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danceworshipper · 1 month ago

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Stay With Me

Written for the @garrethweasleyfest 🧪🦁

Prompt: Awkward morning after

AN: The fic takes place in seventh year, but they're technically still underaged. Despite it being very obvious why she's in his bed in the first place and there being a few references to it there is no explicit detail in this fic. While I never used her name since I haven't gotten around to making her a proper profile, the girl in the story is Persephone Malfoy, one of my ocs. This is the link to her intro post if anyone's curious about her

When he woke, it was silent - up before the others, then, which rarely ever happened. Garreth tended to be one of the last of them awake, rushing through some semblance of a morning routine in order to make it to breakfast with enough time for a full meal.

The silence allowed him to come to awareness slowly, letting his eyes stay closed as he nuzzled further into the soft skin under his face, the last lingering touches of her perfume - flowery and undoubtedly expensive - drawing him in. Underneath the perfume there was a hint of sweat from the night before, and the smell of warmth from being wrapped in his sheets. The combination threatened to pull him back down into slumber. How he'd gotten himself on top of her without waking either of them up was a mystery, but he wasn't complaining, not one bit. It was the best way he'd ever woken up, and it was promptly ruined as he remembered that it would probably never happen again.

Garreth cursed himself, cursed his now pounding heart, cursed her too for good measure, and then took it back and held her tighter in apology. She'd been clear; she always had. His heartbreak was his own.

To be fair to himself, though, he'd never expected her to stay the night.

He asked. Every single time she let him touch her, he asked her if she'd stay with him, and she said no. More often than not, she walked away without a word. It was easier that way. If she left, he never got the chance to delude himself into thinking that he had a chance at earning her heart. Nothing between them was romantic. That wasn't what she needed. She needed stress relief, she needed to work her anger out, she needed someone to take care of her after she saved the world again. She didn't need him, she just needed someone, and Garreth had always been willing. Was he even sure that she had no other devotees? A masochistic part of him liked to latch onto the idea that even if there were others, he was surely her favorite. The fact that she sought him out so frequently meant something, didn't it?

Very likely, it just meant that he was convenient. Had he ever turned her down? Ever said no, not tonight and sent her away? No, of course not. He hadn't even considered such a thing. He couldn't. Garreth would always want more of her, including the things she wasn't willing to give him.

But last night... he'd asked, just like he always did.

Stay? Please?

And she'd looked at him for a long moment, looked at his hand caught around her wrist, and climbed back into his bed.

Don't get ideas, she'd said.

He'd wanted to joke. Too late for that, he could have said, waggled an eyebrow at their nudity. His voice had caught in his throat instead, and he'd laid down as close to the edge of the mattress as he could. That was what she'd meant, anyway. No cuddling. No romance. No feelings.

None of what he was doing now: his head tucked under her chin, his arms wound around her, holding her the way he'd always dreamed of. Godric, he had to let go before she woke up and decided that he wasn't what she needed anymore. If she stopped coming to him because of this, because she could no longer pretend he didn't love her, he'd never forgive himself.

As Garreth tried to work up the strength to roll over, she shifted slightly beneath him, tensing as she noticed the position they were in. Panic rose in his throat like bile. Could he pretend to still be asleep? No, not with the way she could surely feel his heart thudding rapidly against his ribs, pressed up to her side. He was doomed. He'd gotten greedy and ruined everything.

Hesitant fingers brushed the back of his head, and Garreth couldn't help the way his breath hitched.

When he didn't react, frozen in shock and a painful hope, she let her hand sink properly into his curls and sighed, the tension leaking from her body - unlike him, who felt like he might vibrate out of his skin with nerves. This was new. This was something he'd never dared dream of, and yet. She had to know he was awake. Why was she doing this? To taunt him? Even she could never be that cruel... right?

With every ounce of courage he possessed, Garreth tilted his head up. Just a smidge. Just to see. Her fingers ran over his scalp, so similar to what she did when he was worshipping at her altar but so different, because this was gentle. This was a caress. He dared to relax back against her, willing himself to stop getting his hopes up. Maybe she was just nicer in the morning (he knew she wasn't, he'd seen her hex a first year for asking her how to get to the potions classroom before she'd gotten any sugar in her system). Maybe she was just comfortable. Maybe she was just cuddling him the way she would a cat, and he was nothing more than a pet to her. Though, on that train of thought, people did tend to love their pets - and there went his hopes rising again.

A loud thump startled them both. The thud was followed by a pained groan; Leander's alarm had shocked him into falling off the bed again. Garreth couldn't really blame him. Back in first year, before they knew how to cast silencing charms around their beds, Leander's horrid alarm scared them all shitless each morning and caused many a sleep deprived fight. Apparently, the thing was from his grandmother as a 'going away' gift. Garreth told him to just toss it and use a charm like the rest of them, but Leander maintained that he slept like the dead, so nothing but the alarm could wake him.

Swallowing his own fear at the anxious expression on her face, Garreth wished he'd thrown the damn thing away himself.

"The room will be cleared out in fifteen minutes at the most," he whispered, begging her with his eyes to stay calm, stay with him. "You can sneak out once they're all at breakfast."

She nodded.

Like a fool, he asked, "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded again, bit her lip, and turned away.

He could hear the others getting up and debated leaving her alone to calm herself. Whatever had gotten into her was gone now; there was no reclaiming the tenderness they'd had before it was ruined. The best course of action would be to tuck the memory safely into his mind and move on with his day.

As he shifted to get up, though, she snatched his arm to stop him.

"They'll see me," she hissed.

"I'll keep the curtains closed," Garreth promised her. "They won't see you."

"Do you often leave the curtains drawn?" she demanded.

He frowned. "No?" Her meaning sank in, and he hummed. "Ah, right. That would be suspicious. Alright, I suppose I'll just wait them out, then. They won't come looking for me unless I miss breakfast."

Helplessly, Garreth's gaze fell to where she was still gripping his arm. Her pretty painted nails looked so good against his freckled skin. She should always have her hand on him, in his opinion. He risked a glance at her face - she was also looking at her hand on his arm, fixated, and it was suddenly all too easy to slip back into his jokes.

"Like my biceps, do you?"

Seeing the blush on her cheeks was almost worth her snatching her hand away.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed," he teased. "I admire them too. You'd be shocked how much strength stirring a cauldron takes."

"Shut up," she muttered, fingers now clenched in his sheets instead of his skin. Lucky sheets.

Taking pity on her (and maybe not wanting to push her too much further than he already had), Garreth gathered her clothes from the edge of his bed to hand to her. It was sheer good fortune that neither of them had kicked them to the floor in the night. A girl's uniform by the foot of his bed would definitely have aroused suspicion.

Somehow, no one had noticed their frequent simultaneous disappearances yet - or, more likely, they had noticed, but were wise enough to leave it alone. Garreth was grateful either way.

Her beautiful body was covered up again in no time at all. He wished he knew what to say to make sure she wasn't going to walk out of his dorm and never come back, but she wasn't the reassuring type, so even if he did try to check in with her nothing would come of it. He let the chatter of the others fill the air instead.

"Oh, bugger, there's a test in Transfiguration today, isn't there? I haven't studied!"

"We've known about it since last week."

"I forgot, you arse!"

"Wah wah wah, you'll do fine. You always ace Transfiguration."

"But what if I don't?!"

The corner of her mouth turned up just a little at his dormmates' antics, and Garreth stared without remorse. Could he be faulted for thinking she was even more beautiful when she smiled? He thought not.

It only took a few more minutes. Finally, the door slammed shut and the room fell silent. She let out a deep breath, clearly relieved, though she made no move to get up from the bed.

"I'll make sure the coast is clear?" he offered.

"Okay."

Garreth stretched out his back as he swung his legs to the floor, raising his arms above his head and cracking his neck. He peered back at her over his shoulder on a whim.

Caught, she averted her eyes, a blush once again rising on her fair skin. He grinned smugly.

The room was properly empty, so he tossed on his trousers and stuck his head into the hall to check the stairs. No one in sight. A shame. He'd been hoping for a reason to keep her a little longer.

"Run for it."

He hadn't expected her to actually bolt out of the room, but she did, scurrying down the stairs and turning to dash up to her own room. His chest ached seeing her flee like that, but he still held out hope that he hadn't ruined it. That perfect moment - letting him lie with her, her fingers in his hair - that had to have meant something.

Maybe in another few years and she'd actually let him take her out on a date, or even just hold her hand in public.

He'd settle for her staying over again.

#garrethweasleyfest24 #garrethweasleyfest #garreth weasley #my writing #finished up at 4:30 am day of as usual #procrastination is truly the finest muse #anyway I love him which is why I'm keeping him in constant emotional agony 👍#spoiler alert she loves him too (duh)#she's just a little emotionally constipated #schedueled this one so lets see if tumblr actually posts it

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lepusrufus · 1 year ago

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I was gonna throw this in a list of hcs but actually I wanna give it its own post bc I'm very normal about Widow and what's been done to her

I know the more widely accepted idea is that Widow has some inhuman strength and agility due to all the procedures she went through, but what if it's actually the opposite? Her blood flow is so slow her body barely gets the minimum amount of oxygen through it to survive. It makes her lethargic and chronically exhausted because she's always on that fine line between surviving and dead. It helps her keep deadly still when sniping, with great results as far at that goes, but on the flip side a burst of physical activity while running from one place to another on an assignment exerts her body to the point of agony. There's always a team of doctors and days upon days of physiotherapy waiting at Talon's hq, but that doesn't really erase the pain.

There's nanites flowing through her system but they don't really work. Not like they work for Angela or even Moira because they're not there to heal her, they're just there to keep her body from collapsing in on itself.

Her blood flow is so fucked she has pretty much zero temperature regulation and any environment that's too hot or too cold or spikes in temperature really screw with her. And she can barely even feel it until it's too late and she's either dizzy to the point of fainting or can barely move. (Yes I see the cinematic of her wearing basically nothing in the tundra. Yes I'm ignoring that detail and saying her uniforms are made to help with that thank you.)

Her lack of emotions was a carefully crafted mix of psychology work and meds specifically made for her that by this point keep her body going just as much as every other bit of "maintenance" she needs on a regular basis to survive. It doesn't always work. The human mind is great and complex and frankly she would sometimes prefer it not to be because whenever a strong emotion manages to sneak past all the walls built in her mind it leaves her frustrated and more exhausted than she already is. She can still make connections, have likes and dislikes, but anything particularly strong is like an unwelcome shock to an already fragile system.

But Talon doesn't really care because she's their perfect sniper and at the end of the day all the pain that comes as a consequence is only there to make her stronger.

And to top it off, Moira loathes how Ameliè turned out.

She didn't have that much of a hands on role in the making of Widowmaker, she's neither a psychologist nor a surgeon or any other kind of doctor that could do all of that, but she has been sort of an overseer to it. She's the one handling the regular procedures Widow needs to survive and the one taking note of how she handles one thing or another. And she hates all of it.

Moira used to be proud of Widowmaker, but after years of seeing basically a dead woman constantly walk the line of barely even alive, she realised that this is the complete opposite of what her idea of going against the limitations of the human body used to be. If Widow was to ever stop taking the fistful of daily meds or the medical procedures needed to keep her body going she would simply die, and even Moira can despise something that cruel.

#see i can make serious hcs too #i say while putting the blorbos through the worst situations #i love her I promise #but characters in constant agony just scratch an itch #widowmaker overwatch #overwatch #headcanon #is Moira a little ooc maybe but shhhhh i love me a morally gray tal ginger nerd #moira overwatch

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