sihtric, don’t do this,” you said softly, hoping to defuse the situation, but he ignored you, his focus shifting fully to Sigtryggr.

“And you…” He tilted his head, eyeing Sigtryggr with disdain. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh? Perfect little prince, sweeping in and saving the day.”

Sigtryggr’s face remained calm, though you could feel the tension in him. “I think it’s best if we all take a step back,” he replied evenly, his hand settling on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “This isn’t the time or place.”

But Sihtric’s eyes flashed, his face twisting into a sneer. “You think you can just step in like I never meant anything?” His voice grew louder, heads turning as people began to notice the unfolding scene. “She was mine, you know. You’re just a cheap replacement.”

You felt Sigtryggr’s hand tense, but he kept his composure. “You’re drunk, Sihtric,” he said quietly. “Go home. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

But Sihtric’s face hardened, his expression an unsettling mix of pain and fury. Before either of you could react, he lunged forward, his fist aimed clumsily at Sigtryggr’s face. His movements were sluggish, heavy with the effects of alcohol, and Sigtryggr sidestepped effortlessly, catching Sihtric’s arm and stopping him in his tracks.

“Enough.” Sigtryggr’s voice was firm, his grip on Sihtric’s arm steady as he pushed him back, keeping his own emotions in check. “Go home. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The words struck Sihtric like a slap. He staggered, his face flushing with humiliation as he looked between the two of you. For a fleeting moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath his anger—the brokenness and regret lurking behind his bloodshot eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered bitterly, wrenching his arm out of Sigtryggr’s grip. His gaze lingered on you, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between you. “Enjoy your perfect life,” he spat, his voice cracking slightly as he turned and stumbled away, nearly knocking into a nearby table on his way out.

The crowd, still buzzing with curiosity, watched him go, a hush settling over the room as people exchanged whispers and glances. You stood there, heart pounding, torn between anger, pity, and an ache you couldn’t quite shake.

“Are you alright?” Sigtryggr asked, his voice steady, his hand gentle on your shoulder as he guided you toward a quieter corner, away from the prying eyes.

You shook your head, you were far from being alright. Sihtric’s words, his reckless behaviour, the way he’d looked at you—it was like seeing a stranger in the shell of someone you once knew. The man who had stood beside you tonight was unrecognisable, and yet, the guilt still clawed at you, lingering in the pit of your stomach.

Sigtryggr’s arm slipped around you, as he led you toward the exit. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured, his tone soft and protective. 

You nodded, grateful for his presence  and the two of you walked out into the cool night air, Sigtryggr’s hand lingering at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt natural. 

He turned to you with a soft smile. “It’s still early,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over your face. “Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”

As Sigtryggr's question hung in the air, a shiver coursed through you, both from the chill of the night and the deeper question his invitation held. His face, framed by the soft glow of nearby streetlights, showed only openness, yet your mind raced. 

Your heart quickened, battling with the silent questions tumbling in your mind. What did you want this to be? Sigtryggr was unlike anyone you’d ever met—a quiet intensity wrapped in kindness, the kind of person who saw straight through you, not as if judging, but as if he truly understood. A part of you had been starving for this kind of connection, so different from what you’d known before, but was it too soon? Could you let yourself open up to someone again, let him see the parts of you you’d worked so hard to piece back together?

And then, a thought cut through the haze, sharper, clearer: What would Sihtric think if he saw you now? A pang of anger flared beneath your skin, surprising you. Why should it matter? Even more so—why would he care? But the questions lingered, twisting like thorns in your mind. Why did he keep finding his way into your thoughts, haunting you with his absence, even though he was gone from your life for good?

Admitting it hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. He was gone. The reality pressed down like a weight you’d been struggling to lift. This was the perfect moment to close that door, to step into something new, to let someone else in… Or, you could keep waiting, letting the ghost of him drift around you, keeping everyone else at arm’s length, forever just out of reach.

With a soft, steadying breath, you looked back at Sigtryggr and found him still there, watching with a quiet patience, not pressing or urging, but simply waiting. His expression held nothing but warmth, a silent invitation in his eyes that felt as gentle as it was genuine. His presence was calming, without expectation, without judgement. In that instant, the idea of stepping forward didn’t seem so daunting.

Your heart lifted, and you found yourself nodding, a smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “I’d like that.”

—--------------------------------------

Sigtryggr’s apartment was just as you’d expected—filled with art and an understated elegance that spoke to his style. Soft lights cast a warm glow over the room, and as he poured two glasses of wine, you took in the paintings lining the walls, the sketches scattered across his workspace, small glimpses into his creative world.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a shiver up your spine. You took a sip, the wine rich and velvety, warming you from the inside. You could feel his gaze on you, intense yet tender, and when you looked up, the air between you grew charged, a subtle current building with each passing second.

“You know,” he began softly, stepping closer, “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked tonight. Or… how beautiful you look now.”

His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, fingers grazing your cheek. You felt your breath hitch, the gentle way he was looking at you sparking something within. Without overthinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Sigtryggr responded instantly, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and inviting. The wine glass slipped from your hand onto the table as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You melted into him, the heat between you building, his kisses growing hungrier, more insistent.

He led you toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving you, each touch filled with gentle urgency. When you reached the bed, he paused, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, making sure this was what you wanted.

You answered by pulling him down to you, and he responded with a low, pleased hum, his mouth trailing down your neck as his hands found the zipper of your dress, sliding it down slowly, his fingers grazing your bare skin, igniting every nerve.

Clothes were shed, piece by piece, until you were both exposed, bodies pressed together, skin to skin. His touch was tender yet commanding, guiding you with an instinctive rhythm that left you breathless, each kiss and caress drawing you further into the heat of the moment.

Every brush of his fingers felt like fire, igniting sparks across your skin. His hands traced a path over you with a careful, reverent touch, as though he was discovering you piece by piece, memorising every curve and every reaction. His breath mingled with yours, soft and warm, as his lips explored places you hadn’t even known craved attention, gentle but unyielding.

You arched your back against the mattress and moaned loudly as he thrusted into you. Your fingers wove into his hair, pulling him closer, and he responded, his mouth tracing a path along your jaw, down your neck, igniting a trail that left you gasping, clutching him as though he were an anchor in a sea of sensation that you thought almost forgotten.

Sigtryggr moved within you with a steady, skillful rhythm, each thrust deliberate yet intense, his gaze locked on yours, simmering with a passion that left you utterly breathless. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a loud moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you, erasing any lingering hesitation or self-consciousness. Whatever doubt or embarrassment you’d felt about revealing how touch-starved you were melted away, replaced by a powerful wave of heat and sensation that overwhelmed every thought, leaving you lost in the intoxicating bliss he brought with each movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body, igniting every nerve he touched. His touch was confident, demanding mixed with softness and careful attentiveness, his focus solely on you, on every little reaction he coaxed from you.

The pleasure inside you coiled tightly, building with each movement, each shared breath, and the way breathless moans spilled from your lips only seemed to spur him on. He responded with a low groan, his pace quickening as he drove you both toward the edge, his presence grounding you even as he unravelled you entirely.

When the two of you finally lay together in the quiet aftermath, limbs entwined, Sigtryggr pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his hand tracing soothing patterns along your skin. The silence between you was comfortable, his warmth enveloping you as you nestled into him, feeling safe and content in his embrace. Your breathing slowed, each gentle stroke of his hand pulling you closer to sleep. 

But as your eyes grew heavy, a familiar image intruded—a vision of Sihtric, broken and desperate, his face etched with the same raw pain and bitterness you'd seen at the event. His haunted eyes, full of anger and longing, stared back at you, and his words echoed in your mind, refusing to fade: “She was mine.”

—-----------------------------------------

Morning light filtered softly through the blinds, and you blinked awake, stretching slightly before noticing Sigtryggr’s arm still draped around you, his peaceful face turned toward yours. A small smile tugged at your lips as you remembered the night before, and you let yourself relax, sinking back into the moment. But just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted you both out of the haze.

The door swung open, and a woman’s voice called out, her tone full of urgency and familiarity, sending a chill through you. “Sigtryggr?”

You froze, exchanging a startled look with Sigtryggr, who looked just as caught off guard. She called his name again, her footsteps growing closer as she moved through the apartment and toward the bedroom. Your gaze flew to Sigtryggr, wide-eyed with surprise, but before either of you could speak, a young woman appeared in the doorway, her eyes landing on you in bed with him.

With a yelp, you instinctively wrapped the blanket around yourself, heart racing as the reality of the situation hit you.

“Stiorra,” Sigtryggr started, his tone a mix of apology and guardedness as he sat up, tugging at the blanket to cover himself too.

[chasingfigments]

Hi, hope you're well! Do you still have Dividing Lines posted online? I read it yeaaars ago and loved it! I recently had the sudden urge to reread it (because of Doctor Slump) but I couldn't find it. No pressure ofc, just wondering if I missed it somewhere. Thanks so much!! ❤

Technically, it is online? But it's on a personal website that is currently experiencing a critical malfunction, and I haven't fixed it yet. 😭 (Given that I am not a programmer, this is going to be a bit of a Production. Fixing this site is on my official list of projects.) So in practical terms, not right this second.

I do intend to cross-post it to AO3 eventually (as well as the prequel fic), and when I do, I'll definitely link to it from here. (I haven't done so before now because I want to write up a summary of how I intended everything to wrap up as the last chapter.) Sorry I can't help right now, anon!

[leilanihours]

# SHE WAS CRYIN' ON MY SHOULDER, ALL I COULD DO WAS HOLD HER

pairing: paige bueckers x ex-gf!reader

word count: 851

warnings: arguing, crying, mentions of abandonment/past relationship

summary: you and paige both have things you need to get off your chests one year after you break up.

⭑ from lani: to that anon i told my next fic would be for kate im so sorry 😭 i was crying to this song earlier and i just needed to write paige to it - so heres my first ever angst fic i hope its not horrible 😛

masterlist !

"Y/N, YOU LEFT me, remember? you left!"

"you didn't even bother to stop me, to fight for me- for us!"

neither of you knew how this escalated so quickly. how a friendly reunion turned into a screaming match.

"it's not my job to pick up the pieces of the shit you broke! so i'm sorry if i didn't feel like working myself over for someone who had no issue leaving."

you know her apology is insincere, sarcastic. but for a split second when you hear her say "i'm sorry," your heart aches for the words you've spent the past year mourning.

"paige," you sigh, trying to calm down before you say something you don't mean, "i know it seems like it, but i did not want to leave the way i did. i didn't have a choice."

"bullshit-"

"can you just be quiet and let me talk?" you snap, immediately shutting her up, "last summer when i disappeared, it was because of my parents. they forced me to come home to them even after i told them i wanted to stay here in connecticut. i swear to you, paige, i fought for us. you didn't see it but i went through hell fighting. and i'm sorry for ending it the way i did but, paige...we were bound to end it at some point. we both knew that. i had to go home eventually."

you both had tears streaming down your faces at this point, chests heaving from not being able to breathe properly.

you stood in front of paige, slowly pacing back and forth as she sat with her arms crossed on the cold park bench absorbing your words.

the darkness of the night engulfed the atmosphere, contributing to the inevitable breaking of your once-intertwined hearts. the only light was dim from the far away lamp post, rusting away from its former beauty - similarly to how you and paige used to be a work of art together, but were now nothing more than a mess of spilled emotions and pent-up grudges.

"and i understand that, y/n, but i deserved an explanation- a goodbye, at the very least. or at least i thought i deserved that."

"don't do that," you challenge, referring to the way she degraded herself in front of you, "is that why you didn't try? to save us?"

"why else wouldn't i? i thought you hated me, i thought-" she pauses to catch her breath and wipe some of the tears that had fallen on her pink lips, "i thought you didn't care about us. as if that summer didn't mean shit to you."

"paige i-"

"no, now it's your turn to listen," she demands, pulling you to sit next to her on the bench, both of her cold hands holding yours, "i never felt so strongly about someone the way i felt about you. i couldn't imagine spending my time away from you, i mean, it literally hurt. so i took advantage of that summer, i took advantage of the little time we had together. and then when i found out you left without a word to me, it broke me. and i know you didn't see it but ask literally any of my friends. i didn't get out of bed for days in a row. i didn't eat, i didn't practice, nothing. it was like you stole the good parts of me, took it, and ran. i needed you, y/n, but you were on the other side of the country. what am i supposed to do with that?"

she's full on sobbing now, shoulders shaking as she doesn't even try to hold in her tears now. you swear you can hear cracks in your own heart and bones forming as she confesses what she went through.

you can't bear watching her suffer anymore, tightly wrapping your arms around her shaking frame. hugs like these were second nature, but this time was different. there was more meaning behind it.

your embrace acted as a shield against any future problems that were to be thrown onto your paths. your embrace acted as a glue repairing the broken pieces of your relationship that laid destroyed for the past how many days. your embrace acted as a genuine embrace.

"paige, i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry, baby, i never wanted to leave you, you have to know that. i'm so sorry," you whisper into her hair.

one of your hands stroke her head buried in your neck. you feel her tears drip onto your thin jacket, soaking you with guilt as it hits you how desperate you were to spend the rest of your life making it up to this girl.

it was clear to you that she actually did care, unlike how you thought last summer. and because of how she was crying on your shoulder, you needed to forget about that version of her you spent so long hating - the version that constantly haunted the back of your mind.

you needed to hold her. and hold her. and hold her. and never let go.

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[pedrospatch]

we need you

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Afraid of failing the two of the people he cares about more than anything, Joel decides you and Ellie are better off without him.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SET IN JACKSON. takes place during Kin. arguing, angst. helpful to know reader was not present when Joel and Tommy talked in the garage. NO mentions of age, reader has no physical description.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: welllllp i don't know about you guys, but i am DEAD inside after tonight so to cope i am going to write a little drabble. already put it in the warning/tags section, but once again, just to be on the safe side of things: potential spoilers, proceed with caution if you do not want the newest episode spoiled!

“Just what in the motherfucking hell was that, Joel?” You nearly growled, bursting through the door of the bedroom that he’d chosen to occupy for the night. Having heard the way he’d spoken to Ellie—not to mention, all that he had said to her even after her heartbreaking confession to him, her unspoken cry for him not to abandon her, all you could see in your mind was the color red. Sure, you and Joel had been through your fair share of bullshit over the years, disagreements that caused friction between the two of you weren’t all that uncommon seeing as the two of you shared similar personality traits to each other, stubbornness being one of them. But you could not, for the life of you, remember an occasion where you’d been this angry with him, this fucking livid. As you watched him sink down onto the bed without a word, your hands curled into fists at your sides. You knew it would only make matters worse, losing your temper, but you weren’t all too sure that you could contain it this time around.

The blood in your veins was bubbling, boiling hot underneath your skin.

“Are you going to fucking answer me or what?” You prompted, a cool edge to your tone despite the heat radiating throughout your body. “You’re really trying to hand her off to Tommy?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

“Find what out, Joel? That you went off and made a decision, and a really fucking dumb one at that, without even talking to me about it first?” You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Despite how incredibly furious you were, the sadness was heavy inside of your chest. Tt was as if Joel had forgotten the fact that for the last few months, Ellie had been under your care too, and you had every right to be a part of any decision that he made regarding her and her well-being. It hurt you to your very core that he’d done this without talking to you first, and it hurt you even deeper to know that Ellie had known about this and she’d kept it all to herself all evening.

She’d come home from the movies and when you offered her dinner, she refused to eat and stomped upstairs, locking herself in the bedroom. You’d chalked it up to nothing more than a typical teenaged girl simply having a mood swing. After all, it hadn’t exactly been the best day for Ellie. She’d arrived in Jackson and the first thing she noticed was how everyone in the colony looked at her, especially the children. She was different. She didn’t fit in, she stuck out like a sore thumb and you knew that had to have been hard for her. Not wanting to push her, you’d figured that she would come out of the room eventually and talk you about it when she was good and ready. But now that you knew the real reason why she had come home so upset, you couldn’t help but to feel guilty.

For hours, Ellie had been upstairs in that room knowing that Joel planned on dumping her on Tommy and you didn’t have the slightest fucking clue about what was going on until you’d overheard Joel and Ellie’s shouting match just moments ago.

“Joel.” You said his name in a tone neither of you recognized.

Low, venomous, borderline dangerous.

You were like a ticking bomb, seconds away from going off.

Joel narrowed his eyes at you. “She’s better off with Tommy, alright? And we both fuckin’ know that,” he said. “It’s the best thing to do for her. I’m doin’ it because I know damn good and well that if she stays with me, all I’m gonna do is have her fall into the wrong fuckin’ hands or killed.”

“You’re wrong!” You countered, dropping your arms away from your chest and back down to your sides. “Joel, don’t you dare fucking do this. Ellie doesn’t want Tommy, she wants you. She all but fucking said it right to your face just a minute ago!” You cried, pointing a finger towards the door of the room as if pointing to Ellie herself. “She admitted to you that she wouldn’t feel safe with anyone else, Joel. So don’t you fucking do this to her.”

He gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles going ghost white. “She’ll be better off with Tommy,” he repeated himself. He paused for a brief moment, just long enough to avert his tortured gaze from yours as he said, “And so would you.”

Your mouth parted slightly in shock. “Fucking excuse me?”

“I can’t keep her safe. Hell, I can barely keep you safe! How many fuckin’ times have I almost lost you? ‘Cause I don’t move fast enough? ‘Cause I’ve made the wrong decisions? ‘Cause I’ve asked you to do somethin’ for me and turns out that I unknowingly sent you into the fuckin’ lion’s den?” He inhaled a sharp breath, and you could hear his voice breaking with each and every word that fell from his lips. “I’ve almost cost you your life how many fuckin’ times now?”

“Joel—”

“Tess died ‘cause of me.” He saw you open your mouth to protest and he quickly added, “You can sit there and tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault ‘til you’re blue in the face, but let’s just fuckin’ be honest and tell it how it is, alright? I couldn’t get to her quick enough and now she’s dead. I won’t let you meet the same fate.” Joel reached up, raking a hand tiredly through his hair, mentally bracing himself for your reaction to what he was about to say next. “I think you should go with Tommy and get Ellie to where she needs to be. After that, you should—you should think about stayin’ here with him in Jackson. I probably don’t belong here, but you do.”

You let out a small, shaky breath of air.

“Who the hell are you to make that kind of decision for me?” You asked, willing yourself to keep yourself from crumbling into tears. “I’m sorry Joel, but you can’t make that kind of a choice for me. And do you want to know what else?” You didn’t even wait for him to respond. “You can’t make it for Ellie, either.”

“She’s fuckin’ fourteen years old—”

You took a step forward as you challenged him. “Do you really think that girl isn’t smart enough to know deep down inside what’s best for her? Tell me, do you really think that Ellie pulled everything she said out of her ass? Do you honestly think that she could ever trust Tommy the way that she trusts you?” You felt a warm tear slide down your cheek and quickly wiped it away before he could see it. “Ellie is young, but she’s not a baby, Joel. I get that sometimes we need to guide her through shit, but let’s be real. She is old enough to make decisions for herself. Maybe not all of them, but the decision that you’re trying to make for her right here, right now—it isn’t yours to make.” Another tear made its way down the side of your face as you whispered, “And the one you’re trying to make for me isn’t either.”

Joel hung his head, seemingly defeated. “Why can’t you see it’s for the best? Why are you makin’ this so hard?”

Willing your trembling legs to move, you slowly walked over to him and sank to your knees in front of him; although you tried to meet his eyes, he refused. “You care about Ellie. I know it, I can see it and I can feel it. For as much shit as you give her all the time, I know that she’s become so important to you.”

“‘Course she is,” he mumbled. “You’re both important to me.”

You reached for his hands, pulling them forward onto his lap. You placed your own hands on top of his, lacing your fingers together. “Then don’t fucking do this to us, Joel. Please. I’m already down on my knees and I will fucking beg and plead if that’s what it’s going to take.” You crouched down a little further, enough so that you could look up into his dark brown eyes. “Ellie wants to be with you, Joel. And I do too.”

Joel’s gaze glistened with tears that he tried, but failed, to keep from falling in front of you. “I’ll fail you, just like I’ve fuckin’ failed everybody else.”

“Joel, please listen to me. Hear what I am saying, for the love of Christ. We have come so far,” You said, firmly squeezing his hands in yours as if somehow that would snap him out of it. “Whether you choose to believe or not, we’ve only come this far because of you. You have done so much for us. It’s why we trust you, why we feel safe with you. Me and Ellie, we belong with you, Joel—not with Tommy, not with anyone else. We need you, okay? We fucking need you. Do you understand me, Joel?”

Joel exhaled the breath he’d been holding shakily, leaning down to be closer to you. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against yours as he tried to even out his breathing.

Rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs in soothing circles, you lifted your head and lightly pressed your lips against his forehead.

“We’re going to finish what we started,” You murmured quietly against his skin, feeling a slight shudder rack his body as a single whimper escaped him. You squeezed his hands again. “Together, Joel.”

[moon-fics]

The Truth-Peter Parker

A/n: Ok, so the original angst fic I wanted to post is taking longer than I thought to finish. Here's a shorter angst-to-fluff fic that I think you'll enjoy!

Summary: Peter has been different recently and you don't like it.

Warning: Swears, Peter being stupid

Today is not your day, not even close. You realize that while staring down at the chapter text you didn't study for. You always tell yourself college grades are the most important thing in your life, but somehow you fucked this one up. Probably because your best friend has been on and off the grid for the past month.

You choose random answers for half a page, rubbing your forehead in frustration as the questions get harder. You glance over your shoulder to see Peter in the back of the class, practically breezing through the test. Of course, you aren't surprised seeing as he's already an expert in organic chemistry. You mentally curse him out for being smart enough not to study.

You still have five questions unanswered but at this point, you're at a low. With a deep breath you write down random answers you hope are bullshit enough to be accepted. You quickly stand from your chair, placing the test on the professor's desk. You get the shortest look at the class, half of them are already gone. You grab your backpack, swinging it over your shoulder. Right as you pass the professor's desk you hear shuffling from the very back, knowing it's Peter.

You don't spare him a glance, speeding up as you walk through the campus halls. You're about to turn the corner towards the exit when you hear footsteps gaining on you. You don't have to look to know who it is.

You push open the doors, heading straight to your car in hopes Peter doesn't reach you. Sadly, today is really not your day.

You only get halfway through the parking lot when he calls out to you. You can't pretend to not hear him because even a senile old man would. With a heavy sigh, you turn on your heel and watch him approach you.

"Hey, what's the rush?" He asks innocently, stopping a few feet in front of you. He hasn't even broken a sweat but he's breathing like he's run a mile. "I saw that you didn't do too well on the test." He tries to strike up a conversation.

"How would you know that? You were in the back of the class." You raise an eyebrow, genuinely wondering how he'd know that. You watch his face change as he tries to come up with a reason. It's either going to be a lie or he'll brush it off. That's what he's been doing recently, lying to you or avoiding you altogether.

"You left in a bad mood." He answers, shrugging his shoulders. You decide not to press further, knowing it'll lead nowhere. "You should have asked if you needed help, I could have rambled about organic chemistry until you'd become a secondhand expert!" This makes you lose your politeness.

"When could I have asked you?" You scoff, crossing your arms. "We barely talk and when I text you I get left on delivered." You point out with a frown. You could probably pull up his contact and scroll through the constant unanswered messages that are paired with random texts from him, usually at unreasonable hours. At one point you tried matching whatever sleep schedule he's on, but eventually had to stop for your sanity.

Peter nods his head, not defending himself. "I know I've been busy, I should have tried to talk to you more." He says in a genuine tone. He looks down at the asphalt, rubbing the back of his neck. You can't lie, even when you're close to ditching him in the parking lot, he looks good. "I promise that I'm not distracted anymore, I swear on my test score!" His eyes shift to look at you, his head ducked down a bit still. He looks adorable at that angle.

"And I'm supposed to care why?" You shift your weight onto one leg, the weight of your backpack making your back ache. A part of you wants to just forgive him and pretend like the past few weeks didn't happen, the other half wants to reject him and drive home.

"I was hoping we could hang out, you know like friends do." He chuckles. If his smile wasn't so perfect you'd call him insane, maybe even dramatically march away. Instead, you find yourself excited about the idea of spending time with him again. Your heart betraying your stubborn brain.

"And if I were to say yes, what would we do?" You enquire, pretending to not be interested. It's too bad you never made the starring role in any school plays.

"I'd order us pizza and invite you to watch a movie at my apartment." You've forgotten how much his internships are paying him, OSCORP definitely loves him. "I'll even buy those cupcakes you loved from that bakery." That catches your interest.

"Hmm, I'll have to see." You pretend to think, making him groan. You both know you're more than free, but you enjoy tormenting him. Honestly, spending time with Peter while eating free food is a double win. "I guess I'll do it." You relent, watching as his smile grows even more. You can see his eyes brighten once you agree, making your heart race.

"Perfect, Friday night at 6 o'clock!" He details, and you mentally note it. There's no way you'd miss it, not for the world.

-

It's pouring rain when you finally reach his apartment, you're dripping down the hallway. You know how to get to his apartment by heart having done it so much. The hallway filled with apartment doors is warm enough to keep you from shivering.

You reach his door, knocking a few times. You wait awkwardly, noticing how dead quiet it is. You hope he has clothes you can borrow so yours can dry, wet clothes are anything but comfortable.

You wait a few seconds before knocking again, still having hope about tonight. You assure yourself he's probably listening to music or in the shower. You send him a text letting him know you're outside.

After a few minutes, you call him, becoming impatient. The warmth of the hallway is no longer enough, your skin covered in bumps and your teeth chattering. There's no answer, you go straight to voicemail.

You don't want to believe he's not home. You try to come up with an excuse, anything that could stop the ache in your chest. However, you've been in this situation before. You know how tonight will end and it doesn't include free pizza and cupcakes.

You wait five more minutes before you have no patients left in you. You turn away from the door, heading back down the hallway, into the elevator, and back into the rainy night. On the way out you open his contact, sending one last message telling him to forget about it.

-

You wake up to the sound of your ringtone blaring in your ears. With a sleepy groan, you pick up your charging phone, seeing Peter's contact name in bold letters. You stare at the call, turning your sound off. You wait until the call ends before checking the time, seeing it's almost 3AM. No way in hell are you answering his calls this early in the morning, not after he stood you up.

You put your phone down, rolling away from it on your bed. You just want to sleep the day away, feeling disgusting from getting caught in the rain.

You fall asleep for a few hours before hearing a knock. You groggily sit up, heading to your bedroom door. You assume it's your roommate but when you open the door no one is there. You hear the knocking again, it's from your window.

Your body tenses, fear creeping up your back. You don't want to turn around in case your childhood fears were real and there's a killer on your fire escape.

There's a third round of knocks that come in a specific rhythm. You know that knock and you kind of wish it was a killer instead. You don't want to see Peter, but it's too late to act as if you're still asleep. Even if you did go back to sleep, you have no choice but to look at him while walking to your bed.

You know you'll regret this decision later, but you head to your window anyway. You lean on the windowsill, glaring daggers into Peter's soul through the glass. He gets the message instantly, giving you a pleading look. He points to the lock on your window, silently asking you to open it.

You huff, unlocking the window and pushing it open. You're itching to chew him out, to confront him about making you feel like shit. You want to get the first word, but the moment the window opens Peter is speaking.

"I'm so so so sorry! I promise I didn't leave you hanging on purpose!" He begins, talking at the speed of sound. He's sweating, his hair flat compared to his usual updo. "Something came up and I couldn't check my phone!" Another excuse.

"Just say you forgot and let me sleep." You grumble, eye locked with his. He knows you aren't messing around and that this is the last straw. He's fucked up for the last time and now he's grasping at anything to fix it. "At least spare me the truth."

"I swear I'm telling the truth, there was an emergency and I tried to get to my apartment in time." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's still withholding the truth and you know you'll never get it like this.

"Alright, Peter, I'm done." You pat your legs before reaching to shut your window. Before you can even touch the wooden frame, something sticky touches your wrist. Your eyes land on a white substance pulling on your skin slightly. You follow the string down to Peter's wrist, his eyes wide. There's a wristband with some sort of mechanism on it. "What the fuck?"

Before you can think he's climbing through your window, disconnecting his web from his wrist. You stare at the substance still attached to you, it reminds you of a spider's web. Spiderweb.

"OH, MY-" Peter places a hand over your mouth, shushing you. His palms are rough but warm. Your eyes are wide and the tips of your fingers are numb as things slowly get put into place in your mind.

"Please, don't scream," Peter begs, slowly removing his hand from your mouth. Your jaw is on the floor and you both know you have a lot to talk about.

-

Not in a million years did you expect tonight to go like this. You did not foresee Peter confessing to being Spider-Man or sitting on a rooftop as he explains his powers. You have no idea what time it is, but the sun is beginning to rise.

"So, this whole time you've been fighting crime and going to college?" That's the thing you can't wrap your head around. He has amazing grades, you're even jealous of him for it. You're trying to figure out how he doesn't pass out all the time from exhaustion.

"Yeah, I've been balancing everything." He admits. Your heart pangs at the idea of him wearing himself out constantly and then still trying to make time for you. "I promise if last night wasn't a serious emergency I would have been there." He shakes his head.

For the first time in a while, you believe him. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about it." You comfort him, rubbing his back. Now that you know the full truth, everything makes sense. You don't feel bad for being upset, but you can't hold onto the anger anymore.

"I tried so hard to make any time for you," He mumbles, watching the sunrise and the sky changes colors. "Every time I thought about messaging you or even talking to you, someone would commit a crime." He chuckles, handing his head between his knees.

"Well, now that I know I forgive you." You num, nudging him playfully. Honestly, knowing he's a secret superhero makes him ten times more attractive. "Besides, now I know you aren't trying to avoid me." You joke.

"Avoid you? Never." He scoffs, wrapping an arm around you. "If anything you're one of the reasons I fight for this city. I want you to live in a place that's protected." There's a long silence as you digest his words, trying to figure out if he's saying what you think he is. After an awkward amount of quiet, he speaks again, "I just want to make sure I wasn't being too subtle, I've been in love with you since freshman year." He says bluntly, putting it all out in the air.

"Oh." That is all you can say. The guy you've had a crush on has liked you for the same amount of time and all you can say is 'Oh'. You really need to slap yourself.

"Oh." He repeats, tapping his knees. "So, uhm, I love this chat I've created." He thins his lips, trying not to look directly at you.

It takes a second but your brain finally catches up with your heart. You turn to face him, your eyes are wide. You grip his arm as if he's leaving. "OH!" Your voice raises in a few octaves, "You're in love with me!"

"Yeah, I am." He laughs, taking your hand in his. Your heart is slamming against your chest, trying to find the correct words to say.

"I'm in love with you, too!" You shout, finally forming words. You sound extremely stupid and socially broken. "I just thought you were a dick!"

"No, you were right. I was being a dick." Peter nods his head with a smile on his face. You don't disagree with him, instead, you keep your eyes on his face. You're soaking up his features, taking in every pore and micro-scar on his face. "But I wish I had confessed sooner."

"I wish you did too, but I'm glad it's now instead of never." You lean your head on his shoulder, hand still in his. He brushes his finger over the back of your palm. "Besides, now we can be one of those couples at graduation who post like fifty photos." You tease.

"Couple?" His head snaps to look at you, "You still want to date me?" He asks in such a quiet voice, almost unsure you'll say yes. It shatters your heart to see him like this, believing that years of friendship and pining will go away after a couple rough patches.

"Oh, I'd date the fuck out of you," You nod your head with a serious look. His expression brightens more than before, and his free hand reaches to touch your face.

"Can I please kiss you?" He asks, his lips about to graze yours.

"If you don't I think I might jump off this roof." You lean closer and Peter doesn't hesitate to meet you halfway. The kiss is rough for just a second before mellowing out. You don't realize how much you've been craving this until it's actually happening.

He finally pulls away for air, resting his forehead on yours. "Holy shit." He gasps, trying to catch his breath. "I think this is the best moment of my life."

"It better be." You respond, going in for another kiss.

[sweetenerobert]

who’s line is it anyway

1.9k /dieter bravo x male reader

summary: during a table read, dieter’s thoughts trail off into more “important” things than a script in front of him.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, strong language, pwp, mention of drugs, dieter being a high mess, public sex, dirty talk, unprotected p in a, choking, let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble but knowing me and my writing style, a “drabble” consist of 800 words

also i would like to blame @morallyinept for this idea, the idea came from a post she made and i talked to her about it, and she made it 1000x better

one more thing: if your seeing this one of my exams are finally fucking done! celebration, ugh finally and hopefully you guys love this, trying to write and study was so fucking annoying, but i finally got this done

navigation page in bio!

“Here’s the thing,” You start, unlocking your legs from each other and placing your palms on the table. You push yourself onto the table, earning a wide-eyed expression from Dieter behind his sunglasses.

You kneel on the table — sitting on your calves, feet dangling off the table, slowly crawling towards Dieter like an animal stalking their prey. Dieter’s lips were apart as he looked at you in astonishment. “I don't care about some dumb table read when I’d rather —” You are face-to-face with Dieter, inches apart; with a simple push, your lips could collide.

Grabbing the temples of his sunglasses, you slowly slide them off Dieter’s shocked expression, closing the temples together and placing his sunglasses on the table. “When I’d rather have you fuck me on this table.”

Table reads were one of the things that Dieter dreaded — with a burning passion. Getting up so early in the morning just to read lines off a packet of stapled papers together, drinking shit coffee, and sitting around directors, executives, producers, and fellow actors/actresses he has to act to like.

Dieter was high, and he knew that it was the only thing going to make him go through this long, exhausting day. Through his sunglasses — that he didn't need to wear anymore, he could barely keep his eyes open his eyes. Dieter wanted to rest his head on the table underneath his hands and read the lines whenever he felt like it. But he was too busy looking at the people around him.

His gaze eventually lands on you as you are reading your lines. Dieter ultimately set his eyes on you. Dieter has a glimpse of recognizing you, but he was probably too high to remember it. As you stopped reading your lines, you smiled at the next person who had to read.

Dieter wished you never smiled; his cock was already throbbing in his pants — itching to be released. As he shifted the length of his cock in his pants, he noticed how concentrated and strong-headed you were. It made him want to bend you over the table more.

He yearned to know what noises your mouth made as he drove his cock into you. Dieter wanted to make you beg for more of his cock, made you want to plead for his cum. Thinking about you so much made Dieter’s cock twitch. He looked down and was annoyed that his cock wasn't getting the attention it deserved.

“Psst, D.”

Dieter heard a voice — your voice and looked up at you. You had this look on your face that you didn’t have before. It was seductive, enticing. He was shocked but just went with it.

“Yeah?” Dieter asked.

“You’ve been thinking about me, haven't you?” You questioned.

Dieter drew his lips in a thin line and shook his head. “Nope, got me confused with someone else.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and looking at him. Your legs cross, and you shake your foot in impatience.

“C’mon, D. I know bullshit when I smell it.”

Hearing you say the initial of his name made his cock twitch. He swore you heard it knock on the wooden table above his member.

“Okay,” Dieter shrugs and smirks. “Even if I was thinking about you, what could we do? We can't leave yet.”

“Here’s the thing,” You start, unlocking your legs from each other and placing your palms on the table. You push yourself onto the table, earning a wide-eyed expression from Dieter behind his sunglasses.

You kneel on the table — sitting on your calves, feet dangling off the table, slowly crawling towards Dieter like an animal stalking their prey. Dieter’s lips were apart as he looked at you in astonishment. “I don't care about some dumb table read when I’d rather —” You are face-to-face with Dieter, inches apart; with a simple push, your lips could collide.

Grabbing the temples of his sunglasses, you slowly slide them off Dieter’s shocked expression, closing the temples together and placing his sunglasses on the table. “When I’d rather have you fuck me on this table.”

You flashed a smile, and Dieter’s face looked like a deer in headlights. He glanced around him and noticed that no one was fazed by what you were saying — as if it were completely normal. “Are we going to fuck or what?” You shrug.

In one motion, Dieter collided his lips with yours, gripping your throat — a moan escaping your lips. Dieter was finally getting his wish, hearing what you sounded like under his touch. The kiss became more intimate than alluring and, suddenly, hungry. You both were two horny teenagers — couldn't get enough of each other, didn't want to let each other go.

Dieter stood up from his seat, kicking the seat out of his way — hand still gripping your throat, tiny moans left your throat with each kiss Dieter was devouring your face. Your lips tasted like strawberries, and Dieter couldn't get enough of your mouth, swirling his tongue in your mouth; he wanted to taste you inside and out.

You fixed your position on the table so that your but was planted on the table.

Dieter released his grip on your throat, his mouth moved from your lips and trails down your cheek, along your jaw, and then your neck. You gasp and moan with each kiss, suck and bite Dieter is bringing to your neck.

Your hands get tangled in his dark curls. His hair is like sand — sliding through your hands with no issue. You bring your fingertips closer to your palm as if feeling each follicle on Dieter’s head. His hand slid down to your waist and onto your leg. Dieter hooked his hand under your knee, bringing you closer to him, and he planted his lips back onto yours.

Your hand slides down from Dieter’s head to his cock. He groans in your mouth with how firmly your hand grabbed his member. “Damn, your hard as a fuckin’ rock. Should we let this monster about this cage?” You sneer. Dieter releases his grip on you and backs up to unbuckle his pants.

As Dieter is trying to shimmy his pants off in such a rush, he almost trips on his pants. You breathe a whistle out. “Damn, D. You fallin’ for me already?” You question. Getting his pants off, he looks up to see you — pantsless, cock throbbing, precum leaking through the slit of your cock, a smirk on your face.

A grin appears on Dieter’s face as he walks back to you, kissing you like his life depended on it. “You look so fuckin’ hot with your cock standing up like that,” Dieter growled.

“Says the one whose cock is rubbing against mine; it feelings fucking amazing.” You admit. Hearing you say these things made Dieter’s cock twitch. As your hands gripped the material of his shirt, you leaned back, Dieter following suit — Dieter’s body had pressed down on top of yours under the table. Two bodies melted together by intensity, heat, and tension. It was an art piece that Dieter was satisfied to be a part of.

Dieter backs up from your mouth as he glances down at his cock near your aching hole. You hold your legs with your hands, a grin on your face as Dieter glances at you. “What are you waiting for?”

Dieter positions his cock near your hole, a line of saliva leaving his mouth, connecting with the shaft of his cock — rubbing his spit to lube his cock up. Slowly pressing the tip inside you, a sharp exhale escapes your lips — a hiss leaving Dieter’s mouth.

“Fuck, baby. Your tight,” Dieter admits.

“Only the best for Dieter Bravo,” You wink.

Dieter, slowly stretching you out, made his cock into overdrive. His cock was twitching inside you — you felt it get bigger inside you with each slowly agonizing push. The base of his cock connects with your balls as they gradually shrivel. His hands grip your ankles as your nails create dents on your inner thighs.

Dieter backs his hips up and slowly pushes them towards you. A look of worry had ridden his face.

“D?” You question.

“Yeah, baby?” Dieter answers.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, do it the way you’ve always dreamed about.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “Use me, Dieter,” You grit.

A sneer spread across Dieter’s face as the grip on your ankles got tighter. A wave of pleasure rode your face as you felt how fast Dieter his thighs were clapping into you. Dieter enjoyed hearing the noises that escaped your lips; it was ecstasy, coke, anything for Dieter was better than any drug he could imagine. Hearing the claps, your moans, and your hands trailing his abdomen — Dieter’s mind went into overdrive; this feeling had beaten any high he’d ever experienced before.

“You like that, baby? You like it when I use you like this?” Dieter asks.

“F-fuck, yes, Dieter. I love it so much,” You groaned.

Your hands grip Dieter’s shirt — almost tearing the material under your nails. You pull Dieter towards you, lips intertwined, nose bridges fitting perfectly together. Dieter’s hands let go of your ankles — planted on the wooden table under both of you. His thrusts got more intense as you felt your cock twitch between the both of you.

Your moans landed in Dieter’s mouth as your moans became hitched with each thrust. Dieter could feel the table shift with each push of his pelvis.

“Baby, I need to get you pregnant, I need to cum so much.”

“Do it, Dieter,” You instigated. “Get me pregnant; I want your cum inside me.”

Dieter’s thrusts became more intense, non-human, bearing his teeth like a rabbit in heat. Your moans come out like music to Dieter’s ears — he couldn't get enough of your voice.

“Fuck, yes, Dieter. You’re hitting so deep!”

“God, I love it when you scream my name like that. You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Dieter grunted.

Your nails claw Dieter’s back as his hands reach your waist. His hands melted on your waist as his lips connected with yours, his hips rutting into yours, your hole wrapping Dieter’s length, his grunts coming out as breaths in your ears.

“Baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” Dieter bear his teeth.

“Fucking hell, Dieter, just do it,” You groaned.

Dieter could feel himself getting closer with each thrust and each moan that was escaping your lips. He was a man obsessed.

“Fuck, Baby. Here it comes,” Dieter grunted.

“Dieter, Dieter,” You moan.

“Dieter.”

“Dieter.”

“Dieter,” Dieter shook his head and glanced around.

He noticed that you weren't on the table anymore; you were back in your seat, looking at him with confusion on your face. Not as if you were a moaning and sweating mess on the table just a couple of seconds.

Dieter glanced around and noticed everyone was looking at him; they seemed more eager than you. Dieter hated the stares everyone was sending, and he wanted to curse everyone out who was staring at him, but he was too confused about what had just happened.

“Dieter,” Dieter turned his head to see the director had been saying his name.

“That’s your line, buddy.”

Dieter scoffed and just looked at the script below him and read the lines he hadn't practiced. After Dieter had finished reading his lines, he was a grumbling mess. It sounded like he escaped a psychiatric hospital. His phone vibrating next to him took him out of his psychotic grumbling. His phone screen brightened the sunglasses on his face, and he saw a text from an unknown number.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i can tell you lost your train of thought thinking about me, if you want, we could meet up and make those thoughts a reality ;)

Dieter’s jaw almost dropped, but he managed to keep his cool; he picked his head up to stare at you. You had waited for the next person to read their lines, but you could feel Dieter’s eyes on you. Your eyes trailing to stare at Dieter’s and you flash him a wink and smirk.

Dieter’s cock twitched in his pants, and his face had heat rising faster than the speed of light. He was ready to take you on the table “again,” but for the first time in his life, Dieter was glad to be patient.

[miguel-ohara-eater]

Just Sit On My Face Then

(red: Miguel)

(this one's a little shorter)

————————————————

————————————————

(Summary: Miguel was kissing you, and you had to pee and he had an idea)

CW: piss kink, no sex this time just piss drinking/spitting, face sitting, nipple play, and uhh... yeah that's it.

————————————————

Miguel was laying on top of you, trapping you underneath his arms and kissing on your neck.

you were supposed to have sex a half hour ago, already taken off your clothes but he got sidetracked and has been kissing and touching on you ever since.

you weren't complaining though, since him touching you still felt good, but there was a little problem.

"...Miguel I have to pee." you whispered, and he rubbed your hips.

"hmm just wait a couple more minutes okay?" he said against your neck, kissing your jaw.

you tilted your head for him, your hands holding his slutty waist and you didn't have to pee that bad so you could hold it until he was satisfied.

he trailed his kisses down your neck, to your collarbone, and then he licked the valley of your breasts.

you let out a soft moan, running your hand through his hair and his mouth latched on one of your nipples, his hand holding the other one with his thumb rubbing against the other nipple.

his tongue swirled around the bud, licking and sucking. you looked down at him, to see he was already making eye contact.

he sucked a couple more times, before moving to the other nipple to do the same thing.

and by the time he'd finished, you thought your bladder might explode.

"Miguel I really gotta pee now." you said as you crossed your legs and he made his way back to your hickey covered neck.

"can't you just hold it a little longer?" he asked, and you shook your head.

he sighed, still not getting up but he held onto you and rolled onto his back, with you on top now.

you looked down at him, your legs still crossed.

"can I go? I'll be right back." you said and he shook his head and sat you up on his chest.

"why leave? just sit on my face." he smiled and your eyes widened.

you had a piss kink too, but was never open about it in case he didn't want to.

"... you're into that stuff?" you raised your eyebrows and he nodded

"100%" he has his hands on your hips, rubbing his thumbs against them.

"so you gonna sit on my face or what?" he smiled again.

you were hesitant, but eventually nodded and you got up and hovered over his face.

you sighed and he raised an eyebrow.

"I said sit." he said and you looked down at him.

"I'm gonna suffocate you."

he rolled his eyes, pulling your hips down on top of him and you sat fully on him.

after a couple seconds, you tried to pee but couldn't even though you still had to.

"Miguel I don't have to pee anymore." you whispered and you felt him say something, and then he reached up and pressed on your bladder.

you let out a little squeak, accidentally emptying your bladder into his mouth.

you sat there, red and embarrassed until he pulled you off and sat you next to him.

his mouth full of piss, he laid you down and crawled over you.

he raised an eyebrow for approval, and somehow you knew what he meant and you slowly nodded. he opened his mouth a little, the pee dribbling onto your body until his mouth was empty.

you looked up at him, the piss soaked into the sheets and your skin. you felt pathetic and nasty, but that was the part you liked.

he smiled and kissed your cheek. "better?" you nodded

"better."

————————————————

I don't have a piss kink so idk if I did this right I'm sorry 😭

this one is something completely new to me and I didn't know how to write it tbh lmao. this one's posted a little early but wtvv

but anyways hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @kinkybandages

[ivonhart]

the moon | steven grant x fem werewolf!reader

+ marc spector & jake lockley

— chapter one

| next

masterlist

cross posted on ao3

gif credit: @paper-n-ashes

summary: You've always hated the moon. Hated the way it made your body bend and break into a new form every month. Hated the way it tied you to one of the many gods of it. But you couldn't hate what the moon connected you to…who it connected you to.

a/n: I will be writing DID the way that it is presented in the show so do not expect it to be medically accurate.

The chatter from the surrounding patrons circled around you as you slowly followed behind a group of people being led through the museum; a small smile on your lips as you listened close to the tour guide’s enthusiasm about each item she introduced. You already knew of the things she spoke about, having taken up learning about Egyptian mythology a few years prior, but you quite enjoyed the simplicity of the whole situation. “She pronounced that wrong.”

And with the sudden deep voice owned by the one and only Khonshu ringing in your ears, the smile you once wore fell and the enjoyment growing within you quickly died out. As you came to a full stop in front of the most previous artifact mentioned you pulled your phone from your pocket and placed it against your ear. The group you once followed getting further and further away as you turned to look at the sarcophagus. “What do you want…you old bag of bones?”

Your tone was harsh yet quiet to avoid any echo within the building. Through the reflection of the glass that separated you from the ancient coffin you saw the “eye” of the god looking back at you. The black circle surrounded by bones held a borderline agitated look to it. “You are supposed to be watching over the body…NOT aimlessly walking around!” His sudden change of tone caused you to flinch and scowl. A small growl escaped your mouth out of pure agitation.

“He has a name you know.” You started while leaning towards the glass, taking in the details preserved on the sarcophagus. “He’s not just ‘the body’ you asshole.” The movement in the glass and the lack of skeleton in the reflection told you Khonshu had moved away from you. It didn’t matter however, you knew he heard you. “I still cannot stand how Marc refuses to show himself.” At this point you were talking with no hope for a response, you had even put your phone away, and before you could drone on any further a excited voice cut through the air. “Quite a beautiful thing there, innit?”

The noticeable British accent caused you to turn around, and when you did you saw the very person you were tasked to keep tabs on. Steven Grant. You were always watching over him from a distance…in the shadows safe and out of sight. But now, with him in front of you…it allowed you to finally fully take him in. He was different compared to Marc in every way aside from his looks. Marc held his shoulders back with a high head and deep scowl whilst Steven did anything but. His shoulders were slumped while his eyes were cast to the ground after you looked at him, causing his unkempt curls to fall across his forehead.

You didn’t take into consideration that while you took him in, the two of you stood in silence and unwavering eye contact on your end. With each passing second, the man grew more and more nervous until he eventually began rambling. “But it’s actually rather wicked, yeah.” As he stepped closer, you watched as he brought his finger up and curved it slightly. “They’d take this big metal hook, right?” You followed his finger as it moved up the glass. “And they go up the ol’ nozzle and…” Steven grew animated as he mimicked a suction sound while pulling his arm up. “And all the organs would come out.”

“Except the heart.” Your sudden interruption made him snap back into reality. His wide eyes got scrunched up with the large smile that graced his lips. “R-Right! Yes, the heart.” You watched as he placed his hand over the mentioned organ and smacked it lightly. “The ol’ pumper.” Embarrassment was quick to wash over him while you hummed in amusement. To keep him from simmering in regret for too long, you turned his attention back to the conversation. “Gotta have the pumper to be judged, huh?” A breathy chuckle passed his lips as you eyed him with a small smile before extending your hand out to introduce yourself. He repeated your name while taking your hand in his. “I’m Steven Grant…with a V. Steven with a V.”

-

“Hello there, Mister Golden Man.” Was the first thing from your mouth as you moved your way to sit next to the still man covered in gold. On the rare night you found yourself alone you had decided to go for a walk and eventually found yourself making your way to the familiar plaza. Every night, without fail, Steven would visit the Golden Man and talk with him for some time. And every night, without fail, you were trailing in the shadows watching but never interacting. With a small groan you seated yourself next to the man before continuing.

“Gods above…my bones will never get used to this weather. The cold makes my joints lock up.” You suppose it did make sense why Steven took such a liking to talking to someone who didn’t talk back. After your initial greeting you simply sat in silence while watching the people go on with their daily lives. After some time you suddenly got a whiff of a familiar scent that followed Steven around and as you scanned the slowly disbanding crowds you saw the man. You were confused on why he was here…why he was Steven.

It was rare for you to be split from Marc during missions but there were times that it would happen and he would never fail at sending messages giving him updates. In the back of your mind you knew something must have happened because not only did Marc not inform you of his return, Khonshu was nowhere in sight…but Steven looked so sad. Without much more thought, you sprung to your feet while quickly disposing of whatever cash you had on you in the Golden Man’s hat before making your way over to the man. “Steven!”

As you got closer and locked eyes with him you noted the tear stains running down his cheeks and the full chocolate box in his hands. He called out your name in surprise when you finally caught up to him. “Wha-What are you doing here?” The crack in his voice was clear in your ears as he tried to regain a level tone. “Nothing really. Just people watching.” He was nervous. Shifting from foot to foot, not holding eye contact, the smell of sweat forming on his palms. He didn’t want to show you that he was crying, but you knew.

After a few short seconds you softly spoke. “What’s got you down?” That simple question resulted in you sitting next to him on a nearby bench as he talked about everything on his mind. From his sleeping problems to his “one-fin-wonder” fish named Gus. Or he used to be because now he found himself with two fins. As the minutes passed and the moon grew higher in the sky a large yawn escaped Steven’s mouth, snapping him outta his rapidly moving thoughts. He looked at his watch to see the time. Midnight.

“Oh, bloody-why didn’t you stop me? I’ve just dumped all my baggage you, the pretty lady I met once…well twice now I suppose…” It took him a couple of moments to process what he said. You watched as his eyes went wide before more words came tumbling from his mouth. “O-Oh bollocks, I didn’t mean pret–well I did mean pretty. You are pretty…so pretty. But I shou–There was no reas–I’m so sor–” Steven was cut off by the sound of your laughter.

When he looked at you, your eyes were scrunched up as your head tilted slightly back, the joyful sounds causing your body to move up and down. As the man took in how the moon illuminated your skin in the most perfect way he took note of just how sharp your canines were…and long. Just like the fangs of a dog, or wolf. “Steven, there is no reason to apologize.” You said after finally calming down. “If I didn’t want to be here I would have left long ago. But I like being here…with you. It’s nice.” The words got quiet as you grew nervous over the confession. It was true. After so long of watching him from the shadows, you felt so happy being able to talk with him like a normal person.

Steven’s cheeks grew pink from your words and he quickly cleared his throat. “May I walk you home? I’m afraid I kept you longer than anticipated.” And with those words the two of you began walking down the streets to your apartment. With the time being so late all the buses stopped running which allowed you to talk with Steven more. “You know…I don’t think you’re crazy.” You suddenly said while eyeing the man who held a confused expression after your statement. “Before you said that you think you're going crazy because you can’t remember how you get to some places and all of that.” You wish you could tell him the truth. Tell him about Marc and Khonshu, but you knew it wasn’t your place.

So, you did the next best thing. “You simply have a sleeping disorder. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” With a small shrug you continued. Your eyes straight ahead, ignoring the small glaces the man sent your way. “I’m not able to sleep well either. Insomnia is what they call it.” You weren’t lying. You really did have trouble sleeping and without Marc around it made it even harder. You missed him. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Steven said softly. “No need to be.” A few seconds passed before you giggled. “It’s quite funny.”

You softly bumped your hip into Steven as you continued. “You do anything to stay awake and I wish for nothing more than to fall asleep.” The night air was quickly filled with the soft laughs coming from the two of you before you eventually came to a stop. “Well…this is me.” You said while nudging your chin towards the building. It took Steven a couple seconds to piece together the route in which the two of you took and where you were at now. “Wait…” A soft smile graced your lips as you watched him.

“Bloody hell.” He said with a breathy laugh. “I-I live right across the way.” You faked surprise at the revelation. After Marc decided to let Steven create a life, the man has been making sure to keep you right across from his apartment. “Quite the small world, huh?” You replied softly. A couple of seconds passed before Steven turned to you with the chocolates he held in his hands. “I guess these are yours now, yeah? Since they were for my date.”

Once the last word left his mouth his eyes blew wide. “N-Not that this was a date. I mean it wa-it could have been…oh uh…bollocks. I didn’t mean–” Once more you cut him off with your light laughter and with a large smile, showcasing your sharp teeth he quickly grew enamored with, you took the sweets. “It was a lovely date, Steven.” He inhaled deeply and dropped his head with a smile. You watched him for a few seconds before speaking again. “Isn’t this the part where you ask for my number?” Those words caused his head to snap up. “Wha–” His eyes widened once more before he fumbled around for his phone. The man reminded you of a bunny; wide-eyed and frantic movements. “Yes! Yes, number. Right, yeah.”

-

tag list: @n1ght5h4d3-24 / @sunipostsstuff / @blackholegladiator / @ajeff855 / @daughterofthequeen / @faefanatic / @dropdeadbec / @sgt-morgan / @milk-bulb / @dev-angeline / @griffinkid2187 / @mxltifxnd0m / @badbishsblog / @local-mr-frog / @khaleesihavilliard

[pinkroseblooms]

It's Better Than Regretting

Kikaku Hanbee/f!Reader, post break up, mentions of sex and some light dirty talk (once again, minors dni) probably a little OOC but I tried. This fandom needs more content and this crazed witch like man has a place in my heart. The title is lyrics from "Crashed the Wedding" by Busted which was what inspired me to write this. Summary: Post breakup, Kikaku finds out you've agreed to a marriage of convenience. word count: 4.1k

Kikaku feels the wedding invite burning a hole in his pocket; he takes a long drink of beer, wondering for the tenth time if this is a mistake. The two of you broke up; he and you wanted different things out of life. So what if his parents were friendly with your old man? No one expected the two of you to end up together. In fact, Kikaku had been made all too aware of your father’s disapproval of him. When you got your first piercing, when you got drunk for the first time and missed an exam, when you started staying out all hours of the night frequenting different music venues, the blame was placed squarely on Kikaku’s shoulders for being a bad influence on his perfect princess.

It was always like that; your father would say he was only looking out for you, but Kikaku called it how it actually was; all he was doing was forcing his own expectations onto his only daughter. You had come to him many times, complaining about the feeling of suffocation, wondering how you were supposed to call the man “family” when you couldn’t even talk to him half the time without walking on eggshells. Kikaku didn’t have any answers, aside from telling you “Fuck that shit” and take you out for a good time. 

Eventually, inevitably, the two of you transitioned from friends to friends with benefits; sitting and nursing his beer, Kikaku tries to shove the memory out of his head to no avail. How could he forget? His band had played one of their first shows and barely anyone had showed up, and the people that did hated them. 

You had been the only friendly face at the bar, toasting to him at the end of their set with a sympathetic smile. None of his other girls were answering his texts; you were there and the two of you had a little too much to drink at his place. When the other members left and it was just you and him, Kikaku let you hug him; according to you, he looked like he really needed one, but that wasn’t all he needed. Your body was soft and your breath smelled sweet and sharp from the plum wine. Before Kikaku could communicate to his brain that his dick was acting up around you and it would be a bad idea to act out on this sudden urge, you had kissed the top of his head and squeezed him to your chest. Kikaku can’t remember too much of what happened afterward, only flashes and sensations and waking up in the morning with a raging migraine and you laying nude on the futon next to him. 

It was a good thing the two of you had for a long time until the day you had come back to his apartment and refused a make out session with a serious expression. Kikaku could have guessed the problem; it was always the problem with his main girls. They got too close, too attached, even though Kikaku really didn’t make much of a secret that he wasn’t into the whole exclusive thing. Frankly, he didn’t think what the two of you had was special. You just had the benefit of knowing him the longest and being his friend first. 

That being said, you never showed signs of jealousy or feeling hurt by Kikaku’s other lovers, so he really hadn’t expected that to be the reason you decided to end things officially and not just the sex, but everything. No more shows or take out or movie nights. No more being friends; you called it being amiable. When you crossed paths, you would say hello and engage in a little small talk. Nothing more, nothing less. Kikaku accepted without making a fuss; he was in a shitty mood for a while but hey, getting dumped is never fun.

“Is that why you ended things?” Kikaku cut right to the chase as soon as you took the stool next to him; he slid the card over to your coaster, like it was some distasteful object. “You wanted to make things serious with this guy?”

“Hello to you too. How did you get this? Oh no, just water please.” You told the bartender, who had just come over to take your order. “Kikaku, my father sent this to your parents; how did you get it?”

“Wow, you weren’t even planning to invite an old friend to such a grand occasion?” Kikaku grumbles. “Cold. I thought you said no hard feelings.”

“I heard you were busy with work; besides, since when do you enjoy going to formal parties?” You give him a wry half smile. “Unless there’s an open bar.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. Father spared no expense.” You hold your glass of water but don’t take a drink. “He set up the whole thing. I didn’t even have to worry about picking out a dress. It’s all been decided.”

“What, did he pick out the groom too?”

Kikaku snorts but your smile is nowhere to be seen; you take the invitation and push it over to him. 

“I know it’s short notice, but I’d like your parents to come if they can. They’ve always been good to me; they’ve treated me more like a daughter than he ever did.” You tell him softly. “I must look pretty lame to you, huh? Letting my father marry me off and domesticate me. Is that why you called? Did you want a good laugh?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Kikaku turns so quickly in his seat, he nearly knocks over his now empty glass. “I was joking: did your old man really pick the guy out? What, did he send out a resume or something?”

“He works at the same company; we’ve met a few times. His name’s Kenji Hazawa. He needs a wife and my father needs me to settle down. A match made in heaven.”

“So? What is wrong with you?” Kikaku’s eyes scan your face, hardly believing the words coming out of your mouth so casually. “You’re gonna let your dad marry you off to some asshole you don’t even like?”

“Stop. I do not need you, of all the people in the fucking world judging my decisions.” You fix him with a cold stare. “I gave it to you for free. You know what I get with Kenji? A comfortable life and my father finally off my back. I get freedom.”

“How?! How the hell is selling yourself to the highest bidder-?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. It’s why I never told you. That's why I stopped talking to you.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You just don’t get it, Kikaku. I’m a single woman nearly past her expiration date, father’s words not mine, and no one is letting me hear the end of it. I’m done fighting against it all by myself.”

“You don’t have to do this. He can’t force you.”

“It’s already decided. I just have to walk down the aisle and say ‘I do’ and I never have to worry about money or being looked down on again. Sweet deal, isn’t it? Sorry. I guess I’m not the cool badass bitch I thought I was.” You roll your eyes and suck in a breath of air. “I tried doing it my way and what did I get? My father is ready to disown me, everyone in my life is treating me like a joke, minus your folks.”

“I never-”

“No, no, I wasn’t a joke to you. I was a good time.” You correct yourself. “Well, now I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted and weak, alright? There, I admit it. I’ve been on my own in this and I’m sick and tired of it all. Is it really that different than you giving up music professionally for your merchandising job?”

“My job doesn’t fuck me.” 

The sentence slipped out before Kikaku could filter himself; but it’s true, isn’t it? Won’t your husband expect you to perform your wifely duties? Kikaku’s nails dig into his palms; he can’t get the image out of his head, a faceless man, on top of you, taking you as though you’re his. You might get pregnant. 

“How is this happening? She’s mine…she was mine.”

“It sounds like your job fucks you plenty.” You take a sip of water. “So, is that your issue? You won’t have the chance to get in my pants again if I’m spoken for?”

“Stop changing the subject, this isn’t about me.”

“It’s always about you.” 

Kikaku glares at you, but somehow can’t bring himself to truly be angry; you’re being so despondent and resigned. The person sitting next to him might as well be a stranger. The fire is gone from your eyes and the sly quirk of your lips is nowhere to be seen. But then, maybe that was just the face you showed him. Kikaku can’t even defend himself and say you hadn’t made him aware of what you were going through. You had, multiple times, for years. He just wasn’t taking it to heart. At some point, you apparently decided to pull back entirely. 

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I don’t hate you, Kikaku. This isn’t your business and I never meant for you to even know about the damn wedding. I’m going to get married next week and it’ll be okay. Kenji is a good man; we get along enough. We both know it’s a marriage of convenience.” You smile but it doesn’t reach your dull eyes. “Who knows? Maybe somewhere down the line we could fall in love. Either way, we’ll be content. It’s more than most people get to have.” 

“This is fucking crazy. You’re crazy.” Kikaku is hunched over the bar counter; his voice is shaking. He can’t look at you; all he can do is stare blankly at the wood panel. “You can’t be happy with this. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your blessing.” You put a few bills on the table. “Here, I still owe you for the last time we got drinks. You might not believe it, but I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m living my life for me. It’s my choice to do this, to make it all a little easier.”

“Is that the logic you’re using? Give up something to gain something you want more?” Kikaku leaves the bills on the counter, untouched. “Is it really worth it? Is this really what you want?”

“That’s also none of your business.” Despite your words, your tone is almost kind; with a faint smile, you stand up and push in the stool. “Have a goodnight, Kikaku.”

No. You can’t leave now, not like this. That smile is as fake as they come. Kikaku knows what your fake smiles look like; he’s always been able to tell how you’re feeling. He might not have been much of a comfort on your bad days, but he knew when you were having them, and he would try to make it a little better. 

When did that stop? It wasn’t his intention to make you feel uncared for. Kikaku might have played around, but it didn’t make his feelings for you any less. He was just caught up in other things. He had no idea you were having that hard of a time. 

You walk away and Kikaku doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t yell or leap from his chair to drag you from the door. He can’t feel his legs. You’re getting married. You’re going to be someone’s wife. He’ll never be able to make up with you. It’s over. You’re not going to give him the second chance Kikaku hadn’t even realized he had been hoping for. 

“She’s really gone. It’s really over. She’s getting married.” Kikaku mutters to himself. “She’s getting married and I…I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Hey don’t worry so much. Most marriages end in divorce.” The bartender comes over to collect the empty glasses. “I got married twice and we were actually in love. Besides, if it’s a marriage of convenience, maybe you can be her side piece.”

“Huh?” Kikaku glowered up at the man smiling placidly down at him. “Who the fuck asked you?!”

“Just trying to offer some comfort. I thought you guys weren’t serious anyway. How drunk are you? Don’t you recognize me?” 

“Uh…”

“Nekota? This is my bar; it has been a while, but you came here a few times with a couple of my buddies.” 

“Oh right. Usao-kun and Kumao-kun’s old friend.” Kikaku recalls. “My bad, I was…I’m kinda out of it today.” 

“I could tell. That seemed rough. Want something stronger? On me, but just this once; still gotta make those child support payments after all, haha.” Nekota laughs good naturedly as he pulls down a bottle of tequila from the middle shelf. “Hey, that’s something to drink to; you’re a young bachelor, you’ve got plenty of time to settle down if you want to.”

Settle down? Kikaku never wanted to settle down; that was why things didn’t work between him and you in the first place. He has no right to feel so deflated. 

Was there some secret part of him that hoped you would eventually come back? Well, contrary to Nekota’s assurances, Kikaku doesn’t have time. You’re going to be married in a week. You’ll be someone else’s. He won’t have a place in your world, not any more, not when you’re going to be somebody's beautiful, blushing bride. 

“She doesn’t even love him. How can she do this?”

“Come on, Kikaku, right? Here, have a drink and relax.” Nekota beckons with his hand and sets down the shot of tequila. “The little lady said so herself, it’s not your problem.”

“No. I guess it’s not.”

Nekota is right and Kikaku doesn't need a two time divorcee to lecture him on matters of the heart. You had every right to go and marry another person, for whatever reason. Kikaku isn't even your friend anymore and he's certainly not your boyfriend. You don't owe him a thing and it's not his place to step in and try to convince you to not go through with a sham marriage. You've chosen your path and he's chosen his. All he can do now is toast to your nuptial and hope for the best. He can do that much for you.

"To the bride and groom." 

"Here, here!" Nekota clinks his own shot glass with Kikaku's. "Good man, you're gonna be just fine."

"Cheers." Kikaku slurs and downs his shot in one large swallow. "Here's to the whole thing goes off without a hitch."

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

“Do you take this woman, to have and to hold, to-”

“I OBJECT! NO ONE SAY ANOTHER DAMN WORD, I OBJECT!!!”

It took Kikaku two hours to get up that morning; he had been drinking into the late hours of the night in a last ditch effort to make sure he wasn't able to be mobile today off all days. Even now, dressed sloppily in an old suit, hair hastily tied back and eyes sunken in with sleep deprivation, he feels like he’s running in a dream. The venue is quaint but tastefully decorated in pastels. There’s not many guests; he supposes your father wanted to get the wedding done with little fanfare. The objective was to tie you down, not throw a celebration. 

“Son of a bitch.” Your father is the first one to rise; he addresses you angrily. “Did you invite him?”

“N-no!” 

You look aghast, glancing rapidly between Kikaku as he comes barreling down the aisle and your soon to be husband. Kenji looks twice as confused and a little scared, which is fair, considering how haggard and demented Kikaku looks, like a twitchy spider rushing to catch its prey. You hadn’t heard a peep from Kikaku since that night and his parents had politely turned down your invite, as they had a previous engagement they were committed to attend. It was a good thing they couldn’t, because you’re certain both Kikaku’s mother and father would keel over and die from the spectacle their son is currently making of himself. 

“I said, I object!” 

"Heavens above." The priest frowns. “Not another one.”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP?” It’s a wonder Kikaku can yell so loudly when he’s barely breathing; there’ sweat stains at his collar and the underarms of his blazer. “You can’t marry these two-they shouldn’t be married!”

“Who the heck are you?” Kenji’s brows furrow and he looks at you questioningly. “Do you know this guy?”

“Yes.” You sigh. “Kikaku, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you? I could smell you from the doors. Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t any of your business?”

“I don’t care! Dammit, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass, but this isn’t about me.” Kikaku finally manages to speak without gasping. “I get it. You’re tired of dealing with your father’s bullshit and you think this is the only way out, but it’s not.”

“I’m calling the police!” Your father’s face is red and he looks ready to run up to the podium and deck Kikaku in the face. “How dare you? Haven’t you done enough? You weren’t good enough for her then and you sure as hell aren’t now.”

“Dad, you don’t need to call the police,” You look at him pleadingly. “Kikaku will leave on his own. He knows this is what I want.”

“No it’s not.” 

“Dammit, will you leave already!?” You’re the one raising your voice now; hot tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Why, Kikaku? Why are you doing this to me? Are you just upset because I won’t be available anymore? Well, too bad. Go play with one of your girlfriends and stop making a scene.”

“I’m sorry. I'll say it as many times as I have to.” Kikaku steps forward until he’s standing in front of you. “I’m sorry for not listening. I’m sorry it took me this long to get it, but you don’t have to get married.”

“What? Is this your idea of a proposal or something?”

“I don’t deserve you either. I should have been there more. I can be.” Kikaku looks at you, exhausted, desperate. “Don’t do this. Let me be there for you like I should have been all this time. You don’t have to fight on your own, not anymore. I’ll never leave you alone again.”

You blink and tears drip down your cheeks. “Kikaku,”

“I sent out messages to all the girls I was seeing last night. Look at my contact list.” Kikaku takes his phone out of his pocket and shows you the screen; his contact list only has a handful of names, people you recognize as family and work colleagues and friends. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, just…don’t marry this guy.”

“Kikaku, you’re being absolutely-!”

“Hey,” Kenji begins tentatively. “I think he makes a few good points.”

“What?” You turn to stare at your fiance. “But, I agreed to this.”

“It’s not like we’re in love.” Kenji cracks a begrudging smile. “It could’ve been nice but something tells me that’s not going to cut it.”

“I’m…I couldn’t just-”

“Also, your friend’s kinda freaking everyone out and I’m a little scared he’s going to put a curse on me.” Kenji glances at Kikaku. “You couldn’t have showered before coming to take the bride away?”

“You-!” Kikaku grabs your hand. “Just for that, you’re cursed! Everyone’s cursed! I hope the open bar is worth it assholes!” his eyes soften as he looks at your stricken face. “Can we talk somewhere more private? I think your old man is gonna kill me before the cops show up.”

You look at his hand; his palm is sweaty. 

“Please.” Kikaku’s voice is hoarse. “I won’t leave without you. I never want to go anywhere without you.”

“Damn you.” You’re really crying now. “You asshole.”

“Yeah.” Kikaku offers a weak smile; he glances down at your dress. “Oh. Wow.”

“Don’t say it.” You shake your head and wipe your eyes aggressively. “I know, it wasn't my choice.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Kikaku exhales and his grip on your hand tightens; he’s only just taking in the sight of you, dressed head to toe in a flowing white gown, dolled up and looking like an angel descended from heaven. 

Maybe he was full of shit because right now all Kikaku wants to do is take you away for himself. He brings a hand up to wipe the tears off your cheek; why do you look so sad? Is he really not wanted here? Is giving himself to you not enough?

“I’ve been a fucking mess all week.” Kikaku admits, eyes searching your face for any sign you don’t despise him. “I couldn’t sleep or eat or focus at work. I’m being shameless, you don’t have to tell me that. Maybe it’s too late for us, but I can still fix this. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just tell me what I have to do.”

You’re blushing now under his intense stare. “...take me with you.”

“What?” Kikaku leans in to catch every word. “What do you want?”

“You. I want you, Kikaku. I want you to take me out of here.” You confess, trying not to whimper as his thumb rubs your hot cheek. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Say no more.”

You hike up your skirt and kick off your heels; Kikaku leads the way, the two of you ignore the shouts and gasps and threats being hurled your way by your father. Your eyes stay glued on the hand still clutching onto yours and you run, run, run until the car is in sight, decked out in flowers and a “Just Married” sign on the back. Kikaku opens the passenger side door and guides you into the backseat, even lifting the hem of your skirt so the door doesn’t close on it. The driver, rightfully skeptical and a bit horrified, practically throws the keys at Kikaku when he screeches for them. 

“I think everyone assumes you’re some sort of demon here to kidnap me.” You watch as the driver races up the steps of the venue, probably to explain why he’s left his post. “We’re going to have to return the car.”

“For now we drive,” Kikaku turns the keys, backs out of the parking space, and slams his foot on the gas. 

“This is fun for you, isn’t it?”

“A little.” Kikaku laughs, suddenly quite cheerful. “I’m relieved. I thought I was going to lose you…again. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m still on the fence about that.” You tell him warily, taking off your veil. “Did you really mean all that?”

“I might have lied a tiny bit about not wanting to steal you away. I want you for myself. I know it’s not fair to you, but that’s how I feel. I was going crazy.” Kikaku looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You look really good right now.”

“Thanks.” You adjust your seat belt. “Eyes on the road.”

“I want to fuck you in the dress.” Kikaku blurts out. “Let’s get a hotel and pretend we’re married to get a free bottle of champagne.”

“Aren’t you still hungover?”

“Hair of dog. Besides, this calls for a celebration.” Kikaku smirks a little. “I know it’s scary the first time, but I’ll be gentle with my pretty little bride.”

“Kikaku, was this all so you could play out some weird little fantasy?” You grumble. “I’m gonna jump out of this car and run back and see if Kenji will reconsider.”

“No! I was half joking…I just want you so bad.”

“Kikaku,” You cross your arms. “I mean it, I’m not in the mood for any teasing.”

“I meant it all. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” One of Kikaku’s hands leaves the steering wheel; his playful smile is gone. “Do you not want me anymore? I don’t expect you to believe in me, after everything…but do you want to try again?”

For a tense moment, Kikaku thinks his chest will explode; he might actually die if you say no, even if you have every right to reject him. But then you take his hand and interlock your fingers. You smile, a little exasperated, but it’s a real, genuine smile. It practically blinds him; Kikaku has half a mind to beg you to marry him then and there. There’s still time and Kikaku plans to use it making you fall in love with him so you never regret today.

“Yes.” You kiss the back of his hand and smile brighter than he’s ever seen. “I do.” 

[onthecusk]

nine-to-five | chapter 1 (now: don't call me angel)

summary: Ikeda Fuyumi desperately needs a new job. Enter Gojo Satoru, her insufferable ex-boyfriend-slash-academic rival who happens to show up in the office at her job interview welcoming her with a pathetic Fifty Shades joke. Surely, she would have to turn the opportunity down—except she doesn't. Now Gojo isn't just her insufferable ex-boyfriend-slash-academic rival but her colleague as well, possibly even more as they spend time working together. And with an equally attractive girl like Fuyumi around, Gojo is sure that his job isn't the only thing he'll be treating like a nine-to-five. What could happen?

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!OC (office AU)

note on the pairing: the idea is that it's a fem reader. but since i dislike "y/n" and writing in second person to refer to the reader, i came up with an oc to make it easier and more enjoyable for me to write. but you can imagine yourself as the oc or whatever you please!

tags/content warnings: (+18) MDNI, heavy smut, praise (and i mean lots of praise), eventual smut, enemies with benefits, alternating timelines, office au, fluff, slow burn (kinda?), suggestive dialogues, dirty talk, pining, second chances, satoru gojo is his own warning

word count: 2k

author's note: hi thanks for reading! this was originally posted on ao3, but after much deliberation, i've decided to cross-publish it on tumblr. i started writing and planning this fanfic last year, but was put on hold because uni happened. i'm so excited to finally be continuing the story 🤍 please like and reblog (or comment, would love to hear your thoughts too!) if you enjoyed reading. i'm a new account so i would appreciate it sm <3 i'll make a masterlist soon!

FUYUMI

“Mr. Grey will see you now.”

Contrary to the “universally acknowledged truth” pertaining to a certain Mr. Darcy, a man in possession of a good fortune is definitely not in want of a wife, but of an ex-girlfriend to pester and perturb. Case in point: Gojo Satoru.

Because here I am, on a bright Tuesday afternoon, trapped in a room with my maniacal ex-boyfriend-slash-nemesis, pathetically enduring one of his lame jokes (he chose a Fifty Shades of Grey reference this time, like the brat that he is and always has been, always was) that were always either diabolical or dirty—there is no in-between. But as much as I wanted to react, as is my right to, I couldn’t help but simply freeze in place, my hand still holding onto the door handle keeping the heavy door ajar, as if the feel of the cold metal bar in my palm would keep me safe from whatever danger this situation has to offer. How on earth did I get myself into this? How is he here?

“Cat got your tongue?” Satoru teases, with a conceited smirk plastered on his face. 

“Pervert,” I say through gritted teeth as I snap back to reality, “That wasn’t funny. What are you doing here?"

Most importantly, where the fuck have you been?

"This isn’t your office," I continue. "I’m supposed to be doing this interview with Mr. Nanami Kento and I checked twice to make sure this was the right room.”

“And it is, we’re in his office—but ’Mr.’ Nanami Kento had an urgent meeting to attend to so he couldn’t make it,” he says, putting emphasis on “Mr.” as if it had been malicious of me to address a stranger who quite literally holds the fate of my employment in his hands that way.

“And you just magically appeared out of thin air to save the day? After all these years?"

“If it’s you who needs saving, why wouldn’t I?”

His signature smirk is still intact on his stupid face. I try very hard to compose myself and put on a professional front despite this situation being silly enough to make me want to throw up and cry at the same time.

“Alright, that's enough. I’ll see myself out and ask Mr. Nanami to reschedule my interview,” I confidently respond. “Thanks for your time.”

Or maybe I’ll just quit while I’m ahead and not push through with the interview at all. That way, I’ll personally eliminate my chances of having to see Satoru ever again. I bow my head and turn around to exit the room.

“Fuyumi,” Satoru calls out, now in a different tone—firmer, and there definitely was a cold ring to his voice this time. It always surprised me how quickly he could dabble with his moods to accurately accommodate whatever the current situation required of him. I could never acclimate to my surrounding as confidently as he does and seeing him in action can be scary sometimes. “Can we start over?”

I wince at how intentional that question was. With it coming from his mouth, I didn’t have to think too hard to know it was his tricky way of making me think it could mean starting our relationship or my interview over again. It’s one or the other and I hate myself for still being delusional over some of the things Satoru says when I know he does it on purpose every single damn time.

“The interview, I mean,” Satoru says. And then a beat. “I know what’s on your mind. Don’t get ahead of yourself, angel.”

“Don’t call me angel,” I retort.

“What do you mean?" he says. "It’s a compliment, darling.”

“It’s demeaning and invalidating," I reply sternly. "Especially coming from you. And don’t call me that either.”

“You mean ‘darling’?" he teases. "Sure, whatever you say, angel.”

“I said stop it, or else—“ I abruptly stop, realizing halfway through my sentence that I didn't have anything else to say.

“Hm?” he hums, then smirks.

“Or else, what?” he adds. God, just shut up.

“I’m ignoring you," I say, avoiding his gaze like my life depended on it.

“No, tell me," he tilts his head on the side. "Or else what, Fuyumi? What are you gonna do?”

I take a deep breath and say, "Can we please move on from this?"

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, angel.”

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. I’m out," I snap, turning my back on him to head towards the door once more.

I hear footsteps rushing towards me from behind. Before I have completely made my way out, Satoru is there, his body a few inches away from mine. His left hand is suddenly on the door, slamming it shut with just enough force so as not to make too much noise. 

“Right, whatever, I shouldn’t have said those things, huh?” He says and I’m taken aback by his random sincerity. “But I know how talented and capable you are, so, will you tolerate me a bit more? I’ll be professional this time. Just until we finish this interview, yeah? We really need someone as… good as you, Fuyumi.”

This is weird—Satoru rarely took conversations seriously. But I badly need this job, what choice do I have?

I guess it’s about time I address the elephant in the room: Gojo Satoru is my ex-boyfriend, as I’ve already mentioned. Once upon a time, it was 2006, and he was my most insufferable academic rival. One thing led to another and next thing you know, we were in a relationship—a childish one at that; we were only sixteen. The last time I’d seen him was 11 years ago when we broke up in the summer of that same year. What he had done humiliated me so much that I had to transfer to a different school the following semester. Which is why he has no business looking as smug and self-assured as he is right now—after what he’d done to me all those years ago. At this rate, I’d rather be locked up in solitary confinement, seriously. 

“Just out of curiosity, why did you leave Kawaguchi Publishing?” Satoru asks after several routine interview questions.

“Well, I would like to keep things strictly professional and I could say things just didn’t work out between me and my previous employer, but that would make it seem like I’m the problem,” I pause, contemplating. “My previous boss, he—well, I don’t know if I should be saying this but—“ I fiddle with the hem of my skirt.

“My previous boss made a pass at me,” I finally say. “I didn’t want to keep working for that kind of person. It’s against everything I stand for.”

Satoru clenches his jaw.

“I handled it fine,” I say. “I filed a lawsuit against him and had him fired. There’s no need to get all tensed up.”

“It’s just,” Satoru clears his throat. “Never mind.” I know that look on his face, I know it all too well. He’s holding back from saying something out of pocket—like he’d kill that man and do everything in his power to get back at him. I’d have protected you if I were there. But I see it, he’s holding back. And I prefer that he is. I don’t want this interaction to be anything more than a job interview. 

After a couple more questions, Satoru wraps up the interview and composes himself, placing my documents back in its folder. I stand up and reach my hand out to him, “Alright, I appreciate your professionalism. Thanks for your time.” My gesture is screaming Thank you but I’d feel better if you let me go now, this is too awkward. And just like that, his smirk is back. He doesn’t acknowledge nor shake my hand. Instead, he continues to sit pretty on the swivel chair that isn’t even his to begin with, maintaining eye contact with me, devilishly prolonging my corporate imprisonment. I wish I could say that he looks horrible—a gremlin, the personification of Gollum, an ugly, sloth-looking know-it-all. But no, he’s the opposite of all that. He’s attractive, especially from this angle—with me looking down on him. Or do I like how he’s looking up at me like that? All I see is blue. Like the ocean. I want to walk and sink into his eyes and never come back.

“What are you thinking, angel?” Satoru teases as he notices me staring at him. God, this is stupid. I’m so stupid.

“Oh, not much,” I play along. “Just how badly I want to strangle you right now.” 

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t like that.”

“Oh yeah? Not when my intention is to kill you.”

“Cupcake," he exhales. I cringe. That damned nickname, the one he occasionally used on me whenever he tried to get on my nerves in high school. "I could think of other ways you could kill me or, as the poets say, suck the life out of me," he smirks, like the devil I've always known. "Out of my—"

"Said no poet ever," I interrupt with a hint of sarcasm. "But sure. Hmm, let's see. I'd love to put little Satoru through a meat grinder."

"You mean my dick? Ouch," he winces, faking a pained expression. "If so, then you'd need the biggest meat grinder the world has ever seen."

A beat. I mentally scramble over my thoughts thinking of the perfect comeback. But I couldn't think fast enough when his ever-striking blue eyes are piercing through mine.

God. No.

We're not doing this.

"So, what else?" he smirks, again. "Is that all you got? Tell me more. You'd be surprised at how much I can handle."

“That so?” I scoff. “But I wouldn’t feel too proud about ‘how much I can handle’ if my sleep-deprived neighbors complained too often about some girl regularly screaming my name at night. Oh wait—that’s you. That’s not very neighborly, Satoru.”

Satoru slightly raises both of his arms and claps loudly, clearly a celebratory motion that was meant to piss me off. He hasn’t changed one bit.

“Thanks for acknowledging the fact that I’m so ridiculously good at pleasing my women, angel.”

I have no idea how many girls came after me and Satoru's love life definitely is none of my business. But I'm not quite sure how I feel about the thought of him making love to someone else—to another girl. My stomach sunk thinking about it just now, as if my organs were carving a hollow onto themselves—a hollow I never even knew existed.

Still, I think about Satoru making some other girl feel good and it makes me want to vomit. I feel sick. What is this feeling? I mean, after over a decade, I know I was sure about one thing. That I hate him. I hate Gojo Satoru, as I should. I was sure about it then, and I still am sure about it now.

“Are we done here? Because I actually have things to do—and sitting around in someone else’s office instead of doing their job isn’t one of them.” I start picking my things up and Satoru stands up, chuckling at my remark. If I’m offered this job and I take it, I wonder how many trips to the HR I’m going to have to make to get Satoru off my back. 

“Sure.” A smirk. There it is again.

I fake a smile and head to the door—for real this time. But Satoru follows closely behind and holds the door open for me. 

“I look forward to having you work under me,” he says. “If you know what I mean.”

“Definitely. You'll see me in HR filing a complaint.”

How do you quit a job before you’re even hired?

to be continued...

© onthecusk. all rights reserved. please do not reproduce, copy, republish, or translate any portion of my work without my permission. thank you for reading 🤍

[themaladaptivewriter12]

Title: (They'll be calling me) Royalty

Part 4 of my “The Lion's Den” series! Part 1, 2, and 3 here!

Parings: Implied Leona x Mirai but not really. They're getting there tho

Summary:

“Because what?!” Mirai yelled. “Because I was tired,” Leona yelled. “Be-Because I'm tired of always being second! No matter what I do, I’ll always be second best! I was born second, my dorm is second, even in the sport I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember I’m second! I’m always second!”

cw: Overblot Leona, canon injuries, Mirai get's injured, nothing severe, hurt comfort,

a/n: I also might have listened to Jonathan Young's cover of "Be Prepared" on loop while writing this lololol. Also, title inspired by Royalty by Egzod, Meastro Chives, Neoni!

a/n: This is not a "Bullies to lovers". Just putting that out there. I wanna show Mirai's and Leona's process of trust and eventual love.

Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do!  (─‿‿─)♡

Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12

It's kinda long, sorry. I might break this one up, but who knows ┐(´∀｀)┌

Classes for the day were uneventful. Ace, Deuce, and Grim bickered like they normally did, Coach Vargas was loud as always, and lunch was as it always was. But the school seemed to have a certain buzz about it, and Mirai couldn’t figure out what it was, so he thought to ask Ace and Deuce about it.

“The annual fall Spelldrive Tournament is coming up,” Ace said excitedly, “How did you not know?!” 

“Gee,” Mirai said sarcastically, “I wonder why I wouldn't know about such a huge NRC event?”

Sometimes it irked Mirai with how much everyone here forgot that one, he didn’t know magic, and two, that he wasn’t from their world. I mean, how could they forget when they were around him every single day?!

“Sevens! What crawled up your butt today?!”

“Did you forget that I’m not from here? How am I supposed to know what’s the norm around here?”

“That’s all you had to say,” Ace sneered, “Why you gotta take it out on me?!”

“Maybe because I expect my best friend to remember something so important about me,” Mirai growled out.

“Alright,” Jack soothed, “calm down. It’s alright.”

Mirai and Ace both grumbled to themselves, their arms crossed petulantly. 

“The Spelldrive Tournament is between the dorms or the school,” Epel supplied.

“Each dorm fights for the bragging rights of having the best Spelldrive team, and Diasomnia has held the spot for the past three years! No thanks to Lord Malleus, of course,” Sebek boasted.

Ace groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Every dorm will appoint their best players and train until the end of the month,” Jack said. “Housewarden Leona has already made his team.”

“So it’s an enchanted version of football, got it,” Mirai muttered. 

Maybe that was why Leona had been so distant lately? If this was as important to the school, then maybe Leona just had his head in the game is all?

“What’s football?” Jack asked.

“Okay, so, you have two teams,” Mirai began.

The next day was as eventful as any school day goes. In Professor Trein’s class, they were doing a unit test. Mirai was pretty sure as always, he was gonna score just over passing, keeping his grades at a constant C. The test wasn’t hard, but that was what Mirai was afraid of. He was pretty sure he butchered that last half on magic in the Briar Valley, and at lunch, Ace, Deuce and Grim had their complaints about it.

“If I don’t pass this test, Ima be benched again,” Ace sighed, head in his hands. 

“I told you guys to study,” Jack chided. “Epel and I had a study session last weekend.”

“Who wants to spend their weekend studying?” Grim grumbled.

“If you wanna pass, you do,” Sebek shouted.

“I think I did pretty good,” Deuce said.

“Oh?” Ace taunted, “What makes Juice so sure?”

“It’s Deuce! Not Juice,” Deuce grumbled angrily. “And I got some help from Trey yesterday. I’m not saying the whole thing was easy, but I feel I did a good job for the majority of it.”

“That’s good,” Epel nodded with a smile, “I hope it all goes well for you.”

“Thanks,” Deuce smiled. 

Ace scoffed, annoyed. 

“What about you, Mirai?” Jack asked. “Mirai?”

Mirai was sitting with his chin resting in his hand, eyes staring off and out the window.

“Mirai?” Grim asked, paw tapping Mirai on the shoulder.

“Ah,” Mirai jumped, “Yeah? What is it?”

“You okay, Human?” Sebek asked.

“He’s probably bummed out because he failed that test,” Ace teased.

“I did not,” Mirai shot back. “The only part I had trouble with was the Briar Valley.”

“How was that even hard?!” Sebek shouted.

“Dude,” Deuce sighed, “You live in the Briar Valley.” 

“And cut Mirai some slack,” Epel pouted, “he’s not from here, remember?”

Sebek grumbled, turning his head away from Epel. 

“Then how do you think you did?” Ace asked, smirking slyly.

“I bet I just passed,” Mirai said, as if just passing was something to be proud of.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim busted out laughing.

“Oh yeah,” Ace laughed, “because “just passing” is anything to be proud of.”

“At least I won’t be benched.” 

The rest of the group had to stop Ace from lunging over the table at Mirai. 

Mirai didn’t see Leona or Ruggie that day either.

Wednesday was another bummer day. In gym class they were playing dodgeball in the indoor gym and it was pure torture. A couple of students on the opposing team decided to make it their goal to get Mirai and Grim out first. That promptly resulted in a trip to the infirmary for Mirai after he got a ball to the face, a scolding from Coach Vargas after Ace and Deuce both chucked a ball at the perpetrator's face, and yet another scolding, but this one was for Grim because he tried to set the guy on fire. Well, at least Sam had gotten a new shipment of cheesecake, and was saving a slice just for Mirai.

And when Thursday afternoon came around, Mirai wanted to do nothing but go buy some junk food from Sam and go binge watch a show that Cater had recommended. Grim, Ace, Deuce and the dodgeball guy were all punished for the rest of the week, the four of them stuck cleaning the gym, and as for Mirai, his face still hurt. His nose wasn’t broken, just a tad bruised, and to top it all off, his head also hurt, but it was nothing a couple of painkillers couldn't fix. 

As the days went by, things surrounding the Spelldrive Tournament started to go sour, but, then again, when did things go smoothly in a place like Night Raven College? Soon after the teams were picked, and the students from all dorms were getting pumped for the competition, multiple students from multiple dorms started to get injured. First it was a couple of students from Heartslabyul, even Trey, and then it spread like wildfire across the campus. 

Students were falling down the stairs, burning themselves, cutting themselves, and even the Vice of Scarabia had been affected. At that point, it started to look like sabotage more than an accident. But the weird thing is, all of the students affected had the same story, it felt as if they had no control of their bodies. Well they were just gonna have to get to the bottom of it, even Mirai really didn’t want to.

Mirai walked the empty halls of the main building. It was always so peaceful, when there were no classes in session, no students walking the halls, no one to bother him. The golden afternoon always looked best on campus, covering everything in its warm glow. With all that’s been going on, the Spelldrive Tournament, and playing detective by order of the Headmage, Mirai was tired.

They went to almost every dorm to try and find the culprit, which didn’t go well at all. The twins from Octavinelle chased them, and then when they entered Savanaclaw, the dorm tried to fight them, and Leona, who was more territorial than usual, challenged them to an unfair spelldrive match. All of this was honestly getting out of hand. Mirai could care less about Spelldrive, Mirai didn't get the big whoop about it, and he honestly didn’t get why Grim wanted to play so much. But then again, maybe that was Grim’s way of trying to fit in. Mirai could understand, he wanted to fit in as well, he was tired of being the outcast.

Mirai made his way to an empty classroom, and looked out the window. From here, he could see the street where the vendor's stalls were being set up for game day. Game day. The day of the tournament, the day they would take action. Mirai sighed once more. What should have been a day of fun and togetherness, not that Mirai would think these guys would come together for anything, is now a day of uncertainty that was leaving a knot in his stomach. And it was all because of Savanaclaw.

It didn’t take long to finally trace it all back to Savanaclaw, to trace it back to Leona, and honestly, Mirai didn’t know what he was feeling. Why? Why would Savanaclaw, Ruggie, Leona, hurt all those people? They hurt Trey, they hurt Jamil, and everyone else. They lied to them, sent them on this wild goose chase, they stole from them, and what about their plan?

Why would they plan to put all those people in danger? What about the innocent students, the innocent supporters? The children who might be there? And for what? Because Savanaclaw didn’t have the guts to play fairly? Because Leona didn’t have the guts to play fairly? And for what?!

Mirai’s phone buzzed in his pocket, shaking him from his thoughts. “What’s up?” Mirai answered.

“Where are you, man?” Ace asked from the other end. “Where meeting up to go over the plan one last time.”

“Where are you?” Mirai asked, leaving the classroom.

“Courtyard.”

“I’m coming,” Mirai said, hanging up.

Yelp, Mirai guessed he’d get his answer tomorrow.

It was the day of the tournament and their plan had worked. The remaining teams were saved, the lay people were safe, and they had backed Ruggie and Leona into a corner. Mirai didn’t know what to feel. He knew who was behind all of this, he knew, and yet, seeing it up close, hearing it with his own ears, it was like a slap in the face. He thought his friends were better than that, but to put innocent people in harm's way, Mirai couldn’t ease the betrayal he felt.

Mirai didn’t know what to make of the cold, sadistic smile Leona held as he turned Ruggie into sand. He didn’t know what to make of bitterness that seeped off of the Beastman in waves as his plans were foiled right before his eyes. 

Leona laughed bitterly, “Yeah, you're probably right. No, you're exactly right! I will never become king. No matter how hard I try!”

He should be angry like Jack was, he should feel betrayed like Ruggie did, he should rub this in Leona’s face like Lilia just did, he should be smug like Ace and Deuce were about being one step ahead of the Beastman, but he couldn’t. 

“I've been loathed since the day I was born. I've never had a place, never had a future,” Leona grit out, a dark dreadful atmosphere seeping around the group. “None of my hard work is ever rewarded! How could any of you possibly understand? My disappointment?! My pain?!”

Leona roared, the sound was so loud, Mirai felt as if the entire stadium was falling apart with it. Leona screamed in agony as he held his head in his hands, the ground cracked and fissured beneath him, a dark black mist emitting off of his body. The group watched in horror as Leona’s screams turned into morbid laughter, and when he looked up at them, his hands were covered in the jet black ink, just like the ink-like tears that were dripping from his eyes. 

Mirai wanted to reach out to him, tell him that it was okay, that he was there for him, but he couldn’t, because that would be a lie. He was never there for him, and things were far from okay. Those words, compared to Leona's feelings, were null. He couldn't move his feet from that spot, he couldn’t get any words out, they were stuck in his throat. Just like Riddle, he was Overblotting.

The winds began to pick up, carrying sand around with them. They began to vortex around the Savanaclaw Housewarden, and suddenly, the atmosphere changed. It washed over them as quick as an exhale. It felt like a thunderstorm, it felt charged, yet so calm, like the moment right before a lightning strike. Not a second later, the winds caved, then exploded, with dark magic, sand, and debris, the gust sent everyone flying, as the group tried to shield themselves from the blow. 

“You guys okay?” Riddled coughed, brushing himself off.

“A-okay here,” Cater muttered, picking himself up.

“I thought I was a goner,” Grim whined, rubbing his furry face into Mirai’s shirt.

“Guys?” Deuce called wearily, “look.”

Standing in the middle of the clearing as the smoke and dust cleared was no longer Leona, certainly not the one Mirai had come to know. Dark magic and blot oozed off of him in waves. It swirled and spiraled with sand, dying everything around him black. He was different, even his clothes were different.

“I dunno what's going on, but if we hit Leona hard enough, maybe we can snap him outta it?” Jack more like stated, readying himself. 

Ruggie staggered forward, coughing as he tried to steady himself, “I-I'll help too. N-No way I'm t-taking what he said lying down!”

“Take it easy, yeah?” Mirai asked.

Ruggie waved the Prefect off, pulling out his magic pen.

“So even the lowly hyena turns against me?” Leona laughed snarkily with a scoff, “What an absolute joke!”

“Ya think Ima just, just bow my head after that s-stunt you just pulled?!” Ruggie rasped. “Notta chance!”

Leona growled as lunged at them, his first attack coming in fast.

“Guys,” Mirai yelled, “He’s coming for us!”

Leona pounced on the group, and they all scattered. Mirai tried to dodge the attack the best he could, but he wasn’t quick enough, the shockwave sending Mirai flying as he rolled to a stop a few feet away.

“You okay, Human?!” Grim called, running to Mirai’s side.

“Yeah,” Mirai smiled, petting the little monster’s head, “I’m fine.”

“Hate to break up the precious moment guys, but we got trouble,” Ace shouted as Leona came at them again.

The group sent a flurry of attacks at Leona, and yeah he was taking quite the beating, but that didn’t stop Leona from standing his ground and dishing out some attacks of his own, every single one of them more powerful than the last.

“H-He, he just won’t go down,” Ruggie heaved.

“Take it easy, Ruggie,” Jack said, placing a hand on Ruggies shoulder. 

“I’ll take it easy when things are back to the way they should be.”

“You okay, Ruggie?” Mirai called from where he was hiding behind one of the bleachers.

“A-Okay,” Ruggie said, flashing Mirai a smile.

As the fight waned on, the group was beginning to falter. Between spells being casted wrong, missing their target, and more than a few close calls, they all needed a plan, and fast.

“You idiots think you can beat me?!” Leona roared, sending a powerful wind attack into Ruggie, sending the poor Hyena tumbling. 

“Ruggie,” Jack called, running to his side.

Leona leapt to Ruggie and Jack, but suddenly he was blocked by a wall of fire. He turned his green eyes to Riddle, who was standing a few ways away to his right.

Leona sneered down at Riddle, voice sarcastic, “Oh, I quiver with fear!”

The Beastman turned his attention to Riddle, sending his Blot Incarnate to attack, the mangled lion beast slashing at Riddle. The Heartslabyul Housewarden dodged the attacks, fending them off with his own.

“You don’t deserve the throne, and to be quite frank, I hope you never get to sit down on it,” Ace sneered, moving to guard his Housewarden.

“I will be king,” Leona yelled, stomping his foot down, and suddenly a barrage of green lightning struck the ground from the dark skies, the sandy Earth shaking with every hit.

“Look out,” Riddle yelled.

The group jumped in every direction, dodging the powerful strikes, the ground singed and burnt in its wake. They were split up, Cater with Riddle to the far left, Ace, Deuce, and Grim to the far right, Jack still was guarding Ruggie’s injured form ways behind the Group, and Mirai was left alone, smack dab in the middle. 

“Guys,” Mirai called from his hiding spot, “Take it easy! We can’t fall here!”

Leona locked eyes with Mirai and began to advance on him. 

“Mirai,” Deuce yelled. “Get away from him!”

Mirai scrambled to his feet as he tried to dodge all the attacks sent his way. A ball of wind magic exploded on his left, then a ball of lightning on his right, both sending the Ramshackle Prefect across the sandy field. 

“Mirai,” Cater yelled. 

“I-I’m, I’m alright,” Mirai coughed, stumbling away from the Overblotting Housewarden.

“Where are you going, Herbivore?” Leona sneered, stalking after him.

Mirai didn’t know what was scarier, the Housewarden himself, or the fact that he was walking instead of running behind him. Pulling himself up the bleachers, Mirai sprinted up the stairs, tripping over his own feet as the ground shook from Leona’s Blot Incarnate’s attacks.

“Over here you oversized house cat,” Ace yelled, shooting a ball of fire at Leona.

Leona growled, getting down on all fours, dodging the attack. He jumped up onto the poll to his left, and using the balls of his feet, Leona pushed himself off it, landing on the bleachers next to the Ramshackle Prefect. Mirai’s head snapped beside him with a gasp, not waiting a second more to scurry up the stairs and inside. 

“Mirai,” Cater shouted.

The guys tried to go up and stop them but Leona sent his Blot Incarnate after them, the beast blocking the path.

“Mirai,” Deuce yelled, trying to round the monster, but got pushed back.

“We have no choice,” Riddle huffed, readying himself.

“Bu-”

“There’s no time,” Cater gruffed, eyes steely and narrowed. “If we split up now, we’ll fail.”

“The Prefect will be fine,” Ruggie huffed, voice hoarse.

“He better be,” Grim grumbled.

 Mirai ran down the hall, the only light being the open archway behind him. It was unsettling with how quiet it was in there, even with all the chaos outside, the only sound Mirai could hear was his own breathing and footsteps. The sandstorm outside made its way in here as well, sandy grains coating the floors, the dust filling the air, making it hard to breath and the floors slippery.

The ground shook and a dark shadow loomed over the hall, Mirai didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. “Why do you run from me, Herbivore?” Leona called, “Scared?”

Mirai didn’t answer, picking up his pace as he veered right and down another hall. The lights flickered eerily, casting deep shadows along the walls. Leona walked along behind him, the lights began to flicker out, not coming back on at all, the hallways behind them a pitch black. 

“Come on, Herbivore, join me,” Leona chuckled, “I know it sounds sordid, but just think of how you’ll be rewarded, when at last I am given my dues.”

Mirai twisted every knob, pushing every door he passed to get away from the lion. He was getting tired and the blows he had indirectly taken earlier were taking a toll on his back. Mirai’s breathing was haggard and the dusty air was burning his eyes and his chest. 

“You can have anything you want,” Leona persuaded, “gold, respect, it’s all yours. You’ll never go hungry again!”

Mirai pulled open a door, and ran inside, it was a locker room. Mirai sprinted through the rows of benches and lockers, hiding around the corner. Mirai tried to quiet his breathing but the burning in his chest was unbearable. He could hear the door open, swinging shut, and Leona’s maniacal laughter echoed through the room.  

“I can see it now, I’ll be all time adored,” Leona rambled, the distortion in his voice sending chills down Mirai’s spine. “And you will be right beside me since that little scavenger lost his chance. What do you say?”

Mirai scooted down the aisle, moving away from the direction his voice was coming from. Mirai was scared, and he was pretty sure Leona knew that as well, and for the first time, Mirai was wondering if he was gonna make it out alive.

“Answer me,” Leona roared, a loud banging sound rattling the lockers. 

The room suddenly lit up with green and by the time he figured out what it was, Mirai’s entire being was electrified. Mirai cried out, falling forward, his hand clutching his chest. He couldn’t describe the feeling, but Mirai knew for sure that he never wanted to feel it again. It was worse in his prosthetic, and Mirai wanted it off. As best as he could, Mirai ripped the metal limb off, his body collapsing onto the floor. 

Mirai could still feel the magic coursing through his veins, his body spasming with every beat of his heart. He couldn’t catch his breath, as he heaved through the pain. He couldn’t see through the tears in his eyes, and his blood burned, the magic feeling like liquid fire in his veins. 

Loud footsteps echoed off the walls, and Mirai didn’t have the strength to look up at their owner. “Why do you struggle?” Leona growled, his clawed hand clamping around the back of Mirai’s neck.

The grip was strong, it was cold, void of the normal warmth it had, and wet with ink. It ran down Leona’s arms and coated his hands, black droplets dripping from the points of his nails. Mirai didn’t struggle as Leona lifted him, forcing him to look up at him. Mirai could feel the dark power emitting off of him, he could feel the wet of the ink, running down his neck, staining his shirt in little rivulets.

“Submit to me,” Leona muttered, pulling Mirai close, “Stop fighting me.”

“N-No,” Mirai git out.

“Why not? Why do you resist me? I can give you the world! Just you and me above all.”

“I don’t want that.”

Leona dropped to his knees, holding Mirai by his arms, “Then what do you want? Tell me.”

“I want Leona back,” Mirai pleaded. “Please stop this.”

“You have me,” Leona growled, his grip getting tighter, “I’m ten times the man he ever was!”

Mirai flinched at Leona’s tone of voice, his eyes closing in fear. Ink dripped down Mirai’s arms, it was hot, it was nearly burning his skin. Mirai didn’t like the look in Leona’s eyes, he didn’t like the way he was treating him, he was scared.

“Y-You’re hurting me,” Mirai gasped, Leona’s claws suddenly prickling his skin.

“Then behave, and I won’t have to hurt you,” Leona smirked, running the back of his finger along Mirai’s cheeks, leaving black streaks in its wake.

“I thought I understood you,” Mirai grit out, “I even saw you a-as a friend! B-But this?! All of this is not what I expected from the guy I respected.”

Leona seemed taken aback, and Mirai used that lapse in his attention to reach behind him and grab a handful of sand. The chances of this working were slim to none, but he had to try, he had to get out of the room. As quick as he could, Mirai threw the sand into Leona’s face, and much to Mirai’s luck, Leona immediately let him go with a shout, his hands flying to his eyes. Mirai felt bad as he shot up, grabbing his arm, rushing out the room and down the hall, but Leona deserved it. He wasn’t gonna talk to him like that, he wasn’t gonna treat him like that.

Mirai didn’t get far when the locker room before the door flew from the hinges, slamming against the opposite wall. Leona was fuming, a vortex of sand and lightning swirling around him.

“I was gonna let you go, Herbivore,” Leona sneered, “but now, you’re first.”

Mirai yelped, jumping down to the ground as the door was kicked into his direction, flying over his head, and into the far wall at the end of the hall. Stumbling to his feet, Mirai turned the corner, the archway he had entered coming into view. The lights flickered on and off, and when Leona turned the corner, Mirai’s stomach dropped.

“Get over here,” Leona yelled, sending a gust of wind down the narrow hallway. 

Mirai braced for impact as the magic slammed into him, sending him flying out the door and into the air, over the bleachers. 

“There,” Ruggie yelled. 

“Ace, Cater,” Riddle commanded, “Catch him!”

“Yes, Housewarden Riddle,” the two card soldiers nodded.

With a gust of wind, Ace and Cater sent themselves flying, Cater catching the Prefect and Ace lessening their fall. 

“You okay?!” Deuce asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Mirai stuttered, clearly shaken.

“After decades of denial, this is simply why I'll be king,” Leona laughed, the sandstorm getting stronger, “undisputed, respected, saluted, and seen for the wonder I am! Long live the king!” 

The group dodged more and more strong attacks, it didn’t seem like Leona was getting any weaker, in fact, it seemed as if he was stronger, which was concerning. If they couldn’t stop him, it meant that all the innocent people would be in trouble, it meant the entire school would be in trouble, and far worse, it meant Leona would die.  

They needed a plan, and fast, and Mirai thought of one. Leona’s attention was on the rest of the group, and that meant Leona didn’t care where Mirai was. One of the bleachers gave way and sitting next to him was a very large metal pipe. That would do. Mirai crept his way up and around the bleachers, making his way behind Leona and his Blot Incarnate. Mirai would have to make sure it didn’t see him before he got to Leona. 

Riddle, Deuce, Cater, and he had been shouting at each other, trying to figure out their next move, when Ace had seen him. Ace didn’t know whether Mirai was plain stupid or had a death wish. Why was Mirai, Magicless Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, making his way to Leona with a pipe?!

Ace nudged Deuce and and subtly pointed, and when Deuce caught wind of the situation, his face went pale. The others noticed the change in mood and Riddle went red in seconds.

“Fynya?!” Grim screeched, “Stupid human! What are you doing?!”

The others began to shout at Grim, and Leona snapped his head around, his and Mirai’s eyes meeting. Mirai’s heart stopped, his breath catching in his chest. Mirai couldn’t even catch his breath before he was snatched up and lifted off his feet, the pipe clattering to the ground.

The guys shouted and screamed out for Mirai as they threw a barrage of attacks at Leona, only for his Blot Incarnate to block them all and send the group flying with its charged attack. 

Leona chuckled darkly, a sadistic smirk on his face. “I don’t know what's more insulting, you nobodies thinking you can defeat me, or you, Prefect, thinking you could stop me.”

Mirai struggled in Leona’s grasp, his battle for air more important than the harsh words Leona was spitting at him. 

“It’s pathetic, really. Did you forget your place? You can’t beat me. If I can’t have the world, then I’ll just have to turn everything to sand. And I’ll start with you.”

Mirai skin started to burn, it felt as if it was being rubbed with sand paper. Mirai gasped, his hands clawing at Leona’s. 

“L-Le-Leona,” Mirai gasped. “L-Let g-go, le-let me go.”

“Why should I?” Leona growled out. “You're just like them. Look down on me like I'll never be enough, you pity me.”

“N-No, I don’t. I don’t, I don’t p-pity you.”

“Lies,” Leona roared.

Mirai winced at the noise, coughing as the grip got tighter. “Y-You’re better than th-this. The Leona I-I know wouldn’t stoop this low to get what h-he wants. You’re smarter than th-this.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“But I want t-to, I want to, so bad. I-I want to know yo-your favorite foods, your favorite c-color. Your p-past times, your goals, your, your wants, your needs. I-I want the Leona I fell f-for in, in the Bo-Botanical Gardens.”

“You think your honeyed words are gonna sway me? I hate people like you the most. Always sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong, always saying the right things to get what they want,” Leona growled out, his voice wavering. “You think I haven’t heard that before, that I haven’t dealt with people like you before? You’re no different. I will never have what I want, I’ll always be second best.”

“You will never b-be second best to m-me,” Mirai smiled, voice faint and breathy, “Y-you will always be my number one.”

Leona faltered, his eyes going wide at the words.

“Don’t hate me after t-this, y-yeah?”

Before Leona could comprehend what happened, Mirai was swinging his leg back and kicking the Beastman in the face. Leona growled out with a shout, dropping Mirai as he held his face. Mirai dropped to the floor, coughing as he caught his breath. Leona stumbled back pulling his hand away from his face, the black blot ink mixing with red.

Leona roared, “Why you-”

Mirai picked up the pipe and swung at Leona, the metal making contact with his midsection, knocking the wind out of him. Leona stumbled backwards, doubled over as he held his abused stomach. Mirai pulled back and whacked the downed lion upside the head, and Leona was down for the count.

And like that, the sandstorm stopped, the skies slowly becoming blue once more. The blot monster screeched as it eroded away, the blot that bubbled and boiled fizzled into nothingness, and so did Leona’s blot, and in its wake was Leona, their Leona, lying on the ground.

“Leona,” Mirai rasped, rushing over to Leona’s unconscious form. 

“Mirai,” Deuce yelled, rushing over to his friend, “Stay away from him!”

The group rushed over to the two, where Mirai was frantically looking over the Savanaclaw Housewarden.

“Mirai,” Ruggie called, “You okay?”

“Me?” Mirai rasped out, coughing when it hurt. “I’m not the one who just Overblotted.”

“You’re hurt,” Jack said lightly.

“I’m fine,” Mirai warbled. 

“Leona,” Mirai called out, shaking Leona slightly, “Wake up. Please wake up.”

Leona would move, he didn’t stir, and his breathing was shallow.

“Leona, please wake up.”

“Oh, Mirai,” Cater called, realizing that his magicless freshie was crying.

“I killed him,” Mirai sobbed. “I killed him!”

“You didn’t ki-”

Leona stirred, and slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the blazing midday sun. “Whatsit, what is it?” Leona muttered.

“He’s awake,” Jack gasped.

Leona looked up at the group looking down at him, and his eyes immediately found Mirai’s tear filled ones. “Herbivore?” Leona called, ears flattening atop his head as he reached up to thumb away the tears on Mirai’s cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“Y-You Overblotted,” Mirai rasped out, “and you wouldn’t w-wake up. I though, I though-”

Leona sat up, vision going blurry with the dizzying headache that hit him so suddenly. “I-I-I Overblotted?” Leona muttered to himself, “Me? Ain’t no way I-”

“Mr. Kingscholar, your negative energies accelerated your blot accumulation, inducing an overblot episode.” Headmage Crowley said, seeming to appear out of nowhere, cutting to the chase. “Were you responsible for the series of injuries sustained by competing players?”

Leona stood up slowly, wobbling as his knees threatened to give out. “Yeah, that was me,” Leona admitted quietly. “All of it.”

“Very well. Then to begin with, Savanaclaw House will be disqualified from this year's tournament. The rest of your punishment will be decided after I discuss it with the victims. Are we clear?” Headmage Crowley asked.

“Understood.”

“Headmage,” Riddle called, “W-Wait. A word, if I may?”

In the end, Riddle ended up persuading the Headmage to let Leona and the rest of his team play, and as punishment, he was to play as he was. Of course that didn’t end well due to his overworked state. But in the end, Grim got to play like he wanted, but sadly, Mirai couldn’t witness the rest of the games. One second Grim was hollering about a special move and the next, Mirai was waking up in the infirmary. 

“Wh-Where, where am I?” Mirai croaked.

“Hey,” Grim called, “Mirai’s up!”

Ace and Deuce rushed to Mirai’s side, Deuce expressing their relief.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Deuce sighed. “You were out for so long, we were beginning to think there was some long lasting damage.”

“What happened?” Mirai asked, confused.

“You don’t remember?” Ace asked.

Mirai shook his head.

“Grim threw the disk straight at your head and knocked you out at the beginning of the second half.”

“I was tryna steal our victory,” Grim said nonchalantly. 

“More like steal his life.”

“Hey!”

“You amateurs gotta work on your disk control,” Jack gruffed.

Ace rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you missed the whole thing. They are cleaning up now.”

“How did Savanaclaw do?” Mirai asked. “No, wait, where’s Leona?!”

“Calm down, Herbivore,” Leona gruffed from the other side of the room. “‘M fine.”

Mirai looked over to the other side of the room and spotted Leona in one bed and Ruggie in the one next to him. The Hyena looked far worse than Leona, but that was expected after the days earlier events, but all in all, Mirai was glad everyone was okay.

“But as for the game, everyone we went up against didn’t care for the game, they just threw magic at us,” Leona scoffed.

“We were dead on our feet by the time we went up against Diasomnia,” Ruggie chimed in, “They ended up taking first place.”

“That sucks,” Mirai muttered. But it was kinda deserved for what the two of them had done.

Leona scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“How are you doing, Ruggie?” Mirai asked the Hyena.

“I’m fine, quit ya worrying,” Ruggie dismissed.

Jack began fussing over his Housewarden and Ruggie, while Ace, Deuce and Grim, started talking out the game. Apparently Diasonmia’s team was a force to be reckoned with, their dorm head being the strongest one there. 

“Unca! Unca,” a shrill child-like voice yelled, “There you are! I finally found you!”

Mirai turned to the door where his eyes caught sight of an orange and yellow blob as it launched itself across the room and into Leona’s lap.

Leona groaned, “The little screech box found me.”

“Who’s the kid?” Grim asked.

“Unca Leona?” Jack muttered.

“That little furball is my Brother’s son, Cheka, my nephew,” Leona gruffed.

Mirai was surprised. He didn’t know Leona was an Uncle.

“I saw you play, Unca! You were so cool! Next time I visit, teach me how to play,” Check yelled. 

“Okay, okay,” Leona sighed, “I get it, and how didja get in here?! Where are your attendants? They gotta be pulling their hair out looking for ya.”

Cheka giggled, “I left them behind so I could find you.”

“Of course you did.”

Mirai chuckled, “He’s cute.”

“So when are you coming home to see us, Unca? Today? Tomorrow? Next week? And when's the next time after that? Did you read all the letters I sent you? What about the toys? Do you play with those?” Cheka rambled, bouncing on top of Leona.

“Look, I toldja, I'll be back for the holidays—Ow! Get offa my stomach, that hurts,” Leona shouted, eyebrows knitted together.

The room erupted in laughter at Leona’s demise.

“Ooh! Ooh! Unca! Who are they?! Are you guys Unca’s friends?!” Cheka squealed.

Ace laughed, “Yeah, sure we are! We're your Unca's besties! Ain't that right, Unca Leona?”

“That’s cool,” Cheka chirped, “Unca has so many friends!”

The group’s laughter got even louder.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Leona gruffed. “Just y’all wait, Ima be on ya like a buzzard to a carcass.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Unca,” Ruggie teased, face red with laughter.

Mirai and the others fell into another fit of laughter, and Ruggie ended up doubled over in pain as it hurt to laugh.

Well, even if the day started out like a nightmare, its ending was so bad. Even if Mirai did have a headache. 

It was late when Mirai woke up again. It was still dark outside, and the room was dark. Mirai blindly reached for his phone and powered it on. It was three in the morning. Mirai sighed as he lied back down. He wondered when he’d be able to go back home. 

Mirai had been in and out of sleep since visiting hours ended, and at some point, the Nurse let Ruggie go, and the last thing Mirai remembers was Ruggie saying his farewells. But he and Leona were a different story. Mirai still needed to be monitored for his head injury and Leona needed to be monitored for his blot accumulation. 

Mirai peered over at the other side of the room, trying to make out Leona’s form. He couldn’t. Mirai sighed, his throat still raw and scratchy. Mirai coughed, his throat burning. He tried to clear the prickly feeling, but it kept coming back, then he fell back into a coughing fit once more.

“You okay?”

Mirai jumped, eyes darting to the other side of the room, where a pair of glowing green eyes were looking back at him. 

“Y-Yeah,” Mirai croaked, his voice sounding raw and abused.

“You’re not,” Leona muttered. 

“And you aren’t either.”

Leona sighed and didn’t say anything else.

Mirai sat back in his bed and stared off into the darkness. He really didn’t know what to do now. He was awake, his throat was killing him, and now it was awkward knowing that Leona was right there in front of him. 

“Drink.”

Mirai jumped with a gasp at the sound of Leona’s voice being so close to him. 

“Le-Leona,” Mirai stuttered, “Y-You, you shouldn’t be up. Go lie down.”

“I’m fine. Drink,” Leona said.

Mirai twitched when he felt a cold glass of water being pressed into his hand.

“Careful,” Leona murmured, “Don’t drop it.”

“Thank you,” Mirai muttered, taking a sip, and boy did it feel glorious. 

Mirai tried to gulp down as much as he could handle, but it wasn’t much since his stomach filled in seconds. Mirai reached out for the table beside him once he couldn’t drink anymore, but was met with Leona’s stiff form.

“You done?” Leona asked, taking the glass.

“Yeah,” Mirai nodded.

There was silence again and Mirai wondered if Leona was still there. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mirai hoped that he was.

“Those bandages,” Leona started, his voice coming from the other side of the room. “on your neck. It was me, wasn’t it? And the same with Ruggie’s arm?”

Mirai wanted to lie, and tell Leona, no, they weren’t, but they weren't there the day before, and lying about it wouldn’t make the situation any better. 

“Yeah,” Mirai admitted quietly.

There was silence yet again, and Mirai felt as if his heart was in his stomach. Bandaged fingers came up to fiddle with the bandages that were wrapped around his neck. Mirai didn’t know when those were put there, most likely when he was out cold, and Mirai was wondering how he didn’t notice until now. He ran a finger down the length of his throat, and Mirai wondered how it looked, wondering if it looked as bad as it felt. Mirai just hoped it didn’t scar, he didn’t need any more of those, and he definitely didn’t want a sore reminder for Leona to see every time he looked at the Prefect.

“I never thought I’d hurt you, I never intended to,” Leona started, “You, you were supposed to stay in the stands, you were supposed to just let all this happen. You-”

“Whoa, whoa, y-your not gonna pin this mess on me,” Mirai rasped, voice rough. “It wasn't me who cheated.” 

“If you, if you just minded your fricking business-”

It became my business when my friends started getting hurt! It became m-my business when t-the Headmage held this whole fiasco over my head like he always does when things go sour in this stupid school!”

Leona went silent from his side of the room. Mirai sighed, coughing once more, his throat burning.

“Why?” Mirai muttered.

Leona stayed silent.

“I know you can hear me, you bastard. Why?”

“Why what?” Leona gruffed.

“Why'd ya do it?”

Leona growled lowly in warning.

“I ain't scared of you,” Mirai rasped angrily, “and growling still doesn’t answer my question. Why?”

“Because,” Leona said petulantly.

“Because what?!” Mirai yelled.

“Because I was tired,” Leona yelled. “Be-Because I'm tired of always being second! No matter what I do, I’ll always be second best! I was born second, my dorm is second, even in the sport I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember I’m second! I’m always second!”

“All you had to do was try!”

“And you think I haven’t?! You think I haven’t busted my butt for the things I want?! I’ve tried, and tried and tried, over and over, and over again! And for what?! I’ll never beat the bastard Malleus at anything, I’ll never sit on that throne, I'll always be second best! So I stopped trying!”

“I’m sorry,” Mirai muttered.

Leona sucked his teeth in annoyance, “Quit apologizing. Ain't nothing you can do to change anything, and feelin’ sorry for me ain’t gonna make me feel any better,” Leona gruffed, sighing.

“You know, you’re right,” Mirai said snarkily, “It’s you who should be apologizing, and I know a whole bunch of people who you can start with.”

“Bastard.”

“Thanks I try.”

Leona growled lowly, “You’re lucky, you’re lucky I’m already on thin ice.” Leona sighed, laying back against the pillows on his bed. “Look, ‘M sorry, alright. This whole thing was stupid. I was stupid. I’m sorry.”

Mirai sighed, “You know, I shouldn’t forgive you-”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do, forgive you, Leona.”

“And that’s the stupidest thing you’ve done yet.”

“That ain’t-”

“You could’ve died, Mirai,” Leona shouted. “You understand that right?! I could’ve killed you! They all told me what happened when you were out, that I choked you, that I tried to turn you into sand!” 

“I know that,” Mirai scoffed, clearing his throat, “but who hasn’t tried to hurt or kill me since I was dropped in this nightmare of a world?”

“You’re a blithering idiot!” Leona’s voice broke, as he looked down at his hands. “I-I did what everyone said I’d do. I’ve become what they said I was, a-a monster.”

“You're not a monster,” Mirai rasped.

“You don’t get it, you never have! I’ve always hated my Signature Spell, it’s a curse. I am the very thing that the Sunset Savanna fears, that the Sunset Savanna hates, a drought. They’ve always told me I was a monster, they feared me. They always said it would be a matter of time before I’d hurt those around me!” Leona grit his teeth, his fangs bared, “If I were born first, I’d be praised. If I were born first, I’d be called a prodigy. I would be loved, not feared.”

Mirai huffed angrily as he slowly slid off his bed and onto the floor.

“D-Don’t-What are you doing? Sit down,” Leona scolded. 

Mirai ignored him as he teetered his way over to Leona’s side of the room, stopping after a dizzy spell hit him. Once he made his way to Leona’s bed, he crawled on top.

“Herbivore,” Leona growled, “Get away from me! I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have!”

For once, Leona looked small. He never looked small in Mirai’s eyes, he was always so big. He was always so sure of himself, so prideful, so confident, but now, he looked like a mouse, like a kid who was being scolded by his parents. Unsure and scared, Mirai didn’t like it, it didn’t suit him, Leona Kingscolar, Hoausewarden of Savanaclaw, Second Prince of the Sunset Savanna.

“And I haven’t?” Mirai scoffed.

“What are you-”

“Look, you were right when you said that I didn’t get it, what it was like to be you,” Mirai said hoarsely, “but it doesn’t mean that I need to be you to know what it’s like to feel worthless. I will never know what it’s like to walk in your shoes, to be a Prince, to be second in line, those are your experiences alone. But I know how you feel.”

Leona scoffed, “Enough the flowery words. Don’t need ‘em.”

“I know what it's like to have everything, and nothing at all. I know what it’s like to want to be wanted.” Mirai out the window behind Leona. “That, that thing, that wasn’t you back there. The things you said, the things you did, the you I know, would never do those things, would never say those things.”

“But it was me,” Leona corrected. 

“Then say it.”

Leona looked taken aback.

“Say it, look me in the eyes and say it,” Mirai badgered, “Say you hate me, say you want me dead, say that you never once cared for any of this. Say it. Say you hate Ruggie and the others, say you’d rather turn everything to sand, prove me wrong.”

Leona looked down in defeat, his ears falling.

“It’s hard to say such hurtful things to the people you care about that you actually don’t mean, isn’t it?”

“But I did all of that,” Leona muttered, “I’m the one who tried to cheat my way to the top, I’m the one who hurt everyone around me.”

“And it was stupid. I don’t like what you did to your schoolmates, but there, in that stadium, was beyond your control.”

Leona balked at Mirai frank words. 

“When I told you that you were better than that, I meant it. That’s why I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t, I don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide, is it?”

Leona growled at Mirai. “Well if everything’s fine now, you can leave me be.”

“What about here?” Mirai asked, poking the Beastman in the chest. “Is everything fine?”

Leona went silent.

Mirai was familiar with signs of depression. The withdrawal, the lack of motivation, the masking, they were symptoms Mirai knew all too well. And Mirai couldn’t act like he didn’t notice, that he didn’t care, because he did, and he wasn’t going to allow Leona to continue to suffer alone.

Mirai reached forward and slowly pulled Leona into a hug. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” Leona stuttered, going rigid in Mirai’s hold.

“Push me away if you hate it,” Mirai muttered, holding the Beastman tighter.

Leona didn’t say anything, but he didn’t return the hug either.

“And even after all of that, it still hurts, doesn’t it?” Mirai whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Leona gruffed.

“I know one hug doesn’t fix the thousands you’ve needed, and I know I may not be worth anything, that I may not be what you want,” Mirai sighed. “I know I can’t give you what you truly want, but I’m here for you, Leona. I care.”

Leona choked back a sob.

“It’s okay to cry, it always feels better when you do. You’ve been strong, holding on for so long, but that’s okay. It means you’ve overcome something, that means you can pick yourself up and keep going.”

Leona sobbed into Mirai’s chest, and Mirai held him through it. Leona clawed at the back of Mirai’s shirt as his tears soaked through the fabric, and Mirai stayed there, holding Leona even tighter.

“You may not have been born first, and you may never be king, and I will never have the answers to your questions, but I believe you’re so much more than you think,” Mirai whispered, “You are smart, you are strong, you are resilient, you are beautiful. You are Leona Kingscholar, and don’t let anyone take that from you.”

“I-I hurt you,” Leona sobbed.

“I know,” Mirai muttered into Leona’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” Leona whimpered, pressing his nose up into Mirai's neck.

“And I forgive you,” Mirai croaked.

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Don’t Forget to Write (6)

.... I apparently forgot to post the last chapter when I released it months ago. Oops.

AO3 -> first, previous

Fandoms: DC (Batman comics)

Summary: From Dick’s POV.  Damian happened to win a contest to illustrate a new book by an up and coming author. Being the good brother he is, Dick decided to check the book.He quickly realized he was reading a  very first hand account of one of Jason’s old cases, and deciding to act like a normal person would, he decided to read some of the author’s other works. What he found shook the very foundation of what he thought  was true?  

Warnings: rated T - mostly for swearing and questionable mental health. Amnesia

Parings: none

Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr

“Stop grumbling for a moment. It’s about to start,” Dick teased as Jason continued to pace. After almost two months of preparations and another three weeks to convince Jason, they were finally having the press conference to announce he was alive.

His brother shot him a look as he messed with his tie yet again. While it was clear he was nervous, most of his discomfort came from the prosthetics he had to wear to make it look like nothing suspicious happened, and he was doing his best not to touch them. Over time, they would be changed to make it appear as if he’d healed either on his own or through some treatment. They were currently leaning towards the latter as an explanation, especially with how severe the damage to his hands used to be.

Deciding messing with his clothes wasn’t getting him anywhere, he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it to his lips. They were working on breaking him of that habit again, but at least he had no desire to light it. With the return of his memories, there was now an understanding why he couldn’t tolerate the smell of the smoke. It subconsciously reminded him too much of what happened.

“I thought Pennyworth searched your person for those.” Damian seemed moderately impressed.

Jason gave a mischievous grin. “He did.”

“You’re going to have to teach me how you did that. Nothing gets passed Alfred,” Tim stated as he double checked the prosthetics on Jason’s hands. Those were the ones most likely to come loose.

“I’ll think about it.”

It warmed Dick’s heart to see how his younger siblings interacted. While they were still getting used to each other, things were going relatively well.

One of the first things Dick did was make sure he gave Jason a summary of the others’ histories. It ended up being the right move as Jason admitted he had very conflicted emotions over the fact there had been other Robins after him. The one thing he couldn’t seem to reconcile with was Bruce allowing any child back in those colors. He didn’t think that kids truly understood the risks of playing hero, and that was something he was still coming to terms with himself. Dick made sure to tell his brother that it was his death that brought that to light for him too.

But as a result of that conversation, Dick noticed Jason’s protective streak towards his younger siblings. At one point, he had a nasty argument with Bruce after Damian came to his apartment to get away from the Manor for a night. Since it was a fight with Bruce that triggered his flight and eventual death, Jason was not going to tolerate Bruce’s inability to articulate his emotions and cause another catastrophe. It was amazing to watch, and in its own way, started changing how they conversed with each other for the better.

It also opened the door for everyone to start randomly crashing at Jason’s apartment. However, his apartment wasn’t really large enough for the constant influx of siblings and pseudo-siblings. So, they were working on getting Jason a much better apartment that was up to Bat standards near Crime Alley. It was supposed to be a surprise. But seeing as he stated that if anyone spent an exorbitant amount of money on him needed to make a donation of an equal amount to the charity organization who helped take care of him while he had no memories, he clearly already knew. In Dick’s opinion, that was a fair request.

For the most part, they were going to leave the decorating up to Jason. But they were all working on finding more bat and bird plushes to match his other ones. Damian had been the one to announce it wasn’t appropriate he only had ones that represented Dick, himself, and Bruce. They were still trying to figure out if Steph’s and Alfred’s should also follow that pattern or be different animals.

They were also working on sprucing up Jason’s old room. While he didn’t want to give up his independence, Jason had begun staying over the Manor some nights. It thrilled Alfred to have him back home, and soon the two started baking together again. And if he wasn’t doing that, Tim, Cass, Steph, or even Damian had begun commandeering him for various activities. Usually it was related to movies, but Dick did once catch Jason assisting Damian with some of his English homework. Even Babs, once she’d gotten the okay to come visit, had started stealing Jason away on some days.

Alfred even reported he found Bruce and Jason playing chess together. Dick could remember his brother venting about how Bruce always beat him at the game when he was still in the Manor. While it didn’t mean that everything was good between them, it showed they were working on it.

In Dick’s case, he decided to wait for Jason to reach out to him regarding bonding activities. Sure, he made suggestions of various activities he’d like to do with him, but they were just that, suggestions. Not only was Jason overwhelmed with everything, but there was also the distance there had been between them before his death. That was something he couldn’t just erase. While Jason hadn’t yet taken him up on any of his offers, he had rather shyly asked if Dick could help him get back in shape. And to him, that was a huge victory.

Even though Mask was finally back in jail, the likelihood he’d be back out on the streets sooner than later was high. So, retraining himself made a lot of sense even if he had a wicked swing with his tire iron.

They still weren’t entirely sure if Jason was going to rejoin the vigilante life. While it had come up in a couple conversations, Jason’s answer was always vague. However, he was willing to start being their ears on the streets. He already had a good rapport with the regulars of Crime Alley so sending them information he happened to learn wasn’t too much extra work. Babs had also started training him on her system, just in case.

The other aspect that was up in the air in Jason’s life was his writing career. His stories were an unconscious attempt to put back together the pieces of his former life, and he’d accidentally given away a lot of hints towards their lives and secrets. With his memories back, it was unlikely he’d be able to write in the exact same way which could raise some alarms. For now, he was reviewing what he had almost finished to see how much he needed to change and whether or not it was salvageable. He also wanted to write some short pieces in different genres to see how they’d be received.

There was also upheaval happening at the publishing company. After it was revealed Amy was Black Mask’s assistant once he was finally caught, the GCPD finally got involved. While most of the recent disappearances of writers were directly related to Mask and his paranoia, there was evidence it had occurred in the past if one of the Families were involved with the company. Trying to save face, the company gutted itself out and was in the process of rehiring, which put most of their projects on hold. At least Jason currently didn’t have to worry about any of his projects getting him into any more trouble for the time being.

The only thing he seemed certain of was that he was going to continue working with the organization that helped him out so much over the years. Now that he would have a proper identity again, he would be able to support them in ways he couldn’t do before. Well, that would be after he dealt with any outstanding bills or taxes he owed over the years. He was also going to go for his GED. Once that was squared away, he was going to consider college since it had been something he always dreamed of, even when he was on the streets trying to care for himself.

“Cass, seriously! Stop stealing them!” Jason snapped. Coming out of his thoughts, Dick watched as their sister gracefully kept just out of reach while laughing. It had become something like a game between them.

“Since we’re getting close to show time,” Dick stated after glancing at the clock. The press conference was to begin in just five minutes, “Let’s go back over the basics.”

“I didn’t start getting my memory back until I met you guys after the interview with Vicki Vale, which is mostly true,” Jason stated, almost bored, as he gave up on getting his cigarette back. They had reviewed this several times by that point. “But it wasn’t until Black Mask got interested in me which got Batman’s attention that revelations were made.”

“If asked, we are to state that Batman recognized him due to previous interactions with us and started the process of verifying his identity,” Damian continued. “We are to let Father answer any questions regarding the non-existent body in his grave.”

“Bruce stated he’s going to phrase it as a misidentification that had only recently come to light,” Tim continued. “He’s going to do what he can to help the GCPD to identify whoever is in that grave. I’m still not entirely sure exactly how he’s planning on that one. I thought he was going to ask J’onn to play the role, but it seems like he has something else in mind. He also has some story regarding how the switch happened and how you returned to Gotham.”

“I thought he was going to play the ‘we have no idea, but we’re going to find out’ card. At least that’s what he told me,” Jason huffed. “Thankfully, I can’t really contradict whatever bullshit he comes up with. The time between coming back and waking up in the hospital is thankfully fuzzy. Are we certain someone got hold of my medical records?”

Dick nodded. “I think Bruce did that on purpose to help prove how bad of a condition you were in. It’ll at least take some of the pressure off of you, but I don’t doubt some idiot is going to try to push some buttons.”

“If they want to go after me, that’s fine. I’m not going to be happy if they decide to take digs at anyone other than me or Bruce.”

“Wouldn’t that be a headline? ‘Lost Wayne son fist fights reporter’,” Tim teased, though there was no doubt in Dick’s mind that it could happen.

“Let’s try not to do that. But I think both Lois and Clark are in the audience. They’ll hopefully be able to keep things under control.”

Outside their family, the first two people Bruce let know that Jason was alive ended up being Clark and Diana. They had asked to see him as soon as he was willing. After that, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the hero community found out. Dick was partially responsible for the leak after he let it slip to Donna, who told Wally, and it just snowballed from there. Soon other heroes were visiting just to see Jason. It had the unintended effect of allowing him to start making friendships he never had a chance to while being Robin. It was easing the loneliness he’d been harboring for years.

Someone knocked on the door of the room they were currently borrowing. “Guess that’s our cue,” Dick stated as he gently pushed Jason towards the door.

…

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Dick questioned as he watched Jason do his double checks on his gear.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he answered as he pulled up his hood.

It had been almost eight months since he’d recovered his memories, and he was finally going out on the streets under a new persona. While he hadn’t directly agreed to it before the previous months, he had started back into his training with gusto almost immediately after he got the okay. Unlike the rest of them, he was going to predominately stick to one area as he eased back into it.

He hadn’t picked out a name just yet, but that was fine. He was half willing to let the people of Crime Alley come up with a name for him, but for now, he was going to act as more of a shadow than a directly seen force. To start, he was going to target the pimps and the drug dealers in the area. Once that was better under control, he would branch out to targeting the gangs. They were hoping he’d be able to keep out of the sight of the major rogues until he was in a situation where he was better established.

While he didn’t want to say it, Bruce was uneasy about letting Jason back in the field. His protectiveness had come out in full force as he helped Jason construct his outfit. And interestingly, unlike the rest of them, Jason wanted to make his outfit look less traditional hero and more akin to a civilian. Dick once asked if he wanted to appear as something like a ghost, especially with how Jason wasn’t going to show most of his face. While Jason didn’t directly answer, he just smiled.

In a morbid sort of way, it made sense for him. He’d already died and crawled his way back from the dead. If anyone had the right to act like a ghost, it was Jason. And knowing his brother, he was going to milk it for all it was worth on the streets. Jay always did have a flair for the dramatic after all.

“You better come home in one piece,” Dick warned him. “Seriously, don’t be afraid to call for help.”

Jason stared at him for a moment. While Dick couldn’t see his face well, with the hood up all he could see in the shadows were the red tints from his domino mask, he could tell his brother was smiling. “I lost everything once because I thought I wasn’t wanted. You proved me wrong and helped me find a different ending. I’m not going to risk giving that up again.” He patted his shoulder. “Besides, I still have to get you back for that prank you pulled last week. Can’t do that if I’m dead.”

Dick couldn’t help how he momentarily froze. Jason had begun making jokes about his death. They seemed to be a coping mechanism for him which meant the rest of them had to get used to it. As distressing as addressing it could be, it was something that happened, and they couldn’t get around it. Some days, he wondered if that was why he made those jokes.

“That’s true, but you still need to be in one piece to enact your revenge.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I bet I could get Tim to help me.”

“Pranks can wait until after Patrol.” Bruce gently touched Jason’s shoulder. Concern was barely visible on his face. “It’s time.”

As they took to their respective vehicles, Dick couldn’t help the excitement that raced through him. His brother, the first one he taught how to properly be Robin, was finally going to fly with him again. It had been a long time coming, but they were finally all together again.

Who knew that a simple book, written by a young man without a memory, would have been the key to it?

[mini-kunoichi]

One Chance, pt.2

I wanted to add a little more to this before posting it, but I'll be busy for the next few weeks and I didn't want to leave y'all hanging. One of these days, I'll come up with my own header/line breaks. Just not anytime soon.

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Daemon x OC

Summary: What happens when you put Daemon and Addie together? Peak Youngest Sibling Energy, apparently.

Warning: swearing, hints at parental abuse, Daemon being a menace.

Many thanks to @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta reading and translating the High Valerian for my lazy ass.

Part 1 Here; Read on AO3

Daemon waited a few days before bringing up the idea of Adelayde staying at the Red Keep for the duration of their courtship. He would stroll the gardens with her every afternoon, and it quickly became the highlight of his days. Despite her family being only slightly above Small Folk, the lady proved herself to be intelligent and quick-witted. Once Daemon was sure he wanted to continue the courtship, it was time to put his plan into motion.

It didn’t take much to convince Adelayde’s parents to have her stay. Her father was too ambitious to decline and her mother seemed intent on pushing her daughter on him. His brother was harder, but not by much. Once he was able to speak to Viserys privately (and therefore openly) about his reasoning, his brother did not put up too much of a fuss. In fact, he seemed to think it was a lovely idea. Though he did make Daemon promise to “do things properly.” The Queen and her cunt of a father objected on behalf of “propriety” or whatever-the-fuck, but Daemon didn’t really care about them. 

The hardest person to convince was, surprisingly, Adelayde herself. When Daemon brought it up to her, she suddenly became agitated. 

He was leaning against a wall in the garden, arms crossed, watching her pace and wring her hands.

“I don’t see the issue,” he said eventually. “You will have a much more comfortable life here. You can have a life away from your parents.”

Daemon really didn’t like Lord and Lady Mullendore. They were both overbearing, though in very different ways. He had already suffered through a handful of dinners with them. Adelayde was such a different person when her parents were around; meek, quiet, and submissive. Everything he didn’t want in a wife. He would have thought she would want to be away from her parents.

“Daemon, I don’t know anyone here,” Adelayde replied.

“You know me. And Rhaenyra.”

“That’s not . . . that’s two people out of hundreds.” The hand-wringing got worse, and Daemon pushed himself off of the wall to take her hands in his own. She started to shift from foot to foot instead. It was annoying, but not as self-destructive.

“You will flourish here. I know you will. Especially without your family holding you back.” He had learned early on that honesty fostered honesty with Adelayde. Though how she always knew whether or not he was being honest was currently lost on him. 

“My family doesn’t hold me back,” she replied with a frown.

“Well, your parents sure as fuck do.” Her frown deepened, but she didn’t reply. She knew he was right.

“Does not knowing anyone in King’s Landing really bother you that much?” he asked.

Adelayde let out a resigned sigh before saying, “I suppose I should be used to solitude by now.”

“So there should be no problem, then.”

“The place was familiar, though. I had my brothers. And a cousin.”

“I will keep you company,” Daemon said confidently. 

It wouldn’t be too much trouble, he figured. They’d had interesting conversations thus far, and she’d even asked him to teach her High Valyrian. Lessons would surely take up much of her time. But instead of happily agreeing (as most maidens would), Adelayde’s nose scrunched in distaste.

“Surely we would get sick of each other.”

Nonsense. No one ever got sick of Daemon Targaryen. Though, he supposed he might become sick of seeing her. Right now, Addie was like a shiny new toy, and he did have a habit of tiring of his paramours rather quickly.

“Well, I’m sure you can find a way to occupy yourself,” he replied eventually.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose I can spend time in the library when you become boring.”

The nerve of this woman. 

– – – – – – – – 

In the end, it was agreed that Addie would stay at the Red Keep for the duration of their three-month courtship. After that period, her return to the Uplands would be decided based on if and when a wedding would take place.

She was moved to more permanent (and lavish) quarters and assigned handmaids who tended to everything from dressing her to serving her meals and preparing baths. She found it discomfiting. 

Being from a minor house, Addie was not used to having such attention. Sure, her father employed cooks, housekeepers, and the like, but nothing as elaborate as handmaids. They were surprisingly understanding, however, and mostly kept to themselves when not performing their duties. One of them even took it upon herself to acquire thread, cloth, and needles so that Addie could work on embroidery.

The little bluejay visited a few more times. No one ever acknowledged the bird and it never sang, so she ignored it each time.

Now that she had been moved to a new room, her father insisted that they break their fast as a family every morning. He always insisted she dismiss her handmaids so that they could “talk as a family.” It was the worst part of the day.

“You will not fuck this up for me,” her father growled, the same as every other morning.

“I won’t, Father,” Addie replied the same as every other morning.

“You’d better not,” he continued. “My place at court depends on this match. If he finds out you’re fucked in the head, he’ll reject you and it’ll all go to shit.”

I am not ‘fucked in the head’, she thought to herself bitterly, though she didn’t dare say anything out loud. Such defiance had major consequences. 

She was saved from having to respond when her mother spoke up.

“Addie is a clever girl. She has navigated court politics quite well thus far. And the Prince seems taken with her.”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion,” he spat. “Speak out of turn again and there will be consequences.”

The rest of the meal was eaten in tense silence.

— — — — — —

Addie was uncharacteristically reserved in the days leading up to her parent’s departure. Daemon still had certain duties with the city watch and Rhaenyra had taken it upon herself to entertain her, which he appreciated. 

It was kind of the Princess, but the two did not really have much in common. Rhaenyra enjoyed the many forms of hunting; and while Addie was perfectly happy to visit the hawks, hounds, and horses used in such activities, she disliked the killing of animals. Rhaenyra’s assurance that the meat would be used in the kitchens made her feel only slightly better.

— — — — — — — 

Daemon took it upon himself to tutor his potential bride in High Valyrian. Partly because the palace tutor had decided she was “too simple for such a task,” (where he’d gotten such an idea was beyond Daemon’s comprehension) but mostly because he wanted to spend more time with her.

Adelayde was a surprisingly quick study. And Daemon was a surprisingly good teacher. The only problem was their motivations; Addie intended to learn and Daemon intended to flirt.

This led to the woman’s never-ending frustrations and the prince’s never-ending amusement. 

“Would you get your hand off my leg?” she hissed through her teeth.

“Whatever for?” Daemon asked innocently.

“I am trying to learn.” She smacked his hand off of her thigh, but he quickly replaced it.

“Say it in High Valyrian and I’ll consider it,” he replied with a smirk.

 “Aōhi ondos hen ñuha pore ondurās.”

“Close. Kirimvose, aōhi ondos hen ñuha pore nādīnās. Manners go a long way, you know.”

Addie’s eyebrows pinched slightly as she processed the sentence. It’s rather cute. Not that he’d admit that out loud.

“What does ‘kirimvose’ mean again?” she asked eventually.

He answered with a smirk and she smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand. Addie had taken to delivering light swats or kicks when provoked—as long as they were alone, that is. Daemon understood the importance of appearance within the court and society, but he appreciated that she had become comfortable enough to treat him as an equal. He once asked her if she treated her own brothers with “such brutality” and she replied that she did not. She hit them harder.

“I’m not saying please when I’ve already asked you several times,” she stated primly.

Daemon compromised by scooting his chair closer to hers and draped his arm over the back of her chair. Addie shot him an annoyed look that made her look a little bit like her mother. She opened her mouth to make a smart retort when they were interrupted.

“I believe the lady has asked to not be touched,” came the cold voice of Criston Cole, their assigned chaperone for the afternoon. He had been the one to chaperone them a lot lately, probably instructed to spy on them by either the Queen or the Hand.

Addie turned to look at him, gave him one of the most judgemental and condescending once-overs that Daemon had ever seen, and replied, “I am perfectly capable of handling myself, Ser Criston.”

The knight hung his head and mumbled an apology, thoroughly humbled. Once Addie’s attention was back on the books, Daemon shot the knight a haughty smirk.

[free-pool-trash]

x of swords - george weasley

part one of three

Summary: Growing up as Harry’s neighbor, you always believed that you were completely regular. In an attempt to feel closer to Harry (your best friend) you begin to dabble in the art of divination and, in the process, you uncover magic that you didn’t know you had. (i hate doing summaries this does not sum it up but you get the jist)

Relationships: George Weasley x Reader, platonic!Harry Potter x Reader, platonic!OC x Reader, platonic!Sirius Black x Reader, platonic!Remus Lupin x Reader, platonic!Fred Weasley x Reader, platonic!Nymphadora Tonks x Reader, platonic!Molly Weasley x Reader, platonic!Hermoine Granger x Reader, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin

Warnings: Swearing, anxiety, fluff, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of death (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count: 22.9k 

so here it is 😏 i was going to wait until i was completely finished with this to post it but i didn’t wanna rush it and oh my god it’s already so long  😫 I’m moving to Edinburgh in 2 weeks so i won’t be able to write as i have so much to pack so i hope this keeps some of you happy for a while <3 obviously i put a lot of effort into this and spent a lot of time on it so i really hope yall like it and i will personally kiss everyone who comments. likes or reblogs <3

mastelist

Life on Privet Drive was definitely something- something being incredibly boring. Nothing even remotely exciting happened on the street and the company was, to put it simply, miserable.

You’d lived in 5 Privet Drive since birth which, unfortunately for you, meant that your family are extremely close with the Dursleys who live next door. The Dursleys are a family of bigoted, pig-headed bullies. Made up of Petunia, Vernon, Dudley and, in your opinion the only tolerable one, Harry.

From the age of five, Harry had been your only friend on the street and vice versa. Initially, the both of you had bonded over your dislike of Dudley but as the years rolled on Harry and yourself had become virtually inseparable.

It was certainly strange- how close your parents were with Petunia and Vernon. Your mother and father are actually quite lovely, they are the complete opposite of the Dursleys, they’re open minded, kind and extremely friendly. But, you supposed, their friendliness didn’t discriminate from person to person, even if said person forced their orphaned nephew to sleep in the cupboard underneath the stairs.

There was no denying that Harry had been miserable with the Dursleys, who were unfortunately his only remaining family and you supposed you should’ve been happy when your best friend finally got away from them after his 11th birthday.

You’d missed him for the entire school year and you only got a chance to ask where he’d actually gone off to when he’d arrived home for the summer. (You didn’t believe the story Vernon had spun about Harry attending a boarding school for juvenile trouble makers).

“It’s incredible, (Y/n), honestly! I wish you could be there too.” He’d told you when you finally saw him again, after he’d finished his first year in his mysterious boarding school.

“That’s great, Haz, but where exactly is it?” You wondered and Harry only gave you his signature grin.

“Scotland.”

With a heavy sigh you let the subject go, he was clearly happy wherever he was going to school so it didn’t matter where or what it was. As long as he was happy.

By the time his 12th birthday rolled around you’d found the perfect gift for him. You’d made your parents buy you a polaroid camera for him to take away to school, he’d told you so many amazing stories about his school, you wanted to see some of it for yourself so you figured a camera would be the best course of action.

The morning of his birthday, Harry was woken up by the sound of pebbles tapping against his barred up window. The boy looked out to see you waving at him, an excited smile on your face and a neatly wrapped present in your other hand. Harry couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face as you beckoned him down with your hand. It was barely dawn but you knew better than to give a present for Harry to either his aunt or uncle because they’d only give it to Dudley, so it was best to get it to him before the rest of his supposed family woke up.

Hogwarts was amazing and Harry was over the moon to have discovered he was a wizard and make so many new friends, but he had missed you- his only friend in the muggle world. Your birthday was only a few weeks after his and he hoped that maybe you’d get a hogwarts letter of your own, obviously that hadn’t happened. Nonetheless he was happy to see you in the summer, he couldn’t shake the thought that Ron and Hermione would have loved to meet you though.

Slowly and quietly, Harry snook down the stairs and out the front door to meet you.

“Happy birthday, Haz!” You whisper-shouted excitedly, pulling the green-eyed boy into your house so he wouldn’t get caught outside when he wasn’t even allowed out of his bedroom.

Harry rolled his eyes at the nickname, “I hope you know that you’re still the only person who calls me that.”

“Good,” you said happily, closing the front door behind you. “Anyway, I got you something that you can bring away to school with you!” He rose an eyebrow at you as you pushed the carefully wrapped box into his hands, “Open it,” you instructed. And so he did.

It was very possibly the most expensive gift he’d ever gotten, you (or your parents) usually got Harry presents that couldn’t be stolen by Dudley. For example, your mother had taken to buying Harry his own clothes, seeing as your best friend was a lot taller and thinner than his horrid cousin.

You, on the other hand, would usually make him gifts with sentimental value, something Dudley had absolutely zero interest in. The camera though, you knew would be safe as Harry would be leaving for school again soon enough.

Harry stared dumbfounded at the cardboard box that held the rather large polaroid camera, judging by the image on the box it was a good quality thing, probably expensive. “This is… really nice, (Y/n).”

A bright smile found your lips as you rushed into an animated explanation about why you’d picked a camera as his birthday present this year.

“So you can take lots of pictures of you and your new friends in your new fancy private school and when you come back here you can show them to me!” Harry chuckled and nodded his head, hoping he’d be able to find time to take pictures like you wanted.

“I’ll take pictures of everything. Promise.” He told you, holding out his pinky with a cheeky grin. You linked your pinky with his and nodded gratefully.

“We should christen it,” Harry announced, tearing into the box and he quickly set the camera up before he pointed it at you expectantly. “Well, come on then. I’ve told my school friends all about you, they’re going to want to see what you look like too. So, smile-“ with a disbelieving laugh, you crossed your legs underneath yourself from where you were sitting on the floor across from Harry, and tucked your hair behind your ears before you looked directly at the lense of the camera and gave it the brightest smile you could muster. The camera flashed and the picture slowly revealed itself, it seemed to be good enough to satisfy Harry’s twelve year old self.

He’d shown the polaroid to Hermione first, the bushy haired girl had smiled softly as she held the polaroid gently, “She seems lovely, Harry.”

Harry had nodded his head in agreement, you were lovely. He just hoped Dudley wasn’t terrorising you too much while he was away. His cousin always had somewhat of a crush on you, which Harry knew was ridiculous considering you all but loathed Dudley.

True to his word, Harry had taken plenty of pictures, many were of (non-magic) areas of the Hogwarts campus, many were of his friends; Ron, Hermione, Fred and George Weasley (who had an absolute field day with the muggle contraption), one or two of Hagrid and he even managed to capture a nice one of the owlery. Although you were one of his best friends, sometimes thinking about you while he was in Hogwarts brought his mood down. It reminded him of how much he wished you could’ve shared in his adventures and not to mention how much he missed you, you could hardly send him an owl, what with being a muggle and all, so he only got to spend time with you during the summer months.

Things had changed during his third year, though. When he received a rather shocking, albeit very welcome, letter.

Dear Harry,

I’d like to start by saying: hi, how are you? How’s school? Good? Great. Now that that’s out of the way… when you come home I’m going to KILL you!!! I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you are a wizard! Well, I understand why you didn’t but anyway.

You’re probably wondering how I found all of this out. Long story short, I saw Vernon’s sister floating around your sitting room and then I saw you running out swinging a wand around. I put two and two together. You would not believe how long it took me to figure out how to get in contact with you. I practically had to beg Dudley to tell me how to get this package to you, he eventually told me how in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. It was as horrifying as it sounds, the things I do for you, Haz, honestly. Don’t worry though, you can make it up to me over the summer.

I bought an owl by the way. I’m guessing she found you okay? Look after her for a little while before sending her back will you? She’s just a baby so she can’t do too much long distance travel just yet.The lady I got her from is a witch, she was very kind and knew exactly what I was looking to use an owl for. Her name is Astra (the owl’s not the lady’s)! Isn’t she lovely?

Moving on from that, I felt bad forcing you to send me pictures and getting nothing in return so I have decided to very kindly grace you with my exhilaratingly normal life. You will also find I sent you some of those sweets you like.

Tell Ron and Hermione that I said hi! Oh and Fred and George too! Get into lots of trouble for me ;) I suppose I better stop rambling now, sorry about that I’m just excited (and i might be missing you… just a tiny bit!)

Write back to me soon, if you can! Tell Astra I’m proud of her for making her first delivery! (give her plenty of treats for me yeah?)

I’ll let you get back to your wizardy stuff now, Haz.

Lots of love,

(Y/n) xoxo

P.s. your magical secret is safe with me. promise.

Harry looked up from your letter with a dazed smile, your new little owl was looking at him expectantly, no doubt awaiting her treat, “Good job, Astra. Your owner says she’s very proud of you,” he informed her, handing her a piece of bacon from his breakfast plate and laughed when she hooted happily.

Astra is a gorgeous little tawny, she has brown and white feathers that were fluffy to the touch. Harry could already tell she was well suited to you though, she was friendly as anything with the most curious eyes he’d ever seen.

“Whose it from?” Ron grunted from beside him, munching happily on his huge breakfast.

Harry let out a short laugh, digging into the envelope to pull out the photos and sweets you’d sent, “(Y/n).”

“I thought she didn’t know about you?” Hermione asked from beside Ron, Harry only shrugged.

“She figured it out. She’s quite clever, I think you’d like her Hermione. She says hi by the way.” He answered somewhat distantly, distracted by the pictures you’d sent, all of which had writing on the backs. He paused on one photo, he guessed one of your parents had taken it, you were stood in the woods, surrounded by trees with a huge smile on your face, your eyes were closed and your nose was scrunched up as a very tiny Astra seemed to be nibbling at your ear affectionately.

“I’m sure we’d get along, I admire her determination, really. And she even bought an owl?” The girl questioned, reaching over and petting Astra gently.

Harry’s smile was gentle as Astra hopped onto his shoulder, “Yeah, suppose she did.”

“Alright! I’m gonna say it!” George Weasley exclaimed, plucking the photo of you from Harry’s grasp, he held it between himself and Fred, the older twin had somehow swiped the letter you’d written. “Harry’s girlfriend back home is quite cute, don’t you think, Freddie?” Fred nodded resolutely, pushing the letter into George’s face as he pointed towards a specific line.

“I have to agree and look, Georgie, she told Harry to tell us that she says hi! Ugh, such a darling,” Fred fake swooned and Harry felt his face heat up while George made kissy faces.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Yeah, you had opened Harry up to a whole new world of teasing yet somehow he didn’t mind.

“Oi, do you think she’d like some of our Weasley products?” George asked genuinely, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry shuddered at the thought of you getting a hold of anything that Fred and George had created, because yes, you would like some magical pranking products. You had quite a talent for mischief, only in Harry’s worst nightmares would the Weasley twins ever get their hands on you.

Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Dunno.”

“She single?” Fred asked jokingly and Harry scrunched his face up. He supposed you were single, though, he’d never really pictured you with anyone. He felt quite protective over you, but he supposed he'd like to see you happy with someone he approved of- or alternatively; anyone but Dudley.

“Think so,” Harry told him with another shrug before a cheeky grin spread across his lips, as he focused his attention on the twins who were nudging each other in mock victory, “Why? Should I write home and tell her the esteemed Weasley twins have a crush on her?”

George was the first the speak, he nodded, completely serious and Harry found himself worrying that perhaps one of the Weasley twins would get his hands on you.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Fred snorted and said no more, allowing his younger twin to continue the girl based antics seeing as Fred’s actual crush, Angelina, had started to glare. “In fact, give her my name. Tell her to write to me next time, eh?”

Harry’s eyes widened, oh Merlin, George was serious.

“Oh sod off, would you? The poor girl is a muggle, she’d throw herself off the astronomy tower if she got stuck with either of you prats.” Ron said through a laugh, none of them could deny it was quite funny, even Hermione had to bite back a smile at the chaos your simple letter had caused.

Around two weeks had passed until Astra returned to you, two letters attached to her leg this time.

You greeted her with a warm smile as she landed on the inside of you window, “Welcome home, pretty lady! Did you have a nice trip?” You cooed, patting her feathers and giggling when she nuzzled her head against your fingers. Having a magical owl as a pet was weird, but still, you seemed to be managing her okay.

Astra hooted happily, as if informing you that she did, in fact, have a nice trip. “That’s good! Let me take these letters off and you can have a well deserved rest, I’ve made a nice nest up for you,” you rambled softly as you untied the string that was holding the letters to her leg.

Astra hooted, hopping onto your arm and allowing you to place her on the plush pile of pillows and blankets which she immediately made herself comfortable upon, once again hooting in content when you placed a handful of treats in front of her.

You assumed that both letters were from Harry until you noticed the messy handwriting that covered one of the envelopes, handwriting that definitely didn’t belong to Harry. Besides, never, even in the furthest reaches of your imagination, would your best friend ever refer to you as; “Harry’s Pretty Neighbour”. You set that one to the side for the time being and focused on the letter you knew to actually be from Harry.

Dear (Y/n),

Hi. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a wizard. If it makes you feel better I was actually planning on telling you this summer, but thank you for saving me from that conversation. I miss you too (only a tad). I hope you’re having a good school year so far, it’s been pretty chaotic here but I promise I’ll tell you every single tiny detail when we see each other at the end of May!

Did Astra get home okay? She’s a really lovely owl, she took quite a liking to George who (terrifyingly) has taken quite a liking to you. He’s been badgering me all week for “permission” to write to you, in his words, “just to say hello.” I think you’d actually get along but he and the rest of his family are very magic oriented, I’d be surprised if he didn’t scare you away… the pair of you together would be my worst nightmare. Don’t even get me started on how I’d feel if Fred was in the mix too. I’m tired just thinking about it.

Thank you for the sweets they were lovely, I put a chocolate frog in the envelope for you, it’s a really popular sweet in the wizarding world- don’t freak out when it hops, it’s just a charm the frog isn’t really alive.

I enjoyed the pictures too, I put a few in this letter for you too, the polaroid is running out of film but it should be enough to keep me going until the end of term.

Write to me again soon, I like hearing from you.

Take care,

Harry.

P.S. I’m really sorry you had to kiss Dudley, I’ll do something to make it up to you. Promise.

P.P.S. If George OR Fred manage to write to you PLEASE don’t eat anything they give you.

With a laugh you set the letter down beside you. Curiously, you reached a hand into the ivory envelope and pulled out the peculiarly shaped chocolate box as well as the polaroids. You viewed the photos with a fond smile, Harry always looked so happy, even with whatever chaos was happening around him. Wizard school definitely made your best friend the happiest he’d ever been.

Opening the next letter, which you now guessed judging by Harry’s letter, came from George Weasley, Harry’s friend Ron’s older brother. That was all you knew about him. You let out a gasp once you opened the seal, a small show of tiny fireworks shot out, exploding in balls of reds and oranges across your bedroom before they disappeared as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Slightly frazzled, yet amazed, you cautiously plucked the letter from the envelope and began reading.

Hello, Harry’s Pretty Neighbour.

I hope you enjoyed the show, hopefully it didn’t startle you too much… I’m not exactly sure what muggles are used to… if it did scare you I’m sorry.

Anyway, just wanted to say hi. Promised Harry I wouldn’t spook you, he’s quite protective of you, you know. It’s very sweet.

I don’t blame him, though. If I had a friend as pretty as you I’d be protective too ;)

Don’t break my heart, write back?

Yours truly,

George Weasley x

And that had been the start of it. Two years had passed since you’d discovered the wizarding world and it seemed as though things had simultaneously gotten worse and better. As it turns out, your lifelong best friend was some sort of prophetic hero in the wizard community and on top of that it seemed that there was a war brewing that he would be expected to lead.

Of course, you were completely useless as you don’t possess the ability to perform magic which also means you're at risk of being hate crimed by some classist, wizard, blood supremacists? You weren’t sure. But Harry was worried.

You’d been writing back and forth to a few of Harry’s Hogwarts friends (your friends now too) for a long while now, you’d even gotten a chance to finally meet them when you’d gone with the Dursleys to collect Harry from King’s Cross Station.

You got along best with Hermione seeing as she was raised similarly to yourself and Harry. However, of all of Harry’s school mates, you liked George the most. Everyone could have predicted it really, you’d been writing to each other constantly and the second you’d clapped eyes on each other in the flesh he’d broken out in a run to crush you in a hug. Harry had groaned at the sight of the pair of you, smiling widely at each other, seeming to slot together perfectly. He had to laugh about it now though, if things went well with Ginny he supposed you’d probably end up being his sister-in-law, assuming his predictions of George falling completely in love with you were correct (they were, he knew).

All air of laughter or wizard/muggle romances was gone at the moment however. You and Harry sat alongside each other, your hand holding his loosely between the swings you were sat on, he’d be going into his 5th year at Hogwarts soon, he’d yet to recover from the last. He’d made a friend only for that friend to be killed right in front of him. He’d almost been murdered himself for God’s sake.

“If you don’t feel safe, Haz… maybe, I don’t know? Don’t go back?” You suggested weakly, knowing he’d never do such a thing. As you expected, Harry shook his head and looked at you solemnly.

“Can’t. Not now that he’s back.” With a sigh you squeezed his hand.

“They should be paying you for this, you know,” Harry chuckled then, squeezing your hand in return.

“I’m doing this for you too. To keep you safe.” He admitted and you sighed miserably.

“I wish I could be of more help.” Harry scoffed, his green eyes shining with pure disbelief as he stared at you.

“More help? (Y/n) you must be joking…” he trailed off as you shook your head, you weren’t joking, you hated that you couldn’t help Harry through this, for once you knew there was nothing you could do to improve the situation in any way that would make an impact, “Oi. Look at me,” Harry demanded, no trace of the usual awkward sarcasm to be heard when he spoke.

You let your eyes meet his again and watched how they seemed to soften when he took in how utterly defenceless you looked, “If it hadn’t been for you, the first ten years of my life would’ve been an even worse hell than they already were. You were the only good thing and you’re still the only good thing about being back in this place.”

He watched sadly as your eyes fell to the floor again, “Besides, the sooner we get this mess with Voldemort sorted out, the sooner you and George Weasley can navigate the whole muggle/wizard romance thing.”

At his statement you barked out a laugh and Harry let himself smile too, “Shut up, Potter. S’not like that.”

Harry laughed then too, “Oh it is so like that, (N/n).”

“It so isn’t.” You grumbled, but your little smile confirmed to Harry that it absolutely was like that.

“Okay. Fine, please then do tell, what is going on between you and the infamous George Weasley?” Harry challenged, revelling in the way your cheeks burned with embarrassment. He let out a low chuckle when you shrugged shyly and kicked the stones beneath your feet.

“I don’t know… We write to each other a lot, and I think he’s really interesting and funny and sweet and of course I think he’s fit. But, I don’t know,” you bit your lip as Harry listened to you, he found it quite endearing. “I just don’t see how it would work. I like him, yeah, but…” Harry scoffed again as you trailed off. He hated seeing you feeling so insecure, Harry was clueless about a lot of things, but he knew exactly how much his best friend was worth- more than all the gold in Gringott’s.

“Ok as your best mate, and as someone who is very close with the Weasley family, I’m telling you that he’s mad about you. All he ever does is ask me about you, Fred is completely sick of him. He’s even told Molly about you, which is truly a commitment believe me,” Harry started, growing more content with the more bashful you became, “And didn’t he write to you just before the Yule Ball to tell you that he was going with Katie Bell as a friend but he wanted to tell you just incase you heard it from someone else and he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea?” Finally, you were back to fighting a smile.

“Yeah he did.”

“Well there you go. But seriously he hasn’t dated or even so much as looked at anyone else since he met you. Which I’ll be honest is super annoying for me but you deserve someone who thinks you hung the stars in the sky.”

A mock gasp left your lips and you released his hand to place it over your chest in faux hurt, “You mean to tell me you don’t think I hung the stars in the sky? I’m hurt, Harry. I think I’ll have to rat you out to Mrs. Weasley.”

Harry laughed but the lighthearted atmosphere didn’t last long before Dudley had shown up with his little gang of bullies, all of whom made fun of Harry’s nightmares.

It was then things had taken a turn for the worst, the sky turned black and storm clouds completely blocked out the previously scorching sun. You looked to Harry for answers but he seemed to be seeing something that you couldn’t, all you knew was that it had become unbearably cold, a feeling of misery making a home in your bones as Harry rushed to pull you to your feet.

“Run! Come on!” He shouted, clutching your hand tightly in his and sprinting through the neighbourhood until you, Harry and Dudley found yourselves struggling to catch a breath in a graffiti covered tunnel.

A terrified yelp left your throat as what you’d been running from revealed itself to you.

Several floating, cloaked shadowy figures swooped into the tunnel on both sides, their hands decaying and boney, their presence leaving you with the feeling that you’d never know positively ever again.

Harry had effectively used his body to cage you against the wall of the tunnel, his back pressed firmly against your chest, your own back pressed to the cold concrete wall, his wand was at the ready as the creatures approached rapidly.

“Don’t look at them.” Harry instructed, protecting you first as you watched in horror as one of the creatures seemed to be ripping Dudley’s essence straight out of his body.

It only took Harry a few painfully long seconds to take care of the creature in front of the pair of you, you’d wished you’d taken his advice and buried your head in his shoulder so you wouldn’t see the monstrous creatures before you, yet, you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from Dudley.

The rest happened in a blur, Harry had yet to let go of your hand as it (and your entire body) shook violently. Demontors broke even the strongest of wizards, Harry knew that as a muggle who’d never seen a magical creature, other than an owl, you’d react negatively.

“If it makes you feel any better, I used to faint every time I saw a dementor.” You nodded numbly, giving Dudley a side glance of concern while he mumbled incoherently to himself.

“Is he alright?” You questioned meekly, voice shaking. You were still freezing and the all too familiar feeling of uselessness didn’t do anything to help you regain your inner warmth.

Harry nodded, “He will be.”

“The ministry will be after my head for using magic outside of school,” he told you after a few minutes, squeezing your hand lightly for the umpteenth time, “So I’m gonna have to go away for a while. Probably tonight. Eat some chocolate, it should stop the shaking.” He told you, you hadn’t even noticed you’d reached Privet Drive.

“And they won’t-“ your breath got caught in your throat and your eyes filled with fear, “The dementors. They won’t come back, will they?”

Harry shook his head, “No. But come on, we should get you inside before the ministry shows up and tries to obliviate you.” His final words came out as more of a mumble than an actual sentence as he passed a bumbling Dudley over to Petunia and Vernon before steering you down your own driveway.

“You better not have broken her too, boy!” You vaguely registered Vernon’s voice shouting in your and Harry’s direction.

Your parents were away on holiday at the moment, in Spain. They’d wanted you to come but you hadn’t wanted to miss Harry’s visit, so when you shakily managed to open the door the house was completely dark, you weren’t sure at what point night had fallen.

Harry closed the door behind himself and made his way into your kitchen, the boy rifled through your sweet press before his hand finally settled on what he was looking for. A triumphant sort of yell left his lips as he pulled a bar of chocolate out of the cupboard.

While Harry tossed the bar onto the counter and busied himself with boiling the kettle, you stood in the hallway still, completely rigid.

“Come on, (Y/n). Sit down.” He urged gently, not turning around. Wordlessly, you fully entered the kitchen and slid into a chair facing Harry.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing than making me tea?” You wondered, setting your hands on the table and fidgeting with your icy fingers. Obviously, you appreciated Harry’s fussing but with the way he was talking about the ministry earlier you were sure he had more important things to worry about.

Harry only faced you once he was finished making your tea. He carried the hot cup and the previously discarded bar of chocolate over to you, he placed them both on the table before giving you a hard look, “I’m looking after you first. I’ll deal with everything else later.”

“I used to be the one who took care of you.” You said through a sigh, taking a sip of the hot tea and slumping against your seat as you began to heat up on the inside again.

Harry let out a low chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“I liked it better the other way.” You complained, munching on a square of chocolate.

“Trust me, so did I,” Harry groaned, standing up and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry though, (N/n). Have a sneaking feeling that you’ll be looking after me again soon enough.”

You patted the hand he had clamped on your shoulder in appreciation, “Thank you, though, for looking after me.”

“Course. I better go. I don’t want you getting roped into anything else tonight,” he said with a sad smile and you nodded in understanding, “We probably won’t see each other for a while but I’ll write. Is Astra back from Cecilia's yet?” Celillia is the witch you’d gotten Astra from in the first place, the pair of you had kept in touch and she’d recently offered to try and teach you some basic divination skills, she claimed that, “Being a wizard isn’t exactly a requirement” and you desperately needed something, anything, to make you feel more connected to your friends in the wizarding world. You supposed you’d need to plan a trip to her cottage soon, after tonight you definitely needed some of her wisdom.

“No, not yet. She flew straight there from the burrow so I suppose she’s probably resting,” you informed him distantly, still clutching his hand, “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

Harry squeezed your shoulder and let out a deep breath, “I’ll try my best. Promise,” with that he lifted his hand from your shoulder and extended his pinky to you, you gladly linked it with your own. Harry noted, very gratefully, that the warmth had now returned to your hands and you’d stopped shaking so violently.

“Send me a letter once Astra gets back, alright? I’ll keep you updated on what’s going on over on my side.” You agreed before walking Harry to the door, hugging him tightly and watching as he approached the Dursley’s front door.

As predicted, Harry, George, Hermione and Cecillia had let you know that the wizarding world was crumbling fast. Admittedly you were worried about your wizard friends, but Cecillia had done a great job of keeping you distracted by keeping you buried under heaps of divination books, tarot cards and crystal guidebooks. As it turns out, though, you had quite the talent for making accurate detailed predictions.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were descended from a powerful seer,” she’d written to you in awe after you’d managed to predict exactly how a date of hers would go without missing a single detail.

Reading tarot cards quickly became one of your favourite hobbies to indulge in when you weren’t in school. You’d made the mistake of telling George about it in a recent letter, Harry already knew and he also knew that there was no point telling you that he didn’t have a heap of faith in divination. George however was having a field day with the new information.

The older boy teased you at every chance he got, but it was all in good fun as in every letter he sent, you’d find a page that he’d ripped out of his own divination book, the pages would be crinkled and have messy notes scribbled along the margins, with explanations over words that he knew you wouldn’t understand as a muggle. They were actually really helpful. Aside from all the teasing he found it quite endearing that you were trying to get familiar with some form of magic. Even if it was a form of magic wizards tended to ridicule.

He’d been quite worried about you, Harry told him about the dementors and how you’d been quite shaken up after your encounter with them. He’d written to you on a weekly basis, constantly checking in on you, making absolutely sure that no more dementors paid you a visit. He and Harry both kept you up to date with the constant and seemingly never ending rules being imposed upon them by their new headmaster, or headmistress; Delores Umbridge. George also disclosed to you all about his and Fred’s plan to leave Hogwarts and pursue their lifelong dream of opening a joke shop. You had nothing but faith in the twins, really. Your complete faith in them hadn’t stopped you from sending George a handful of crystals that you believed would help his and his shop’s success. He’d teased you relentlessly in each letter since he’d received your package containing citrine, tiger’s eye, amazonite, aventurine and smokey quartz. What he hadn’t mentioned since receiving your little gifts, is that he’d been carrying the five crystals around in their little orange mesh drawstring bag in his pocket everywhere he went. He had to give credit where credit is due and, to be fair to you and your holistic ways, he hadn’t run into any serious obstacles since he started carrying the gems around.

November through June had brought forth a plethora of unfortunate events. You were practically swimming in school work which left you with no time to write to Harry, or even practice tarot. As well as that, you’d been having nightmares, although Cecillia had warned that these dreams could hold some sort of prophesies within them, you highly doubted that though, you weren’t a wizard, only a muggle. Whether prophetic or not, the nightmares plagued you, keeping you up at night or waking you at all hours of the morning.

On one particular morning, you’d awoken with a gasp. Sweat coated your face, soaked your pillow cases and caused your legs to stick to your blankets in a way not even the June heat could've caused. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, tears welled in your eyes, and your body shook as violently as it had the night you’d come face to face with the dementors of Azkaban. The unadulterated fear coursing through your bloodstream suggested that perhaps this bad dream had been something more than simply that.

As fast as you could manage in your panicked state, you dragged your body out of bed and stumbled towards your light switch, flicking it on before haphazardly ripping a sheet out of the refill pad on your desk, grabbing a pen and beginning to scribble down the dream that you could only describe as a warning.

Your laboured breaths stirred Astra from her slumber, the tawny hooted tiredly, hopping out of her cage and fluttering over to your shoulder, settling there as you wrote.

Harry,

I hope this letter reaches you in time. I might sound completely mad but something terrible may be about to happen. I’ve been having these horrific dreams over the last few months, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry but Cecillia suspects they’re premonitions and I’m terrified she may be right. I’ve just woken up, it’s around 2am and if I’m lucky, Astra should get this letter to you before 6am…

Onto the dream, you were there and you were asleep, I was standing by your bed, it was a four-poster sort of thing, the room was decorated in mostly red and gold. You woke up panicked, you looked completely overwhelmed and you began shouting about your Godfather Sirius, about how he was in trouble… From then on I watched the day play out. You, Hermoine, Ron, Ginny, a boy with brown hair I’ve never met, I think you called him Neville in my dream, and a blonde girl- Luna I think you called her, you all went to the ministry to rescue Sirius and find some kind of prophecy. Harry you have to listen to me, you mustn’t go, it’s a trick, Voldemort planted it in your head and if you go you’ll only put Sirius in harm’s way. But, knowing you, you’re gonna go anyway… so here’s my advice: keep your eyes open for the witch Bellatrix. Keep Sirius away from the veil and please please please, be careful.

I’m heading to Cecillia’s cottage for the day and maybe even the next couple of days, send Astra there when you find time to write back.

I hope I’m wrong but if I’m not; good luck, Harry. I love you and if you don’t look after yourself the dark lord will be the least of your worries.

Lots of love,

Y/n.

Folding up the letter and placing it in a stray envelope, you addressed it and gently tied it to your loyal owl’s leg. “I’m gonna need you to go as fast as you can to get this to Harry, okay Astra?” She hooted with what you guessed to be determination before she set off, out into the night. Thankfully for you, now that your owl was occupied, you knew Cecillia owned a telephone so you’d have no problems contacting her. While writing to Harry, you’d left out a few details about the dream. You conveniently forget to mention that you’d watched his only remaining family member killed at the hand’s of Bellatrix, it had looked so terrifyingly real that your mind couldn’t have possibly conjured it up all by itself. You also failed to mention hearing Harry’s agonising scream as Sirius fell, the noise was nearly deafening. Seeing Sirius, a man you’d only seen in pictures, die and watching your best friend mourn for him was, well, traumatising. There was no way you’d get a wink of sleep for the remainder of the night, so, you quietly tiptoed downstairs and made a call.

The line rang three times before Cecillia’s voice sounded, chirpy as ever despite the late hour, “Hello?”

“Sorry to call so late,” was all you managed, your voice although shaky was immediately identified by the much older witch.

You could nearly see the soft smile on her youthful face as she spoke, “Ah, Y/n my darling, no worries at all! How is my favourite student doing at half two in the morning?”

“Not well, I’ve had another vision. I think you might’ve been right about the dreams being prophetic,” you told her, willing your voice not to crack as the image of your bad dreams crept into your mind once again.

Cecillia let out a gentle hum, “Shall I apparate over? You don’t sound in the highest of spirits, darling.”

“Yes please,” you answered simply and within seconds Cecillia was standing before you, a worried furrow in her brow and her ashy brown hair disheveled from apparating to you in such a hurry. How could she not? You were, after all, her protégé.

“Oh, darling. You look terribly shaken up, come, come, let’s get you some water,” she fretted, guiding you to your kitchen, magically flicking on the light with her wand and filling up a glass of water, with a few flicks of her wrist the glass had floated over to your usual seat at the table, meanwhile Cecillia had stirred you into the wooden chair adjacent the glass.

Wordlessly, the witch peeled your damp hair away from your face and secured it back with a crocodile clip shaped like a huge golden bumble bee, it’s wings adorned with glittering gems. The bee sat comfortably in your hair as Cecillia finally sat down beside you, she made herself comfortable on the kitchen chair, crossing one leg over the other, resting her elbow on the table and using it to prop her cheek up. Her wide green eyes stared at you sympathetically, watching intently as you sipped your water.

“I’m assuming your loyal familiar is sleeping soundly?” She wondered, referring to Astra. You shook your head, simultaneously swallowing a gulp of water before responding verbally.

“I sent her with a letter to Harry, it was more of a warning really,” Cecillia nodded her head, signalling you to go on, “I dreamt of Harry and his friends going to the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius Black, but it was a trap. When they got there they were ambushed by dark wizards and Sirius well he…” you trailed off, eyes growing distant and unfocused when the sight of the man being murdered reentered your mind’s eye. A gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present.

“This one was far worse than the others then?”

You nodded, “It didn’t feel like a dream, cecillia. It was like I was actually standing there but I couldn’t do anything to help though… as per usual,” you muttered bitterly, receiving a harsh squeeze to your shoulder in response.

Cecillia fixed you with a maternal glare, “None of that! You potentially saved a life tonight. And, as I effortlessly predicted since the moment I met you, you’ve got the magical gift of sight,” her hard look melted into something more forgiving as she spoke, “You’re much more than just a muggle. You may have been an extremely late bloomer, but, you’re a witch and a seer at that. A peculiar case indeed, although in the wizarding world stranger things have happened,” the old witch told you proudly, eyes shining with glee as your own filled with confusion.

“How do we know the dream will even come true?” You questioned.

Cecillia simply shrugged and offered you a cheeky grin, “I trust your feelings, darling.”

True to your initial feeling, you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, you knew you wouldn’t be able to rest until you found out whether or not your dream had come to fruition. Cecillia remained by your side throughout the night, eventually the sun had risen and your parents descended down the stairs, neither of them were surprised to see Cecillia sitting at the kitchen table. They saw her as an odd woman, very kind and perfectly lovely, but odd. You’d told them that she owned an animal sanctuary and that you’d been volunteering with her, it wasn’t too far fetched really, she had given you an owl after all, not to mention the amount of cats that hung around her cottage.

She explained to your parents that she needed your help at ‘the sanctuary’ for the next few days and that she’d drop you home once the work was finished. It hadn’t been a problem, so you traveled to Cecillia’s cottage after getting dressed and packing an overnight bag (full to the brim with tarot decks and only some clothes).

It was nearly 8 in the evening when Cecillia sauntered into her living room, where you were sitting, sporting a knowing grin, she held a piece of parchment in one hand and an unopened envelope in the other.

Jovially, she plopped herself down beside you, obviously doing her very best to contain a huge grin from forming on her face. Wordlessly, she placed the envelope on your lap with a mere, “For you.”

On the envelope you could tell by the handwriting that it had come from Harry. This was definitely a make or break moment for you. The contents of this letter would either confirm that you did in fact have magic, or, they would be responsible for causing you to experience a seismic amount of embarrassment. Swallowing the lump in your throat you tore the envelope open, freeing the letter and daring to read what was inside.

Dear Y/n,

Your dream was right. And that advice you gave about keeping an eye on Sirius? It saved his life. I suppose I’m mostly writing to say thank you. I’ve got some updates for you too: firstly, it’s finally been confirmed that Voldemort is back so my name is cleared. Secondly, it turns out that Remus and Cecillia are old friends, she contacted him earlier today about your vision and he and Sirius haven’t shut up about how impressive it is. I have a feeling you might be hearing from them soon, The Order now more than ever is in need of a secret weapon and genuine seers are hard to come by. I hate to involve you in this, it’ll probably be dangerous and you know I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. But having said that, I’m glad we’re in this together now.

Astra got here in good time, by the way, she landed on my window just after I woke up from my vision of Sirius, it was actually quite freaky. I’m taking good care of her so don’t worry, she should be back to you at some point tomorrow.

Hermoine and Ron say hi too. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from George soon, seeing as he and Fred are in the Order… On that note I better get going.

Thank you again for the warning.

See you soon,

Love, Harry.

A bemused smile spread across your lips as you scanned the page, thankful to have finally made a significant difference in Harry’s life. Cecillia was grinning like a cheshire cat beside you, pride shimmering in her emerald eyes. She bumped her arm against yours playfully when you let the letter fall to your lap, “An old friend of mine will be stopping by in a short while. It seems he’d like to get you trained up in some defence against the dark arts.” She told you, still grinning.

“Defence against the dark arts?” You wondered out loud, you were sure you’d heard Harry mention those words to you before, however, the memories were fuzzy.

“Magic to keep you safe from darker magic, the likes of which the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters rely,” she explained darkly. Just then, a loud bang erupted from her open stone fireplace, a bubble of green dissipated as two men stepped less than gracefully onto Cecillia’s faux-fur rug. You recognised them both from your vision. They were Sirius Black and, if you were to take an educated guess, Remus Lupin.

Cecillia wasted no time before she was giddily jumping from her seat to greet the pair who had just appeared in her sitting room.

“Remus! Oh, how wonderful to see you!” She all but squealed, pulling the tall man into a hug and ruffling his already messy hair.

He reciprocated the hug with a gentle chuckle, “It’s nice to see you again, Cece. It’s been far too long,” he pulled away and the pair of them shared a fond smile before simultaneously looking to Sirius. “I trust you remember Sirius?” Lupin asked, almost rhetorically.

Sirius let out a booming laugh at that, “She could never forget me, now could you, Cece?” Cecillia rolled her eyes, and with a look of endearment nearly tackled Sirius into an embrace.

Seeing the woman who was essentially your magical mentor so overjoyed was lovely, Cecillia was jolly at the best of times but you’d never seen her quite like this. Her happiness added to your sense of helpfulness, Sirius Black was obviously important to more than just Harry, if the smile on the free-spirited witches face was anything to go by. Although you were ecstatic for the three witches and wizards before you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were imposing on an intimate reunion.

Awkwardly you cleared your throat, successfully bringing the trio’s attention onto you as you stood by the sofa, smiling unsurely. If it was even possible, all three of their smiles broadened when their gazes landed on you.

“Am I right in assuming that this is my guardian angel?” Sirius asked, separating from Cecillia.

Cecillia nodded, filled with pride, “And isn’t she just the loveliest guardian angel you’ve ever seen?” She gushed, half seriously.

You offered Sirius a bashful smile, along with a nod of greeting, “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” you told him.

His grin stayed fixed in place but he raised a single eyebrow in confusion, “Glad? And yet you’ve never met me before now…” his tone was laced with inquisition, as if he wanted to figure out what ulterior motive you could possibly have for caring about a stranger you’d only ever seen in a dream.

It didn’t take a seer or a psychic to see what Sirius was after, so you simply answered him truthfully, “No, we’ve never met, but you’re still a person, I watched that woman kill you, it was horrible, nobody deserves that. As well as that; I know how much you mean to Harry and what sort of best friend would I be if I didn’t try to help him keep his last family member safe?” Sirius nodded approvingly at your reply, looking between Remus and Cecillia.

“She remind you of anyone?” The black haired man asked in a low chuckle, Remus snickered and Cecillia bit back a grin.

The witch made her way back to your side and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, jostling you ever so slightly when she noticed your vaguely worried expression, “Don’t worry, darling, you just remind us of one of our most treasured school friends, I promise I will tell you all about it later. But for now, I believe Sirius was about to thank you for saving his life?” She prompted, waiting expectantly.

Sirius cleared his throat and straightened his posture before outstretching his arm, offering you his hand which you took firmly in your own. His voice was steady, strong and genuine when he spoke, “I am truly thankful for what you did for not only me but Harry today. I’m extremely proud of my godson for aligning himself with such a strong, powerful and wonderfully loyal young lady.”

“How sweet,” Cecillia cooed, before guiding you to the kitchen, “Come now, boys, kettles on- we have a lot to discuss!” She called over her shoulder.

There certainly had been a lot to discuss. The Order of the Phoenix thought having a seer at their disposal would be extremely beneficial in the upcoming war, the issue was; you are not yet of age and some members of the group didn’t wish to involve a child in their battle. Sirius, Remus and Cecillia made it abundantly clear that if you desired to join the Order, you were more than welcome but you would be welcomed under certain conditions. Those conditions being that your membership be kept under wraps and not disclosed to any muggles, meaning your parents.

“To keep them safe and to give you an escape route if things get too messy, even with the level of magic you’ll have gained by the time the war is in full swing, as a muggle born you’ll most likely need to flee quickly,” Remus explained, though it didn’t make much sense.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to run if my parents knew what we were running from? They’re open minded people, I’m sure they’d understand,” you attempted to reason, the trio but exchanged yet another loaded look with each other.

Cecillia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “We have a contingency plan in place, darling. Nothing you need to worry about for right now,” she reassured, easing your nerves a tad. “You trust me don’t you?” She followed up, her tone slightly stonier, more serious. You nodded your head certainly in response, there was no doubt about it; you trusted the witch with your life. “Then,” she began again, a somewhat chastising look on her face, “Trust that I will not allow a single hair on your head to be harmed.” This rule also extended to wizards not in the Order, which meant that when in the magical world, you were to air on the side of extreme caution.

Relating to that, another condition was that, at all times in the magical world, you were to be accompanied by an of age member of the Order. According to Sirius, who your were growing to like more by the second, he was going to arrange for a member of the Order to bring you to Diagon Alley in the morning to get you a wand. The prospect of having a wand of your own was terribly exciting, once again though, you found yourself wondering if you had it in you to properly wield one, or wield one at all for that matter. You were too exhausted to fret for too long, so the thoughts about magic levels and your own capabilities were only fleeting. Once all of the serious chat dissipated into friendly chatter, you managed to slip away from the table at which you were all sat. Making your way back to the sitting room, you tucked yourself into the corner seat of Cecillia’s old and very comfortable sofa, pulled your knees against your chest, wrapped your arms around them and rested your cheek against your knee. Slowly and deeply, you began to breathe in and out, fiddling with the amazonite bracelet that adorned your wrist in order to quell your ever growing anxiety. For a few sweet minutes you indulged in the calm silence, meditating peacefully in your comfy seat until a soft knock sounded from the doorway. When your eyes fluttered open they were met with the image of Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame of the door, a hand plunged deep into his trouser pocket and another flipping a stray tarot card between his fingers. His eyes were focused on yours as he spoke, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You shook your head and patted the seat beside you, “‘Course not, come sit.”

The man chuckled but obliged, settling in the spot beside you and offering you the card he’d previously been fiddling with.

“The ten of swords,” you identified easily, “I assume you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed if this card found its way to you.”

Sirius hummed, “CeCe tells me that you’ve a penchant for card reading. I was rubbish at divination back at Hogwarts, only took it because I thought it’d be easy but I could never get my head around it,” he reminisced, an airy laugh slipping from his lips.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who were you all talking about earlier when you asked if I reminded Cecilia and Remus of anyone?” He let out a deep sigh before fixing you with a soft smile.

“An old school friend of ours, she was more than a friend to me, but that’s a story for another time,” he started, staring out into the empty space before him a melancholy grin on his lips, “She was fiercely loyal to her friends, if she wanted to help there was absolutely nothing that would stop her from doing so. I know I don’t know you very well, but from what I heard today and the way in which you’ve been described to me by Harry; I can see her in you,” he finished, bumping his shoulder with yours and forcing a happy smile onto your lips which mirrored Sirius’.

“What’s her name?” You asked.

“Her name was Marlene,” Sirius answered.

Your heart dropped with his use of past tense, “Was?”

Sirius bowed his head slightly and began to twist the rings that adorned his slender fingers, “She was killed during the first war,” he told you, making eye contact once again, a grave expression on his face as he continued, “I saw your apprehension earlier when we brought up the topic of secrecy, but you must understand that during the first war we lost so many who were dear to us, keeping you in our back pocket will ensure that you aren’t harmed in the face of this war, if any dark wizards hear so much of a whisper of a muggleborn seer they will stop at nothing to eliminate you,” he paused for a brief second, never breaking eye contact, the gravity of the situation heavy on your chest your fingers absentmindedly found your amazonite bracelet once again. Your movements were halted when Sirius placed his large hand over yours, squeezing it warmly while staring at you determinedly, “You saved my life today, Y/n. So believe me when I tell you that I will stop at nothing to keep you safe,” he promised and you squeezed his hand in return.

“I know,” he smiled as he watched your eyes return to the ten of swords and your grin broadened with the sort of mischief he’d only ever seen in four people; James Potter, Marlene McKinnon and Fred and George Weasley. “I have a prediction for you.”

Sirius entertained you fondly, a mischievous air that reminded him of when he was your age surrounding the pair of you, “By all means, do tell.”

“I predict,” you paused for emphasis, “that we are going to be very good friends.”

Sirius let out a booming laugh of which the volume he couldn’t control, “That is a prediction I truly hope will come to fruition.”

“Oh no, this is a duo that spells trouble,” Cecillia giggled to Remus as they entered the sitting room.

Remus looked between you and Sirius with a grin, “With a mentor like you, Cece, I’m not surprised Y/n has a taste for mischief,” the ruffled wizard teased, receiving a gentle elbow to the ribs from your mentor.

“Oi, if you’re going to blame my beloved girl’s mischief on anyone you better blame it on a certain Weasley twin,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and causing the boys to smile giddily like teenagers.

Sirius bumped your shoulder again, this time with a faux-scandalised smile, “A Weasley twin, eh? Come on then, which one?” You blushed heavily and cleared your throat in an attempt to alleviate the embarrassment filling your being.

“He’s just a friend!”

“Mhm. A friend that sends her annotated pages from his divination text book,” Cecillia sang and Sirius snickered.

“Whichever one it is must be quite taken with you if you made him actually crack open a textbook.”

“Annotations are quite intimate,” Remus half teased although you could see he believed what he’d just said, “I bet it’s George,” he directed the bet at Sirius who carefully observed the way you bit your lip and bashfully looked towards the wooden floor.

“I think you’re right, moony. Now!” He stood suddenly and pointed a finger at Remus expectantly, “We best get going and arrange Y/n’s accomplice for tomorrow’s field trip,” he wiggled his eyebrows before turning his head to face you again, he shot you a wink and you couldn’t stop the airy laugh that left your mouth at his lighthearted antics.

Remus gave Cecillia a one armed hug, “we’ll be seeing you both tomorrow then, it was lovely to meet you, Y/n, perhaps next time Sirius will allow me to get a word in,” he chuckled and Sirius responded by throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“I better get off, this husband of mine is growing jealous,” he told you in a teasingly hushed whisper.

Your eyes widened and you looked between the two men, “You two are married?”

A love struck smile took over both of their faces which immediately gave you your answer. “We’re engaged,” Sirius clarified before pulling you into a proper hug, “Get a good night's sleep, we’ll be sending an order member to collect you early tomorrow morning so you can be in and out of Olivander’s before a crowd can build,” he told you while giving you an affectionate squeeze, you could’ve laughed when you realised that it felt like you’d known Sirius forever but you also could’ve cried when you relived the image of him losing his life and realised that just because it was over and prevented didn't mean it hadn’t still transpired in your mind’s eye, you didn’t let that show on your face though.

“I’ll make sure I’m well rested,” you promised.

With that, Sirius bid Cecillia goodbye, and he and Remus left the way they’d came.

The rest of the night had been spent with Cecillia telling you story after story about her school days and the trouble she’d caused with Sirius, Remus, James and Lily Potter, Harry’s parents, and another boy who she only referred to as “the rat”. Though the tone of the stories were completely lighthearted, they weighed on your chest with a sense of such tragedy. A huge majority of their friends were killed young because of the war, a war that was now waging once again. It led you to wonder who’d be lost to this one, if perhaps you’d be on the list of names that Harry or Cecillia or George would speak about fondly with a dense undertone of sorrow in the years after the second war had long since been won. It was a risk you were willing to take though, the notion of fighting for a deserving cause filled you with a sense of purpose, a purpose you’d been searching for for years. More than that, you felt important. You were needed. An asset. You would actually be of some help.

True to your word, you’d been getting a good night’s rest. The bed in Cecillia’s spare room was the comfiest thing you’d ever come across, though, as you began to stir from your deep slumber you couldn’t recall the empty side of the double bed being quite so dipped.

Slowly and begrudgingly, you cracked your eyes open to see Cecillia smiling tiredly at you in the light of dawn, “Morning, darling. Sorry about the early start, I’ve made you some tea,” she greeted quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the early morning. She held two ceramic mugs, one in each hand and passed you the steaming cup that was hand painted green, keeping the brown one for herself. Tiredly, you patted the spot beside you and pulled the quilt to the side, inviting the witch into the warm bed. She happily slid in, pulling the quilt over her and chuckling quietly when you dropped your head onto her robed shoulder and began to sip the tea she’d made. Cecillia rested her head against yours and sipped on her own tea.

“Are you excited for today?” She asked and you hummed.

“I’m having mixed emotions,” you stated, “I’m excited to see everything, but I’m sort of nervous that I won’t have enough magic to even get a wand,” Comfort spread through your chest when Cecillia pressed her lips to the crown of your head.

“The wonderful thing about wands, lovely, is that the wand picks the wizard,” she began, “so whatever wand you end up with will accentuate the level of magic inside you. Its power will grow as yours does and you’ll soon come to realise that you couldn’t imagine wielding anything else,” her voice was wistful and her eyes shined with wonder as she recalled how it felt to bond to a wand.

“What do you think mine will be like?” You wondered, excitement awakening in you thanks to Cecillia’s encouraging words.

The witch took an exaggerated slurp of her tea before answering, “Something curious,” was all she said.

“Insightful,” you murmured and she shrugged unapologetically, her chaotic energy exuding now that she’d started to wake up fully. “What time is it anyway?”

“Half six, your chaperone should be arriving at seven and Olivander’s opens at eight,” she told you before shimmying out of bed, you whined in the absence of your head rest. “You better get dressed. Wear something nice, rumour has it that your tag along is quite the eligible bachelor,” she wiggled her eyebrows and all but floated out of the spare room. It was practically your room by now though, over the years since you’d gotten Astra and met Cecillia you’d stayed in the room on countless occasions. Cecillia embodied something that was something between a second mother, a spiritual mentor, a teasing older sister and a slightly kooky aunt.

“Oh? So do you reckon I should brush my hair then?” You jokingly called out after her only to receive a harsh scoff.

“Absolutely not! Don’t be desperate!” You barked out a laugh at her response, shaking your head and getting ready for the day ahead.

You were just about finished getting ready when a familiar bang sounded from the sitting room. Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself one last look over in the mirror, happy with the outfit you’d chosen, you made your way towards the sitting room to come face to face with your surprise chaperone for the day.

When you shuffled into the sitting room, a smile immediately stretched across your lips upon seeing who had been appointed to stick by your side for the day, “George!” His name left your mouth in a squeal that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so excited to see him. It’d been upwards of a year since the last time you’d seen George in the flesh and although you’d seen each other in photos and written to each other at a rate that was almost excessive, the prospect of spending time together in person was, for lack of a better word; magical.

George drew his attention away from the framed pictures that lined Cecillia’s fireplace to see you standing in the doorway, looking as bright as the newly risen sun and sporting a smile that he couldn’t quite put into words how it made him feel. It only took a second before his own cheek splitting smile grew on his face, and with it left his hopes of impressing you with his cool and collected attitude. You hadn’t given him too much time to dwell on his ruined cool guy facade as you all but threw yourself into his arms. The red head let out an endearing laugh, catching you in his toned arms, wrapping them tightly around your torso. A scarlet blush rising on his ears when he felt your smile against his neck. “Hello to you too,” he chuckled against your ear and you pulled back enough to look at him, your arms still secure around his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you started, the smile that still adorned your lips telling him that you weren’t all that sorry at all, “Hi,” you greeted, bashfully pulling your arms away from him.

The sitting room was quiet for a moment as the pair of you only stared at each other, would it be too much to tell him that you’ve missed him? You didn’t want to come on too strong after such a long time apart, you’d already tackled him into a hug within the first five seconds, but with that came your next internal question of; did you really want to keep this boy on his toes?

George, having already discarded his notion of acting nonchalant with you, bet you to the punch. He rubbed the back of his neck and flicked his gaze to the floor before bringing it back to you, “I’ve missed you.”

A giggle left your lips before you could think about choking it down, you nodded your head, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, “Yeah, I’ve missed you too. Sorry I haven’t written, Astra is still with Harry.”

George gave you a grin, “No worries, darling. Heard you’ve been a very busy little psychic lately.”

Darling, you mused internally, the nickname echoing through your head and causing your heart to somersault in a way you’d never really felt before.

“Oh how sweet,” Cecillia sang from the doorway, a wicked grin on her face as she took in the two hopeless blushing messes, staring doe-eyed at each other in the middle of her living room. “I hate to break up the reunion, my dears, but the pair of you really should get going,” she instructed, strutting up to you and holding a cloth pouch in your direction, “Sirius left you some spending money, it’s different than the money you usually use but I’m sure George will have no problem helping you out,” Cecillia shot the boy a wink and he nodded, once again growing bashful.

“Now,” she grew serious, directing her words at George and making him slightly intimidated with her strong eye contact, “You are to be extremely careful. You are not to mention that Y/n is a seer and you are not to draw any attention to the fact that she is a muggleborn, if Mr. Olivander asks, she’s a half-blood who's been living in the states and that’s why she doesn’t have a wand,” you wore a confused expression, George nodded in complete understanding, “Did Sirius give you the list?”

George nodded once again, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of the back pocket of his slightly baggy denim jeans, “May I take a look?” Cecillia asked, already snatching the parchment from George’s long fingers and unfolding the sheet and reading it aloud, “Alright! A wand… seriously? He used a whole page of parchment just to write one thing?” She grumbled, stomping over to the nearest side table, leaning down and began to scribble on the parchment. You looked to George as she wrote, “Why do you have to say I’m from the States?” You asked quietly and George leaned down slightly to be closer to your ear.

“Witches and wizards in America don’t get wands until they’re of age, we get them here when we’re eleven,” just as he was finished offering his explanation, Cecillia walked back over, a hard look on her face that you weren’t used to seeing, though it seemed that the look was reserved for George.

Silently she handed him the parchment before looking to you, hard look dissolving back into her usual playful expression, “Have fun, lovely.” She then turned to George again, apparently having had enough of trying to intimidate the poor boy, she shot him a smile, “You’ll be taking the floo to Diagon Alley, my fireplace is big enough to take the both of you at once,” she handed George a pouch of what looked like green powder, “George knows what to do, now, not to sound like a broken record but do stay safe and have fun,” she finished, ushering the pair of you into her fireplace. You couldn’t lie, it was quite strange, you supposed you should get used to things coming across as strange, you were about to be exposed to the magical wizarding world for the first time after all. In the fireplace, you stood shoulder to shoulder with George, noticing the nervous look on your face, he slid his hand into yours gently. When you looked at him, he kept his face focused on his feet, “Ready, Y/n?” Taking a deep breath you nodded shakily.

“Ready, George.”

At your words, George slammed the green powder onto the ground and shouted, “Diagon Alley!”

You were sure you were going to be sick. Whatever the powder was, it had you spinning at a pace you didn’t know was possible, you had screwed your eyes shut and you were almost certain that you could feel yourself physically moving. It was only when George tugged on your hand that you opened your eyes to see that your surroundings had actually changed. “It’s horrible the first time, but you get used to it,” George said, pulling you by your still intertwined hands onto the cobbled street. The dizziness died down after only a few seconds out in the fresh air, the added sensation of George’s thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand seemed to do the trick in settling you completely as you took in the street ahead of you. It was dazzling, really. A long cobbled street, lined with shops that looked like they were plucked straight out of a fairytale. As planned, the streets were fairly empty in the early morning as George led you down the path towards the shop where you’d hopefully get your wand. The name “Olivanders” was written above both windows of the dark shop, the words “makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.” were to be seen just above the door. Excitement had completely overridden your nerves and you practically skipped towards the door, George followed casually behind you, his hands tucked into his pockets and a fond smile on his lips.

“I suppose you’re excited then?” He asked teasingly and you didn’t bother trying to hide your obvious childlike wonder as you waited for him to catch up with you.

“It probably seems silly to you, but this morning Cecillia told me all about when she got her wand and it sounded so wonderful,” you told him, smiling when he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“I don’t think it’s silly, I still get giddy thinking about the time Fred and I got wands of our own,” he pushed the door open and motioned for you to step inside, slowly you walked into the empty shop. It was dark and somewhat dingy but there was something very mystically inclining about it, you could feel the energy and it was utterly exhilarating.

“Wow,” you breathed out, spinning where you stood, gazing at the boxes upon boxes that lined the shelves.

Only a minute passed before an old man stumbled to the front of the shop, smiling at the pair of you from behind the counter, “Ah, Mr. Weasley, it’s good to see you, it’s been some time. What can I do for you this morning? I see you’ve brought a friend,” the older wizard greeted and you smiled in response.

“I’m looking for a wand. I’ve been living in the states for the past few years but I just moved home,” you lied easily, George couldn’t help but smirk, what he’d give to have had you around for some of his and Fred’s pranks at Hogwarts.

The old man nodded in understanding, his eyes scanned you, his eyes were scrutinising and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, “Interesting. One moment please,” he said, murmuring to himself as he searched the isles for what he was looking for. A small “aha” sounded from within the isles, he was back in front of you within seconds, an open rectangular box in his hand. It was absolutely gorgeous, it resembled a raw tree branch, wood spiralling up its expanse until it stopped at the top, cutting off in a jagged, dull edge. He must’ve noticed how your jaw dropped, how could he not? He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you’d wandered into his shop. He was an old wizard, but he wasn’t naive, he was well aware you weren’t returning from America, he could sense an energy in you that he hadn’t come in contact with in a long time. “Curious, isn’t it?” He prompted you, causing you to let out an airy laugh. Cecillia was going to tease you big time when you got back to her cabin.

“It’s lovely, what is it?” He offered you the box expectantly and you hesitantly picked up the wand with as much care as you possibly could. It was cool against your skin and was heavier than you’d imagined it would be.

“Thirteen inch, oak; cut from the base of a tree, which at the time, was almost six hundred years old,” he explained, watching happily as you ran your fingers along the wands several ridges,”With a phoenix feather core, quite a rare piece indeed. Unfortunately, this particular wand has been extremely difficult to match to a witch. But something tells me that you might be just the witch for the job,” he held your gaze and you once again got the feeling that he knew something he shouldn’t, “Go on, then. Give it a wave,” he prompted and you looked to George for further encouragement. George laughed at your lost expression, pulling his own wand out and pointing it towards the now empty box on the counter, “Like this, love,” he demonstrated, moving his wrist in a semi-circle motion, making the box levitate off the counter.

Another pet name. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach in favour of clearing your throat, squaring your shoulders and pointing your wand at the same box George had just made float, which was now settled back against the counter. Imitating the boy beside you, you moved your wrist in a swift semi-circle. Suddenly, a golden light poured from the tip of the wand and warm air surrounded you, gently blowing your hair back and forcing a laugh of disbelief to leave your lips. George stood wide eyed beside you, his lips parted slightly. He was amazed really, he went through five wands before he found the one that fit him, yet you’d found yours on the first try, and he had to admit; you looked glorious doing it.

After paying for your wand, you exited the shop, looking around George’s side at the list he was holding. From what you could make out, Cecillia had added a number of items to the originally very short list; 1) a wand, 2) a pendulum (crystal of the ladies choice), 3) crystals: labradorite, lapis lazuli & azurite, 4) mugwort, 5) new tarot deck (again, whatever she wants Sirius can afford it ;)).

“Suppose our next stop is the divination shop,” George said, mostly to himself but gave you a mischievous smile, “If we hurry up and get our shopping done fast we could probably get a butterbeer in before we rejoin the rest of the Order,” he sang, grazing his hand against yours as you walked side by side.

“Beer? You seriously want to drink beer at half eight in the morning?” You asked him, your eyebrow raised and he replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against his side and once again leaning his head down so his lips were level with your eye.

“No, you git,” he began with a laugh, “It’s not really beer, it’s pretty sweet; most wizards love it.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, “Sounds nice,” you told him absently, preoccupied with all the intriguing shops that surrounded you. George’s arm remained wrapped around your shoulder as you strolled further into Diagon Alley, seemingly uninterested in his offer for a butterbeer. The pair of you got what you needed from the shop and, since it hadn’t taken long, you decided to take George up on his drinks offer. You noticed that he seemed a little bit crestfallen since your noncommittal answer earlier.

“Hey,” you said, bumping your arm against his.

“Hello,” he replied, returning the gesture.

“So… d’you wanna go get one of those beer things that you were talking about earlier?” You asked nervously, your lip between your teeth. For all you knew, asking someone to grab a butterbeer in the wizarding world was the muggle equivalent to proposing.

George flashed you a grin that was almost childlike, it was mesmerising, so sweet and pure and you almost wished you’d brought your camera to take a picture of it. “I thought you’d never ask.”

With a giggle you let him grab your hand and lead you excitedly towards a building that had “The Leaky Cauldron” written above the door. When you got inside, George led you to a small round table with two chairs and you both sat down opposite each other. As casually as you could, you rested your elbow against the table and let your cheek rest against your fist, for a solid few minutes, while George ordered, you curiously looked around the pub until your gaze finally rested on George who was already looking at you with a soft smile, “Having fun?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You nodded your head, “Mhm, are you? I’m sure getting up at the crack of dawn to take me shopping isn’t something someone like you would usually like to do for fun,” you said, becoming slightly self conscious when you realised that he probably wasn’t enjoying the morning as much as you were. This was all normal for him, you’d nearly forgotten.

George gave you a perplexed look, “Course I’m having fun, love. But, what do you mean someone like me?”

You shrugged, once again pushing down the butterflies that arose in your stomach from the pet name, “I dunno, you’re just- you’re mischievous and fun and… I don’t know, shopping for stuff with me doesn’t seem like it’s something you’d want to do. I just hope Sirius didn’t force you into it,” you admitted shyly, smiling gratefully at the waiter when he placed the mugs of golden liquid on the table.

George chewed on his bottom lip for a second before he shook his head, “He didn’t force me. I sort of, well, I sort of forced him to let me take you. He wanted Professor Lupin to do it but I…” he let out an exaggerated sigh before giving you a smile, “I wanted to spend time with you,” he confessed sweetly, watching happily as a smile formed on your lips and you tried to hide it in the rim of your butterbeer. He laughed when your face lit up once the liquid hit your lips, “Like it?”

“This stuff is amazing,” you almost shouted, taking another large sip from the drink, “No wonder you all love it so much.”

George snickered, “Just in case it wasn’t clear; I’m having a lot of fun with you,” he said all too casually, taking a sip of his drink.

“Where to now?” You wondered, after you’d finished your drinks and set off back towards the floo network.

George shot you a cheeky look and wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m taking you back to headquarters.”

“Sounds ominous,” you commented, following him into the fireplace, nervously.

“D’you want a tip?” George asked out of the blue and you looked up at him expectantly, nodding. “The dizziness isn’t as bad if you keep your eyes open,” he whispered, taking your hand once again and throwing down the same green powder from earlier and shouting a new location that you hadn’t heard before. You cringed as the world began to spin, listening to George’s advice hadn’t helped much as the transportation was just as awful as it had been the first time. Unbeknownst to you, you were squeezing George’s hand like your life depended on it, George’s thumb had resumed brushing circles around your hand in response, the harsh squeezing didn’t bother him at all, not when it was you doing the squeezing. Just like earlier, George led you out of the fireplace and into the unfamiliar sitting room. Though the room was completely unfamiliar it was full of faces you immediately recognised, one face in particular standing out above all the rest.

In a second you’d dropped not only George’s hand, but all of your shopping bags to the floor carelessly and hurled yourself towards the boy who had already begun rushing towards you the second he caught sight of you appearing in the fireplace. Your bodies collided with so much force that you nearly sent each other tumbling to the ground, laughter sounded from both of you as you swayed the other, almost roughly, the way you always did when reuniting after an extended period of time.

“Glad to see you in one piece, Harry,” you told him with a cheeky smile on your lips, opting not to call him Haz in front of all of his wizard friends lest they tease him, not to mention you’d become quite possessive of the nickname, you wouldn’t be too pleased if anyone else started adopting it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

“Yeah, you too,” his smile was as wide as could be when he shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Do you want me to pinch you?” You teased, jokingly taking his cheek between your thumb and your pointer, giving the skin between them a gentle squeeze. Harry swatted your hand away with a low chuckle and unraveled his arms from around you.

“Alright, you two, if you’re ready we have some matters we need to discuss with our newest member,” Sirius’ voice sounded from behind you, a knowing look on his face as he watched Harry sneakily pinch your arm in retaliation. He had to fight the urge he felt to reminisce on his old school days; when he’d purposely annoy James, Remus or Peter and receive the exact same mockingly vengeful look that you’d just given Harry.

“I’ll bring your things to the kitchen,” George announced, reminding you of his presence before he walked rather quickly out of the room, bags clutched in his hands.

Harry snorted out a laugh when Sirius followed George out of the room, leaving the both of you alone. Harry wiggled his eyebrows and did his best to make his voice take on a sultry tone, “he’s bringing your things to the kitchen.”

“Shut your mouth, Potter,” you replied, pinching his cheek for the second time and tossing your arm around his shoulder, him doing the same as he led you to what you assumed was the kitchen.

“Do I have your permission to open my mouth to tell you something,” Harry asked lightly, stopping so you were both standing outside a closed wooden door.

“I’ll allow it,” you answered, smiling softly at your best friend.

Harry grinned, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Haz,” the boy groaned at the name but made no further comment, he pushed the wooden door open and walked inside.

The room held a long table where many adults were sat, chatting in hushed whispers when you entered the room, some of whom you recognised and some you didn’t. Mrs. Weasley was fluttering about the table, filling people’s tea cups before she spotted you. The woman, who you’d only ever met briefly at King’s Cross station one year, rushed over to you and greeted you warmly, “Hello, dear! Come, come sit down!” She ushered you to a vacant chair beside George and across from Fred, Harry took the seat on your other side. “I trust you got everything you needed from Diagon Alley? I hope that son of mine didn’t cause any trouble for you,” you gave her a friendly smile and shook your head.

“Yes, we were able to find what we needed and George was very helpful,” Mrs. Weasley, seemingly satisfied with your answer, offered a gentle smile to you and George. She then pushed a cup of tea towards you before sitting down herself.

Beneath the table George bumped his knee lightly against yours, but didn’t break from his conversation with his twin as he left his knee pressed against yours. You didn’t draw attention to it either, simply letting your knee relax against his as the witches and wizards at the long table grew quiet in favour of staring at you wordlessly.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news of the seer we’ve acquired,” Sirius’ commanding voice broke the silence as he stood up from his chair, and placed his palms against the table, “I’ve brought her here today so that we may discuss proceedings to ensure her safety.”

“Yes,” a toneless drawl, drawn out nasally from the end of the table drew your attention to a black haired man at the opposite end of the table, “and what of Mr. Potter’s presence?” He asked, almost menacingly. Right off the bat, you didn’t like the greasy haired man. He was rigid and his face sported a permanent snarl and from across the table you could already tell; he wasn’t on your side.

“She’s my best friend, I’m here to make sure she’s not going to be put in any unnecessary danger,” Harry told the man shortly, in a tone that he’d more than likely perfected after having spoken to the man previously.

“As touching as that may be,” the older man snarled, “you are not a member of the Order.”

“Oh, enough, Serverus,” Sirius scoffed, pulling his hand down his face in exasperation before he let his eyes settle on Harry, “Perhaps you should wait upstairs for now. We’ll let you know of any significant updates.”

“I’ll tell you everything later, promise,” you whispered quietly, linking his pinky with yours beneath the table before he stropily took his leave.

“As I was saying,” Sirius spared Severus a glare and continued, “As we know, Yn is an unregistered wizard with an unregistered wand, meaning she won’t be on the radar of The Ministry of Magic. On the downside of this, seeing as her power manifested late, she is also untrained.”

All gazes fell to you once more, only Remus’ eyes were staring softly, crinkled at the edges from the smile on his lips, “I’ll be tutoring her in Defence Against the Dark Arts over the summer. She’ll catch up quickly, no doubt,” you smiled gratefully at him from your spot, relaxing a bit knowing that you’d actually be learning how to defend yourself the wizard way.

“I suppose I will be tasked with teaching the art of Occlumency? A seer with an easily accessible mind is hardly an asset,” Severus drawled. You didn’t have a clue what occlumency was, in all honesty, but you kept your mouth shut in favour of asking Remus when the meeting was over.

The meeting soon drew to a close, the older Order members slinking to one end of the table to arrange the schedule for your glorified summer school while you, Fred and George snuck away to find Harry. You found him sitting against the headboard of a bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, “How’d it go?”

“Take a guess, mate, Snape had a right sour look on his face the whole time,” Fred answered, sitting on the bed across from Harry’s. George sat beside him and you made your way to sit with Harry.

“Ah, so that was the infamous professor Snape?” All three boys nodded, looks of exhaustion on their faces, “I don’t trust him. Something is very off about him,” you spoke thoughtfully and the boys nodded in agreement once again.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him,” George said, his brows furrowed.

Fred snorted and clapped his twin roughly on the shoulder, “Getting a bit jealous are you, Georgie?” Harry laughed along with Fred while you blushed lightly and George felt heat rising up the nape of his neck.

“Sod off,” he muttered, but made no attempt to deny that he was slightly jealous of all the alone time his old evil potions professor would be getting with the girl he was harbouring feelings for.

The afternoon quickly turned into the evening and before long you were gathering your things and preparing to return to Cecillia’s. Harry would be heading back to the Dursley’s later that night, much to his dismay. You told him you’d be back on Privet Drive at some point the next morning since Cecillia would be dropping you home, as she promised your parents, so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone for too long.

That summer came and went in a bit of a blur. Two days in each week were spent learning how to protect yourself against the dark arts with Remus. He’s an amazing teacher, that couldn’t be disputed. In the space of only two months he had you duelling like you’d been doing it since the day you were born. Of course, you were thrilled to be bonding with your wand and developing (according to Remus) a very impressive skill for Defence Against the Dark Arts. But, on top of that, the shared conversations and exchanging of stories over hefty mugs of hot chocolate with the werewolf had been a huge highlight of your summer, and had caused the two of you to grow exponentially closer.

September was nearing and with it came a stiff breeze that prompted the hair on your arms to stand alert as you waited by the bus stop, the one just down the road from your house. Today was to be an important lesson with Remus, he hadn’t told you what the lesson would entail, but he had said that it was a charm that was “of the utmost importance”.

Although June, July and August were technically your summer holidays, you’d barely had a second to rest. You were, at this point, running on fumes and sheer will power. Extensively using magic was bound to wear you out, however, getting a good night’s rest after a gruelling training session had become something of a luxury for you. Visions of the future and retellings of past torments plagued your dreams and allowed you no time to rest. One vision in particular had been reoccurring, it arrived every night for the past two weeks, taunting you. The autumn chill that dripped down your spine reminded you of the premonition, having your hairs standing due to fright, rather than cold. It was always the same, no details ever shifted or warped and, unfortunately, the experience never grew any less harrowing. The warning that the vision brought about weighed on you heavily and followed you around like a stray cat. Images of a cold, desolate, blue-hued cellar lived behind your eyes, the phantom feeling of freezing metal shackles weighed on your wrists painfully and the undiluted terror combined with the indescribable agony brought about by the unfamiliar wand shoved against your throat had you forcing yourself to stay awake until you physically couldn’t anymore, each and every night. Nobody knew about the vision, you didn’t want to worry them, though, you knew that your distress was beginning to become visible; dark bags were prominent beneath your eyes, Harry had watched you fall asleep in the middle of the day, often on his shoulder, almost everyday that week and Remus could tell by the sluggish movements of your wand that your mind was elsewhere.

A few minutes passed before your bus arrived, the journey to Grimmauld Place was quite long but you couldn’t seem to warm up to floo travel, so going on a regular bus was the better option. When the red double decker pulled up, you greeted the driver with a smile and paid for your ticket. You made your way up to the second story and sat right at the front. The bus, as it normally tended to be, was empty. Resting your head against the window, you let your eyes slip shut, the noises of tree branches brushing against the speeding windows lulling you into a, hopefully, peaceful sleep.

Thankfully when you woke up, no visions lingered. You woke up just in time too as the bus was rounding up to your stop. As usual, Remus waited for you at the bus stop, his hands shoved deep in his tattered jacket pockets and a gentle smile on his lips.

Still groggy from your nap, when you exited the bus you greeted Remus with a tired wave.

“Dare I say you haven’t been sleeping well, dear?” He said gently, walking alongside you towards the house.

You thought about it for a second, perhaps telling someone wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. “I’ve just, well, I’ve been having this nightmare,” you started, growing nervous just thinking about it.

“Nightmare or vision?” He pressed as you walked into the house.

Guilt creeped into your chest upon seeing the clear worry on his face, “I think it’s a vision.”

Remus nodded quietly, placing his hand on the small of your back and pushing you in the direction of the living room. He gave you a warm smile, when you sat down on the sofa. He grabbed a blanket that hung over the back of the sofa and draped it over your lap. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can discuss this,” he suggested.

“I thought you had an important lesson for today?” He only shook his head, smiling lightly.

He made his way to the door wordlessly and returned within two minutes with two big, steaming mugs in his hands. Remus handed you a mug and sat down beside you on the sofa, accepting your invitation to pull the blanket over his lap too.

“Now tell me; what has been going on in that wonderful mind of yours?”

You took in a deep breath, staring into the hot chocolate and avoiding his understanding gaze, “It happened for the first time around two weeks ago. I thought that it was just a dream, it didn’t feel like a dream but I thought that if I kept telling myself it was I would start to believe it,” you started, taking a sip of your drink before going back to staring at it, “But it kept coming back. Every night for the last two weeks. I haven’t been able to sleep, I’ve been too scared to,” your voice was small as you made the confession. You hated that the feeling of helplessness was beginning to wash over you yet again.

“What happens in this vision?” At his question, you placed your cup on the floor and turned to face him fully, turning on the sofa and pulling your knees up to your chest.

“It’s always the same. I wake up and the first thing I know is that I’m absolutely freezing. I’m in this cellar-like thing. I’m chained up by my wrists and my feet are barely touching the ground… I can’t see anyone but I can feel-“ your breath hitched and you rushed the swipe the tears that were falling away from your cheeks, “I can feel a wand against my throat, it’s pressing hard. There’s a whisper, it’s quiet and ghostly and I can barely make it out but I hear them say; crucio.”

Remus’ eyes widened in horror.

“Then I feel nothing but agonising pain and then I wake up,” Remus’ eyebrows furrowed.

“You’ve had this same vision every night?” You nodded.

“I know I should have said something but I didn’t want anyone to worry,” it was then that Remus grabbed your hands and looked at you with a sense of urgency you didn’t know he could possess.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” his eyes were wild and his hands shook lightly as they held yours, “You-Know-Who is back. There are already reports of certain Wizards going missing and none of us have any doubt that it’s his doing. And although I- we- care for you a great deal, it would serve us all well to remember that you’re a detrimental piece in this war. If he catches wind of you, he’ll stop at nothing to take you from us,” your heart was now running at the speed of a hummingbird. “We have a plan in place to keep you safe, I fear we may have to implement it sooner than planned.”

Before you knew it, you were surrounded by the entire Order of the Phoenix, all of whom looked grave. Cecillia sat to your right while Nymphadora Tonks occupied the seat to your left. You had the pink haired auror to thank for your duelling capabilities, as well as Remus of course. Her presence was comforting, she made it a point to shoot you a wink every time she caught your eyes looking more fearful than usual.

“Our original plan will need to be tweaked, I ran into Narcissa Malfoy in Diagon Alley and she very plainly insinuated that I was a person of interest in the death eating community,” Cecillia informed the table, a, for lack of a better word, bitchy tone laced in her voice. She’d told you many of her Hogwarts stories, you could recall her telling you that she and the woman she’d mentioned, Narcissa, had once been good friends until around their fourth year. She hadn’t told you what exactly had happened, only that it had been messy.

“What was the original plan?” You asked, growing frustrated with the Order’s lack of communication skills.

Thankfully, being one of the younger members of the group, Tonks understood your frustrations and spoke up on behalf of the group, regardless of whether they were ready for you to know or not; she understood that it was your life they were coordinating.

“We talked about relocating you to CeCe’s. We also, and far more pressingly, planned on erasing all traces of you from both the muggle and wizard world. Which would mean using a memory charm on your family and friends in the muggle world,” Tonks explained, eyes locked on yours while everyone else in the room glared daggers at the purple haired girl.

“Yes. Though we also planned on telling you this information with a far more delicate approach,” Snapped Molly Weasley from the end of the table, causing Fred, who sat to her left, to roll his eyes.

“She’s been riddled with visions of being ruthlessly tortured with an unforgivable curse for the past two weeks. I think the time for delicacy is long passed,” the older of the two twins practically scoffed. George nodded in agreement.

“Besides,” he set his gaze on you, eyes genuine and unwavering as he spoke, “she’s strong enough to handle the truth. It’s time you all stopped acting like she isn’t.”

The table fell silent. His words hung in the air as many of the adults hung their heads.

“By memory charm I’m assuming you mean obliviate?” You broke the silence, if you could you hoped to start an open conversation with the experienced witches and wizards that surrounded you.

“Yes. They’re completely reversible and once the war is over I’ll restore all of the memories.” Cecillia said.

“We know it’s a huge ask, dear, but it’s our best chance at keeping you out of that wretched creature’s hands,” Molly attempted to soothe both you and herself when she pictured what it would like to be in your shoes, how she’d feel if she had no other choice but to be forgotten by the thing she valued the most; her family. Molly Weasley had never been very good at hiding her maternal instincts, over the summer that fact had become glaringly obvious to you. You and Harry had laughed about how the children of Privet Drive had a special place in her heart.

“I understand,” you told her sadly, chewing on the inside of your lip, “I’m guessing by the atmosphere in the room that I won’t be home to say goodbye before you wipe their memories,” you shifted yours eyes from person to person, stopping when Cecillia took your hand firmly in hers.

Her lips were downturned and her eyes filled with guilt, she shook her head mournfully, “I’m afraid we can’t risk it, my darling. Even being here places you in danger at the moment.”

“Where will she go then? If CeCe’s place isn’t an option we’ll have to find a safe house,” Sirius sounded and, simultaneously, both Fred and George stood up, shoulder to shoulder with very professional expressions on their faces.

“We may be able to help with that, actually. George, if you would,” Fred started, nodding to his twin who straightened his shoulders and puffed his chest out over so slightly.

“Thank you, Fred. As you know, we have a property for Weasley Wizard Wheezes secured and we’ll be living in the flat above where the shop will be,” everyone at the table, including yourself, stared at the twins in confusion, not quite sure where they were going with their little pitch until Fred took over again.

“And that flat has three bedrooms,” he said, a smirk growing on his thin lips.

George spoke again, “Which means there’s one for me and one for Fred.”

“Which means there’s one spare,” Fred grinned wickedly.

Tonks let out an impressed laugh once the penny finally dropped, “We apparate her in and nobody would ever know a thing. Nobody other than those of us in the room know that Y/n is a friend of the Weasley’s, plus us visiting the joke shop wouldn’t raise any suspicion. I have to give it to them, it’s a great idea,”

“And one of the two of us will always be within shouting distance if anything happens,” George added, somewhat pleadingly.

Sirius looked across the table at you, “Y/n, it’s up to you. Whatever you decide will be final, we won’t interfere,” he promised sincerely. It was an easy decision, but still, it weighed heavily on your chest. In all honesty, you weren’t worried about your location, staying with the twins would surely be a light and fun time amidst all the doom and gloom. Your worry was that you would, once again, be handing over your control. Sirius dressed it up as though it was your choice, but you knew that this was probably their best option and in reality you really had no other choice than to move in with Fred and George.

“Sounds good to me,” you whispered halfheartedly, eyes dropping to stare at your lap as your teeth pulled anxiously at the skin of your lips.

“So it’s settled then,” Remus said, “Y/n will go with Fred and George tonight.”

Abruptly, you pushed your chair away from the table and stood up. Sparing nobody a glance, you left the room as quickly as you possibly could, before the lump in your throat could choke you or the tears that pooled in your eyes spilled like water through a broken dam. George made a move to rise from his seat only for Remus to stop him by placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Give her a moment.”

You found yourself locked in the second story bathroom, sitting in the bath. Your legs hung out over the side of the tub while your head was tilted back against the black tiled wall. As hard as you tried to prevent them, tears were streaming down the expense of your cheeks, neck and beneath the neckline of your shirt. The minutes ticked by yet your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly due to the sobs that shook it, your breath uneven. Visions of brutal torture were bad enough when you were in your own home, in your own warm bed, with your parents just a room away and ready to make you a hot cup of tea after you woke up screaming. Now, the visions would without a doubt continue to plague you, unlike before though, you wouldn’t be waking up in a familiar setting, nor would you fall asleep in the comfort of your own mattress, when you woke up screaming so loud that your throat grew raw, your comfort would rely on two seventeen year old boys who seldom took things seriously. It’s not that you didn’t trust them, no, you trusted them with your life- you are trusting them with your life, it’s just that there was already a lot going on in your mind at the moment, moving in with your crush and his identical twin brother isn’t exactly your idea of a nerve killer.

A knock against the bathroom door pulled you from your thoughts. You rushed to wipe your tears with your sleeves, sniffling, “Come in,” you choked out. Cursing your voice for breaking when you spoke.

Remus’ head poked through the door, his body following soon after. Even in an atmosphere as dense as this one, a sense of gentle calm always followed Remus wherever he went. Clumsily, the werewolf slid into the bath beside you with a low “oof” sound, mimicking your position with his much longer legs dangling closer to the wooden floor than your own.

“CeCe has gone to collect your things for you and get Harry, then, I believe, perform the spell,” he eyed you cautiously, hyper aware of your glassy eyes and puffy face. When your eyes widened and you whipped your face towards him, his stomach twisted into knots, he hated seeing you like this. He could sympathise with your feelings. When James and Lily were killed, and Sirius went to Azkaban and even when Peter was presumed dead, Remus had been left with a vicious frustration fuelled by his belief that he was utterly powerless in his own life. He could see in your eyes that that same notion was starting to creep up on you too.

“Already?” You gasped out, pulse rising again, a slight panic setting in. “It won’t hurt them will it? The spell?” You fretted, looking pleadingly to the man beside you.

He shook his head, tenderly taking your hand and placing it against his clothed chest, his beating heart present against the palm of your shaking hand. “I promise you that they won’t feel a thing. They will go on living an exciting life, travelling, seeing the world safely while you’re away. When this is all over we’ll place their memories of you back in their minds and it will be as though you were never gone.” Your teeth found the inside of your cheek again, gnawing relentlessly at the skin as you failed miserably to hold back a fresh set of tears. Remus squeezed the hand he held against his chest. “Let it out, Y/n. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, heart sinking lower when your bottom lip quivered and you let a rasped sob leave your body. With a deep sigh, Remus used the hand he was already holding as leverage to pull you into him, wasting no time he enveloped you in his arms, holding you securely as you cried against his chest. Admittedly, it felt good to let it out, Remus’ hand rubbed soothing circles against your heaving back and eventually, you didn’t know how long it had been, you calmed down, your tear ducts all dried out.

Remus held you in his arms for a while longer, even though you’d stopped crying, he could feel your body as it continued to shake. “I can’t promise you it will all be okay, but I can assure you that myself and Sirius, and everyone else for that matter, will be there for you at the drop of a hat; whatever you need,” he spoke against your hair.

“Whatever I need?” You echoed, the pit in your stomach ever growing.

“Of course,” he confirmed.

Remus startled slightly when you suddenly tore yourself away from him. As best you could in your awkward position, you turned to face him and grabbed his hands with as much urgency as he had done with yours. “I need you to do something for me,” Remus furrowed his brows in confusion, but nodded his head anyway.

“If anything happens to me… Don’t make them remember,” you instructed, maybe the request would’ve seemed radical if you had said it to anyone else, but you knew that Remus had experienced losses like no one else you knew, perhaps Harry came close but even his shortcomings couldn’t compare to Remus’. “It’d only cause them pain. If I die and they’re happily living none the wiser, leave them be, please,” the man let out a heavy sigh and took a moment to take you in. Your eyes were hard yet pleading, they left him no room to negotiate and he understood perfectly where you were coming from.

“Alright,” he agreed before raising his eyebrow and readjusting himself to get a better look at you, “However you should know; no matter what may come of this war, none of us will forget about you. In such a short time you’ve given us so much… you gave Harry his first friendship, a friendship that he cherishes more than anything in the world, I might add. You saved Sirius from death, my fiancé and Harry’s godfather. Mentoring you has given Cecillia a new lease of life and Molly Weasley one more child to knit jumpers for at Christmas,” he took a brief pause then went on, “For the sake of saving time I won’t even begin to tell you what you mean to the twins. My point is;” there was a melancholic type of smile on his face when he paused again, as if he was imagining what it would be like to remember you fondly if you did in fact die for the cause, “What you’re asking is incredibly selfless. And while your mother and father may not remember how wonderful you are, we all will.” Remus chuckled lowly when you shuffled your way back into his arms, squeezing his middle tightly. He slung his arm around your shoulders and delicately pressed his lips to the top of your head. You held so much love in your heart for the man who was currently cradling you in his arms. You debated telling him, you weren’t sure if it was entirely appropriate but after the speech he’d just given you couldn’t have cared less, “Remus?”

“Hm?”

“I love you,” you murmured, looking up at him innocently.

He offered you a toothy smile and breathed out a soft laugh, “I love you too.” With a content nod, you rested your head back against his chest, enjoying his soothing heartbeats against your ear. A melodic hum rumbled against your cheek, a quiet giggle left your mouth when you recognised the melody to the song he was humming. The tune of “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac floated through the bathroom bringing a genuine smile to your lips. The werewolf’s humming was interrupted by another knock against the bathroom door, whoever was knocking didn’t wait for a response before entering the room. Sirius stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him. He didn’t question you and Remus' position in the bath but simply slid into the tub on the other side of you, sandwiching you between himself and Remus. The black haired man let out a heavy sigh and leaned his head back against the tiles.

“The mother hens downstairs are worrying up a storm,” he said in exasperation, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tonks so riled up about someone’s safety. I tasked Molly with making you some hot chocolate to keep her occupied”

“Maybe I should go back down…” you muttered halfheartedly, begrudgingly peeling yourself away from Remus’ warm body.

Sirius gave you an apologetic look, “I held them off for as long as I could.”

“Thanks,” you whispered, bumping your shoulder to his, making him chuckle. After pulling yourself out of the bath, rather clumsily, you took a second to check yourself over in the mirror.

“You’re glowing, darling,” Sirius all but sang from behind you and you couldn’t stop the slight snort that escaped you.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“If you don’t believe me go on downstairs and ask George what he thinks,” Sirius teased, wiggling his eyebrows and receiving a light shove from his fiancé who couldn’t hide his grin.

“Leave her alone, love,” he chastised weakly, “You look perfectly fine, Y/n. Go downstairs and get something to drink, you need to rehydrate.” A bittersweet smile broke out on your lips, his fatherly tone simultaneously soothed you and left you yearning for what you were in the process of losing. Trying not to dwell on the sad fact, you left the bathroom and slowly descended the stairs.

As you assumed, the second you stepped back into the kitchen, Molly began to fret over you as if her life depended on it. Sipping on the hot chocolate she’d given you, you were reminded of how desperately tired you were. All the crying hadn’t helped ease the heaviness in your eyes either. Every bone in your body felt heavy for that matter, you were struggling to even hold your head up.

“You can lean against my shoulder if you’d like,” George’s voice broke you from your hazed state, you’d completely forgotten he was sitting beside you despite his leg that was pressed against yours beneath the table. You gave him a sleepy but grateful smile, as subtly as you could you scooched closer to the ginger and slotted yourself against his side, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. “Will you keep me awake until Harry and Cecillia get here?” You requested in a slurred murmur, your eyes fluttering between open and shut.

“Of course,” was all he said, he looked down at you adoringly, smiling like an idiot when you nuzzled into his shoulder, your nose rubbing against his neck. Try as he might, George couldn’t pull his eyes away from your drowsy face. “What do you propose we do?”

You shrugged your shoulders lightly, “Just talk.”

“How would you like your new room decorated?” He asked quietly, his head tilted down while he spoke to you, so you could hear him and so he wouldn’t ruin the lulled bubble you’d managed to obtain between you by talking too loudly. A sweet smile grew on your face, a smile that all but knocked all the breath out of George’s lungs when you angled your head to make eye contact.

“Can I have a double bed?” George snorted at your question and shook his head no.

“Nothing smaller than a king. What else?”

You pretended to ponder for a moment, “Can we paint it?” The ginger nodded, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“If you want to,” he started, almost sounding nervous, “We could paint it together?” Even in your sleep deprived state you hadn’t missed the vulnerability in his voice, it was the same vulnerability that you’d noticed when he’d asked you to go get a butterbeer with him a couple of months ago.

“I’d love that,” you told him, your answer causing his lips to twist into a pleased smile, “How do you feel about the colour green?”

Immediately, his smile dropped and he let out a disgusted scoff, “Green is a Slytherin colour.”

“You keep forgetting that I don’t get the whole house sorty thing,” you reminded him, not happy with his reasoning for hating your favourite colour. “Besides, I love green, it’s my favourite colour.” You told him truthfully. Not content with his disgruntled facial expression you began to defend your preference, “A lot of beautiful things are green; you’ve got grass, trees, emeralds- did you know that emeralds are really useful for enhancing psychic abilities? It also evokes clarity of thought,” you rambled, willing yourself to be quiet when you registered George’s fond expression.

The look of endearment aimed at you brought butterflies to life in your stomach, effectively waking you up somewhat.

“Do you have any emerald?” He asked, you assumed he was only feigning interest, you didn’t know that he could’ve listened to you go on and on about anything and everything for the rest of his life.

“No, not yet. I should probably get some though.” You said through a yawn. Your breath against his neck made him giggle, it was pure and unsuspecting but you took note of it. Everything about George Weasley felt like sunshine to you, his laugh filled your chest with warmth whenever you heard it, his eyes found yours like a lighthouse, guiding your lost mind back to the present each time your gazes connected. His voice, like his laugh, warmed you up when you were cold, giving you a reason to stay awake when you’d rather just slip away. In conjunction with the sun, even if you couldn’t physically see him, you never doubted that he was always there. As well as all of that, like your favourite tarot card; The Sun, he signified good things, hope that hard times will end with you on top, contentment and happiness. While your thoughts consisted of George’s similarities to the sun, his were consumed with the, in his mind, overwhelmingly cheesily romantic notion that you were the moon and the stars, he would’ve cringed if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe it. Everything that made the night sky magnificent was reflected in you. Like the stars, you were mysterious and captivating. Nothing seemed to compare to your glow or beauty, if you were to ask him what he preferred; you or the night sky on a clear night, he’d happily ignore a blank, starless sky in favour of simply staring at you as you went on tangent after tangent about crystals or tarot cards.

The pair of you were pulled from your musings when Harry rushed through the kitchen door looking unmistakably heartbroken, ever the empath when it came to his best friend, Harry’s heart sank the moment he laid eyes on your form, limp against George’s side. The second you saw him you all but ripped yourself from George’s side and the older redhead felt a surge of irrational jealousy begin to build in his chest at how fast you left his hold in favour of the chosen one. He knew it was ridiculous, he’d heard the way each of you respectively talked about each other, at this point you were practically siblings. But he supposed it was rational to be jealous when you liked someone the way he liked you.

Quickly, you crossed the room to Harry who had his arms already outstretched. He knew you were emotionally exhausted when you didn’t bear hug him. You meekly slid your arms beneath his open zip-up hoodie, tucked your head beneath his chin and didn’t say a word. “I shouldn’t bother asking if you’re okay then,” Harry muttered to himself, leaning his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his lanky arms around your frame.

“Did Cecillia remember to bring Astra?” You asked, it was all you wanted to know about the night’s events.

“She’s in her cage in the living room, darling,” Cecilia said, walking into the room looking guilty.

“C’mon, let’s go have a chat,” Harry suggested, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs to his unofficial room. Once inside the room you sat down on the edge of the bed, the blue duvet softly creasing beneath you. Harry plopped himself down beside you and offered you a gesture that was always saved for when either of you felt the other was on the edge of something dangerous. Your hands rested against your lap and he deftly slid his pinky over yours, intertwining your two littlest fingers. It was such a familiar experience; he’d done it when your grandparents died, when you’d cried over failed exams that you worked hard for, and in turn, you did it for him when he’d felt as though he had no place in the world, when he’d open up about his parents and when Cedric died and the ministry dragged his name through the mud you’d find your pinky tangled with his almost every night after he’d sneak over to your place after another nightmare or panic attack. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, “Not tonight. I don’t want to cry anymore,” you croaked out, looking straight ahead of you at the grey painted wall.

“I understand,” he said, sighing and dropping his head onto your shoulder, “Let’s talk about something else then.”

“Like what, Haz?”

Harry snorted out a chuckle, “Like the way George looked like he wanted to hex me when you left him to come to me,” he teased, a smug lilt to his voice.

“He wasn’t teasing me, perhaps I’ll go back to him,” you grumbled, ignoring Harry’s childish giggles.

“Yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You smacked his arm lightly with your free hand, doing a bad job of containing giggles of your own. “Don’t worry, since he’s going to be your new roommate there will be plenty of time for “oh George I’m so sleepy, please hold me until I fall asleep”,” you let out a cackle at Harry’s terrible impression of your voice, laying your cheek against his wild hair.

“That is so not what was going on, Haz,” you defended with a tiny smile.

Harry let out an airy, disbelieving chuckle, “Then what was going on?”

“He just said I could lean on him until you and Cecillia arrived and we just started chatting about how I wanna decorate my room,” you explained truthfully and Harry nodded.

“Riveting,” he mumbled sarcastically. Despite his snarky comment, the boy removed his head from your shoulder and pulled you against his chest. “Jokes aside, I’m glad you’re staying with him, I know he’ll look after you for me,” you rolled your eyes at the sentiment.

“I don’t need to be looked after,” you reminded him, looking up at him with a chastising smile.

He rolled his eyes right back at you, jostling you slightly in his arms, “No. But you like to be.”

You threw your head back in laughter, “Yeah, I suppose I do.” You did. You quite like both doting on people and being doted on, you’d grown up in an affectionate family so it was no wonder really.

“It’s getting late. We should get you settled into your new home,” Harry announced, pulling himself and you up from the bed, “I wasn’t going to say anything but you look terrible. You need sleep.”

“Thank you, Harry. Just what every girl wants to hear before moving in with her crush,” you joked, gently hitting your hip against his.

The kitchen was quiet when you returned, it seemed everyone had grown tired from the dramatic events of the evening.

“Ready to go then?” Fred asked, his coat already on and a handful of your bags in his hands.

“As I’ll ever be I suppose.”

After saying goodbye to everyone you, Fred and George traveled to their apartment by floo, to your dismay. The apartment was bare as they’d only just moved in but you could see it had lots of potential for becoming a cozy home for the twins.

As your first night in your new residence began, your aching eyes and tired mind didn’t leave you with any time to dwell on current events, the second your head made contact with the pillow you were out like a light. A dreamless slumber welcomed you for a while until your peace was broken by the all too familiar nightmare.

The first thing you recognised was the burn coming from your wrists. Shackles adorned them and effectively held your hands high above your head, stretching them uncomfortably. Goosebumps painted the expanse of your arms and legs, due to the freezing temperature in the nondescript cellar. A feeling of hopelessness planted firmly in your chest, the feeling only hightening when the familiar echo of footsteps, heavy and loud, drifted from the corridor outside of your field of vision. You knew who was approaching, you’ve lived this before, and so, you held your lip between your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut. The face of the dark wizard who always brought about your intense suffering was, for the most part, completely fuzzy, unrecognisable, featureless and bone-chillingly terrifying. You’d learned over the last two weeks of having this vision that it was less harrowing if you closed your eyes.

“I’ll ask you once more,” The voice was distorted, like it was being heard through a weedy radio, ominously unplaceable, “Where is he?”

You held no control over your voice, as was the norm during visions, as you felt and heard yourself reply, “I’ll tell you once more; I’d sooner die then sell him to you.” You felt your teeth gritting and your jaw clenching while you spoke. Jaw only tightening when the pointed tip of the wizard’s wand stabbed unforgivingly against the column of your neck.

“And die you will, my dear. But not yet-“ your eyes sealed themselves shut and you did your best to shake yourself out of the vision before what you knew was coming took place, as usual, your attempts were fruitless, “-Crucio.” Just like that your body was consumed by pain, the likes of which you’d never imagined possible, until you couldn’t even register yourself screaming anymore.

You bolted upright, clutching at the sheets of your new bed. Laboured breaths left your mouth and you aimlessly gripped at your neck, where the wand had been pressed, and let the tears spill freely. Momentarily disoriented, you’d forgotten where you were. Deep, heavy bursts of air left your mouth as you hastily scurried out of bed and towards the door. Somewhat aimlessly, you gravitated to the door across the hall. A yellow hue seeped from under the frame into the otherwise dark hallway. Light flooded the hall once you managed to fumble the handle down and pull the door ajar, a discombobulated ginger greeting you with half lidded eyes, obviously having been dozing off before you disturbed his peace.

“Sorry,” you rasped once your peace of mind returned to you and you realised where you were. Despite knowing that you shouldn’t have been standing numbly in his doorway, your feet seemed to be rooted in place, you couldn’t have walked away if you wanted to.

“S’alright,” George called out to you softly, sitting up in his bed, his back against the headboard. “You can come in, you know.”

Shutting the door behind you, you nervously shuffled into the room, stopping when you reached the side of his bed. George’s eyes roamed your face and he took notice of your still somewhat panicked expression, he drew his covers to the side and patted the empty space by his side. Something that always intrigued you was people’s preferred side of the bed, some people gravitated towards the left while others were more biased towards the right, but George Weasley? He slept right in the middle. The twin slept with a huge number of pillows, to the point where it was almost laughable, many of which you could only guess he’d smuggled from the Burrow.

Far too wound up to save face, you slid into his bed and didn’t shy away when he guided you into his side and tucked you tenderly beneath his lean arm. His embrace offered a greatly appreciated warmth as the chill of the dank dungeon always lingered long after the vision itself was over.

“What’re you doing up so late?” You asked, your voice gravelly. As you spoke, George effortlessly shuffled your body and his down so that your backs were resting on the mattress and not the headboard. Your head found it’s home against George’s shoulder and your hair was being tentatively twirled between his fingers.

“It’s our first night actually sleeping here. I couldn’t get to sleep,” he explained, his voice low and laced with fatigue. “I’m not really used to having my own room. It’s strange not hearing Freddie snoring or breathing.”

“I get that,” you whispered, “it’s quite comforting knowing for certain that someone is there with you.”

George nodded then. His eyes were glued to your face and he hadn’t even registered his own thought process before his lips were pressing delicately against your forehead. Today had appeared to be the day for laying all your cards out on the table, yourself and George hadn’t danced around your feelings for each other half as much as you usually did when you’d be in each other’s presence. Neither of you had the energy anymore, besides, if today’s events proved anything it was that; things were getting seriously messy as the war built momentum and it was clear that time was something that could very well be running out.

“Yeah,” he regarded you carefully, a little grin growing on his lips, “It is.”

A comfortable silence overtook the room. George’s twirling of your hair never ceased, every now and then his fingers would ghost over your shoulder and you’d catch yourself smiling against the cotton of his shirt as your eyes grew tired enough that they were close to falling shut.

Just as you were working up the motivation to lift yourself up and trudge back to your own bed, George spoke, “You can sleep here if you want, with me,” there was that innocent vulnerability again. There was never an ulterior motive when it came to him, he did things purely for the sake of making others happy, if he felt he could make a difference he simply needed to. Especially when it came to you, he realised.

“You don’t mind?” You asked, daring to peek up at him.

“Course not. I could use some company anyway.” He reassured you, his lips returning to your forehead, only this time the action held far more intention. “You don’t snore do you, love?”

You snorted out a giggle, looking up at the ginger cheekily, mischief dripping from your little grin that forced George’s heart to stutter rather violently and he hoped you hadn’t noticed. “No. But I drool.”

George’s face contorted, his nose scrunching up adorably in disgust, “Do you really?”

“Suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” You teased and he sighed deeply, his disgruntled expression melting into a soft, adoring smile.

“I should’ve expected this, I knew you couldn’t have been completely perfect,” he said, mockingly sorrowful.

You scoffed, pushing his chest lightly, “You’re doing a lot of sweet talking tonight, Mr. Weasley,” you told him and he shrugged innocently.

“Just wanted to see you smiling again, darling.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a good job,” you assured him, the bashful yet tired smile that stretched your lips as you gazed up at him proved that you meant what you’d just said. “I like it by the way, the sweet talking.”

At your words, a huge, shit eating smirk grew on the boy’s freckled face. He managed to rearrange your bodies so that you were still tucked under his arm but you were now facing each other at eye level. “I knew it,” he proclaimed cockily.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, biting back a smirk, “Oh did you?”

George nodded pridefully, “‘Course I did. You see, I’m a little bit psychic,” his words forced a booming laugh from your lips, your cheeks hurting from the smile he’d orchestrated.

You shook your head, smile never dulling as you let out a chastising whisper, “oh sod off.”

“I love your smile,” he said suddenly, his eyes widened in horror when he realised he’d uttered the words out loud. The world could’ve stopped in that moment and you wouldn’t have noticed, all you could take in was George’s face, his eyes searching yours for something.

Carefully, you slid from hand from his chest to his red, blushing face. You cupped his cheek gently, moving your thumb against his cheek bone, almost swooning where you lay when he nuzzled against your touch. Working up some Gryffindor courage, George mimicked your movement, removing his arm from around your shoulder and bringing his palm to rest against the curve of your jaw.

As you stared at each other, you weighed up the pros and cons of telling him that you were completely head over heels for him. Your decision, apparently taking far too long, was made for you when George tugged you impossibly closer to him.

“I wasn’t going to tell you… you’ve had so much going on I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he said, brown eyes boring into your soul.

“Tell me what?”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for every possible outcome that may spring once the words on the tip of his tongue are spoken aloud, “That I love you.”

[wonderful-writes]

Presume

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom thinks you’re too pretty to be any good at academics. You can imagine his shock when he’s proven wrong.

Word Count: 2k (2,097)

Author’s Note: The idea for this fic was given to me by @bellaswansrealgf. It was such a fun topic to write, so thank you so much bae for coming up with the idea! I’ll definitely be using more of your suggestions in the future.

Tom Riddle found himself becoming increasingly irritated. How could Professor Slughorn possibly expect him to work with a partner? What kind of fool did Slughorn think he was? Tom was perfectly capable of completing his project himself, and it was rather insulting for his professor to assign someone to help him. And not just anyone. Slughorn had assigned you.

You, the pretty girl, were in no capacity an ideal partner. You were friendly and charming and surely too bubble-headed to know a thing about potions. You were probably irritating and selfish and vain, too. Tom would have rather been partnered up with the clown from Gryffindor than with you.

“Tom, right?” you asked as you took a seat next to him. You were dressed in neat robes and had nicely styled hair. You probably spent all morning on it.

“Yes,” he replied curtly without so much as a glance your way. He began flipping his textbook to the desired page and scanning it with his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced.

Tom ignored you as he continued to read the page.

“So, what kind of potion do you think we should make?” you asked him, opening your own book.

Once again, Tom didn’t bother to look up or respond.

“Hello?” you tried again.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, I know potions is probably not your area of expertise, so it’s best if you just sit there and let me work.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, surprised at how this stranger could claim to already know you without having ever spoken to you. “How would you know if I’m not good at potions?”

Tom scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed, you don’t exactly look like you’d be much of an academic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, starting to get offended.

“Well, I’m the best in the class,” Tom said like it was the most natural thing to come out of his mouth. “Professor Slughorn probably sent you here so that I could babysit you. You can’t be any good if you need me as a mentor.”

“I don’t need you as a mentor,” you told him. “Professor Slughorn wanted us to work together for this assignment.”

“Like I said,” he replied, turning back to his book, “maybe you should let me handle the assignment.”

You were beyond aggravated. How could someone who barely knows you make such assumptions about you? You were more than adept in potions, and it was unfair of him to shut you down without letting you prove your skills.

“You realize this assignment is worth 25% of our grade, don’t you?” you asked him as you crossed your arms.

 “Precisely,” he answered. “Which is why I won’t let you mess it up.”

You had never met a more arrogant person.

“If you’re going to be this way,” you declared, “I’ll just ask Slughorn if I can work alone. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the great Tom Riddle.”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief as you packed your belongings and walked away. You were attractive, sure, but you were also annoying. He was glad to be rid of anyone who didn’t let him take charge.

Slughorn allowed the two of you to work separately. To Tom’s approval, you set up your station far away from his. He almost pitied you. It couldn’t be easy for someone like you to complete an entire project by yourself. People like you only cared about their appearances or what the latest gossip was. There was no way you could make any of the complicated potions on the list of options for the assignment without help.

~

By the end of the week, Slughorn had finished grading the students’ potions and their accompanying essays. Tom, ever so confident in his abilities, was shocked when he didn’t receive a perfect score.

“What did I do wrong, Professor?” he asked after class had been dismissed. “I could have sworn I didn’t miss anything.”

“You forgot to crush the bay leaves before you put them in,” Slughorn explained. “But not to worry, my boy. You chose a highly complex concoction. It is almost guaranteed that any student who attempts to recreate it will forget at the very least one step.”

“Did anyone else choose that potion?” Tom wondered.

Slughorn nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“And did anyone get it right?” Tom asked. He was doubtful that anyone in the class could have succeeded at something he failed to perfect, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“That’s for me to know, my boy,” the teacher answered. Seeing the frustrated look on Tom’s face, he chuckled and added, “Just know that you shouldn’t judge your partners so prematurely.”

Tom spent the majority of the night ruminating on Slughorn’s words. Could it be that you were the student who had gotten the perfect score on the potion he had attempted? He refused to believe it. Slughorn must have been referring to another student, one that Tom was paired with in the past. You couldn’t possibly be the partner in question.

~

It had been weeks since Tom came in second for the first time in his life. He convinced himself that it couldn’t have been you who bested him. Of course, he speculated who the true victor could be, but he couldn’t put his finger on who in the class could be worthy of such high marks.

Eventually, the time came for the annual examination preparation. Professor Slughorn’s students were assigned a series of practice exams to help them prepare for the actual ones. Each practice test focused on a different area within potions, and it was the students’ job to be well-versed in all of them.

At the beginning of every week, a new practice exam was passed out, and the grades for the previous week’s exam was posted on a roster at the front of the class.

Tom never bothered with making a show of checking his grades, knowing fully well that he would always be at the head of the class. But with the newfound knowledge of a possible competitor, he couldn’t quell his curiosity.

Making his way to the front of the room with the usual throng of Slytherin boys, he displayed no sign of concern. Why should the best in the year have to worry about some halfwit who ran into a bit of luck one time?

His air of indifference was quickly squashed, however, when he approached the posted practice exam scores and saw that his was the second highest. Second? That couldn’t be right. Tom Riddle never came in second. Who was first? Who could feasibly best Tom Riddle at a potions examination? The most brilliant student in all of Hogwarts, and in his best subject too?

He was horrified beyond comparison when he saw none other than your name at the pinnacle of the score sheet.

You.

Impossible. There was no chance that the bubbly girl with the face of an angel, er, a moron, could ever have received such excellent marks.

He’d seen you around, and you were most definitely not the kind of girl who cared about your performance in school. You were always smiling with your friends or tucking your hair behind your ear or dazzling a crowd with an extraordinary story. When you weren’t smoothing down your clothes or checking your made-up face, you were befriending the professors, something only stupid people needed to do.

So how could you have gotten a higher score than him? There must have been a mistake. He would have to ask Slughorn about it after class.

As he walked back to his seat, he glanced at where you were positioned, a table not too far from his own. You had already started on your assignment for the day, making quick work of the cutting and crushing of ingredients. Sure enough, you were dripping with the grace and beauty of someone who most likely didn’t know the difference between reed and foxtail.

How could one possibly be proficient in any academic subject when they looked like that? You probably spent more time shining your shoes than studying for exams. Then how did you beat him, and twice?

He watched you work for the remainder of the period. To his surprise, you were doing everything correctly. You never added a drop too much or a sprig too little. You stirred with precision and knew what color to look for in the brew. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Were you truly more intelligent than he had originally presumed?

Still unconvinced, he approached Professor Slughorn after dismissal to question the scores from the most recent exam.

Slughorn only sent him a mysterious look before answering, “Everything is as it should.”

-

After the third week of coming in second place, Tom decided that it was enough. It was time he put his troubles to rest and find out for himself what sort of witchcraft was in play.

“Are you cheating?” he abruptly asked you the moment you took your seat. Professor Slughorn was not yet in class, giving the students ample time to converse before lessons began.

Startled, you stared back at him. “What?”

“You must be receiving help on your practice exams or at the very least borrowing notes from someone,” he stated matter-of-factly. “So tell me. Who is it?”

You had had enough of this arrogant git’s behavior. “What makes you think I need help? Is it so hard to believe that you are not the only person in this room who can do well in school?”

“Well I- you see, you’re not exactly the sort to put much thought to academics,” he defended.

“And what sort is that?” you questioned.

“You know, the vain, pretty lot,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d imagine you spend more time on your appearance than on your academics.”

You gaped at the boy before you. “You think I’m pretty? And before you go on, my appearance has nothing to do with my drive to excel in scholarly affairs. I’ll have you know I’m more than capable of receiving just as good of marks as you are, despite what you think.”

“Then work with me on today’s partner project,” he challenged.

“Excuse me?” The last thing you were expecting was for the high-and-mighty Tom Riddle to want anything to do with you after his blatant rudeness.

“If you’re truly as good as you say—”

“You mean as good as the scores prove,” you cut in.

Tom rolled his eyes. “If you’re really that good, show me. Demonstrate your skills on today’s potion, and I’ll believe you.”

So the two of you spent the class working together on the assigned potion. Tom made sure to stand back so that you could have the freedom to do things on your own, silently hoping that you would make a mistake. But you didn’t.

Your potion was perfect. There was not an herb out of place or a drop not potent enough. Everything was as it should.

You had clearly proven to Tom that you were a skilled student, worthy of his second glance. You only hoped that the self-righteous twat would realize not to judge people before knowing them.

“While I hate to admit my own shortcomings, you were right,” Tom conceded.

You smiled at his admittance. “Thanks, Tom. I’m glad you learned something from this experience.”

He had expected to feel more disdain at the fact that he had finally found his match. He was waiting for annoyance, jealousy, some spark of rage at being second-best. But all he felt was a strange sensation.

You were quite honestly brilliant, and he couldn’t remember a time when he genuinely thought that about a fellow student. You were quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and unafraid to back down from a challenge. You stood up to him despite barely knowing anything about him, other than that he was a royal pain to you. And, not to mention, you were quite a sight to behold.

It was no secret that Tom kept to himself more often than not. Sure, he had a group of peers who respected him — whether out of fear or genuine liking is up for debate — but he never got to know anyone on a personal level. He never let anyone get too close or see him for someone other than the shining pupil with big plans. But, for once, he wanted someone to share his genius with.

He intended to make you that person.

—

Part 2

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.