#dreading whatever happens next because it’s so easily avoidable m

[bookwyrminspiration]

do NOT go after that water vole you four better turn your asses around and get OUTTA there right this instant or I swear to god

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Narcissa anxiously paced the expanse of her bedroom, trying to talk herself into speaking to her sister. Her deranged, disturbed, sister. But her sister nonetheless. 

It was a mess. Save for the poor battered girl in her basement, Narcissa felt completely alone, despite the fact that both her husband and sister occupied this very house. 

Because neither of them saw it. 

They couldn’t see how wrong, how monstrous it was to treat Hermione, Muggle-Born or not, as an object. To be used and abused day after day and for what? 

After all this time, she still couldn’t fathom what they wanted from her. She doesn’t even think Bellatrix knows what she’s demanding of the young witch half the time, making it all the more awful. 

She was weighing her options. Lucius was on thin ice with the Dark Lord, not that Narcissa wanted to engage in conversation with him, especially as of late. 

Bellatrix was frankly her safest bet. As horrible as it sounds, Bella is so invested in herself that even if Narcissa said the wrong thing, she could easily twist it another way. And again, they were sisters. 

She wasn’t expecting her older sister to understand or even be sympathetic. Bellatrix has always been set in her ways and since the first war, Narcissa thinks she’s incapable of such emotions. 

Sighing, she decides to just nip this in the bud and descends down the steps. 

As her left foot left the grand staircase, she soon spotted bushy hair puffing out from behind an armchair. 

Narcissa suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Bellatrix has taken to camping out in that seat. The Dark Lord usually appeared only feet from it. 

She was obsessed. 

“Bella, we need to talk.” She said in the strongest, steadiest voice she could, as she drew her sister from her daze. 

The mad witch eyed her for a moment, adjusting her legs to drape over one of the arms on the chair, “talk.” She responds, fingering her wand. 

“What is it that you’re planning tonight?” At this Bellatrix sits up, “I’ve heard you, you know. After all, this is my home.” The younger of the two states before she can help it. 

“You should stay out of it Cissy. Some things are bigger than you and your poor excuse of a husband.” Bellatrix bites. 

Well, Narcissa couldn’t argue with her on the last point...

“This is my house and I demand you tell me.” She stomps her foot for effect. 

The brunette jumps from her chair, “oh!” She squeals, “you demand it of me, do you?” Bellatrix taunts, like Narcissa is one of her victims. 

She doesn’t waiver, “that’s right.” 

“Why, oh why, should I tell you? And don’t tell me it’s because this is your home.” Lestrange questions, rounding her like a hungry shark. 

Narcissa turns so her brown eyes pierce the other woman’s, “because I’m your sister.” 

Bellatrix stops. 

“You are.” She says, just about as soft as she can physically manage. 

Seeing she’s getting somewhere, Narcissa nods, “you are, so I hope you listen to me when I tell you that what you're doing and whatever you’re planning, is wrong.” 

“Wrong?” The mad woman responds, the word sounding bitter on her tongue. 

“That’s right, that girl down there, she’s Draco’s age. She’s his classmate!” Her anger crumbles into sadness, “they have the same professors and they’ve been to the same Quidditch matches. They’re both prefects.” She says, tears pooling her eyes. “It’s so wrong, imagine if that was Draco.” 

And without a beat, the brunette has her answer, “no.” 

Malfoy thinks she heard it wrong, “no?” 

“No.” Bella repeats, “it would never be Draco. Ever. He’s a Pureblood. He’s sworn his allegiance to the Dark Lord. He never stole someone else’s magic and tainted himself further by befriending Harry Potter!” She shouts. 

“She’s just a girl, like me and you were. We were just her age when you, me, and Andi went down-“ 

“Andi? Andi is it now? Don’t be so naive Narcissa! That woman is dead to me. Dead to me!” Bellatrix shouted, stepping closer. 

“She’s our sister!” She screams back with equal fervor. 

“Sister? Don’t make me laugh!” She cackles a bit for good measure, “the second she married that-that Mudblood, she became the furthest thing from family!” 

“Bella, how can you say that?” 

“What! It’s not like we even speak to her! Not that I’d want to.” 

Narcissa bites her tongue. She’s secretly corresponded with Andromeda more times than one through the years. 

“And if her marrying that disgusting filth wasn’t enough for you, what about when her daughter started seeing that Werewolf? Disgusting half-breeds.” She spits. 

“Why does all this matter so much to you?” She finally asks. 

“Because Cissy, they’re thieves, all of them! We couldn’t do half of what we did had we not come from the Black bloodline. You think we’d even still be alive if we were pathetic Mudbloods? No! We’re all magic. Through and through. I value that. Your sister doesn’t. You should too.” 

Bellatrix steps closer so her breath tickles Narcissa’s nose. 

“Even if that thing in the basement didn’t have dirty blood, it doesn’t change the fact her best friend is Potter. The very boy trying to destroy the very world the Dark Lord is building. A world where people like me and you.” She pauses, “like your son, can have more power then you can imagine. And we deserve it.” She whispers darkly, making the other woman shiver. 

Narcissa gulps, “that girl in the basement, she won’t change this whole war. We don’t need her.” She throws in the ‘we’ for good measure, hoping it’ll give Bellatrix some ease. 

“Maybe not. Maybe so. That’s not for either of us to decide. The Dark Lord wants it to stay, so it stays.” She finishes, then smiles mischievously, “plus Muddy is so much fun. Several people around here agree.” 

Narcissa stumbles back, suddenly feeling sick. 

When did her sister, her own flesh and blood become so vile? She’s known she’s had her problems. She’s always had them. And she’s seen her kill, beat, curse a plethora of wizards and witches, but never like this. 

Never a young girl. Never offering up someone the very same age as her own son up to filthy men to have their way with her. 

Not long ago Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa were Hermione’s age. Young girls caught up in the brewing storm. 

Now, all these years later, in this very moment, it dawns on Narcissa that maybe she’s chosen the wrong side. 

“How can you even say that?” She manages. 

The brunette huffs, “you better watch yourself Cissy, I see you stalking off to the dungeons. I’ve only let it go on for this long because as you said, we are sisters, but know this,” she leans forward, “after tonight, nothing, nothing, you do in that dungeon will save the Mudblood from what’s to come.” 

“Tell me Bella, please tell me.” She practically begs. 

Bellatrix seems to think about it for a moment, “no, I don’t think I will.” She says venomously before disapparating.

… 

She isn’t sure how long she stands in the now unfurnished foyer for. The crack of her sister dissapparting still rings in her ears, as the heavy weight of what she is doing gets heavier by the second. 

Sighing, Narcissa decides to check on Hermione. Bellatrix is gone anyway, so now's as good as ever. 

Sauntering down the stairs, her eyes flick to the faint glow now erupting from the enchanted candle. Squinting, she can make out the exposed girl clutching that book to her chest. 

“Hello dear.” She says softly, crouching in front of the bars. 

Sighing like she always does when she realizes it’s Narcissa, Hermione shifts to meet her eyes. 

Beneath her nose she can make out fresh blood. 

“Oh she’s already seen you today has she?” The woman asks, despite knowing the answer. 

Slowly, Hermione nods. 

Flinging open the doors, something she used to be weary to do, Narcissa piled in and sat down right next to her. 

“Here, let me see.” She whispered, pulling a handkerchief from her pockets. 

Hermione scooted forward a bit, though she winced as her leg scraped along the floor. A few days ago Bellatrix had blasted her with something that threw her up and across the room, hitting her leg squarely on an old stone statue. There was no doubt to her, or Narcissa, that it was broken beyond a point of magical repair. 

The brunette tilted her chin as the woman began gently rubbing the blood from her face best she could, mindful of all the cuts and bruises. 

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Narcissa whispers after a moment. 

Hermione’s brown eyes widen at her words, scared for what's to come. 

Is this where she says she's done helping me? That she’s no longer on my side? Will she curse me? Wait, no. Narcissa has been nothing but kind to me, but yet again-

Her jumbled thoughts don’t wander long, as the woman breaks her silence. “It’s happening tonight.” 

Dread builds at the base of Hermione’s stomach, but she had a feeling. She should've expected it. 

‘Someone will die.’ That’s what he said to her. 

This morning even Bellatrix mentioned it. 

“Best rest up for tonight Muddy. It’ll be killer.”

“What?” Narcissa says, taken aback, stumbling a bit. 

At this Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth, though the motion was a bad idea. The sudden jolts made them burn as one was surely broken and the other terribly bruised. However, she couldn’t pay any mind to the pain. Not when those words left her mouth unwillingly. 

The first sentence she's managed not to stutter over in weeks. 

What the hell is happening to her?

Seeing the look of fear in Narcissa’s eyes, she pushed back frantically to the corner. Like a scared animal avoiding lingering prey. 

Sensing the fact Hermione was just as confused as she was, Narcissa extended a hand. 

“It’s okay, I know.” She cooed to the crying girl, “it’s the curse, you didn’t mean it. It’s just the curse.” She reminds steadily holding out her hand still. 

Mrs.Malfoy knew that many crucio’s can take all sorts of tolls on one's mind. Never did she think it would live in Hermione as some demented form of her sister. 

Wanting, no needing, to chase those parts from the girl's head, she croons her on, “tell me something, please. Anything.” She departley asks the younger girl, “It’ll help you forget about her, please. You won’t hear her anymore.”

Slowly, Hermione peels her hands from her face and eyes Narcissa with blurry eyes. It takes another comment, but soon, she's gently sliding her palm into the womans. 

“That’s it dear.” She encourages, giving her hand a small squeeze, not wanting to irritate the bruising. “Say something, please.” She didn’t realize until now that there were tears building up in her own eyes. 

‘Rest up for tonight Muddy. It’ll be killer.’ 

Hermione’s voice echoes in her head. So venomous. So wrong. She needs to erase it from her mind. Not only for the young witch's sanity, but she thinks for her own as well. 

“Th-” She starts, sounding as much like herself that she can manage. 

“You’ve got it.” The older woman says gently, leaning forward to wipe her hair from her eyes with the hand not holding the brunette's small fragile hand. 

“Th-thank y-ou,” Hermione says, struggling over the words, but something tells the cell's other occupant she’s not done. “N-Narcissa.”

The tears burning in her eyes flow down her cheeks. There is nothing she should be thanking her for. It makes her sick even the smallest humane gestures are considered large feats to the now prisoner. 

The promise of getting Hermione out of here solidifies more than ever at her words, at these thoughts. At all of it. 

She pushes her head into the crook of her neck and speaks softly, “It’s Cissy to you dear, it’ll always be Cissy.” Narcissa drops a small kiss onto her matted hair. 

“Ci-Cissy.” Hermione repeats softly. 

...

Bellatrix stumbles a little in her heels when she lands. There she is meant by two familiar faces, but frowns as one is missing. 

“Where is Rabastan?” She asks, annoyed. 

“Said he ran into someone from the order, got hit with a natsy curse. He said he’ll be fine, but wouldn’t be any good here tonight.” Greyback exapins, as it was his responsibility to summon the other man.

She curses under her breath, “It’ll take me half the time to take whatever wards down, had he come.” The witch spits. 

Feeling like he needs to make up for his action, the werewolf goes on, “Dolohov will be here.” 

She turns, brown eyes widening, “Antonin?” The taller man nodded in confirmation, “I thought he was to stay behind. This can become much too personal for him. We must be in and out before anyone from the Order gets wind we’ve broken the wards.” She sounds off in a venomous whisper. 

“Yes, but it is my understanding that the Dark Lord himself has allowed Dolohiv to join us tonight in Rabastan’s absence.” 

At the mention of Voldemort’s approval she visibly calmed, “Oh, well I understand now. It’s for the best anyway, I know Antonin is rather good with counterspells for instances just like these.”

As this was all going on Scabior stoof confused, eyeing the two of them funnily. Greyback had approached him earlier that night saying he was needed. For what? He still wasn’t sure. 

“You.” Bellatrix pointed to the mangy man, “Make yourself useful and be sure no one sees us.” She demanded. 

Fumbling a little, he began the incantation that would hide them from any passerbyers, as well as a silencing charm. 

“Should be good miss, do-” 

Before he could finish a nearby crack sounded as Dolhov appeared from behind a nearby tree. 

“Ah come, to join the party, did you?” She said with a small laugh.

The man had a dark look in his eyes as he eyed the house from a distance. 

“The time will come. Soon.” She told him, noticing his expression, “for now, help me with the protective charms. They’re standard for The Order, nothing you aren’t used to. Surely Albus Dumbledore wasn’t casting these.” Bellatrix said as she pointed her wand to the invisible fence. 

Dolohov joined her as he began whispering a few incantations that made small bursts of light emit from the end of his wand. Greyback was perched against a tree whistling to himself, as Bellatrix proceeded to wave her own wand. Scabior however, still had little regard to what was actually happening. 

“What are we doing here? Raiding an old Order Member’s house?” He asked Greyback what he thought was a quiet whisper. 

At this, the werewolf let out a low laugh, “you think they’d send that one,” he pointed vaguely to Bellatrix, “for some old wizard?” 

He shrugged, “Dunno, this is a muggle neighborhood, didn’t reckon he’d send us on a muggle raid, they don’t exactly put up a fight.”

Having heard the conversation the witch stopped and rounded on him, “these aren’t any Muggles, you see.” Bellatrix told Scabior cryptically as a curtain of blue light fell, indicating the dropping of the wards. 

“I don’t understand, miss.” He said back, watching her step past where the veil just was with a smile. 

“Come, come.” She waved the three on, as they stood a little ways behind her. “You see this lovely house here, Scabior?” 

He nodded, still unsure of the proper response, “quite nice, I reckon.” 

“It is, isn’t it.” She agrees with a hum. The witch speaks again after a moment, “do you know who this house belongs to?” 

He eyes Greyback and Dolohov wearily, the pair of them wearing matching grins. 

“No Miss, I don’t.” He told her timidly. 

“Well let me tell you,” Bellatrix  spun around and threw her arms up as if presenting the brick structure, “this house here belongs to Hugo and Jean Granger.” 

The long haired man thinks on it for a moment, but the name draws no realizations. 

“I don’t...” he began quietly. 

“This house here belongs to Muddy’s parents and soon enough,” her voice dropped dangerously low, “it’s gonna be ours.” 

[janekfan]

How about this witcher prompt: Jaskier suffers a throat infection resulting in not being able to talk. Geralt thinks it's a blessing. Then Jaskier develops a sepsis

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867821/chapters/65555047

Sorry that took so long! But here we go and I hope you like it! It ended up becoming chapter one of a larger project :3

Oh, he’s having a right time with this. Jaskier sipped his tea, hot as his sore throat could manage and grimaced at the sharp sting. He thinks I can’t see his smug grin. Last night, Jaskier had gone to sleep after a rough performance with an aching behind his tongue and woken to full fledged agony, and no he wasn’t being dramatic, it hurt, and unable to speak. After finishing his gruff assessment of him, Geralt had prescribed hot tea, plenty of water, and even so magnanimously agreed to stay one more day at the inn and for that, the bard was grateful. The thought of sleeping out in the rough feeling this dreadful inspired many a woeful ballad. If only he could sing them. But his voice was quite and thoroughly gone. Something Geralt found amusing to say the least.

“What a pleasant day this is proving to be, wouldn’t you say, bard?” Jaskier glowered, setting the cup aside and burrowing deeper into the inadequate bedclothes. He was positively freezing, clenching his jaw to avoid chattering his teeth, because while Geralt seemed to be in relative good humor, he could just as easily leave without him. “Ah, I forgot, you can’t.” Petulant, Jaskier stuck out his tongue and twisted up his face, turning away in the bed to curl up in his misery. He’d sleep this off. A good, restful day would clear whatever this was right up.

And of course, with his terrible luck, it didn’t and he woke in the early evening so incredibly thirsty, cursing himself for sleeping throughout the entire day. He downed the cold tea, whimpering and holding his neck at the burn of it, and noticed that Geralt was gone. The flash of fear at being abandoned was tempered by seeing armor and packs by the door, but Jaskier felt very suddenly alone. He longed for something warm to sip but after barely making it to the rough hewn pitcher to pour himself the last bit of water, he decided against a trip down the stairs. He would fall and make an embarrassment of himself and that wouldn’t do. Jaskier was exhausted and aching, a headache making itself at home behind his eyes and the throbbing, pulsing agony in his throat made tears spring to his eyes. Sleep. Sleep would make it all go away, at least for a little while, and he staggered back into bed to will himself to sleep. At least when Geralt came back he’d be warm.

The next morning dawned cheery and bright, the wretch, and Jaskier woke perhaps even worse off than yesterday. But he was met by a cup of medicated tea if the smell was anything to go by, being thrust into his face and Geralt saying he’d be waiting with Roach, but not without one more jab about his lost vocal talents. It was bringing him no end of amusement.

“Take your time.” Ah, that was nice of him and by the looks of things, Jaskier would need a fair bit of it. The weakness in his legs didn’t bode well for a day of travel. He was about to collapse and the day hadn’t even truly started. But he forced himself up, reeling as the room spun sideways, and very carefully limped down the stairs. He offered up a wan smile, trembling under all his layers.

Geralt looked furious.

He’d taken forever, he knew, but he really was trying his best, and as the sun rose high and the chills became worse, Jaskier fell behind. He could hear Roach, Geralt was traveling at a much slower pace than he normally would, and Jaskier would be grateful if he wasn’t focused so hard on the weight of his lute pulling him toward the forest floor. Everything hurt and the tears springing to his eyes almost had time to fall before he remembered himself. Geralt wasn’t a fan of his over emotional displays and without words he wasn’t able to express just how poorly he really was. No cure but to walk on. Stumble on. His weaving steps slowed him further, enough that Roach had been turned back around.

“G--” Like swallowing a blade, and the syllables died on his lips. Oh goddess. He was going to be ill and was, thankfully not all over Roach’s hooves, and the fire of it drove him to hands and knees.

“Jaskier?” The thump of heavy boots hitting the ground was all the warning he got before a rough, blessedly cool palm pressed itself over his forehead. “Alright.” Jaskier could have sobbed as Geralt grabbed his bicep and dragged him, supported him, a little ways down the path. There was enough space here to set up a small camp and Geralt threw down his bedroll, dropping Jaskier on top of it and going about the motions that suggested they’d stay for at least a little while. The bard held his breath, tried to inhale, exhale in a way that didn’t make everything hurt worse and had almost dropped off to sleep when more tea was thrust under his nose. Willow bark and something else. And even if his stomach did feel up to it, the promise of even a modicum of relief was a heady thing, and Jaskier downed the cup even though it was too hot, falling back and curling into the rough wool.

Late afternoon sun lancing across his face woke him up and Jaskier was not well pleased at how sick he still felt. It was unlike him to be laid low like this. He shifted his head, drawing a shaky half breath, and found Geralt tending to the fire. He was so thirsty with no way to tell him and no way to get up. He hadn’t been drinking enough and tried to gesture, nimble fingers uncoordinated and frightened because of it.

“Go back to sleep, Jaskier.” With no other recourse, he did as he was told.

This time, Geralt’s hand on his cheek pulled him up out of the dark place he’d gone. The witcher tutted, levering him up and holding more tea to his lips, only this time Jaskier could barely swallow, the pain was so great, and rather than waiting on him to finish, he pressed the cup into his quaking hands. Jaskier wasn’t sure he could even lift it. So he didn’t. Just watched blearily as Geralt broke camp, tied his lute to the saddle and that was good. Except there was no way he’d be able to stand, he could tell, and the thought prompted the tears to slip silently down his face and off his chin. He was going to be left here to die. Because he was human and weak and useless. Geralt could sell off his instrument for a good price, make up for the time Jaskier wasted slowing him down. The tea dropped from his fingers and he hid his face behind his hands. Geralt didn’t like it when he was emotional. Better to hide it. Better not to see him walk away from him. At least then he could pretend that he hadn’t left him.

“Jaskier?” He risked a glance and wished he hadn’t. Disappointment and frustration. With him. Always with him. He hadn’t meant to get sick. He hadn’t meant to. “You’ll have to hold on.” Hold on? To what? And the answer came moments later when he was hoisted onto Roach’s back like he weighed nothing at all and Geralt mounted in front of him. “Hold on.” Tentative, confused, Jaskier threaded his arms around the witcher’s waist, hugging him for lack of a better term and burying his cheek into a warm shoulder. Hold on. Easy enough. Even he could do that, right?

Apparently not, and Geralt’s gruff demands for him to hold on and stay awake and don’t fall became increasingly intrusive. Jaskier didn’t want to do those things. He wanted to stop moving and sleep, he didn’t even care anymore about how mad his failures were making Geralt. The alternating stripes of trees and beams of sun passed by too quickly, dizzying him and it seemed like everywhere he looked there was more of it and he couldn’t keep up. The speed was too great, he was being shaken from his precarious perch and his arms were so numb he couldn’t feel them where they’d let go of Geralt.

An attenuated moment passed where Jaskier was completely airbourne. He’d fallen from horses before. He knew how to fall. But he couldn’t get anything to work with him, all deadweight and drained. When he hit the ground, the hard impact wasn’t even bad enough to distract from the stoked embers burning up in his throat and he laid there, listening to Roach’s nickering and uneven gait as she turned around. He was cold. He was hot. He was nothing at all and Geralt’s shout of surprise sounded like it had come to him from miles away underwater. Jaskier knew he was being touched, knew he was being lifted, even knew he was being yelled at, but it seemed like it was all happening to someone else. Someone far away from all this. He’d tried. He had. But like always, it hadn’t been good enough.

“Jaskier!” Growling, loud and rough, and he couldn’t open his eyes long enough to see the rage painted there. The light was too bright, blinding and blistering, adding to the fire and the heat and Jaskier wasn’t able to stay conscious even through the witcher’s shouting.

An indeterminate stretch of time passed and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to tell anyone all of what occurred within. It was a haze of hurting and being touched by unfamiliar hands. Maneuvered whether he wanted it to happen or not. Horrible tinctures poured down his throat that made him shed silent tears because he was nothing without his voice and no one would listen to what his body was trying to say. He was helpless, frightened, confused. Glimpses of familiar white hair caused him to weep because he was sorry, so, so sorry that he’d done this, even if he wasn’t completely sure what ‘this’ was. Damp clothes soothed some of the blistering and there were moments in between the suffering where he was sure he’d never again open his eyes.

But he did.

And he felt dreadful. So sick. Still pained and barely able to lift a finger. Gently, as though he might break, a cool flannel swept over his hot face, down his cheek and the warm compress over his throat was adjusted, wafting the strong scent of garlic into the air. He must have made a face because a familiar chuckle rang out somewhere to the left of him.

“Jaskier?” Soft and kind and he did Geralt the courtesy of tipping his face toward him but didn’t remember much after that.

“You should’ve told me.” Jaskier glared weakly, pained, wrung out and still so, so tired, and Geralt had the sense to look shamed. After a strict regimen of teas, potions, and elixirs from the village healer, Jaskier appeared to be on the mend, albeit slowly. The witcher explained, for what was probably the seventh time seeing as he couldn’t hold a thought in his head for longer than a moment when he first began to wake, that he’d succumbed to a blood infection. “I should have noticed sooner." He fussed, tucking the blankets closer around him, smoothing them out and brushing back his sweat-soaked fringe. "Shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” With an obscene amount of effort, Jaskier patted Geralt’s hand where it now rested on the sheets beside him, letting it linger there, absorbing the warmth.

All forgiven.

Or it would be after a few more days of attentive doting.

[sylvanfreckles]

I've Got Red in My Ledger

By Grace Undone: Chapter Five

A devastating betrayal and an arcane ritual leave Castiel fighting for his life...his human life. When his grace is brutally torn out of his body and he's left to die on earth the only thing the Winchesters can do is try to pick up the pieces.

(I'm just doing one story for the entire month, so please enjoy the thirty-one chapter beginning of the flare 'verse. You can read other stories in the 'verse here, and you can read this fic on AO3 here.)

“Cas?” Dean shifted around on his bed so that he was sitting with his feet on the floor. “Is that…is it really you?” He didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to hope. Good things just didn’t happen.

A tired sigh hissed through the phone. “I’m here.”

“Where? How? Damn, man, you were…I thought…” emotion choked off Dean’s voice and he cleared his throat. “Where are you?”

“Dean Winchester,” the other voice was back, a little stronger than before. “Can you find this phone? If I leave it here with Castiel?”

“The hell is going on?” Dean demanded. “Let me talk to Cas again.” He was on his feet now, pacing, fighting down the knot of dread in his stomach.

“He’s too weak. They took…I didn’t know it would be like this, you have to believe me.”

“Took what? What did they take?”

A sound like a sob filtered through the phone’s speakers. “His grace. Naomi, she…she took his grace.”

Dean’s stomach dropped right down into his socks. Part of him had always wondered if Cas might make the choice to become human again someday, especially after Lucifer had taken Jack’s powers. He wondered what it might have been like if all four of them had been able to grow old together, but not like this.

He swallowed hard to clear the lump in his throat. “Can you put Cas back on?”

“I can’t…Please, you have to hurry. She’s—Naomi—we’re leaving soon and she’s leaving him here.”

“Where’s ‘here’? Dammit, where are you?”

“Near a place called Kansas City. I think there’s a river nearby. I don’t—I have to go!”

“Wait!” Dean lurched forward, as though to physically keep the woman on the phone, but his phone had already beeped to show the end of the call. “Dammit.” He jabbed at his phone to redial the number and pressed it to his ear, but it just kept ringing until it dumped his call into an inactive voicemail.

At least Kansas City was a start. He and Sammy could get rolling in ten minutes and be there by sunrise.

….

Jedaia ended the call with Dean and pushed the phone under Castiel’s shoulder, near one of his hands, just as Malachi strode into view.

“Let me heal him,” Jedaia begged as the anarchist approached. “Please, just let me heal him.”

“That’s enough,” the male angel snarled, pulling Jedaia away from Castiel. “He’s getting what he deserves, and now so am I.”

Castiel wearily stared up at him. He was prepared for Malachi to further abuse him, now that the ritual was over, but to his astonishment the male angel seemed fixated on Jedaia.

“You didn’t think we brought you here just to help with the ritual, hmm?” Malachi taunted. He smiled down at Castiel and pulled Jedaia against him, twisting a hand in her pale hair to drag her head up. “Naomi isn’t the only one getting a power boost tonight.”

“No!” Jedaia twisted in his arms, but it was clear she had never been trained as a soldier. An apprentice Rit Zien, perhaps, or one of the scribes that had served under Metatron, but not a warrior.

“Yes. Didn’t you realize we only needed two for the ritual? Why else would we have brought you out here?”

“That’s enough, Malachi.” Naomi’s voice had strange harmonics to it now, and he thought he could feel her power dancing along his skin like a static charge when she drew closer to the struggling angels. “We’ll have to find another ritual site.”

Naomi had changed. He was sure her true form would have been the most altered, but even her earthly vessel was different. She stood taller, though that could have just been the way she was holding herself and not an actual change of height, and her close-cropped gray hair had been replaced by a silvery-white mane that cascaded down her back. Her skin seemed to almost glow; and when she glanced in his direction, he saw that her eyes were now so pale they were almost white.

Malachi bared his teeth and forced Jedaia around to face Naomi. “You promised me, Naomi! The only reason I went along with your little scheme and didn’t gut him on the spot is because you promised I’d be an archangel too!”

“And you will be. But not now. We’ll have to secure a new site first.”

“No!” Malachi twisted around and forced Jedaia onto her knees. “I get what’s coming to me now, not later.”

Naomi just scoffed and strode over to the nearest post that supported the roof. She stared at it critically for a moment, then turned back to face Malachi. “Fine. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Then Naomi raised her hand and slapped the post. In the split second before her hand touched the wood, Castiel saw the angel banishing symbol appear as though Naomi had just written it in her own blood. He curled back in on himself as Malachi and Jedaia let out a scream, but to his surprise he wasn’t banished along with them.

But…no. Of course not.

He was human now.

Sharp footsteps brought Naomi closer to him, but he barely had the strength to look up at her, much less put up any kind of fight. The angel—or maybe it was archangel now—crouched next to him and studied his face with pitying eyes.

“You should be thanking me. He was planning to kill you.”

He stared up at her, aware of the phone buzzing against his arm as someone tried to call him. Naomi smirked and easily extracted the phone from its hiding place, no matter how feebly he tried to stop her.

She held it up between them and answered the call, pressing the speakerphone button.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was faint but distinct, and raw with worry. “Cas, man, can you hear me? Say something.”

“He’s here,” Naomi said, keeping her eyes focused on Castiel’s. “If you hurry, he might even still be alive.”

“Listen here you ugly bitch…”

Naomi stabbed the button to end the call and dropped the phone next to Castiel’s face. “There’s one more thing,” she announced.

He bit back a groan of pain and turned his face toward the floor, avoiding her gaze. The wounds on his back burned, like he’d been branded instead of cut, and his wrists and ankles were torn from pulling against the chains that had tied him down. Then sudden pain blossomed through his body, white-hot and burning with cold, as she struck at him with her grace. He cried out and tried to roll away from her, but his body seized up in agony as soon as his back touched the ground. She struck again, lashing at him as though her grace was a whip, and his tattered clothing tore along new lines of pain.

After a few more lashes she growled and knelt to grab a handful of his hair. “There’s nothing left for you in Heaven now, Castiel. Whatever fraction of a soul you might have will sink down to the depth of the abyss for all of eternity for what you’ve done. You’ve betrayed your own kind, over and over, and for that you are banished.”

Her grace cracked across his face, breaking his nose, and she dropped his head to stand back up. “Pray that we never meet again.”

The lights around them seemed to flicker, the flames in the hanging censors streaming up into the air for a moment, and the silhouette of wings spread out from Naomi’s shoulders. Whole, healthy wings, not the same ragged things he and the other angels had been left with. Then, with a rush of wind that blew out half the flames, she was gone.

All that was left was the pain in his body and the buzzing in his head.

No…the buzzing of the phone.

Slowly, painfully, Castiel rolled up on his side and managed to pull the phone close enough to see the screen. There was a crack running through the tempered glass, but enough of the display remained that he could see the green icon to answer an incoming call. His hand shaking, blood smearing over the screen, he finally managed to touch the right spot on the screen to accept the call. “Dean?”

“Cas! Thank…thank something, man. Is she still there?”

He curled around the phone and coughed wetly, tasting blood in the back of his throat. “’m alone.”

“Good. Listen, man, just stay on the line, all right? We’re coming.”

Castiel tried to answer, but even breathing too deeply hurt, and he just tucked the phone closer to his face. Tears were leaking out of his eyes, running down his cheeks and across the bridge of his broken nose, but he didn’t know if they were from the physical pain or the roaring, empty grief that was consuming him from the inside.

“You’re doing great,” Dean’s voice was strong, encouraging, like a lifeline keeping him from utter despair. “We’re on the way, Cas, I promise. Just hold on.”

[Previous chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4)]

[empyreanwritings]

Sinful (5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Natasha Romanoff 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: dash of anxiety, smut (masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, mentions of M-F-F threesome), 18+ only

Summary: It’s not considered homewrecking if you want both of them, right? Maybe not, but it sure is naughty.

A/N: So, I decided there will be six parts! Next part will be the end! This one is only slightly smutty, but you know the rules, you shouldn’t be reading this if you are under 18! Seriously, please don’t make me be the bad guy and take the whole series down because I find out minors are reading this. Ily x

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated (: x

You paced at the end of your bed, practically chewing your nails down to the quick. A nasty habit but there was no real way to settle your nerves. You tried working out - forcing the stress out of your body through sweat. It worked for an hour, then you took a shower, and the cold water dumped reality all over you again.

Nat sent you a text the moment the were on the Quinjet coming home. They were due back in less than an hour, and it was time to have the dreaded conversation. The ultimatum. The "I'm putting everything out on the line" chat. You hoped after you aired all the feelings out, they'd still pick you. You couldn't blame them if they walked away, but it would surely break you.

If they thought the risks outweighed the benefits and wanted out, you'd have to understand. It wasn't as if you had a say anyways. Unless they gave you one.

A knock on your door made you freeze. Your heart thudded in your chest. Every part of your body chilled, and you swore your face was numb. Were they back already? More importantly, were you breathing?

You sucked in a harsh breath. 

Now you were.

Sam popped his head in, and you let out a relieved sigh. You needed more time to mentally prepare yourself for the talk, but you didn't know if you could open up to Sam about it. He, most likely, formed his own unhelpful opinions about this situation. You didn't want to listen to any advice he had unless it was useful.

"Thought you stopped that habit?" He gestured down to your hands and chuckled when you stuffed them in your pockets. "Wanna talk about it?"

You gave him a look - the kind of look that told him you didn't trust him with this subject. His expression went from confusion to guilt. He sucked in his cheeks, and his whole body deflated. He realized he deserve the look. He hadn't been the best friend lately.

"Okay, I deserve the glare. I'm sorry, I know I've sucked the past few days," he smiled sheepishly, "If you want to talk about it, let me redeem myself?"

A beat of silence went by before you sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to you. You let everything out to him; you left out the dirtier details, but you shared everything else. Once you started airing out on particular feeling, they all bubbled to the surface. They poured out of your mouth so easily, it was as if they were waiting to come out all along. Every word, every feeling, you could feel them in your bones. They spilled onto your cheeks, and you didn't even know it was happening until Sam reached over and wiped a tear away.

The situation shouldn't have been this emotional, but you assumed that's what happened when there were three people involved. Lots of emotions. Lots of feelings to consider. You realized it wasn't only you involved. You needed to be considerate of what their feelings may be, but it was overwhelming.

Sam quietly watched you collect yourself. He wasn't going to put in his opinions until he knew you were ready for it. No sense in overwhelming you further.

You sniffled and rubbed at your eyes. "You must think I'm a mess."

"Nah, I already knew you were a mess," he teased. "You wanted to know what I think?"

You nodded.

"You're scared because your feelings are strong, but I think the fear has nothing to do with you. It's coming from what other people think - what I've said to you."

"No offense, but your words gave me the most anxiety."

He sighed. "I'm sorry about that. I worry about you is all. You were my first recruit and my best friend. I'm always going to be overprotective of you."

"I know. I don't hold that against you, but I needed you."

"You can always punch me if you want to. Just not the face, please. You can't hurt this beauty."

You snorted and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

After a hug and a few more tears, he helped you devise a plan to ease the awkward conversation you were bound to have. Laying your emotions on the line wouldn't be as terrifying if there was food in the middle. Food fixed everything. Anyone with an appetite could agree with that one.

Nat and Bucky were going to take some time to clean up and relax after their assignment. It gave you enough time to order a spread from your favorite Chinese place. You would have cooked, except you couldn't. Most of the other Avengers kept you away from the kitchen in the compound because they knew better. They knew you'd more than likely start a fire.

You did your best to avoid them as much as possible. It seemed suspicious, but you wanted everything to be perfect. Candles. Good food. Cheesy music in the background. You had this idea that nothing could possibly go wrong if the ambiance was wonderful. And if something did go wrong, at least you cold stuff your face.

The plan was almost perfect until you bumped into Bucky on your way back to your room to clean up. He noticed right away something was up when you barely kissed him back. The panic that you felt earlier came back, hitting you like a freight train. You had to appear calm because you knew he could hear your heartbeat, but it wasn't working very well.

You ducked around him before he could ask what was wrong and escaped to your room. You leaned back against the door, holding your hand to your chest. Now was not the time to let everything fall apart. You had a plan! You knew what you were going to do! It couldn't fall apart now.

This would work. It had to work.

"Y/N?" You squeaked at the sound of Nat's voice. "Everything okay?"

Of course Bucky brought her in. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist both of them. That's what got you into this mess in the first place.

"We know you're in there," Nat chuckled. "You're not at all subtle."

"If you've changed your mind, we understand, but we would like to talk about this. We know you have doubts-"

"I'm not!" You interrupted.

"You're not?" There was so much hope in Bucky's voice, it made your stomach flutter.

You bit your lip. You should have opened the door by now, but it passed your mind. The touch of dramatics this moment held behind door amused you. A little childish but amusing.

"No, you dorks." You opened the door to see worry written all over their faces. "You're ruining my plans! I ordered dinner, and I had a full speech planned. You're soiling it!"

They gave each other a look, one that you had seen before. Bucky slowly closed the door behind him as Nat stepped towards you. Her eyes glinted with desire. You wanted to whine about them ruining your plans, but you also wanted to drop to your knees and let them have their way with you. Especially, if they kept looking at you that way.

"Can we have dessert first, kitten?" Bucky's voice always dropped whenever he spoke to you like this. It made your core ache.

"The food's going to get cold," you pointed out.

Nat hummed. "Sounds like our girl is getting sassy, doesn't it?"

She pushed you back onto the bed. Bucky stayed in his place by the door, but he peeled his shirt over his head and began unbuttoning his pants. Your view of him had been blocked by Nat straddling your hips, and she smiled down at you with that secretive smile - the one that sucked you in that first night. The one you only ever see her give to you or Bucky. It made your heart race.

None of this had been part of your plan, but you planned on submitting to them wholly. You'd bare your soul to them if they asked you to.

Nat's nimble fingers unbuttoned your shirt agonizingly slow. With each one she undid, she placed a kiss onto the exposed skin. And when she slid the shirt off your shoulders and tossed it to the side, she was pleasantly surprised to see you weren't wearing a bra. She hummed in approval at the sight of your nipples perked up just for her.

You arched your back and let out a gasp when she flicked her tongue over them. The sound ignited something primal within Nat, and she wasted no time to rid you of the rest of your clothing.

She rolled you over onto your hands and knees. Her lips placed tender kisses down your spine. Her teeth grazed against the soft skin of your ass, and you gripped at the sheets to keep yourself from letting out another gasp, but when she realized what you were doing, her hand came down on the same spot she nipped out. She warned you not to hold back any of your sounds unless you wanted to be punished again.

The tips of her fingers slipped between your dripping folds, and she popped them into her mouth, moaning at the taste of you on her tongue. She glanced over at Bucky, who was watching you two with lustful eyes, his metal hand pumping his length until a bead of pre-cum dripped down his head. Having him watch her work you over was only the first part of her plan. She knew the darkest parts of you loved this part. Voyeurism - once taboo is now one of your favorite secrets.

"She tastes delicious, Buck." Nat sucked whatever was left on her fingers and smirked. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to get her nice and wet for you."

Bucky groaned and leaned his head back against the door, his hand still slowly pumping his cock. He refused to get himself too worked up. He wanted to come on yours and Nat's skin; he wanted to mark both of you up, so you'd know you were all connected in the filthiest of ways.

But if Nat kept looking at him the way she was, and if you kept moaning her name, he was going to come undone a lot quicker than he liked.

"Don't tease me, Tasha," he mumbled. "Or I'm not going to last."

She kept her eyes locked with his as she sunk her fingers into your core. You cried out in pleasure, trying your best to clench around her fingers as she pumped them in and out of you roughly. She refused to slow down until you came. Until you let you a shutting breath and screaming her name. She wanted your juices to run down her wrist, and she wanted to smell the arousal on you.

You were going to be the perfect, worked up present for Bucky.

Nat was a tease, though. She refused to give you up until she saw Bucky come. She wanted the satisfaction of getting two releases from her lovers because she was greedy. Selfish. And completely enamored by the two of you.

------------

You leaned against Bucky's bare chest and stroked your fingers through Nat's hair since her head rested on your thigh. The three of you were breathing hard and covered in sweat. The room stunk of sex, but you didn't see that as a bad thing. Sex was how all of this started, yet you could smile knowing that it wouldn't be how it would end.

"The food is definitely cold by now, for the record," you pouted.

Bucky laughed, but he placed a kiss on top of your head to hide it. He thought what you planned was sweet, more than what he and Nat deserved. At least that's what he believed.

"We can always reheat it, princess."

"Well, yeah, but still! You guys can't always seduce me when I plan out cute dates, otherwise I'm going to be sad."

Nat smiled up at you. "You plan on setting up more cute dates for us, huh?"

"Only if you want me to."

You could feel your heart picking up speed again. This felt like the appropriate time to have the talk, but you were ready to pull back already. You could be content with it always being like this, couldn't you? Why have a talk about something that doesn't need to change?

Because you need it to change, you reminded yourself.

Bucky shifted slightly, so he could look down at you better. The warmth in his eyes calmed your nerves down almost instantly, and he knew that by the way your shoulders visibly relaxed. You probably hadn't even realized how tense you kept them until that moment.

"We know this situation isn't conventional, but Nat and I want this to work for all of us. It's weird to think that we didn't feel whole until we met you, but it's true. It took us awhile to admit that." Nat nodded, which encouraged him to continue. "We know you're scared because you think we'd be able to walk away since we're the couple, but that's not how we see it. We wouldn't be the couple anymore - you'd be in the mix. There's no walking away without you now."

"So, what would we even call that? A throuple?" You laughed at how dorky that sounded.

"That sounds made up," Nat piped in. "But, seriously, right now I'd call us a work in progress. I don't think any of us have had a relationship like this before. Threesomes? Yeah, that's been checked off once or twice." You both looked at her like she had two heads, and she shrugged. "Just me? Okay. Anyways, we have a lot to figure out. We have boundaries that we need to establish, and we're going to step on each other's toes more than once. It's going to take time, but I think it'll be worth it in the end, don't you?"

You leaned over and gave her a peck on the lips. "I do."

"Plus, we have to tell the others."

"Oh yeah," you sighed. "What fun that will be."

Tags: @coohlwhip @marvelfansince08love @ithoughtiwasflying @rororo06 @mus1cal-barnes 

Marvel Tag: @killcomet @stuckysheart @steampowerednightvaler @scarlettglowss 

[s13e06]

Different Worlds

Draco Malfoy / Female Reader

Harry Potter AU / Non-Magical

Summary: Starting college in a brand new country thousands of miles from home can be intimidating. Especially when the first person you “meet” gives you less than a warm welcome...

Warnings: a little swearing 

Words: 2.7K

Part 2, Part 3

-

Chapter 1

The air was cold and bitter as you walked down the damp sidewalk. Sighing intently while gazing at the shimmering piles of snow spread along your path. A strong gust of icy wind hit against your face as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Coming from an area that had particularly harsh winters, this did not phase you in the least. In fact, it was a little comforting. The fact that although you were so many miles away from home if you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend as though you were there.

It’s not that you were homesick, not in the slightest. After all, you had only arrived in London a few days prior. It was more so due to the feeling of creeping anxiety that you’d experienced the past few days.

The thought of starting a new schooling experience in another country, so far from home, and with absolutely no friends, had left you with the heavyweight of dread in your stomach.

So, as you slowly came to a stop on the street, you reveled in the feeling of the freezing wind as you closed your eyes and thought of home.

-

When you arrived at the entrance of King’s College you couldn’t help but marvel at it for a moment. The old architecture was definitely a sight to behold, the aged look only further upholding its reputation.

This was it. This was where you would be spending the next two years of your life. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you looked around, and for the first time since before you boarded the plane to London, you felt not dread, but, excitement.

“Well…” you said out loud. “Let’s do this thing”

You made your way towards the large building and headed in the direction of your dorm. To your surprise, they had assigned you a private room. A part of you was disappointed in the realization that you wouldn’t be having a roommate, considering it was practically a requirement for that first-year university experience.

But, at the same time, you were relieved in the fact that you didn’t have to adjust to a new roommate on top of the many other things that were new experiences to you.

By the time you reached the inside of your room, you couldn’t feel the tip of your nose, and your fingertips were far from better. You lazily shrugged off your heavy down coat, tossing it to the side as you made your way towards the bed.

Rubbing your hands together as you stood with the back of your knees against the edge of the bed, you couldn’t help but to lean back and fall dramatically onto the soft surface. You closed your eyes slowly and smiled to yourself.

For some reason, you had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

-

Oh, how right you had been. The day so far had truly been interesting. Although, maybe a more appropriate phrase would have been “stress-inducing”.

You had left your dorm, book bag in hand with the uttermost feeling of confidence. Today would be the day you started a new chapter in your life, and nothing was going to sully the moment.

That rush of confidence, however, instantly diminished around the second or maybe third wrong classroom you had walked into. You had realized that by this point you were already 15 minutes late to your first class and the anxiety was starting to sink in.

“Why is this school so fucking big” you let out with a frustrated sigh.

Just as you vigorously made your way around another corner, hoping that this would finally be the right hallway, you were abruptly stopped in your tracks. This being because you, of course, had run smack into somebody head-on.

You fell to the floor with a grunt as the man above you staggered slightly, steadying himself on the wall.

Dazed by the impact you could only bring yourself to gaze up slowly as a rush of embarrassment washed over you. However, any words you might have spoken instantly got caught in your throat at the sight of the man above you.

He was, to put lightly… insanely attractive.

His hair was a striking color of blonde, so light it appeared to be almost white. His eyes were a beautifully mysterious mix of gray and blue, and his skin was so pale you could easily notice his flush pink undertone.

You were so caught up in admiring the physical aspects of the man before that you didn’t sense his quick change in demeanor.

“Why don’t you stop your daydreaming and watch where you’re going. Some of us actually have places to be, believe it or not,”’ He spoke to you with a harsh tone as his face shifted into a slight scowl.

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Completely taken back by his harsh tone and cold eyes. Of course, you thought. You’d never have the luck of running into anyone who was both extremely attractive and a decent fucking human being. It just had to be one or the other… but never both.

With a rather annoyed huff, you gathered yourself and stood on your feet again.

You gave the man in front of you a rather nasty scowl before simply saying “Whatever, asshole” and maneuvering past him to leave hastily.

You heard him scoff behind you as you made your way down the first corner you saw and for a brief moment you worried he might come after you to say something, but he didn’t.

Relieved at avoiding any further confrontation you set your hopes back on finding your class. As luck would have it, this ended up being the right hallway after all as you found your class a little further down and to the right. You opened the door anxiously as he whole class turned to look at what idiot managed to stumble in 20 minutes late on the first day. You shot an apologetic look to the professor, who seemed to hardly acknowledge your presence, as you briskly found an empty seat near the back. Hopefully, the rest of the people at this school weren’t as nasty as that annoyingly handsome boy had been…

Annoyed at yourself for even thinking he was handsome, you made it a rule to yourself that if you ever saw him again you would neither speak nor think about him. You outwardly nodded at this mental decision with a smile. You would prevail.

-

As the weeks went by you quickly became accustomed to your new life abroad. The classes were interesting and as it turned out, the people here were not as mean as you initially feared. To your surprise in fat, you had already made a friend.

Her name was Daphne, and she was in her second year at the university. You had met her in your Anthropology class during your first week. The professor had told you to turn to the person next to you and have a discussion based on the brief lecture she had just given. When you had turned you were quite shocked by the sight of the girl next to you. She was so elegant and poised as she sat in her chair that she somehow seemed out of place in the dimly lit classroom. Thoroughly intimidated just by the looks of her, you gave a weak smile and said hello. Her face, which had been previously set into a calm curious state, turned into a welcoming smile as she greeted you back with warm eyes.

You had found that your first impression of her was severely lacking in the realization of just how great she was. After getting to know her better during the discussion times in class, it only took a week before she was inviting you to have coffee with her during the mutual gap in both your schedules. You agreed with her proposal a bit too quickly and spoke almost a little too enthusiastically to her as you took quick sips of your drink, eager to get all the words out.

But instead of being put off by your surprisingly outgoing personality, she instead responded by getting a little giddy herself. She even went as far as too shove you a little and cover her mouth as a loud laugh escaped her lips at something you had said. Yes, it was easy to say that you had really found a friend here and things were going quite well.

-

It was a quiet Wednesday morning as you left your dorm room. You walked with quick steps as you made your way to your Anthro class, you were running a little bit late which wasn’t uncommon for you. You had the tendency to be a night owl which resulted in late starts and heavy bags under your eyes when you woke.

As you made your way into class, barely on time, you noticed that Daphne wasn’t in her usual seat. She was always in class well before you. It was odd for sure but you did remember something about her not feeling well yesterday. Perhaps she’s taking the day to herself.

You sat down in your seat as you glanced at the empty one next to you. Not having her here for the whole day would be a little odd but maybe you could use the alone time to get a little homework done in between classes.

Maybe you’d even visit her dorm when you were done for the day. You had once seen her walk into her dorm building as you parted ways for the night and figured it wouldn’t be hard to find out which room was hers once you got there. You didn’t think the other tenants would mind if you snooped around for a moment to find her room. Perhaps you could even ask someone to point you in the right direction. After all, people at this school happened to be quite friendly.

What could possibly go wrong?

-

When you walked into Daphne’s dorm building, you found that it was strikingly similar to yours. This shouldn’t really be a surprise though, after all, why would it be any different? Your dorm building was intended for the foreign students but this one still bared no major differences. The building had about five floors and long hallways. The walls were an eggshell white that oddly complimented the light grey carpeting. The glow from the fluorescent bulbs set a comfortable ambiance around you as you took note of the various pictures hung along the wall. Each one framing a different historical school event.

You walked aimlessly up and down the first two floors for a few minutes before deciding that you’d stop the next person you saw and ask if they happened to know where Daphne’s room was. Deciding that there was no need to wander all five stories like a fool if someone knew where you needed to go. You started to walk back the way you came when you noticed somebody heading in your direction. Walking a little faster, you smiled as you were about to greet them and ask for their help. But, as you neared, you felt yourself stop completely.

It was him.

It was the man you had run into on your first day. The first person you happened to meet here. That absolute dickhead.

He watched you with a curious gaze as you halted a few feet in front of him, coming to a stop himself. For a second it seemed as though he was just going to keep on walking as his gaze fixed back ahead. But then his eyes snapped back to your face as realization dawned on him.

“Oh,” he said as he awkwardly raised one arm up to point at you before quickly dropping it back to his side.

“You’re uh… you’re that girl who ran into me before, aren’t you? The one who called me an arse?” he asked.

You scoffed lightly at the way he put it before simply replying with “Yeah, that was me”

He seemed to falter for a moment at your unfriendly response before he let out a little sigh.

“Listen… I’m terribly sorry about the way I spoke to you before. I wasn’t having the best day and you just so happened to quite literally run into me during it” he said. “Also, I can tell by your accent that you aren’t from around here, are you? No worries… not all of us are quite as nasty as I am” he finished with a little laugh.

The tension in your shoulders eased as you watched the way his face broke into a small smile. He was very attractive at this moment and he had just apologized to you. So really there was no harm in being friendly now. Maybe even a little too friendly you briefly thought.

“No worries, I’m sorry I called you an asshole. I also wasn’t having that great of a day, to be honest” you spoke with a giggle. “And don’t worry… I don’t think you’re nasty. Well… not anymore at least” you smiled.

He chuckled and looked to the ground for a moment before raising his face to you again. He extended a hand and with a confident voice said “I’m Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy”.

You took his hand cautiously, giving it a firm shake as little butterflies seemed to float around in your stomach. “I’m Y/N,” you told him with a nervous smile.

You could feel yourself losing your cool as you let go of his hand and brought it back to your side. He was handsome and charming… what a dangerous combination. Not to mention his name. What kind of fancy-ass shit is Draco Malfoy? You thought. Oh, you were screwed.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you Y/N,” he said with a smirk. “Hopefully, we’ll be seeing each around sometime?” he asked curiously.

You faltered momentarily before nodding your head a little too enthusiastically. Mentally cursing yourself before you said, “Yeah, I’d like that”.

You’d tried to make it sound casual but by the way, he eyed you with that same confident smirk you could tell that he saw right through you.

He turned to leave as he flashed you another dazzling smile. “See you around then,” he said.

You nodded and began to walk away before you remembered why you had been here in the first place.

“Wait” you called out to him, hoping he’d turn around again.

You watched as he stopped ad turned to look at you with a questioning and somehow devious look on his face. He didn’t respond but you could tell he was waiting for you to say something.

“Would you happen to know where Daphne Greengrass’ room is?” you asked hopefully.

His eyes widened ever so slightly as a small wave of shock ran over his features.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he told you with a questioning glance.

“Is she a friend of yours?” he asked curiously.

“She is, yeah,” you told him quickly. Hoping you weren’t coming off as some kind of weird stalker. What kind of friend doesn’t know the other’s dorm room anyway?

“She didn’t show up to class today and I got a bit worried. She mentioned not feeling well yesterday so I figured she may be in her room resting. I just want to check in” you spoke softly.

He appeared to be thinking something over for a moment before he responded.

“Of course” he started. “Her room is on the third floor, it’s on the right side somewhere. The door should have her first name and last initial taped on it if I remember correctly” he told you with a blank face.

You instantly sensed his mood change and wondered if maybe he and Daphne were on bad terms. It was obvious that they knew each other but you weren’t about to ask him how. Not when you barely knew him anyway.

“Thank you,” you told him cheerfully as you turned around and began to walk away briskly. You could feel his stare on you as you left. Something about that last interaction had been so odd. You were now very eager to find Daphne. Already going over all the questions you were planning to prod her with.

----

Author’s note: Hello!! So, as you can see I've started something here that I’m actually really into. I have a lot planned for this and many themes are to come. I might be posting this a little early but I just wanted to get it out there I guess haha. Any feedback is appreciated :)

[exitableunderpants]

mark me as your favorite memory

A/N: This is another rewrite from my old blog @editableunderpants. I wrote this after buying some Hawkeye socks and realizing there just ain’t enough Clint online. That is still true online. I need hella more Clint fics, btw. So, if anyone knows of some good ones, please send them my way. More rewrites are coming and some new stories as well. Are there any from my old blog you want to see me rewrite? I plan on doing them all, but have no idea of the order ATM. 

Pairing: Clint Barton & Reader 

Rating: Hella M for smut and my potty mouth. 

--

She was thankful for the empty room, giving her a chance to escape from the rest of the group. She loved most of them dearly but needed a break from them. The only noise around her was the cracking from the fire she had started. She watched the flames dance around as she sipped on vodka from the blue painted mug, the one he had picked up for her from one of the missions he was assigned to go on without her. She wondered how she got here, the turns in her life leaving her confused as ever, which she hated. Her life spiraled and everything shifted and was now spinning around, making her dizzy. Life for her was once simple, but all of that changed.

Because of him.

She had her share of ghosts that haunted her, and she was used to trying to outrun the ghosts, demons and skeletons that were hidden deep in her closet. Although she didn’t like to admit it to anyone, especially herself, there was a lot in her life that she was running from. She didn’t stay in the same place for long, and the people in her life often changed frequently, one face being swapped for another. She didn’t trust and was weary of leaning on anyone else. She had her own back, and didn’t really let her guard down enough to let anyone else in. Life was cruel and she knew that she could only count on herself, and that anyone could betray her.

Everything in her life was her own fucked kind of normal, until that asshole with his bow and arrows came to talk to her about joining Shield. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like if that never happened. Her life would have remained the same, which was neither a good nor a bad thing, but she knew it was preferable then the bullshit she was dealing with now. Her life had been turned inside out, and it left her confused, dizzy and dealing with all these warm and fuzzy feelings for the first time in her life.

Somehow, her dumb ass managed to fall in love.

Maybe she’d feel better if she cursed the moon or sucked screamed about how love sucked. Everyone already knew that though. Love was a losing game that you just played forever on repeat. There was no real winner in the game of love, just slow losers. It was quite the game though, she realized, because everyone kept lining up for another turn.

And in the end, she got a taste of it. She’d probably be foolish enough to line up for it all over again too.

That fucking asshole and his stupid bow and stupid arrows.

It had happened all too quickly, so fast that she never had the chance to realize what was going on. It started like it so often did, with the two of them as just friends. It took some time, but she found a new comfort with him and in time she learned how to trust him and to lean on him. In her first months as a new agent, the two of them had bonded and while friendship didn’t quite come naturally to her, but Clint was patient with her, letting her know it was okay to let him in at her own pace. He eased her into the idea of letting him in, and in time she let her walls come down around him. He took that and ran with it, introducing her to the rest of the team. Slowly, she was learning how to let them in too.

Like fools, they played with fire one night, both of them with an itch that needed scratched. While she maybe had imagined sleeping with him, there was no fantasy that would ever live up to the reality. She wasn’t scared to admit that he had straight up rocked her world that night, and though it was only supposed to be one night, they both ended up coming back for more. Neither of them had been in a hurry to put any kind of label on it though. Which, she was thankful for. Hooking up with him was one thing she was able to process and accept but coming to terms with it being anything else was another story. Instead, they continued in secret, keeping whatever this was behind closed doors. It was enough for her.

It was more than enough.

That was until her heart got in the way.

She never expected to fall in love with Clint Barton. She’d grown to care for him, and that was one thing. Loving him was completely another. It had hit her like a ton of bricks, leaving her breathless. She never really loved anyone else before, and suddenly her heart and her life had become entangled with the mighty Hawkeye. She had tried to keep her feelings to herself, not eager to rush off and ruin the little bubble they had created. She was happy with things as they were and didn’t want her heart to go and ruin that for her.

Only she had managed to open her big fucking mouth and tell him that she loved him, just before he left for a dangerous mission.

He had just started at her in shock before she quickly backed away before she took off running, leaving him to call after her. She didn’t want to hear whatever words came next from him. All she could think of was the upcoming pain and heartbreak that was headed her way. She never meant to put her heart on the line and was on the verge of her first real heartbreak. Clint Barton was a lot of things to her, she just didn’t expect him to be the man that broke her heart.

So, she sat here by the crackling fire, drinking vodka from her favorite mug.

It wasn’t a cure, but at least it had helped some.

His mission had ended, and he was on his way home now. She usually looked forward to those times, because it meant celebrating the return in bed, with his head between her thighs. She personally loved the way he celebrated, but her excitement had dimmed this time. Dread had filled her, and she hated it. Her heart was the source of the entire mess, and she hated it. She felt all over the place, and damn near unstable. This wasn’t like her. In the presence of Clint, she altered from the trained fighter and sniper she was to some lovesick fool.

She had become so lame; she just wanted to roll her eyes and mock herself.

“Hey, Babe.” His voice was low, and the dread that had filled her multiplied. She didn’t look to him though, avoiding him for as long as she could. Seeing him would make this even harder.

“Welcome home.” She tried to keep her voice even for as long as she possibly could. She could only hope that whatever came next was over quickly, a mercy killing on his behalf. She knew that this was supposed to be just sex, without her pesky feelings becoming involved. Although, she didn’t really need him to tell her that. She already knew how much of a mess everything was.

“I missed you.” He said sitting next to her on the couch. He said that after each mission, and she returned those words wholeheartedly. It wasn’t until late that she realized how much she did miss him when he was gone. It felt like a part of her was missing. She chalked it up to nothing more than worry and stress, but she knew there was a lot more underneath that she just wasn’t admitting.

“I missed you too, Clint.” She slowly spoke before turning to face him. He had a nasty purple bruise on his eye, under his face from someone that had gotten just a little too close. She reached over, the pad of her thumb gently tracing over the bruise. “Does it hurt?” She asked as his hand fell over herd, holding it for a moment before bringing it to her mouth and placing a soft kiss to back of her hand.

“Not anymore.” There was a grin playing on his lips and she was reminded on how honest he was with her. She had a history of being with men that tended to feel the need to boost their ego and say there was no pain at all. She’d been hit before and knew that no pain was a fucking lie. She knew it had to hurt to be hit as hard as it was to leave a bruise like that.

“You make it pay for him?” He laughed at her question before nodding.

“Of course.” He spoke before reaching for her mug, his nose wrinkling at the scent. “Babe, it’s still pretty early.” His eyebrow was raised, and it was so typical of him to worry and want to take care of her. He’d been like that since she finally agreed to join Shield. He was protective and had her back from the very start. It wasn’t something that was easily forgotten.

“It’s happy hour somewhere in the world.” She mumbled as he stared at her for a moment, she knew he was trying to process just how worried he should be. He reached over before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his eyes never leaving her.

“I think we should talk about when I left.” He started, and she felt all the air leave her lungs. She thought she had a grip on this and tried to brace herself. Those words were going to break her heart, and she wasn’t sure if that was something she was going to be able to manage.

She was still beyond pissed that she had to go and fall in love. No good ever came from that.

“Oh.” She took a big chug from her mug and he just raised his eyebrow again. She didn’t know what to say next.

“You love me.” His voice was calm and even, with no trace of anger and disgust in his words. She was thankful for that, at least.

“Look, I know the timing was terrible. I didn’t mean for it to slip out and I have just been sitting here for days.” She sighed, fingers playing with the fabric on the couch to distract herself from him. “I just—I tried Clint.” She was rambling, not even sure what it was that she was trying to say. She created a huge mess, and she wasn’t sure to go about tidying it up.

“I love you too, Babe.” His words shut her up. She just blinked as she stared at him, trying to process if she had heard him correctly.

“Oh.” It was all she could really muster. “Oh.”

“Babe,” his voice was soft as his fingers were under her chin, raising her head to look at him. Their eyes locked and she took the moment to memorize the color of his eyes. “I love you, you goof.” Those words caused a smile to spread across her face, reality sinking in. His hand now cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Say it again.” He urged and she didn’t need a prompt of what he wanted repeated; she knew what he wanted to hear.

“I love you, Clint Barton.” The words barely left her mouth and his lips were firmly pressed against hers in a kiss that left her head spinning. One hand of his was resting on the side of her neck, the other now tangled in her hair. She let her hands roam down his chest, feeling each toned muscle under her fingertips.

“I really like hearing that.” He whispered in her ear after he broke the kiss. She let out a shaky laugh as his mouth moved down her jaw and to her neck. She now liked saying it, now that the fear was gone and this wonderful knowledge of him loving her back had washed over her. She had no idea why he loved her, but she was not about to start questioning it. The fear of her words on top of worrying about him while he was gone had left her on edge for days, all she wanted was to just in lost in the man she loved for a moment.

The man who loved her back.

“I love you.” She repeated, now aware that he liked hearing it. He hummed his approval against her throat, the vibration pulsing through her and causing her to shit her eyes in the pleasure. His teeth grazed and nipped against her skin, a soft moan leaving her at the sensation as his tongue darted across the skin he had nibbled at with his teeth. While he was careful to never leave any marks, she wasn’t too sure she cared in this moment if any evidence was peppered across her skin.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up as far as she could before his hands grabbed both of her wrists gently. “Easy, Babe.” He pressed his lips back to hers, holding her hands still as she tried to fight to reach for his shirt once more. “We are in a public area. We may be alone for now, but this is still an easily accessible and popular room.” She wasn’t sure why her little hideaway was as popular as it was, it was just one of the little corners in the tower she found and liked well enough.

“You are no fun.” She huffed, causing him to laugh.

“You are aware of just how fun I can be.” He placed a soft kiss to her forehead, standing up and offering his hand to her. “I just am not goanna share you. Besides, if they don’t know, then we don’t have to deal with any of the dumb jokes Tony is bound to come up with.” She immediately thought of Wanda and Vision, who after months were still hearing jokes about the two of them being together.

“It will be worse if we don’t tell them and they manage to find out on their own.” She warned, placing her hand in his. He helped her to her feet, his arms around her waist letting his hands grab at her ass. It seemed to be his favorite spot for his hands to rest.

“You’re right.” He admitted, a grin on his face. “So, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen by not getting caught in here.” Standing on her toes, she brushed her lips against his.

“Well, you might want to get me upstairs soon then, because I have these wicked thoughts about how blowing you in this room could be fun.” His laughter filled the room as he gently tugged on her arm, leading her out of the common room and to the bedroom that he usually stayed in. The moment the door closed behind them, she was pressed against it and his mouth was once again connected to hers. This kiss was rougher, and full of heat. She loved it.

“This is about useless.” He lifted her tee over her head, leaving her in only her black bra. He cupped her through the fabric, causing her to bite down on her bottom lip. He loved the fact that her breasts were very sensitive, and often used it against her to drive her wild.

“So is yours, Barton.” Her fingers played with the hem of his shirt once more. This time he didn’t stop her as she pulled it up his body, exposing his toned stomach. She bit down on her bottom lip again as he helped her get the shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor next to hers. His stomach was covered in deep purple marks and she sighed heavily as her fingers lightly traced over the bruises, noting when he winced as her fingers brushed against his bruised and possibly broken ribs. “Clint, you look like shit.”

“Too bad you never got the chance to see the other guy.” He snorted at his own joke, cupping her face in his hands.

“If you say so.” Her eyes didn’t leave his bruises, and she felt worry pit and bubble in her stomach. She knew the job and the life they led, but she hated the times he returned to her all battered and beaten up. He wasn’t invincible, and that fact scared her to her core sometimes.

“Instead of sassing me, Babe, why don’t you put that mouth to better use?” His voice was low and commands, and she just gulped as a wave of heat washed over her. She nodded her head, not sure if she trusted herself to speak yet. No words were really needed as she dropped to her knees, her fingers unbuttoning his jeans. He was already semi hard, and that was no surprise really. Wrapping fingers around him, she pumped a few times and earned a groan from him before she replaced her fingers with her lips.

“Mmm.” She mumbled, with a mouth full of him. It was a common scene between the two of them, with her on her knees. She loved it. It was a power play and Clint held most of the power behind their closed door, something she didn’t mind in the slightest and loved the way he took control. It made her heart flutter and heat pool between her legs with each command from him. This was the one time that she was able to hold some of the power, while still handing it over to him. She loved as he unraveled in her mouth.

“Fuck, Babe.” He groaned, his hips jerking to their own rhythm as she hummed around him. Looking up at him, she saw him gripping the wall with his eyes shit and his mouth hanging open slightly. “I love that pretty little mouth of yours.” He remarked and she hummed her approval as his hips jerked once again. She loved watching the mighty Hawkeye become a moaning mess in her mouth. Though he rarely finished in her mouth, always stating he’d rather wait. She liked the times he had spilled in her mouth, because she liked watching him lose control under her touch. He always had her moaning and crying for more, so it was a nice change of pace sometimes. As his fingers gripped her hair, she knew that it wasn’t going to be the case. He pulled her up and crashed his lips against hers, turning them so she was firmly pressed against the wall. His hands undid her pants, before sliding under her underwear, two fingers parting her before stroking her.

“Damn,” she whimpered under his skillful touch. He just chuckled before connecting their mouths again, his fingers stroking at a pace so slow it was almost maddening. She tried to protest, but his mouth swallowed the sounds. He finally broke the kiss, pulling her pants and underwear down and tossing them aside to be forgotten. He kicked his own jeans off, before lifting her in his arms and grinning as her long legs wrapped around his waist.

“I love you, Babe.” He repeated once again with a soft kiss to her forehead as he laid her down on the bed. She grinned at those words, there was no way she could ever be tired of hearing them. They were to music to her ears now, and they played her favorite melody.

“I love you too, Clint.” She reached for his face, fingers tracing over the bruise again before he closed the distance between them, kissing her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers playing with his soft hair. The kiss only lasted a moment before he trailed his lips against her body, leaving soft kisses.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen some of these body parts…” he trailed on, a soft kiss against her stomach. “There is one area I missed quite a bit, and I plan on taking my time getting reacquainted.” She gasped at his words as he spread her thighs, placing gently kisses to her inner thighs before his tongue came in contact with her aching center.

“Oh fuck, baby.” She whimpered as she arched her back and rocked her hips forward. She heard his chuckle as he pushed her hips back down to the mattress, his hands remaining there to steady her.

“Patience.” He said, and she just snorted.

“Fat chance, Barton.” He chuckled against her, the vibrations flying through her, causing a loud moan to leave her mouth. There was something sinful about the way he made her feel when his head was between her thighs. His tongue swirled over her, keeping on a steady pace as she started to feel herself lose her control. She could feel the hot build up in the pit of her stomach, but he backed off just as she approached her edge.

“You taste fantastic, Babe.” He mumbled as he pulled his mouth away from her, whines of protest leaving her. He soothed her with a soft kiss to her inner thigh.

“Stop teasing me, asshole.” She grumbled, and he laughed before biting down gently on the skin of her inner thigh that he just kissed.

“You’re a handful, aren’t you?”

“You love it.” She said as she opened her eyes, looking at him.

“Yeah, I do.” She watched as he took himself in his hand, pumping himself a few times. Her mouth watered at the sight, trying to be patient for what she knew came next. He aligned himself wat her entrance, and she pushed her hips forward, causing a groan to leave him as he entered her. His hands gripped at her hips as he gave her a moment to adjust, which she was always thankful for. After several moments, he started to rock his hips at a pace that left her gripping the sheets of the bed, her eyes closed in pleasure. “You are so fucking beautiful, Babe.” He whispered as he lifted her leg slightly, allowing him to hit her at a new angle.

“Oh fuck.” She whimpered as she back arched off the mattress. She was already so fucking close. He knew it, because he increased the pace before reaching between her thighs, this thumb circling her clit.

“Come for me, Baby.” He whispered, and she was powerless against his command.

She cried out as her orgasm washed over her, leaving her gasping for breath and wildly bucking underneath him.

“Fuck.” He grunted as his speed increased as he hit his own climax, coming inside of her. He rolled off her before covering his eyes with his forearm, heavily breathing. Once both of them were able to catch their breath, he pulled her against him, and wrapped his arms around her.

“We are going to have to tell everyone eventually.” She said after a moment, looking up at him. “I mean, right? Is this something to tell, because I know we are just fuck buddies—”

“Is that really all you think this is?” She wasn’t expecting the confused and hurt look on his face.

“Well, not really. We just called it that, and never actually discussed anything else.” He sighed, placing a soft kiss against her temple.

“Babe, you never were just a fuck buddy to me. I don’t mix sex and friends—this was always something more for me.” He said, and it was her turn to look confused.

“You never said!”

“You always liked the idea of no-strings.” He pointed out, causing her to sigh.

“You were always different though, Clint. I don’t want you as just some fuck buddy.”

“Babe, are you asking me to go steady?” He had a stupid grin on his face as he mocked her, and she just playfully jabbed his arm.

“Oh, shut up.” She mumbled as he leaned down to kiss her.

“I like the idea of being more than your fuck buddy, Babe.”

“Good.”

“It’s settled then.” He hugged her closed to him, his eyes closing. It was typical of Clint to doze off after sex, not that she was any different. She could feel sleep trying to claim her as her own eyes got heavy.

“Clint?” She asked with a yawn. “It was never just fuck buddies for me either.” She admitted before closing her eyes, falling asleep in his arms. After all, this was her favorite place to be.

[missjanjie]

Branjie Fic | Take Me Back to the Start (2/?)

Title: Take Me Back to the Start Summary:   Everyone remembers their first love. Not everyone carries those feelings from childhood to senior year. Yet Brock is starting his last year of high school while still longing for the relationship he lost five years ago. Meanwhile, José is at the top of the food chain and seems to have it all together. But maybe their story isn’t over yet. Word Count: ~3.3k (this chapter) / ~6.4k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: T (so far)

Read on AO3

Five Years Ago…

José lay on his stomach as he placed his notebook out in front of him. It was towards the end of the book, the point where the glitter from the cover would rub off on his wrist when he wrote (and on his bedspread, much to his mother’s chagrin). And the difference between the start and end of the journal was a stark contrast as well.

The first pages of the journal were sweet and endearing. The margins of the pages were littered with hearts and ‘B.H. + J.C.’ and the lines were filled with the rambling and emotions of a lovesick sixth grader. But the tone shifted page by page, up to where he was now, with his latest entries sounding like that of a melodramatic sixth grader instead.

I’m getting real tired of how B’s been acting lately. He always in a bad mood but he won’t say why. I mean I know he mad cuz he don’t like my crew, but that ain’t fair. I don’t got no problems with his friends, so what’s the big deal? I’m meeting him tomorrow and I don’t even wanna go. This sucks :(

Getting his feelings onto pages did make José feel a little better - maybe his guidance counselor had a point - but facing what would almost definitely be an argument with Brock filled him with dread, something he had never associated with the boy before.

Brock sighed as he stared out in front of him. The sun was starting to set and the playground felt emptier than ever. He dragged the toe of his shoe through the dirt, tracing aimless patterns. He should have never gotten his hopes up, he thought, gaze shifting to stare at the ground.

“Hey.”

He still didn’t look up. “You said you’d be here an hour ago.”

José sighed, he could feel the hurt in his voice. And the way he refused to make eye contact made it even clearer. “I’m sorry, okay? I knew you was gonna go in on me ‘bout this. I didn’t mean to, but–”

“But you were too busy having fun with your new friends,” he said flatly, as if it didn’t hurt him to acknowledge. “I get it. They’re cool and rich and whatever.” He looked up from the ground, but only to stare up at the sky instead. Ever since the newly-established popular kids took a shine to José, he felt like the boy he’d known for years was turning into a stranger. A stranger he wasn’t too fond of, at that.

And José was put on the defensive at the accusation. Regardless of whether or not it was accurate, it was harsh and stung when it came from someone he cared about. “I’m allowed to have other friends you know. You ain’t the boss of me.”

Brock rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to be,” he retorted before his expression slipped back into a dejected one. “I just don’t wanna lose you to them.”

There was a beat of silence before José swallowed thickly. “Sounds like you’re tryna get me to choose between you and them.” Although his boyfriend was important to him, he was starting to feel overwhelmed. As innocent and light-hearted as their relationship had been, it was already a long one. But truth be told, he wanted the best of both worlds - he wanted Brock and his new clique, and he believed they could coexist if they tried. And he wanted to try.

“I’m not!” Brock got up and walked towards the edge where the dirt met the sidewalk. “But that just proves how separated we are because of them.”

“Then maybe we should separate,” he could hardly believe what he’d just blurted out. They were never supposed to break up, they even had a pretend wedding the past summer, where they promised to have a real one after college.

Although Brock had seen the writing on the wall, it didn’t spare him any pain, it didn’t make his heart break into any fewer pieces. His chest was aching and he had to work quickly to blink away the tears that welled up his eyes. “M-Maybe we should.” In a trembling voice, he forced himself to agree, doing his damnedest to hold it together.

And that was how it ended, the final nail in the coffin of a four-year relationship. They went their separate ways without another word. But the silence didn’t last – it led to many nights spent crying into their pillows, to awkwardly finding excuses to avoid each other at school. And sure, there was an attempted reconciliation over spring break, but they ended up facing the bitter reality that nothing would ever be the same.

Present Day

Brock could easily understand why everyone flocked to José – he was charming, effervescent, he was beautiful. There was simply no doubt about the magnetic attraction he must possess. And truth be told, he admired it, rather than envying it. He didn’t think he could handle the constant spotlight, having it on stage was more than enough as far as he was concerned.

“You’re staring again,” Courtney observed, poking his cheek to divert the attention he was giving far too freely to the boy at the other table.

“Am not,” he mumbled. His cheeks heated and turned red, and he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to further curl into himself.

Both of his friends snickered at the haphazard cover-up, which only caused his blush to deepen.

“If you’re trying to keep your crush under wraps, you could stand for some subtlety,” Steven chided and got flipped off in response.

Still, Brock couldn’t stop himself from stealing one more glance. This time, he noticed something out of the ordinary. “He’s not sitting next to Kyle,” he noted, his tone lighter.

Courtney perked right back up. “Oh, you don’t know?” She grinned while he stared blankly. “Okay, so, Kyle went to work at a sleep away sports camp over the summer and ‘allegedly’ hooked up with another counselor. So now they’re on the rocks.”

If any of them were to know any specific details of José’s personal life, it would be Courtney - for the sole reason that they were both on the cheerleading team, and gossip spread like wildfire among them. They weren’t friends per sé - probably because it was clear where her loyalties lay - but she was able to keep Brock up to date, whether he wanted to be or not.

“Huh, interesting.” He nodded, trying his best not to let a smile crack.

And unbeknownst to Brock, that connection she had was good for more than just gossip – it was the missing piece that was about to put their reunion plans into action.

It all started that afternoon after cheer practice. The coach had just ended the session with an empowering (if not a bit intimidating) speech about how important the upcoming qualifier competition would be to the year’s success. And that was exactly the segue Courtney needed.

“You know,” she mused, as if she hadn’t rehearsed it a dozen times, “my friend, Brock, had a bunch of dance competition wins under his belt. I bet if he and José work one on one, they could come up with a killer routine.”

The coach pressed her lips into a line as she mulled it over. There didn’t seem to be any issue she could see with bringing in someone with a useful set of skills. “Alright, if your friend’s ready, I think we can get started by Friday.”

“Perfect! I mean, I’m sure he will be. I’ll go let him know,” she assured, scurrying off before the woman could get another word in edgewise.

She shrugged, then turned and blew her whistle. “José, c’mere!”

José looked up from the conversation he’d been having with two of his teammates and jogged over. “What’s up?”

“Courtney’s bringing in her friend that’s some dancing prodigy or whatever, and she’s convinced you two can work on a routine that’ll secure us that qualifying position. So, you’re gonna partner off with him during Friday’s practice. Plan accordingly.”

She left before he could respond, but it didn’t take him too long to put two and two together. And the second he did, his heart started to beat faster and his cheeks felt red hot.

It normally took a hell of a lot to make José nervous. Whether he was confident in his success or failure, he took on everything headfirst and sorted it out later. But this was different, he had no idea what would happen. He hadn’t been alone with Brock since their brief attempt at getting back together all those years ago. How was he supposed to ‘plan accordingly’ for something like that?

“Babe?”

José jumped and turned around, his heart leaping into his throat. He was embarrassed to admit he’d expected to see Brock, not Kyle. “Huh?”

“I said, are you ready to go or are you still blowing me off?” He repeated, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed.

He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah… Just lemme get changed.”

“Mhm,” Kyle was already on his phone, texting away and giving a quick nod in confirmation.

José didn’t realize how badly he needed a shower until he stepped under the hot water. He groaned and rubbed his hands against his face. “What the fuck?” he muttered, resting his arm against the wall and pushing his forehead against his arm, sighing heavily as his gaze drifted to the floor.

God, how he wished he had the words to explain how he felt, how the prospect of being alone with Brock for the first time in a long time sent his heart and soul into overdrive. He wondered if he would have been more calm about it if he and Kyle were on more comfortable terms - reuniting with your ex while your current relationship had one foot in the grave seemed like a dangerous combination in it of itself.

But when it came down to it, José knew there was only one option. He just had to act as if Brock was any other classmate or teammate he had to work with - nothing more, nothing less. As he walked back to his boyfriend from the locker room, he even bordered on optimistic - maybe they could walk away from this as friends again.

------

Brock leaned against the bleachers that bordered the football field and took a drag off his cigarette. “I just wish you had run this plan by me first.” It was clear that he was actively working to remain calm, but the agitation in his tone still remained.

“I don’t see why you’re so worked up about it.” Courtney shrugged, sitting on one level of the bleachers with her arm propped up on the one above her. “This is totally in your wheelhouse.”

“I’m not a choreographer! I’ve never created a routine for a dozen people, or literally anyone but myself,” he groaned, resting his head against the metal beam.

She leaned over, her arms dangling off the side. “That’s why it’s gonna be a joint effort. You guys can combine your knowledge and that’s how you’ll bond. See? I’m smarter than you think I am.” She looked to Steven to back her up, but he put his hands up to let the two of them duke it out.

“Or you watch too many movies,” Brock huffed.

And maybe the plan was a little idealistic. Maybe there was too much room for failure for his comfort. But it was the only thing they could come up with, and it had already been put into action. Sure, Brock did know that he could bail on this if he was certain this would blow up in his face, but part of him did want to hang onto a glimmer of hope that maybe his friends were onto something. Besides, he doubted an opportunity to be alone with José would present itself in any other fashion any time soon.

So, he decided to go along with it. He spent all of his free time over the following days researching group choreography and watching cheer routine compilations. The routines weren’t overly complex, but there were more moving parts than he had ever had to deal with before. It was so much more than flying kicks and pyramids.

By the time the last bell rang on Friday, Brock decided he was as prepared as he could ever be. He grabbed his backpack from his locker and closed it, resting his head against the cool metal as he gathered his thoughts and tried to keep himself calm.

“You ready for this?”

Whether or not he actually was, Brock nodded and followed Courtney down the hall that stretched from one end of the school to the other, where the gym was. They had to separate and enter through different locker rooms, but reconvened before she introduced him to the coach.

The woman got up and circled around him like a vulture, eyeing him up and down through narrow, piercing eyes. “Alright, I see it,” she nodded in approval. “He’s got a dancer’s body, probably knows what he’s doing.”

“Thank you?”

She had already stopped listening and gone off to flag down the team captain, waiting with hands on her hips while José jogged over from the other end of the gym. “Alright, José, this is your new choreography partner. You two work here while we take it to the field,” she said before walking off and blowing her whistle, corralling the squad outside, leaving only the former couple in the room.

They stood there in silence, looking at each other from the few feet of space they’d put between each other. Second felt like hours and both of their stomachs twisted from the tension.

“This is the quietest you’ve ever been,” Brock finally remarked. Both of them laughed softly and the mood seemed to lift. It was a start, he thought. It was definitely a start. And god, he had missed his laugh, even that quiet, controlled version of it.

“Don’t get too used to it,” he retorted with a grin, running his fingers through his hair and resting his hand on the back of his neck as he looked up at him. “So, you got somethin’ planned, Mr. Choreographer?”

Brock set his bag down on the bottom row of the bleachers and cocked his head over, gesturing for him to follow. He sat down with his notebook in his lap and flipped open to the most recent page. “I have some sort of outline going, but I’m gonna need you to fill in the blanks, give me what to work with,” he explained.

José sat beside him. He had initially left too much space, leading him to lean closer to read along off the notebook. It sent a sudden wave of nostalgia through him. Although, thankfully, Brock didn’t smell like a twelve year old boy anymore, there was something comforting and familiar about his scent. It was clean and a bit earthy, like taking a long walk in the middle of spring. It was something he’d like to spray on his pillow - make it the first and last thing to hit him each day. “I think I can handle that. Whatcha need?”

“Technical stuff, mainly. Everyone’s height, physical capacity and limitations. This way we can figure out what sort of routines can work, you know?” he turned to a new page, ready to take down everyone’s names and details. He was actually surprised how easily it all seemed to flow. Once they had gotten over the initial awkwardness in the nature of their reunion, they found that they worked together quite well. They were patient, able to listen and understand each other, it was as if they’d been working as a team the whole time.

Towards the end of practice, José felt his phone vibrate in his sweatshirt pocket. He rolled his eyes as he looked at the screen and shoved it back in without responding.

“Something wrong?”

José pressed his lips together and gestured vaguely, mumbling noncommittally. But he could feel Brock’s eyes on him and he knew he wasn’t going to get away with that alone. “Kyle’s just bitching at me ‘cause he don’t got practice today, so he’s waiting on me to give him a ride home. He usually bums rides off his brother, but he got a new job or some shit.”

Brock instantly tensed up at the mention of José’s boyfriend, and the fact that he seemed so annoyed, even unhappy, made him feel justified in his disdain. He wanted to go on a rant, let him know exactly how much of a prick he thought Kyle was. He was biting his tongue to keep venom from spewing out. Instead, he just swallowed his emotions and shook his head. “If he’s so worried about getting home, he can walk, right?”

“Yeah!” He latched right onto that, sitting upright and yanking his phone back out, relaying Brock’s sentiments through text. It was nice to be around someone that wasn’t busy kissing Kyle’s ass, for once. Every other time he had attempted to vent about his relationship, he was met with either indifference or ended up on the losing end of an argument with someone more interested in maintaining their social standing.

But Brock had never cared about any of that. He had never given a damn about being popular or staying on anyone’s good side. He was perfectly content to have a small friend group on the fringe of high school society. No one ever gave him much trouble, as that would require going out of their way to find him.

In middle school, that had been the biggest source of friction between the two of them. José had jumped on the opportunity to make new friends and was eager to make them all like him. And they all seemed to share that need for attention. But now, Brock’s introverted indifference was a breath of fresh air. It was a pleasant reminder that the world didn’t revolve around keeping his place at the top of the food chain.

“You have a visitor.” Brock nudged him to get his attention when Kyle had walked up to the pair. The two of them locked eyes and there was an immediate disdain between them. Anger flashed in his eyes as he looked up at him, daring him to speak to José with the same attitude he had through text.

Kyle decided not to verbally acknowledge Brock at all, angling his body so he was only facing the other male. “Babe, I’m not trying to be a dick, I swear. I’m just tired. Can we just go? Please?” it wasn’t clear if he actually felt bad or if he was just trying to get back in José’s good graces, but it seemed to be enough.

“Yeah, uh, we just about done, right?” José looked to Brock with an apologetic grimace as he started to gather his things and get up.

“Right. We’ll pick back up next time,” Brock’s jaw was clenched as he spoke, shooting a glare towards the quarterback as he shoved his belongings back into his bag. He turned back towards José with a softer expression. “I’ll text you tomorrow,” he patted his shoulder lightly before making his way towards the exit.

José offered a prompt confirmation and goodbye in response, watching him leave and feeling like a part of himself left with him. It took Kyle’s arm around his waist to get him to leave, but even then he glanced over his shoulder one more time.

“Why are you hanging out with him anyway? Isn’t that Courtney’s weird dancer friend?”

“He… yeah, he’s just helping us out, that’s all.” That was all, he repeated to himself.

[artificialqueens]

Take Me Back to the Start (Chapter 2) - Joley

(read on ao3)

Five Years Ago…

José lay on his stomach as he placed his notebook out in front of him. It was towards the end of the book, the point where the glitter from the cover would rub off on his wrist when he wrote (and on his bedspread, much to his mother’s chagrin). And the difference between the start and end of the journal was a stark contrast as well.

The first pages of the journal were sweet and endearing. The margins of the pages were littered with hearts and ‘B.H. + J.C.’ and the lines were filled with the rambling and emotions of a lovesick sixth grader. But the tone shifted page by page, up to where he was now, with his latest entries sounding like that of a melodramatic sixth grader instead.

I’m getting real tired of how B’s been acting lately. He always in a bad mood but he won’t say why. I mean I know he mad cuz he don’t like my crew, but that ain’t fair. I don’t got no problems with his friends, so what’s the big deal? I’m meeting him tomorrow and I don’t even wanna go. This sucks :(

Getting his feelings onto pages did make José feel a little better - maybe his guidance counselor had a point - but facing what would almost definitely be an argument with Brock filled him with dread, something he had never associated with the boy before.

Brock sighed as he stared out in front of him. The sun was starting to set and the playground felt emptier than ever. He dragged the toe of his shoe through the dirt, tracing aimless patterns. He should have never gotten his hopes up, he thought, gaze shifting to stare at the ground.

“Hey.”

He still didn’t look up. “You said you’d be here an hour ago.”

José sighed, he could feel the hurt in his voice. And the way he refused to make eye contact made it even clearer. “I’m sorry, okay? I knew you was gonna go in on me ‘bout this. I didn’t mean to, but–”

“But you were too busy having fun with your new friends,” he said flatly, as if it didn’t hurt him to acknowledge. “I get it. They’re cool and rich and whatever.” He looked up from the ground, but only to stare up at the sky instead. Ever since the newly-established popular kids took a shine to José, he felt like the boy he’d known for years was turning into a stranger. A stranger he wasn’t too fond of, at that.

And José was put on the defensive at the accusation. Regardless of whether or not it was accurate, it was harsh and stung when it came from someone he cared about. “I’m allowed to have other friends you know. You ain’t the boss of me.”

Brock rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to be,” he retorted before his expression slipped back into a dejected one. “I just don’t wanna lose you to them.”

There was a beat of silence before José swallowed thickly. “Sounds like you’re tryna get me to choose between you and them.” Although his boyfriend was important to him, he was starting to feel overwhelmed. As innocent and light-hearted as their relationship had been, it was already a long one. But truth be told, he wanted the best of both worlds - he wanted Brock and his new clique, and he believed they could coexist if they tried. And he wanted to try.

“I’m not!” Brock got up and walked towards the edge where the dirt met the sidewalk. “But that just proves how separated we are because of them.”

“Then maybe we should separate,” he could hardly believe what he’d just blurted out. They were never supposed to break up, they even had a pretend wedding the past summer, where they promised to have a real one after college.

Although Brock had seen the writing on the wall, it didn’t spare him any pain, it didn’t make his heart break into any fewer pieces. His chest was aching and he had to work quickly to blink away the tears that welled up his eyes. “M-Maybe we should.” In a trembling voice, he forced himself to agree, doing his damnedest to hold it together.

And that was how it ended, the final nail in the coffin of a four-year relationship. They went their separate ways without another word. But the silence didn’t last – it led to many nights spent crying into their pillows, to awkwardly finding excuses to avoid each other at school. And sure, there was an attempted reconciliation over spring break, but they ended up facing the bitter reality that nothing would ever be the same.

Present Day

Brock could easily understand why everyone flocked to José – he was charming, effervescent, he was beautiful. There was simply no doubt about the magnetic attraction he must possess. And truth be told, he admired it, rather than envying it. He didn’t think he could handle the constant spotlight, having it on stage was more than enough as far as he was concerned.

“You’re staring again,” Courtney observed, poking his cheek to divert the attention he was giving far too freely to the boy at the other table.

“Am not,” he mumbled. His cheeks heated and turned red, and he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to further curl into himself.

Both of his friends snickered at the haphazard cover-up, which only caused his blush to deepen.

“If you’re trying to keep your crush under wraps, you could stand for some subtlety,” Steven chided and got flipped off in response.

Still, Brock couldn’t stop himself from stealing one more glance. This time, he noticed something out of the ordinary. “He’s not sitting next to Kyle,” he noted, his tone lighter.

Courtney perked right back up. “Oh, you don’t know?” She grinned while he stared blankly. “Okay, so, Kyle went to work at a sleep away sports camp over the summer and ‘allegedly’ hooked up with another counselor. So now they’re on the rocks.”

If any of them were to know any specific details of José’s personal life, it would be Courtney - for the sole reason that they were both on the cheerleading team, and gossip spread like wildfire among them. They weren’t friends per sé - probably because it was clear where her loyalties lay - but she was able to keep Brock up to date, whether he wanted to be or not.

“Huh, interesting.” He nodded, trying his best not to let a smile crack.

And unbeknownst to Brock, that connection she had was good for more than just gossip – it was the missing piece that was about to put their reunion plans into action.

It all started that afternoon after cheer practice. The coach had just ended the session with an empowering (if not a bit intimidating) speech about how important the upcoming qualifier competition would be to the year’s success. And that was exactly the segue Courtney needed.

“You know,” she mused, as if she hadn’t rehearsed it a dozen times, “my friend, Brock, had a bunch of dance competition wins under his belt. I bet if he and José work one on one, they could come up with a killer routine.”

The coach pressed her lips into a line as she mulled it over. There didn’t seem to be any issue she could see with bringing in someone with a useful set of skills. “Alright, if your friend’s ready, I think we can get started by Friday.”

“Perfect! I mean, I’m sure he will be. I’ll go let him know,” she assured, scurrying off before the woman could get another word in edgewise.

She shrugged, then turned and blew her whistle. “José, c’mere!”

José looked up from the conversation he’d been having with two of his teammates and jogged over. “What’s up?”

“Courtney’s bringing in her friend that’s some dancing prodigy or whatever, and she’s convinced you two can work on a routine that’ll secure us that qualifying position. So, you’re gonna partner off with him during Friday’s practice. Plan accordingly.”

She left before he could respond, but it didn’t take him too long to put two and two together. And the second he did, his heart started to beat faster and his cheeks felt red hot.

It normally took a hell of a lot to make José nervous. Whether he was confident in his success or failure, he took on everything headfirst and sorted it out later. But this was different, he had no idea what would happen. He hadn’t been alone with Brock since their brief attempt at getting back together all those years ago. How was he supposed to ‘plan accordingly’ for something like that?

“Babe?”

José jumped and turned around, his heart leaping into his throat. He was embarrassed to admit he’d expected to see Brock, not Kyle. “Huh?”

“I said, are you ready to go or are you still blowing me off?” He repeated, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed.

He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah… Just lemme get changed.”

“Mhm,” Kyle was already on his phone, texting away and giving a quick nod in confirmation.

José didn’t realize how badly he needed a shower until he stepped under the hot water. He groaned and rubbed his hands against his face. “What the fuck?” he muttered, resting his arm against the wall and pushing his forehead against his arm, sighing heavily as his gaze drifted to the floor.

God, how he wished he had the words to explain how he felt, how the prospect of being alone with Brock for the first time in a long time sent his heart and soul into overdrive. He wondered if he would have been more calm about it if he and Kyle were on more comfortable terms - reuniting with your ex while your current relationship had one foot in the grave seemed like a dangerous combination in it of itself.

But when it came down to it, José knew there was only one option. He just had to act as if Brock was any other classmate or teammate he had to work with - nothing more, nothing less. As he walked back to his boyfriend from the locker room, he even bordered on optimistic - maybe they could walk away from this as friends again.

——

Brock leaned against the bleachers that bordered the football field and took a drag off his cigarette. “I just wish you had run this plan by me first.” It was clear that he was actively working to remain calm, but the agitation in his tone still remained.

“I don’t see why you’re so worked up about it.” Courtney shrugged, sitting on one level of the bleachers with her arm propped up on the one above her. “This is totally in your wheelhouse.”

“I’m not a choreographer! I’ve never created a routine for a dozen people, or literally anyone but myself,” he groaned, resting his head against the metal beam.

She leaned over, her arms dangling off the side. “That’s why it’s gonna be a joint effort. You guys can combine your knowledge and that’s how you’ll bond. See? I’m smarter than you think I am.” She looked to Steven to back her up, but he put his hands up to let the two of them duke it out.

“Or you watch too many movies,” Brock huffed.

And maybe the plan was a little idealistic. Maybe there was too much room for failure for his comfort. But it was the only thing they could come up with, and it had already been put into action. Sure, Brock did know that he could bail on this if he was certain this would blow up in his face, but part of him did want to hang onto a glimmer of hope that maybe his friends were onto something. Besides, he doubted an opportunity to be alone with José would present itself in any other fashion any time soon.

So, he decided to go along with it. He spent all of his free time over the following days researching group choreography and watching cheer routine compilations. The routines weren’t overly complex, but there were more moving parts than he had ever had to deal with before. It was so much more than flying kicks and pyramids.

By the time the last bell rang on Friday, Brock decided he was as prepared as he could ever be. He grabbed his backpack from his locker and closed it, resting his head against the cool metal as he gathered his thoughts and tried to keep himself calm.

“You ready for this?”

Whether or not he actually was, Brock nodded and followed Courtney down the hall that stretched from one end of the school to the other, where the gym was. They had to separate and enter through different locker rooms, but reconvened before she introduced him to the coach.

The woman got up and circled around him like a vulture, eyeing him up and down through narrow, piercing eyes. “Alright, I see it,” she nodded in approval. “He’s got a dancer’s body, probably knows what he’s doing.”

“Thank you?”

She had already stopped listening and gone off to flag down the team captain, waiting with hands on her hips while José jogged over from the other end of the gym. “Alright, José, this is your new choreography partner. You two work here while we take it to the field,” she said before walking off and blowing her whistle, corralling the squad outside, leaving only the former couple in the room.

They stood there in silence, looking at each other from the few feet of space they’d put between each other. Second felt like hours and both of their stomachs twisted from the tension.

“This is the quietest you’ve ever been,” Brock finally remarked. Both of them laughed softly and the mood seemed to lift. It was a start, he thought. It was definitely a start. And god, he had missed his laugh, even that quiet, controlled version of it.

“Don’t get too used to it,” he retorted with a grin, running his fingers through his hair and resting his hand on the back of his neck as he looked up at him. “So, you got somethin’ planned, Mr. Choreographer?”

Brock set his bag down on the bottom row of the bleachers and cocked his head over, gesturing for him to follow. He sat down with his notebook in his lap and flipped open to the most recent page. “I have some sort of outline going, but I’m gonna need you to fill in the blanks, give me what to work with,” he explained.

José sat beside him. He had initially left too much space, leading him to lean closer to read along off the notebook. It sent a sudden wave of nostalgia through him. Although, thankfully, Brock didn’t smell like a twelve year old boy anymore, there was something comforting and familiar about his scent. It was clean and a bit earthy, like taking a long walk in the middle of spring. It was something he’d like to spray on his pillow - make it the first and last thing to hit him each day. “I think I can handle that. Whatcha need?”

“Technical stuff, mainly. Everyone’s height, physical capacity and limitations. This way we can figure out what sort of routines can work, you know?” he turned to a new page, ready to take down everyone’s names and details. He was actually surprised how easily it all seemed to flow. Once they had gotten over the initial awkwardness in the nature of their reunion, they found that they worked together quite well. They were patient, able to listen and understand each other, it was as if they’d been working as a team the whole time.

Towards the end of practice, José felt his phone vibrate in his sweatshirt pocket. He rolled his eyes as he looked at the screen and shoved it back in without responding.

“Something wrong?”

José pressed his lips together and gestured vaguely, mumbling noncommittally. But he could feel Brock’s eyes on him and he knew he wasn’t going to get away with that alone. “Kyle’s just bitching at me ‘cause he don’t got practice today, so he’s waiting on me to give him a ride home. He usually bums rides off his brother, but he got a new job or some shit.”

Brock instantly tensed up at the mention of José’s boyfriend, and the fact that he seemed so annoyed, even unhappy, made him feel justified in his disdain. He wanted to go on a rant, let him know exactly how much of a prick he thought Kyle was. He was biting his tongue to keep venom from spewing out. Instead, he just swallowed his emotions and shook his head. “If he’s so worried about getting home, he can walk, right?”

“Yeah!” He latched right onto that, sitting upright and yanking his phone back out, relaying Brock’s sentiments through text. It was nice to be around someone that wasn’t busy kissing Kyle’s ass, for once. Every other time he had attempted to vent about his relationship, he was met with either indifference or ended up on the losing end of an argument with someone more interested in maintaining their social standing.

But Brock had never cared about any of that. He had never given a damn about being popular or staying on anyone’s good side. He was perfectly content to have a small friend group on the fringe of high school society. No one ever gave him much trouble, as that would require going out of their way to find him.

In middle school, that had been the biggest source of friction between the two of them. José had jumped on the opportunity to make new friends and was eager to make them all like him. And they all seemed to share that need for attention. But now, Brock’s introverted indifference was a breath of fresh air. It was a pleasant reminder that the world didn’t revolve around keeping his place at the top of the food chain.

“You have a visitor.” Brock nudged him to get his attention when Kyle had walked up to the pair. The two of them locked eyes and there was an immediate disdain between them. Anger flashed in his eyes as he looked up at him, daring him to speak to José with the same attitude he had through text.

Kyle decided not to verbally acknowledge Brock at all, angling his body so he was only facing the other male. “Babe, I’m not trying to be a dick, I swear. I’m just tired. Can we just go? Please?” it wasn’t clear if he actually felt bad or if he was just trying to get back in José’s good graces, but it seemed to be enough.

“Yeah, uh, we just about done, right?” José looked to Brock with an apologetic grimace as he started to gather his things and get up.

“Right. We’ll pick back up next time,” Brock’s jaw was clenched as he spoke, shooting a glare towards the quarterback as he shoved his belongings back into his bag. He turned back towards José with a softer expression. “I’ll text you tomorrow,” he patted his shoulder lightly before making his way towards the exit.

José offered a prompt confirmation and goodbye in response, watching him leave and feeling like a part of himself left with him. It took Kyle’s arm around his waist to get him to leave, but even then he glanced over his shoulder one more time.

“Why are you hanging out with him anyway? Isn’t that Courtney’s weird dancer friend?”

“He… yeah, he’s just helping us out, that’s all.” That was all, he repeated to himself.

[writerunsolved]

The Drunken Mistake - Ch. 8

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: F/M

Fandom: Real Person Fiction

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Genres: Fluff and Humor

Language: English

Chapters: 8/?

Summary:  You're a young up-and-coming singer based in London who has just released her first album.

After a wild night at the VMAs and some heavy partying and drinking at the afterparty, you write and publish a drunken tweet about a certain celebrity and one of their friends. You only realise what you've done the next day when a slew of texts and calls wakes you up to a dreadful but expected hangover. You immediately delete the tweet, but you're left to deal with the consequences. A public apology would probably be enough to make everything go away if you hadn't been invited to a movie premiere where said celebrity is most certainly going to be.

You decide that the best course of action will be to try and avoid them, but your plans almost never go the way you want them to.

Author’s Note: Just a reminder that, because of Tumblr’s block of links - even internal ones - I can’t link to my previous and next chapters anymore. So be extra sure not to miss any updates by following this blog or subscribing to this fic on AO3 (link in the bio!).

Once again, your reblogs are an essential instrument for your favourite creators’ works to get around and reach a wider audience! 

This one took a while to get fished out of whatever place it is I get my muse, but it did come out in the end. Fun fact: with this chapter we've officially surpassed the length of Animal Farm by George Orwell and we're a few words away from Charlie And The Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl! 

Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

Previous chapters can be found on this blog.

Chapter Eight - Whispered Words And Jumping Sparks

-

You spent the next couple of days alternatively nursing your sister’s broken heart, and trying - without much success - to understand what happened. Amelia, for her own part, couldn’t do much more than cry and eat ice cream. Ben and she hadn’t been together long, but the relationship had seemed serious enough that you could perfectly understand your sister’s sorrow. In the last period, they’d even been considering getting a house together, which was one of the reasons you were struggling to guess what could have been grave enough to end the relationship.

You didn’t press the issue, Amelia seemed far from keen on sharing the details, so you just made sure he hadn’t laid a hand on her and that she was settled in as comfortably as you could make her. To you, Ben didn’t seem that kind of man, and it luckily turned out he wasn’t, but you could never be too careful.

From the little information you’d managed to gather, Amelia had gone home after work on Friday and she’d had some kind of argument with Ben - about what you didn’t know - after which she’d hastily decided to pack a few clothes and move to your house until she could be sure Ben wouldn’t go to hers again. However, Ben had easily guessed where he would be able to find her and, by Sunday morning, he’d come knocking at your door.

You were still completely clueless about the reason for their falling out when Ben profusely apologised to Amelia, saying that he was wrong and that he had made a huge mistake by hurting her and making her believe he didn’t love her anymore. He insisted that he’d been stupid, acting like a scared child and that he wanted to work hard so that she could forgive him. For her part, Amelia had made him promise that he would talk about his problems next time so that they could solve them together, and had accepted to let him accompany her home. She’d quickly gathered the few things she’d brought and reassured you that she was fine, with the promise to let you know when she got home.

You were briefly tempted to pull Ben aside before they left to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt your sister again, but he turned to you before you had a chance to do so and said with a regretful expression on his face, “I’m sorry,” so you decided to drop it and let them go on their way.

You closed the door behind them and let out a sigh of relief. Now that you were alone, you felt like you’d been keeping your breath for the whole time Amelia had been there. Seeing your usually cheerful sister in such pain had made you restless, and hidden worry had been quietly eating at you for the whole time.

You looked around at the empty house and wondered what to do. Amelia had completely disrupted any plans you might have made for the weekend - not that you’d had any in the first place - and with Monday off too, you found yourself at a complete loss for how to fill your free time. You resolved to make some comfort food after the crisis and to text Tom to let him know what had happened. You’d completely neglected your usual conversation in favour of assisting your sister, but he’d been worried too when you’d left the café and it only seemed right to make him privy to what was going on.

You entered the kitchen and started rummaging through your fridge and cabinet, determined to make a bowl of hot soup. The weather had finally turned for the worst the previous day, and an icy rain had been tapping incessantly at the windows of your apartment since the night. You managed to find some fresh pumpkin that you’d picked up during the week, so you took it out and gathered the ingredients to make pumpkin soup, leaving them on the kitchen island while you texted Tom before starting on the food preparations.

“Hey,” you wrote, “I’m sorry I didn’t text sooner, my sister just left and I’ve been away from my phone to be with her.”

You put your phone aside and started cutting and peeling the pumpkin. A few minutes later, you received an answer.

“Hi, I’m so glad to hear from you,” he replied, “Is everything okay? How is your sister?”

“She’s better now, she and her boyfriend had an argument and she crashed at mine.” You distractedly texted back, while continuing to work on your food. The exchange went back and forth like that for a while.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, is she going to be okay?”

“Well, the thing is,” you wrote, “He actually came and apologised and I guess they’re back together now?”

“That sure is a rollercoaster… a short one,” he joked, “But a rollercoaster nonetheless.”

You couldn’t help smiling down at your phone, grateful for the attempt to cheer you up. “Haha I know, right? But I’m relieved they sorted things out...” You went back to the food briefly, then sent more, “Anyway, how’s your weekend going?”

“Pretty uneventful,” he replied, “I met my younger sister for breakfast in the morning, but I don’t have plans for the rest of the day. What about you?”

“My sister was kind of unexpected, but aside from that, I didn’t really have anything planned to start with. And I have tomorrow off too, so that’s going to be a lot of free time with nothing to do.”

“Oh, wow! Long weekend? Is anything happening tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Nina’s (my manager) parents are visiting from France and she’s giving me a day off too. I’m actually meeting them for dinner tomorrow.”

“That sounds nice,” he wrote back. You kept stirring the quickly-cooking pumpkin and after a few seconds, he wrote again, “So no plans at all for tonight?”

“Nope, nada, zilch.”

“Would you like to go to dinner? My treat.”

Your heart missed a beat or two, his invite both unexpected and exciting. You took a deep breath and turned off the heat, gathering your composure. Then you finally texted back, “I’d like that :) but if I remember correctly, it’s my turn to pay.”

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet above the sink and made to pour the creamy liquid into it. When your phone vibrated again, you looked away from your hands for just a second, trying to peer at the notification preview and in doing so, spilt some of the bright orange soup on the marble countertop of your kitchen island. You cursed and hastened to put the small pot back on the stove while you grabbed a couple of tissues to clean up the stain, ultimately unable to see what Tom had replied.

When you finally managed to get a hold of your phone, you saw that he’d written, “That’s true in theory, but I’m the one inviting you so etiquette dictates I’m the one who pays,” accompanied by a winky face.

You smirked and wrote back, “Sigh… I can sense a losing battle, so I’ll let it go this time...” followed by, “But I have a good memory.”

He sent back an open-mouthed smiling face, then asked, “Any cuisine preferences?”

“Is it my turn to choose?” you asked him in turn, buying time while you thought about it.

“Why not, I was the one to choose Mama Thai so I guess it’s only fair.”

“How gentlemanly,” you joked, still unsure. Then, you remembered that Nadia had been raving about what she claimed to be the best vegetarian restaurant in the whole of London. Before he answered, you added, “Actually, I might have a place in mind.”

-

You left your house just past 6:30 that evening, having agreed to meet on location at 7:15 PM. The rain had thankfully let up earlier in the afternoon, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way seen as you were going to take the subway to the meeting spot. The restaurant Nadia had been talking about wasn’t too far from King’s Cross station, you’d texted her asking for the name during your conversation with Tom and had reported back to him to make the arrangements to meet. You would have to take the same tube line as when you went to work, and it would take you around half an hour to get there.

You’d kept texting Tom through your lunch and for a couple more hours after that and, when you’d gotten off the phone, you’d looked up the restaurant to decide on an outfit. You’d ended up selecting a fairly casual ensemble composed by a peachy tan silk shirt half-tucked into a pair of light blue mid-rise skinny jeans. You completed the look with a pair of black suede boots and your trusted mid-thigh black coat which you used almost every day. You were strangely aware of Linda’s absence this time, and you almost missed her irreverent opinion and determination to do your makeup, especially when you finally made up your mind and decided to forgo it entirely.

You thought you might have run late when your hair-drier had suddenly stopped working, but you managed to borrow your neighbour Laura’s - who was thankfully home - and you left your house almost perfectly on time if a few minutes later than you’d planned to.

Nevertheless, you arrived at the restaurant a little earlier than anticipated and resolved to wait for Tom outside, when you saw that he was already waiting for you a few steps away from the entrance. He was listening intently to what you supposed was a call on his phone, distractedly looking down on the ground and adjusting a fold on his shirt through his opened coat every few seconds without much thought. You approached him slowly, making time to take him in and unwilling to interrupt the call. You could see his mouth move but you weren’t close enough to hear what he was saying, but you did hear the surprised thrill of a laugh at whatever the person on the other end had said.

You felt tender warmth bloom in your chest. Then, for a split second, a wave of anxiety washed over you, like a portent of fear and danger, but the feeling was gone before you could put your finger on it, leaving behind the prick of confusion. You brushed off the strange sensation, determined to enjoy the evening.

When you finally reached him, Tom was putting his phone away into his pocket and lifting his eyes. He spotted you to his left and greeted you with a sweet smile, turning his entire body towards you and immediately going in to kiss you on both cheeks. You reciprocated the gesture instinctively, your body allowing no time at all for hesitation to settle in.

“Hi!” you blurted, a little louder than you’d intended. His smile widened. You got your voice under control and spoke again, “Sorry for making you wait.”

“It’s no problem at all. I only just got here myself,” he reassured you. “I’m so glad we could meet again,” he paused for a second. His smile turned shy and he hesitantly added, “You look gorgeous.”

“I- I...” you stuttered, at loss for words. You felt like your face was on fire. You hoped with your entire being that your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Thank you,” you finally mumbled, returning his smile.

“You’re very welcome,” he replied. Then he gestured to the door and asked, “What do you say we go in?” You nodded, he pulled the door open and waited for you to enter before following behind you. You hurried inside, surreptitiously touching one of your reddened cheeks, internally chastising yourself for your embarrassment.

As soon as the door closed behind Tom, a blonde woman wearing a black polo shirt with the name of the restaurant stitched on the chest in thick red thread approached you. “Table for two?” she asked, looking between you.

“Yes, please,” was Tom’s reply.

“Please follow me,” she smiled politely, then turned around and started walking towards a row of tables overlooking the street outside.

You followed closely behind, zigzagging through occupied tables, Tom at your side.

Soon enough, you got to your table. You and Tom stopped, while the waitress continued past you to a small wooden structured pushed to the wall where some cutlery and glasses were kept, along with various condiments and a stack of menus. She grabbed two and got back to you, settling them down between you and Tom. He thanked her, and then she was gone.

You took off your coat and sat down, looking around.

The place was a spacious room with tables of different styles, unified by the same colour palette. High windows surrounded two sides of the restaurant, offering a comforting look at the eerie glow of the nightlife outside. Alongside the windows, the tables were higher and the seats consisted of dark wooden stools you were grateful not to have been seated at. The rest of the seatings were arranged in two more rows, one of which was separated from the main corridor of small light beige tables by ornate wooden panels.

Families, as well as young couples, filled the space that appeared moderately crowded but not stifled. A convivial murmur flowed over the entire place, reaching the elegant bar located at the left end of the room, where more wooden stools allowed patrons to grab a drink without the commitment of dinner. The atmosphere was relaxed and homey but carefully curated like restaurant chains tend to be.

“I like the place,” Tom spoke, breaking your observations.

You turned to him and smiled, “Yeah, it feels very cosy.” He’d taken his coat off too and draped it on the back of his chair, which gave you a better look at what he was wearing. He was more put together than the first time, he’d gone for jeans again but this time he’d opted for a white shirt and a dark blue suit jacket instead of a sweater. His hair was as wild as ever, you could almost picture him absent-mindedly moving his unruly curls out of his face. Just as you were thinking this, one of his curls fell on his forehead. He moved it away and to the wrong side, leaving it sticking up and out from the rest of his hair. You tried to hide the small affectionate smile that took over your face.

A moment of silence fell between you. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it seemed like Tom was determined to say something he couldn’t quite gather the courage to push out. He inadvertently shook his head in a small movement, as if putting aside whatever thought was going through his mind. Then he looked up at you with a gentle smile and said, “We should probably check out the menu.”

You nodded and handed him one of the menus, then grabbed one for yourself. “Shall we share like last time?” you asked him.

“I’d like that, yes,” he replied, so you both concentrated on the list in front of you.

A few minutes passed, and eventually, you both made up your minds. The waitress came over to take your orders almost as soon as you put down the menus and shortly after you were served drinks.

“So, how was your day?” you asked with a nervous but sincere smile, the awkwardness getting to you. You had no idea why you couldn’t seem to make yourselves talk as easily as last time. Even then, it had definitely been slow-going in the beginning, but some embarrassment for a first-time dinner was to be expected. However, you’d met several times now and the painstaking rhythm of your current conversation was starting to take a toll on you.

Tom swallowed the sip of the Roasted Pecan Old Fashioned he’d ordered and smiled back. “It was pretty relaxed,” he answered, “I met my sister in the morning,” - you nodded, he’d said as much in his texts - “But the afternoon was quite slow. How about you? Are you feeling better after what happened with Amelia?”

“Oh, yes, I think so,” you played idly with your own cocktail glass, “I heard from her after we talked, and she seemed to have made up with her boyfriend.”

“Did you manage to find out what happened?” he asked, polite curiosity clear on his face.

“I actually didn’t,” you shook your head and laughed incredulously, “She only sent me a text saying that she was fine, that they were fine.” You shrugged, “Other than that, no explanation.”

He laughed too, “Your sister is quite something.” Then, he seemed to catch himself and hastily retracted, ”That sounded so rude, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” you interrupted him, smiling reassuringly, “I get what you mean. It was kind of a weird situation for me, too. But in the end, I’m just glad everything worked out for the best.”

He nodded, ”Yeah, I’m happy for them. Have they been together long?”

You frowned and looked away, trying to think back to when they started going out. “Uhm… Not very long, no.” You looked back to him and added, “About half a year, I believe. But they did seem to hit it off pretty quickly.” Tom took another sip from his drink and kept listening attentively. You explained, “My sister was super in love straight from the beginning, and it did seem reciprocated. He’s already met our parents, too, it got serious pretty fast.”

He put down his glass and nodded, looking to his lap for just a second. He reached for his glass again but before taking it in his hand he paused and thought better of it. He hesitated, then he finally spoke, “And… Uhm… What about you?”

He was looking intently at you, examining you for an answer, but you weren’t quite sure what he was asking about. You fidgeted nervously but tried not to let your smile falter. “What about me?” you asked him.

He cleared his throat and, with a small wave of his hand, he explained, “I mean, you and Andrea from the café seemed pretty close, are you together?” and looked at you expectantly, frowning slightly and touching his lips with a finger pensively.

You sputtered, opening your mouth several times with no sound coming out. You were completely taken off guard and had no idea what to say. “Oh! No! No, no no, no no no,” you blurted, that was definitely too many No’s. A laugh croaked out of you unintentionally, you slapped your hand on your lips attempting to cover up the noise. When you’d finally regained control over your mouth you tried again, more calmly, “No, we’re not.”

His smile returned at last, and his posture seemed to relax. You hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders, but once it was gone, it was unmistakable. He sat back in his chair and fingered one of the corners of his folded napkin on the side of his plate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply, you just seemed very friendly-”

“Oh no, I mean, we are,” you confirmed, “But that’s just because we’ve known each other for almost two years now,” you explained. You laughed slightly at the thought, and added, “He has a huge crush on Nina, actually.”

“Oh,” he considered, “Oh!” He seemed to come to a realisation. “I didn’t- I mean… I don’t- Is that,” he stuttered, “Is that something that bothers you?” You frowned, confused, so he elaborated, “Is it an unrequited interest situation?”

“No! No,” you denied vehemently, “No, oh my god, not at all.” You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve known him since before I signed with the label, and he’s always been so supportive,” you clarified, “He’s like a very encouraging brother to me. And his parents have been so kind, too.”

“Oh, I see,” he sighed. He seemed somewhat relieved, “Well, I guess I hope things go well for him. With Nina, I mean,” he finished.

You winced slightly, “Eh… I don’t know about that.” You saw the confusion on his face so you told him, “Nina is a lesbian,” you smiled.

“Ah,” he rubbed at his neck skittishly and smiled nervously, “I had no idea, sorry. I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth a lot tonight.”

You laughed, “It’s completely fine. And well, seen as I’m usually the one doing that, it’s a nice change of pace for once,” you joked.

At that, he laughed too. You lifted your cocktail to your mouth and took another drink. Just then, the waitress accosted your table, carrying several plates with your order in her arms. She put them down in front of you and you both thanked her, finally digging in.

You moved the food around from plate to plate, dividing the dishes you’d ordered so you could both try everything, and spent a couple of minutes just sampling and commenting the dinner. Then the conversation picked up again.

You braced yourself and, trying to gather your courage in the most nonchalant way you could manage, between one bite and the other, you asked him, “And what about you? Are you seeing someone?” Immediately, something in your lower stomach squeezed tight, anticipation from his answer growing steadily in your belly. You looked at him and brought the fork to your lips again, trying to masquerade your nervousness.

He swallowed the bite he’d been chewing and patted at his lips with his napkin. Then he smiled and looked up at you. “Not at the moment, no,” he said, without elaborating further.

His answer was more than enough for your nervousness to dissipate, the painful grip of worry releasing your lungs. Your lips moved to reciprocate his smile and you said briefly, “Oh, I see,” before taking another bite.

You both continued eating, idly chatting away the dinner. Around 9:30 PM, the waitress who’d welcomed you approached your table again and took away your empty plates. Shorty after she came by asking if you’d like dessert and, as you’d already done the first time you’d had dinner together, you opted to share and ordered a slice of Forest Berry Mousse Cake. In what felt like no time at all, that was gone too, and all that remained for you to do was nurse the last inch of cocktail that was left in both your glasses.

You decided it was time to leave when the waitress neared your table again, asking if you cared for something else or if you wanted for her to bring the bill. You accepted the bill and, as you’d predicted, Tom insisted on being the one to pay. You could tell by his determination that there was no way to win the argument and resignedly accepted his kindness, thanking him profusely. You both grabbed your coats and put them on, exiting the restaurant right after. As you’d also done before, you stopped on the curb on the side of the restaurant door again and Tom asked you, “Are you taking the tube?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I’m taking the Northern like towards Morden, how about you?”

“I’m also taking that one, but in the direction toward Edgware,” he replied, then, “We can walk to the station together if you’d like.”

You agreed enthusiastically, “Of course!” And so you started walking through the people passing by pressed side to side.

“Thank you so much for coming out tonight,” he said, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his coat and head turned to you so he could look into your eyes. He was smiling gently.

“Oh, no, I should be the one thanking you,” you protested, absentmindedly playing with one of the corners of your bag, “It was a welcome distraction after the whole ordeal with Amelia, and I had a great time.”

“Me, too,” he replied, “But it was kind of on short notice, so I would have understood if you’d said no.”

You smiled and looked ahead to the road, uncertain if you could say the next few words while looking in his eyes, “I would never have,” you almost whispered. He didn’t respond, and you instinctively looked up, the curiosity to see the expression on his face too strong to resist.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. He’d lowered his eyes to the pavement, and for a second you thought you’d embarrassed him. You were ready to apologise but just then, you saw a small smile grace his lips, and you noticed the faintest blush high on his cheeks. You looked away again, and another smile flourished on your own lips, filling your mouth with delightful sweetness. Something in your chest exploded with the tiniest pop, and your skin prickled as if dotted by sparklers.

He finally lifted his eyes and looked straight into yours, the smile on his face growing surer and brighter. He offered you his elbow, and you leaned your hand in the bend of his arm, getting ever closer. You spent the remainder of the walk in companionable silence, heat spreading into your bodies from the spot where you touched.

When you reached the station, you stopped a little ways from the entrance and separated, facing each other.

“Thank you,” you told him. If pressed, you wouldn’t have been able to explain what you were thanking him for, but it didn’t seem to matter because he pressed close to you and delicately put his arms around your shoulders. The tenderness of the hug left you breathless, disarmed to the point of being unable to reciprocate for the first few seconds. When you regained clarity, you squeezed him back.

After what felt like an endless time, he let you go.

“I’ll see you soon,” he told you, and you both went your separate ways.

Chapter 9 coming soon

@honeybournehippy​ @namelesslosers​ @unlikelytigerqueen​ @effielumiere​ @theoneannab​ @marikochi​ @sabine-leo​

@huntersvibe & @gaylemonshark: I’m unable to tag you both unfortunately, the reason might be that you have the setting for hiding your blogs on. Let me know if you change them and if you want me to try again!

[cosmic-spoons]

Lake Brightfall

Okay so this is an odd little fanfic I did as a request on Ao3 but I like it enough to give it a 50 Shades treatment and turn it into it’s own thing. Or...tried to, anyway. Mainly posting this for @aelia-likes-monsters because she deserves more kelpies in her life. (Don’t we all?) Maybe I’ll do more of these, idk.

Characters: M/M, Human x Kelpie

Tags: Light gore, maybe? There’s a severed hand involved but it’s not graphic. Also: puns. Bad ones.

Word count: 4,857

This was it. This was the place where it happened, Marcus was sure of it. Lake Brightfall was exactly how he remembered, from the jagged outline of the rocky shore to the way the gentle wind fanned his face and tousled his hair. He'd run along this exact pier in his nightmares so many times that he felt like he could count the planks from memory. The murky water below was crowded in blooming lily pads, unnervingly similar to the last time Marcus stood here, back when he was still a naive child. That was the last day he had both of his hands.

Marcus didn't remember much about that day. The traumatic experience had since been mostly repressed by his adolescent mind, and not even rigorous therapy could piece together exactly what lead to the loss of his left hand. All he knew was that one moment he was completely fine, just a normal kid who was excited to go to the lake near his home to show off his rock-skipping skills to his baby brother, and the next, he was waking up in the hospital as an amputee.

Nobody else saw what happened. Marcus' father looked away for only a few minutes, heard a blood curdling scream, and then found his eldest son struggling to swim back to shore in red-stained water. Three-year-old Noah was the only witness to the attack, but he was too young to understand what was going on, let alone describe what he'd seen. All they could get out of the confused toddler was the word 'horse.'

Clearly a horse wasn't responsible for that kind of carnage, though. The cut had been incredibly clean, as if by a razor sharp knife, prompting a huge investigation in their small town which shook it to its core. The very idea that there was a sicko capable of mutilating a child in broad daylight had the entire community fearful even to this day, as the culprit had never been caught.

It took a whole decade and a half for Marcus to finally summon the courage to visit this place again. He didn't remember the incident, but there was something about the sight of this lake that made his stomach churn and trigger a panic attack, so he spent the better part of his life avoiding it like the plague. Marcus knew he couldn't run forever, though. The older he got, the more nightmares about that pier he had, and the more he burned to know who – or what – that blurry figure reaching out for him from the bloody water really was.

Or maybe it was nothing. His brain could be trying to fill in the gaps with whatever scenario made the most sense in a senseless situation. He wouldn't be surprised if what little he did remember weren't memories at all, just figments of his imagination gone wild over the years, though he could swear those dreams felt so real...the water was so cold...

Unable to stand not knowing if he could trust his own head or not, Marcus finally decided that enough was enough. He was going to get to the bottom of this once and for all! Maybe if he could recover some real memories, his nightmares would stop. Maybe he could even provide valuable clues that would help catch the fiend who was responsible! Or, at the very least, he could conquer his fear of Lake Brightfall and visit his childhood home again without having to take a double dose of anxiety meds first.

It took several attempts, but eventually, Marcus managed to step onto the very pier that was the symbol of his mental torment and follow it all the way to its end. He came alone, which was probably not a wise idea, but this was an incredibly personal journey for him and he needed to be able to take his time. Nothing could distract him from what he was here to do! It was time to end this chapter of his life and finally-

“Greetings!”

Marcus jolted upright from his meditation by a cheerful voice coming from directly in front of him. What the...how did that voice come from in front of him if he was at the edge of the pier?

“Hay, down here!”

The young man brushed some ginger hair out of his face and looked down at the water to see, to his surprise, a face looking back at him. It was a guy floating on the surface around his age, maybe a year or two older, with eyes as deeply blue as the dark water he'd emerged from and bits of reeds stuck in his long dark ponytail. The hair stuck to his bare shoulders like running ink against tanned skin, and the stranger's friendly smile was toothy and oddly sharp. Marcus was too startled by this person's sudden appearance to do more than stutter out a very confused reply. “U-uh...hello?”

The stranger tilted his head curiously. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

Marcus was pretty sure he would have remembered meeting someone like this before. His narrow face looked almost like it'd been chiseled from stone, like a statue one would find in a museum. There weren't a lot of people as striking as him in this small town. “I don't think so, sorry.”

“Hmmm...no, I definitely know you from somewhere,” the stranger pressed, pursing his lips and rubbing his chin as he looked Marcus up and down.

“Did you go to Brightfall High?”

“Neigh,” the stranger shook his head with a light laugh, like the idea was ridiculous to him. “Have you been to this lake before?”

“Not since I was very young.”

“Huh,” the other shrugged, causing ripples to dart away from his toned shoulders. “Oh well.” What Marcus wanted to know was why the heck this person was swimming at this time of year! It was too early in the spring for a dip in the lake to be any kind of refreshing, yet he didn't seem bothered by the frigid temperature. It gave Marcus goosebumps just looking at him. “What are you doing?”

Nosy, wasn't he? “I was trying to meditate. What are you doing?”

“Greeting you,” the stranger answered, that sharp smile easily slipping back on his face as he folded his arms on the pier right in front of Marcus's crossed legs. Marcus nervously scooted back a few inches with his good hand, keeping his prosthetic one concealed in his jacket's pocket. He wasn't ashamed of his disability, of course, but he was well aware of how easily it drew the eye and would rather not have to answer any questions about it right now. “Greetings!”

“...Yes, um, hello.” From the way the stranger was making himself comfortable, it looked like he planned to stay and chat awhile. Marcus usually tried to stay a lot more approachable in normal circumstances, but this was a time and place where he'd much rather be alone. “Did you need anything?”

“No. Why?”

“I'm sorry, but I'm a little busy right now.”

“With what?”

“Meditating,” Marcus said pointedly, hoping he would get the hint. Unfortunately, the stranger's interest didn't seem to wane at all, looking at him like he expected more explanation. “...Which requires peace and few disturbances.”

“Ah.” Finally, he got the hint. “Okay, I'll leave you to it. It was good to meet you!”

He enthusiastically raised his hand towards Marcus, who eyed it warily. It was the right hand, prompting Marcus to offer his left. Except he didn't have one. It would be rude to refuse the handshake, though, and he wasn't sure how to talk his way out of it, so Marcus had no choice but to take the prosthetic out of his pocket, praying that the other wouldn't ask.

Marcus had no such luck, though. The stranger's eyes widened at the sight of the plastic appendage and was quick to grab at it. He completely missed the hand, though, and latched onto Marcus's wrist with his clammy fingers, lifting the sleeve of his jacket to gape at where skin met plastic. The nerve! “Wha – hey, stop that! It's rude to just grab someone's – wait, what are you – stop!”

The velcro strap around Marcus's wrist was yanked off and his prosthetic hand slipped from his arm and bounced off the pier, landing in the water with a plop. Marcus was horrified to watch it disappear below the surface, and then quickly shifted to outrage. He was about to yell at the stranger for his rudeness and pry him off, but the man with a vice-like grip on his arm and an utterly ecstatic look on his face suddenly lifted higher out of the water, leaning in uncomfortably close to Marcus' face.

“It's you! Marcus! I knew I recognized you!” he laughed. “And your brother, Noah, I remember him, too! You both used to play here when you were little!” Marcus was dumbfounded. Apparently he did know this guy from somehow, but he was less concerned about that and more about the invasion of his personal space. “It's me, Horace! Don't you remember me?”

Marcus wanted to be properly angry at the loss of his property, but those thoughts left him right as the air was suddenly robbed from his lungs at the sound of that name. It triggered something deep in his mind, like a faraway ringing bell in the dead of night.

Horace.

Horace...

Horse.

A feeling of intense dread overcame Marcus just then. The hairs on his arms raised with goosebumps as flashes of memory exploded in his head, glimpses of sensations and sounds straight out of his nightmares. Something round and smooth, a splash, a scream, a voice, the color blue, bright red, cold, pain, pain, paIN, PAIN-

“Marcus?” The man, Horace, tugged on his arm when Marcus's breath started coming quick and shallow. His smile gave way to too-innocent concern. “Are you alright?”

No. No, Marcus was not alright.

“Stay back!” he demanded and yanked himself away from the man, struggling to get to his feet on shaky legs. The blinding fear gripping his chest was indescribable, so much more consuming than it ever had been before, and he desperately staved off hyperventilating until he could flee as far from this place as possible. “G-get away from me!”

“Wait! Why are you running? What's wrong?” Horace called after him, swimming along the side of the pier to give chase. The way he swiftly glided through the water, parting the lily pads in his wake, was noticeably unnatural.

Marcus didn't say anything else to the stranger named Horace. He sprinted across the pier to the beach, half convinced that this was all just another one of his reoccurring nightmares, ran all the way up the hill to the parking lot, and scrambled into his car the moment he reached it. Horace didn't leave the water to follow, thank goodness, so Marcus locked himself in to collapse in his seat and cradle his throbbing phantom limb as he gasped for air.

He didn't know what just happened, but he knew two things for sure: Horace had something to do with why his hand was gone, and he was never coming back to Lake Brightfall ever again.

Marcus went back to Lake Brightfall a few days later.

It turns out there was only one thing that scared him more than crippling childhood trauma: the price of a new prosthetic. They weren't cheap! Marcus was already paying off enough loans from college and he'd like to be debt-free sometime this century. That being said, it's not like returning to the lake was an easy feat. Noah had to drive him there or Marcus would keep 'accidentally' missing the turn-off, which spoke leagues to how much Marcus didn't want to do this, seeing how he usually refused to let his little brother drive him anywhere while he still only had a permit.

Marcus spent the entire time trying to convince himself that everything would be fine. He wasn't alone this time and that man probably wouldn't be there so early in the morning. The bright colors of dawn were a minor distraction from the nerves that were making his foot tap like a jackhammer and pale fingers pry at the hem of his jacket.

He didn't tell Noah about Horace yet. For some reason he could hardly even think about the man without triggering another awful episode, so he opted to deal with that in therapy later and first focus on getting his hand back. His nightmares had been getting worse ever since that surreal encounter and he was starting to think that maybe he shouldn't have tried uncovering his missing memories at all. Perhaps his brain had a good reason to repress them.

“Alright, we're here,” Noah said as he parked the car on the hill overlooking the lake, his voice softer than usual. For once he was actually being considerate towards his brother on this touchy subject and refrained from ragging on him for his irrational fear. Marcus really must have been a mess. The lake stretched out wide in front of the elder brother's eyes, like a giant looking down on an ant, and he took a deep steadying breath and readied himself to leave the car.

The air was chilly and strangely still as they walked along the path towards the pier. It was so unassuming this way, surrounded by lily pads and reflecting the colorful sky on its calm surface. If Marcus weren't so terrified of this place, then he would have thought it was a scene worthy of a calendar. He stopped in his tracks as the two approached the wooden posts that anchored the old pier to the shore, but Noah kept going, turning around to throw him a raised eyebrow.

“Hurry up. You didn't drag me out of bed at 6:30am on a Saturday just to stand there, did you?”

Marcus shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. Carefully, he stepped onto the pier and watched the water around him for any sign of movement. He couldn't properly explain it, but there was an invisible itch in the back of his head, like the sixth sense of being watched...

“Okay, so where did you drop it?” Noah asked, eyes narrowed at the water, searching for any sign of the plastic hand through the gloom He wasn't looking anywhere near the right place, though.

“Over there,” Marcus answered, pointing to the very end of the dock where the water was significantly deeper, and Noah followed his finger with a groan.

“Are you serious? You dropped it all the way out there?! Shit, I thought it was just going to be in the shallows or something!”

Marcus's throat was too tight to chastise his brother for his for his foul language. “This is why we brought the fishing line...”

“Yeah, but it's gonna be ten times harder to hook it when we can't even see it that far down! Ugh, hold on, I'm gonna see if I can find a big ass stick or something. Maybe if we poke around first we'll find it.”

Noah walked back to shore and Marcus begrudgingly stayed put. He stood in the middle of the path and tried to do some of his meditation exercises while he waited, calming himself as best he could as he stood alone in the one place in the world he would rather not be. The silence was unnerving. It was so quiet that he could hear his own heart beating, which is why when he heard the soft sloshing of water behind him, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Marcus!”

Marcus's thumping heart jumped to his throat as he whirled around to find, to his shock, the same sharp-toothed smile from before climbing out of the water and onto the pier. Why the heck was he still here?! Marcus unwillingly got a much better look at him now, and he discovered that Horace was well over six feet tall as he stood up at his full height, built with a strong swimmer's physique, and bits of uprooted lily pad clung to his shamelessly bare body. What had Marcus letting out a terrified scream, though, was how the man's legs were bent in all the wrong places, ending in a set of hooves.

Hooves.

Oh god, this couldn't be happening! There was no way this was real! It was just a nightmare, Marcus told himself, and he willed himself to wake up with every fiber of his being. He didn't, though, and he jumped when Horace stepped forward, clacking loudly on the wooden deck.

“Don't be scared, it's only me! I'm so glad you came back! I have something for you.”

Horace was holding something out to him in his hands, but Marcus was too busy running in the opposite direction to see what it was. It didn't take him long to reach the end of the pier, though, leaving him trapped between the deceptively calm water and the approaching creature. “No – no, don't come any closer!” Marcus pleaded with short breath. Every ascending clip-clop sent an arrow of panic through his chest, but Horace completely ignored his distress with a perturbing smile.

“But I need to give this back to you! I've been keeping it safe for so long.” Horace motioned to the thing he was holding. “Don't you want it back?”

He was close enough now that Marcus could better see what he was carrying, but Marcus was too freaked out to know what he was looking at. Was that his prosthetic? No...Marcus's prosthetic was much larger than that. This one was small, more like...

...Like a child's hand.

“I always expected you to come back for it, but you never did. Do you know how hard it was for me to get it back? Not to mention how tough it was to keep it in such good condition!” He turned it around, proudly showing the pristine dismembered limb off, not a trace of rot or blood, and Marcus' stomach churned. That was...that was really his hand?! “Lucky for you, my magic is exceptionally strong!” That was Marcus' real long lost hand. “Here, let me put it back on for you! ...Marcus?”

The world was spinning as Marcus's mind reeled at the gruesome sight. A flood of sensations filled his head, making his lungs burn with the need for air he couldn't seem to find. Or maybe that burning was coming from the swirling memories he was reliving, the desperate gasping, the pressure of cold water, the sounds of splashing and screaming, his own screaming, blinding terror, sharp teeth, pain, fading light...

Marcus didn't know he was falling until the chill of water consumed him. Even then, he could barely feel it as his overwhelmed consciousnesses slipped away, and the last thing he was aware of before he fainted was a familiar shadowy figure silhouetted against the surface reaching for him...

For once, Marcus didn't dream. He was drawn from a void of empty darkness by the sound of voices talking far away...wait, no, they were actually nearby, and they were both familiar. One was far more familiar than the other, and it didn't take long to recognize the sarcastic tone as Noah. It took longer to figure out what they were saying.

“...othing? Not even me?”

“Nope.”

“Ah...that explains a lot, actually. I'm not surprised that you don't remember, since you were so young at the time, but I thought for sure Marcus would! No wonder he ran away.”

“That, and you're a naked freak with horse legs.”

“I told you, I'm a kelpie.”

Marcus felt damp and heavy, like his body was made of lead, and it took considerable effort just to open his eyes. When he did, he saw the roof of his own car above him, and he discovered he was in the passenger seat reclining back as far as it would go. The fan of his car's heater droned in the background as he looked around and found his brother sitting beside him in the driver's seat, turned around towards the one he was talking to, who must have been sitting in the backseat. Marcus coughed, his throat feeling like sandpaper, and the sound made the other two stop talking. Noah bent over and tapped on his cheek.

“Fucking finally! Hey, you soggy idiot, are you okay?”

“Uh...I don't...know,” Marcus answered blearily. “What's going on?”

“You fainted,” came the quick reply from the other familiar voice behind him, and when Marcus turned his head, he found that Horace was the one in the backseat behind the driver's side, voice dripping with worry and blue eyes full of guilt. “It's all my fault, I'm so sorry, Marcus! I didn't mean to scare you, I just didn't know that you don't remember the day we met.”

“Huh...?”

“Slow down, Seabiscuit. He's still coming to.”

It took a minute for Marcus to remember what happened right before he fainted. When he did, a sudden rush of adrenaline had him shooting upright in fresh panic. “N-Noah, what on earth is he doing here?!”

“Woah, easy!” Noah grabbed his shoulders when Marcus swayed, a bought of dizziness hitting him from having gotten up way too fast. “Calm down, everything is fine! Horace is the one who dragged your ass out of the lake!”

“He's the one who cut off my hand!!” Marcus cried, pointing an accusing finger at the person – the thing sitting in his backseat with his jacket laying tastefully over its hairy lap. It took a second to realize why everyone had gone still and was staring at him so weirdly. The finger he was using, it was...

It was on his left.

Marcus sucked in a shuddering breath as he drew it back and gingerly inspected his left hand. This wasn't...it was...this had to be a mistake. He was dreaming again, there was no way this was real! But no, the more he flexed his fingers, felt the warmth of his skin, and traced the lines of his palm, the more he couldn't deny how incredibly real it felt.

“Marcus,” Noah said his name carefully, patting his bewildered brother's arm. “Listen to me, Marcus, breathe. In and out. It's okay, you're okay, and yes, this is real. That's actually your hand, apparently.”

Marcus had no words. He didn't know what to say, or even what to think! There were no scars, no marks, it's as if he'd never lost it in the first place. But that's impossible, people don't just grow back their limbs! Especially after more then a decade! Oh god, Marcus was going to faint again.

“Would you allow me to explain?” Horace asked quietly. He was fidgeting where he sat, hooves tapping against each other on the floor and lips drawn into a thin nervous line. “I swear to you, it was all a terrible accident!”

Marcus didn't think he had a choice. After all these years, after everything that happened, all of those nightmares, the episodes, and now this, he was going to go clinically insane if he didn't get some answers right flipping now. He wordlessly nodded, and Horace started from the beginning.

“We met on the day you lost your hand. I saw you on the dock with your brother, and you were trying to show him how to skip stones. I thought it was magic! I really wanted to learn how to do it, too, so I approached you, and you agreed to teach me.”

...

Something round and smooth

...

“You didn't seem to care about what I am. I mean, you were obviously curious and you asked a lot of questions, but you didn't run away or call me a monster.” A smile returned to Horace' face, barely a twitch in the corner of his lips, but it was clear by the warm look on his face that that this memory meant more to him than he was letting on. “You let me play with you and your brother. We were competing to see who could skip stones the furthest, and I picked up the skill pretty fast. You were trying to beat my record when...”

…

A splash

…

“Your rock accidentally hit another kelpie in the lake. Ah, um, that's what I am, by the way,” Horace informed, gesturing to his legs. “The other kelpie was older than me, and he was much bigger, and stronger, too. And angry. He grabbed you by the hand and tried to drown you.”

…

A scream

Blinding terror

Fading light

…

“I tried to get him to let you go, but it was no use! Once a kelpie has you, it's impossible to get away.”

…

A voice

The color blue

'Don't worry, Marcus, I'll save you!'

…

“There's only one thing I could do: I had to take off your hand before you reached the bottom of the lake, or you would be lost forever.”

…

Bright red

Cold

Pain.

…

“...So you...you did it to save me,” Marcus whispered as the pieces finally began to fit together. He still didn't remember all of it, and there was no way to know for sure if what Horace was saying was the truth, but for the first time, everything was beginning to make some sense. A strange sense of calm was settling over him now, like a peace he hadn't known in a very long time.

Horace nodded, beaming at Marcus proudly. “Exactly! I was so scared when the humans took you away. I never knew for sure if you lived, but I never gave up hope, and here you are! I'm so glad you came back, I've been waiting all this time to return your hand back to you!”

The kelpie reached out and touched Marcus' left hand, cupping it in his own, and gave it a small squeeze. Marcus just stared, still trying to digest all of this. It was unbelievable. The hand Horace was holding out to him at the lake had been child sized, but it seemed to have grown to match the right one after Horace...uh...re-attached it? He had no idea how that worked, but this was a mythical creature he was talking to, so anything seemed possible at this point. Magic? He decided not to let himself go down that existential rabbit hole for now and just focus on how entirely grateful he was for this gift, and he looked up at Horace with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” was all he could manage to get past the lump in his throat. “Thank you so much, Horace, a-and I'm so sorry I was so scared, I didn't realize...!”

“Don't be,” Horace shook his head with a light laugh. “Admittedly, I was being a bit of an ass.”

His long black tail that matched his hair flicked cheekily at the pun, and it brought a smile to Marcus's lips. There was no way to describe the amount of relief he was feeling, the years and years of uncertainty releasing from him in an instant. All thanks to Horace, who had saved his life twice now. Marcus didn't have the foggiest clue of how he could repay him.

“Uh, so, not to ruin the moment, but...” Noah cleared his throat, which reminded them that Horace was still holding his hand, and he awkwardly let go. “What the piss fucking christ are we going to tell Dad?”

Oh. Right. “Language, Noah. And I'm not sure. This isn't very easily explained, is it?”

“That's the understatement of the century. 'Hey Dad, Marcus got his hand back! A magical horse man who lives in the lake gave it back to him!' He'd probably think Horace is a demon or some shit and try to exorcise him.”

That was sadly an accurate prediction of what their incredibly religious father's reaction would be. He was a priest, after all, and something told Marcus he wouldn't take well to Horace's magical existence. “Perhaps we should tell him it was an angel?” Marcus suggested half-jokingly. Horace's shoulders tensed, his eyes suddenly going wide and cheeks flushing, clearly flustered by the sudden compliment. “I would say it's not entirely inaccurate.”

“O-oh, um...oh my.” The kelpie in the backseat rubbed the back of his neck and looked away bashfully. Marcus smirked. To think he'd been afraid of this guy only minutes ago, and now he was starting to think he was kind of cute like this.

“Oh god,” his little brother rolled his eyes and turned away. “I know he's your knight in literally no armor, but try to keep it in your pants, Marcus.”

“Noah!”

ummmm like comment and subscribe?? idfk thanks for reading though

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

CHAPTER TWELVE: THIRD QUARTER (AO3)

(ch 1: worm moon | ch 2: worm moon II | ch 3: waning gibbous | ch 4: third quarter | ch 5: third quarter II | ch 6: waning crescent | ch 7: waning crescent II | ch 8: waning crescent III | ch 9: new moon | ch 10: waxing crescent | ch 11: sap moon)

Rating: M (read notes to skip higher rated scene) Words: 33212 / 40k Tags: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Finn, Rose Tico, Unkar Plutt, Leia Organa, Snoke, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fairy Tale Elements, Moon, Scavenger Rey, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, Spoilers, Tags Contain Spoilers, Stop reading these tags if you don’t want to be spoiled, Selkies, Selkie Ben, The Force, Magic

Summary: Rey has a busy schedule: between her part time jobs, trying to get a degree, and breaking into certain people’s homes to steal items she can pawn off to Unkar Plutt, she doesn’t have time for anything mysterious or unusual. And she’s not exactly in the habit of returning lost property.

However, something gets her to make an exception. Which somehow mixes her up with Ben Solo, and that turns out to be a hard bond to break.

Notes: Thank you again to everyone who was part of the @reylofanfictionanthology​ and who helped make this happen. <3

@persimonne​ , incredible human that she is, made a beautiful piece of art for this fic, right here! Spoilers for the fic, but it’s one of my favorite things ever.

-

When he didn't show up the first day, she didn't worry. Much. He'd been there constantly for her for weeks now, maybe something had come up. Maybe he’d actually gotten a job. The part of her used to abandonment started forming its own theories very quickly, but she was better than that now. He'd show up later with some reasonable explanation.

When several more days passed, she started to get twitchy. Nothing she knew about Ben suggested he'd up and leave without a word. She wasn't what anyone could ever call “clingy”; it had taken months for her to get used to the idea the Finn and Rose cared where she was and worried about her. But he did still have a target on his back. So when a week had gone by and she hadn't seen so much as glimpse of him, she decided to try going to him.

(cont. under cut)

His new apartment building looked the same as it had when he'd brought her there. She found her way back to his door easily enough, and when she knocked, Mitaka opened it within seconds.

“Oh,” he said, blinking at her. “Ben's girlfriend, right?”

“I - yes,” Rey agreed, figuring it would make this conversation go smoother.

“Have you seen him?” he asked her eagerly. “He hasn't been around for like a week now, and I just want to make sure he's still good for next month’s rent, because I can't cover it on my own. Not to be demanding or anything, I'm sure he's got stuff going on.”

“Um,” Rey said, trying to figure out what to tell him. At least it wasn't just her he'd been avoiding. He obviously wouldn't have told Mitaka anything, but maybe -- “Yeah, he… called me, said he needed something from his room. Was just going to grab it and then go meet up with him.”

“Oh, sure.” He stepped back and opened the door enough to let her in.

“Thanks.” She walked around him and back to Ben's room, trying to make it look like she belonged there, a sense of dread lodging itself firmly in her chest.

Ben's door wasn't locked, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She could have picked it open, but Mitaka would probably have noticed. Still, leaving his room unlocked implied he had left in a hurry, for some reason that had made him forget it. She pushed the door open and became certain that was the case. The room was destroyed. The mattress was thrown against the wall, the bed frame ripped apart, and the beat-up desk was now smashed to pieces. She could barely recognize it as the nondescript set-up she'd seen before. She walked in, splinters of wood cracking under her feet. She didn't know whether Ben had done this or someone else, but neither answer was good. She looked around the mess, trying to see if there was some hint to what had happened to him. Nothing jumped out.

She went to the wall and pulled the mattress down so that it landed in the remains of the bed frame with a thump. Mitaka said he hadn't seen Ben for a week either. Whatever had happened must have been not long after she last saw him. Maybe someone had come in here while he was out with her? But Mitaka would probably have noticed if this destruction had happened while he was in the apartment. She sat on the precarious edge of the bed and slumped over. Something had happened, but she didn't know enough to say what. She scanned the wreckage desperately.

From her perspective on the bed, she noticed a small dark patch near where the desk had been. She stood carefully and walked to it. She found a jagged piece of fabric, possibly ripped from Ben's clothes. She bent and picked it up and what exactly it was registered with sickening clarity. The piece of fur in her hand, a little smaller than her palm, was soft and slick, with a texture she'd only felt once before. Her fingers tightened around it, heart pounding frantically. Things began to make sense. She turned the small piece of Ben's coat over and around in her hands, and a golden shimmer caught her eye from the back of it. Flipping it over revealed a large and scrawling 'S’ inscribed in gold ink on the skin, branding it. The last pieces settled into place.

She stood quickly, knowing she needed to act fast but not sure what to do. She still needed to find Ben, to find exactly what she was holding. It was clearly a threat, but was it that Snoke had the coat to hold over him again? Or did she have the last piece of something that had already been destroyed. She didn't want to think what might have happened to Ben in either case. And regardless, she thought she knew where to find him. She strode to the door, but Mitaka suddenly appeared there with a look of concern.

“Are you okay? I heard --” He cut off when he saw Ben's room. “Oh, come on,” he moaned. “I'm never getting the deposit back now.”

Rey walked past him. She felt bad, but they could figure out his situation later. Ben just needed to be okay.

“Hey, wait!” he called after her, but Rey kept going, out the door and shutting it behind her.

(continue reading on ao3)

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Warning: This chapter is dark, probably as dark as it will get. There are heavily implied conversations/thoughts about rape, but not elaborated in any sort of detail. Nevertheless, if that sort of thing triggers you, please wait until the next one.

Chapter Twenty Four

She doesn’t know how much time has passed. She can’t be sure. Everyday is the same. 

Pain. 

Hermione wasn’t crazy. She couldn’t be. 

And she doesn’t think she was. 

Sometimes things were harder to remember than others, but she always worked it out. It was sort of a miracle. 

She’s read time and time again about the effects the Cruciatus Curse has on someone when administered once. Hermione’s lost count of how many times Bellatrix used it on her. 

She was certainly feeling the effects on her body, but not so much in her brain. She almost wishes she could forget it, maybe it would all be easier. 

Forget all the pain this place caused her. How many times she’s had her free will taken from her. All the times she’s had her- 

No. Don’t think about that. 

Hermione never let that cross her mind. She’d rather face Voldemort then relive those moments. 

The only thing keeping her grounded was that book and the mantra she’d often repeat to herself over and over. 

‘My name is Hermione Granger...’

More often than not, the unforgivable curse messes with your cognitive functions. Feelings, thoughts, your five senses. 

Besides the pain that felt like her nerves splitting throughout her entire body, she just couldn’t seem to speak. Deep down Hermione recognizes it’s probably some self inflicted mental block because her silence is all she has at this point. 

It’s just easier to tell herself it’s because there’s been so many silencing spells cast on her. 

Either way, whenever she tries to think up probable reasons, it takes triple the time it used to. She’s easily distracted by a different thought, or none at all, or she simply can’t remember what she thought to begin with. 

However, at the moment, her silence was the furthest thing from her mind. Instead, she was using her hand that wasn’t killing her to clutch at her leg. 

Today she’d been thrown at the wall like a rag doll and harshly banged it on a table in the process. Hermione was positive it was broken. 

The familiar scraping of metal suddenly sounded, making her slink back a little. 

That’s the noise Bellatrix made, wasn’t it? 

No, no, it’s not her. It’s that boy from her school's mother-Drake-no-Draco. Yes. Draco’s Mum. 

“Hello dear. You must eat. I’ve mixed in a bit of skele-gro.” She spoke softly. 

Hermione liked her voice. It wasn’t at all that shrill nails on a chalkboard like sound from Bellatrix. 

With a shaking hand a wince she grabbed the tray. 

“Oh darling, your hand, it looks awful.” She observed through the bars under the candle. 

Her brown eyes looked at it. All crushed and bloodied. It was the werewolf he, no, the witch, yes, Bellatrix. She stomped on it in those awful boots. 

“I’d wrap it but Bella would surely realize...” Narcissa whispers to herself more than the girl in front of her. 

Hermione slowly spooned the awful tasting broth into her mouth. Doing her best not to wretch at it’s taste. 

“What are you going to tell me tonight dear?” Narcissa asked softly. 

This happened each day. The woman would come down and coax a story, a memory, from Hermione in order to help her keep her sanity. 

Talking was becoming more and more of a difficult feat for the young girl, so it was mostly a game of charades. 

Some nights she pointed to her eye remembering, no, teeth, remembering her parents were dentists. A few times she traced a lightning bolt on her forehead for Harry. 

She’d outline the scar on her chest after days of being violated by Dolohov. Or prod at the scratches down her abdomen for after Bellatrix got bored and gave her to Greyback. She even had a few bruises on her neck from Scabior. 

Nights Hermione did that, Narcissa had no choice but to cry. She was just a child. Draco’s schoolmate. 

She did everything in her power to keep those disgusting men from touching her, but unfortunately, when her sister wanted something she got it. 

Narcissa is pretty sure the young girl blocks the whole happening from her brain. She can read it on her face the days they have their way with her. Hermione’s eyes are dull. It’s almost like looking at a ghost. 

And the woman is sure to never bring it up. Sometimes she’ll begin to broach the topic, but it always causes the girl to cry and cower into a corner. Instead she watches as she traces over scratches and bruises as Narcissa just watches. Listens for the small whimpers and offers a hand. 

Today though, the men were nowhere to be found. That fact alone makes Hermione more willing to do their nightly routine. 

It’s all so twisted. Her choices are having the purest thing taken over and over from her or endure the literal torture curse. 

“So what is it going to be?” She reiterates. 

Hermione crawls forward and reaches a hand through the bar. Gently, she tugs at the woman’s hair. 

“Hair?” Narcissa questions. 

Hermione nods, then wildly points at the enchanted candle. 

“Candle?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Flame?” She tries next. 

Hermione nods again, almost excited. 

“Hair flame?” That didn’t sound right, “flaming hair?” She tries. 

Hermione nods, something that looks like a twisted sort of smile comes across her face. But it’s almost like she doesn’t know how. 

Cissy thinks on the subject thoughtfully. It soon comes to her in flashes. Draco mentioning Weasley, Bellatrix and even the Dark Lord taunting the girl using the name Ron. 

“Ron?” She asks shakily. All these nights, she’s narrowly avoided the topic, but she’s seen parts of that book. 

And just like that, hearing his name sends her over the edge. 

Fat tears streak her dirtied cheeks as small heaves escape her mouth. 

“It’s okay dear.” Narcissa whispers, though she feels pathetic. 

Hermione keeps shaking her head as silent sobs wracked her now smaller, frailer, body. 

“W-w-want.” She barely says. 

“I know you want him dear, I’m so sorry.” Tears sting her own eyes. 

Her head shakes again, like that wasn’t what she meant. “W-w-won’t wa-“ she can’t get it out. 

Narcissa gets it now. 

At the heartbreaking thought she pushes open the door to the cell. The sound seems to send Hermione back. 

“It’s okay.” Narcissa whispers, crouching on the ground and holding out her hand. 

“It’s okay.” She says again. 

Slowly, Hermione reaches her good hand out and places it gently on the woman’s almost scared she’ll shift into her sister. 

Gently, she traced the woman’s hand. 

“I won’t hurt you.” The woman knows that’s not true. She’s let this poor girl be hurt for this long. 

“Wo-won’t wa-want m-me.” She chokes, it’s her first full sentence in days. 

Unable to control herself, Narcissa pulls her into a motherly embrace. At first, she stiffens, but soon relaxes and sobs into her shoulder. 

“You’re so brave.” She to the point of tears herself, “you’re so beautiful. Don’t let them break your spirit. Please. Your future is too bright.” Her cheeks are wet. 

Hermione continues to shake. 

If Ron didn’t want her then, no way would he want her now. Not when she’s so, impure, so tainted. 

“You don’t deserve this dear.” She grasped her tighter. 

Feeling so torn. Feeling so much pain for the girl in her arms, she grips her cheeks to meet her eyes. 

“I promise, I’m going to get you out of here.” And just like that it’s decided. She can’t let this go on anymore. 

The words seem to calm the brunette and she attempts to speak, “wh-where?” Where am I? Where are you getting me out of? 

Narcissa seems to understand. 

“Wiltshire.” She begins before gulping, “Malfoy Manor.” 

...

Hermione fell asleep like that. In Narcissa’s arms. It was the most peaceful, most protected she's felt in weeks. 

She vaguely recalls the woman’s promise to get her out. She hopes more than anything it’s true. 

She doesn’t know how much longer she can go on. 

As she opens her eyes, she finds the woman to be gone. She knows that can only mean one thing. 

It’s a new day. Another one of enduring whatever Bellatrix has in store for her. 

And like she could hear Hermione’s thoughts, the mad witch comes sauntering in humming to herself. 

“Good morning!” She says in mock excitement, “you’re in for a real treat today.” 

Hermione shivers. She’s heard that many times before being handed over to Dolohov, Greyback, or Scabior like some doll. 

She begins clapping, “up! Get up!” 

Not wanting to face her wrath if she didn’t, Hermione uses the wall to drag her weak body up. 

From through the bars she can make out the witch pouting, “aw, leg hurt from yesterday. Shame.” She tuts in false concern. 

Soon she flicks her wand as the door creaks open. Roughly, Bellatrix grasps her arm and drags her along, not having the patience of her mangled leg. 

“You see,” she whispers into the brunette's ear as they start up the steps, a dreadful task, “the Dark Lord is here. He’s requested your presence. Behave.” She warns as they reach the top.  

She shivers. Voldemort is far from a welcome sight. 

“Ah, lovely to see you. Sorry I’ve been absent. I’ve been busy.” The snake-like man said as she entered the lavish room. 

Bellatrix let go to stand to his right. 

“I’ve heard you’ve had a very exciting few weeks.” He smiled. It made her stomach clench. 

He stepped forward and placed a cold hand on her cheek. 

“I just want you to know, you’re very, very, important to me.” Voldemort whispered to her, his pungent breath invading her sense of smell. 

She remained firm, looking into his cold eyes. Only one thing was crossing her mind. 

Harry. 

Wherever he is right, she’s praying he’s thinking of her. 

Please Harry, please. I know where I am. Let me tell you. Please Harry, please. 

Nothing happens. She thinks maybe if she brings him up, he’s more susceptible to strengthen the connection. 

“H-h,”

Bellatrix cackles at her struggle to speak. 

“Harry.” She gets out, knowing this is her chance. 

Voldemort eyes her funnily for a moment, not realizing what she’s doing. 

“Ha-Harry P-Potter.” 

“No.” He says, slight ache building at the base of his head. 

Bellatrix’s lips fall into an ‘o’. 

“Harry Po-Potter.” She manages louder, more firm than she’s heard herself speak in weeks. 

His eyes squint shut. She’s almost there. 

“T-the b-boy,” it gets caught in her throat, she takes a deep breath, “the boy who lived.” She somehow gets out. 

This seems to send him over the edge, he collapses onto the ground as his eyes open with a harsh scream. 

She knows this is her chance and summons all the strength possible to get what she needs to say. 

“M-Malfoy!” She yells out, “M-Malfoy!” Hermione yells. “Malfoy M-“ 

Suddenly a rough growl interrupts her as she’s thrown to the ground. 

“Crucio!” The red jet of light hits her chest, making her writhe. 

“Get Greyback!” He roars to Bellatrix who nods and scampers away. 

Soon, a harsh kick is felt in her already bruised ribs. He soon crouches down and roughly grabs her hair to meet his eyes. 

“I told you next time you did that, someone will die!” He screams, her spit coating her face. 

“Who should it be huh?” Voldemort whispers, “the young Weasley girl I befriended all those years ago? How about one of her brothers? What’s the name of the one you so long for, Ronald?” 

She whimpers, shaking her head vigorously, doing her best to apologize. 

“Or how about your lovely parents, I hear Hampstead is beautiful this time of year.” He taunts menacingly. 

Tears trek her cheeks at his words. 

Then, he turns his wand and pushes it right to her heart, “or how about you?” 

He cries become louder, “I’m s-sorry p-p-“ 

He soon moves it away, “no, killing you would be easy. Not when you’re so entertaining.” 

Suddenly loud footsteps fill the room as he releases the grip on her hair, letting Hermione’s head thunk onto the floor. 

“She's yours for the evening Fenrir.” Voldemort grants the hungry werewolf, “do control yourself, I need her ready for the surprise I have planned.”

“Oh! A surprise!” Bella calls excited. 

He nodded to her, “yes, one I’ll need your help with Bellatrix.” 

From the ground Hermione could vaguely see Voldemort whisper something to the witch as she nodded in agreement. Soon, she heard them apparate away as Greyback crawled on top of her. 

She shut her eyes, trying to shut him out, along with the impending worry that Voldemort would keep his promise. 

“Someone will die.”

[avengemebucky]

Acceptance

ACCEPTANCE // STEVE ROGERS X READER

for @redgillan‘s Steve Rogers’ 100th Birthday emotional writing challenge!

AN: I am so sorry but I got way too invested in this, any this may or may not be way over the max word count... i’m really sorry, but I think/hope the story makes up for it... I hope you enjoy this little fluff ball of a piece, I sure did! (not really edited yet!)

Warnings: Kissing, Sugar sweet fluff

WC: 2249

MASTERLIST

Steve didn’t enjoy filling out paperwork about missions and recons, but he made sure to never get behind in his work… meaning frequent opt-outs of fun activities like Friday movie nights or a boy’s night out to work instead. That’s why the mountains of paperwork now placed on his desk felt like a kick to the stomach. Storming out of his office towards Tony’s, he knocks before entering (though he’s angry, our man still has manners).

“What’s up, Capsicle?” Tony sat reclined in his office chair, feet on desk, staring out his floor-to-ceiling windows, doing nothing, as usual (much to Steve’s annoyance).

“Tony, what the heck is that pile of papers doing in my office? They can’t be mine… from the amount of papers I had to do last week, I shouldn’t have to see deskwork for a lifetime.”

“Sorry Cap… Barnes did some pretty heavy damage to the Kremlin during our last assignment… if you’re angry, bring it to him. He thought the best way to infiltrate was going through a century-old stained glass sky light.” Tony rubbed his forehead, feeling the impending headache coming just from recalling last week’s mission.

Steve sighs and nods. Typical. He was going to give Bucky a scolding about the importance and integrity of protecting historical landmarks the next time he sees him. He sits down in front of Tony, feeling the weight of work to be done gnaw at him. “Tony… I think I need a secretary, or someone to help me with all of this paperwork. I’m so tired... it’s exhausting working alone. I’ve missed three consecutive movie nights because of it, and I don’t want to miss another.”

A few beats pass before Tony nods in agreement. “Alright, Rogers… It’s your job to hire ‘em though.”

-

Steve never know that accepting your application as his aid would change so many aspects of his life. Sure, he knew that his workload would become much lighter with your help, but he expected your relationship to stop there. He never thought it would grow to so much more…

-

“Y/N… can you help me with my email… it’s so full of stuff that… it doesn’t make any sense.” 

Concerned, you look up from the half completed form towards Steve’s desk to find him frazzled by whatever was on his screen. It had been your third week working for Steve and you couldn’t have been happier for sending in an application. He was kind, fair and wasn’t afraid to ask for help when he needed it, making your job easier and more directed.

 You stands and makes your way towards him. “Sure, Steve! What seems to be the-” 

You interrupts yourself with a chuckle at the sight of Steve’s window. 35,678 unread emails, at least 75% being junk or spam mail advertising weird weight loss products or “investment opportunities”.  

“Steve- jesus, what did you do? Sign up for a Ponzi scheme?” You found the amount of mail he had accumulated quite amusing.

 “Well, I got an email one day from a foreign prince... he needed help, a contribution to a campaign to free him-” Steve looked so innocent trying to explain the situation.

 Silence lingers a while before you respond. “Steve, please tell me you didn’t give them money.” 

You sigh when Steve avoids your gaze.

 “He needed help, Y/N… how could I say no? Of course I did!” 

Refusing to accept that people can be conned online just like real life, you spent the next half hour trying to explain to Steve that there was no “prince that needed help” and that he had been scammed, leading to the thousand other emails that he had received because of his “donation to the cause”. The situation still to this day makes you chuckle; Captain America’s heart is too big and naive for justice. 

“I hate the internet…” Steve huffed as you began to create a new email account.

-

“Steve, you’re just going to have to accept the fact that I’m better than you at Mario Kart”, you said nonchalantly, throwing your controller on the couch after winning you 5th race against him. You and Steve had grown close from your constant working together, seeing your time shared begin to bleed into your personal lives. 

“No, no-hey! Don’t leave yet, we still have one more round of the cup!” trying to grab your wrist before you were out of reach. Unfortunately for Steve, you had dodged his attempt and headed into the kitchen. Bringing back a few sodas and snacks, Steve smiles at your care to bring his favorite (and secret) peanut M&M’s as well as the snack of your choice.

He had let you in on his secret stash of goodies when the paperwork had become especially tedious and kindly shared access to his treats whenever you needed a pick-me-up. When Bucky had seen you sneaking out a Milky Bar one day, he ran to Steve to inform him of the so-called “breach”. Steve brushed it off, saying he let you in on his stash. He would never forget the way Bucky’s jaw dropped.

“Are you serious? You never even told me about your stupid chocolate! The only way I found out was following you around a whole day after seeing you holding a Snickers wrapper” Steve wasn’t ever able to respond to Bucky, even he didn’t know how you had become such a normality in his life. He shrugged at Bucky, continuing to do paperwork, making Bucky stomp off like he usually did.

The sounds of a race starting jumped Steve out of his trance, making him scramble for his controller. “H-hey I wasn’t ready, not fair!” You laughed not even sparing him a glance away from the screen. “Not my fault!” Steve ended up losing the last race of the cup, making Y/N the victor again, for what felt like the hundredth time. You smile beamed as you did a little dance around the living room, basking in your triumph. Steve sat quietly on the couch, taking in your silly shenanigans with a warm smile. If he got to see you like this every time he lost, he could easily accept Mario Kart defeat for the rest of his life.

-

Tony’s call had startled Steve, he had almost dozed off like you had while pulling an all nighter in attempts to get paperwork in on time... though he hadn’t been doing much since you fell asleep. His stolen glances to you occupied most of his time, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths calming him like no other. 

“Hey Tony, what’s up?” his voice raspy from lack of use.

“I’ve got some good news, Cap! We’re going electronic!” Tony sounded much more excited than Steve could understand.

“Going electronic? What does that mean?”

“That means no more paperwork, pal! I knew that you would want to be the first to hear! Aren’t you siked?”

He wasn’t, not even in the slightest. Though absence of the dreaded filing and writing was going to be refreshing, all Steve could think of what was going to happen to you. His aid to help him complete all the useless crap to wrap a mission, his tech guru (you would always refute him on this), his racing opponent. His best girl.

Tony awkwardly replied to the silence “Uh, you okay Cap? Did the excitement kill you?”

Steve let out a heavy sigh, not playing along with Tony. “No… Tony, what’s going to happen with Y/N?”

“Well… we won’t need her anymore-”

“I need her, Tony”.

Silence laid on the line at Steve’s confession. “She can’t just leave, Tony! We have to find something for her here, she belongs here, I won’t accept this!” Steve’s voice was slowly raising as he became more and more invested in his conversation with Tony, conversing with himself more than he was with Tony. “Tony, if she leaves… I-I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’d be missing a piece. I need more ti-”

“Steve?”

Steve’s blood ran cold as he turned to your now awake form across from him, looking up confused. “Tony, I gotta go.” “Steve, hold on jus-”

Steve hung up on Tony and looked down on his desk, not ready to meet your eyes. Silent was Steve’s office as you tried to read Steve to the best of his ability. You were always able to read him, knowing when he needed a break, a joke to break the monotony or just some m&m’s to brighten up his day. You had never seen him like this.

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

The storm was evident in his eyes as they finally met yours; clear was the conflict that now raged in that beautiful mind of his. “Y/N… I… I don’t know how longer you’re going to be able to work here. Tony-Tony he made this software and now we won’t have to do paperwork… If I don’t have paperwork, then… then I don’t have you, Y/N.”

Steve had never hated silence more than he did now, having to bear the quiet as you took in every word he had said to you. His heart broke as you began to collect your coat and belongings around his office.

“Y/N, please wait…” Steve silenced when he saw you turn back to him. Slowly you raised your hand to his cheek, letting your thumb run over his strong cheekbones. “Don’t worry about it Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Walking towards the door, Steve rushed after you, refusing to accept your leaving if you hadn’t understood him. “No, Y/N, you don’t understand…”

You had already walked out as he followed, feet planting outside of his office as he sees your lack of pause to Steve’s pleading. “There’s nothing left for us to do now!” He shouted down the hallway. Your attitude confused Steve, quickly turning to walk backwards to throw him a chirpy

“Go to sleep, Rogers! We’ve got a lot of paperwork to do tomorrow!”

Accepting that this might be the last time he will see you, he makes it to the elevator before it closes and kisses you with such force, that you both are pushed into the elevator’s wall. First shocked at the surprise of Steve’s attack, your eyes slowly close in bliss, smiling into the kiss. Steve is about to slip his tongue into your mouth before you push him back slightly to chuckle at his flushed appearance.

“Go to bed, Rogers.” 

Y/N walks out of the elevators, leaving Steve smiling dopily as the elevators close on him, returning him back up to his office floor. Though he doesn’t know what she has up her sleeves, he knows that after that kiss, Y/N won’t leave him. 

She’s accepted him into her life just as much as he had to her.

-

Heavy knocks echo Steve’s room, waking him from his slumber. Deciding to sleep in, Steve felt no rush to get up, knowing that no work was to be done because of Tony’s new software. Getting up, letting the covers fall behind him, Steve opened his door to find a fuming Tony.

“Was this your funny joke? Because NO ONES LAUGHING. You know how much money this took? This was supposed to help you, you idiot! How stupid could you be?”

Firstly confused, Steve quickly finds Tony’s source of anger; in Tony’s peeved grasp was the chip programmed with his new software, now completely destroyed from what seemed to be melted chocolate. Tony’s rampage was quieted in Steve’s mind as he simply connected the dots. Steve chuckled, instantly knowing who the culprit was. 

“I’m sorry, Tony, I’m sure you can fix it…” 

“Well unfortunately, I can’t son, and thanks to your stunt, you’ve punished yourself with even more paperwork… so…. suck on that.” 

Tony stormed off, still mumbling about how stupid Steve was.

Quickly returning to his room to change out of his pajamas, Steve quite literally ran to his office to see if his suspicion was true. As suspected, he saw you and about a hundred or so candy wrappers waiting for him on his desk.

“Sorry Steve, but I had sort of a hankering today…” you joked as he scooped you into his arms in relief, knowing you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Reluctantly easing his grip on you, he found you shining, smile and eyes beaming up at him.

“You better not let Tony find out that was you, doll… I don’t know what he would do” Steve smirked down at you.

“I’ll accept the punishment as long as I get to be with you.”

Steve couldn’t contain himself as he scooped you into his arms once again, spinning you and him around his tiny little office. Both of your laughter filled the air, happiness almost being tangible in the atmosphere of the room.

Steve, in that moment knew that he was yours, you were his and neither of you would accept anything else. Letting you down, you rubbed out the wrinkles that had resulted from your embrace out of your pencil skirt.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you went to your respected table and sat, before turning to Steve, seeing he hadn’t moved an inch.

“Ready for paperwork?” You asked up at him, quizzically.

Steve smiles warmly before going behind his desk, getting out the work they hadn’t completed from the night before.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

-

-

THATS IT! AGH! My longest fic yet, hope you all liked it! Requests are open like always! 

-j

[gazingupatthemoon]

You Can Not Sit Idly By (8/?)

Found here at ff.net or A03

Summary: She doesn't know how to live during a time of war. Doesn't know how not to worry about the people she loves every second of the day. But she must, and more importantly, she has to find a way to end it all. The battle between dark and light is calling to her, and Rey is helpless to answer it. Just as helpless as Ben Solo is.

Rating: M

Rey lost herself in training.

In Poe.

In this godforsaken war.

It was easier to focus on these three things than anything else. Because, honestly, everything and everyone else around her she couldn't bear to deal with for another second.

Ben had become something of a mute. Once Rey had revealed she was well aware what game he was playing, it seemed there was nothing more he wanted to offer up to the Resistance. He didn't even want to talk to Rey anymore. Not that she felt much obliged to visit him after learning the truth. He spent his days quiet and sullen, sitting down in his cell and reading whatever literature his mother gifted him with.

Rey had also distanced herself from Luke after learning he was just humoring her with "training". She stopped asking for missions, knowing it was useless at this point. Luke trumped whatever voice of reason called out for her to be let free, even Han and Leia. So she kept up with her training, preparing herself for whatever the future had to hold, but did so without the help of her foster father.

Even Finn became a distant figure in the background of her life. His mother's betrayal and his consequent flight from home was troubling him more deeply than anyone expected. It was like a weight on his shoulders he couldn't shake off, making him into a twisted form of anger and sadness that was obsessed with going from one mission to the next. Rey supposed if she was actually allowed to do the same, she'd be just as focused on completing one task just to receive another. Sometimes, when she actually stopped for a minute to think-to feel- guilt sunk sharp claws into her back. Finn was her best friend yet she distanced herself from him, letting him deal with his demons on his own. Poe tried, he always tried, and Rey saw and pretended not to. Finn would humor his friend, listening to whatever he had to say, but didn't provide much feedback of his own in the conversation. More often than not their interactions would end with Finn giving a curt nod and abruptly walking away.

Han and Leia even proved to be thorns in Rey's side. She hated to think of them that way-she loved them-but their love for Ben was clouding their judgment on properly treating Rey. While Ben had chosen to stop speaking to Rey, she was still the only person he would not be actively angry and antagonistic too. In their eyes, that meant there was still hope for their son, but it was a hope only Rey could help foster and grow. They couldn't see how much Rey needed to stay away from Ben, how the mere mention of his name made her heart drop and her brow furrow. Perhaps this was how Finn felt as constantly let his mother's choices haunt his every breath. Rey had to assume her way was better, ignoring it all and locking it up in a dark vault within her heart and mind.

Poe was her only salvation. His easy demeanor. Easy smile. Handsome face. Soft touches. Gentle kisses. Kind and funny words. The way he could make her heart light and her mind forget everything else. She could breathe without any guilt or burdens pushing down on her lungs. Could let her eyes close and not be haunted by the people she was trying to avoid.

She liked when his hand would brush against her cheeks, tug playfully at her buns, and lift her up by the hips when she was in his way.

They were in valley outside the base, not too far away to be on alert but far enough for some privacy. Rey, in her leggings and tunic, was stretched out on the lush green grass, angling her face toward the sun and basking in its rays.

She couldn't see but feel Poe's fingers tracing the skin along her face, his touch feather light like a butterfly. Down her cheek, around her chin, up her nose, and then across her brows. Over and over again. Sometimes they would brush against her lips, making Rey's heart pound, but it happened so quick she knew he was teasing her.

"Poe" Rey whined when his touch disappeared all together. She cracked an eye open to see him grinning down at her, head propped up on his elbow.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Don't my lady me."

"Feisty this morning."

"That was relaxing."

"Was it now?"

"Why must you always be so infuriating?"

"It's a specialty of mine."

She hugged and slapped at his chest. Poe caught her hand easily, bringing up to his lips to press quick kisses along her knuckles.

"Rey?"

"Hm?"

Her eyes were closed again but she could feel the sudden air of nervousness that overtook Poe. His hand, still holding her own, was unconsciously tightening and untightening and Rey could already envision the tick of his jaw.

"I know this conversation may be…early. But considering everything going around us, we might not have the opportunity to talk about it later."

Rey looked up at him, curious. "Talk about what?"

His mouth opened and closed, and Rey would have wiped away the lines of worry creasing his brow if he still wasn't holding onto her hand. "I wish to marry you, Rey."

Oh.

"Now, I'm going to properly ask you, I swear it, but I just wanted to make you aware of my intentions."

"Poe, I…" Rey didn't know what to say. Truly. Her mind was blank but not blissfully so when she was usually with Poe. This blankness was oppressive, scary, and making her sweat suddenly. She needed to say something, she knew she did, but Rey's mouth couldn't even open to puff out air.

Yes? No? Thank you? How sweet of you? I don't know?

"Should I be nervous?" Poe chuckled, but Rey could see the way he forced it. "You are uncharacteristically quiet."

"I…" Again, nothing. Rey was staring at him, terror clawing up her throat. The more seconds passed the more she knew how awful she was being. How awful Poe was feeling.

Poe dropped her hand. "I'm sorry-"

"No, no, I just-I don't know what to say-"

"You don't?"

They were both sitting up right now, starring at each other.

"Rey, I never once doubted my feelings for you. I've know you practically my whole life. I've envisioned you as my wife for so long."

Rey wish she could say the same. It's not like she hadn't gotten a little swoony over Poe throughout the years, every now and then, but it had never developed into anything larger or stronger than a crush. How could it when her heart had always beat for Ben.

Ben.

The traitorous name and face, now called upon, would not go away. Rey swallowed thickly as her hesitance seemed to make sense now. Stupid infuriating Ben. She wasn't over him yet. No matter how much she hated him at the moment or ignored him, he still held a place in her heart she could not banish but only ignore.

"Don't you have any inclination of how you feel for me? What you hope for us?" Poe continued, oblivious to the truth of the matter. "I'm not some suitor you just met at a ball."

No, he was not, and Poe deserved the truth from Rey.

"I love you Poe," Rey answered honestly. "But I-"

An explosion in the distance stopped her words and grabbed both their attention.

It came from the base.

Poe and Rey were on their feet and running in an instant. Rey already had her staff drawn as well as Poe. They always brought them with them when leaving the base. And it was the right choice. For as they got closer they saw it.

The First Order.

They were here. They found the base. And they were attacking.

It had all gone so wrong so quickly.

Rey shouted to Poe to stay with her, and he had, and the two started cutting down as many solider they could. But it was mayhem. So many First order soldiers. So many Resistance soldiers. Attacking. Shouting. Killing. Bodies running. Bodies dropping.

And the black ilk of smoke staining the air was making it hard to see let alone breathe.

Rey's mind was focused on finding her family. Luke. Finn. Han and Leia. One of them, at least, to appease a bit of the dread suffocating her.

She had been ignoring them and now this.

But getting inside the base was proving impossible. It was too far. Too much fighting to get passed. Where one solider fell another seemed to appear. And the explosions kept going off. Left, right, pounding her ears and burning her lungs.

Rey needed to stop for a second, just to catch her breath, and it was then she noticed Poe was no longer at her side.

She looked around frantically, screaming his name, but couldn't make him out in any of the crowd.

Now panic set in.

Rey was alone. She was too far away from the base. But now, she saw it, people were evacuating, not staying. Her family would no longer be there. Where was she to go now? How could she find anyone in this mess?

A soldier lunged for her but Rey easily fought him off, swiping at his legs before plunging her staff into his chest. Blood ruined his white uniform, some it squirting out and splashing Rey on the face. She didn't even have the sense to wipe it off.

And then a familiar face showed itself.

Rey's dread only increased.

Ben.

He had somehow escaped. Or someone had set him free. Was this what this was? A rescue mission? Did Snoke see Ben as a valuable possession?

Rey scolded herself. Of course he did. Snoke believed in the prophecy and he believed Ben to be the darkness in it, he would rescue him no matter what.

White soldiers flanked Ben as they marched away from the base. They killed every Resistance fighter they crossed paths with, Ben killing without a moment's hesitation.

Rey hated him. Hated herself. Hated it all.

She was running toward him before she even realized it.

"Rey, no!"

A body jumped in front of her, killing her momentum and halting her anger, if only for a second.

"Rey, we need to go. Please."

Luke. Luke was here, alive, looking worse for wear and bloody but still standing. His saber was clutched tightly in his hands, soaked in as much blood as her own weapon. Rey looked at it numbly, then back to her foster father. His blue eyes were wide with fear, she could tell, but stone cold determination masked it.

"Ben…" She looked over his shoulder, seeing her faux cousin was getting closer. Closer to attack. To kill.

Could she kill Ben?

"No, leave him be. There's too many of them, Rey, we can't win this."

"We can't let him get away."

"We have to. Leia has already lead the retreat. Han and I are staying behind to save as many people as we can but only for so long. You need to leave now."

Commands. Again. Telling her what to do. Again.

Rey gritted her teeth and clenched her staff tighter. She didn't move an inch.

"Rey," Luke growled. His patience had run its course. "I'm not asking."

"Rey!" Poe was back, appearing from the smoke of the fray and skidding to a stop at her side. His hand flashed out to squeeze her shoulder, assuring himself she was alive. "Thank God. I lost you, I thought-I was so scared-"

"The two of you need to go now. West, into the forest. Keep going till you hit a river then follow it north to a cave-"

"No," Rey breathed. "No, I'm not going. I'm facing him."

"Rey, now is not the time-"

"I am the light that will defeat the dark, not you." Rey spat, crueler than she had intended. She held no stock in the prophecy and verbally had said so before, but right now, for some odd reason, it was the only thing she could think of. Ben, his darkness killing those around him, and here was Rey-so close to stopping him if only Luke would just move….

Poe's hand squeezed firmer. "Rey, he's right. We should go, please-" His face has gotten closer to her, his words hot wind against her ear.

And this was when Ben finally saw her.

Poe holding her, whispering in her ear, the two close-almost intimate.

Rey saw all he was seeing. And what an idiot he was to think this was a kriffing good time to be jealous. They were blood soaked, lifeless bodies littered around them, and stupid Ben Solo believed he was witnessing a moment of romance.

Idiot.

Rey was ready for his fury before it showed itself on his pale face.

"Luke move!"

Rey shoved the old man to the side and raised her staff, meeting Ben's sword as it came down.

Metal clashed on metal, loud and heart stuttering.

Maker.

Would he have killed Luke?

Rey had no time to ponder it as Ben pushed her away and then went for Poe. He met his attack with another terrible sounding clang and then the two began to duel. Ben was pushing Poe farther away from Rey who, in the meantime, took on the guards at Ben's side. Luke recovered and quickly coming to her aid.

"Ben, stop this!" Luke shouted as he knocked the blunt end of his blade against the side of a guard's head.

The words fell on deaf ears. Ben was snarling at Poe, blind and a slave to his bitter emotions. It made his fighting more lethal. He looked enormous as he battered at Poe, without any thought or abandonment, with his hair matted on his face and his muscles vibrating with every attack.

Rey's heart stuttered when Poe's foot caught against a rock, making him falter and giving Ben an opening. He rammed his knee into Poe's ribs, knocking the air and a pained gasp out of him, and then elbowed his falling face in the nose.

Rey was rushing to them as she saw red pour from Poe's nose, wordlessly leaving Luke to deal with the last guard that had been trying to flay her with duel daggers. Rey bodied Ben's side as he was trying to raise his sword and deliver a killing blow, but he was so much larger than her it only accomplished in making him stagger about an inch to the right.

"Leave him alone!" Rey snarled, taking a defensive stance in front of a now kneeling Poe.

"Protecting your lover?" Ben hissed, raising his sword but not making any other attempt to attack her. They stood, facing off but not moving, anger gnarling both their features. "Typical Rey."

"Shut up!"

"He's who you've been spending all your time with, no? How goes your little courtship?"

Where had the Ben gone that told her he loved her but expected nothing? Quiet, reserved, and accepting his feelings but also to fate that did not include her? Had Rey misinterpreted how Ben had been spending his time in isolation? What had the darkness done to him as he sat alone in his cell?

What had she done to him by staying away?

"Ben, stop this." Rey allowed some pleading to enter a tone, if only to appeal to the part of him that claimed to love her.

"Too late, Rey. I warned you. He's come for me and I must answer his call."

Snoke.

"No, you don't, Ben." Luke slowly approached them. His eyes darted between the two, weary of making any sudden movement but keeping his weapon firm in his hand. "Abandon Snoke. Leave the First Order."

Ben glared at his uncle. "You make it sound so easy."

"We can help you." Luke insisted.

"Help? Don't lie to me. I know what you wanted to do with me, Uncle. Feed me to the wolves, forget your troubles, and hope I'd become some ugly distant memory. That's how you wanted to help me, isn't it?"

Rey wondered who in the Resistance had been speaking to Ben, telling him about the going-ons of his family while he was locked away. A traitor, apparently, was in their midst. Or worse. What evil magic had reached Ben's ears and blinded his judgment.

Luke frowned at the truth spat in his face. "I was scared," He admitted, his voice cracking a bit. "Scared for Rey. What you would do to her."

Ben laughed something awful. "Funny, I was afraid for her being around you, too."

Luke's face hardened in a second. "How dare you. I would never-"

"Hurt her? Just like you would never hurt me? What would you do, Uncle, to end this war? What dark path would you go down if it meant a quick victory? Kill your own daughter?"

Rey looked at him, outraged. How could he even suggest such a thing? Luke would never!

"Never," Luke swore.

"Liar," Ben snapped. "I've felt your thoughts, what dark places they brush against when you're weak and desperate."

"Enough Ben," Rey growled and took a step toward him. "This is nonsense."

"I can teach you, Rey. How to know what I know. Feel what I feel. We both can do it, with the Force."

Rey was done listening to his ramblings. Madness had obviously overtaken Ben in that cell. He was spewing delusions, spiteful words and thoughts to hurt those who he believed hurt him. And Rey was done humoring him.

She lunged.

[nocteverbascio]

what are your intentions (6/10) - rated m

Pairing: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane Summary:  It was a fun to push each other’s buttons because it not only brought out the best in one another. Both women met their match in one another. Only now, things have changed. And Alex is pissed. A/N: when kara tries to help it jsut makes alex feel worse

ao3 link

“We’re going to fix this Alex,” Kara says with her eyes burning with determination.

Alex digs into the strawberry shortcake ice cream sadly. She’s curled up on her couch with a pillow against her chest as Kara paces in front of her with a white board.

She’s been wallowing and brooding all week.

Alex knows Kara’s picked up on it because of how often she’s been present. Kara has always been good at cheering people up. She’s always full of energy and determination. She lives life fully and unapologetically. Underneath it all, Alex knows Kara carries a sadness to last a lifetime and maybe that’s why she shines so bright. So that no one has to understand the pain and sadness she’s been through.

It makes Alex feel guiltier as she digs deeper into the pint of ice cream.

She’s been in relationships with people before. But no one has ever mattered as much as Lucy. And when Alex thinks of being with Lucy, it terrifies her to think that anyone could be just as important as Kara.

Alex has done almost everything in her life for Kara. She’s Kara’s big sister, her protector, her best friend, you name it. So maybe, she just wants to wallow a bit more. Maybe ignore her feelings and crawl into a hole forever until they go away. Alex doesn’t know how she broach the conversation that Kara plays a much bigger role in her decision than she thinks.

“Okay! Let’s start,” Kara says with a flourish as she motions to the white board.

It’s titled: Dating Lucy Lane in rainbow colors with a line down the middle. One side subtitled: Pros! With an emoji with heart eyes and the other with CONS and an angry frowning emoji.

“Do we need to do this?” Alex complains as she stuffs her mouth full of ice cream. She regrets it as the brain freeze settles in.

Kara frowns as she snatches the pint of ice cream from her sister. “Yes,” she insists. “We have to do this. I’m trying to understand how you feel about her so we can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Kara,” Alex says with resignation in her voice.

Kara gives her a disapproving look. “Alex, if there was nothing to fix, your feelings wouldn’t be so hurt right now.”

Alex rolls her eyes and shrugs like it isn’t a big deal.

“Come on, let’s start with cons to get that out of the way,” Kara goes on. “I promise this is going to help.”

Alex stares at her sister. Kara’s blue eyes full of hope and promise. She can’t say no to her at all. “Fine,” she huffs. Entertaining her sister wouldn’t be such a bad idea. At least she finally has someone to talk to, even if she doesn’t want to talk.

“Cons!” Kara pops open the marker with a flourish.

Alex thinks about it for a moment. What about Lucy doesn’t she like?

After a moment, she says, “Her dad.”

“Huh,” Kara agrees as she puts Sam Lane on the list with a frowny face. “What else?”

“She dated your current boyfriend.”

“I knew dating James would make this weird!” Kara says as she writes James down. “Alright, what else?”

You. Alex shuts her mouth instantly. No, she shoves another scoop of ice cream in her mouth to shut herself up. There’s guilty creeping up her spine like vines, sinking into her predatorily but not quite vicious. She knows it’s only her mind playing tricks on her but Alex has lived with this far too long to be anything but reality.

Alex is the protector. She maintains order. She is the leader. If she fails at any of those that means failing her family. The most important family she has is Kara.

Kara is staring at the board thoughtfully before she realizes that Alex hasn’t responded. She turns to her sister with a curious look. “What’s wrong?” It isn’t hard for Kara to read Alex’s emotions.

Alex projects them so well without even realizing it. Whatever she’s holding onto is evident on her face even as she shoves ice cream into it.

“It’s nothing,” Alex answers as she clears her throat. She tries to put a brave front.

Kara gives her a skeptical look as she sinks down next to Alex. She peels the pint of ice cream from Alex’s fingers. “Talk to me,” she pleads. “I hate to say this, but I feel like you’ve been hiding this from me on purpose.”

Alex furrows her brows in confusion. “No, no,” she tries lying. “Lucy and I weren’t serious. It’s hardly something I would want to bring up to you.”

Kara drops her shoulders, trying to level with Alex. “You weren’t serious, but it’s kind of clear you want to be something more. You can be something serious with Lucy. I’m sure she wants the same thing with you because she doesn’t seem like the type to do things halfway.”

“She isn’t,” Alex agrees ruefully. She can’t help the smile that creeps at the corner of her lips as she thinks of Lucy. Yet, the cold thoughts whispering her reminders of who she is suppresses the smile. Alex tightens her jaw as she shakes her head. “We really shouldn’t do this Kara.”

“Alex, no,” Kara says quickly as she grabs onto her sister’s hands. “Don’t shut me out. Please. I want you to be happy.”

“I know,” Alex throws back more defensively than she intends. She feels even worse at the stunned look on Kara’s face. “I’m sorry. I know you want me to be happy but Kara, there’s something that you need to understand. Maybe I’m not cut out for this relationship stuff.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is Kara. I don’t think there’s ever someone that’s stuck around long enough for me to want to feel close to.”

“That’s because they weren’t the right person. They weren’t willing to put in the work for you. Lucy isn’t like that. Lucy is--”

“Lucy is so much more than I expected,” Alex admits, feeling the tug in her heart. “But I can’t be that person for her.”

“Why? Why do you keep saying that?” Kara shoots back. There’s a sad frustration in her voice as she pleads with Alex. “Why do you think that you can’t be with Lucy? You’re smart, beautiful, and amazing. You guys are eerily perfect for each other.”

Alex pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can’t, Kara. I just can’t.”

“Alex, you can. You can be with her and you deserve to be with her,” Kara encourages earnestly. She stares at Alex so hopefully and honestly that it hurts to stare at her.

Alex hates this feeling that wrenches inside of her chest. She can see the heartbreak that Kara feels for her. She’s her older sister and here Kara was doing so much for her. She is supposed to be Kara’s rock, always. Undoubtedly, Alex would always be there to protect and make sure that Kara was the one that was happy. No matter what the sacrifices were, Alex was willing to make them.

Yet, Alex doesn’t know which one is worse. How much it hurts to not be with Lucy or how guilty she feels if she was going to be with Lucy.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong Alex,” Kara begs at this point. She’s already staring at Alex with her puppy eyes. “Please.”

Alex cups Kara’s cheek gently in her hand. Kara holds her hand over Alex’s as she waits patiently for her. Her voice comes out coarse as she speaks softly, regretfully, “You don’t understand, Kara, I do want to be with Lucy.” Kara opens her mouth when Alex shakes her head. “But I can’t be with her because it makes me feel guilty.”

Alex shudders as she forges on, Kara patiently listening. “Everytime that I want something for myself I just feel like I am being selfish. Whenever I’m selfish things always, always go wrong. And I can’t stand the idea that every time I go for something that I want, there’s this dreadful ending waiting for me to reach.”

“This isn’t the same though…”

Alex feels the tears well in her eyes as her emotions continue to pour into her. “It isn’t. It’s worse because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything so much. The more I want something, the worse it’s going to be.” She thinks of Lucy and all that she wants them to be. It starts to overwhelm her. “When I think of Lucy--when I think of being with her, it feels so vivid, so visceral, that I can’t remember a time where I’ve ever felt like this. It-it feels like I need her and it’s mortifying because I shouldn’t need anyone as much as I feel like I need her.”

Kara throws her arms around her sister’s shoulders and pulls her in closely as the tears threaten to fall. Alex shudders as holds onto Kara tightly. “It’s okay to need someone from time to time,” Kara comforts as she rubs Alex’s back. “We can’t always do everything on our own. No matter who we are. Look at me, I need you.”

Alex holds onto her sister even tighter. She buries her face into Kara’s strong shoulder, trying to be that strength Kara needs. “I know you do. And I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be your big sister and your protector.”

“I know that,” Kara says so easily. “But I don’t need you all the time.”

“You don’t know that,” Alex lets out unconsciously.

Kara lessens her hold over Alex slowly before peeling herself away. She stares at Alex curiously, trying to see her sister eye to eye. “Do you feel this way because of me?” she asks carefully.

The look on Alex’s face seems to say it all. Alex can’t help herself as she stares guiltily at her sister. It’s why she wanted to avoid this conversation in the first place.

“Alex, come on,” Kara throws out incredulously. “Do you think that if you were selfish, something bad would happen to me? Or us?”

Alex feels her heart tighten. “I don’t want to feel like I’m abandoning you.”

“No,” Kara suddenly declares. “How could you think that? You’ve never abandoned me ever. I know that.” She sits up straighter as she stares at Alex with passion in her eyes. They shine similar to Alex’s tear filled eyes. “You’ve given me so much more than I could ever ask for since landing here on Earth. You have been my rock, my heart. You are my person, Alex. Just because you take care of me all of the time doesn’t mean that you have to. We are family. We take care of each other.”

The gravity of Kara’s words cut through Alex’s reservations. She feels the dam break and the tears fall freely as she reaches for Kara.

Kara holds Alex once more, feeling her sister rely just a bit more on her. “It’s okay, Alex. We’re not kids anymore. You don’t always have to protect me. Let me protect you for once.”

Alex shudders through her tears as she feels herself relax against Kara.

“Besides, I know that Lucy loves me too, so she’d probably kick your ass if you abandoned me,” Kara tries as she shakes her sister.

Alex actually laughs at this. “She would,” Alex agrees with an uncontrollable smile on her face. She can just imagine Lucy giving her that look whenever Alex does something wrong on mission.

Kara smiles brightly as she stares at Alex. “I really want you to be happy, you know that right?” Alex sheepishly nods in agreement because fighting it doesn’t make it any less true. “Does Lucy make you happy?”

Alex takes a deep breath. “She makes me feel so much more than that.”

Kara beams. “Then, we’re going to make sure you get your girl.”