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unconventional-lawnchair · 3 months ago

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A Second Chance pt.3 {Blurb}

Poly!Marauders+Lily x Fem!Reader - Zombie Apocalypse Au

Stick Season Noah Kahan

Masterlist

Summary: Reader has sometime with Remus, before she is sent out alone with Sirius}

Cw; Guns, death, zombies go nom nom , a lot of baby talk, cussing, minor character death, Zombie apocalypse typical violence, infants)

a/n- This is totally just filler, but next chapter is going to be very intense, so warning ahead of time

Wc-2464

Amazing People- @mooonyxoxo @sippinpeachtea @amethyistheart @zjasminelouvre3 @idonotknowenglish @le-clair-de-lune @shylahstarzz

You hadn't slept a wink. Still staring out the window with Hermione against your chest. She had fistfuls of your shirt, and you couldn't bring yourself to put her down, far too anxious of what would happen to her. Your mind wandered to the worst but just because you were terrified didn't mean the world stopped turning.

Eventually, Hemione woke up and gave her soft fussy gurgles. You stood up and tried to stay quiet. Lily had laid in the bed last night, and must have fallen asleep with Harry. They were both sleeping soundly, so you didn't want to disturb them.

If last night had happened any other time, at any other place, with anyone else, you would have kicked them out. Send them straight back to the woods. It was cruel, but you weren't going to keep around people you didn't trust. However, they had Harry and your friends have done dumber things in the past. They seemed like truly good people, that was rare nowadays, and company of your own age wasn't entirely awful.

Everyone was going through this for the first time. You did know one thing, however, Sirius was not to be trusted to have Hermione’s best interest at heart.

You went about your routine, making your way to the kitchen, feeding her with what little milk you could find. You don't know much about about babies, again, you used to find them extremely annoying, but you knew that when Mrs. Granger first had Hermione, she could hardly lift her limbs.

Her husband had asked you to scavenge any nuts you could find, specifically almonds or cashews, he said it wasn't ideal but if he could use it with his water supply he could make a suitable replacement until his wife was better. It was crazy to think they were gone. Did they even think that it was a possibility? That you would be looking after their baby girl?

It was life or death in the moment, but they had made a point to involve you from day one. You hadn't been entirely close, but even if they were just a few years older than you, you looked up to them. So much resolve, tenacity, and with a bond you saw in the movies. It's crazy to think you had been traveling with them for two years, and suddenly, they were gone.

Thinking about it now, Mr. Granger made a point of teaching you what he knew, Mrs. Granger had made sure you were the first person Hermione was comfortable being held by at such a young age. For nine months you had to hear the nervous but excited soon to be dad rattle on facts about newborns that you now used day to day. Barty used to joke you were ready for your own, you could still remember the absolutely horrified look Regulus had when the thought of you as a mother came across his mind. Evan’s laughter rang in your ears as you elbowed Barty in the side for the sly comment.

Maybe they did have a feeling. They were always smarter than you.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Hermione give another gurgle, quickly you set the milk down and began to rub her back. You were distracted, again.

Using as little formula as you could with the abomination of handmade nut milk was the most sustainable option. Just three more months and it would be time to worry about getting your hands on mashed food. The stress of it all wasn't necessarily bad, you found yourself waking up every morning with someone to be awake for.

Cooing at her as you swayed around to keep her calm. You had to admit, she was a cute little thing. Even if it wasn't what you wanted, even if you lost the people dearest to you, you wouldn't go back. The idea that any other outcome would have resulted in those monsters getting their hands on her terrified you more than anything.

Those bandits, the so-called “Death Eaters” like some pathetic indie rock band name, were ruthless. They first started appearing about a year ago, they had even attempted to recruit your group.

Some religious ramblings about the worthy and the righteous, always fell on deaf ears for you. Even then, they seemed particularly insane. Speaking of the rapture and innocence leaving the community around you. That the most dignified should step up and show why they were worthy to be on earth.

That was when, of course, you had just met the group.

You weren't as skilled as you were now, but you had been alone for months when this all started. Trial and error had your best interest at heart, until skill slowly took over. When you met them, you were not the most.. easy person.

As in you stabbed, who you later learned to be Barty, right threw the hand. To your absolute horror he called you hot for it. The damn psycho. You missed him.

Evan wasn't far behind in thinking you were just the best thing since sliced bread. Maybe it was the change in faces around their boring camp, but you quickly went from some stranger they hunted with, to someone who would pop up at their camp. Eventually, you never left. You made friends with the people there, and being a part of a group made you feel safe since the first time it all happened.

Maybe that was another reason why you were so determined to keep these people around. You wanted nothing more than to be witnessed.

You were once again rudely snapped from your thoughts at the feeling of being watched. You hated that feeling. You turned to look at the doorway from the hall to the kitchen and locked eyes with that Remus boy. He looked to be sweating, but trying to hide how much pain he was clearly in. He seemed startled to see you, slowly smiling and you nodded to him, turning to look out the window.

He joined you in silence, using two chairs to prop his ankle up above his heart.

Eventually, he spoke up.

“How did you sleep?”

“I didn't. Couldn't.” You mused and after a moment of silence you turned to see him again. His eyes were closed but he didn't seem to be dozing. “... did you sleep?”

“Couldn't.” He responded and you nodded. “The pain or your friend?”

“Both.” He mumbled and slowly opened his eyes. “He.. we'd known him since we were 11.”

He seemed so solemn. It didn't even cross your mind they may have known each other from back before the change. You walked over and took a seat beside him, and he continued. “He was always a bit of an anxious kid, maybe he did some things I need to think twice about but.. I never would of figured him to..”

“Yeah.” You whispered. “No one wants to think of a friend that way.”

You rolled your tongue. It was hard to hold a conversation, truly. You had been alone for a month, before that you spent two years of your life with people you mostly listened to.

“So,” Remus began. “If you don't mind me asking, where were you when this all started?”

The question grew worn and weary with each new encounter, gradually losing its significance. It was more common than normal formalities at this point.

It held a certain importance, though, as it let many saps share their story with another person. It was a way to ensure that, even in your absence, at least one person would know your story. That you weren't lost in this world like the thousands of others who were gone. So, when the inevitable end came, whether in the tearing grip of zombies or other perils that watched you in the tree line, someone would carry your memory until it became their turn.

It just seemed to hit you, everyone in that camp. Regulus, Barty, Evans, the Grangers. Their stories were now all that was left of them. Right.

You hoped to be so lucky to tell Hermione of the heroes her parents were. The lives they saved, including yours and her own.

“It's a.. long story.” You sighed and he nodded.

“Is there anything else to do?” Remus offered and you purse your lips.

“Actually,” You looked out the window and bit your cheek. The sun was rising slowly, you didn't need to be anywhere just yet. “Short version.”

Remus leaned back against his chair and nodded before you took a deep breath.

“My dad, he worked for the military. He used to take me on these hunting trips with his coworkers. These two idiots and a pretty cool veteran.”

“Is that how you shot down that buck?”

“Learned from the best.” You nodded, smiling down at Hermione as you ran your hand soothingly down her back. “My dad and I got into this big fight.” You whispered, smile fading. “I took a hike early to get away from them all. They were being.. men.”

“Men?” Remus smirked.

“Men.” You cheeked. Remus was easy to be playful with. “On my walk, there was this guy. He looked unconscious. It was.. it was a bit jarring. Then when I called for help he got up. He was eating meat of some kind.”

You shuttered as you remembered so clearly the crazed and red faced man looking at you. Like you were his next meal. “And then my dads friend, Mr. Prewett came out of nowhere. He jumped in front of me and this guys just- well.. you can assume what happened. I went back to camp and I told my dad. He panicked and called the sheriff office.” You waved your free hand. “Useless. Eventually, there was this mass panic and people chasing each other. My dad packed up the car and told me to drive. To go home and wait for him and his friends there. He just.. never came back.”

Remus nodded along thoughtfully.

“What of you five?” You asked in kind. He fiddled with his nail.

“We had just been sent home from boarding school. We were on a train home and suddenly it just stopped.” Refused recounted the horrified screams and the mass panic. Remembering locking their compartment and drawing the curtains. The sounds of tearing and horrified screams etched into his memory.

You winced a bit. “A train?”

“Right? I mean, who starts these things off on a train?”

Okay, that made you laugh. The cheeky bugger. “How did you make it out?”

“Lily broke a window.”

“That.. makes sense. She seems like she has a thing or two going for her upstairs.”

“Something the other two lack.”

Okay, he was definitely charming too. A sense of humor could go a long way. A comfortable silence settled over you, before you saw how late it was getting. You began to stand and Remus winced as he shifted to look at you.

“Where are you headed?”

“The spring further down the forest line. It's fresh water and I have an embarrassing purifier.”

“You're taking her?”

“...” You usually did take littler Hermione with you, you hated to be so far from the house without her. You knew it would be easier, however, to leave her behind.

“I-”

“I'll watch her.” Remus offered gently.

Your eyes locked onto his hazels. You searched them with a determined tightness in your chest. Remus had never done anything to make you think he might hurt her. Something about the boy reminded you of safety in its purest form.

But you weren't going to just trust your gut. Not again.

“I'll set her down in the livingroom. If she cries-”

“I'll be here. I promise.”

You slowly nodded and gave him a brief pained smile. His eyes were soft and so was his curled lips. Showing you a gentleness you only saw after you met the group. It frustrated you to no end, to not understand why your heart was clenching so painful and desperate in your chest at just a look.

You turned sharply and walked into the livingroom, past the sleeping figures to hide her away in the corner as you always did. You made a point to not look at Sirius nor James.

James seemed distraught, holding his curly strands of hair in between his fingers. Eyes bloodshot.

Seems no one slept.

“I am going out, down to the stream. It's a walk, so I'll be back by the time the sun goes down.” You informed them, it felt odd to have someone to report to again.

Walking past them, James suddenly stood up on his feet before he stumbled a bit. “Alone? You're going alone?”

Sirius came to grab his wrist and help him stay up.

You looked back at them with a quizzing look. “Yes. We need water. I figured the idea would make you happy.”

James shook his head. “No- no- water, it's- it's great.” He mumbled and stared at you. His eyes were low and filled with concern. You should have walked away, but he looked like a wounded puppy.

“Is that.. okay, James?” You whispered back. It was hard to stay too stern with him.

“It is just.. just alone?” He pushed and you slowly crossed your arms.

“I have survived plenty long without-”

“I-I'll go with you! We can be quicker too, I'm pretty strong I-”

“James.” You cut in on his words sharply and his eyebrows pinched together with a sad look. “... yes?”

Merlin, you see why Lily was so taken with him. If the current situation was anything else-

“I will be fine alone.” You insisted before Sirius cleared his throat.

“You?” You glared at Sirius, this time, unlike yesterday, he didn't shy away. “I'll go with you.”

“No.”

“Can't really stop me, can you?” Sirius mused and picked up James's gun. You glared at him harder and he sighed, handing it back to James.

“No weapons.” He comprised.

“And you travel ahead of me.” You huffed, the black haired boy slowly smirked. “Darling, I don't have a clue where we're going.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just bloody- follow me then.”

Before he could make another comment you walked to the door and began to leave. James seemed to visually relax, and Sirius hurried after you.

“Don't slow me down.” You warned him, stepping into the porch. The outside was calm and serine, but there was this sinking feeling in your chest that only grew worse as you tried to catch something in the tree line.

It felt like you were being watched. You hated that feeling.

Your thoughts were suddenly cut out of your mind when you heard Sirius.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

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jo-harrington · 1 year ago

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Team Building (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one does Halloween quite like the Hellfire Club, and you just so happened to have promised to join them.

Previous Part: Closing Time

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual Pining and Slow Burn, Fluffy Fluff, Trick or Treating

Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN and welcome back to the Store Manager Verse. I actually wanted to be further along with my chronological releases but it just never happened. This one is definitely probably one of the best timed releases with the holiday but there's a minor note that there's...maybe a reference to a yet-to-be published installation of the story. Eddie and SM are gonna be going on a little road trip at some point and will meet some of SM's family. DONT EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT FOR NOW. Just enjoy the shenanigans.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

"You look cute today."

"Thanks!"

"You need to look less cute next week. We're doing zombies, remember?"

"Got it."

Every day.

"Did you pick up that fake blood from Melvalds like you promised?"

"Yeah it's at home."

"Ok great because...because I was a little afraid you were gonna forget about our plans."

"Don't worry Eddie."

He reminded you every day.

"Ok so we're meeting at Gareth's at 4 on Thursday."

"Alright I'll be there."

"No, uh, glitter makeup? We're going for realism. Shock and awe."

"I swear to god!"

Every day for an entire week, whether he was scheduled to work or not, Eddie showed up at Star Court to remind you that you had promised to go Trick or Treating with him and his friends.

It was cute endearing.

October--and more specifically Halloween--was one of your favorite times of the year at work. It was laid back and fun. No pressure from either Back to School or the Holiday rush, you could "dress up" with little costume pieces or fun makeup every day, and you could have a bowl of candy at the cash wrap that made everyone's day a little bit brighter.

And outside of work, you'd really embraced the season.

Correction, Eddie made you embrace the season.

Before moving to Hawkins, Halloween had always been incredibly...commercial. Costumes and decorations from the little seasonal aisle at the drugstore. The biggest display of candy at the grocery store that you needed to stock up on unless you wanted your house egged.

And your social life consisted, mainly, of outings with your coworkers. Pumpkin patches and haunted hayrides almost always became team building activities. That wasn't to say your coworkers--new and old--weren't your friends too.

But with Eddie...it was different.

A harvest festival outside of Muncie, horror movies late at night during a thunderstorm, warm apple cider at Merrill's Farm while looking for gourds that were shaped like your heads. Pumpkin carving on the porch at the trailer, cutting out bats and cats from black construction paper, and now Trick or Treating with his friends.

You thought, early on in your friendship, that it was just some throw away comment. But knowing him as well as you did now, you realized that he really meant everything he said.

Every promise was purposeful, especially when it came to the people he cared about. Which was why you were sure he was determined to make the night perfect. Not only for you, but for everyone.

Especially the handful of little sheep that were newcomers to Hellfire.

"The freshman," he explained on Sunday as you worked on your costumes together. "They're little turds but...I dunno, they have potential."

You'd already heard about them at the beginning of the year as Eddie gushed about his new recruits; younger brothers that Eddie sort of always wished for but was thankful he didn't actually have.

"They're not gonna think I'm some like...weird old person right?" you laughed self-consciously, thinking back to Jeff's comment when you said you wouldn't buy them beer. And sure you were not that much older than Eddie, but you were sure you were ancient to a bunch of 14-year olds.

"You're the coolest person I know. And I'm the coolest person they know."

"You saw how my brother is though," you waved your hand dismissively. Jimmy's words--who would have guessed your boyfriend's not lame like you--wouldn't stop echoing in your head though.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

Eddie still wasn't your boyfriend.

They must have echoed in Eddie's too because his cheeks flushed and he immediately became bashful. He ducked his head into his shoulder a little bit and refused to meet your eyes as he hacked away at the sleeves of the old flannel in his hands.

"Your brother," he finally replied, "is a little turd too. I'm sure the kids will worship you. More than they worship me. I promise. Everything will be alright."

---

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around.

You were running late to get to the Emerson's to get ready thanks to a last minute visit from your DM. Who knew that pictures of you and your team for the company-issued costume contest would take so long?

Still, to save time, you decided not to change costumes until you got to the house. Seeing as Eddie had grand plans for everyone's face paint to make them look as close to Day of the Dead as possible, you figured you would be fine.

However, you were not expecting the entire gaggle of boys to stare at you with stars in their eyes as you stepped out of your car, duffle bag full of torn old clothes and gallon of fake blood in-hand, done up like a glam metal superstar.

Or as close to it as you could get with the accessories you carried at the store. Rainbow hair extensions and glitter spray, layers of chain jewelry, and too much cheetah print.

"You," Eddie began as he pushed through the group to get to you. His face was already a ghastly pallor thanks to a layer of facepaint from melvalds, exactly as he had envisioned. "Are a traitor and a turncoat, a disgrace to the uniform, and your status as Corroded Coffin's number one fan."

"I've literally never heard you guys play," you rolled your eyes at him.

"Did my lesson about the different types of metal mean nothing to you?" he clutched a hand over his heart and then reached out and fiddled with your jewelry. "And didn't I say no glitter."

"I just need to use the bathroom to wash it all off. Then you can make me gross and moldy like you."

"It's not mold. It's rot. Get it right." You flipped him off and he grinned. "Hey sweetheart."

"Hi."

"Nice of you to finally join us."

Eddie threw an arm around your shoulders and led you into the garage. You said hi to Jeff, Gareth, and Dave, and then he introduced you to the sheep.

Mike and Lucas and Dustin and Will.

They were all a little bashful as Eddie went down the line; it was reminiscent of when you met the others, except less fun facts and more silly tidbits meant to embarrass the kids.

Will the Wise whose worst stat was intelligence. Dustin who had a girlfriend in Utah--

"She's real, I swear."

--Mike who had already gone through two new characters because he couldn't roll to save his life. Literally. And Lucas who liked sports.

"Oh my god," you scoffed at Eddie. “You make it sound like sports are a scourge."

"They are."

"You like hockey."

"I," Eddie paused. "Tolerate hockey."

You grinned triumphantly and said hello to each of the boys before ducking into the house to get changed.

"Dude, she is way out of your league." you could hear Mike whine, followed by a dull thud of a fist hitting an arm.

"That's what we've been telling him the whole time," Dave cackled.

---

Eddie and Will were the masterminds behind the zombification process--bickering back and forth about what scar went where and how gross that pus should look as they applied facepaint--but all the boys tossed in their creative input.

"Oh my god, do you still have that rubber eyeball from lunch? We can glue it to Jeff's hand."

"What if--don't touch my hair--what if we--don't touch my hair."

"More blood! More! MORE!"

Before you knew it, two hours had passed, it was dark out and gaggles of Trick-or-Treaters were already filling the streets. Gareth's mom had set herself up on the porch with a bowl full of fun-sized candy and wished you all farewell as you took off down the sidewalk.

A veritable hoard of the undead, with ripped clothes, foaming mouths, blood-soaked hands, and pillowcases to double as treat bags.

To your surprise, there was a lot more to Trick or Treating than you had initially thought. All your childhood, you'd just gone door to door for a few blocks, rang a bell, got some candy, and at the end of the night traded treats with your brothers or your friends.

To Hellfire, it was just as involved as any of their DnD campaigns. And it's how you learned more about each of the boys, and surprisingly, more about their fearless leader.

Lucas and Mike were the perfect strategists and, as you began your trek, listed off neighborhoods that gave the best candy. You got the in-depth analysis between full-size and fun-size candies, chocolate versus peanut butter versus nougat, and you made a mental note to be more mindful of the choices you put out at the cash wrap for next year.

Dustin and Eddie were the navigators mentally mapping the distances between each neighborhood and how quickly and efficiently the group could get around.

"We should have just taken the van," Eddie scoffed when Dustin suggested Loch Nora first, the furthest trek of the night.

"No, then we'll end up back at Gareth's by 10. We just need to walk fast, it'll be perfect."

"And my mom is making a casserole for dinner," Gareth piped up. "She said you're all welcome to stay."

"Why don't we end at my place," Mike suggested. "We can just hang out in the basement and my mom will order pizza."

"No one wants to sleep in your dusty ass basement Wheeler," Dave scoffed.

"We're definitely skipping school tomorrow," Eddie pointed at all of the kids. "I hope you all know that."

Dave and Jeff, much to your surprise, were the "war generals" as they so graciously called themselves. They had a few rolls of toilet paper and a carton of eggs tucked away in their pillowcases, in case they came across--

"The enemies!!!" The older boys hollered into the starry night sky, quickly earning glares from other kids and parents as they passed.

"And who would that be?" you asked. The entire group looked at you like you'd grown a second head. "I'm sorry I'm not well-versed in Halloween mischief."

"Oh it's gonna be fun corrupting you." Eddie laughed wickedly, and started ticking off examples on his fingers. "People who tell us we're too old to trick or treat."

"I thought you said no one cared!" you exclaimed.

"Most people," he clarified, "don't care. But someone called the cops on us. What was it? Last year? Year before?" He looked at the older boys for confirmation.

"Mrs. Peterson who likes to sic her dogs on the kids who get too close to her rose bushes," Lucas offered next.

"If someone has their porch light on, but doesn't answer the door."

"When someone gives raisins instead of candy," Will supplied, ignoring Dustin's quiet, I like raisins.

The list went on: people who made fun of their costumes, the one house where the guy sat on his porch and douse kids with "holy water" for engaging in devilry.

"And Jason Carver," Eddie finished with a flourish.

They all looked at you for some kind of objection...or maybe your approval? You weren't too sure.

But at your soft nod, they all whooped and hollered and a few of the younger boys even took off running so they could jump and scare some of the kids who were just minding their own business.

"See?" Eddie asked and grabbed your hand in his as you followed at the back of the group. "And you were afraid they were gonna think you were some gross old lady. They're trying to impress you."

"Impress is a stretch."

"Ah ah ah," he shook his head. "I will hear none of it. I told them all that they were to be on their best worst behavior. Make sure you have the best time. That they are mere peasants here to serve the Queen of the Undead."

You let his hand go and pushed him away from you, even though your heart beat a little faster knowing he wanted them to behave around you.

"Go before I gnaw on your brains."

"You promise?" he waggled his eyebrows at you suggestively.

"Go!"

---

It was an eventful night.

You moaned and groaned and shuffled your way across Hawkins, just like the zombies in Romero's movies, to get all sorts of sweet treats. Candy and popcorn and fresh-dipped caramel apples that someone was making in their yard in Loch Nora.

The group successfully TP'd one house, and you'd even personally egged someone's front door after they called the gang delinquents. You were not athletic in the slightest, but you hit your target dead on, and basked in the boy's gleeful war cries.

You were grateful for Eddie's suggestion of sneakers because you'd walked more in those 4 hours than you had during any Black Friday or Christmas Eve double shift in your entire career. You were sure even a day at Disneyland couldn't hold a candle to the Hellfire Club Whistle Stop Walking Candy Tour of Hawkins.

The boys all took to calling you mom pretty early in the night after you stopped Jeff from chomping into a handful of starbursts.

"Your braces," you reminded him, motioning to your teeth. "You're gonna snap a wire; you hate the orthodontist."

He groaned and all of the boys started snickering. Eddie, of course, was quick to shame him.

"Listen to your mother!"

And the nickname just stuck.

Of course Mike--who you noticed tried to emulate Eddie most out of the group of freshman--had a retort.

"If she's mom," he said smugly. "Does that mean you're dad?"

The boys all started making kissy faces and you had to laugh as Eddie got a little flustered.

After watching him flounder for a comeback, you decided to help him out, so you crossed the distance and pressed a quick peck to his cheek before you turned and shook your finger at the boys in a disappointed way.

"Next person to sass your father," you started. "And you're all grounded." They all looked a mixture of confused and worried for a second.

"What does that mean?" Lucas asked nervously.

"It means you start the next session with half of your hit points," Eddie finally recovered, voice growling in a threat. The boys all clammed up and turned to head to the next house.

"Sorry about them," he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Nah, it's ok," you smiled reassuringly. "They meant well. Still...til death do us part, I guess."

You both froze and you started panicking.

Why had you said that?

Still, Eddie was able to make it all better. He shuffled his feet and cracked a smile, then gestured to your costumes.

"Or uh...undeath. Considering."

Still, you had butterflies in your stomach every time one of the boys called you mom and dad for the rest of the night.

---

By the time 10 rolled around, you were back at the Emerson's house. Gareth's mom greeted you all excitedly with sodas and plates of hot buffalo chicken casserole with crispy tater tots on top, and you all sat in the garage to eat and divvy up your haul.

"So," Eddie slumped on the sofa next to you at some point after dinner was finished. You were tiredly watching Lucas and Dave argue the merits of Three Musketeers versus Milky Way and glad for the distraction. "Did you have fun?"

"Of course."

"Enough to do it again next year?"

"Is this your way of telling me you guys trick or treat every year?" you joked. "Because I kind of picked up on those hints all night."

"More like...I don't know," he sniffed awkwardly. "You still planning to be my friend next year?"

"Stop asking me that," you hit the back of your hand against his chest. "If I got to see you be a big dork with your gaggle of kindergarteners--"

"Hey!" came Will and Mike's whine from a few feet away.

"--and I'm still here, nothing's gonna scare me away Eddie."

He grabbed your hand to stop you from hitting him again, but stayed silent for a moment, eyes darting back and forth between yours as his tongue worried his lip.

You got nervous the longer he hesitated to say something, and once he did, you had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't exactly what he'd really wanted to say in the first place.

You hoped it wasn't what he wanted to say. Hoped it was just something he couldn't say in front of his friends.

"Then you don't mind if we do Alien next year. And before you say anything, I think I would make a great Ripley. I already have the hair for it and I'm pretty sure I have that same underwear."

"Sure Eddie," you agreed a little stiffly. "Sounds perfect."

He smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes.

Still, the two of you stayed huddled together on that couch for the rest of the night, surrounded by friends.

Hands held comfortably together.

Next Part: Promotion

#Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #Eddie muson fic #Eddie Munson stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #Eddie Munson fluff #store manager verse

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brellafaun · 2 months ago

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assorted small town au ramblings

all the hargreeves kids grew up in different houses with their birth moms but still went to the same schools together. lila was a transplant from the burbs and she was dying of boredom her first year there

a small mountain town just feels right. lots of woods to explore, plenty of places to hike- small enough that everyone is close, but spacious enough that it's not suffocating

i can picture some of the boys going hunting when the season comes around. diego would probably get really into it and five would be the best with a crossbow. everyone is down for fishing and screwing around at the local lake, though

speak of, hargreeves family cookouts monthly. everyone brings something and the kids run around while the adults just chill. either hosted by diego and lila's place or at the lake's shitty park tables

Luther is a math teacher at the local middle school (he is so smart. i will die on this hill) and adores his job. all the kids think he's the coolest person they've ever met. Sloane is the geography/history teacher down the hall. they make lunches for each other and spend their prep periods together. their students FREAKED OUT when they found out they were married. he works with the local scout troops over the summers and likes canoeing the best

Diego works with the local fire department (i can't make him a cop i'm sorry) and loves it. got really into axe throwing and wanted to teach Stanley, Grace, and the twins how to do it before Lila vetoed it. deer hunts in the fall, fishes as often as possible. epitome of girl dad, those kids have him wrapped around their little fingers. best bass player in town and avid enjoyer of the local bars' battle of the bands

Allison works with local government. amazing public speaker. lives in the heart of town with Ray and Claire, happier than ever. always the first to volunteer for Claire's school events- coaches for the high school volleyball team and is the best drama coach they've ever seen. surprisingly, loves camping the most out of anyone in the group. points out every constellation (she and Luther compete to see who can name the most) when they're outdoors and makes the best s'mores

Klaus sells the crochet and knit goods they make at local markets/the town festivals. has immaculate reviews on his etsy store. somehow pulls the best thrifting hauls with Allison and Claire. goes to the lake the most out of the group- loves to swim out and relax in the water. doesn't go on the hunting or fishing trips but does know all of the edible plant species they can forage locally. roomies with Ben and has a cat named Tango. keeps picking up DIYs in order to have excuses to visit Dave down at the hardware store

Five is the group cryptid. has a cabin in the woods somewhere. almost a full-on survivalist, bound to actually go feral someday. works with the town's historical society and archives. gets lunch with Herb and Dot semi-regularly. Mr. Pennycrumb accompanies him everywhere, and nobody argues with it. cans his own food and has bees on his property (he regularly leaves jam and honey jars on the others' porches and denies doing so). either the best dressed one at the function or wearing an awful fishing/hunting pun hoodie, no in-between

Ben is a librarian, and a kickass one at that. the best at story hour (his puppeteering skills with the octopus are immaculate) and incredible with multitasking. handles a bunch of finance stuff behind the scenes (diego and klaus are hopeless with taxes, five has almost been arrested for evasion). works on his motorcycle when he has free time and rides down to the valley to visit his girlfriend. presses wildflowers and helps at the community garden

Viktor works at the local music shop, Icarus Records. Luther is his most frequent customer and has probably bought at least half of their stock at this point. he's got more music knowledge than anyone else in town. loves going out on the hiking trails to play at the peaks- it brings him a sense of peace like nothing else. volunteers with the schools to teach music. still in his teenage band with Diego and Lila. visits his mom every week and sits out on the porch with her drinking sweet tea. budding romance with the newest transplant- a recently divorced woman from texas. (her son adores him already)

Lila also works with the historical society, but as the chaotic social media/marketing manager. she gets paid to meme and that's probably her dream career. attends every PTA meeting purely to psych out the other moms. drums whenever she gets the chance, absolutely demolishing everyone at the battle of the bands. chaotic evil driver- she learned with city traffic and assumes it makes her immune to the super windy roads. steals Diego's flannels and denies it

might make a separate post about their teenage years,,,

#okay yapping done #kitt shut up #the umbrella academy #tua #viktorposting #viktor hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #lila pitts

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prettypinkporkchop · 3 months ago

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Hello, can you do Embry x Reader. Where they are hanging out with the pack and Emily cousin. Claire sat on Reader’s lap and hugging her and Reader hugged her back. Emily smiled and in awe including Sam. When it was late night, Reader started to notice that Claire is tired so she asked Emily can she take her to bed upstairs. Emily says yes. After that, Reader took Claire to her room and put her bed but Claire was still awake. So Reader started to sing like harmony and hitting notes but soft. When she started to sing the pack heard her because of super hearing and then they went to upstairs then Sam, Paul and Embry with the pack opened the door and saw Reader singing amazing. Embry was shocked and impressed. Sam was impressed into especially Paul. When he said damn. Emily saw it too. After that Reader walked out the door and the. Embry told her that was amazing and she got embarrassed.

"Wow! She really likes you." Emily smiles at you. Claire is on your lap with her arms wrapped around your neck. You have your arms wrapped around her and making funny faces with her, causing her to giggle.

Embry is staring at you. Now, he needs to marry you asap. He's been thinking about it for a long time now, but he's been so scared! Paul keeps urging him and making fun of his nervousness.

You look up and see Emily, Sam, Embry, and Kim staring at you in awe. Sam places a hand on Emily's thigh and looks at her with a sweet smile. "Guys." You laugh awkwardly.

After a few hours, you guys play a movie for her. Everyone is hanging out and roaming around while Claire is up your ass. You don't mind. This has you melting. You adore kids and want one of your own! She starts yawning. You rub your head. "You want to go to bed?" You ask her. She nods and then clings onto you. You lift her up, her head in your neck. You carry her toward Emily. "Hey, can I take her to bed?" You softly ask. Emily smiles and looks at Embry, who is just daydreaming. "Yes." She looks back at you.

You carry her to the spare bedroom and lay her in the bed. "Alright, baby. There you go." You whisper. You turn on the little nightlight in the wall and turn off the big light. You sit on the chair next to the bed to make sure she falls asleep before you leave.

A few minutes pass, and she's still playing with the stuffed animal that was in bed. You think of what to do and then catch an idea!

"Constant as the stars above

Always know that you are loved

And my love shining in you

Will help you make your dreams come true

Will help your dreams come true"

(LMFAOOOO BARBIE!)

You sing quietly and softly. She's out by now, but you continue to sing just to be sure. But, you hear the door behind you slightly open, causing you to jump and look at the door. There Emily and Sam stand with their mouths agape. You blush and sigh, standing up and stepping out of the room. "Really?!" You giggle. "That was so beautiful! You have an amazing voice!" Emily gushes. "Thank you, Emily." You smile and then walk down the hall. You see Embry standing there with this face:

He steps closer to you and wraps his arms around your waist, looking down at you. "Your voice is just as beautiful as your face, my girl. I am so marrying you." He smiles. You blush deep red and cover your face. "Nuh uh." He takes your hands, pulling them away and smashing his lips on yours. You kiss him back and hold the back of his head.

"Stop, you gross bitches." You pull away and see Jared with a face of disgust. "By the way, nice voice!" He points and then walks into the bathroom. "Oh god." You laugh and look at Embry, your beautiful and perfect imprint.

#twilight #embry call #jacob black #jared cameron #paul lahote #sam uley #seth clearwater #twilight wolfpack #leah clearwater #quil ateara #embry call x reader

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chevvsgotanumbrellatattoo · 2 months ago

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I haven't even seen the full season, but from Tumblr alone (yall are troopers), I am devastated. Even my shitty fic from 2020 made more sense than this shit (before you ask, no I will not sharing /gen /nm. My writing pre-4-years-of-creative-writing-classes was AWFUL)

Also, the true ending was revealed to me last night in a dream:

Viktor owns and runs his bar. Sissy is alive and well. The two of them and Harlan (kid aged, like S2) live on a farm and go to the record store every Saturday. Mr. Pickles comes along each time. Harlan has no powers.

Ben was never in jail bc crypto currency can't exist when the best phone tech is a rotary phone??? Anyway, he goes to art school, hones his craft, and makes up with the family by inviting them to his first art show. He visits Klaus on Mondays for lunch.

Five works at the CIA. He truly loves solving big puzzles, he learned that from the Commission. After work, he comes home to human!Delores and helps her cook supper. They talk about science and how Five's boss keeps telling him to pick up a new hobby for stress relief. Delores smiles over her glass of wine and suggests picking his guitar back up.

Klaus lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with Dave. His OCD and anxiety is still rampant, but with Dave's support, he gets on meds (which Dave holds onto and administers for him since pills make him nervous) and gets a handle on it. He and Dave have movie nights every Friday and talk about tarot. Dave makes the best menudo Klaus has ever had.

Allison lives happily with Claire and Ray. She learns to manage her guilt and anger, apologizing at length to the family and vowing to herself to be a better person. Claire needs a better role model than the person she'd been. Ray and Allison take Claire for picnics with the at least one of the Uncles once a month. Claire looks forward to it every time.

Diego and Lila are happy. They have their 3 little nuggets and love them to pieces. Diego learns that his father-in-law has a friend at the archery range in the next town over. He drives over with him one day and decides to pick up knives again. It takes a long time to make peace with the fact that his aim will never be marigold-perfect, but Diego is entirely happy with his progress.

Lila is ELATED to have her parents. She talks to them daily and plays Twister with little Grace and the twins while her Mom and Dad take turns spinning the Twister wheel. She goes to the gym to scratch the itch of adventure she sometimes finds herself needing and talks to Diego when something is bothering her. Diego does the same. They call it 'Thick-Headed Therapy Thursdays' and they get ice cream afterwards.

Luther lives in a lovely house with Sloane. He studies space and cooking at the local college and helps Sloane kickstart her fashion designs (based off when she made her KILLER wedding dress in like,, no time at all). They have a small dog named Moon-Moon McGee. Sloane keeps her moon-rock wedding ring safe in a small box in her nightstand.

Grace works at a daycare and is the favorite of kids and grownups alike. She visits Diego and Lila on Sundays and makes little Grace and her siblings pancakes and chocolate milk for breakfast (Lila and Diego partake in this as well).

Pogo works at the library. He prides himself on neat bookshelves and loves when people ask him for help. He calls everyone "Master," "Miss," or even "Mx." and asks politely for preference and pronouns before doing so.

None of them have their powers.

Reginald Hargreeves still has a heart attack and kaputs. Abigail never bothers the Brellies.

The family all make it to little Grace's birthday party. The piñata breaks when she hits it. The cake is gone within an hour. Little Grace and Harlan are damn near inseparable. She makes Mr. Pickles hats for the holidays, much to Harlan's delight.

Case in point, they're all so happy and love each other! They each go to therapy and work out their own issues and don't take it out on each other!! The kids love all their aunts and uncles!! Everyone wins!! (Except Reggie bc FUCK YOU).

#the umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy spoilers #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #lila pitts #s4 is such a fucking joke #five is still bitchy but reigns himself in #this boy loves hugs tell me im wrong #the real tua ending

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hannahssimblr · 6 months ago

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“She’s so cute,” Jen says, watching Evie crouched by the pond in St. Stephen’s Green. She is breaking up the last third of her ice cream cone and feeding it to the ducks.

Experiencing Dublin through her eyes has been the most entertaining part of the day, because when we’re with her, following her from shop to shop as she announces she’s found a soap or candle she can’t get at home or stops to watch a street performer sing the same roster of songs he does every single weekend, the city doesn’t seem like such an awful place.

Now we’re taking a break. We’ve had lunch at a burger restaurant set up to look like an American diner, wandered through the science museum touching all of the exhibits, and made her try the sea salt flavour at our favourite ice cream parlour. She liked it, which means that she has objectively good taste, and evidently, so do the ducks.

“Look at her! They love her, she has a way with them.”

“Are you supposed to feed ice cream cones to ducks? Doesn’t it make them explode or something?”

“God, you’re not supposed to feed them anything these days, are you?” She grins at Evie, enamoured, “It’s so hard for me to get my head around the fact that she’s friends with someone like Kelly. How does something like that happen to a person?”

“Same as how someone like me is friends with someone like you. People just get trapped.”

She snorts, “Am I the victim or are you?”

Evie tries to pet the smooth head of the duck that waddles closest to her, and then squeals as it lunges to peck a piece of wafer right out of her hand. I smile. “What do you think about her and Liam?”

“They seem cute, I’m happy that, like, something is happening for him in that department.”

“Hm. I don’t think she likes him.”

Jen glances at me, “Did you get some delicious piece of gossip about this while I was in the gift shop?”

“No, not really, I just have a feeling.”

“Probably projection then. I don’t think you want Liam to be happy.”

I scoff. She is ridiculous sometimes, “As if I care if Liam is happy or not, that has nothing to do with me. I was just sharing a point of view that I have.”

“Ah, I get it!”

I squint, “What do you get?”

“You want her for yourself.”

“What? No. Shut up with that stuff. First Claire and now… they're literally just random girls to me.”

“Look at that pretty face though, you're so weak for cute features,” Evie gets to her feet and wipes her hands as the ducks scavenge for crumbs in the dirt around her.

“She’s not what I go for. She’s too… she’s a bit weird,” I flinch with guilt as Changing-Room-Fitzy in my head slaps me on the back. See, lads? Turner agrees. Complete oddball, right man? I don’t answer him.

“Wow, okay.”

She’s coming back toward us now, “Do you guys have any more food on you? The ducks have me tortured over there asking for it. They might start pecking me to death if I don't provide for them.”

Jen digs in her bag for a little bag of almonds, “There you go, chick,” and as Evie goes back to the birds and begins doling out the nuts, Jen shakes her head at me, “You should learn to be nicer about people,” she says “This whole dickhead attitude thing is getting real boring.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2010 #quite enjoying fitzys presence in judes head as the voice of toxic masculinity i guess #maybe i'll roll with it going forward idk #anyway DUCKS

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gorjee-art · 3 months ago

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🪄

(Haven't been following you for very long, so I don't know many of your characters - tell me about the ones you just haven't had the opportunity to talk about! Or just whoever you want to talk about! Have fun with it!👀)

I don't talk about Claire very often so...so be it!

I like to call Claire a mutt (in a very endearing way mind you) because she's from mixed origins! Growing up in a large circus/carnie family that found their loves from all over the globe, you tend to lose sight of your "original" heritage. To the point of knowing far too many languages just to talk with all your cousins...

Second fun fact, Claire was based on the "ugly duckling" story, I feel awful for not talking about it so often but I've been meaning to explore it. She hasn't always been so prim, proper, and perfect and at times if you catch her at the right moments of time, those times of being a sad little clown will float up to the surface.

Lastly, Claire has an ODD ability to charm any animal she wishes. (Might be why Charles has such a strong attraction towards her lol) Animals just seem to be drawn to her for no particular reason. Chester's capuchin monkey wants her attention 24/7, Gators never really bother to threaten her, and Tigers chuff in her presence. It started all the way back at a really young age when she worked with circus animals all day long. Feeling empathetic to their lethargy and tiredness from performing all day, not particularly enjoying the heavy amounts of "training" and "rehearsing"

#threeface speaks

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winter-leftovers · 11 months ago

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Til The End Of Eternity || Chapter twenty: We Need To Talk About Mom’s Paintings (20/?)

(Douxie Casperan x f!reader)

Summary: Y/n is trying to figure her life out but is going to be hard since her brother is the new trollhunter and she is plagued by dreams and feelings she doesn’t understand.

Chapter Summary: Morgana possesses Claire. Douxie and Y/n have a moment. Y/n needs her father.

Word count: 2568

Warnings: we have everything. We have angst, we have comfort, we have some I would say +16 stuff

(Season 3 Episodes 2,3,4,5)

Song?: The Night We Met by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers

Previous - Next

Masterlist

Y/n looked around the room, the once dark and colorless basement was now an art gallery full of colorful paintings of creatures that shouldn’t exist against vibrants backgrounds.

She observed her mother paint a portrait the size of the wall of her ex-boyfriend's troll from with an intensity she had never seen before. She didn’t even know her mother could paint.

“Mom, I packed you lunch!” Jim screamed from the kitchen.

“Down here honey!” Screamed back Barbara without taking her eyes from the painting.

Jim slowly walked down stairs and saw her sister sitting in a stool observing the spectacle.

“What’s going on?” He mouthed.

Y/n shrugged, she was just as confused, with her head she pointed at the big Mr. Strickler’s painting.

Jim’s eyes opened like plates.

“So, what do you think? I call it “Goodbye, Walt” You warned me he was bad news, but I didn’t listen. Then he vanished without a goodbye. What kind of man does that? Hence the horns. They’re symbolic” Barbara proudly showed off her painting.

“Wow, mom. Quite the imagination” Jim turned to Y/n.

“Yeah” Y/n is lost for words. She didn’t know what to do “Now, I know where I got my artistic side is from”

“Aw, thank you sweety” Barbara pinched Y/n’s cheek “First your father, and now him. I swear, if I ever see Walt again…”

“On that note,” Jim nervously chuckled, starting to go upstairs “gotta run”

“Coward” Y/n whispered.

—

“Hello” Y/n announced her arrival at the bookstore.

“Hello, love” Douxie emerged from under the counter mirroring the smile in Y/n’s face “You’re early. I thought you were coming for lunch. We were going to the park”

Y/n walked to Douxie and kissed his cheek.

“Are you kicking me out?” She chuckled against his cheek.

“What?! No?!” He screamed. For a moment, fear creeped on Douxie's spine. Did he make Y/n feel rejected?

“Relax” Y/n rested her head on his shoulders, and patted his chest “I just wanted to see you. Is that such a crime?” It wasn’t a complete lie. Y/n wanted to see Douxie, she always wanted to see him. But today, she needed to get out of her house, stay away from her mother’s art.

“Stop toying with the kid. He only slept two hours” Archie jumped on top of the counter.

“Hi to you too, Arch” Y/n scratched the cat’s chin.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m a little bit on edge. It was a long night. Too many trolls in Arcadia wreaking havoc” Douxie let himself fall on the chair “Do you know what’s up with that?”

Y/n nodded. She doesn’t want to lie to Douxie but if she told him the truth she knew he would want to help and that would open a can of worms that she doesn’t want to deal with just yet.

“No idea” she shook her head “that’s weird” she observed Douxie’s dark eyebags “Hey, why don’t you go lay down until lunch and I stay here?”

“No. No. I’m okay” he straightened himself in the chair, dropping a cup with pens with his elbow.

Y/n and Archie shared a look.

“You’re not” Y/n gently push him from the shoulders of the chair “you’re missing a cat and you didn’t notice it”

“No, Al is…” Douxie started to look everywhere as Y/n guided him to the stairs.

“See? Go to sleep. See you at lunch” Y/n waved until Douxie disappeared into the distance. She turned to Arch “Where’s Al, anyway?”

“Who knows. He said something about a meeting with a duck and then something about a dandelion and tacos” Archie rolled his eyes.

“Don’t laugh at him. Is always important to have connections”

Y/n helped out a few regulars and a few not so regulars during the afternoon. Time moved slowly, the dog outside the bookstore sniffed the tree comically slow until he found a spot, the traffic lights wouldn’t change colors, everything seemed to move so painfully slow. She looked back at Archie to see if he was also affected by this strange phenomenon but he was belly up under a ray of sunshine. She smiled and walked the small store coming back to the spot where Douxie had given her her old book. She couldn’t see it back then but now, with this piece of the puzzle back in its place she could recognise that Douxie had reconstructed her old bookshelf from their time in Camelot.

“Lady Y/n” Hisirdoux shyly knocked on the door.

“Come on in” Y/n answered, her voice almost above a whisper. She was laying on the floor with her back against the bookshelf, her nose buried in a red leather bound book and her bare feet were covered by her faithful friend, Alfred.

“Where…?” Hisirdoux looked around the room until he saw the cat’s brown tail coming from under the bed “Y/n?” He called.

“Mmmh?” She lifted her view from the book, her hair was in a perfect braid but she was still in her nightgown.

“Master M…”

“Y/n?” Morgana pushed the door wide open.

Hisirdoux jumped back like a cat.

“Why aren't you wearing your dress?” The woman grabbed the dress from the bed and ran next to the girl.

“I thought I had time” Y/n looked at Hisirdoux her eyes filling with tears “I…I…”

From the hallway, they could hear the echo of the steps followed by a staff hitting the stone covered floor.

Hisirdoux’s heart fell to his stomach when he saw Y/n’s red eyes.

“Hisirdoux, can you distract him?” Asked Morgana as she prepared the girl’s dress.

Hisirdoux pursed his lips and nodded before running down the hallway.

Y/n smiled while the tears fell as she heard Hisirdoux’s insanes complain about his lack of staff.

“He is nice” Morgana whispered .

Y/n’s cheeks redden as her bracelet, she lowered her head and played with it while Morgana tightened her corset.

The woman chuckled, “He could be a nice friend… Like in the book”

“But…”

“And, don’t…but mater me”

“Y/n?! Y/n?!” Douxie screamed.

Y/n blinked a couple times and came back to the floor of the bookstore. Her knees red from supporting her weight on the floor. She looked around. She doesn’t remember getting to the ground, she doesn’t remember grabbing the book.

“Love?!” Douxie asked, voice laced with desperation.

“Doux? When did you wake up?” Y/n tried to get up but her legs failed her, luckily, Douxie caught her before she could hit the floor.

“A couple minutes ago. What happened?” He guided her to the small couch and crouched in front of her.

“I..I was looking at the books and then…I had a vision?” She frowned.

“A vision?” He repeated.

“From the past…remember the morning after Morgana gave me the anthology?”

Douxie smiled at the memory, that was the beginning of their friendship.

“I was ten and you were nine and deadly afraid of angering your father” he said a little absent minded.

“Yeah…I almost remembered him” she looked at him, her eyes full of tears like that morning.

“You’ll remember him” Douxie’s heart fell to his stomach just like that morning.

Y/n looked deeply into Douxie's hazel eyes, the only eyes that she ever wanted to look at in moments like this and closed the distance kissing him, her hands quickly finding their home amongst his hair. Douxie instantly returned the kiss with the same sweetness but more desperation. Everytime they would touch, he needed to taste every drop of it, even if it was an accidental graze of hands during the day.

His hands lifted her from the couch and her legs quickly snaked around his waist.

“Doux” Y/n panted, holding his cheeks “people can see us”

“I don’t care” he whispered, his eyes full of lust going back and forth between her eyes and her lips.

“Doux…”Y/n whispered. She was shocked. Douxie was a little more shy than that.

“Let’s go upstairs” he said into her ear before biting her earlobe.

“Mmmh” she laughed.

As Douxie’s feet would step each step of the stairwell, Y/n’s heart would pound faster, stronger. She hid her face on Douxie’s neck but the familiar smell did nothing to calm the tremors in her hands, in her torso.

Douxie laid both of them on the couch of the second floor where they would usually nap and started to kiss Y/n’s neck, his hands slowly feeling her stomach up to her sides. Y/n instinctively opened her legs to give him space, her hips moved against his, her hands went to his chest, her body reacted to his but a part of her mind was confused.

“You’re so pretty” Douxie's voice brought her to the present. His shirt was missing, his toned chest exposed for Y/n to see.

“Look who’s talking” she put a hand on his now red chest and pushed him back.

“So pretty” he repeated as he observed her while she sat on top of him.

Y/n kissed him again and again and slowly went down from his mouth, to his chin, to his neck, to the spot under his jaw where she could feel his pulse. Douxie groaned making Y/n smile but it quickly got erased from her face when her hands started to shake again while Douxie took out her shirt leaving her with her bra exposed.

Y/n put her hands on Douxie’s shoulders and moved her hips, maybe if her hands felt him they would remember him.

“Y/n?” Douxie’s hand caressed Y/n cheek “are you alright?”

She looked down at him, at his eyes full of worry and smiled.

“Of course” she kissed him but this time he didn’t return it as passionately as before, this time was sweet, understanding.

With a swift move he was on top of her again and could inspectionate her face more clearly.

“No, you’re not” he furrowed “we don’t have to do this, love” he started to pull back.

“No, I want this” she put her hand on his shoulder “it just…” she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. To Y/n Ambrosius it isn’t a big deal but to Y/n Lake it is “You know…”

But Douxie’s big eyes told her he didn’t know.

“I know that you and I…you know but…Y/n Lake hasn’t” she explained.

“I don’t follow” he whispered.

“You’re gonna make me say it” she whispered to herself “Y/n Lake is still part of me, right?”

He nodded.

“Y/n Lake is a…virgin”

Douxie’s blood drained from his face and came back in a rush.

“Oh. Oh” he sat on his heels “I see”

Y/n sat up, her body warming up from the shyness “I want this”

Douxie chuckled and kissed her cheek.

“Me too but…” he grabbed both cheeks with his hands “this time has to be special too” kissing her nose.

The butterflies ruptured Y/n’s stomach traveling through her body. She nodded, a lovesick smile plastered on her face.

—

“I was falling asleep. Was it necessary to call me sixty five times?” Y/n screamed as she opened Claire’s bedroom door.

Claire was floating in the middle of the room. The boys had tied her up chains that her magic seemed unable to break.

“I’ll wear your spine as my crown, peasants!” Claire screamed in anger.

“That’s a new one” said Jim pointing his bat to Claire.

“Her creativity knows no bounds” added Toby.

Claire screamed, throwing Jim and Toby threw the air with her magic. Y/n was able to stay put on the door. She had been more thrown out by the familiarity of the magic than the magic itself. She took a step forward, her eyes focused on the changed Claire, her voice was different and so was her magic.

“Apologies for my delay” Blinky barged into the room and was able to set the chair back into the ground and with a quick move of a stone set the chains back into place.

The troll explained the why of his delay but Y/n couldn’t hear. She was consumed by the weight in her throat, by the burning in her eyes, something in Claire’s eyes was pulling her to the ground.

“Does the name Morgana mean anything to you?” Jim asked Blinky.

Y/n mouth hung open. The memory of the red haired woman holding her hand through the woods, braiding her hair, teaching her magic, being slayed by a sword, all came back like a stab to the heart. The myth was true. Morgana was alive.

“Morgan Le Fay, Merlin’s apprentice” explained Blinky, scared of naming the monster.

“Like Merlin who made my amulet?” asked Jim

“No” whispered Y/n and took a step back.

“I spit on his name as I spit on his grave” Morgana chuckles “Don’t we, Birdie?” She looked directly at Y/n.

“Sounds like they didn’t get along” Toby hid behind Jim.

Y/n kept walking backwards until her legs hit the bed and sat down, too afraid to make a sound.

“He thinks he can be rid of me? The fool” she laughs and turns to the guys in front of her “I will erase his name and all of his creations”

Y/n looked down at her hands and saw the tears falling down. She wasn’t sure of what she was more afraid of: the ghost in front of her or what the ghost could do to her friends.

She turned to the door and ran. Afraid that the grief and the nostalgia would bend her will. Ran far from Claire’s house, from Douxie’s library, she ran until her feet ached, until her knees gave up and then, she fell to the ground, her hands softening the blow.

A broken sob escaped her throat, her body gave out, falling to the side on top of the grass. She pulled her knees to her chest and prayed that the darkness of the night was enough to hide her from the world.

One last sob abandoned her lips before closing her eyes:

“I want my father”

—

“Good morning” whispered a familiar raspy voice.

Y/n felt a familiar hand caressing her hair. Without opening her eyes she leaned into the touch, she knew that feeling before she was even born. She stretched her hand and grabbed the familiar robe, an old habit she hadn’t shaken.

“Come one, Birdie, open your eyes” the man insisted, moving the final strand of hair from her face.

“No” she clutched the robe tighter and moved closer to the warmth that the man’s body provided.

“Why?” The man chuckled.

“I’m afraid” she cried.

“What?” The man grabbed Y/n and cradled her “Why?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be there when I open my eyes” she grabbed the closest piece of fabric she could feel.

“Oh, Birdie” the man rocked her “Of course I’ll be here”

Y/n slowly opened her eyes and under the light of the sun she saw a man with crystalline blue eyes.

“Father?” She asked before the weight of reality brought her back and made her realize that she was alone and that her father was laying on a tomb waiting to be awakened.

A/n: was that a lot?

-Yes -No

Did you expect the revelation?

-Yes -No -Why would you do that to a child?

Can you tell I have daddy issues by my choice of father?

-Yes -Yes

#tales of arcadia #douxie x reader #douxie #toa #trollhunters #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux x reader #my writing #Til The End Of Eternity

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pansysgothgf · 4 months ago

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I feel like I need to accept that the fic I’ve been writing for The Bear is pretty much abandoned because I truly don’t have the attention span for anything that isn’t about Buck and Eddie, so here’s a few paragraphs of Syd being a little insane about Carmy because I’ve been rereading my favourite fics of them lately :)

(Spoilers for S3 of The Bear)

A Star. It almost feels like the gesture the chef whites were. An expensive, insane apology. She takes it. She takes the insane list of non-negotiables. She wonders if, when Carm promised that she wouldn’t have to do this alone, he really meant that he was going to do it on his own. That she was going to lose more and more of the hard earned respect she has in this awful fucking kitchen.

She pulls him out of a panic attack. She tells him she isn’t his babysitter. She doesn’t know what the fuck she is to him. A co-worker? A subordinate? At one point she would’ve called herself his partner, maybe even his friend. Now, she doesn’t know.

They work together, but they’re disjointed. It’s too much, all the time. The only time they ever feel like them is when they’re alone in the early hours of the morning. She steals a piece of his gum just to taste what he tastes. Just to see, if she were to lick into his mouth, what flavours would hit her first.

The thing is, Sydney knows what she’s feeling isn’t normal. She knows that people generally don’t get this obsessed with their bosses, that they don’t think the things she thinks. She knows she’s too fucking possessive over this man, to the point where she feels her eyes roll the second anyone even implies that somehow Carm and Claire are meant to be. Bullshit. Fucking bullshit.

Carmen Berzatto isn’t hers. He doesn’t obsess over her the way she does him. He’s in love with Claire, and who could blame him? She’s a doctor, she has kind eyes and her family is friends with his family. They’re basically a couple from a fucking rom-com. Sydney isn’t even a named character in the credits of their Hallmark Original movie.

The bit about the nicotine gum is actually one of my favourite things I’ve ever thought about when it comes to the sydcarmy dynamic, so I needed to share that before I forget about this fic for another three months lol. Maybe one day it’ll get resurrected 🫡

#the bear #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #my fic

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fanficshiddles · 5 months ago

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Eternally Mine, Chapter 19

‘Stop whining, he’s your brother and you guys have been getting along reasonably well lately.’ Claire scolded Loki while they looked out drinks and snacks onto the dining table, ready for their guests that were about to start arriving at any moment.

It was just a small gathering really, to celebrate the new year.

‘I just know he’s going to be in a huff because Louise isn’t here. Plus, he’s just going to go on about the hunt last night, I don’t want to hear about it.’ Loki scoffed.

‘Oh, I don’t know, I get the feeling he will cheer right up soon enough.’ Claire said as she looked out a few bottles of wine.

‘What makes you say that?’ Loki raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Ohh… just a feeling.’ Claire smirked and made her way through to the living room.

‘What are you up to?’ Loki stalked after her, but the doorbell rang so Claire didn’t answer him, just went to the door.

First to arrive was David, Matt, Spencer, Jessica and Hannibal.

‘No Will today?’ Claire asked Hannibal as she took everyone’s jackets to put upstairs in one of the spare rooms.

‘No, he’s not doing too well.’ Hannibal sighed.

‘Oh no, what’s wrong? It’s not that sickness bug that’s going around, is it?’

‘No, no. He just drank too much last night.’ Hannibal smirked.

‘Oh.’ Claire rolled her eyes and headed on upstairs.

Next to arrive was Severus and Toshi, everyone else was a little surprised that they came. Since Severus usually turned down all invites. Though Toshi wanted to go, and she managed to convince him.

Lucius came along with his new partner, they’d been seeing one another for five months. Loki had met her once before, but they thought this would be a good chance to get to know her more. She had spent Christmas with her family, so wasn’t around for Lucius’ meal.

Chris was last to arrive, looking a little smug when Loki glared at him.

‘You missed a good hunt last night, lil bro.’ Chris chuckled and patted Loki on the shoulder. ‘I’m still stuffed after all the feeding.’ He patted his stomach.

‘Don’t start.’ Loki growled in warning. ‘I don’t want to hear about it.’

‘It was good. Even more satisfying knowing that the assholes deserved a painful death.’ Jessica said from the sofa, she was already almost finished one glass of wine.

Toshi and Claire were at either side of her, with wine too. Though they weren’t getting through it as quickly as Jessica was.

‘I certainly didn’t lose any sleep over the hunt this time.’ Toshi said with a smirk as she glanced at Severus, who was sitting on a chair from the kitchen just off to the side on front of the fire.

‘Is Michael not coming?’ Claire asked after looking around and noticing he wasn’t there.

‘Good point. I haven’t seen him since the ball, actually. Don’t you think he’s been rather quiet lately, not as social?’ Matt asked.

‘His daughter isn’t doing too well at the moment, she's really ill.’ Chris said as he walked through from getting a glass of gin from the kitchen.

He took a seat on the other sofa next to Spencer and Loki. Bat let out a chirp as she hopped from Spencer’s lap over to Chris’ before his ass barely hit the leather. ‘He’s had to take another part time job alongside teaching, to try and save for surgery for her.’ Chris continued as he stroked Bat with his free hand.

‘Oh shit. That’s awful. She’s only eight, isn’t she?’ Claire asked sadly.

Chris nodded.

‘He never said anything, must be tough, especially being a single father.’ Matt said.

‘We should check in on him more.’ Loki suggested.

Claire nodded in agreement.

The conversation turned to other subjects, Bat did her rounds of everyone’s lap until she got to Toshi. She then decided her lap was best and had a nap.

Loki noticed that Claire kept checking her phone, sneakily showing Jessica and Toshi things now and then, speaking rather hushed. Chris noticed too and nudged Loki.

‘What’s your girl up to?’

‘I dread to think.’ Loki said as he took a big swig of his drink

‘You got off lightly, Chris. We had to deal with that bloody Christmas trend.’ Spencer huffed.

The three women started giggling.

‘Aw come on, it was great.’ Claire laughed.

‘That group chat is the worst thing to have ever happened.’ Loki grumbled.

‘Can’t be that bad.’ Chris said naively.

‘I get the feeling it’s going to get worse.’ Loki huffed quietly.

‘You just need to have better control over your partners.’ Severus said with a smirk.

Toshi narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him playfully. Severus raised an eyebrow at her, and she just laughed in response.

‘Your time will come soon enough… So will yours.’ Claire said to Severus, then to Chris.

Chris raised an eyebrow and chuckled. As embarrassing as it would have been for him, being decorated in Christmas decorations, part of him actually melted at the thought of Louise joining in on viral videos in that way with him.

He missed her so much. Even though she’d only been gone for under two weeks, it felt like a lifetime. He knew they were still in the early stages of their relationship, so it wasn’t like they had to be joined at the hip or anything… but he still longed for her.

Claire noticed that Chris went a little quiet. Though it wasn’t for long. Chris went through to the kitchen, just as the doorbell rang. Claire jumped up off the sofa like her ass was on fire and ran through to answer.

Loki looked utterly confused.

Hannibal, David, Lucius and his partner were in the kitchen. Hannibal was talking quietly about Toshi, how he still didn’t trust her. David and Lucius just rolled their eyes and tried to change the subject.

Chris walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, though he stopped on front of Hannibal and glared at him.

‘You best watch what you say about Toshi. The others might not hear your hushed tone, but I can.’ He growled at him.

Hannibal just held his hands up in response, though he couldn’t help but have a tiny smirk.

Chris continued on to pour his drink. ‘Anyone else want one?’ He asked, though he suddenly stopped pouring when a certain, intoxicating, smell hit him.

‘I will, please.’ Came a familiar, shy voice from the doorway.

Chris spun around so fast he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.

‘Louise!’

‘Surprise!’ She laughed and waved shyly.

Chris dashed across the room and grabbed her into a big hug, lifting her up off her feet so he could spin her around. She giggled like mad and put her arms around his neck.

‘I didn’t think you were back for a few more days?’ Chris asked in surprise as he put her back down to her feet, but still kept her in a tight bear hug.

‘I decided to come back early for the party and to surprise you.’ Louise grinned, then started laughing when Chris didn’t let go of her. Though she didn’t attempt to pull away, anyway.

‘Are you going introduce us, Chris? Or keep her in a crushing hug for the night.’ Lucius’ partner teased.

Chris and Louise reluctantly let go, Chris looked a little sheepish as he turned around. Though he kept one arm tightly around her.

‘Yes… Abbie, this is my girlfriend, Louise. Louise, this is Abbie. Dad’s girlfriend.’ Chris introduced.

‘Nice to meet you.’ Abbie smiled. Lucius had told her about Louise before, so she knew that she could be a bit iffy with even hand shaking with someone she didn’t know. So she respected that and didn’t initiate it.

Though everyone, including Louise herself, was a little surprised when she initiated a hand shake to her.

‘Nice to meet you, too.’ Louise smiled back at her.

‘Have I missed anything exciting yet? I had hoped to be back a bit earlier, but traffic wasn’t great.’

‘Nothing at all... I can’t believe you’re back. I’ve missed you.’ Chris said honestly as he cupped her cheek, making her blush.

‘I missed you too.’

‘God guys it was only what, ten days?’ David scoffed.

‘Eleven, actually.’ Chris said quickly.

David face-palmed.

Chris and Louise both got drinks then they ended up sitting on the small sofa that was in the kitchen, by the patio doors.

‘Did you have a good time at home?’ Chris asked.

They sat close together, thighs touching. He was holding her hand, rubbing the back of it and making her skin tingle.

‘Yeah, I did. It was good to see my parents and spend some proper time with them again. Though I was more than ready to come home, maybe a week would’ve been enough.’ She laughed.

‘I bet they’re glad to have you back though.’

‘Oh yeah, they wouldn’t let me lift a finger with any housework or cooking. It was nice, in a way. Though at the same time I felt like they were kind of tiptoeing around me. Not once did they mention him or what had happened.’

‘Sometimes people don’t know how to handle or process something like that happening to their child. I bet they feel partially to blame, parents often feel they are meant to protect their children. I’m sure it tore them apart what he did to you. They probably don’t know how to react or deal with it. Maybe next time you see them you should open a dialogue about it.’ Chris suggested as he continued rubbing her hand.

‘Yeah, that’s true. I never mentioned it either, so I guess I can’t blame them for it.’ Louise said sheepishly. ‘We did have a little gathering with some friends and family, I didn’t feel overly comfortable there… I uh, I felt like I needed you there, being honest. I feel more confident with you, which is crazy considering we’ve only known each other for what, two months?’ She laughed a little nervously.

Chris smiled softly and reached up to gently hold her chin. He brushed his thumb along her lower lip. ‘Well then, call me crazy, but I have never felt more myself, happy and relaxed than I do with you by my side.’ He admitted.

Louise’s heart melted and her stomach did a little flip of excitement. Chris glanced to her lips, then back to her eyes. They both leaned in closer, till their lips touched and they kissed softly.

Chris noticed her frowning when they pulled back slightly.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked, concerned.

She looked at his lips and brushed her thumb along his lower lip, making his lip tingle. God, he wanted her so badly, in every way a vampire could have his human…

‘Where’s your piercings?’ She asked.

‘Oh.’ He laughed. ‘I took them out yesterday for the hunt last night. It can be a bit of a pain sometimes when bits of flesh get stuck in them. I forgot to put them back in.’

‘I forgot the hunt was last night! How did it go?’ Louise asked.

Chris was a little surprised she was asking about it.

‘It went well. The vampires had fun… The bad guys, well, they are no more.’

Chris had told her the other day when they’d been on a phone call together about the guys that he had gotten for the hunt with Toshi’s help.

‘See, you’re my Prince Charming. Sorting out all the baddies.’ Louise grinned.

Chris chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I guess I don’t mind being your Prince Charming. Just don’t let the others hear it.’ He grinned and squeezed her knee.

‘Of course. Scary reputation to keep up.’ Louise giggled.

‘Definitely.’ Chris then couldn’t resist kissing her again. He just couldn’t take his hands off her.

‘Hey, Mr Smoochie pants. Are we going to get to socialise with Louise tonight or not?’ Jessica asked as she, Toshi and Claire went through to find them.

Chris slowly turned to glare at them. ‘No. She’s all mine tonight.’

‘Nope. You’ve got to share. We need to catch up, too.’ Claire said as she folded her arms over her chest.

Chris pouted and wrapped his arms around Louise, holding her tightly.

‘Come on hound dog, pouting isn’t a good look. We will have her back in one piece in half an hour. Then you’ve got the rest of the afternoon and evening to be right next to her.’ Toshi suggested.

Chris grumbled and reluctantly let go of Louise. Though Louise then leaned into him and put her arms around him. ‘What if I don’t agree to that?’ She asked innocently.

Chris smirked and stuck his tongue out at the others. ‘See? Not just me.’

‘Oh jesus.’ Claire face-palmed. 'Sisters before misters, remember?' She raised an eyebrow at Louise.

‘Ok, fine... just a little while.’ Louise said as she looked at Chris, who responded by kissing her forehead, then let her go.

#tom hiddleston #loki #loki x ofc #Chris Motionless #Chris Motionless x ofc #Vampire Loki #vampire Chris Motionless #eternally mine #the redbridge hunt #david tennant #hannibal #severus snape #jessica chastain #matt murdock #lucius #spencer charnas

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wwenhlimagines · 1 year ago

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ooo passing out candy with my boyfriend HOOK?

Fall Fluff Prompts

A few weeks before Halloween, you heard about a nearby Trunk or Treat event and asked your boyfriend Hook to go with you to pass out candy. He hesitated since he didn't want to tamper his character on TV in case anyone recognizes him. You work backstage in AEW, so you don't have to worry about that as much, but you do understand him not wanting to pass out at your own house for your own safety. Obviously, you don't want your address getting leaked and to get unexpected visitors looking for your boyfriend.

The week before Hook seemed to get a change of heart as he came home with 2 giant bags of candy. "Fuck it, let's go pass out candy next week. Maybe it will help promote the show and sell more tickets."

You smiled and hugged him, cuddling into his chest. "So you want people to know you aren't always the cold-hearted handsome devil?"

He shakes his head as he pulls back, and his hands caress your cheeks. "Only when it involves my girl."

Halloween - Trunk or Treat

You grabbed the candy from the trunk of Hook's car as he grabbed his backpack and your camping chairs before the two of you found a spot to set up and pass out candy.

You saw so many different costumes, and the kids all looked so cute happily saying Trick or Treat, asking for candy. Your bubbly personality, in contrast to Hook's, made the kids laugh. You happily engaged with the kids complimenting their costumes while Hook simply handed them candy.

That was until you saw a kid walking up with sweatpants and a hoodie with a mini FTW title belt on his shoulder. You awed and looked over at Hook to see him rummaging through his backpack. "Hey there, are you dressed as a wrestler?"

The kid beamed so excited to have someone understand the reference. "Yes! I'm the best wrestler in the world, the cold-hearted handsome devil Hook!"

At that moment, the kid's jaw dropped as Hook turned back around with his own FTW belt slung over his shoulder. "Hey dude. Nice costume. What candy do you want?"

The child was speechless for a moment before you piped up, "How about we take a few pictures, and then you can have one of everything?"

The child nodded excitedly as Hook knelt down next to him, and the child's parents saw the interaction. His mom walked over and took some pictures of her own as you took a few pictures for your memories. His dad walks over with his little sister, who is dressed like Becky Lynch with a WWE women's title around her waist.

"Well, it looks like wrestling runs in the family. I love your title, Becky!"

"Thank you, but my name is Claire."

You tried to hold in your laughter as you nodded your head. "Nice to meet you, Claire. Your brother dressed up like my boyfriend Hook. They are taking pictures now. Do you want any pictures with him?"

She nods and quickly runs over to get her own pictures with Hook before turning to ask him a question. "She's nice. Is she going to be Mrs. Hook?"

Hook smiles, following her finger pointing over to you. "Someday, she will be."

You blush as the girl asks another question, "Are you going to have kids?"

Her parents intervene as her mom rushes over to her. "Claire, we don't ask strangers questions like that."

You and Hook say goodbye to the family as they continue on through the Trunk or Treat event. You see a couple more kids dressed up as wrestlers, and by the end, Hook was smiling from ear to ear. As you place your chairs back in the trunk, you decide to ask Hook what his favorite part was. "The mini Hook and Becky family. The kids were nice, and although the girl got a little nosey, it was still pretty cute."

"So about her questions... do you want to talk about them?"

You sit down in the passenger seat as he sits in the driver's seat, and you both turn to each other. "Well, obviously, I wouldn't be living with you if I didn't expect to put a ring on your finger someday. As for the second question, I hope one day we will have mini versions of us running out."

You blushed before leaning in to kiss him. You pull back and whisper against his lips. "Well, how about we go home and practice making those babies?"

Hook perks up and quickly starts the car before driving you home and giving you his own idea of a Halloween treat.

Tags: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thesupreme316 @99hook @seeingstarks @hooks-martin @hookswifeeyy @hooksredrum @plentyoffandoms @730hook @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

#aew imagine #aew hook #aew hook imagine #fall fluff requests

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danses-with-dogmeat · 1 year ago

Text

Day 7 -- Kent Connolly

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober, Day 7 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don’t interact.

First Time with Kent Connolly x M!Reader

This one is... very long lol. But Kent is just !!! He's so precious, and I felt like I really wanted to draw out the process, since Kent tends to be quite shy and I feel like, in almost every capacity in a romantic relationship, he'd want to take things slowly.

So this is me trying to do that idea justice. If you're craving some serious sweetness with Kent, look no further! 😊

HOWEVER, I do have a couple TWs for allusions to/talk of sexual assault, and also mentions of homophobia. So please be aware of that!

Here is the link to the Kinktober 2023 Event List so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: First Times, first time jitters, history of sexual assault, homophobic family, lack of acceptance, kissing, confessions of love, undressing, enthusiastic consent, praise, voice kink, light body worship, nipple play, hand jobs, anal fingering, gay sex, aftercare. Sweetness, love, adorableness, KENT AND READER BEING SO SWEET, cuteness, etc.

Words: so many lol 7.5k

“You did all this, Sole?”

“Yeah, well… I figured, you know... this was something special." Your hand touched Kent's shoulder gently as he stared ahead in starry-eyed awe. "Plus, Claire owed me a favor, so… Honeymoon suite it is!”

You opened both arms wide in presentation of the romantic scene as you looked over to Kent with a large, dopey grin.

Your partner was wide-eyed and frozen as he gazed into the mesmerizing room, his mouth still agape in awe at all you'd done for him.

The candles, the flower pedals, the plush comforter on the bed, the way the curtains were drawn away from the windows, allowing cool, blue moonbeams to wade through the warm-toned candlelight within the room... It was a scene straight out of a romance novel.

“It’s... Sole, goodness, it’s all too much for someone like me.”

You turned around to face him at that, a hurt expression creasing your brows as you spoke softly to your partner.

“Kent, sweetheart, you know that’s not true, could never be true. You deserve the world, you hear me?" Stepping forward, you wrapped both arms around the ghoul’s torso, hugging him tightly against you and placing a sweet kiss upon his temple. "And besides, you know how much of a romantic I am, right? I'll take any excuse to do something like this for my beloved hero.”

You whispered that last bit into his ear, and as Kent turned to you, his eyes were glistening.

God, he was sweet. Maybe the kindest, most darling man you’d ever met, and he was yours.

Unable to help yourself, one hand left where it wrapped around Kent’s waist, and went to gently grasp at the point of his chin, holding him in place as you leaned in to kiss him full on the lips. You felt his little jolt, the small yelp of surprise he almost always released when you were this forward with your affections, and pulled back.

Kent’s light, sparkling eyes were wide as he blinked up at you with parted lips.

You let yourself take in the sight of him, then. His earnest expression, his genuine surprise, and his slow acceptance that you wanted this. To some, it might’ve become tiresome; the doubts Kent held in himself, the lack of forwardness, of confidence in your relationship, but after all the ghoul had been through, you could never blame him.

Plus… It was nice to take it slow. Necessary, even, after your own struggles, your losses, your difficulties being this vulnerable, this honest with someone about your true self.

The army never glorified that kind of thing, and your family even less so. Your wife… she had understood, that though you were fond of her, though you loved Shaun with all your heart and held great affection for her, there was always something that was going to be off between the two of you, something that wasn’t the case– or wasn’t meant to be the case– with straight couples.

But your family hadn’t been any the wiser about your strategically heterosexual marriage, and oh, how they’d adored Nora. And that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?

At least, that's what they’d thought.

Even on the hardest days of missing everyone you'd lost, you could never miss the way you couldn't be your true self with the people who were meant to accept you and love you unconditionally.

“Here, why don’t you get settled, I’ll close the door.” You forced yourself from your thoughts and gradually released Kent from your half-embrace as you turned to grab at the handle behind you, pulling the hotel room door closed with a click.

Kent had seated himself on the end of the bed, not really appearing to be comfortable, but… he was trying. His hands still fidgeted in his lap, his eyes still darted around the room, but you saw him taking deep breaths, felt the nerves radiating off of him beginning, maybe, to dissipate just a little bit.

“Want me to take your coat?”

“O-oh, yes, thank you.”

He pulled the thing off himself as though you were drilling him, like he was being timed, flailing around until he could hand you the stuffy, old suit jacket.

“And your hat?”

Kent handed that over swiftly as well, and you moved to hang it– and your own– on the coat rack by the door.

“Nuka Cola?” You asked as you turned towards the little kitchenette in the lovely, roomy suite.

As if I really have to ask.

“Yes, t-that sounds nice.”

He sounded so stiff, still, and a small part of you wished it was just another evening in his room; that instead of this lavish date night, you’d simply have shared the evening chatting about comics and a dozen other things in the quiet comfort of the Memory Den. Yet, you’d both talked about this so much recently, these next big steps in the relationship, moving forward after so long of holding things off, of taking the time you both needed to heal and get used to the idea of intimacy and vulnerability again, after your respective struggles.

“Here, baby.” You handed him one cola bottle, and kept the other in hand as you sat down beside your partner on the lavish, burgundy comforter.

“Wow,” You said with a chuckle, bouncing lightly on the cushy mattress. “This is... the nicest bed I’ve been on since waking up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a rasp, “ahem, ah, comfy… yeah.”

Kent swallowed like he had a radroach stuck in his throat, but took a swig of his drink nonetheless.

You felt the energy in the air around you, the charged silence like volts of electricity flowing through your shared space, leaving you just as on-edge as your partner.

A deep breath left you, and you turned to him with a gentle determination.

“Kent, hon... we can just spend the night here, if you want.” You finally offered, breaking the silence. “The last thing I want is to pressure either of us, or to make you uncomfortable.”

Kent's eyes met yours, and you saw apology shining there.

“It’s okay." You insisted with a smile and a bump of your hand against his arm, "I promise, baby. If we’re not ready, we’re not. You know I’ve got no problem holding off. I’m… well, I’m definitely pretty nervous myself, to be honest.”

“Y-you are?” Kent's bright blue eyes widened, his brow raising as though had no idea of your own struggles, your own inexperience.

I swear, I told him… but maybe…

“Yeah.” You chuckled a little, your hands wringing around the glass neck of the bottle you held. “I actually had to ask Hancock for some tips.”

“Oh.” Kent’s brow furrowed immediately, and he looked away from you. “Yeah… with ghouls I don’t know how different it tends to be–”

“No, Kent, that’s not what I meant, I… Did I really never tell you? In all the talks we’ve had about this?”

“Tell me what?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the cruel claws of self-consciousness creep under your skin.

But he'd been honest with me. About everything.

You trusted Kent, with everything in you, you knew he'd never judge you, never breathe a word of something that you wanted to stay secret, but now... Well, Nora was the only one who'd ever really known the truth about you.

Maybe Hancock had an idea, given some of the questions you'd asked him in preparation for tonight, but you hadn't spilled your life story to him, he didn't know your background. You'd been vague with the details of why you needed some pointers, but this... This was as open as you could be.

A secret your closest family never even knew.

“That I’ve never… well, I've never been with another man before.”

His gaze returned to yours with a whip of his head, brows still raised high, startling eyes wide with wonder.

“N-no, Sole, I… I never knew.” Kent's head shook slowly back and forth. “And you want... your first time to be with–”

“Absolutely, Kent.” Your hand was on his before you even knew you’d moved, wrapping around it reassuringly as you scooted closer. “And you still want me to be your first?” You asked quietly, quite sure you knew the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway, wanting him to know you cared.

Kent nodded to you with a small grin, before it quickly was dashed from him and his eyes grew strangely distant as they looked past you at some invisible memory.

“Well, you know… almost my first.” His voice was small, quiet as a breeze over snow-covered ground, and almost broke at the words. Your chest gave a painful ache that damn near knocked the breath from you at the sound of him, the sunken look upon your beloved partner's face.

“Listen to me, love,” You scooted closer, until your thigh was brushing Kent’s, turning your body towards him and grasping at his hand all the harder, as reassuring a gesture as you could manage without overwhelming him. “What Sinjin’s goons did to you doesn’t count for shit, alright? That was… it was wrong and awful, it was cruel and it doesn’t count. You hear me?”

He couldn’t quite speak, so Kent only nodded, and to your surprise, the ghoul actually leaned forward, falling into your chest as his arms wrapped around you.

You felt a hollowness, a vile taste on your tongue as you recalled finding him in the aftermath that night, dressed as the Shroud and finishing off every last one of those criminal assholes before gently folding a shaking Kent into your comforting embrace.

If only you'd known before what they had done... You wouldn't have made their deaths so quick.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You leaned into your partner now, one hand moving behind him to rub soothing circles over the length of his back.

“No.”

You heard Kent croak out, and pulled yourself away slightly to look into his eyes.

“You're sure?”

He nodded; firmly, even, and you listened intently as Kent opened his mouth to speak.

“I want to make new memories. With you, Sole. Ones that can replace the others… That can make me… happy, instead of… Well, you know.”

You had to swallow as tears came unbidden to your eyes, feeling the way your throat tightened at the power of his words, of his resolve.

“That’s really brave, Kent.”

“Yeah, well…” A small smile pulled at the ghoul’s lips, and you felt your heart soar at the sight. “You know me. Bravery. It’s what I’m all about.”

A chuckle left you, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Look, you may joke about it…” You whispered to him, “But really, I think it’s true, love. You’re brave as the Silver Shroud, there’s no doubt about it.”

“Aw, stop it, Sole.” His hand weakly, jokingly, pushed at your chest as you both grinned.

The air seemed a bit lighter now, some of the candles had burned down to nothing, and a cool breeze wafted through the slightly parted windows. A chill ran up your spine, but this time, instead of nerves, it was likely just the cold… or maybe the excitement you felt bubbling up.

It’s decided. You reminded yourself. We’re actually doing this tonight.

Instead of pulling away from him to start, you laid another kiss over Kent’s lips, and after a moment of stiffness, he leaned into it. You felt the brush of hot air as he exhaled through his ruined nose, but still, he only pushed further into you, tilting his head and kneading his phantom lips over yours. The friction had your mouth tingling, and the taste of your partner was sweet from the Fancy Lad’s cakes and Nuka Cola still on his tongue from after dinner.

Finally, you pulled away, only for a brief moment, as you grabbed both the bottles of cola and leaned to set them down on the bedside table.

“Hey,” You said as you scooted back on the bed, making it easier for you to lie down flat on the mattress. “Why don’t you take the lead? That way, if you start feeling uncomfortable, you can just take it back a notch. You can sort of set the pace, you know?”

“You think that’ll work?” His voice was small, uncertain, even as his gaze set upon the way your body leaned back against the pillows at the head of the bed. As his gaze hinted at the yearning he felt within.

“It’s up to you, love. Just thought it could be something to try?”

Kent nodded then, and slowly, his body moved to join yours fully on the bed. Your breath almost caught in your throat as Kent crawled over top of you. He was still hesitant, yes, but his movements were more sure of themselves than you could’ve hoped.

His arms caged you in from where he hovered above you, and his torso and hips pressed to yours as he gradually lowered his bodyweight onto you.

“T-this okay?”

“It's perfect, baby.”

With that, a grin lit up Kent’s expression, and instilled the confidence he needed to press forward, to capture your lips in a kiss once again.

His kisses were always as earnest as Kent himself was; careful, asking, sure, but more recently… brave. He kissed you with more confidence than you were used to, after being with him for so many months now, and this time, it took your breath away. Even then, as Kent felt you gasp into him, he didn’t pull away, only pushed forward.

A pleasant heat started radiating around you, invigorating your movements as you allowed your hands to raise off the mattress, to begin to roam over Kent’s body. Your fingers lightly grazed up his sides, and you felt him tense over you. In response, you slowed a bit, and only continued when you felt him release a breath and relax under your touch.

It was a delightful dance you two weaved with one another, a push and pull, a giving and asking of consent that had you aching for more. If you could glean anything from his movements, it was that Kent too, was eager to feel you explore him. The way he ran his lips over yours in such charming movements-- there was an honest wanting behind them, but always of a respectful sort. In that moment, you realized, you truly couldn’t have asked for a better partner to share this with.

“Kent.” You mumbled through your contact, and he pulled away only a hair’s breadth.

“Hm?”

“Do you mind…” Your fingers grazed over the bottom hem of his button up, “Can I take this off?”

If his complexion had been different, you were sure you would’ve seen him blush at your request. Instead, he just looked away shyly, before nodding and sitting up to help.

You joined him, bracing yourself against the pillows as you leaned forward and began to undo the buttons of his dress vest. When you had them undone, he shrugged the garment off, and looked down in wonder as your fingers set upon the smaller clasps on his shirt. Your smiling eyes met his, and Kent just looked… God, he had a way of– when he smiled at you– making you feel like you were the most important thing on this planet.

You found yourself sincerely hoping your own look echoed that sentiment right back at him.

Once you had it undone, Kent helped you to pull the shirt from his shoulders as well; though, this time a bit more hesitantly, as he revealed his bare chest and torso to your gaze. You let your eyes rake leisurely down his body, from where you’d been looking in his eyes, now to his throat, the bobbing Adam’s apple as he gulped at the way you took him in, then down to his chest, how it rose and fell with his hurried breaths, his soft stomach, all rough and textured like you’d expected, but also, just…

He was breathtaking.

A man who’d lived so long, who’d been through as much as he had, and made it out still as sweet and loving as anyone you’d ever known-- hell, more so than anyone you'd known. He was everything good about humanity, wrapped up in this charming body, and offering himself to you, to be explored, to be loved, as he deserved; and dammit, you were going to live up to that, you were going to love him like everything good about the world was meant to be appreciated, respected, adored, and never taken for granted.

“Your turn?” Kent's voice interrupted your visual praise of him, and you nodded eagerly at the notion that he wanted to see you this way too.

“Sorry, babe." You said with an easy smile, "Just got caught up in you. You’re just… You’re very handsome, Kent.”

He tried to hold back the dopey, blushy grin threatening to take over his face, but you committed that look to memory before he could dash it away completely.

We'll have to work on that. How he could be sheepish about such a charming expression, I'll never know. I could see that look a hundred times a day and never grow tired of it.

Shakily, Kent set his fingers to your own set of buttons, the motion tickling slightly as he undid them as carefully as one might defuse a landmine. Your own hands worked at the cufflinks at the end of your sleeves, so when Kent was done, you could just pull the garment off straightaway.

Once it was off, Kent must’ve gone through the same process you had only a few moments ago, his vibrant blue eyes taking you in without so much as a blink. The light scars upon your otherwise smooth skin from battles old and new, the crop of chest hairs below your collar bones, the way your stomach rose and fell from your own rapid breaths.

Without a word, Kent’s hands found your chest, settling there reverently, his fingers stroking over your unmarred form, the coarse little hairs there, one hand even going down to brush gently over the point of your nipple, before his pressure eased you back, to lay down fully on the mattress.

“I want…” Kent's roughened hands kept stroking over you, the light touches stimulating your nerves in an almost frustrating way. “I want to kiss you again.”

“Please.” It left you on a desperate breath, and Kent pushed forwards eagerly. The warmth of your skin collided as he laid back over you, and his hands went up to wrap around your shoulders, even as your own touch set to drawing soothing patterns over the textured skin of his bare back.

His lips, however, were only on yours for a moment, before Kent moved lower, setting them to the line of your jaw, then down to your neck, where you felt goosebumps spread from the tickling sensation of his feather-light kisses.

“Ahh,” you sighed out, “That’s… that’s really nice, babe.”

Kent hummed into you as he continued, and you blinked open your eyes to look down at him. His were still closed in a bliss of his own, as he worked over you with his worn lips, dragging them over your skin before pressing small crops of tingly kisses down your collarbone, and then onto your chest.

As he moved lower, your hands slid up his body, now resting upon his shoulders, rubbing there with a bit of pressure until you felt his lips in a new place. He pulled away, surprising you, then, when his warm, wet lips set upon one erect little nipple, giving it a curious prod with his tongue. Immediately, your body tensed beneath him, your hands grasping firmly to his shoulders at the shock of his forward touch on that small, sensitive place.

“Did that hurt?” Kent backed off quickly, his expression panicked as he looked down at you with furrowed brows.

“N-no, it–” Your own chuckle interrupted you, “That actually feels really good, it just surprised me, is all.”

“Oh, s-sorry.”

“No!” You could tell you said the word too loudly, but honestly, if Kent got it into your head that you didn’t like that, well… it just wouldn’t be the truth, right? And heroes all strive towards the truth.

“No," You said more quietly this time, "Kent, please don’t apologize, I jerked up like that because it just felt so shockingly good. You're, god, I mean, you're a natural.”

He made that face again, like he was trying to stifle a blush, and goodness, if that wasn’t one of the loveliest sights you’ve had the privilege to see.

“You got a gift, baby, honestly.”

“So... I should do it again?”

You licked your lips unwittingly as you nodded, silently wondering how sensitive he was in that same place upon his chest. You’d have to test it one day, but for now, you settled back to how you both were before.

Your stomach already buzzed in anticipation as Kent leaned forward, his eyes locked to your expression expectantly as he gave you a little teasing lick. Your own eyes closed in bliss, a chill running up your back from the too-light touch on your sensitive little bud, and a sigh left your lungs you as he did it again, drawing the action out a bit this time, much to your obvious delight.

“Aw, yeah… that’s it.” You arched your back up against the mattress, pushing out your chest and urging your partner to continue. You let him witness the whole range of pleasure coursing through you, as your hands grasped his shoulders tightly, as you gasped with each lick, each sensual little suck, as your eyes rolled back in your head and you groaned out in response to your his touches. Just as you felt your nipple growing more sensitive, as it began to harden in response to the stimulation, Kent followed his instincts and switched to the other one. Thankfully though, he had the good sense to slide one hand up your body, to tease at the– now distinctly sensitive– bud he’d left temporarily unattended.

Breaths continued to leave you in labored pants, and you could feel a tense bulge forming between your legs in response to his increasingly heated motions.

Kent appeared to be enjoying himself as well, it seemed, as you felt the evidence of his excitement against one of your thighs. As he laid sprawled over you, likely unwittingly, Kent began to grind his hips in slow, undulating movements against you.

“Geeze, babe, that feels nice.” You continued to praise him, feeling your voice grow huskier with building arousal. “C-can I ask you something else?” You added at the last minute, your heart already beginning to pound against your chest at the thought of what you were about to request.

“Hm?” Kent looked up at you, his eyes foggy as he blinked away the haze of his own increasing pleasure. “O-of course.”

“I want us to do this, Kent.” You tried to regulate your voice, to keep it from wavering, to keep your eyes on him, even as you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“M-me too, Sole.” He whispered back with a little smile.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as your own grin took over your expression.

“Alright, so, I was thinking… Maybe we could, um, take off...”

“This next?”

Kent leaned back even more, then, and one hand laid to rest lightly over the button of your dress pants.

You nodded rapidly, feeling that bulge between your legs tingle with anticipation.

“Y-yeah, exactly. If you’re ready.” You quickly added.

Though his brows were creased, though you could see a small shadow of nervousness clouding his vision for just a brief moment, next, his gaze was back on you, and with a nod, Kent's fingers brushed over the swell of your building erection.

“I was a little, ah, nervous when I felt it, but… Like you said. Gotta be brave. If the Shroud gave up every time he felt a little nervous, well, he wouldn’t be a hero now, right?”

Your smile could only broaden at his sound reasoning.

“I guess not," You agreed, "but, still… Kent, I don’t want to pressure you–”

He cut you off, surprising you with his brash forwardness as his lips quickly captured yours.

You had no choice but to melt into it, rejoicing in the firmness of the contact, the way you could feel his rapid pulse through his skin, and still taste honeyed bliss on his tongue as it shyly darted out to meet yours.

Again, you found yourself in utter awe at his admirable courage.

“You’re not," He said as he pulled away, "Don’t worry, my love.”

With that, Kent leaned back again, settling his knees on either side of your thighs as his fingers brushed over your button and zipper. “I really want this too, you know. Even if I'm nervous... doesn't mean I want it any less.”

Your heart jumped, and as his eyes set upon your face again, you gave him one last nod of assurance, and felt pressure release as your button popped open.

Your partner worked slowly, as had become custom with you two, much to both your liking, and pulled down the zip, before he began to shimmy both your briefs and pants down at once. You lifted your ass off the mattress to allow him to slide them down, and then it went easy, until at last, Kent was tugging the pant legs off from around your ankles.

You were too busy staring at his precious expression as he took you in fully, for the first time, to notice what it was exactly he had his gaze set on. Without realizing it, you’d grown more than a bit stiff within the fabric walls of your briefs. Your cock stood up against your lower stomach, at full hardness, as Kent blinked down at you.

“Wow…” He breathed, and you could feel your blush rising at his unabashed scrutiny. “I, no, you… I really made you like this?”

Another nod, another blush, and another instance where Kent was in awe of you. And goodness, how that overwhelming feeling was wholly mutual.

“Kent, baby…”

At that, he snapped out of his haze, blinking as his gaze met yours.

“Right.” Kent cleared his throat, and scooted towards you with intent, and then… stopped, at a loss. “W-what should I do next?”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

His brows furrowed cutely, an expression akin to a pout resting on his face as he considered your question.

“T-touch you?” He suddenly asked.

Very well. Your expression plainly told him, and with a shy smile, you reached out, easing his hands into yours as you guided them to where your erection strained up against your belly.

Slowly, his fingers wrapped around you with a tentative firmness, one that satisfied, but still left you aching for more. He drew his hands up, with your guidance, and smoothed down the generous bead of slick pre-cum from your slit over the rest of your shaft, easing the friction of his touch over you. A breathy groan escaped from your parted lips, and you felt Kent’s pace quicken, his confidence building at your reactions to his efforts.

“Is this okay?” His raspy voice still questioned, even as he continued his dizzying movements. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought his words were meant to tease-- that your innocent, sweet little Kent Connolly was being smug.

But you knew better.

“More than okay." You assured him as the words left you almost in a groan. "Mm, feels really good, baby.”

Kent's grip tightened a bit, and your hips bucked up into his textured touch in response, but instead of pulling away like he had with your chest, your partner's pace only grew more insistent against you.

A shuddering breath left your lungs, some form of a ‘yeah,’ following shortly after as you felt your cock twitch within his grasp.

“H-hold on, please.” You held up one hand as you panted, as you felt sweat slickening over your back and forehead, as that tightening knot down below threatened to come undone all too soon.

Kent's hands paused their movement, but stayed upon you as your gazes met.

“Something wrong?”

“No, god no, the opposite.” You chuckled, but Kent only blinked at you.

“Getting too close, that’s all. Want this to last longer. I want… Want to touch you.”

A moment of consideration, and then Kent’s hands left your protesting cock.

“Okay.” He said with a new certainty, shifting back to give you room to sit up.

With that, you rose, and set your hands upon his body gently, encouraging your partner to lie down in your place on the mattress, before you returned his earlier favor, and tentatively removed his trousers and the underwear beneath.

Silver Shroud boxer-briefs… You noted with a fond smile, Who could’ve guessed?

You made no comment to him though, continuing with your efforts without pause. You allowed the clothes to pile up on the floor, and took in the full sight of your partner spread out beneath you.

Much like Kent earlier in the evening, you just couldn’t help yourself.

Soon, your lips found him-- his lips-- briefly in a sweet, chaste kiss, then to his neck, drawing a shining line of spit over his collar bone with your wet lips, down to his chest, mouthing and leaving teasing, light lovebites in your wake as you steadily moved lower down his body.

A fresh bout of breathy sighs and whines left your partner at your actions, and shudders of pleasure ran up and down through your nerves at the way he sounded from your attentions, the way he blissfully moaned out your name, how his voice caressed the hotel-room air as though he were whispering it for everyone in the world to hear. To hear and to know that you loved him, and that he loved this, despite all odds.

Because it was with you.

You couldn’t help but warm fondly at the thought, and at the realization that you felt the same such way.

As your lips set upon his lower stomach, grazing lightly over his pubic bone, you felt the heat of Kent's own rising erection building so near to your face. The next instant, and one hand was upon him lightly, gentle, asking touches that had him nodding wildly in approval above you, until you took his textured girth in-hand, and began to leisurely stroke. He was already mostly hard, already leaking like you were, and, also like you, Kent was pleading for you to ease up only moments after you’d began your ministrations.

“So, ah…” You both had to stop and take a couple of breaths, allowing your mind to clear somewhat before you voiced your inquiry. “You want to try for the main event?”

Inwardly, you cringed at your wording, making it sound like some show or sporting contest, when really… this was something softer, unostentatious, just… honest. Even with the romance that bled into it, the theatre of the candles and flower pedals and the honeymoon suite... the act itself was more subdued than any act upon a stage, or any great concert in an arena, it was just another soft chapter of your love story. It was words on a page: tangible, but only just so, only by the hands that caress it, by the eyes that so thoughtfully take it in.

“I-I do…” Kent said, his words hushed, but tinged with excitement.

You could see though, that he wanted to say something more, and with a swallow, he did.

“So, you want to, um… be on top?”

You blinked in surprise at his forwardness, but still, you were grateful for it. Not only did it open up the conversation, as you had planned on doing yourself, but it showed that he was actively participating in this. He was choosing to be with you, and of course, of course that was necessary to continue in any capacity, but so far in your relationship, you’d lead the way. Kent was more tentative, less confident, less experienced, but when he made an effort to participate so enthusiastically, it just… it put your mind and heart at ease. He told you time and time again, ‘I want this.’ but words and actions are different, and after all he’d been through… you needed all he could give to determine how enthusiastic-- how ready-- he truly was.

“That’s… well,” You started, “That’s all I’ve ever done, um, so far, you know, with Nora... Um, so I wouldn’t mind it, but… Where would you be most comfortable?”

“Why don’t you take the lead this time?” Kent offered with a shaky voice, and stayed put where he was lying back on the bed, giving you your answer in more ways than one.

With a nod, you slid off the mattress, and though Kent was surely surprised as you left him briefly, any inquiries of his were answered a moment later, when you settled yourself at the foot of the bed with a bottle of lube clasped in one hand.

Hancock’s ‘most important tip,’ as he had put it.

"Don't be shy with this stuff, trust me, heh."

He'd winked then too, but the genuine insistence was there in his words, and you weren't about to ignore them.

“It might be a little cold,” You warned as you squirted a generous amount into the palm of one hand, “but lemme just…”

You rubbed both hands together, trying to warm the gel up a bit, before lowering them between your partner’s legs. With a swallow of his nerves, Kent spread them wider for you, and with his invitation extended, you began to touch him.

He gasped at first, but even so, you felt his body making efforts to relax as your hands grazed over his most intimate places. Slowly, you allowed your fingers to ease downward from his erection, down the seam of his ass until you reached his hole, tentatively spreading the slick of the lube there as you tried to pleasure him all at once. You felt Kent clench just a tad, before the pressure eased, and you heard a deep breath leave him.

“This okay?” You questioned, keeping your gaze locked to his expression as your hands moved.

“Y-yeah, Sole. Just… slow.”

“Slow.” You repeated, your own breath becoming shaky as you felt your arousal pooling low in your stomach. Unwittingly, you found one of your slickened hands pulling away and going to your own cock, stroking and spreading the lube over your length as your other hand continued familiarizing Kent with your intimate touch.

One finger prodded gently at his asshole, and the faintest of moans left him at the near-intrusion.

“You like that?” Your expression soon became a bit smug, proud of the way your touch obviously excited him.

Kent didn’t answer, not with words, anyway, but as you did it again, his hardened member gave an excited little jerk of its own, and another– lovely– involuntary sound spilled from his parted lips.

Your partner relaxed further back into the mattress as you continued toying with him, until, with relative ease, you found your prodding index finger sinking into him. The movement was accompanied by a throaty groan, but you honestly weren’t sure if the noise had come from you or him.

Both, perhaps. Your thoughts suggested, and you felt your cheeks heat at that.

Kent tightened momentarily around the new sensation as you probed a bit further, and you allowed time for him to adjust while your other hand worked over your pulsing cock.

Once he’d relaxed enough for the pressure to let up, you began to withdraw, before pushing back in once more. It was slow, steady, just like the rest of the blissful night had been.

Eventually, one finger turned to two, and you thrust them unhurriedly, lovingly so; kneading and curling your fingers against his pliant walls, and pulling a menagerie of unusually wanton noises from your coy, intimately sheepish other half.

“God, I love the sounds you’re making for me, love.” You leaned your body over his slightly, letting your skin brush his as you continued working your fingers in and out of him, your half-lidded gaze set religiously on the way his brows creased together, how the muscles in his throat strained, his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of your movements.

“... Can I–?”

You tried to begin your inquiry, but Kent’s half-moan, half-plead stopped you in your tracks.

“Yes,” He whined out, “Yes, Sole, I-I'm ready for you.”

The words had you quivering, had your eyes fogging over in bliss, your cock nudging up into your hand as if to encourage you to move forward.

Who were you to deny it? To deny him?

You scooted even closer to your partner, as you withdrew your fingers from him, and placed your free hand over one hip, holding Kent in place beneath you as the other guided the tip of your cock to rest at his entrance.

“Please.” Kent looked like a dream as he eagerly shimmied his hips into you, his own cock drooling a strand of translucent pre-cum onto his soft stomach as you fought to hold yourself back. All of this, his pleading for you, the sight of him spread out beneath your body, the feel of his warmth, the smell of sex and spiced candles in the air, it had you straining and leaking all the same as your partner was.

But you had to be gentle, had to be slow. With that thought in mind, you nudged the head of your cock against him, and gradually, pressed your hips forward. You were pleased by the way he relented to you so easily, the feel of him damn-near making tears form in your eyes at the way his heat encased your sensitive tip, clenching and thrusting towards you, demanding more.

“Good?” Your voice strained out the word.

Kent nodded frantically, one hand going to grasp at your wrist where you were holding onto his hips, and giving you an encouraging squeeze.

With that, you allowed yourself to push steadily in further, feeling the delicious drag of his walls over you, the pleasant ease of the slick lubricant only making your movements more fluid, more blissful.

Twin gasps left your lips as you finally bottomed out inside him, and you felt Kent’s grasp over your wrist tighten almost to the point of pain as his breath picked up in his chest.

“Geeze, Sole…” He rasped as he blinked up at you, sky-blue eyes hazy like fog over the ocean as they clouded over with pleasure.

“You feel so good.” You moaned out, and felt his body shudder at the sound of your praise. It was all you needed to begin pulling yourself out, only a couple inches, before easing your length back inside. Kent’s free hand tugged at the fabric of the comforter as your pace picked up, his teeth set together as his jaw clenched; you hoped, from the overwhelming pleasure, and not discomfort.

“Feel so good around me… Doing so well, baby.” You encouraged as your breath picked up with the steadily increasing pace of your thrusts. “You doing okay?”

“Mmhm. Ah-huh.” A whine escaped his throat, but the way it left him at the same moment his cock spilled another bead of pre-cum over his skin allowed you to make a pretty sound determination.

“You like this, love?”

Another thrust, this one a tad more aggressive than any before it, and you heard the skin of your hips meet his ass with a resounding clap.

“Y-yeah, I do.” The sound of his raised voice went straight to your throbbing member, growing all the harder within him at the strain you detected there, but also the sheer honesty. His want for this, for you inside him, for you to be engaging in this scary, intimate act together that was more worth it than you ever could’ve imagined.

This is what intimacy means. Two people unselfishly and unabashedly loving one another, supporting one another, yearning for one another. You accepting him, and him, you. Love, free of judgement, completely honest, completely overwhelming in its sincerity.

You yearned to see Kent like this a thousand more times, to feel him surrounding you, his body and yours singing praises to each other while your minds and hearts embraced in the same such way.

“Kent, ah…” A more drawn-out moan forced itself from your throat, and he clenched at the way you whined his name.

“Babe, I-I love you.” You managed, and your partner gasped, his eyes bursting open at the sound of your precious words.

“You… you mean that?” His hand on you tightened its grip.

“Always, baby.” You said so quickly you nearly cut him off, “I love everything about you, and I… I love you for trusting me this way.”

You leaned over him now, and felt Kent adjust himself to allow you to lay comfortably over top him. Your chests brushed together, shared breaths mingling in the small space that separated your faces. You were as close to him as one could be to another, and still, you craved more.

“I love you too, Sole. More than I ever thought I c-could love someone.”

His whispered words drew your lips to his, and held you there, reveling in the feel of his touch, his taste, the sweet massage of his textured lips against yours.

Your thrusts into him had eased as you spoke, but now, they picked back up, the force of them jolting your bodies and the large mattress below until you heard the springs straining under your combined weight.

A gasp left Kent each time your cock hilted inside him, and soon enough, you were forced to separate from the kiss, as you both quickly became winded.

“I-I’m getting close.” You managed as you felt your blood rushing, your stomach tightening, fire flowing through your veins.

“I am too.” Kent almost sounded surprised, like that fact had snuck up on him, and you grinned as you focused the grinding of your hips more strategically, flexing and unflexing your stomach muscles where his leaking erection was trapped between your bodies.

His gasps turned to moans, Kent’s hips bucking upwards to meet you, to increase the friction over his aching cock, before his breath hitched in his chest, and he released.

A searing warmth blossomed between your bodies as he met his blissful end beneath you. Your eyes stayed locked to his expression as he rode out his pleasure, fixating on the way his jaw dropped, his eyes closed tightly, his little phantom nose wrinkled as he tensed and writhed and bucked up into you like his life depended on your closeness for its survival.

His expression, the way he clenched around you, his warmth, his spend dripping onto your skin, it was too much, and you followed right after him.

Kent’s legs wrapped around you, holding your body firmly in place as you shouted out your own release, spilling deep inside him. He came down from his high just as you were riding yours out, groaning at the feel of you finishing so deep within, the continuing pressure of your cock against his sore walls, the oversensitivity of your stomach grinding against his tired cock proving almost too much, until finally, you stilled over top him.

Both of you merely existed for a moment, panting out your exertion while you stayed pressed together snugly and basked in the pleasant afterglow of your first union together.

With a protesting sort of grunt though, you began to ease yourself up and out of your partner. You’d laid a towel over the headrest of the bed in preparation, and grabbed it now with one shaky hand, bringing it between your bodies to swipe away the mess of lube and spend. Kent was nearly asleep, his eyes half-closed as he watched you clean him with a tired little grin upon his lips.

Unable to resist the call of that sweet, endearing expression, you bent down to press a kiss to his smiling mouth, before collapsing on the comforter beside him.

“That was…” You started, shaking your head as you tried to finish the sentence, but there… there weren't the words to describe the bliss you’d just felt.

“It was better than the Silver Shroud.” Kent whispered, almost chuckling to himself, even as your eyebrows flew high up on your forehead at his confession.

There was certainly humor there, but also genuine surprise as you sat up to look at him-- to question both the soundness of that statement and his state of mind.

“It was?!”

A chuckle and a nod were your answer, his precious blue eyes crinkling with mirth at your animated response.

"Wow... that's saying a lot, baby. You sure you're okay?"

With that, Kent scooted his body closer to yours, warming your heart as his arms wrapped about you without a measly ounce of hesitation.

"Honestly?" His sleepy voice rasped, "I don't think there's a time I've ever been better."

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 npcs #fallout npc #fo4 #fo4 kent connolly #kent connolly #kent x sole #m!sole #ghouls #dwd.nsfw #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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amaltheas-garden · 1 month ago

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What costumes did you like in s2? I thought only Rhaenyra’s really improved. Alicent was already very slay. Helaena got more dresses which is nice. The “dragon twins” are meh, like they’re recycling Dany’s outfits. I’m still side eyeing them for giving the male characters late outfits

Oh boy this is gonna be a long one...

First off my fave costumes this season were Alicent's embroidered thistle dress, Helaena's funeral dress, and Rhaenyra's gold dragon shoulders!!! Each one was embroidered by the iconic Michelle Carragher, who did most of the embroidery on GoT as well. Highly recommend checking out her instagram (as well as Claire Kitchener and Rie Winham) for up close shots of the embroidery. The show truly does not do their work justice!

Rhaenyra definitely improved the most this season, her s1 dresses were truly awful. They either looked frumpy, too basic, or just didn't fit right (the only exceptions being her off shoulder black and red dress, and final coronation dress... everything else was so blah). Alicent... I have mixed feelings on. She definitely looked more fashionable than Rhaenyra, but a lot of the dresses felt too modern or just had some weird details thrown on (the metallic side panels on her dinner dress come to mind). There was also very little continuity between outfits (ex: they styled Alicent's green robe-dress combo with the slit sleeves after young Rhaenyra's red and gold dress even though it takes place a good decade or so later and that silhouette should have seemed out of fashion by then). I also hated most of the fabric choices.

S2 succeeds because they established a clear-cut silhouette to model all the gowns off of, which makes it feel way more cohesive. There are three types of sleeves, all fitted to the elbow, then either flair out in a wide cuff, are cut as a circle, or open and fall straight down (+ some are just a regular long sleeve with a pointed cuff).

And there are two necklines: the round green/Andal cut, and the pointed black/Targaryen cut. The Targs also wear a kimono inspired wrap style compared to the more European medieval inspired Westerosi style. We see the dragon keepers wear it, suggesting it's from old Valyria, and Mysaria adopts it to signal her switch in loyalties to Rhaenyra. Cosplayers have nicknamed the pointed shoulders the "Targaryen dart". Helaena's dresses are interesting since they exist between the two styles, alluding to her status as a Targaryen while being on the green side/connecting her to Alicent. Rhaena also favors a more "Andal" silhouette to signify her as the black sheep of the family.

The dragon twins were kinda disappointing this season, and I understand the complaint about being too Dany inspired. Most of Baela's riding outfits were good, but the asymmetrical red cape-silver chain combo was a bit too on the nose. I loved Rhaena's travel coat, I just wish her dresses had more sparkle. They were too plain for a Targ princess imo.

The worst offender by far in terms of Dany copying was Rhaenyra's Harrenhal look. They weren't even trying to hide it.

Unfortunately, the male characters were still very basic 😔. For the record, I think the only men who come close to looking like wealthy aristocrats are Viserys I and Otto. Corlys is supposed to be the richest man alive, but dresses in such drab styles. No drama, no embellishment, muted colors :(((. Daemon gets a pass since he's just hanging out at Harrenhall and doesn't have to look like a proper King Consort. Aegon's outfits are more obviously embellished than Daemon's, but for the KING I still don't think it's enough. I hate that Aemond's looks are so basic; Ewan Mitchell's aura, eyepatch, and fabulous hair are doing all the heavy lifting. Would it kill them to do something non-leather?? Most of the male background characters looked better than the mains lol. I get that they want to reserve the pointed shoulders for the blacks, but Aegon's outfits still need something to add that grandiosity. I did loveeee Oscar Tully's fishscale armor probably the best men's look for the season. Jace also looked fine but that's more to do with his hair upgrade.

The layers, length, and extended shoulders give Vis a much more regal and imposing look, and I wish Aegon had gotten something similar. Most of my issues with him and Aemond could be solved by just making the costumes longer and adding some structure to the top portion of the silhouette.

This but make it floor length or add a cape or some pointy shoulders.

So close to perfection but the top needed that structure so the cape wouldn't be saggy and could actually give the ✨drama✨ it needed. Idc that Aegon isn't that into being king, he's still THE Alicent Hightower's son and would def be dressed to impress.

Loved this Daemon look. Lots of detail and the shoulders really do add so much 🤌

Only good Aemond look. He still should have had a non-dragon rider regal Prince look (WITHOUT LEATHER!!!).

OMG I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT GWAYNE!!!!!!

Hands DOWN thee best dressed!!!! Beautiful, majestic, i luv him so much 💚💚💚

I've run out of space for pictures so I'll just say the s2 costumes feel like they were designed with much more care in how they connect to each other while feeling like they belong in the setting. Everything looks way more cohesive on top of me just preferring the new designs.

#ty for the ask <3 #anon ask #Alicent is still the undisputed fashion queen which is all that really matters 💚👑#i might have been too harsh on Aegon he looks really good i just have a very high bar for how i want him to look lol #i touched on armor in another post so i didn't get into it much here #hotd costumes #hotd s2 #costumes #hotd

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marislittlestories · 3 months ago

Text

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

5/10 - one, two, three, four - read on ao3

july 1998 - december 1998

Harry’s eighteenth birthday passes in a blur of boxed wine and Fleetwood Mac. Dean, Luna, and Ginny all go back to London to celebrate, leaving Draco in the care of Claire and Arabella, who seem to be convinced that all of his problems can be solved with a night of drinking and dancing and giggling over decades-old village drama.

“Will you tell me how you met?” Draco asks, feeling sentimental and a bit self-destructive.

He hadn’t expected an invitation to Harry’s birthday, of course, but he hadn’t thought about how it would feel to be the only one left behind. The envy is entirely unfamiliar. The desire to be close to Harry isn’t new, but he hasn’t felt it with this kind of intensity in a while.

It seems to be a running theme.

He’s spent the last week and a half pulling himself further and further away from the horror of sixth year and everything that came after, and in most ways, it’s working. He read a couple more chapters of Wuthering Heights. Ella and Marcie came to Crawley Down for a day trip and they watched Pride & Prejudice. His strong opinions about the pond scene and Elizabeth Bennet’s facial expressions seemed to win him a few points with Ella. He started a letter to his mother, and then he tore up the parchment and threw the pieces in the trash.

There was a reckoning, a leveling, a natural disaster that swept through and against all odds, it feels like progress. There is a new landscape now, a verdant forest, one that he’ll never have to leave behind. The sudden rush of sensation had overwhelmed him, but he saw it for what it was: life, returning. It feels bigger, like he’s created room for it, a place for it to live. He welcomed it all, the melancholia and the ecstasy, the devotion and the grief, the petulance and the shame, the wistfulness and the euphoria and the prickling sensitivity. He feels everything, and he revels in it.

It’s settled somewhat, particularly in the last couple of days, and he feels safe enough in his own head and in his body to indulge with Claire and Arabella.

The two women exchange a quiet look, full of love and light.

“Well,” Arabella begins, “I was working at a bakery in London, this was back in… ‘71? ‘72? Anyways, Claire was a regular, and she liked to make my life hell.”

“I was a little obsessed with her, to be honest, and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to place convoluted orders so I could spend more time at the counter, staring at her,” Claire says.

“And then one day, she comes in with this huge order in the middle of the morning rush, and I’d had such a bad shift already, so I-”

Claire laughs, delighted, “She spit in my coffee!”

“No,” Draco is enthralled, on the edge of his seat.

He can’t really imagine Arabella that young. It’s not so much about actual age, he just has trouble picturing her with the kind of youth that makes you full of spite and reckless confidence. He can’t imagine her young in the way that would compel her to spit in someone’s drink.

“I did,” Arabella confirms sheepishly, “And then the next day, she came in and apologized for the inconvenience she caused. She was working this awful administrative assistant job at a corporate law firm and they’d made her go out and get this order last minute.”

Claire sighs, “I had cried on the bus home.”

“I felt so guilty, so I never charged her again and we slowly became friends. She thought she had finally cracked me but truthfully, I had no idea I was interested in women until the moment she kissed me.”

Draco’s smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt, and he can’t help thinking of his younger self, the boy who had poked at Harry’s bruises. The rest of the night is veiled with wine and laughter, wrapped up in an effervescent kind of happiness that he can feel like a physical force, skin tingling, heart pounding. It’s all he remembers, the story and then the sensation, when he wakes up with the worst hangover of his life the next morning.

He isn’t sick, but it’s a near thing. He’s almost proud of himself for getting so drunk, for letting go of his need for constant self-monitoring, and for getting through the rough day after. He feels like shit but it doesn’t pull him back in time.

Dean, Luna, and Ginny come home late in the afternoon, just as hungover as Draco, and Claire makes them all chocolate chip pancakes for dinner. It’s the first time Draco’s seen her use the stove for anything but putting water on for tea and coffee. They’re the best pancakes he’s ever had. Ginny is sitting beside him at the kitchen island, leaning heavily into his side, staring down at the counter.

“Hey,” he nudges her, “Have you decided about your birthday?”

She looks over at him with a miserable little smile, “No. I don’t know if I’m ready to go home, but I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” he parrots her words from the other day back to her.

The next week, she goes to the Burrow for exactly two hours and then returns to Crawley Down for something like a party. Draco has spent the afternoon helping Claire string lights up outside while Luna watches on and talks to the flowers.

“They’re going to be on their best behavior tonight,” she says.

Draco and Claire exchange an amused, affectionate glance.

Back in the house, Arabella is baking an excessive amount of pastries and Dean is making hefty pitchers of sangria. Draco flits between the garden and the kitchen, fetching extra screws and the spare drill battery, and Dean hands him a glass each time, an inch of the fruity wine sitting at the bottom. He drinks just enough that his anxiety fades to a distant lull and his mouth pulls up into something lazy and joyful, but he’s careful not to overdo it.

He’s been cracked open so frequently, so recently, that he’s almost certain he’ll bleed his feelings all over the hydrangeas if given the chance.

He hears the tell-tale crack of apparition just before eight. The sunset is still doling out its last rays of light, and the crickets are starting to sing. He’s loose-limbed and comfortable, sprawled across the clover lawn. Luna’s hands are in his hair, weaving tiny braids.

Ginny steps out into the night, Ron, Harry, and Hermione trailing behind her.

“Draco,” she crows, “You’re pink!”

He sits up slowly, turning to face the group spilling out the back door. Ginny’s face is wide open, relieved. Happy. It makes Draco smile reflexively. He was a little worried, given how reluctant Ginny seemed when she left a couple hours ago. Hermione seems significantly less burdened than the last time Draco saw her, back before the trials, and Ron looks the same as ever, lingering at her elbow, except he’s grinning at Draco like they’re friendly. Harry is, as always, an unreachable thing.

Their eyes meet, for just a second, and…

Draco isn’t sure what’s happening. A heart attack, maybe. The sangria could finally be hitting him. All he knows is that, for the first time since he was fifteen, he doesn’t feel cold at all. His entire body, down to the marrow, is lit up with a gentle, shimmering warmth. It’s an aftershock, another reawakening, one more part of himself he thought was long dead but is now remaking its home deep in his chest.

“He’s had like three glasses of sangria,” Dean calls from the doorway, “You’ll have to catch up.”

Draco manages to pull himself together, just barely, just enough to notice the wariness emanating from Hermione. It’s more caution than suspicion, but either way, it’s not quite comfortable. He can’t know, not for sure, whether it’s directed at him, or if it’s something else, but he finds himself wanting to ease it all the same.

It’s a party, after all.

“You were in Australia, right?” Draco asks.

Based on her expression, the question is unexpected but not unwelcome, “Yes, we went to visit my parents. It was nice to get away for a while.”

“I get that,” he replies, “You look very relaxed, both of you.”

Ron tips an imaginary hat to him, and it’s so ridiculous that Draco is, against his will, charmed. There’s an earnestness about Ron that he can’t help but appreciate. He knows how rare it is, how valuable.

“So do you,” Hermione smiles.

Luna pulls everyone into a Muggle party game that Ella had left at the house after a visit. Well, almost everyone. Harry sits out, on the sidelines, scowling into the distance.

There was a time back in fourth year, after the stark violence of the World Cup but before he understood the horror that was coming, when he believed that his life could still be something he chose. Something good. He remembers moaning to Pansy about panicking every time Harry looked at him, slipping back into the familiar grooves of meanness. She laughed at him every time.

He remembers the Potter Stinks badges, about the original ones he can’t even think about with a straight face. He remembers being terrified, and seeing Harry’s fear like it was a smudge of ink on his face. He remembers how he imagined taking care of him, helping him with research for his tasks, bringing him extra food from the kitchens after Draco’s weekly visit.

He misses Pansy’s laugh, and he misses how simple his wanting seemed then, in comparison.

It’s different now, on the other side of the war, than it was before it. For a moment, he lets himself fantasize about Harry confiding in him and Draco finding some way to ease his burden.

It doesn’t last long. Luna drags him into a round of something called Twister. He ends the game in a pile of tangled limbs with Dean and Ginny, bruises already blooming on his ribs where Dean had accidentally dug his shoulder in.

He sits out the next round, which turns out to be an excellent idea when Ron finally convinces Harry to join them. On the sidelines, Hermione sits next to him.

“Are you going back to school next month?” she whispers, careful not to disturb the other conversations happening around them.

He shrugs, “I haven’t decided.”

The Death Eaters who had been running the school under Snape weren’t exactly paragons of academic excellence, so the year was pretty much a wash for every student. Draco had never even started his seventh year, but even those who did will need to either retake the year or test out of the necessary classes. Ginny and Luna have both taken the exams this summer that will put them in seventh year with Dean. He doesn’t want to go back to the castle, but he doesn’t want his friends to leave him, and he doesn’t want to waste away here, no matter how much he has grown to love Claire and Arabella or the village.

It’s not home, not really, and he will have to leave eventually. He just doesn’t know where to go yet.

Hermione smiles, not at him, but at Ron, whose back is arched in some impossible shape, “We’re all going. It’ll be weird to be back, after everything.”

“Oh,” Draco isn’t sure whether to be glad or afraid, “I don’t really know what I’d do, either way. I have nothing better to do, besides keeping this garden alive, but…”

“If you do go, I’d welcome the competition. I haven’t forgotten whose name was just below mine in all the rankings.”

Draco grins at that. Maybe school would be easier, actually enjoyable, without the weight of duty upon him.

She lowers her voice even further, “Between the two of us, I think Harry would feel better if you came.”

He blinks stupidly at her, “What?”

“Not that he’s said anything about it, because God forbid we have a conversation with any emotional depth, but I think he’s a little worried about you.”

Ron groans loud enough that it interrupts the conversation, “That’s Hermione’s problem face. Please, Draco, don’t get her started.”

Even in the midst of playing the ridiculous game that Luna is narrating like it’s a nature documentary, Ron has been looking over every do often, unable to keep his eyes off of Hermione for very long. It’s sweet. It makes Draco feel something enormous and unfathomable, something that stings.

Hermione rolls her eyes, “Mind your own business.”

She lets the subject drop, though, and Draco is overwhelmed by the idea, mortifying and more than a little painful, that Harry pities him.

The night stretches into early morning. He stops drinking, but everyone else is just getting started and the next few hours end up cast in the same golden film that the rest of the summer has been.

Draco and Luna end up in a mirror of their earlier position, Luna sprawling across the clover and Draco’s legs. He weaves tiny braids into her hair this time, and tugs at them affectionately every time she giggles, which is often. Ginny gets drunk, and they all discover that her sharp edges get smoothed out with wine. She gives Draco a messy kiss on the forehead.

Harry sips at a beer, which Draco privately thinks is some sort of self sabotage, and his eyes rarely leave Draco. It puts him on edge, makes him careful.

“Draco, do you remember in your second year, when you helped me sneak into the kitchens?”

He looks up at the dark expanse of sky above, velvet blue and glittering with thousands of stars, “Of course. You were crying.”

Luna pokes his arm, “And you were the first person who was kind to me. I didn’t properly meet Ginny until I was a second year, you know. I always wondered how you knew how to get there.”

It’s like she’s prodding at a bruise. He can’t tell Luna that when he came to Hogwarts, he had already spent more time around house elves than wizards, and the kitchens were the only place he felt close to home at all. He can’t tell her about Twila and Odie, not in front of everyone, not when he’s already so close to tears.

“It’s a secret.”

The conversation drifts, and so does the group, migrating to separate sides of the garden. Hermione starts asking questions about the plants, so Draco and Claire lead her through the flower beds and vegetable patch while Arabella and Luna drift behind them.

“And you did a lot of this?” Hermione asks Draco, impressed, “I can’t keep a cactus alive.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, I just help Claire out sometimes.”

“Sweetheart,” Arabella chuckles, “Claire has killed everything she’s ever planted out here by midsummer. You are a miracle worker.”

“He’s always been good with nature,” Luna says wisely, as if she knows.

She’s right, he supposes. Before first year, his accidental magic manifested itself in bursts of bright green vines and vibrant spreads of wildflowers blooming beneath his feet. He realizes, suddenly, that the plum tree has grown more than it really should have, that each strawberry plucked has been full and ruby red, like something out of a painting.

“Maybe,” he admits sheepishly.

They get closer to the other group chatting on the lawn, though they’re separated by rows of tomatoes and sweet peas. A lull in the conversation allows for Draco to catch a bit of what Ginny is saying.

“And we all love it here. Everyone in the village loves Draco and Luna, of course, and Draco says it reminds him of summers at Malfoy Manor.”

This, of course, is meant to be a ringing endorsement. Ron sees it with amusement, but Harry’s face is wiped completely blank, unreadable.

“That’s a compliment, is it?” he says wryly.

Ron reaches out to flick at Harry’s head, “Well, you only saw it that once.”

“I imagine it was quite nice, without the murderous dictator,” Ginny adds, giggling.

Draco smiles wistfully out at the garden and wishes he could show them what the Manor used to be, what it never will be again.

Ginny turns, sees him, waves, “Tell us something good!”

He weaves his way to her, ducking under the grape vines, and lowers himself onto the faded, worn-soft quilt next to her, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it nice.”

Harry nods, as if he’s been vindicated, and it makes Draco feel a little less self-conscious. The comment hadn’t been aimed at Draco, not really.

“When I was a kid,” he swallows past the lump in his throat, “My parents weren’t exactly the most hands-on.”

“Shocker,” Ginny mutters, glaring at nothing.

“The point is, I spent a lot of time outside. There were a lot of little pockets of magic, scattered throughout the woods behind the Manor.”

Harry looks away from him.

“Like the clearing?” Dean prompts.

“There’s this clearing, deep in the grounds, where the weather is always perfect. There’s some magical tree planted there, I think,” he clarifies, turning briefly to face Hermione.

Her gaze goes sharp, curious, but Draco continues. He doesn’t want to talk about the clearing, not when he’s been drinking, not when he feels so raw and exposed already, homesick and still reeling from the sight of Harry, the feeling it elicited in him.

“Anyways, one of the other pockets was a pond where the fish had some sort of premonitory gift-”

Ginny cackles, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? They could see the future, kind of. And they were really brightly colored, so you could always see them in the water. They’d make shapes, moving scenes, of things that were going to happen.”

“That’s so random, why did that just exist behind your house?”

He shrugs, “That’s why it was a good thing.”

“Not like the peacocks,” Dean jokes.

“Not at all,” he breathes, tender and bittersweet, “It wasn’t a weird display of wealth, it wasn’t useful, it was just there, hidden. For no reason.”

Ron scoffs, “Sounds like a weird display of wealth to me. I reckon one of your loony ancestors installed it and led nature hikes to show it off to all the other rich tossers.”

Dean buries his laugh in Luna’s hair, winding his long arms around her. She blushes a little, leaning back into him. Ginny’s smile flickers, almost drops, and then it’s replaced by a vacant imitation. Draco reaches out, grabs her hand on impulse.

“Gross,” Draco wrinkles his nose, though he doesn’t completely understand why he’s doing it. He only knows that it works. Ginny squeezes his fingers.

Dean rolls his eyes, raising his head from where it was resting, in the crook of Luna’s neck, “Shut up. Someday, you’re going to fall in love with someone and it’ll be worse.”

“Draco in love would be a terror,” Ginny says breezily and everyone laughs.

She isn’t wrong. He’s still concerned about her, about the hollowed-out expression on her face, about the creeping feeling of worry and dread, the feeling that he’s missing something big, important.

Claire tugs on a lock of his hair, “No, he’s really very sweet.”

The laughter dies. Dean looks at him, incredulous. He just keeps breathing. This is not the end of the world, despite the way that his heart is threatening to leap up his throat and past his teeth, and if he were feeling less vulnerable right now, he’d probably be able to laugh at it with the rest of them, send Claire and Arabella a warning look, mitigate the damage.

But he can’t act nonchalant about this, not after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, after everything that’s happened tonight.

“What?”

Luna stares at him, in that strange way of hers. He shakes his head. He can’t even tell her not to ask. He can’t say anything. He’s more than a little afraid that if he opens his mouth, his heart will come leaping out of it, bearing the inscription this belongs to Harry Potter.

He’s been burying it since he was fourteen, but he’s done a lot of digging recently. He has the dirt under his fingernails to prove it.

Claire doesn’t offer any additional explanation, and the conversation eventually moves along, though he suspects that Dean and Ginny won’t let it go so easily. They’re at least willing to let it rest for now, while the others are here, and for that he’s grateful.

It’s another thunderclap, another warning, another crack in his tenuous control. This is precisely why he doesn’t drink. He’s going to shatter across the stepping stones that wind a path through the Thomas’s beautiful garden, and it’ll ruin Ginny’s birthday. He waits until he’s certain the attention has shifted off of him, and then he goes inside, imagining eyes on his back the whole way.

He just wants a moment to collect himself, a moment where he doesn’t have to monitor his expression or keep himself in line.

“Draco,” a voice calls after him, footsteps on the stairs, “Are you alright?”

Arabella steps into the room. He tries to steady his breathing, school his face again. He’s endured so much worse than this, all without crumbling, but in making himself back into the soft, ethereal thing of his childhood, he’s dismantled all his armor. He’s exposed.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

She smiles kindly at him, “I can go, if you’d like to be alone?”

“No, no, that’s okay. You can stay.”

“I’m sorry if Claire made you uncomfortable, she was just teasing.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I don’t remember what I told you, actually.”

Arabella pulls him closer, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. You were talking about a boy, the other night, and I guess we assumed that the other kids would already know who it was, or at least suspect.”

“I didn’t tell you who it was?”

“No, nothing like that. You told us that he probably would have spit in your drink, that’s all.”

Draco laughs, and then he can’t stop laughing, “Oh my God. He would have. Maybe still would.”

“Surely not,” Arabella says with a frown, “Dean says you’re a war hero.”

He ducks his head. The only thing he can say in response is, “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“You’re a good person, Draco,” Arabella pats his head.

They go back down together. The group has wandered back inside to loiter in the kitchen and start saying their goodbyes. Dean and Luna talk softly, trading kisses every few sentences in the corner, and Ginny glances at them surreptitiously. No one pays them any mind when they join them, except for Harry, who silently tracks Draco as he crosses the tiled floor.

“It was nice to see you guys,” he says, hoping that it’s enough to cover the paralysis he’s feeling.

He can’t manage speaking to Harry directly, which is a brand new symptom. It hadn’t been so hard, before, while they were at Hogwarts or when he was with Hestia or when Harry and Hermione came to his flat. Until tonight, he’d thought all of the embarrassing parts of it, everything but the enduring loyalty, had been calcified. He thought that his heart would never beat like this again.

But he was wrong. All he needed was room for the fluttering and the desire and the attentiveness.

“I look forward to seeing you at school,” Hermione says, and to Draco’s surprise, pulls him into a brief hug, “We can study together.”

Just like that, he’s decided. How is he supposed to deny Hermione, or watch as Ginny leaves when he knows now something is wrong? How is he supposed to resist the allure of being in the same place as Harry, getting to stare at him from across a crowded room, watch him on a broom?

Ron grimaces, “Oh no, you’re both going to get worse, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” Draco says brightly.

***

Taking the Hogwarts Express is a surreal experience. It’s not difficult to find a free compartment, in fact, most of them are empty. They all cram together, Draco, Ella, Luna and Dean on one side, Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry on the other.

“Do you want to try and find your friends?” Draco asks Ella, voice low.

She shakes her head, “I don’t even know who’s coming back.”

He drops it. Ginny draws her into a conversation about Quidditch, and they both attempt to drag him right along with them. He answers questions when asked, but mostly he just stares out the window at the world they’re speeding through, a blur of green hills and blue skies. It reminds him of the summer holiday with Marcie, which feels so far away now, as if it happened in a dream.

At the Welcome Feast, McGonagall makes a speech about unity and healing and what comes after war, no corny tangents about the power of friendship in sight. Draco’s grateful for it.

She does, however, announce changes due to low enrollment.

“Classes and seating for meals will no longer be determined by Houses,” she says in her strong, tremulous voice, “Quidditch will resume in the spring term with an official Hogwarts team, which will be accepted into the Sorcery School World League and compete against other Wizarding schools in the spring. Small intramural games are welcomed during the fall term.”

There is an uproar at this. Draco finds that his interest in Quidditch is, for the most part, nonexistent now. The allure of competition has faded.

Dean catches him on the way out of the Great Hall, “Are you going to try for the school team?”

“Probably not,” he replies, leaning into the arm that Dean slings over his shoulders on instinct, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, remember? Besides, in what world am I going to beat out Harry for a Seeker spot?”

“You could always try a different position. And with a school-wide team, they’ll probably want sub players, right?”

Draco wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, I get it,” Dean rolls his eyes, “You don’t want to be second best.”

“I’m used to that,” Draco says, “After all, Hermione does exist.”

He hears his name called distantly, through the clamor of first years trying to find their prefects, across the crowded corridor outside of the Great Hall. He turns and immediately locks eyes with Pansy Parkinson. She’s just as lovely as she’s always been, thick, dark lashes and a French bob that curls around her jaw, messier now than it used to be.

“Pansy!”

He weaves through the crowd, and it parts in front of him as people recognize his face. He doesn’t even think twice about sweeping Pansy into a hug, even though they haven’t held an actual conversation in years, even though he can’t recall the last time he embraced her.

Her nails are shorter, but they feel the same running through his hair, scratching over his scalp, “I see you’re finally embracing the waves.”

Draco chokes out a laugh that is at least half tears, “I missed you, Pans.”

She punches him in the bicep, harder than necessary, “What the actual fuck? I can’t believe I had to find out you were some sort of badass from Snape of all people.”

“What?” he pulls back from her, in response to the punch and her words.

She frowns, “The trials? I know you didn’t go, but surely you listened to the wireless broadcast?”

He winces, “Ah. No, I did not.”

“Seriously?” she narrows her eyes at him, “Okay, well, the greasy asshole went on a whole monologue about how no one did more to defeat Voldemort than you but Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore themselves, you were his star pupil, et-fucking-cetera.”

Draco feels the color drain from his face, “He said what?”

“Uh huh. The Prophet’s been writing constant stories about it. Did you really have no idea? Where the hell have you been?”

“A Muggle village?”

Pansy holds him at arm’s length and scans him, maybe for signs that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, maybe for wrinkles in his robes, “You’re screwing with me.”

“No, really.”

Pansy breaks into slightly hysterical giggles, and Draco follows suit. Dean catches up to them, touching Draco’s back right between his shoulder blades to announce his presence.

“Sorry,” Draco wipes at his eyes, “Sorry, I totally just ditched you.”

“It’s alright,” Dean says mildly, “Hello, Pansy.”

“Hello.”

“Is Blaise here?” Draco looks over Pansy’s shoulder, but he doesn’t see Blaise’s tall, willowy frame anywhere.

“No, he’s in France with his mum. Says he’s going to be a man of leisure, whatever the fuck that means. He promised to come for the first Hogsmeade weekend,” she squeezes Draco’s shoulder then lets her arm fall back to her side, “We can catch up later.”

Draco rolls his eyes and grabs her hand, “Come on. You can meet all of the other pests.”

“We have actually met before,” Dean points out, “We’ve been going to school together for seven years?”

That first night, everything seems possible, attainable. He feels the ghost of fourth year all around him, but for once he doesn’t mind it. It reminds him that he was happy here, once, and that it can happen again.

The feeling doesn’t last very long. Hogwarts feels as it always has, like a bad dream. He slides back into old habits, creeping silently through the halls, smoothing his face over before he steps into a corridor, spending too much time in his head.

He does most of his homework with a rotating cast of mostly Gryffindors, and he sits between Pansy and Ginny at every meal, and Luna drags him to the kitchens at least once a week. It’s not bad, not like it was in Crawley Down when he’d broken down completely, but he can feel himself drifting. He can feel the burning vitality, that bright spark of joy at finally being alive again, begin to fade. It’s slipping through his fingers.

Another storm isn’t far off.

Some things are the same as ever: the lightning bolt Pansy had carved into Draco’s bedpost in the dorms is still there, Harry is sending him intense, confusing glances, he’s still trying to keep his head down. Other things are different: he spends every Sunday afternoon writing a letter to Marcie and sends it along with Ella’s, he can’t bring himself to care much about Slytherin politics, and he doesn’t bother picking fights with Harry in response to those looks of his.

He finds himself standing in front of a blank wall one day, wishing for the Room of Hidden Things, but it doesn’t appear. He wonders if the castle has finally decided he is unworthy of its aid, if it can sense something in him that the people in his life seem to have missed.

Most of the time, Draco forgets that the Dark Mark is there, on his skin, faded but still recognizable. He’d grown so used to it tugging at him during the war that it was a relief when it became just ink. It doesn’t move anymore.

But sometimes, like today, he catches a glimpse of it and it makes him want to tear his skin off. On some level, he understands that it was a sacrifice, an act of love, getting the Mark. He did it to protect. Right now, it doesn’t make him hate the spiral of the snake’s tail any less. Right now, it’s just a reminder that the same magic that has eaten away at his home is in him too, lives on his body. He stares at the unmoving brick and scratches at the ugly black lines.

He thinks of sectumsempra, of his blood spilling out over gleaming white tile, just a couple floors below him. It still feels earned, the way all of his pain does. He couldn’t tell you what he did to deserve it, but his heart knows he did something. He loves and it hurts and it’s always his fault.

***

Pansy drags him around Hogsmeade, her fingers laced in his. The long red nails that have practically become a part of her dig into the back of his hand, leaving little red crescents behind.

“We’re already late,” she says, for the thousandth time, “Pick up the pace, babes.”

He knows better than to comment on the real reason they’d left the castle fifteen minutes after they really should have. Pansy had trimmed her bangs last night, and styling them this morning had nearly ended in tears and bloodshed. They look fine to Draco.

Blaise is meeting them at a cafe Draco’s never heard of, nestled on a relatively quiet street. It was Pansy’s choice, as she’d spent the summer living in Hogsmeade with her dad and half-brother. She knows which spots have mostly escaped the notice of the hordes of Hogwarts students that regularly descend on the town.

Blaise greets them both with kisses to their cheeks and exclamations over their hair and clothes. They settle into the cozy corner booth, trading pleasantries and barbs.

“How’s France?”

“French,” Blaise replies, an amused little grin on his face, “How’s England?”

Pansy sticks her bottom lip out, “Fucking awful.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It can,” she says darkly, “You have no idea what I’ve had to put up with. I didn’t know it was possible for Draco’s obsession with Potter to become more pathetic-”

“Could you keep your voice down?” he hisses.

To her credit, she does lean over the table a bit and lower both her volume and tone, “But it has. And Potter is somehow even weirder about Draco. I can’t actually tell if he’s plotting murder or marriage.”

Draco’s face burns.

“Well,” Blaise drawls, “I commend you on your patience.”

“Thank you.”

“I assume it’s more of the same? Besotted gazes across the room, waxing poetic about his hair and his eyes and everything?”

“Worse,” Pansy cries, “He’s somehow made friends with them! Not Harry of course, but the rest of the Gryffindors. Oh, and Luna.”

This revelation seems to actually crack Blaise’s disaffected exterior. He stares at Draco, jaw dropped.

“What the hell?”

“I know.”

“How’d you manage that?” Blaise asks.

Draco shrugs helplessly, “I think I tricked them.”

Pansy rolls her eyes, “Please. You couldn’t pull one over on a scarecrow.”

“Excuse me,” he says angrily, “I fooled Voldemort!”

“Congratulations,” Pansy replies, flat and unimpressed, “You managed to lie to a desiccated corpse with delusions of grandeur.”

He throws his hands up and retreats from the conversation. It’s pointless to argue with either of them, and Draco doesn’t actually want to. The relentless mocking, Pansy wielding her stiletto like a weapon under the table, Blaise smirking over the rim of a stemmed glass; it’s comforting. It’s easy to let them take the reins, to sit back and let their voices wash over him, to cede control.

When they’ve had their fill of overpriced salads and champagne, and it’s time for Draco’s second lunch of the day, he doesn’t want to leave.

“We’ll walk you over,” Pansy says, and they move arm in arm through the narrow, cobbled streets.

His friends, along with Ella, are waiting for him outside the restaurant. It doesn’t look like Marcie has arrived yet. Blaise pulls him in, and he’s enveloped in the familiar scent of vanilla and leather and black pepper, one he’d nearly forgotten, the cologne that Blaise has worn since he was thirteen years old. He lets himself fall into the embrace.

“You have my address,” Blaise murmurs, “Send me something.”

He leaves with a final goodbye, a kiss to each of Draco’s cheeks.

Pansy goes after him, waving at Draco as she does, “See you back at the castle.”

Ella elbows him, harder than strictly necessary, “What was that? Send me something.”

The impression she does of Blaise is obnoxiously flirty, and right on the mark. Draco groans. He is never going to live this down.

“That’s just how Blaise is,” he says firmly.

Ginny narrows her eyes at him, but doesn’t say anything. Ella doesn’t look convinced either.

“Really,” Draco says and drops his voice, “You want to know a secret?”

He is, admittedly, a little tipsy. It’s becoming something like a theme, the warm buzz of alcohol and him saying more than he should.

“Duh.”

“I’m pretty hung up on someone else. Blaise and Pansy were making fun of me for it earlier.”

He doesn’t think Ginny heard him. Ella is delighted to know something that other people don’t, and she seems to know that she won’t get anything else out of him while they’re surrounded like this, so she doesn’t push. He knows it’ll come back to bite him.

Donna and Leroy arrive with Marcie, handing her off to Draco and thanking him profusely for being such a good role model for the girls. It’s a little embarrassing, especially because he isn’t entirely sober and because Ella is in full view behind them, trying not to audibly cackle. It’ll become fuel for teasing later.

Inside the restaurant, he sips at his water and steals chips from Marcie’s plate. He walks around the shops afterwards, surrounded by all of his friends, hand clasped in Marcie’s. Ella and Ginny talk Quidditch to his left, Hermione and Luna talk politics to his right, Ron and Dean grumbling about the new Defense teacher in front of him.

“Are things better, with the Prices?” Draco asks, comfortable and well-insulated from the rest of the world.

Marcie nods, albeit reluctantly, “Yes. Especially now that I’m in school during the day. And I have friends, so I can go over to their houses and watch movies and be around other Muggles.”

“You know I would have taken care of you both forever, if I could?”

“Obviously. We’re awesome.”

“And you know I’m still here if you ever need anything?”

Marcie pinches him, “Yes. I know.”

“Alright.”

He lets go of her hand, but only to pull her into his side.

“So…” she grins up at him, “Do you want to hear about my friends?”

“Of course.”

She launches into a lengthy explanation of the politics of teenage girls, and Becca is a little sensitive, and Lauren is too scared to tell Rowan that she likes her ex-boyfriend, even though they all know already and Rowan has been trying to drop hints that she’s fine with it.

“Ex-boyfriend? How old are these children?” Draco exclaims, mostly to make Marcie giggle.

“Fourteen. Georgia said that Rowan started dating before anyone else in our year, when she was eleven.”

Draco shakes his head. That’s a first year.

“That is too little.”

“I think it’s a bit weird, but Becca says I’m just a late bloomer.”

“I think maybe they’re early bloomers.”

Marcie nods, “That’s what Donna said too.”

“So, you’re talking to Donna about school, and your friends?”

“You need to stop worrying about me,” Marcie says, “I’m fine.”

“I believe you, but I can’t just stop worrying about you. I probably always will, at least a little bit.”

But Draco is satisfied by Marcie’s wide smiles and her enthusiasm as she talks about school. She’s returned to Mr. Price and they all start the trek back to the castle, Ella taking up the spot that Marcie had left by Draco’s side.

“You know, you two don’t have to worry about me either,” he says once he realizes that they’ve essentially just traded shifts, “I’m okay.”

Ella stares him down, “Yeah, I don’t believe you.”

***

Draco wakes up to cold stone and an ache in his neck and a throat clearing loudly. He blinks his tired eyes open. He’s outside the Room again, though he’s mostly accepted that it has stopped appearing for him now, and Professor Islington, the History of Magic professor, is standing over him with a rueful smile on her face. Binns never reappeared after the battle, and Professor Islington is a good deal younger and a good deal more interesting.

“Draco, what are you doing out here?”

Draco rolls his shoulder, sending a stab of pain down his spine, “It was an accident.”

“You’re not supposed to be out of the dorms. It’s the middle of the night,” she doesn’t seem to be too upset, so he doesn’t bother to worry about detention.

He shrugs, “Habit, I suppose.”

“Go, sleep in an actual bed.”

Draco obeys, one foot in front of the other, staggering with exhaustion.

“Oh, and Draco?” Professor Islington calls down the hallway, “Would you stay after class this afternoon?”

He winces and waves his hand in a vague gesture of agreement, continuing through the corridor and back to the dungeons. He can’t fall back asleep once he’s burrowed under the duvet. Instead, he stares up at the canopy and wonders how much longer he can go on like this, standing on the edge of a cliff, before he topples over once again.

History of Magic is his last class of the day, and his favorite. Professor Islington knows it, too, and ruthlessly exploits both the timing and his preference. He often gets pulled into discussions with her after class is over. Last week, he’d left with an armful of books.

“I want to talk to you about your sleeping habits,” she begins once the room has emptied, “Specifically the location.”

He sighs, tired, “Can you just give me the detention and skip the lecture?”

“Nope.”

“Great,” he says under his breath and takes a seat in the front row, closest to her desk.

“Is there a reason you decided to take a late night excursion to the seventh floor?”

He frowns. He knows the existence of the Room is sparsely documented, to say the least, and he’s not sure how many people are currently aware of its existence. Dumbledore had acknowledged it once, after Draco had begun to work on the Vanishing Cabinet there, but Snape didn’t appear to know about it, and it’s never been spoken of in any classes.

“I used to study there,” he says carefully, “Under the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.”

Professor Islington pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “I’m not an Auror, alright? You’re not under investigation for anything. I just wondered if you knew about the Room.”

“Oh. Yes, I do.”

“Then you’ve noticed that it hasn’t been quite right,” she reaches for a notebook, “Has it appeared for you?”

He blinks at her.

“Well?”

“Uh,” Draco’s mind races, “No, it hasn’t. I didn’t know if it was indicative of a larger problem…”

She raises an eyebrow, “And what else would it have been indicative of? You’re a historian in the making, Mr. Malfoy, you have to be more inquisitive.”

He chooses the lesser of two evils, accepting the reprimand instead of trying to explain that he thought the castle was turning against him. Now that he’s thinking about it, it sounds ridiculous. It’s a fucking castle.

“It hasn’t appeared to me either. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you call it?”

“The Room of Hidden Things. It’s what- Dumbledore called it that.”

“Ah,” she scribbles something in her notebook, “And it appears to you like that, as a cluttered room?”

“For the most part. I know it changes, depending on what is needed, but that’s what it looked like the first time, and I usually asked for it specifically.”

“Interesting. That version of the Room is very distinctive. And it’s the only recorded static iteration, you know. There is no other form that the Room takes that appears to different students, at different times, answering different requests. It’s malleable. I like to think that it’s the original form.”

Draco leans forward, “You think that it was once a normal room in the castle then?”

“Sort of,” she replies, reluctant, “I don’t want to unduly influence your research, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself for now.”

“My research?”

“There are quite a few students who are familiar with the Room, it was used quite extensively during the war, but as far as I can tell, none of them are quite as attached as you. Or as skilled in Charms.”

It’s certainly news to Draco. Maybe he should have gone to the trials.

“As you know, seventh year students are required to complete a capstone project in order to graduate. I think this should be yours.”

He stares at her in shock, “You want me to fix a magical room that obeys no apparent laws and has barely been documented?”

Her eyes go bright, “No, I want you to fix a magical room that obeys no apparent laws, has barely been documented, and has been recently damaged by one of the most under-researched curses in existence.”

She says it with such unshakable confidence that he doesn’t bother arguing the point.

He’s going to need to re-read A Comprehensive History of Curse Damage. And that book about permanent Charm work, if he can remember what the author’s name is, or what the book is called, or what the cover looks like. And figure out who the hell used the Room during the war.

The list grows and grows. Every bit of information he uncovers prompts ten more questions, tugs him deeper into an endless pit of fixation. Draco’s always been a little obsessive. He starts a puzzle and he can’t stop until he’s solved it. Any time he’s not in class or eating, he’s researching. He avoids the library, instead taking books up to the seventh floor so he can read across from the entrance to the Room. It provides him with a distraction-free environment. It means that he spends most of his time alone.

He misses meals frequently. It’s not that he’s isolating himself on purpose, it’s just that they’ll be worried. They are worried.

He didn’t expect it to bring back sixth year, but maybe he should have. Just because he’s relived the worst night of his life and made his peace with it doesn’t mean there aren’t still a veritable treasure trove of other horrifying experiences for his subconscious mind to choose from. He dreams of bleeding out in a flooded bathroom, of his feeble crucio actually connecting, of falling from the Astronomy Tower, of crawling into a dark cabinet and vanishing, forever.

That one isn’t bad, really. It’s worse when it’s real, when he dreams of Dumbledore contorted in pain, Bellatrix laughing, of watching the life fade from his eyes.

***

It all comes to a head just before Halloween. He slips back into the dungeons late one night, prepared to crash and wake up too soon from a nightmare, and then stops short when he sees Pansy waiting for him.

She’s standing in front of the fireplace, backlit by the orange flames, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

She takes a half-step forward, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was researching for my capstone-”

“I mean the past month, Draco. I’ve barely seen you for weeks. I know you’re not eating, Luna said the house elves haven’t seen you, and you skip almost every meal. You’re definitely not sleeping. It’s like sixth year all over again.”

Draco doesn’t even have the energy to get properly angry, “You don’t even know what sixth year was like.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Neither of them speak for a while, the only sound coming from the crackling fire.

Draco breaks first, “I just… I have to do this.”

“What are you even talking about? Some project? Is it really worth it, for a grade, for a scrap of some professor’s approval?”

“It’s not about the grade, Pans,” he sighs, scratching absentmindedly at his forearm, “There’s something I have to fix. I have to. If I can fix this, maybe I can fix…”

“What?” Pansy’s voice shakes.

He breathes, and then it all spills out, “Maybe I can fix whatever cursed thing is still inside me.”

“Draco,” she comes closer, reaching out, and he flinches away, even though she’s still all the way across the room.

“You don’t understand,” his breath comes faster, “You didn’t see it. The things I did, the way I was. You weren’t there. And I know I did it to myself, I know, I know it’s my fault. So I have to fix it.”

He’s hyperventilating now, gasping, struggling for air. He ignores Pansy’s broken pleas and goes up to bed, where he can cast a silencing charm and lose his mind in peace. The sobs take over his entire body. He heaves with the force of his panic.

Eventually, he cries himself into an uneasy but dreamless sleep.

***

He skips breakfast the next morning to sit out by the lake. Ella finds him by there, staring down at him with hands on her hips.

“Hello. You look a bit dead.”

“Thanks.”

She sits beside him, close enough that their elbows knock together, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I fought with Pansy.”

“Oh, believe me, everyone knows that,” Ella says, “She’s taking it out on the entire school. I want to know why you thought it was a good idea. And what it was about, I guess.”

“I didn’t start it,” he says petulantly.

Ella scoffs, “Are you four years old?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Maybe start with why you can’t seem to take care of yourself properly?”

He can’t help it, can’t keep it in. He cries into Ella’s shoulder for a minute before he collects himself and pulls back to look at her.

“I don’t think I’m a very good person-”

She holds a hand up, “Yeah, I’ve heard enough of that. Spare me the rest of that self-deprecating monologue. You’re fine. A little embarrassing, yeah, but it’s not like you’re fucking Stalin.”

Draco frowns.

“Right. You definitely don’t know who that is. My point is that you’re just some random person. Maybe you’re not an extraordinarily good person, but not all of us can be Luna Lovegood. God, I can’t believe this is what you’ve been moping about for the past month.”

“That’s not really what happened.”

“So, what did?” she asks.

“I just… I got distracted, I guess, and then I stopped taking care of myself,” he explains, discovering it as he lays it out for Ella, “And when that happens, I tend to start thinking there’s something inherently wrong with me. It’s just a cause and effect thing.”

She flicks the center of his forehead, “Next time this happens, and you feel like shit about something, you’re going to find me immediately, got it? I’ll force feed you or something. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re a kid.”

“So are you? And Marcie would kill me if I let you continue on like this.”

“You’re going to get sick of me.”

Ella glares at him, “I already am. You think I wanted an annoying older brother? Marcie just adopted you and I had to deal with it.”

Draco, for the first time in weeks, feels light, happy, like he could float away on the autumn breeze. Ella could give him all the shit in the world but she couldn’t take back calling him her older brother.

“You know,” he says cautiously, “This is why I wanted you and Marcie to be somewhere more stable. I’m just not the most reliable person right now. I would have kept you forever if I thought I could take care of you, you know that, right?”

Ella blinks, and a tear escapes from her molten hazel eyes, “Oh.”

“You’ve done such a great job looking after Marcie,” Draco pushes the words out, because Ella needs to hear them, “No one, and I mean no one, could have done better. But you should be looked after too. You deserve that. It’s not something that you have to earn, but even if it was, you would have done it a thousand times over. I wanted you to be looked after, both of you, and I can’t even look after myself. I did what I did because I knew my limits, and because I love you.”

“Of course you do,” she says loftily, wiping at her cheeks, “Now, I demand payment for making me talk about feelings.”

“Name your price.”

“You have to play a Seeker’s game against me.”

Draco looks over at Ella in excitement, “You’re a Seeker?”

“I want to be. Ravenclaw’s always had someone older in the spot, but I think I could make the school team next year. I want to practice.”

“Of course I’ll play with you. Anytime.”

“Now you’re the one who’s going to get sick of me.”

“Impossible.”

***

He doesn’t seek Pansy out. Whatever else he may be, good or bad, he is fundamentally scared of her. He’s scared of how well she knows him, of how unafraid she is to rip him apart.

She finds him, on the seventh floor, books spread out in front of him.

“Draco Malfoy, you are a monumental idiot.”

He braces himself.

“You are not unknowable,” she says, furious, “You are petty, and sometimes you’re cruel, you’re proud, too proud to ask for help and too proud to see an easy way out. You care so much about other people, but you can be remarkably self-centered. You think everything is on your shoulders, like you could possibly carry it. If you think for a second that there was a part of you I did not know, a part of you I did not love, you’re an idiot.”

She turns and stomps away, leaving him to stare after her, eyes full of tears and heart full of love.

***

It’s easier, afterwards. Ella helps him come up with bare minimums: at least one meal a day where she can see him, a Seeker’s game on Sunday mornings, followed by at least three hours of social interaction that has nothing to do with school work, and five hours of rest each night even if it’s spent awake.

He knows there’s a larger conversation waiting for him with Pansy, but there are only so many things he can manage at once, and he’s not overwhelmingly concerned about it. They’ve come through worse things. They can see each other in group settings, and they can be alone together, even if it is stilted and awkward in a way their friendship has never been before.

It comes with the natural consequence of spending more time than ever with Ginny. He never manages to get much work done when she’s there, the natural consequence of her own apathy towards her education. She’s set on professional Quidditch, and eventually coaching, so she doesn’t see much point in worrying about classes. If not for her mother’s insistence, she might have gone straight to a minor league team and made it to the majors within a couple of seasons, and wouldn’t have finished at Hogwarts at all.

He’s in the Gryffindor common room, which still seems forbidden, though the separation between Houses has grown murky and the traditional divides haven’t been enforced at all this year.

“Are you really not going to try out for the school team?” Ginny asks, successfully drawing his attention away from studying.

He glances at her sideways, “I don’t understand why you want me to.”

“You’re the best Seeker we have, and if I’m going to have my pick of pro teams, we need to have a stellar season.”

“What makes you say that?” Draco asks, incredulous.

Ginny raises her eyebrows, “Because it’s true?”

“Aren’t you overlooking someone? Youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history?”

“What? Harry’s not playing Quidditch this year.”

Draco takes a moment to process this information. It doesn’t make him any less confused, any less indignant.

“Why the hell not?” Draco actually closes his textbook fully, turning to stare at her, “Quidditch is like 40% of his personality, what the fuck?”

Harry himself sits up straighter on the other side of the common room, “I can actually hear you, you know?”

“Sorry,” Draco says offhand, the usual nervousness that seems to manifest every time Harry is within a twenty foot radius vanishing in the face of his shock and genuine outrage, “I didn’t mean to say something nice about you out loud, I understand how that may be upsetting.”

“Fuck off.”

Ginny has a terrifying, calculating look on her face, “He’s too busy. Hero shit.”

“I’m sorry, was he not busy with hero shit the entire time he was at Hogwarts? Is there some other homicidal megalomaniac who’s strangely fixated on him that I’m not aware of?”

“Unlike some people, I don’t run the second the fighting is over,” Harry bites out.

Draco frowns, a little hurt, but mostly suspicious. He’s getting better at not taking things personally, at separating instinctual, emotional responses from malice, a bad mood from animosity. Harry isn’t usually one to guilt trip, not seriously, so Draco assumes that he’s trying to convince himself of something more than he’s actually still upset that Draco opted out of participating in the trials.

Ginny, however, doesn’t seem to reach the same conclusion. She scowls at Harry, and when she speaks, it’s vicious and protective.

“Don’t say that shit in front of me,” she snarls, “I will not be as polite as Draco.”

Draco hides a smile. He really does love Ginny, and there’s something nice about being defended. It’s not something he has a lot of experience with.

“So he can say whatever-”

“It’s not the same, and you know it. He’s just being bitchy, you’re being mean.”

Harry shuts up, and Draco lets the conversation lapse. He hadn’t known that he’d be pressing on an open wound, and he does not have the capacity to stitch anyone up, much less Harry, no matter how much he might want to.

It comes up again the next day, against his will. Ginny is putting on a dramatic reenactment of the exchange for Dean, mostly for the purpose of recruiting someone else for the crusade to get Draco to attend try outs in February. Hermione is paying more attention than he thinks is warranted, especially because she doesn’t really care about Quidditch, and then the entire thing is derailed by a discussion of Harry being an asshole.

“Does he think you should have done more?” Dean asks, horrified.

Draco tries to ignore the conversation entirely. He doesn’t want to talk about it, any of it. Not his reluctance to testify, and definitely not Harry’s disapproval. He knows that Harry isn’t having the best time- he can see the exhaustion, the desperation, on him like he’s looking in a mirror- but he’s apparently alone in that line of thinking. He never expected to be the only one who could see past their history of antagonism, and he’s wholly unprepared for it.

“Obviously no one can say that Draco didn’t do enough,” Hermione says diplomatically, “But I’ll admit, I was a little frustrated that he shut down the idea of the trials so quickly. I don’t know why Harry is still bringing it up though.”

“He wasn’t really in a position to-” Ginny starts, clearly remembering just how much of a mess Draco was last summer.

He cuts her off before she can get too far, “I told you when you asked, Hestia knew everything I did, and I didn’t think that personally recounting all of the bloody details was worth it. The war was different for me. I’m not saying it was harder or anything, but I wasn’t exactly going around breaking dragons out of Gringotts or sneaking supplies into Hogwarts. I did what I had to do, and I’ve made my peace with it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit in front of a crowd and talk about it.”

Hermione nods. He hadn’t realized that there was still a lingering discomfort in their friendship until it’s gone, but she’s noticeably more open and relaxed around him over the next few days.

He doesn’t really know what to make of it.

“I just didn’t quite understand you,” she says when he asks, “I don’t like not knowing things.”

Ron chuckles, “And you get tunnel vision, love.”

“That’s true,” she admits sheepishly, “I kind of have to be forced to see things from a different perspective. Sorry.”

Draco shakes his head, “No apology necessary. I was probably more combative than necessary when you asked, which couldn’t have helped.”

“I get it, mate,” Ron says cheerfully, “It’s like I told Mione, we’ve been fighting this war since we were kids. We should let someone else fight the next one.”

Draco finds himself agreeing with Ron Weasley, and perhaps more alarmingly for his fourteen year old self, enjoying the conversation they have afterwards. As it turns out, Ron has a knack for sniffing out people in desperate need of a mother, and Draco has promised to come to the Burrow for New Years before he knows entirely what’s happening.

“Mum will probably make you a sweater if you’d like, even though you won’t be there on Christmas.”

Draco remembers the lumpy, uneven knit of the characteristic Weasley sweaters and he wants nothing more than to be bundled up in one.

“I wouldn’t want to make more work for her…” he says haltingly.

Ron tuts at him, “Oh, don’t be silly.”

***

Draco finishes Wuthering Heights on a lazy Sunday morning in December, just before exams. His Sundays have expanded past the bare minimum, and he spends a few hours each evening reading. Wuthering Heights usually just makes him feel frustrated and sad, so he’s taken several breaks to read other books, mostly Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope, which are far more light-hearted on the whole.

He only has a couple of chapters left now, and he’s determined to see the whole depressing story through. The dread builds and builds, until the inevitable release. Heathcliff dies. Draco feels sick and relieved and angry, a wash of emotions that he struggles to keep in line.

It’s just all so pointless, he thinks, all that time spent tormenting everyone around them and this is how it ends.

But. Hareton and Catherine are going to be married on New Year’s Day. There’s something poetic about that, something about beginnings.

Heathcliff and Cathy never find happiness or peace. They die miserable, separated but never left alone, and even then, they haunt each other. But Hareton and Catherine survive. They survive despite the grief, despite the suffering. In the end, there is hope because there is youth.

There is life, and time enough left to live it.

He turns the last page and heaves a huge, shuddering breath. It feels like the first bloom of spring at the end of a long winter, like the first sight of land after months at sea, like seeing Marcie’s smile when she glimpsed the ocean for the first time, like a grueling, bloody chapter finally coming to a close. He shrugs the last of the weight from his bowed shoulders.

It will get bad again, eventually, perhaps even frequently. But he knows what the very worst of it feels like now, and he knows what lies on the other side of it, and these are things he can never unknow.

***

It’s wintertime and Draco Malfoy is eighteen. He’s spent Christmas with Claire and Arabella and Dean and Luna, the family he’s trying to feel deserving of, and there’s a letter from his mother sitting unopened at the bottom of his trunk, and the cooling embers inside of him have ignited again, and he is eighteen.

His trunk is on the step beside him, in front of a house he’s never seen before. After this, he’ll go straight to the Burrow for New Year’s, and he’ll stay for the rest of the break. He’s looking forward to it, truly.

He’s not looking forward to this next bit, though. His hands are shaking. He is terrified, and he feels like a child, and for a moment before he knocks, he wants to be one again. Three raps on the door, and then he waits.

“Old age and war have made me reluctant to engage in small talk,” Andromeda says as soon as she opens the door, “You look so much like your mother.”

Draco is proud of himself when he takes it for the compliment it is, “Thank you for inviting me over.”

Andromeda is older than his mother, but not by much. She has a kind face, and wildly curly hair that shines silver in the porch light. She looks like Bellatrix. She looks like his mother. Somehow, she also looks nothing like them at all. There is a warmth and a softness to her that tells of hearty meals and a loving home. He wants nothing more than to belong to the family that produced her, and he realizes with a start that he does.

“Yes, yes, Teddy is at Harry’s. I wanted to speak with you before I introduced the two of you.”

Draco nods and straightens his back. He’d expected this, so it barely even brings his mood down. Of course Andromeda would want to vet him. She knows what grows from their family tree, better than perhaps anyone besides Draco. Andromeda leads him into a small, messy kitchen. Tea is prepared and sitting on the table against a wide window that looks out over the darkening street outside.

“Help yourself,” she gestures at the steaming tea pot and waits for him to prepare a cup before she does the same, looking up and smiling at Draco every so often.

They take their tea the same way.

“I wanted to reach out earlier, but I just never found the time to make it happen. We don’t have much family left. I want Teddy to have as much as possible.”

He nods.

“We’re the last of the Blacks, you and me and your mother. And Teddy, I suppose. I know what our family is, and I know how hard it is to leave. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to stay,” Andromeda sighs, “I always had some regret about leaving Cissy there alone, the year I ran away with Ted. It was after she’d left Hogwarts, but she was still living at home. I know the choice you had to make, and I made the opposite one.”

“Oh,” Draco traces over a scratch on the table.

Andromeda reaches out and takes his hand, “My daughter, Dora, we never agreed on very much. She was a little impulsive, like me I suppose, and I was so- I wanted her to be better than I was. I wanted her to have the space to figure things out slowly, to not jump into things the way I did, the way I had to. We fought a lot. I wish, more than anything, that I’d tried harder to understand her. If I had… I think I would have seen that she was. She was better than me, so much better. You know, one time during an argument, she told me that to choose to love another person was never a waste, no matter what came of it.”

It strikes right at the center of everything Draco is, and leaves him incapable of speech, or even tears. He’s so shocked that his hands start to shake again, the spoon in his tea clinking melodically against the china.

“I was too stubborn to really listen to her at the time, but it’s something I’m trying to do now. I’m trying to be better, for her, for her son. I guess what I’m trying to say is I know the choice you made, and I made a different choice, and it is one of my biggest regrets. Your love for your parents was not in vain, even if they couldn’t return in properly. And it means something to me, at the very least, that you stayed. That you tried to protect my baby sister when she should have been protecting you. I just… I needed to tell you that. I hope you don’t mind me poking my nose into all of this.”

Draco shakes his head furiously, “No, no, of course I don’t mind. Thank you.”

He’s still shaken, unsure of how to express to Andromeda what her words mean to him, when she gets up from the table to pull him into a hug. He folds himself into her, as small as he can get. He is still a child, and right now that doesn’t feel like such a bad thing.

“And because I know our family,” she murmurs into his hair, “I know you probably came here expecting some kind of test but the only thing you need to do is care, Draco, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that at all.”

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