#gits weary

[beatsforbrothels]

KeiyaA - I! Gits! Weary!

[fangisms]

wish it on your worst enemy

A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words

Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers

George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.

You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.

"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.

"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"

"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"

"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.

"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.

"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.

Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.

"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.

"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."

You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.

"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.

"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."

She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.

"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"

"Oh, George—! He's not my..."

"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.

"May I ask... what became of him?"

"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"

You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.

"You just have to love ‘em while you can."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.

You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.

"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.

How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.

He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.

Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.

George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"

"George!"

The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"

"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.

You look down and gape at the mess.

"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."

He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.

"That's adorable," he warbles.

You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.

“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"

"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”

Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.

"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."

"But Pomfrey—"

"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”

Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.

But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.

"You're very beautiful."

Daggers. “Shut up.”

He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."

"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"

"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"

But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.

"Quit staring."

"Sincerest apologies."

You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.

"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"

"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."

"Be serious, Weasley—"

"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."

"That's not fair!" you say.

"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."

Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?

"You're being idiotic—”

"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"

"George, quit it,” you say.

"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"

"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"

Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.

And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.

You groan.

"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."

He shrugs. "I am crazy…"

"Do not—"

"… Crazy in love."

"I hate you"

"I know."

You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.

"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."

He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."

You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.

"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.

"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.

"Good. And if it does, then—"

"Then I’ll quit the team.”

"What!"

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."

Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.

"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"

"Oh, so you won a kiss.”

"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."

"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”

You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.

"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"

"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"

"Madam, he's awake!”

"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.

"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low

"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”

You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"

"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.

"Well, what else would you be?"

"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”

“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am. A fool who loves you very much.”

“Sap.”

masterlist

[14thgalerie]

the one

• pairing: theodore nott x riddle!reader

• now playing: hayloft by mother mother / you that i want by divine

• word count: 1.7k

• genre: angst, fluff, hint of smut

— short one that i kept thinking of.

Theo slumped in his chair, fatigue weighing heavily on him. The clock on the wall opposite him ticked relentlessly, unforgiving of his sleepless state. He had long abandoned any hope of finding any rest. He hadn’t been able to since that fateful night when everything felt right in his life.

His mind wouldn’t grant him solace. Each time his weary eyelids dared to meet from the pure exhaustion of the stress of OWLS, the ongoing war, his brain kept feeding him images of you. You, who kept haunting him from the very forefront of his mind. 

The natural curve of your eyelashes. The way it fluttered against his cheeks as your lips made a blazing trail across his cheeks. Gentle whispers that drown him in sheer bliss still send shivers down his spine. 

His tie lay abandoned, discarded beside him, next to the pile of papers swept aside in his frustration earlier. The long, emerald fabric had felt too suffocating amidst the overwhelming thoughts of you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you would also be writhing in bed, unable to fall asleep as he does. Would your dreams torment you with the brief time his hands tangled onto your hair, wayward? Does your dormant body spin cruel variations of that time, telling him tantalising tales of what could’ve occurred if only your insufferable blonde companion hadn’t so abruptly interrupted?

He had never loved you.

Not in the way you wanted.

This desire to fill the emptiness in your heart, to have somebody give you the time and day has obscured that truth. A part of you knew, from the very beginning, but this desperation forced you to turn yourself blind.

Draco was there, a constant presence in your life, a perfect match to have by your side. Born only 24 hours apart, and 10 years of your childhood spent solely with him.

In truth, you both used the other, a fact that you ignored. He relied on you for protection and status as your partner, while you clung to him to feel the fleeting sense of warmth. But the perpetual storm of reality always wearing you both down and, you were rapidly losing the strength to keep yourself afloat.

Unspoken words hung heavy in the air between the both of you as the year progressed and the inevitable return of your father neared. At first, you had both kept your feelings at bay, not wanting this to jeopardise your friendship altogether. But as time went on, it became a routine. Venom spit from raised voices, threats of abandonment and indifference to each other, reconciliation accompanied by hollow promises and sex.

“Are you a bloody fool? She is my best friend and yet again, Draco ‘can’t-keep-his-boxers-on’ Malfoy decided that didn’t matter!” You screamed in frustration, but it didn’t seem to matter when he didn’t even so much as falter at the volume. 

“We aren’t even together, so why should it?” He carelessly replies, an air of indifference surrounding him.

“We aren’t? You truly are an insufferable git, I spent two years committing myself to you, and you never thought to mention that little detail before?” You scoffed, incredulous at the idea. It was foolish and outrageous, and not at all like how the man you know would think. Despite your differences with one another, he would still treat you with at least the respect you give to a friend, but now…

“Oh please! Don’t act as if your mind has not been completely filled with that mindless buffoon.” 

“For Merlin’s sake, do not dare turn this on me…” You challenged him. 

“Or what? Threaten to have your father kill me? Well, surprise, darling, I’m no stranger to that already.” He humorlessly chuckles. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen that god-awful lovesick look on your face at the mere sight of his back. I am not the complete bloody fool you think I am.”

It hurt, truly, despite the fact that this started as a hilarious excuse of a relationship. You cared for Draco and to see him constantly destroy everything and everyone in his path of destruction left you unable to conjure up any more excuses for him.

“I am done, Draco. We can stop whatever awful pretentious act we put ourselves to and live on our own as you seem to hardly care for even yourself anymore these days.” You laugh, defeat etched on your face.

He never gave you the love that you sought, the kind that Theo had laid bare in complete display for you in just under seven minutes in that tiny closet. 

“You came back to me.” He whispers, close enough for his lips to touch the corner of your lips but there’s just a stutter of breath. It makes you want to instinctively kneel and look up to him and beg religiously for mercy, the way he speaks.

“I did.” You reply. Unmoving, but your patience wears thin.

“Look at you,” He mutters, his hand tugging at your head by your hair, exposing your neck to him, and your knees nearly buckle at his breath that burns against your jaw. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet and you’re almost like putty in my hands already.”

“Shut it, Nott.” You quickly remark a decision you notably regret when you are left standing in the middle of the room all by yourself. The cold air from the ajar window left your skin tingling with an uncomfortable feeling akin to when Draco touched you in the past weeks.

You scoff, the sound more as if you were nearly pleading. “What are you doing?”

“You know I hate it when you act like a brat.” He inclined his head, and the movement leaves chills running through your spine for the action is almost similar to someone sinister. But weirdly, it makes you want to tease him even more.

“Oh please, Theo. I’m not blind, as if you don’t dream of it.” You slowly approach him, your fingers make a motion of dragging along the ends of the poster beds. “The way I see your eyes tremble when I contradict every single thing you say. I know you are depraved when your thoughts are only of my mouth…”

You hear a sharp intake of breath when you come near. “The way you would just love it if you could shut me up by having my lips wrapped around you. I know you, Theo.”

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, he reaches almost mindlessly for your collar. His thumb barely touches the skin of your neck. “Yes, you do.”

His eyes are intense as they dart to your mouth. Your tongue unconsciously makes a sweep against your dry lips.

“I suppose Draco will show me exactly how.”

Taking a page of this man’s book is terrifying but you are tired of this game of tug that you keep playing.

“That would be wise. ”

He’s still looking at your lips.

“I’ll go then.” You try again, unwilling to make the move.

“Go on, you won’t hear a sound of protest from me.” But you remain standing in front of him, the will to move weak against the desire to have him.

“Really?”

“No.”

Theo grabs the back of your head, tangled his fingers in your hair, and made a mess of your mouth. With his lips attached to yours, you grab him by his shirt and the both of you kiss as if you were third years again. Your teeth clashed into each other time and time again and you couldn’t find it in you to slow down. 

The need to kiss him, to feel what you’ve been thinking of for several nights on end.  You push back at him, desperate to feel the same hunger and need in him, as he kisses you deeper and more profound than you ever thought possible.

The soft, selfish hands that you wished so badly to wipe clean off the bodies of other women move up from the bottom of your back to move you impossibly closer until you are almost one. His voice is ragged when he pulls away, a thin thread of saliva still connecting you.

He says against your cheek, “I love you. I’d die for you. Nobody can ever give you what I could make the pain go away like I could, not even that dense fuck who has a deeper sense of self-preservation than his parents.”

You swallow, agonised by the sudden slow pace that he moves. Not an ounce of energy dared to waste to defend your ex. “I will love you anywhere.”

You shiver at the raw and pure intensity that laced the declaration. You almost want to ask, to hear how. But you don’t think your mind could properly comprehend the ability to piece together the right words to ask.

His heart is pounding from beneath your fingers as you feel the pulse on his neck, almost leaping it out as if all it wants is for you to finally claim it as yours. Encase it in a glass case and put it on display for all else to see.

“In a bookstore, by the water fountain, the sidewalk, in the flames of your home.” His hands come down to your hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that by morning sunlight, purple will be painted on your skin but it feels so heavenly that you don’t push them away.

“I love you, not for the protection you provide and for your substantial looks, but for all the small things you do that bear your soul to me.” 

Your hands meet around the back of his neck as he carries you by your thighs towards his bed. Pulling at the fabric that keeps him away from you.

“I’ll love you even as you tell me you hate me. I love you enough that I will scour the face of this earth for a place where I can take you away from your nightmares.” 

“I-“ He sighs into your lips, completely delighted by the intimacy that only his mind could conjure up in the lone nights. “I love you.”

You move for the buttons of his polo, while he moves to pull your shirt from you. A race that leaves you both fumbling when you feel his hand carving a path against your waist and up to your chest. You are left scalding, tiny bounces of light flickering in your eyes.

“I will be at your string’s end.”

masterlist

[spaceyaceface]

Losing Patience

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Request: Ominis is sick of seeing his best friends pine for each other, so he forces them to get together. Requested by @scrambled-eggs-y

Warnings: None :)

Also available on AO3

Ominis Gaunt considered himself a patient young man—he had, after all, been friends with Sebastian and Anne for several years. He knew all too well the weary sighs given by professors and peers given after one or the other had done something irritating. His reserve of patience was tried even more when a certain girl joined the vacancy Anne left in their fifth year—it was incredible; he’d used to think that there was only a certain amount of trouble the students of Hogwarts could get away with. Y/N quickly surpassed what he had once thought were the limits. Her and Sebastian were a wonderfully horrible pair. It was fun to watch, really—when they weren’t meddling in Dark Magic, of course. 

But time had passed and the pair had gotten off the dark path they’d been traveling down. Ominis was grateful for this, obviously, but it seemed that the two had chosen a new, almost as horrible path—one that was finally testing his deep well of patience. 

The idiots had fallen in love with each other, and were too stupid to admit it. 

It was sickening, the way they flirted with each other, always toeing the edge while never stepping off it. It had been that way for nearly a year now—it hadn’t taken long for him to catch on. There were inflections in their voices reserved solely for each other, soft tones they used when they thought no one else was listening. One of them just had to take that leap of faith, through themselves off the edge and into the arms of the other that were desperately waiting for them. 

He knew that each of their hesitations stemmed from similar things—both were ridiculously stubborn. Sebastian held fast to the title of the most stubborn person Ominis had ever met. Y/N was a close second. Both were insecure. Y/N was more obvious in this trait, feeling like her status as “Hero of Hogwarts” was beyond her, while Sebastian hid this a bit better. But Ominis knew his oldest friend well. 

Somehow, Ominis found himself stuck between the two of them yet again, listening to them bicker like a married couple as they practiced their charms. 

“Sebastian, the movement is more circular, you’re doing it too boxy, it’s not—”

“This is exactly how I’ve been doing it since second year, I think I’d have figured it out by now.” 

“Oh really? Then why isn’t it working, hm?” 

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m never going to get a moment of rest with the two of you.” 

Sebastian chuckled. “What fun would that be?” Ominis heard an unsatisfied hum. Sebastian must have tried the charm one more time, once again failing to get the desired result. 

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, Sebastian, give me that.” Y/N leaned over Ominis, grabbing the lock Sebastian was practicing on from the table and placing it in front of her. “Alohamora,” she said, and her spell was followed by a distinct click signaling her success. Ominis could only imagine the satisfied look she was sporting. “Too boxy, see?” 

“You know full well I’ve done that spell right thousands of times,” Sebastian whined. 

“So what is it that’s throwing you off?” Y/N gave an over-dramatic gasp. “It’s my stunning good looks, isn’t it?” 

“More like your horrid spell. Seems like someone was off feeding her hippogriffs before class, did you step in dung or something?” 

The three of them stood up after hearing Professor Ronan dismiss them. Y/N took the opportunity to shove Sebastian’s arm. “I smell wonderful. I know for a fact you like my perfume, you git.” 

“I—shut up, I’m not a git,” Sebastian said, voice a bit tight. “I’ll take you to Hogsmeade this weekend to prove it. You, um, and Ominis.” 

“Fine then,” Y/N said. There it was, that hint of disappointment Ominis knew all too well. 

Idiots. The both of them. 

Ominis tuned out the rest of their conversation as they continued down the hall. At that moment, he made a decision. He’d get them to confess—they likely wouldn’t be any less insufferable once together, but that stupid tension would be gone. 

It was Ominis’s turn for a bit of mischief. 

—-----

The next time Ominis found himself alone with Sebastian was that night in the common room. Y/N had gone up to bed after they had all snuck back from the Undercroft, and Sebastian was just about to do the same when Ominis called after him. 

“What?” Sebastian asked, a bit puzzled. It wasn’t like Ominis to keep him up late.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Ominis said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. 

He heard Sebastian shift uncomfortably. “And what is this something?”

“Y/N.” 

Sebastian took a moment to reply. “Is… is something wrong with her? Are you worried about her? I didn’t think she was acting off, did I miss—”

“Oh, Merlin’s Beard, Sebastian, this is exactly why I need to talk to you about this,” Ominis said, exasperated. 

“Well, if you could enlighten me, I would much appreciate it,” Sebastian spat back. 

“I have never seen you this worked up about anything,” Ominis said. He let out a low chuckle. “Honestly, it’s a bit pathetic. Would you please just get on and tell her how you feel? It’s infuriating.” 

“Hang on, are you implying that—”

“You’re helplessly in love with her? Absolutely.” He smirked. “Though I know for certain it’s much more than just implied.”

Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to see Sebastian’s face at that moment. He could only imagine the fury, the disbelief, it must truly have been a sight to behold. “I’m not… Look Ominis, even if I was… interested in her that way, I would never tell her.” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same.”

Ominis scoffed and pushed himself off of the wall, standing in front of Sebastian. “You two flirt more than you breathe when you’re around each other.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Sebastian said defensively. “That’s just how we are. As friends.” 

“Right,” Ominis said, tone sarcastic. “The two of you are truly duller than I realized. You’re the blind one if you can’t see how she feels about you.”

Sebastian stormed up the stairs to their dorm room without another word. It seemed that he wouldn’t get anywhere with him. Though perhaps with Y/N…

He considered it lucky that they had History of Magic together the next day. She continued taking the class because though Binns was an abysmal professor, she found the subject itself interesting. Ominis took it because it was a great class to nap in. 

He wouldn’t be napping today, though. When he took his seat next to Y/N, he whispered to her. “Tell Sebastian you’re in love with him yet?”

Y/N jumped in her seat, used to Ominis being asleep in mere moments of sitting down. “What—what are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. He’s too coward to say anything himself. Would you please do the honor and admit it to him so you two could get a move on?” 

She leaned down to whisper as Binns droned on. “You know full well that Sebastian is a flirt with everyone. He doesn’t feel that way towards me.”

“So you do fancy him.” 

She huffed, clearly regretting her words. “I’m not telling him. It would ruin our friendship.”

“Isn’t that what you want? To ruin it?” 

“Ominis, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to pummel you with my textbook.”

Ominis frowned, laying his head down and taking a troubled nap. 

—-----

There was a new tension in the air that afternoon. Things between the three of them were… strained. Ominis guessed that by planting the thought that they might have their feelings returned, both of his friends were stuck trying to overanalyze one another. It created a whole new dynamic of overly polite words and gestures. It. Was. Awful. 

For a little bit, he thought this might be it—he could have pushed them close enough to the edge that they had no choice but to leap, but as the afternoon stretched on, he realized he had gotten his hopes up too soon. 

As he listened to Y/N shyly thank Sebastian for holding the door open for her for what had to be the tenth time, Ominis was about out of his mind. He knew that despite the shift in their behaviors, they were no closer to admitting their feelings to one another than they were yesterday. 

A plan formed in his mind. It was stupid, really—but he figured idiotic friends called for idiotic measures. 

“Before we go to the common room, could we make a quick stop?” Ominis said, hoping they’d be willing to follow him. 

“If it’s quick,” Y/N said. Sebastian didn’t argue. 

He kept them chatting with small talk about classes and essays as they walked around the corridors. It was enough to distract them from thinking of his location. Finally, they stood in front of a supply closet, one he and Sebastian had hid in a few times during their early years of sneaking around the school. 

He opened the door and frowned, humming in disapproval. 

Y/N came to stand by his side. “What’s the matter?”

“Not sure. Could I borrow your wand for a moment?” Ominis asked. Oh God, please let this work. 

He heard the shuffle of her robes as she pulled it out, handing it to him. Too easy. “Why?”

Ominis grinned wickedly. “Oh, no reason.” 

Before either of his friends could react, he shoved them both into the closet, Sebastian giving a groan of discomfort as he hit the far wall of the tiny room. Ominis stood in the doorway, smiling at them. 

“I’m not opening this door until the two of you sort yourselves out. You know what I’m talking about.” He slammed the door shut and charmed the lock, leaning against the wall beside it with a sigh. 

—----

When the Ominis closed the door, the pair found themselves enveloped in darkness.  It took Y/N a moment to process her situation—she was locked in a dark room, without her wand. Oh, and Sebastian was there. She jolted forward, realizing she had been leaning back against him, pressing him between her and the wall. His chest had been warm against her back. She was glad it was dark in there. 

She pounded her fist on the door. “Ominis! You prick, let us out of here!” 

Sebastian joined in her shouting. “I swear Ominis, if you don’t open the door I’m going to—” 

He didn’t get to finish his threat, interrupted by the snickering on the other side of the door. Y/N groaned. “He’s not letting us out.” 

Sebastian shifted in the small space, pulling his arm forward apoligizing as he brushed against Y/N’s shoulder. There was hardly room to move in there. She shuffled around facing him right as he said, “Lumos.”

She slammed her eyes shut at the bright light blinding her from the tip of his wand. “Merlin’s Beard, Sebastian.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lowering the wand a bit. She tried to look up at him, white spots dancing in her vision. Godric, he was close.

He frowned slightly. “I still have my wand. I can try unlocking the door.”

“Well, you did prove abysmal at that spell just yesterday, but go ahead.” 

He tried, to no avail. Y/N took the wand from his hand, insisting she try herself, but it still didn’t work—the wand didn’t want to cooperate with her. There was more snickering from outside of the closet. 

Y/N groaned, laying her head back against the wall behind her. “Bloody Hell,” she said.

Sebastian leaned against his own wall across from her. “Now what? Do you… know what Ominis was going on about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled. 

Sebastian sighed. “It really doesn’t seem like we have a choice.”

Silence settled between them. It went on for several moments before they both started talking at once.

“I guess I should just—”

“Well, there’s no getting around it—”

They both shut their mouths, staring at one another. “Um,” Sebastian said. “Ladies first.”

“No, uh, you go first. I insist,” she responded. 

He sighed in defeat, arms folded across his chest. He looked away from her, focusing on the corner of the closet’s ceiling. “I… know what Ominis is getting at by locking us in here. I suppose I’m rather… fond of you, and I guess that it’s driving him mad—”

“Fond?” she asked. “Why would that be driving him mad, we’re friends, of course you would be—”

“Ok, fine, fond isn’t the right word for this. It’s um, well it’s more like I’m in love with you.” His eyes met hers for a brief moment, before dodging away again. 

Despite the nerves bubbling up in her stomach, she couldn’t help but start to smile. “Like you’re in love with me?”

He looked down at her again, and upon seeing the smile on her face, he kept his gaze there. “Not like,” he admitted. “I am. I’m completely mad about you, Y/N.” 

She took a step forward as he unfolded his arms. In that small space, that was all it took to be a breath away from him. “That’s good,” she said softly, smile widening. 

He leaned forward, grinning down at her. “Really?” 

“Really,” she said, hands resting on his shoulders. “Because I’m in love with you, too.” 

His lips found hers in an instant, his large hands coming to settle on her waist in an effort to pull her even closer. The first kiss was short, interrupted by the smiles they both wore. But then he leaned down to kiss her again, and oh Merlin, were his lips soft as they brushed against hers, begging for more as he tasted her. His fingers dug into her waist, and—

The door of the closet banged open, light flooding down on them. 

Ominis smirked at the both of them. “There we are. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She flushed, glad her friend couldn’t see the state of them both. He set her wand on the ground beside the door. “Right, well I’ll leave you two to it. As a thank you, I expect you not to snog around me.” 

Ominis turned and left. Sebastian looked back down at her, face red, but smile wide. “We were in the middle of something, weren’t we?”

Y/N grabbed her wand and slammed the closet door shut once more.

[exhaustedcatte]

Marauders Code

“We’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what,” the four wizards chanted as they performed a blood-binding oath illegally in their dormitory.

Remus was sent straight into McGonagall’s office, where she stared at him from behind her eyeglasses.

“Mister Lupin,” she raised a brow. “Sit, please.”

He sat, weary and suddenly tired of everything that had happened.

McGonagall exhaled sharply. “What’s this about you breaking a nose, then?”

Remus lifted his left shoulder listlessly, “He was being a dic– berk to Sirius and. Well. Yeah.”

He didn’t disclose that the three boys had spent the morning cheering up Sirius after the awful, long winded howler he’d gotten from home. And just when the boy had begun to laugh, that stupid fucking idiot Yaxley had come and rained over their progress.

But Remus’ pre-moon jitters had slithered down his arm, which shot out at the older boy’s nose, breaking it upon contact.

In the four years his friends had known him, Remus’d always been mild and patient. It helped his self-esteem to be something other than a monster, but exceptions, he’d come to learn, had to be made. Quite like Sirius Black.

James and Peter had stared at him with pure admiration and Sirius gaped at him with wide, grateful eyes.

“S’alright,” he’d said awkwardly when he retrieved his arm, unscathed, from a yowling Yaxley’s face. “Worth a detention.”

“Damn right!” James hollered, tackling Remus carefully, aware of his pre-moon pains, despite his excitement.

“Moony,” Peter breathed, “You’re brill!”

Remus offered a half smile as he followed a prefect down to McGonagall’s office.

That was fourth year.

In fifth year, Sirius was the one who was laden with detention.

He’d been skidding down the stairs using a dandy charm that him and Remus had been practising for a prank.

Sirius slid down the marble steps directly into a gossip session.

“He’s such a peacock,” one of them groaned.

“Gosh, I know! And did you see how he kept babying Pettigrew in Transfig? Like he’s some kind of genius, what a git!”

Sirius frowned. Peter? James was the one who partnered with—oh.

He listened closer, sneaking up on them from behind. And of course. Evans, MacDonald, McKinnon, Fortescue.

“Potter’s inflated ego–”

James had been assisting Peter with the lesson, one that Peter had read up on with Remus but while Remus had succeeded in his second try, Peter was struggling in his twenty second.

He was reassuring a boy who needed to be reminded that sometimes things take time and that was quite alright. That it didn’t speak to your intelligence or your capabilities. These girls, who hated James purely because he was smarter than them (okay, so Sirius knew James could be a right twat, but not this time), could go straight to hell.

Sirius grinned.

He followed them behind a Disillusionment charm that he’d perfected over the winter-break at Hogwarts and spelled every staircase they took to bring them back to the same hallway. After several attempts of them running away but landing right in front of the same charms classroom, he gave in and appeared in front of their frazzled beings.

“That’ll teach you not to speak on what you don’t know,” he said coldly.

Needless to say, McGonagall was furious at him for making them skip class and gave him a week of scrubbing trophies in Filch’s office. They became fast friends after that incident though, so no harm done.

James was running late.

He had to take notes for Remus, who was lying stock still in the infirmary, Skele-gro working on his bones. Sirius was keeping watch, having dropped Herbogy in their sixth year; he had Os in every subject, he could drop anything he wished.

James dashed into the Greenhouses right behind Sprout, barely squeezing in as the glass doors slid shut. Peter waved from their spot in the corner.

Their lesson was not very fun since they were with the know-it-alls. Ravenclaws were either amiable, or they had claws.

“You’d think he’d handle plants better, with how much he eats them,” Billy whatsit sneered at Peter.

Peter wilted like his Aconite. James felt fury rise in his throat.

“Gluttony,” one girl simpered cruelly.

“Look at those love handles on him,” a third one said. “I don’t understand how he’s a Marauder.”

“Pity friendship, I think. One would think he’s a Squib,” Billy gurgled.

James rose to his feet. “Professor Sprout? I think Billy Blabbermouth and his lackeys are having trouble here.”

The class turned to them.

He hexed the trio publicly. It was a silly one, helped jog your memory, repeat your previous words (he’d used it plenty on Sirius when he was fumbling around Remus like a shy maiden).

Billy and his friends looked aghast as their disgusting words came pouring out at Sprout’s face. She took a hundred points off them, and handed detention for the next two weeks.

“Thanks James,” Peter whispered.

“Of course, mate.”

James also got detention for hexing a student in class, but he took it happily, Remus was minding that detention as Prefect anyway.

In their last year, Remus had come back with a long wooden cane, much to his chagrin.

His body couldn’t carry his weight right after the moons, so he’d been forced into a magnificent cane with a golden lion at the head. They had tried to make him feel better about it but Remus was a creature of self-reliance, of pride.

Remus hated it, Peter knew.

It happened on their way to breakfast.

Peter was behind the other three boys, voted as the one to lie to Mary about their Halloween plans (they were planning on transforming all the beds into pumpkins; no, they weren’t going to be creepy about it—mirror charms, duh), when Davey Smith traipsed past them and tripped Remus.

Remus fell down like a bag of bricks, red-faced and irate, unable to retaliate after the moon and otherwise (monster, monster, Remus chanted to himself to prevent himself from snapping, Peter knew).

Sirius and James helped him up, jaws locked with anger, as their first priority was to check on their friend.

Smith jeered. “Feet useless, cane broken, face cut up. What kind of an ugly invalid are you, Lupin?”

Davey Smith, jealous of Remus simply because he’d been asked out by Davey’s crush. What a piece of work.

“Sirius, no. James, put your wand down,” Remus sighed. “Smith, kindly get lost.”

Peter smiled. He’d not been warned. “Sorry, Mary, duty calls!”

He turned into Wormtail behind an armour and scurried up an unsuspecting Davey’s pant leg.

Wormtail bit into the Hufflepuff’s flesh.

Davey howled.

McGonagall swept into the hall, took one look at Remus, at the anger tinged faces of James and Sirius and Peter’s self-satisfied expression. Then she noticed Davey, who was flopping about the hallway embarrassingly.

“Mr Pettigrew,” McGonagall ground out tightly, “I don’t know what you’ve done, but his thigh is bleeding! Detention for the week. And Mr Smith, we will have a Talk after Madam Pomfrey is done with that gash. No Hogsmeade for the rest of the term for you.”

Peter smiled benignly. “I’ll be there, professor.”

She whisked Smith away, scolding him for hurting her kids, no doubt.

“Pete! That was fab!” Sirius laughed and James thumped his back. “Wish I could’ve given him rabies, but you might’ve done me up with plague.”

Remus was rolling his eyes, but a smile was hooking his mouth up in the corners, “I should know better by now, eh? Of course one of you will rush to defend my honour.”

“It’s what you deserve Moony,” Peter said, smiling.

Really, they’d always have each other’s backs. Until the very end.

[memelovescaps]

CHAPTER 15: HARRY'S BIRTHDAY (PART 1)

I didn't do it on purpose but since today's the 31st of July, it's very fitting that this chapter is the first part of Harry's birthday! So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!

Hermione giggled but Ron shook his head, his nose wrinkled.

“Still with that, are you?” Ron said, pulling a face.

“Still with what? Severus?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ron’s scowl turned into a disgusted grimace as he stopped dead in his tracks.

“You’re calling him Severus now? SEVERUS?!” Ron's arms were gesturing wildly.

“Yes, Ron, Severus. It’s his bloody name, for Merlin’s sake…”

Harry breathed in and out, trying to calm down as he shook his head.

“Oh come on, we’ve been through this. Spending time with Severus has shown me he’s not the person we believed he was. And it's shown him that I am not James Potter, or even Lily. We’re friends now, just like you, Neville, and Luna,” Harry’s voice tightened, his fists clenching as he struggled to keep his tone steady. “I don’t understand why that bothers you so much.”

“Because it’s him!” Ron shouted. His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, “It’s the git from the dungeons, it’s…”

“Yes, and I am the son of his mortal enemy,” Harry interrupted. “If he has learned to forget all that, you should too. I don’t understand this hatred towards him! After all, all he’s done to you is deducting points from Gryffindor.”

“He didn't...!” Ron said, his hands in the air. “You must be bloody delusional, Harry!”

“Ron, that's enough,” Hermione intervened.

Harry turned to his left, where Hermione was standing, looking at Ron with a stern gaze. Ron's ears turned bright red, and he turned around, huffing and starting to walk, his steps heavy on the ground. Harry’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain control. The tightness in his chest was suffocating, and he could feel a knot of anger and disappointment forming in his stomach.

Ron's words seemed to echo in the quiet moment before Ginny, who'd been standing behind them, took a step forward. Her brow knitted together as she glanced between Harry, standing beside her and Ron, already walking away.

“Harry, it’s not just Ron,” Ginny said quietly. “You’ve been spending so much time with Snape lately when you used to hate him not three months ago. And we remember the things he did. Maybe you know things we don't, but still, it’s Snape. It's…weird.”

She then ran after his brother until she caught up with him, a few yards ahead.

Harry breathed out, looking at the dry path as he sighed and started to walk, Hermione falling in step with his pace, much slower than Ron and Ginny's.

He felt a wave of weariness wash over him. That had gone dismally. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes shut. Why was it so hard to understand that someone could change?

People can change. He'd seen it in Severus. He'd felt it in his bones, he himself was not the same he was a year ago. Hell, hadn't he himself changed from the boy who had first arrived at Hogwarts? If he could evolve, why couldn't Severus? Why couldn't Ron? The realisation felt like a cold, sharp truth he struggled to accept.

He couldn’t help but feel isolated, Ron had always been a pillar in his life. But this time, it didn't look like he would budge. His emotions tangled with a sense of being fundamentally misunderstood.

As usual, also available on Wattpad and Fanfiction

[dougielombax]

I’ve seen a lot of fanart depicting a humanized Spamton as being either a sleazy looking git or incredibly sexy, gorgeous even.

Ideally as a ballet dancer, gymnast or contortionist.

I personally think he’d look very handsome and beautiful, but with a kind of weariness about him coupled with anxiety and crippling self-doubt.

Idk

Does that make sense?

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Fresh Air and Exercise

01/28/2023

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x wife!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 3,221

Warnings: gave the reader a specific maiden name for reasons and she has hair falling into her face (no other explicit descriptions though), domestic fluff, mild teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, more fluff

Summary: Sherlock may have refused to join his wife for an afternoon walk, but that doesn't mean he has to pass up on the much needed exercise altogether.

A/N: I started this some time ago and left it untouched for far too long, but you may have noticed that I am quite in the mood for finishing things up at the moment. Hope you like it.

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

The glow of the afternoon sun still fresh on her cheeks, she felt light as air as she danced down the hallway. Gentle fingers softly caressed a colourful bouquet of wild flowers she had picked on her stroll, secretly wishing it was her husband’s touch she could feel against her fingertips. Alas, he was busy with a case, as always, and his refusal to join her for her walk still stung a little. Not as much as it had the moment he had sent her off to explore the budding riches of spring on her own, but enough to remind her heart of the disappointment as she rounded the corner and her eyes found him in an instant.

It seemed he hadn’t moved one inch in her absence, his broad shoulders still filling the leather chair in front of the desk in his study. She hated seeing him so tense, although she probably should have gotten used to the sight by now, as it was always the same when things just didn’t seem to add up. He could bury himself in that study for days, shutting out the entire world to be alone with his thoughts.

Well, maybe not entirely alone. And although he had never formally invited her or told her that he enjoyed her company, he had also never objected to it, until one day she had found a beautiful wingback covered with the softest crimson velvet in the corner of the room, facing his desk, and that had been all the confirmation she needed. From that day on, she had made it her personal duty to ensure that he didn’t lose himself in his mind completely. After all, even if it was hard to believe sometimes, he was a human being and as such he needed nourishment, fresh air and exercise like ordinary people.

Usually, it didn’t take her too much effort to convince him of the benefits a short walk by her side would have, but today he had simply refused to acknowledge that the exercise would help him clear his mind. Stubborn git.

Without a sound, she slipped into his territory and drew closer, coming to a halt directly behind him, yet he didn’t even flinch when her hand entered his periphery to set the vase down next to a pile of papers. Maybe he had heard her despite his state of utter concentration, but even without seeing his face, she rather assumed that his dwindling reflexes were most likely the effect of his growing weariness.

“I’m back,” she whispered against his temple as her arms wrapped around his tightly wound shoulders before they drifted further down along his chest and her lips allowed themselves the silky touch of his warm skin.

“How was your afternoon stroll, my love?”

“Refreshing, as expected. Yet it was lacking a little…charm.”

An amused chuckle rose from the depth of his chest and she enjoyed the slight tremble underneath the palms of her hands. To her great relief, he finally seemed to desist from his task and allowed himself to sink against the back rest. And as if that hadn’t been enough to fill her heart with joy, tender fingers wrapped around her hand to bring it up against his lips for a gesture of unadulterated affection.

“Sherlock, you really shouldn’t hide yourself in this study all day. You too need fresh air and exercise.”

“So you keep telling me.” Another deep chuckle filled the room as to her surprise he stood and took the few steps to the window behind them. “But I think you are mistaken, my dear. I still can get plenty of fresh air without setting a single foot outside of this room.”

With a wry smile that was supposed to tell her he thought this topic of their conversation had been discussed at length, his fingers wrapped around the handle and yanked the window open. But the corners of his mouth soon fell, his forehead wrinkling in a frown as she decided to join him by the window. She simply knew him too well, and that had always been his greatest weakness. And she could see the realisation in his eyes the moment her body pressed into his and her hands snaked around his strong neck.

“But what about the exercise?”

He took his sweet time, seemingly pondering her question, but they both knew he had made up his mind long before his arms wrapped around her middle and his fingers squeezed her alluring backside.

“I’m sure we can think of something.”

It didn’t take much for him to hoist her up and walk them both back over to his desk where he gently sat her down. His chest firmly leaning against her own, he left her no choice but to yield and recline until she needed her elbows for support. All the while, a pair of gleaming eyes held her gaze, and it would have needed nothing more to keep her in place, his eyes and the promise of divine pleasure they silently made her.

His hand had already busied itself with her skirts, gliding along the bare skin of her calf in agonising hastelessness, when he suddenly halted and tore his eyes away from hers.

“Will you look at that.” There was nothing slow or gentle anymore about the way he pushed her skirts up the rest of the way. “Taking a stroll without a pair of knickers?” He tutted, his eyes a significant amount darker when they found her again. “How scandalous.”

“In my defence, I was hoping for your…stimulating company.”

“No need to defend yourself. It is rather convenient actually.”

Without a warning his fingers found her heat. Helpless upon the overwhelming sensation of his unexpected touch, all she could do was gasp. His mouth was so irritably close to hers, inhaling every sigh and every whimper that fell from her lips, and yet he denied her the kiss she so desperately longed for.

“Is this what you were hoping for when you asked me to join you on your stroll, my sweet? Being pressed up against a tree, my fingers buried inside you to the hilt? Or would you have preferred being laid down on a soft patch of clover to have me make tender love to you?”

Forming a verbal answer seemed impossible while he kept toying with her, his eyes looking all shiny blue, pupils blown wide with lust, but before she even had the chance to confirm either one of his suspicions, he stopped.

She was just about to protest when she realised he had good reason for this most unwelcome intermission. Both of his hands determined to free himself, they were tugging, yanking at his shirt and trousers and she was sure his impatience would come at the cost of a tear in the fine fabric when he finally succeeded.

Sherlock wouldn’t waste another second, he never did in the state he was in now. He wanted her, and he was more than ready as he lined himself up. She couldn’t wait to feel him, feel the delicious rush of the first stretch, of becoming one with her beloved. But Sherlock was always full of surprises, and she could hardly suppress a groan of protest as he chose to halt once again.

Yet his lips appeased her immediately, pressing to hers in the tenderest of kisses. He hummed in appreciation when her mouth fell open, welcoming him in. The faint taste of Black Shag tobacco still lingered on his tongue, a plain and simple flavour, the very opposite of the man who loved smoking it, but intoxicating her just as much.

She loathed breaking away from him, but the languid roll of his hips left her no choice. With a heady moan her fingers found his back, fisting his shirt as she pulled herself up against him. He wrapped his arms around her likewise, whether this was supposed to be a gesture of affection or a mere means to secure her in place while he had his way with her she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t care. His angle was immaculate, the tip of his manhood brushing past the very spot that made her see stars with every stroke. And yet, his pace was just a tad too slow to take her there.

“Sherlock, please,” she whimpered against his ear, but as soon as she could hear the smug smile resonate in his reply, she regretted having opened her mouth in the first place.

“I thought you wanted me to do some exercise. Where’s the point in this being over so soon then?”

A pointed thrust, slow but reaching deep. And then another. Solely designed to make it almost impossible for her to retort. And yet she did.

“Nobody said that it is you who has to finish yet,” she pressed out through gritted teeth.

“I fear it’s quite impossible to find a flaw in that line of argument.”

His grin held an almost irritable amount of pride despite his obvious defeat. And before she had even fathomed his words, he budged. Hips speeding up, he clutched her even tighter against his chest. He must have sensed it seconds before the tension took hold of her body, before her breaths became shallow, more rapid with every inhale, before she clung to his wide shoulders as if her life depended on it, before the quivering started and turned into violent clenches around him. Violent but oh so sweet, luring him closer to his own release.

Not yet, not yet, he thought, as his gaze fell upon the armchair right behind her. The very armchair she usually sat in and watched him work. He had been the one to put it there since, strangely enough, her presence seemed to help him think. Although sometimes it did a little more than that and he found his thoughts wandering, his mind drifting off to the image of her naked form, straddling him, moving on top of him in that exact chair.

Her mind was still clouded in a blissful haze when he picked her up, still buried deep inside of her as he made his way around the desk and carefully took a seat in the space that was on any other day strictly reserved for her. A deep sigh escaped her lips, burning the skin of his shoulder even through the light fabric of his shirt, as his length was neatly settled inside of her again.

Slowly the weight of her head lifted off his shoulder and he seized his chance to cup her face and pull it towards his. She tasted so sweet, fruity with a touch of vanilla, a flavour he had been addicted to since their very first kiss.

“My darling,” he whispered into her mouth, his lips refusing to part from hers, “do you think you can move for me?”

Oh, she would. And how she would, he realised as her lips curled against his. She never passed a chance to seek revenge for his darned teasing. And right now, he counted on that.

A deep, drawn out sound rose from his chest, a contented hum to praise the rhythmic rolls of her hips, rocking back and forth, taking him in and releasing him almost entirely, a delicious torture, repeated over and over again. He was glad she had once again refused to wear a corset today which in turn provided him with the privilege to feel the unparalleled softness of her bosom through the light fabric of her dress.

It seemed his eagerness to feel her was even exceeded by her own desire to touch his skin, judging from the way her fingers had begun to work on his clothes, clawing and ripping at his waistcoat, his tie, his shirt, not relenting for the world until they had succeeded and were free to dive into the fluffy hair that covered his chest.

“My turn,” he growled, his impatience taking hold of him more and more with every caress of her fingers, until it washed away the last bit of his restraint and made him pull the dress from her shoulders in one harsh movement. The power her bare breasts had over him was ridiculous, still he didn’t fight the state of hypnosis they held him in. They were magnificent, bouncing in tune with her rolling hips, begging him to cup them, knead them, wrap his lips around those pebbled buds and make her sing. But as soon as his hands finally made contact with their heavenly softness, he changed his mind.

“Didn’t you get enough exercise on your walk already?” She halted, looking down on him in confusion. “You know, I thought this was supposed to be my exercise. Or am I mistaken?”

Despite the wolfish grin on his lips, she still didn’t understand.

“But didn’t you just ask me to—”

“Forget what I said.”

And before she could protest once more, he lifted her hips, allowing himself enough space to drive into her from underneath at his leisure.

“Oh god,” she keened, desperate hands clutching the rim of the backrest tightly. It didn’t need a detective like Sherlock Holmes to tell that she was close again. As was he, teetering on the edge with every thrust, grunting and groaning in the fight against himself. Her grip on him grew tighter and tighter, making it almost impossible not to yield. Sweat was beading on his skin, his jaw clenching so hard he feared for the soundness of his teeth.

He wasn’t going to last, impossible, everything about her called to him, begged him to let go, making him certain he was only one more second away from either madness or salvation, when at last his name echoed through the study in a shameless moan, finally freeing him from his agony.

He pulled her close, resting his head amidst the two supple globes that had hypnotised him, celebrating every last moment of their shared delight. Hearts racing and then slowing in tune, he pressed his lips into the valley of her breasts to feel the strong pulsing as close to the source as he could get.

“Enough exercise for one day,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Well actually, dear husband, as you pointed out yourself, you really only did half of the work.”

The suggestive notion of her comment made him chuckle and he would have loved to satisfy her insatiable appetite for more, alas…

“You are right once again, dear wife, and I would genuinely like to go forth with the second half of the exercise right now, but I’m afraid my attention is needed elsewhere.”

Although he hadn’t meant to, his words had hurt her. Her pride forbade her from voicing the displeasure his rejection had caused, but there was no need to say it out loud. It was all there in her eyes.

“Oh, I know that face.”

“Sherlock…”

She had no idea how much it cost him to resist that honeyed plea, but he still had a case to solve.

“I’m sorry, my darling, I wish I could.”

He wanted to look away, escape the mixture of wound and concern in her eyes, but she didn’t let him, soft palms cupping his cheeks to ensure his gaze. Her voice was just as tender as her touch.

“But you can. It’s just that you don’t want to. If you chose to observe yourself with the same precision you reserve for your cases for once, you would clearly see that what you really need is rest.”

Sherlock stayed silent. What was he supposed to say to that? She was right, of course. So instead he just took her in, his fingers speaking of his affection as they gently brushed a couple of stray strands of hair from her face, loosened by their passionate lovemaking.

How could he even once think about his case or himself when he was blessed with this view? She looked breathtaking, the soft light of the late afternoon sun glowing around her form. If he had believed in the supernatural, he would have thought she was an angel and in some way, she probably was. His angel.

Mycroft had only met her a few times, calling her “a pretty little thing”. He had never been more wrong. She was neither little nor a thing and describing her as pretty was such an understatement that it bordered on an insult. Then again, his brother had always judged women solely based on their appearance, their manners and education.

She had all that, being a perfectly decent lady if need be, but there was something else to her, something wild and untamed, like a force of nature. It had irritated him at first, infuriated even. It still did sometimes. But while he loved the many facets of her personality so very dearly, he knew that they would terrify and most likely disgust his brother alike, a fact that satisfied him more than it probably should.

“What are you smiling about, my love?”

He hadn’t even noticed the placid curl of his lips.

“Nothing.”

It had always fascinated him how a person could seem like one thing to a man and yet like a completely different one to another. It was almost as if she were a coin with two faces, or had a twin sister, swapping places with her from time to time.

“Of course!” The epiphany shot through his body like lightning, making her gasp as he suddenly sat up straight. “That’s it.” His hands reached out for her face and pulled her down for a passionate kiss. “You’re a genius.”

“Me? Whatever did I do?”

Wasn’t that obvious? “You solved the case.”

“By doing what?”

With a wicked grin he reached for her lovely bottom, his fingers squeezing her cheeks while his eyebrow shot up suggestively.

“Oh.” The grin on her lips began to match his own when she finally realised. “I told you some exercise would do you good.”

Slowly his hands glided up the length of her back, weaving into her hair and bringing her closer once more. “You did, didn’t you?” His lips were still lingering on hers from the softest of kisses when he went on, his voice not louder than a whisper, “Whatever would I do without you, my dear Watson?”

He hadn’t called her by her maiden name in quite a while. But every now and then, on special occasions, he loved to remind himself of the time they had first met, and the pure elation of the moment she had agreed to exchange that name for his.

“You’d be practically lost, Mr Holmes.”

“No doubt about it.”

Her lips found his again, soft at first, but he could feel the hunger for more, taste it on her tongue the second it met his. And he was more than willing to sate it, give her everything she desired and then some. Like she deserved, his one and only love.

His mind was already beginning to shut down and allow him the rest he so utterly needed when one final thought broke through the haze of rekindling desire. He had no idea why she had chosen him back then. And that was probably the only mystery he would never be able to solve.

***

Tag List: If your name is crossed out, I wasn't able to tag you. If you don't specify which fic you want to be tagged in, you will be added to my general taglist.

@summersong69 @myloveforhenrycavill @dorothea-hwldr @omgkatinka @ashesofblackroses @amberangel112 @icarusblinders @zealoushound @asuni921 @endofalldays01 @nerra75 @indigosaurus @nowyouseeme098 @cap-just-said-language @miss-rebel-without-applause @wheretheriversrunintothesea @maan24 @mochionly @introvertedmouse @sofiebstar @kebabgirl67 @elizabetharegina @littleone65 @thoughtfullyfurryangel @mimi-just-living @themanfromu @liecastillo @capncassas @evansabove1981 @luclittlepond @geralts-yenn @agniavateira @enchantedbytomandhenry @lumiousmoon @tumblnewby @crazybutconfidentaf @viking-raider @thorins-queen-of-erebor @aletheladyinred @fvckinghenrycavill

[reactionimagesdaily]

The Image Tags Masterpost

(As its own post thanks to a suggestion from @oregano-gremlin! gracias)

Every image is tagged with one of these tags, for organisation purposes! ^_^

(Also It’d be a HUGE pain to go back and re-organise them so, while suggestions for new categories/adjustments to existing ones are appreciated, I’m almost definitely not gonna follow through on any of them.)

(Also I am uh. Putting this under a read-more because it’s longer than I thought it was gonna be when it’s all laid out lmao)

#[undefinable] - for images that don’t really fit into a single mood, or have a mood that isn’t accurately represented by one of the other tags

#;_; - for images that are the big sad

#Hell yah - for celebratory, “nice”-type images

#Hell nah - for images that simply embody the concept of “no”, “no thanks”, “not for me”, e.t.c.

#Frick the frack off - slightly violent images used to tell someone to begone or that they are unimpressive

#Y’all are heathens - images that demonstrate disdain, confusion, or general contempt for your group chat

#Ah shit - images that convey “oh fuck”, “oh no”, “oh heck”, “oh shit”, and so on

#Depression time - for images that can be used to either show genuine sadness, or a weary sort of “oh God” that is less emotive and more resigned than an #Ah shit image

#Huzzah - celebratory images

#w h a t - images which convey just. total incredulity and bafflement

#F - for images that pay respects

#ooh-de-lally - images to be used for things that are exciting, spicy, or generally just make your eyebrow quirk up a bit

#Cursed - cursed images

#Wow - images that either convey a sense of genuine wonder, or demonstrate like. “yeah cool story bro”

#I LOVE YOU!!! - images you can use to show affection to any loved ones you are fortunate enough to have

#Welp - for images that aren’t very emotive or very specific, but rather channel that face you make when someone’s talking about something and you have no real idea how to react

#Genuine mirth - images that express, well, genuine mirth

#Contemplation time - I like to think this one is self-explanatory lmao

#Horny on main - not for NSFW stuff so much as stuff where it’s just a guy saying “hehe boobies” or whatever

#:) - happy pickturs

#Fear - fear

#Called out - honestly this one’s a bit inconsistent but it’s either for when you yourself have been called out (“you got me there”) or for when you’re calling someone ELSE out (“cool motive, still murder”)

#Free Real Estate - for images based off of those legendary seconds

#Gratitude amigo - images that say thanks

#Trans rights - because trans rights are human rights

#Disgustan’ - for when you need to express disgust with an image

#Disney - images @ that specific megacorp

#I am so great - images for when you’re proclaiming your own greatness (or at least an amount of self-satisfaction)

#Stole your meme lol - for those images you see everywhere on twitter indicating that someone likes your meme/image and have saved it for their own use

#Genuine reassurace - images that express, well, genuine reassurance

#[Music stops] - there are lot of parodies of the initial “music stops” image, and I have many of them

#Gweetings - images that say hi

#I will cause problems on purpose - images with those vibes

#Ambivalent - because sometimes you need to visually express how little you care

#Bog Moss - this is actually the tag for images that are like “mood” or “same” - I tag them ‘bog moss’ because of an inside joke lmao

#Mockery - bully your friends with this specific collection

#Please exercise empathy - for images that basically say “I don’t know how to expain to you that you should care about other people”

#Nice music - images dedicated to saying that specifically music is good

#Sic ‘em - for images that carry a similar energy to Mayor Tyler from Gravity Falls going ‘git ‘em! git ‘em!’

#Grooving - images that convey the emotion of dancing

#You are not immune to propaganda - I have no idea where that edit of Garfield came from, but there are LOADS of edits, so they all get their own category

#Think of the economy - for images designed to satirise people who prioritise stonks and the economy (which CAN be important, I won’t knock ‘em) over human life

#Silence! - you know that image of the crab lasering something? Yeah, there are a bunch of those, so they get their own category

#Genuine wrath - images that express, well, genuine wrath

#Pretty sus NGL - images designed to help convey suspect or suspicion

#Gotta go fast - images that go quick nyoom

#Ight Imma head out - parting is such sweet sorrow, as these images will demonstrate

#Case Closed - for image that indicate that some kind of mystery has been solved, or that some kind of question has been answered

#Not-okay cute things - for those images where it’s like, a plush toy captioned with “I can’t fucking take it”. those sorts of images. they have a category

#Oucho - for images that convey pain but aren’t quite in the realm of ;_;

#Ok boomer - Y'all remember ok boomer?

#Chillaxing - for image that surmize a specific chillaxed vibe

#Nice dub - using this one for pics of that one specific guy in all those pictures where he’s congratulating people’s Ws and Dubs

[beatsforbrothels]

Max Roach - Libra

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: self… induced… smut…. and some more flirting

//

Chapter Eight

John leaned his weary body up against the door to his room after it clicked shut behind him. His digs had never felt more empty, more dark or unwelcoming.

The last of the day’s light was still filtering in through his tiny, square window, alighting on the scratchy old carpet and highlighting a pile of textbooks he’d forgotten to put away the night before.

With a sigh, John flung his bags down on the floor, then carefully propped up his bass in the corner of the room. He let his fingertips drag along the spine of its leather case, a sort of thank you for helping him play so well tonight. It had become a ritual, though John would rather die than admit that, to himself or to anyone else.

His stomach growled, a dog pawing at the back door, waiting impatiently to be let in. John thought about making some dinner but it was late, he didn’t want to disturb the others as he crashed around in the kitchen. A cup of tea could have been a reasonable substitute, but the process (another usually calming, nostalgic ritual) seemed exhausting and tedious. He just wanted to sleep.

Luckily, John had a good amount of leftover food from the bakery stashed away. He grabbed a couple of the white boxes from his shelf and dragged open their satiny scarlet ribbons. You’d saved him again.

Chewing gratefully on a flaky croissant, John flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes. He was so tired, they stung at first and he had to blink a couple of times so push away the pain.

He polished off the croissant, flicking his fingers over the side of the bed to get rid of any remaining pastry crumbs. He already felt a little better.

John drew in a long breath then slowly released it again, until all the muscles in his body had finally unwound and he had sunk further into the mattress.

“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”

John opened his eyes and stared blankly up at his low, beige ceiling.

How could he have been so stupid. You had stood on your doorstep, asking him, plain as day, if he wanted to stay the night, and just when it mattered most, he’d chickened out.

“You were such a good boy for me.”

John groaned. What a moron. He turned and pressed his face into the pillow. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he’d get lucky and suffocate.

He could still feel your soft skin against his palm. John found himself curling his hand around the ghost of your cheek, his eyes closing as he pictured you gazing up at him, smiling, always smiling.

“They need you, New Boy.”

“Don’t you need me?”

“I want you, that’s different.”

You got all shy after you said that. John didn’t think he’d ever seen you look so bashful. You wanted him. He knew it. And, God, he wanted you too.

It was late. He had an exam in the morning. He was still hungry and dehydrated after the show. He’d said ‘no’ to you like an idiot. He really shouldn’t do anything but sleep.

John unbuckled his belt with one hand.

He closed his eyes and pictured you laying beside him, the what-would-have-been if he hadn’t been such a colossal git. With a soft, relieved groan, he forced his hand down the front of his trousers, just as the you he’d conjured in his head kissed him hard enough to bruise.

/

Not too far away, you were also staring at the ceiling. Try as you might, you couldn’t sleep. You’d eaten late, you’d stayed up too long, you had a million things to worry about - you’d almost managed to convince yourself these were the reasons you couldn’t drop off. Almost.

With a sigh, you turned over onto your side.

You could still feel John’s big hands in yours. You loved those hands. Skilled in electronics and an expert at the bass. He’d probably play with you just as well, if not better.

You sighed dolefully.

Maybe if you’d been more insistent, if you’d asked again and maybe been more obvious about what you wanted, John would’ve followed you home and you wouldn’t be lying here, alone, pressing your thighs together and trying to ignore the ache between them.

You stared at the wall. You stared and stared and stared, willing sleep to claim you. Behind your closed eyes, images of John on stage awaited you, daring you to do something about how delicious he looked that night.

“Oh, fuck it.”

You stuck two fingers in your mouth and swirled your tongue around them, the way you’d been picturing John doing ever since his trick with the ring. His lovely, funny mouth. You’d give anything to have it between your legs right now.

Whispering softly to yourself, you closed your eyes and imagined how it might’ve started, what you might’ve done if you’d been brave enough to entice him in properly, and all the while you gently coaxed at your swollen clit

You’d have to sit in his lap again. You’d simply die if you didn't get the chance to do that again soon. John had felt so small beneath you but so warm and sturdy too. You could wrap his hair around your fingers as you lazily kissed him, whispering sweetly against his lips as he gasped and rocked his hips against yours.

So close to each other, you seemed to be sharing one breath, you imagined yourself breaking away to mouth down his neck, sinking your teeth in here, sucking a dark mark there, until John was whining and struggling to sit still.

/

His face burning, John pictured you under him, your arms wrapped around his middle, your lovely hands pressing into his back and keeping him close as you moaned into his mouth. He wanted to make you feel so good, just wanted to make you see how much he cared about you with his lips, his hands, his teeth and his tongue.

But it didn’t seem right. His very limited experience (and magazines he would rather die than you ever find out he read) were a guide, but those girls weren’t you. For some reason, John knew this wasn’t how it would go and something in the back of his head was telling him to flip the situation.

You, with your champagne smile and daggerish words. You weren’t going to let anyone push you around, especially not him, especially not when it came to sex. You’d back him up against the wall and push your knee between his thighs, your hands on his hips, squeezing tight as you whispered awful, naughty things against his lips that made his knees buckle.

John wriggled out of his trousers and pants, so desperate he didn’t even bother pushing them both all the way down. He raised his hand to his face, dragged his tongue across his palm, and immediately wrapped his hand around his cock again, squeezing and tugging desperately as he imagined you pushing him flat on his back and smiling down at him.

He moved his free hand so that it rested up by his head, just where he knew you’d place it, and tried to imagine your fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, your nails just beginning to sink into his skin.

“Fuck…” John hissed between his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut.

/

“Fuck- John…”

Your face flushed. You hadn’t meant for his name to slip out. But God, it felt good. It felt right. It felt perfect.

You drew your knee up then let it flop to the side, giving you better access, and all the while you thought about John’s lovely hands pushing your thighs apart so that he could bury his face between them.

“God, you’re so good, you’re so good…” you muttered to yourself, finding your own praises and moans turned you on even more as you rubbed at your clit.

Pictures flooded through your head. You couldn't settle on just one for very long. John’s tongue pressing inside you, his pretty mouth falling open as you slipped your hand around his throat and squeezed gently, the look in those clever grey eyes as he rocked his hips into yours. It was all so much, too much, and even though you felt a flash of guilt for thinking about John like that, it was soon drowned out by the soft little moans and grunts you knew he’d make as you sank down onto him and rode him within an inch of his life.

/

Sweat beaded John’s forehead as he twisted his wrist in just the right way, thumbing at the slit of his cock just to tease himself. His bottom lip clamped between his teeth, he fucked his hand, his eyes squeezing shut as warmth began to pool in the pit of his stomach.

It had been so long since he’d been able to get himself off. The stress of uni, coming home exhausted after gigs, never having much time on his own, it meant it had been weeks since he’d been able to touch himself like this. And now he had a million ideas he’d never allowed himself to entertain before, ideas about you.

Your knees pressing into his sides as you straddled him, the way you’d moan softly as you looked down at him, approving, studying him like you did your recipes, your lovely eyes switching back and forth across his face, his chest, his stomach - now much softer than when he started - and down and down and down.

John groaned, letting his wrist go limp as his hand slipped up and down his cock. He kept trying not to let his hips leave the bed, but it was too much, soon his back was arching like the girls in his magazines.

“Come on, sweet boy…” Your voice, so real he could almost believe you were murmuring by his ear, was soft and sweet and oh so in control. “Are you gonna cum for me, honey? Gonna cum just from being inside me at last?”

John bit his lip harder, trying not to make a sound, but the growing pressure pooling below his navel made it almost impossible. The hand he’d laid by his head made its way into his tangled hair, still damp with sweat from the gig. John wrapped his curls around his fingers and tugged, hard, a move that made him let out an embarrassingly reedy groan.

“That’s it, good boy. Good boy… You look so perfect like this, Johnny. Could cum just from watching you touch yourself. Come on, pretty boy, let me hear you…”

/

You were so wet, you could hear your fingers as they worked. It made your cheeks prickle. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel like this, so desperate and single-minded.

All you could think about was John, how he’d look beneath you, how he’d whine and gasp as you rode him, his hands up above his head, his pretty chest rising and falling raggedly as he tried to catch his breath, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.

You knew he’d let you do anything you wanted. You knew he’d beg you to touch him, to look at him, to take him to places he didn’t think were possible, and wouldn’t stop until you were finished with him. Such a smart, enthusiastic boy.

You could picture him sitting up against the headboard, his face pressed between your breasts as you rocked your hips, his hands gripping your hips, your arse, as he mouthed at your flushed skin, leaving trails of kisses and bites and saliva in his wake.

/

He’d turn up at rehearsals the next day, covered from head to toe in love bites and bite marks, a map of your lips, and he’d wear them all with pride.

John huffed sharply through his nose, his eyes rolling back as he fucked his hand.

Come on, come on, come on, so close, so close, so close…

He pulled at his hair again, just as something began to tighten in his lower belly, and John’s back arched off the bed again, his eyes rolling shut as he whispered to himself.

“Please, please, please… Fuck- Ah!”

He came moaning your name, his mouth hanging open as pleasure rolled through his body. He bent double, folded like a deckchair, the hardest he’d ever cum in his life. John’s hips jerked out of rhythm but he didn’t stop moving his hand, because he knew you wouldn’t. He didn’t stop until it started to ache.

John let his body flop back onto the bed, completely spent. He’d never made that much noise before. He just prayed his neighbours hadn’t heard him.

/

Across the city, your fingers were starting to cramp but, determined, you kept your pace.

Always so obedient. Always so eager to do well. And not for just anyone, for you. Oh, you’d seen the way John preened every time you paid him the littlest compliment, how he beamed with pride whenever you were sweet to him and how eager he seemed to reassure you that you could do anything you wanted to him.

“You’re in charge, Captain.”

Maybe you could learn to like the nickname.

And maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing to get John to let you have him, his lovely hair strewn across the pillow, his back back arching off the bed as you slipped inside him. God, how he’d bounce and roll his hips, his moans rising higher and higher as he begged you to fuck him harder.

“Fu- Johnnn…”

The band across your belly snapped, and you came moaning the delivery boy’s name.

Exhausted, you let your body sink into the bed. Already, you could feel sleep beginning to overwhelm you. You just about had the wherewithal to pull your hand from the front of your pants before you turned over and fell right asleep, your body still pulsing and your mind still buzzing with the thought of John’s whines of pleasure, and the way his hands had felt in yours as he walked you home.

/

The next morning, you danced around the bakery’s shop floor, wiggling your hips and kicking up your heels as you tugged tables and their accompanying chairs into place. It did occur to you why you might’ve been in such a good mood but you chose to ignore that.

Cold, morning sunshine flooded in as you placed some of the goods you’d baked that morning in the window, then the rest behind the display counter. All the while, you sang along with the radio, waggling your head to T-Rex and smiling to yourself.

The world seemed at ease, just for a moment.

“Well, she ain't no witch and I love the way she twitch, uh-huh. I'm her two-penny prince and I give her hot love, uh-huh…”

A sharp knock at the door made you look up. It was about quarter past five, the bakery wouldn’t be open for more than an hour, so you immediately went into defensive mode. Thankfully, you recognised the face pressed up against the glass.

“Roger?”

You opened the door.

John’s drummer almost fell into the shop but he caught himself well.

“Alright, Bakery Girl?”

Roger grinned, wide and youthful, and clearly unaffected by the early hour. He was bundled up in a warm jacket, his shoulders drawn right up to his ears as he glanced over your shoulder into the dark, empty bakery.

You had to smile. This boy was even easier to read than John.

“I’m good, I’m good, yeah. It’s a nice mornin’, innit?” You nodded over your shoulder. “D’you wanna cuppa to take to work with you?”

Roger accepted your offer so eagerly, he almost tripped over his own feet getting through the door.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, perching on one of the tables you’d set out.

You realised you were still humming to yourself. Try as you might, you couldn’t force down your smile.

“Just- You know.” You shrugged, trying not to look too sheepish. “How’s the market?”

“It’s fun! Hard but… We’re surviving. Barely make enough money to eat but it’s a good laugh.”

He spoke with such brevity, the soft corners of his pretty mouth tugged back into a toothy smile. Still, his words struck you. Roger and Freddie seemed so happy, so at ease in themselves, that you’d hardly believe they were struggling. You made a conscious decision to add them to your list of scrawny, ridiculous boys who needed looking after.

“Well, that’s all that matters, I s’pose,” you said, forcing a smile.

If Roger noticed your worry, he didn’t show it. He was too busy eyeing up the cakes and pastries behind the glass display case.

“Fred’s got this mate in Chiswick says he’s got a ton of swimwear and things for us. It’ll be summer soon, people’ll want stuff like that. Then maybe we can rent a bigger patch in the market. Maybe start selling LPs as well.”

“That’s the dream then, eh?”

“Oh, no,” Roger raised his head, his pretty eyes wide and soft in the low light. “No, the dream is… Walking out of EMI with a contract and my best mates… The whole world and our whole lives out in front of us. That’s the dream. Me and my mates, working together and seeing the world. I want to make things, you know? Be useful. Help people. Help someone.”

He couldn’t know it, but Roger had single-handedly unwound all your worries about your future with John. The way he spoke about it, it seemed so easy, like he was talking about any other job, and the warmth in his voice… Roger really believed it would happen for them. They were going to make it. Maybe you didn’t have to focus your energy on a plan you’d devised years ago. Maybe you could afford to have the same faith Roger did.

“Well,” you said, smiling too now. “When you put it like that.”

Roger sighed with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s just a dream, Bakery Girl. But that’s all I’ve got.”

“What about John? What’s his dream?”

“Something a lot more pedestrian, I think.” Roger raised his eyebrows. “You probably factor in somewhere.”

Face burning, you turned away to make his tea.

“Shu’ up.”

“Ahh, you know I’m right. I reckon he still thinks he’s gonna end up working in some lab or drawing up blueprints, or somethin’. We’re working on an album, you know. But I think he still thinks it’s just a laugh.”

“But it’s not?”

Roger smiled but his bright eyes, blue as the sea he grew up by, were serious and certain.

“No.”

You twisted your mouth.

“Rockstar or genius scientist.”

“I know. Leave some for the rest of us.”

You both took a moment to marvel at John’s seemingly unlimited potential. Then Roger smiled.

“Has he asked you out yet? I’ve been coaching him. Trying to make him act for once in his bloody life. Grab the bull by the horns.” He waved a hand. “So to speak.”

It proved too difficult to hide your smile, so you gave up trying. Instead, you passed him two steaming paper cups and warned him that they were still too hot to drink from just yet.

While the tea steeped, you set about putting together his breakfast.

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I could ask him out.”

“Oh, I’d love to watch that.” Roger laughed and shook his head. “He’s great, isn’t he. I really like him. Most people just…”

He made an ineffectual sound and waved his hand again. It seemed Roger too had had his fair share of people letting him down, sadly just by being fundamentally people.

You followed his hand as it came to rest by his thigh again. His fingertips were bandaged. John’s fingers had felt a little coarse the few rare, wonderful times he’d brushed them against your skin. These boys wounded themselves, altered themselves for what they loved. You thought of your own scarred, roughened hands. There was a kinship there you never could have imagined.

“But John’s great. Always there when you need him. Brian bores me half to death most of the time but John’s clever in a nice way. You don’t feel like you’re being quizzed ‘n’ tested when you’re with him. You’re just… With him.”

Roger had the faraway look of someone realising just how lucky he was. You knew he wasn’t just talking up his friend, he really believed every word. You’d never seen someone so proud or so fond of his friends.

“Anyway, he’s a pain in my arse too, don’t get me wrong. But he’s great.”

Beaming, you passed Roger a bag filled with pastries, and a carrier for his and Freddie’s morning cuppas.

“I think so too.”

/

“New Boy!”

The shout was so sudden, John almost fell off his bike. He gripped the handles tight, wobbling dangerously as he stuck out his heels and dragged himself to a slow and graceless stop.

It was late in the afternoon. John had just finished his last round of deliveries and was looking forward to spending the rest of his day with you, helping out in the kitchen, and trying not to think about kissing you - the usual day to day.

You were standing in the bakery’s doorway, smiling so broadly, orbiting astronauts could probably see it. You were keeping the door propped open with one hand, the other was outstretched towards him.

“Mickey’s ‘ere! And he brought the baby!”

Before he knew it, John had been ushered inside. Your lovely hands switched dizzyingly between his hips and the small of his back as you guided him to the kitchen, where Mickey was waiting with a tiny bundle of pink cloth gathered up in his enormous arms.

“Oh, Mick…” John couldn’t help beaming as he leaned in to take a closer look. “She’s lovely.”

There had been photos posted up by the phone for weeks now, of little Dot just a few hours old, waving one tiny hand at the camera. You’d put up a few more recent pictures of Mickey and his family just the other day, all of the Caines squashed together to fit in frame. Nothing compared to seeing something so small and beautiful in person for the first time.

“She’s a righ’ terror,” Mickey beamed down at his little girl. “Drives her mother insane. An’ her old dad. Reckon she’s gonna be singer with the way she goes on. Maybe she could front your band one day, Johnny Boy.”

“She’d give Freddie a run for his money, I bet.”

John held out one finger and brushed it delicately across the back of one of Dot’s tiny fists.

“So, who does she look like more, d’you reckon? You or Rita?” he asked.

You snorted.

“You’re ‘avin a laugh. She’s perfect. She’s all Rita.”

“Ahhh, she’s got my charm. And my devilish good looks.”

Mickey finally tore his gaze away from his little girl to smile at John.

“Do you wanna hold her?”

“Me? Are you sure? I’ve never really…”

“Don’t be daft. C’mon, you’re part of the family now.”

With careful instructions on how to position his arms, Mickey gently passed Dot over, settling her against John’s chest.

The baby made a soft sound of disapproval, she never liked being far from her father’s warm, broad chest, but she soon settled. Her eyes closed, Dot sighed softly and went right back to sleep.

“There. You see?” Mickey patted John’s shoulder with a hand the size of a bear’s paw. “You’re a natural, mate. Won’t be long till you’ve got a few of your own.”

It took all John’s strength not to glance at you.

“She’s amazing, Mickey.”

John smiled as he ever so gently began to sway from side to side, trying to remember how his parents had soothed his little sister when she was just a baby.

He only looked up when he felt your hand on his arm. You were looking down at Dot, smiling gently, but your warm touch, the way your fingers pressed into him, that was a secret, just for the two of you.

“She’s so perfect. Shame you didn’t name her after me but…” You grinned. “Hang on, I have to take a photo. Stay right there, don’t move.”

John watched you go. He didn’t tear his gaze away until the door up to your flat had clicked shut behind you.

It was strange, but he already missed you. Just being near you set his whole body at ease. He could think clearer, his heart kept a regular pace, at least, until you smiled at him, or touched him, or looked in his general direction. When you were gone, it all came rushing back, like the pressure in the room had changed. He’d never needed to be near someone before.

John caught Mickey smiling at him and turned his attention back to the baby in his arms, hoping he didn’t look as he felt, like a love struck idiot who couldn’t concentrate whenever you weren’t around, let alone when you were.

“So,” Mickey was grinning now, much to John’s chagrin. “How’s things with you and the Captain?”

“They’re good.” John kept his eyes down, hoping in vain that it would obscure how red his face was getting. “We’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other but… No official date yet.”

“So you’re not goin’ together?”

John grimaced.

“I haven’t really asked her properly. It’s my fault,” he said sheepishly.

Dot began to fuss in John’s arms. She raised one of her little fists in the air, as if she too disapproved of his cowardliness.

Mickey reached over. John thought he might want to take his little girl back but he just brushed one finger across her clenched fist and whispered to her sweetly. Dot settled again, a look of contentment on her angelic face.

“She’s like her dad. Never ‘appy unless she’s complainin’.” Mickey smiled fondly. “So what’s keeping you? Last time I saw you, seemed like things were movin’ along a bit.”

“They were. They have.”

John thought about the night before, how soft and open your eyes had been as you gazed up at him. He had held your face, your hands, practically admitted everything he felt for you, and you’d smiled and said you wanted him too. God, why hadn’t he kissed you?

Because, John thought, because he was afraid. Even after everything you’d said, everything you’d done together, he was terrified that you didn’t actually care about him, and this was all a roll of the dice that would end with him losing the first place he’d felt safe in years, and a second family he didn’t want to ever say goodbye to. And he could lose you too. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” John said quietly. “Not like that?”

Mickey shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“She does.”

John huffed.

“She thinks I’m useless.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She thinks I’m quiet and funny-looking-”

“She thinks the world of you, you muppet-”

“And too skinny.”

“She loves you!”

The words hung in the air, like dust after a building collapses, crawling and curling their way through the kitchen, until they had filled John’s eyes, his lungs, his mind.

He blinked, heart sore, begging Mickey not to make fun of him with just a look. But Mickey nodded earnestly as he tucked Dot’s blanket under her back, as if promising her, or perhaps on her, that he would never joke about something so serious.

“She adores you, mate,” he said, just before the door opened again and you came bounding through, camera in hand.

“Okay, hold still. Say cheese!”

John tried his best to lower his head so that he and Dot would be in frame together without disturbing her. He felt Mickey wrap an arm around his shoulders and realised he was smiling without having to be told.

The camera clicked, flashed, then whirred as it spat out the polaroid.

“That’s one for the album,” you said as you stared at the photo, waiting for it to develop. “Shame Glad isn’t here. Where is she?”

Mickey scoffed.

“She ‘avin’ lunch with his nibs.”

“Well then,” You placed your free hand on your hip. “I’d say that’s lunch then, boys.”

You didn’t flip back the sign on the door. John tried not to look too surprised, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen you pass off an opportunity to keep the bakery open. Money was tight, this place was your whole world, you had a lot invested in 64 Oslo Square.

Perhaps you’d simply grown tired of working yourself to exhaustion when Gladys couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Perhaps it didn’t feel right to work when there was such an important visitor. John didn’t care what had driven this decision. He was just pleased to see you take some time for yourself. You’d more than earned an afternoon in the sun with your family.

/

You took John’s hand and led him across the road to the chippy, where you handed over loaves of bread, sweet pastries, and cups of tea in return for three bags of chips, cod for Mickey and a battered sausage for you and John. Michael’s Fish Bar had been kicking about for almost as long as the bakery; this bartering system had existed for far longer than you’d worked at 64 Oslo Square.

After dishing everything out, you pressed a plate into John’s hands and led him out through the kitchen doorway to the alley. You sat down together, side by side on the top step, your knees touching, and happily tucked into salty, hot chips that burnt the tongue and soothed the soul.

“So what’re you reading at the moment?” John asked, after a few minutes of comfortable silence had passed.

Beside you, Dot gurgled in her pram. You hadn’t had much experience around children, especially babies as tiny as her, but you knew enough to gingerly push the buggy’s back wheel with the toe of your shoe, gently rocking her back into her dreams.

“Oh, nothing at the moment. Been too busy,” you said through a mouthful of chips. “You got any recommendations?”

“Uni is so intense right now, all my suggestions would be written by Seymour Hammond.”

“Right,” you said, bewildered. “No, yeah. He’s fab.”

John picked up another chip and stared at it. He was chewing on his bottom lip, tugging the skin between his incisors as he thought.

You watched, mesmerised.

“You know, when I first moved here, I hated London. The smell, the crowds…”

“The price of fish and chips.”

That made John smile. He stopped worrying his lip and finally popped the chip into his mouth.

“But when I’m here, I see it.”

“See what?”

“Home, I suppose. This place feels like home. Or it’s starting to, at least. Does that make sense?”

In the ocean of your heart, something was stirring. Towering waves of fondness, warmth, and something you were beginning to seriously suspect might be love, rose up, crested, then broke, washing over your heart again and again, gently but firmly, undeniably.

“I think you’re a bit mental but… Yeah, it makes sense.”

You glanced over your shoulder. Mickey was on the phone to his wife, letting her know he’d be home soon and asking if she needed him to pick up anything on his way. You and John were alone.

You shrugged.

“Maybe it’s Gladys’ tea.”

John snorted.

“Or the free food.”

“Or the good company.”

“You do tend to make things a bit brighter, I’ve found.”

John looked at you, really looked at you. Gone were the days when he could hardly hold your gaze. Long gone. He had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

“I don’t fancy your drummer,” you said, cheeks beginning to burn at how abrupt you’d sounded.

John’s eyebrows pulled together, his nose wrinkling.

“I didn’t-”

“I know you think I do. He’s nice but he’s not my type.”

John didn’t look convinced but he was still smiling.

“I thought you liked pretty boys.”

“I do.” Heart pounding, you turned your body towards his. “Pretty boys with pretty hair and lovely eyes, cute noses and a funny mouth.”

“My mouth isn’t funny.”

“Then why are you smiling?” You grinned. “Very presumptuous of you, by the way, John.”

Pink dusted his cheeks. It was such a lovely sight, you could barely resist brushing your fingertips along the path laid out for you, across his cheek, down his neck, to his chest and beyond.

Then he moved, turning his body in towards yours, so now your knees were pressed against his upper leg. John was so tense, you could practically feel the muscles in his thigh jump at your touch.

He lowered his head, as if to whisper in your ear, but his eyes never left yours.

“Call it a theory,” John said. “One I’ve been mulling over for a while.”

You watched, hardly daring to breathe, as he leaned in closer. Your fingers itched to wrap around the collar of his shirt and pull him in, but the thought of moving right now seemed impossible.

“And have you managed to mull up a hypothesis?”

“Oh, definitely,” John’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “Trust me, I’ve had lots of thoughts about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m having one right now, actually.”

You wanted to respond with something clever. You wanted to take the next step in this dance you’d fallen into. You wanted to see if you could make John’s ears go as red as his cheeks. But you couldn’t think of anything to say. You couldn’t think at all.

You felt your hand move without your say so. It slipped over his knee and found a home on John’s thigh, keeping him close, keeping yourself grounded.

He was looking at you so intently, you could hardly breathe. Sunbeams filtered into the alley, light particles that had travelled hundreds of thousands of miles, just to get tangled in John’s lovely hair. The shadow cast by his aquiline nose, the tiny smile at the corner of his brilliant mouth, the softness of his gaze. How could you resist?

“John…”

Your heart was aching in your chest, pressing against your ribs, pushing you forward towards him. You had to draw in a breath to try and ease the pressure in your chest, but it shuddered through, and there was no way John couldn’t have noticed.

He smiled, sweet and reassuring, as he bent his head, murmuring your name under his breath.

Footsteps behind you made you straighten up. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d closed your eyes.

“‘Scuse me, lovebirds,” Mickey barged between you carrying two enormous black rubbish bags. “Bin man comes at seven.”

You weren’t violent by nature, but suddenly the idea of knocking Mickey’s lights out and shoving him into a dustbin seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

John looked about as mortified as you felt. But he was still enticingly close. He hadn't moved away.

You were still squeezing his thigh. Part of your brain screamed at you to take your hand back, to apologise and pretend like it had never happened. But there was another voice, braver, softer, that told you it was alright, to just trust yourself, to trust John, and to never, ever let him go.

“John, I-”

The bakery door opened. You turned your head in the direction of the sound, frowning quizzically. That was odd, you thought, you’d definitely locked it.

Then you heard Gladys’ voice. She was calling out for you. Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t be sure why.

Squeezing John’s thigh reassuringly, you gave him a quick smile.

“Don’t move,” you said firmly, then scrambled to your feet before he could say any more.

You didn’t look back as you hurried through the kitchen. If you did, you feared you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from grabbing his face and having another go at kissing him senseless.

Heart still hammering, you made your way into the bakery where Gladys was standing in the centre of the shop floor. She looked pale, her usually lively eyes dull and almost unseeing.

For a moment, you worried that she was angry with you for shutting the shop. You tried to summon a smile, your hands automatically reaching out to make her a cup of tea.

“Gladys! I thought you were-” You cleared your throat, your mind still spinning from the dark, soft look in John’s eyes as he leaned in to kiss you. “Doesn’t matter. Mick’s here and he brought the little’un!”

“Where is everyone?”

Gladys’ voice was hollow. She was gripping a slip of paper in her hands so tightly, you could see it was beginning to tear.

“They’re outside having a fag. Well, Mickey’s having a fag and John’s got chips. We just stopped for a late lunch.”

When she didn’t say anything, you frowned.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“He’s taken it.”

“Taken..?” You shook your head, trying to ignore the sickening, churning dread in the pit of your belly. “Who, Glad? What’s going on?”

“Alastair,” she whispered the name like it was bad luck. And perhaps it was. “He’s taken the bakery.”

Time slowed, choked, before finally falling to its knees. An age passed. Civilisations came and went. Stars burned and died. And all you could do was stare. The bakery had never been so silent.

“What are you talking about?” you asked once you’d found your voice again, hoarse and reedy as it was.

Gladys’ face crumpled like the paper in her hands.

“I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have but he- The way he explained things, it… He had me change the names on the deeds. It felt like a good idea at the- It’s his. It’s all his.”

Tears filled Gladys’ eyes.

“It’s gone, love. It's gone. Alastair owns the bakery.

//

Master List

[whoficky]

Until Morning - Chapter 6

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: 10th Doctor X Rose Tyler

Work Summary: As a weary Doctor, Martha Jones and Jack Harkness prepare to take on the Master, they find their hideout isn't as secure as they thought.

In a burst of blue light, a dimension hopping Rose Tyler finally finds the Doctor, but time is still not on their side.

What if you only had one night to spend with the love of your life?

Chapter summary: About a thousand different thoughts were vying for her attention, but she pushed them back, trying to hold on to the peace she’d just found up on the roof.

Chapter 6

Up on the roof, Rose had drifted into something like a trance.  She leaned into the Doctor’s chest with his arms tight around her, and basked in the sensation of finally feeling safe.  For the first time in years, her mind was blissfully blank.  She could have stayed with him like that for hours.  For forever.  

But eventually even the Doctor’s embrace wasn’t enough to ward off the damp chill.  She cursed her traitorous body when it shivered.

“C’mon.  Lets get inside,” the Doctor said softly, loosening his arms from around her.  

“Not ready to,” she mumbled, digging her fingers into his coat.  But after another gust of wind left her teeth chattering, she relented, letting him take her hand and lead her back towards the steps.  She didn’t want to join the others, didn’t want to have to share him just yet, but hypothermia didn’t sound particularly appealing either.  Rose sighed and followed him down the stairs.  

About a thousand different thoughts were vying for her attention, but she pushed them back, trying to hold on to the peace she’d just found up on the roof.  The effort must be teaming up with the fatigue and chill because she was caught completely off guard when the Doctor stopped on the first landing.   

“Oi missed the brake lights,” she laughed as she stumbled into him.  

“Sorry,” he chuckled, turning to steady her.  “Saw this when I was securing the building.” He soniced open a door she hadn’t noticed before. “Should be warmer in here out of the breeze.”  

Rose looked between the dark interior and the Doctor, biting her lip.  They had been alone up on the roof just now, but this, a secluded spot with a door they could close on the rest of the world?  Now that was something altogether different.  Something she’d wished for many times in the past couple hours.  She studied the Doctor, wondering if this was just about accommodating her human temperature needs, or if he was imagining the same sorts of possibilities that were bringing a slight flush to her cheeks despite the chill.  Of course, he was giving nothing away.  The git.  With a sense of nerves and anticipation, she paused just a second before stepping into the small room.      

Rose rubbed her arms as she glanced around the space.  Dim moonlight streamed in through the windows and illuminated a small rusted stove, a row of stained cupboards, and stacks of battered cardboard boxes that took up a good third of the room.        

  “Lovely,” Rose snorted, joking to hide the nervous butterflies that tickled just below her stomach, “You really do take me to the most amazing places.”

“Oh, hang on, you,” the Doctor said, rolling his eyes.  “Been wondering what kind of factory this was?” 

“Mmmm, had other things on my mind, actually.”  

When he smirked at her, it was her turn to roll her eyes, “Shut up!”

The Doctor smacked a kiss to her temple and ran a hand across her back before loping over to the boxes, “If my deductions from previous reconnaissance are correct, I’d wager that it’s…” he let the sentence hang as he soniced through the packing tape on one of the boxes, “Ha!” He said triumphantly, “Jackets!”

“Jackets?” Rose laughed.  

“Jackets!” He repeated as he tore through some plastic wrap and threw a handful of them at her.  “We’ll get you warm in a jiffy, Rose Tyler,” he said, continuing to throw clothes at her even though her arms were already full.  The puffy, down-filled garments started to overflow her arms and pool around her feet until finally one hit her smack in the face. 

“Oi!” She dropped all but one of the coats which she wadded up and threw back at him.    

“How dare -” the Doctor sputtered, “You are grumpy when you’re tired!  Rose Tyler, you just declared WAR!” 

She squealed and dove behind a row of boxes as he came after her with a barrage of fluffy projectiles.  She armed herself with a few that had dropped on the floor and then charged back at him, throwing and dodging and tripping over trampled fabric. 

Over the next several minutes the two of them tore through the rest of the boxes, throwing the jackets at each other and making a mess of the room all while laughing like maniacs.  Mock insults and challenges were exchanged as feathers from the manhandled garments swirled around them.  

Sooner than she would have liked, her arms grew heavy as this long day, god, these long bloody years, caught up with her.  When she didn’t think she could manage one more throw, she sprawled out on one of the piles they’d made, still laughing hysterically.  

“Do I detect a surrender?” The Doctor asked, standing over her, poised to throw another jacket.  

“Never,” Rose laughed breathlessly, “But perhaps…a peace treaty?”

“Oh, I suppose,” he sighed.  He dropped the coat and plopped down next to her, sending a fresh wave of feathers puffing up into the air.

They amused themselves for a few minutes trying and utterly failing to make snow angels in the fabric and loose down.  When she stopped to catch her breath, Rose was surprised to find the little nest she’d made herself was rather comfortable.  Well that wouldn’t do.  Fearing she’d fall asleep if she remained laying down, Rose pushed up to a sitting position and took stock of the complete mess they’d made of the space.

“Hope no one is going to need to use this room anytime soon.”

“Nah,” the Doctor assured her, “This whole block will be demolished to make room for condos next year.  My seventh self will help a lovely family of Terthen assimilate to Earth in one of the units while their planet is undergoing atmospheric renovation.  Assuming the continuity of time remains in tact and there is a next year, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed mildly.  They shared a tired smile.   

“Come here, you,” he entreated scooting back to rest against the far wall.  She clamored over a few small mountains of jackets to snuggle into his open arms.  He covered their legs with a few of the discarded garments.    

“Warming up?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around her torso.

She hummed and nodded, playing with one of his buttons.  At some point during their mad jacket war, he’s shucked his damp coat.  She took her time tracing her fingers over the sleeves of his pinstriped suit, trying to re-familiarize herself with each stitch and wrinkle.

For a time neither of them spoke.  All she heard was the distant sounds of the city and the breeze blowing against the windows.  With his arms snug around her and his legs bracketing hers, it was easy to feel like they were in their own bubble isolated from the rest of time and space.  The feathers still making their lazy way to the floor made her think of a snow globe.  Their own little snow globe.  She smiled.  

But as the silence stretched on, what started as contentment changed into something else.  Without any distractions, Rose was finding it harder and harder to stay in the moment.  Her smile slipped as her thoughts turned on her.                

“It’s mad,” she said when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer, “being here with you now, after so long, and knowing I have to leave again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a tone that told her his thoughts had been going a similar direction as her own.  His grip on her tightened, taking on an edge of desperation.    

“Yeah, me too,” she sighed.  Oh and she was sorry.  Sorry she had to leave, sorry that he felt the need to apologize for something they’d both agreed on, sorry that she’d brought tomorrow into the room.   She thought about how much thinner the Doctor was, the frightening look in his eyes when he’d thought she was an imposter, the almost careful way Jack had treated the Time Lord earlier…They may have been snogging and romping about a few minutes ago, but what would happen later?  What would happen after the sun rose on tomorrow? 

“Doctor,” she asked softly, “will you be ok?”

She expected him to deflect, to reassure her that he was always alright, to jump up and start throwing jackets at her to bring back the silly joy from minutes before.  Instead he rested his chin on her shoulder for a few breaths before replying in a rough voice, “It’s been…hard without you.  It will be again.” 

Before she could respond he returned, “What about you Rose Tyler?  Will you be alright, defending the multiverse back in Pete’s World?”  Multiverse, huh?  He’d given her a promotion.  She’s much rather just have him. 

She thought over the last few years - the sleepless nights, the things she’d seen walking through dead and dying worlds, the terrible ache of loneliness, and her hand, always missing his.  She thought about having to do it all over again, a kind of endless running with none of the joy and only the relentless exertion.  When Rose opened her mouth to answer, she found her throat was too tight.  She took a few deep breaths trying to steady herself but the edge of tears was still in her voice when she replied.

 “It’s been hard without you,” she parroted, “It will be again.”  She hoped that it wasn’t as big of an understatement for him as it was for her.  She suspected it might be.

Rose suddenly felt the weight of time pressing in on her, could feel each second ticking down to when they had to go their separate ways.  Was this what the Doctor felt all the time - This horrible sensitivity to the passage of time, the inexorable pull towards endings and goodbyes?  How did it not drive him mad?  She supposed maybe it did, a bit.  

Rose wanted to make it better, make it hurt just a little bit less for him.  If their parting was a fixed event, she was desperate to give him something to take with him after she left.  Something more than just a memory drive filled with the next wave of impending doom he’d have to deal with.  Her mind whirred and stuttered but her lips found the words before she had formed any concrete idea of what that could be.

“I love you,” she said.  She wondered if she’d ever be able to say that when it didn’t come out so tearstained, when it didn’t shatter her heart to say it.

“Rose,” he breathed her name and it was easy, so easy to tilt her face up to brush her lips against his jaw.  He turned his head and she shifted slightly so that he could capture her lips in a kiss that she felt down to her curling toes.  

“I’ll find you again.  I promise I’ll find you again,” she whispered against his lips.

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her wet cheek with his thumb. “I know you will.”

“Doctor…” she didn’t know what was going to come after his name, but it didn’t matter anyway.  His lips were back on hers and suddenly the most important thing, the only thing on her mind was him and more.  

[nightingale2004]

C.O.B information series pt.2

When Cassiopeia first met the marauders, she was weary about them.

She didn't like James at first sight due to Sirius telling her how close they had become their first year together. Cassie feared that James was replacing her and Regulus

She thought Peter was spineless and a bit of a pervert

She thought Remus was just as much of a coward as Peter, but she did see his kindness, and as she grew up, she understood why her brother loved him.

When Cassie was first sorted into Ravenclaw, Sirius was so proud of her and that she was the second child to break tradition.

When she first met Severus, she was incredibly surprised that he didn't immediately fawn over her or beg to be her friend or even showed a hint of admiration like everyone else.

He looked at her like she was normal and not a rare jewel to be admired, and he didn't like that she was Sirius's sister. He was still not afraid to speak his mind

This immediately caught Cassie's attention despite her brother telling her to stay far away from the "greasy git" as possible

During her first year at Hogwarts, she can regretfully admit that she had a hand in some of the pranks the Marauders pulled on Severus due to Cassie wanting to stay close with Sirius

After months of pranks, she noticed they started to get intense and almost fatal. So one day, she turned one of the marauders' pranks on them, which, as one can imagine, caused problems between Cassiopeia and Sirius

After Cassie officially cut ties with the marauders, she immediately tried to earn Severus's forgiveness (which took all of the end of her first year to half of her 2nd year)

After she earned Severus's forgiveness, she became close with Lily and Severus and noticed how talented both of them were despite their blood status.

As she grew closer to Severus, she was getting more distant from Sirius, and although Sirius and his friends were still pranking Severus, she started to also become a target.

She also noticed how Lily did not like Severus's interest in the Dark Arts and would say hurtful things to him, but Cassie couldn't see anything wrong with it and would question Lily about it which would soon turn into an argument that Severus would end or try to end between the two witches

Cassie was always ahead of almost every class. The only classes she would have trouble with were potions (Severus tutors her) and Flying (she has a fear of heights)

When Regulus came into Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin, Cassie made Severus swear to look after her little brother since he was softer than her and Sirius, to which Severus agreed to but only because it was Cassie

When Cassie would leave on break to go home, she kept in touch with Severus and they would often write to each other about pretty much anything (academics, potion ideas, new spell ideas, and even plans of the future)

During her time in Hogwars, she found out about the marauders being Animagus, so she wanted to give it a try, and she became a Raven, which has helped her fear of heights and flying

Walburga and Orion know about Cassiopeia's friendship with Severus (of course they do), and they let it go on for so long purely because he's a slytherin and Lucius and now their own daughter speak highly of him

Regulus never understood both his older siblings' obsession with the Half-blood until he started hanging out with him himself. So now he understands his sister's liking to Severus.

The day that Sirius left, Cassie begged him to stay, despite that they've grown apart, she still had love for her older brother.

After he left, she would cry herself to sleep and drink dreamless sleep for weeks. She even noticed how her own mom was crying while she burned the pictures of Sirius off in their home (Walburga left some pictures alone)

Cassie would also comfort Regulus when he was upset about Sirius

After weeks of mourning Sirius's disownment, Cassie knew what it meant for herself and Regulus. So she made plans to keep all the attention on herself and work hard to be the next heir and head of House Black and make sure that Regulus has some innocence left

After Severus and Lily ended their friendship, Cassie continued to be there, even after Severus tried to push her away and say hurtful things to hurt. She knew he never meant any of it.

After the Snape gang was formed, Cassie and Severus led them and were big rivals to the marauders

Cassie and Avery also got to know each other more during this time. At first, they hated each other due to their differences, but soon, it became more playful, and they got along well. Well enough for both of them to realize their true feelings

Before the "Prank" happened, Cassie saw it in a vision, but it was unclear. She only saw Severus, a werewolf, a full moon, and running.

She tried to warn Severus and tell him to stay put, but he didn't listen and went anyway. So Cassie followed him in her Raven form, and when she saw that Remus was a werewolf and about to hurt Severus, she flew down to distract him but got scratched by Remus in the process and passed out in her human form

James came in and saved both Severus and Cassiopeia. Taking them to Madame Pomfrey

Cassie was injured with Claw marks on her right eye across to her lower left chin. Her eye was injured in the process, but nothing Pomfrey couldn't fix. Severus, on the other hand, only had a bruise or two, but he stayed close to Cassie

After Sirius found out, soon all of Hogwarts found out, and word got out to Orion and Walburga, who immediately took Cassie out of the Hogwarts infirmary and put her in St. Mungos to fix the damage that was done

Sirius tried to visit his sister, but his 'former' parents forbade him too. The only people that were allowed to visit her were her friends (severus included) and her family, who wasn't disowned

Walburga found out (by using legilimens) that it was a werewolf that attacked her, and it was near Hogwarts. So she and Orion made a call to the ministry to have all werewolf hunters hunt down the werewolf that harmed Cassie inside and outside of Hogwarts

Dumbledore sent Remus home before the ministry acted, and Sirius's time at Hogwarts during the search was worse since James and Peter could barely look at him, and literally everyone at Hogwarts was freaking out including the Wizarding world itself

Many people started making rumors that Sirius planned the attack as a way to get his title as heir back, or an assassination attempt on his sister out of jealousy and so forth, but his parents knew better, they knew whatever Sirius's role was in this, he loved his sister too much to hurt her.

Eventually, the hunt died down, but they got an "anonymous" tip that a werewolf was spotted far away in London

After the hunt near Hogwarts was over, Remus came back along with Cassie and Severus, who both took an oath to never speak of Remus's secret

After Cassie was back, Sirius tried to make amends, but Cassie had lost all love for her brother that night when he sent Severus straight to Remus without thinking.

Cassie had disowned Sirius as well that day, including Regulus, who didn't believe the rumors but knew his own brother had a hand in Cassie's condition.

Remus barely even looked at Sirius since that night and made his own amends with Cassie and Severus

Cassie's eye healed, but the scars weren't since they were made by a magical creature and couldn't be erased. She also inherited the werewolves' short temper and aggression due to the scar.

Cassie was also always accompanied by every pureblood Slytherin and Ravenclaw that was loyal to her and her family and were pretty much her bodyguards (including Charity and Aurora)

(All I got for today. Please enjoy)

[tillneverlovedivanuntilhewasshot]

whats your opinion on deuce surely it can't be that bad

What I think about deuce? well he...

Deuce Spade. You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. I wager you couldn't empty a boot of excrement were the instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more rapidly.

You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs. You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus.

And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have to us who think and reason? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake? You are a waste of flesh.

You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed , drooling meatslapper. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on.

This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half-baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective.

True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known, that this was your case then I would have never read your post. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

You're an idiot. A moron of the highest order. You're so stupid it's a wonder and a pity you can remember to breath. Intelligent ideas bounce off your head as if it were coated with teflon. Creative thoughts take alternate transportation in order to avoid even being in the same state as you. If you had an original thought it would die of loneliness before the hour was out. On an intelligence scale of 1 to 10 (10 corresponding to the highest attainable IQ) you're rating is so far into negative numbers that one would need to travel into another quantum reality in order to even catch a distant glimpse of it.

Your personality is that of a rabid Chihuahua intent on destroying its own tail. Your powers of observation are akin to those of the bird that keeps slamming into the picture window trying to get that other bird it keeps seeing. You are walking, talking proof that you don't have to be sentient to survive, and that Barnum was thinking of you when he uttered his immortal phrase regarding the birth of a sucker. You are, at varying times, tedious, boring, and even occasionally earth shatteringly hilarious in your idiocy, routinely childish, moronic, pathetic, wretched, disgusting and pitiful.

You are wholly without any redeeming social grace or value. If God ever decides to give the planet an enema you'd better run like the wind because anywhere you stand is a suitable place for The Insertion. There is no animal so disgusting, so vile that it deserves comparison to you, for even the lowest, dirtiest, most parasitic member of the animal kingdom fills an ecological niche. You fill no niche. To call you a parasite would be injurious and defamatory to the thousands of honest parasitic species. You are worse than vermin, for vermin do not pretend to be what it is not. You are truly human garbage. You are a fraudulent, lying, predatory charlatan. You are of less worth than a burnt-out light bulb. You will forever live in shame.

You have nothing to say, and Godwin's Law does not apply when writing about you. You are the anti-Midas, for all that you touch becomes valueless and unusable. Mothers gather their children close when you appear. You are an aberration, a corruption, and a boil that needs to be lanced. You are a poison in need of being vomited. You are a tooth so rotten it infects the whole body. You are sperm that should have been captured in a condom and flushed down a toilet.

I don't like you. I don't like anybody who has as little respect for others as you do. Go away, you swine. You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, and a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon. You are a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. Meaningful to no one, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts that sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I wretch at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, and the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell? Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot. You are a waste of flesh. On a good day you're a halfwit. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, study, spell, and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful, cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable, belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal, fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic, brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame, self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, satanic, fraudulent, libellous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking, devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic, fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased, suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim, crazy, weird, dystrophic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim, unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive, mind-numbing, abrasive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive, abusive, and socially-retarded.

Shut up and go away lest you achieve the physical retribution your behaviour merits, deuce spade. I hate snuggling. And I despise said hunger games.

There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The hunger games were the end of me. My reputation, my moon die, everything was taken away from me the moment you approached me. I was hated by all, forced to go away for a month. Why did you snuggle that day? my life is ruined because of your snuggling, man. I cant believe I wasted my time and precious hours on this response. Just go away, Deuce Spade.

tldr; he's quite the devious fella😂🤣😶‍🌫️

[lowrankness]

Members : Don’t Git Weary.

Max Roach.

[venzlenes]

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As they say in Texas. I’ll bet you couldn’t pour !@#$ out of a boot with instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won’t go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you.

You’re a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformation. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell?

Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more rapidly.

You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.

You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You’re a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won’t have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.

And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake?

You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral[size] equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed drooling meat slapper.

On a good day you’re a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

You smarmy lager lout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oink artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away.

I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid.

You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Your writing has to be a troll. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I’m sorry. I can’t go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don’t have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh.

The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have snipped away most of what you wrote, because, well... it didn’t really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more success.

True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us ”normal” people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are ”challenged” persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known that this was your case then I would have never read your post. It just wouldn’t have been ”right”. Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

P.S.: You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful, cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable, belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal, fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic, brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame, self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, satanic, fraudulent, libelous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking, devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic, fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased, suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim, crazy, weird, dystopic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim, unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive, mind-numbing, arassive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive, abusive, socially-retarded, puerile, clueless, and generally NOT GOOD.

I know u got this off a google. I've used it before. AND U WERE WITH ME WHEN I USED IT @myguumi