#he occasionally does those sharp 'knocks' against the window to tell us he's around! what's fun is that he seems to do it like people

[wri0thesley]

omg wait no hold on I just requested overhaul but then I remembered your overhaul thirst post about him pulling a "curing hysteria~" as an excuse and thought I'd request something along that vibe (no oun intended). I think that'd fall under orgasm control, overstim? (hope this is okay!)

hysteria antidote - overhaul x fem!reader (4k)

seeing nothing but the same four walls every day of your life is playing havoc with your brain. overhaul thinks perhaps you're suffering from hysteria. he has the perfect cure for that.

cw: not sfw/minors dni. dark content!!! dubious/non-consent. captive reader. talk of death, blood, etc. medical kink, gloves, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm control. misogyny. mentions of pregnancy/breeding. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: idk the internet said the 28th of may was his birthday so consider this both a birthday fic and a fic to celebrate 6k followers, sorry that i am gross and horrible but tbh im having a great time <3]

You really don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to be going out of your mind.

Since the Boss was taken ill, and Kai – Overhaul, you remind yourself, though he’s always just a little less sharp with you when you trip over the new name than he is with anyone else – took over leadership of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ve been pretty much stuck indoors.

Considering that you’re pretty sure he only has fond feelings towards maybe three people in the entire world, including you, you guess you ought to feel special about it – but all it actually does is make you feel like a trapped bird, caged and restless. It doesn’t help that all of the other members of the organisation have started being weird around you; people who you’ve known most of your adult life, people who you’ve worked beside and killed beside and done other horrible things beside (for the good of the organisation, of course)--

But now, they look at you like you might break at any moment. They treat you like an invalid. Their brows crease when they see you out and about, quietly murmuring; “Shouldn’t you still be in your room?”, avoiding touching you at all costs. There’s a kind of fear in their eyes, that they’re going to be told off for even speaking to you, that they’re afraid of being caught close to you.

And you know exactly who’s to blame for that.

You’d tried to speak to him about it, once; you’d thought that perhaps he might be amenable to your desire to do something to help the Shie Hassaikai. He’s always wanted to restore them to their former glory, after all! But after you’d let out your little impassioned tirade, his eyebrows had creased over the bird-mask.

“You don’t sound well,” he’d said to you. “Go back to your room. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

You had missed, at the time, that he hadn’t said ‘we’ll talk about it later’. He’d just said ‘I’ll’. When he had come, that is how it had been; the reassurance that he was keeping you safe. That he didn’t want you to be tainted. That he was keeping you well.

Your quirklessness has never been an issue before, but it certainly hasn’t been a boon. Still, for Kai--

“It’s disgusting,” he’d said, agitated by the discussion. You’d stared at his hands, thinking about the destructive power he himself wielded. “Quirks are a curse, and you not having one is just proof you’re not infected.” He’d looked up, golden eyes piercing directly into yours. “I’m going to keep you perfect.”

Overhaul is not a doctor, for all of his talk about illness and disease and plague. You think he could have used his quirk for something meaningful, once; but you also know that his burning curiousity, his disgust of anyone who deems tainted, his utter lack of morality . . . those are all things that would not have been welcomed in the medical profession. So instead, he deals in needles and pills and altering drugs in the underground labyrinth of the compound.

Sterile rooms, with examination tables and scalpels and impersonal, silver-grey equipment. Pill boxes that rattle when he passes them to you and tells you to take three of those a day, one of those, that one has to be taken to with food--

The idea that you won’t take them doesn’t enter his head, and though he has never . . . overhauled someone in front of you, you have walked past other members of the organisation mopping and disinfecting blood and gristle from sterile flooring.

It is better to go along with him, so you take the supplements and the pills and submit to the way he grabs your chin in gloved hands on the doctor’s chair, tipping your face up to shine a light into your eyes and watch your pupils dilate. But inside, you are screaming.

You’re not made to be locked in one room, occasionally allowed out to pace the hallways of the upstairs – never the underground ones, not any more – with restless footsteps and your muscles fizzing with desire to taste fresh air. You’re not made to stare at the same walls and breathe the purified air and think about how empty the compound is, now that Overhaul is in charge of everything--

(Too many knick-knacks attract dust. Pollen allergies act up, if there are too many plants, and he hates hearing people sneeze. Furniture should be easily movable and barren, to assist in the twice-daily cleanings of every room that people walk through.)

But it’s getting too much for you. Suffocating. You feel like you’re choking on air all of the time; you take the pills, because the thought of what he could do to you is terrifying, but sometimes you wonder if perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.

You’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain hitting the high windows in your bedroom, and you had longed to go outside in your thin nightwear and spread your arms and taste the air, smell the rain, feel it hit your body in fat droplets. Your entire being had ached. You’d tried to distract yourself, with what little there was in the barren prison cell that you called a bedroom – but when the door opened at four thirty exactly, and Kai had stood there with his face as impassive as ever, you had not been able to stop yourself.

Hand fastening around his upper arm (you shouldn’t touch him, you know you shouldn’t, but the same four walls are getting to you), you’d begged him;

“I want to go outside.”

If anyone else had touched him like that, they would already be splattered against the walls and floor. But all you get is a furrow of his eyebrows, careful fingers (gloved, of course; the latex against your skin always makes you shudder) pinching at your hand to get you to let go of him.

“No,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care,” you’re petulant, you know, frustration bubbling up in every cell of your body. “If I stay in here for one more day, I will tear myself into pieces.”

“You’re being over-dramatic.”

“Kai—”

“Don’t call me that.” His rebuttal is sharp. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

Your face twists into something ugly. Overhaul hates it when you do that; hates the way your brow wrinkles, your mouth moves, your normally lovely face (one of very few he can bear to look at unmasked and not feel as though he is going to get sick from merely breathing the same air of you) marred.

“You’re not,” you hiss at him. “You’re doing this because you’re fucked up! Because you’ve got some weird fucking ideas about what’s clean and what’s unclean, because you’re on a power trip, because you don’t care about other people--” Your voice is pitching and modulating, all of the things that you usually try and keep balled up inside of you spilling out that the floodgates of how unhappy you are is open.

You’re breathing heavy as Overhaul, clearly irked by what you’re saying, tugs at the wrist of one of his surgical gloves. If he’s going to kill you, good – at least it will be better than this, you think, your breath coming in short sharp pants after the outburst.

He lets go. His hands fall to his sides. His golden gaze on you is very level.

“You’re hysterical,” he tells you. An exasperated laugh falls from your mouth.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I breathed fresh air?”

“Seven months, two weeks, three days.” He says it without blinking. Your shoulders tense. Has it really been that long? “You haven’t been ill once in that time. The world out there is filthy.”

“It’s normal to get sick,” you try and tell him, but Overhaul is moving forward; past the doorway, and into your room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of a lock ominous. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with Kai in your bedroom.

In the medical examination rooms, sure. In his office. In common areas, back when he was just the boss’ troubled protege and not the boss himself--

His eyebrows twitch in disgust as he notices the dust on your bookshelves. You’d stopped letting any of the cleaners in here a month ago; you’d refused to clean in the mean time, taking whatever small victory against your captor that you could.

“You’ll give yourself respiratory issues,” he says.

“Good,” your voice is cold, but you realise you’ve backed away from him. For all of your attempts to stand up to him, you’re terrified. Everyone knows what he can do. “Better dead than here--”

Gloved fingers around your wrist, so tight you can practically feel them bruising.

“You don’t mean that,” he says. His voice has gotten softer, cajoling. You’re trembling in his grip. “I told you. You’re hysterical.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you say, but your words feel like you’re spitting them out around a mouthful of gravel. “I—I’m calm--”

Your knees knock against your bed, but Overhaul is still clinging to you; still too close. Your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

“You’re not. You’re hysterical.” He repeats it, calmly. The hand not on your wrist reaches up and cups your face, a gloved thumb stroking across your cheek as if you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. The scent of the latex is overwhelming. “But that’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He clicks his tongue behind the mask. “It’s mine. All of this checking for the physical sickness, and I didn’t think about checking your head.”

You fall onto the bed as his knees knock against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s just a plain, single bed; rumpled sheets, because you’d fought against any attempt for someone to come in and collect your laundry, too. Overhaul looks silly in your room, you think dimly; like a huge black crow in the nest of a small, frightened wren.

“If you fight,” he tells you, “I’ll disassemble you. I’d rather not. I don’t want to taint you by using my quirk. But . . .” He’s sinking to his knees in front of you, those same methodical hands pushing up the skirt of your dress. “If I did, I’d get a blank mind to work with. I won’t hesitate. But I’d still rather simply fix you without having to break you into pieces first.”

You know him too well to think that he’s bluffing.

After all of the vitriol you’ve spat at him, he’s unwilling to kill you. Would it be worse, to be mindless and brainless under Kai’s quirk? You’ve heard some of his failed experiments before; babbling, drooling, broken things. He’s killed them sometimes just to put them out of their misery.

What if he did that, and your mind remained perfectly capable – just utterly unable to communicate with your body? A prisoner in your own skin. Worse than even now. You swallow back the lump of fear.

“H-how are you going to do that?” You ask him.

You start at how cold the gloved fingers are on your bare thighs, as Overhaul pushes them apart. Cold fear prickles down your spine. You’re too scared to fight back, but everything he’s doing is making you want to run.

“Did you know,” Overhaul says, those same hands sliding higher, to tug at the waistband of your underwear. “In the past, there were rumours that doctors would cure hysteria by genital massage and stimulation?”

His words are very clinical, but there’s a thickness to his voice behind the mask that fills you with revulsion.

“It might be nonsense, of course,” he says. Your underwear is being tugged down, pulled around your thighs, your knees, your ankle. “They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth--”

“Kai—” Your voice is a soft whine, fear-filled. This time, he doesn’t snap at you for calling him by the name he’s left behind. He simply says;

“Spread your legs.”

You don’t want to. But you want to risk what he’s threatening you with even less, so you tearfully open them as wide as you can go. He shifts forward, and the tip of the beaked mask digs into your inner thigh as he studies you like you’re nothing more than a diagram, not a living, breathing person--

“Next time I’ll have lubricant ready,” he says, under his breath, and your heart seizes up at the implication that whatever he’s going to do to you, there’ll be a next time.

You start at the sensation of gloved fingers gently parting the lips of your sex, Overhaul’s golden eyes drinking in the sight of you spread open and bare. You’re shaking, but for some reason the way he’s looking at you – the utter concentration in his eyes – makes a curl of heat flare deep inside of you.

“Don’t,” you breathe, trying not to squirm. “Please--”

“I don’t want to have to,” he says. His tone remains calm, unbothered. “I’m doing it for your own good, you know that. Just helping you along.” One finger slides through the slit; the sensation of the gloves against your most intimate, heated parts makes the muscles in your thighs clench. It’s . . . not exactly unpleasant, but neither it is pleasant. “Do you think I’m getting any pleasure out of this?”

He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. You know this; everyone knows this. If this particular thought was so unpleasant to him, you don’t doubt he’d have found somebody else to do it (the thought of one of the other members of the Shie Hassaikai doing this to you fills you with even more revulsion than the idea of Overhaul himself). But you can’t say that out loud. Not after what he’s threatened. So you press your lips together and shake your head, gasp dying in your throat as one of Overhaul’s latex-covered fingers prods gently around your opening.

“You’re getting wet,” he tells you, as if you can’t feel the shameful slick beginning to leak from you. “That will make this easier. Good.”

You hate that the praise makes another jolt of arousal go through you. You don’t want to like the feeling of his gloves, rubbing at your heated cunt; the sensation of a fingertip circling around your entrance, brushing the bud of your clit and making you want to clamp your thighs around his hand.

He sinks the tip of one finger inside of you and you jerk, your hips out of your control as you try and sink away from the intrusion. Overhaul clicks his tongue again in annoyance at you. The hand holding the lips of your cunt open moves, to land on your hip and pin you between the bed and the wall so you can’t squirm again.

“I’ll sedate you next time, if I have to,” he says. “I’m not getting anything out of this. I’d prefer not to have to do it at all--”

He’s lying. You know he is. But you can’t call him out for it, so you press your trembling lips together and try to stop tears spilling out from your lash line as the finger inside of you sinks further and further inside, past his first knuckle, right down to the base.

He crooks it inside of you and your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into your palms through cotton. His touch is curious, exploratory; has he ever actually done this to anybody before? He slides over a rough patch inside of you with the latex-tipped finger and a moan escapes your mouth against your will, your head falling back against the wall. Narrowed golden eyes look up at you as he repeats the motion; taking in the gloss of your lips, the widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders are shaking up and down.

You can feel yourself pumping more slick out; helping the glide of his finger inside of you, as he begins to carefully thrust it in and out of you. His touch is made all the more impersonal by the mask obscuring everything but his eyes and eyebrows; you can’t even hear him breathing.

Your cunt is fluttering around him, pleasure swarming you in breathless waves as he withdraws his finger entirely. He lifts the glove to his eyeline, looking only vaguely interested in how the white latex glimmers with your arousal.

“I’m going to use two now,” he tells you – and that is all the warning you get before two fingers beside one another are opening you up, scissoring your tight channel apart with an ache that you feel up to your hips. You bite back the whimper, but you’re unable to stop the choked breaths that are falling from you as he fucks you with them in steady, constant thrusts.

A covered thumb brushes your clit; swollen, now. Sensitive. Standing to attention. Your hips attempt to jerk in his hold once more, a strangled noise that’s neither pleasured nor pain falling from your throat. You’ve touched yourself, of course you have – even recently, just to try and assuage some of the boredom that fills your exactly-the-same days – but Overhaul’s fingers and thumbs and touch on you are so entirely different from that.

He continues his assault over your clit, those same eyes watching you with that same detached, clinical disposition that he’s had most of the time. There’s a cast to them that suggests there’s something more, but whatever emotion – if, indeed, he’s still capable of that – he’s feeling about having you at his mercy in this way has been pushed to the back of his mind as his thumb rolls and pinches at the bud.

Your body goes all-over heat, Overhaul’s fingers still pumping in and out of you, the slick noises of your shaming wetness echoing around the prison of the four walls you’ve spent seven months in. You’re teetering on the edge of something, hot and needy and wanting – and as Overhaul’s thumb sweeps over your poor aching clit again, you tilt your hips forward for as much stimulation as you can--

And he pulls his fingers out of you.

The heat fades into nothingness as you let out a noise of disappointment. Overhaul’s head tilts to one side, considering.

“What do you want?” He asks you. “Say it.”

No. You don’t ‘want’. He’s wrong. You keep your mouth pressed tight now that the damning noise has fallen out of it; you have managed to not let the tears trembling in your eyes spill forth. Your gaze meets his, defiant and tired and afraid all at once.

“Alright,” he sighs. “If you’re going to carry on being difficult.”

He does it again; his fingers plunging into you, scissoring you apart, rubbing against your folds with a practised agility now that he’s done it for the first time. He has always been a fast learner; always been observant. His thumb is back on your clit with ceaseless assault, and all over again you feel heat begin to build up; tension that crawls into every crevice of your being and worms its way deep inside you despite how badly you don’t want this.

The hand holding your hip loosens somewhat, allowing you to messily thrust your hips into Overhaul’s stimulation. You’re torn; you shouldn’t want to hump against the gloved fingers stimulating you, you should be wriggling and squirming away. But it feels so good; even with the skin-tight covering of rubbery latex, Overhaul’s fingers seem to find every one of your weak points and exploit them.

There it is again, building up on you; a ball of tension in your stomach being gradually wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips flex against his hand, your fingers clenching and unclenching on the bedsheet--

He denies you the peak of your orgasm for the second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

“Kai--!” You’re too far gone to even think, after the pleasure has been pulled from you so cruelly, over and over again. The tears spill over your cheeks., rolling down in fat, shaming droplets. Overhaul’s eyes narrow.

“No,” he says, vehement – more emotion in his voice than you’ve heard all day. “You know what to call me.”

You know what he wants you to call him. You know that he wants to leave his old name behind, start again, be someone who can drag the Shie Hassaikai out of the shadows and into light and power once again – and he thinks that the name will help. You gurgle out a sobbing, strangled noise;

“O-Overhaul, please--”

Three fingers are plunged as deep inside of you as they can go, crooked to rub against your sweet spot; as Overhaul murmurs, detached but soft;

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They thrust into you, his thumb rubbing your clit with firm, certain strokes – and this time, as the orgasm rushes up on you all at once, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you with his fingers through it, his thumb not ceasing the circling. Pleasure washes over you, finally, in great waves and crests. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, soaking him in your wetness (his eyebrows furrow again, at how close your fluid comes to spilling over his bared wrist; but you are too relieved to think about anything other than finally getting what you need).

Your hips flex, gasps falling from your mouth with every thrust of them – and you expect Overhaul to pull his fingers out of you. To stop touching you. Perhaps to strip off his gloves and put on a new pair – you know he always carries spares – and sneer at you as he walks out of the room.

But Overhaul’s fingers do not move from inside of you. The fierce rhythm of his fucking and petting and rubbing does not stop, even as the final aftershocks of your orgasm clench loosely about him and his constant stimulation becomes more of an annoyance than anything else on heated, sensitive skin.

You squirm, trying to push your thighs together to get him to stop touching you – but the hand not fucking you forces your thighs to stay parted with the curl of fingers into supple flesh, leaving you helpless to do anything but let him carry on touching you. Carry on fucking you.

A short, sharp shock of an orgasm rips through you as he swirls his thumb over your clit just so, and you realise that you’re drooling down yourself as well as panting; helpless and sloppy, utterly unable to do anything except lie there and take it until Overhaul decides he’s had enough of touching you.

You come, what? Twice more? Thrice? Until the pulsing of your channel is painful, your skin feeling red raw, your whimpers into the ceiling dry and broken. Only then does he pull his fingers out of you with a lewd pop.

A gush of your fluid that his fingers were stoppering soaks your bedsheets, and you watch, dazed, as Overhaul stands up. He looks down at you for just one moment, that stretches unbearably long in the heat-and-sex soaked atmosphere of the room.

He strips his gloves off of his hands, eyebrows twitching in disgust as he leaves the crumpled latex on your bedside table. He’s sliding on another pair as he speaks;

“Feel better?”

No. No, you don’t. You feel worse. You feel disgusted and violated and aching, your body over-stimulated and exhausted, sweat and drool and bodily fluids clinging to your skin. But if you tell Overhaul that--

“Yes,” you say, voice very soft and small and weak. You cannot see his mouth, but you see the way his eyes flash happily, the overall sensation of him smiling.

Why does Overhaul’s smile make you so scared, when Kai’s smile used to just make you feel warm?

“We’ll need to do it a few more times,” he tells you, as your blood runs to ice in your veins. “Such maladies aren’t cured in a day, after all. But . . .” He turns, rearranging himself carefully, his mask readjusted. You can’t see him as he speaks the next words. “I’d like to try some of the other suggested remedies, too.”

You think of his earlier words.

‘They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth.’

You’re never going to escape, are you? You’re going to be trapped in this compound until the day you die, and Overhaul is going to think that he’s keeping you safe--

“Take a shower,” he says to you, as he opens the door. It is not a suggestion. “And stop not letting the maids come in here to clean. I’m not having you get sick.”

You think he might be the sick one.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Chris lying on top of someone getting cuddles plz Ash I beg of you

Follows on Time Apart, It Doesn’t Work As Well As You’d Hoped, and Learn to Fly

Their heartbeat is slow and steady underneath his ear, and his eyes close, letting himself dwell in the sound. His fingers twist in their shirt, relax, twist and relax, rubbing his thumbs over the seams of their binder underneath.

They hum, softly, a tuneless sound very nearly like his own, and that’s like drifting in a warm sea, floating on saltwater and feeling the sun on his skin. Their fingers gently move through his hair, blunt bitten nails not quite scratching his scalp, just rubbing with their fingertips.

The coffeeshop is quiet around them, emptied-out except for the two baristas who speak in low voices under the whirring of the espresso machine, handing drinks out the drive-thru window, bags of cookies and cannoli, a scone or three. They don’t ask if Chris and Laken need anything more.

They know that the need, as it stands now, isn’t for the coffee that’s gone cold in both their cups. It's for the space to have their quiet together, after time apart.

The rain pours, outside, a soft and subtle rush, like blood pulsing through the veins of the world. Blood goes into and out of the human heart, water goes up to the atmosphere and then back to earth. It’s the same.

The earth breathes.

So does Laken.

Chris, like a bird with wings open to the wind to rise, listens to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Laken murmurs, without pausing in the soft rhythm of their fingers. “Or of what happened to you, or of what it means for us. My future is with you, that hasn’t changed. I’ve never been afraid of you, Chris. Afraid for you a couple of times, sure, but never of you.”

“I’ll freeze up,” Chris says back, voice low. The music that plays over the speakers switches in a wild, odd swing between the sort of instrumental jazz Chris is used to and the occasional bouncy 80’s pop song. He wonders, in a detached way, which of the baristas has their iPod plugged in to the speakers. “Every, um. Every time. I can’t-... I can’t, can’t stop it right away. Ever.”

“I know,” Laken says. They’re on their back on the back, shoulders propped against the arm of the couch, head tipped back a little towards the ceiling. Chris lays on top of them, his own feet up on the couch’s arm at the other side, the soles of his worn-out slip-on shoes pointing up. His fingers run over the thick, smooth binder fabric under their t-shirt, back and forth, back and forth. His fingers skim along the edge where the black of the binder meets the skin over their lower ribs.

He mirrors the movement of their hand through his hair without realizing it.

“You, you, you shouldn’t-... someone who, um, who can’t... I'm, I'm fucked up, Laken."

“No one gets out of this life without some dings, baby,” Laken says, and their hand slips down, cups his jaw and gently encourages him to look up as they look down to meet his eyes. Theirs, always, are pools so deep and dark he can’t tell iris from pupil. Some of the long part of their hair falls forward, framing their face. “Nobody. Yours are a little rougher than some others, but I’ve got mine, too, you know? I love you, dings and all. We're fucked up but we're fucked up together."

“You don’t freeze.”

“No. I throw punches. And trust me, it’s not always the right response. Even if it feels good in the moment.”

“I, I, I wish I could fight.”

“You did.” Laken sighs, a low soft exhale, and he listens to the sound it within them as well as without. “You pushed her away. You said so yourself. You pushed her away and said no.”

“Not, not right away.”

“God, Chris. You’re even braver for fighting when your body is screaming at you not to. It’s not thoughtless, for you, like it is for me sometimes. You have to push past years of hurt in a couple of seconds. That’s big.”

“It, it, it feels… small.”

“Well, it’s not.” The firm matter-of-factness of their tone makes him smile, secretly, turning his head briefly so the expression is made against their sternum, the warmth of their skin that settles under his own.

“I’m going to to to to, um, to make, it, it harder on you,” He says, looking back up at them. He doesn’t like to look right into people’s eyes, never has, but it’s not so bad with them. Sometimes. And he knows they’ll let him look away when it’s too much. “You know? You, you should… you should maybe find someone else.”

“I should be there for the man I love,” Laken says, voice getting a little softer. There’s a clatter of metal steam-cups over by the counter, the baristas rinsing everything out during this slow time, when the nearly-overwhelming rain means no one is getting out of their car right now.

The two old men - Mr. Malley and Mr. Cilly - have gone back to their homes. It’s nearly lunchtime, and Chris’s stomach feels a little hollowed. He’ll get a scone in a little while, maybe. If he remembers.

“But... everyone who loves me dies, gets hurt, gets gets gets lost,” Chris whispers, feeling a sharp twist inside him. A grief and pain that was wiped away, pushed down by drugs but never fully destroyed. It rises in a wave to break against him, as if they have only just died, the two of them. His mother’s eyes fading as she told him it would be okay, in the end. His father had already been gone.

“That’s a goddamn lie,” Laken says, and there’s an insistence even in their half-whisper. “Jake’s still here. Nat’s still here. Antoni’s still here, Kauri’s still here. I’m still here. Hell, those weird old dudes seem to care about you and they’re still here, aren’t they?”

“But, but, but when I, when I tell everyone-”

“I’ll be right fucking there. Wherever you want me.”

“Everyone will know what I am.” They’re silent, but he can feel their correction behind their lips, barely held back, and he smiles, just a little. “Okay, okay. What I, um, what, what I had to do.”

“If that’s what you want to do, I support you. And I’m not turning away just because you’re doing something amazing, even if it’s dangerous.” They run a finger along his jaw, and their smile is bright, their teeth just slightly crooked in a way Chris loves. “I told you. My future is with you, and that’s a choice I made like a month after you said that you loved me the first time. I knew it was me and you, Chris. Whatever stands in our way, we’ll get through it.”

Chris blinks at them, thinking, and then his own smile widens. It’s still a little trembling, a little hesitant… but stronger. “Blow, um. Blow it apart and go through the wreckage.”

“What?” Laken blinks back at him.

He shakes his head, smiling and laying his ear back down over their heart, looking out the window at the driving rain. It’s made puddles in the parking lot, and he sees a bright white and red polka-dot umbrella as someone makes a mad dash for their car from the bookstore a few doors down.

“My mom,” He says, softly. “My, um. Mr. Malley said… my mom would, um, would would do that. If she couldn’t get over something, or around it, she’d… she’d she’d she’d go through it. Knock it it it it it down or, or, or, um, blow it up."

“Then let’s make like your mom,” Laken says, softly. “And blow WRU to bits and walk right through whatever’s left of their bullshit and build our life there. Take their wreckage and make a statue out of it. Or a hammer. Which we will then bash them with."

He laughs, against them, and they laugh, too.

He's missed the sound of their laughter so much.

When their hand moves down, he grabs onto it. Their fingers are warm, as always. Warm and dry, the perfect counterpoint to the weather. They press a kiss to his hair and he lets his eyes close, enjoying the feeling.

“Do, um. Do do do do you want to meet her?”

��Who?”

“My mom. And, um, I guess, I guess my dad, too. I I I I know where they are, now. Where they’re… they’re buried.”

Laken inhales sharply. “Since when?”

“Akio, um, told me. Do, do you want to… meet them?”

“Sure.” Laken hesitates, then adds in a kind of nervous feigned humor, “What if your mom doesn’t like me?”

Chris thinks of the woman in his mind, still fuzzy around the edges and with a voice he can only remember when he isn’t thinking too much about it. Dark hair and a bright laugh, holding him tightly when he needed it and letting him run when he needed that instead. The woman who went to every single practice and meet, who had been so excited for him to qualify for the national elite team alongside Akio. He can almost see her clearly, if he keeps his eyes closed and forces his way around the headache that still tries to push her back into the light.

“I think,” He murmurs, “She, she, she, she would have liked you. A lot. And and and and probably been mad it took me so, um, so so so long to bring you by."

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[peggyrose19]

Hold Me While You Wait

Welcome to part 2 of me writing St. Tweedle instead of sleeping! What can I say, they’re fun. So here’s Remus finding out about the two of them. ( if you know the song from the title you get a gold star) also in case you weren’t aware i don’t know how actual conversations work.

characters by @lumosinlove

@im-oknutzy-trash, @wonder-womans-ex

Luke found himself fiddling as he waited in his room. He didn’t normally get so antsy, could usually keep a relatively calm exterior. But in his room, hidden from curious eyes, his walls dropped, letting his nerves peek through. His expression, staring back at him from the mirror he stood in front of, was stony and pale.

“Relax,” a familiar voice said. Luke didn’t even flinch, so familiar by now with Saint’s random appearances. 

“How am I supposed to relax?” he asked exasperatedly, moving on from the buttons of his jacket to his cuffs. He didn’t look at Saint, but could hear him moving, could imagine his lithe body sliding through the window, blond hair catching the last strains of golden sunlight. He could picture the smirk too, as Saint came up behind him, close enough to touch. 

“It’s just Remus,” Saint murmured softly, surveying Luke in the full-length mirror they stood before. Luke watched his face in the glass. “We hang out with him all the time. And besides,” he added, “you look good. No need to fix what isn’t broken.”

Luke turned to face Saint, mere breaths separating them. “When did you become all philosophical?”

There was a softer side to Saint, Luke had discovered over the past few months. One that only came out when they were alone, as if Saint was afraid of anyone else knowing that he did actually have a heart. And he cared a lot more than he ever let on. That was the thing about Saint. He always held things inside. He was this wild swirling storm of emotions, warring with each other constantly and held at bay by an icy wall of sharp wit and easy sarcasm. Luke liked to tell himself that it was him who brought Saint’s walls down, let him show that delicate interior beneath. 

“It’s all your fault,” Saint replied then, and Luke smiled. “You’re a bad influence on me, Tweedle, what can I say?”

Luke smiled, and leaned forward to kiss Saint gently. He too was softer with Saint than anybody else, letting him see the caring parts of himself. There was something about Saint that felt safe, felt like home. 

“Tell me it will all be okay.”

Saint’s expression flickered. “Well, I can’t tell you that, Tweedle,” he replied, not unkindly. “I can’t control it, can I? And I mean, he’s your friend, is he not? You should know better than to ask me, what do I know of Remus Lupin? That he’s mad? That he’s in love with Sirius? That’s about all I can give you, babe.”

Luke knew that wasn’t true—from the gleam in Saint’s eyes he did too—but he also knew that wasn’t Saint’s intention. Saint had never been the type of person to respond with logic. His intention was always to make Luke smile, to distract him. And most of the time it worked. Saint had an uncanny ability to pull your focus away, make you think of something else entirely different in a mere sentence or two. In this case, he was once again successful. 

“Wait, Remus is in love with Sirius?” he asked.

Saint shrugged. “I dunno. He certainly stares at him enough though. It’s like they both have hearts for eyes these days, I swear.”

Luke just blinked. “Since when have they been together?” Saint shrugged again. Luke spluttered. 

“Have you not noticed?” Saint asked amusedly. “Jesus Christ, he’s your best friend is he not? Must I do everything?” Luke stifled a laugh at Saint’s dramatics. 

He had noticed Remus acting differently lately if he was honest, cagey and inconsistent, disappearing randomly throughout the day and reappearing with flushed cheeks or the occasional bruise. The more he thought about it, the more it all began to make sense. How Sirius never seemed to be around when Remus was missing. The way they always seemed to end up beside each other when they all hung out together. The sudden—or maybe not so sudden—lack of animosity between the two. He just wondered how the hell Saint had noticed before him. 

Luke was pulled from his thoughts by the light brush of Saint’s lips against his own. He smiled into the kiss, let Saint push him back until he hit the wall, let his hands slip under the edge of Saint’s t-shirt. Saint always kissed like a burning fire. Pushing and taking, meeting Luke step for step. It had always been that way, ever since that very first kiss right here in this room, the two of them pushing and pulling, taking and giving what the other put down. 

A knock at the door startled them apart. Standing in the doorway was Remus, staring at them with wide eyes. Luke felt like his heart had stopped. 

“Remus.” 

“Um. Hi.” 

Remus stood there awkwardly, not moving. He looked truly surprised, Luke noted as he studied his face and desperately tried to control his own pounding heart. As his breathing began to slow, he noticed Saint had stepped nearly to the other side of the room, seemingly trying to put as much space between them as he possibly could. Luke tried not to feel offended by it; it’s not like they could pretend they weren’t just making out thirty seconds ago. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I was coming to get you. We were supposed to leave five minutes ago? The party, remember?”

“I remember,” Luke replied faintly, still grappling with the sudden change. 

Luke had known Remus would find out eventually, had known he really should have told him back when it first started. Remus was his best friend after all, they trusted each other with almost everything. Almost. Some things gave him pause though, not because of Remus but because of himself. It was hard to trust someone completely, was something Luke had learned when his father had been arrested. You never truly knew everything about a person. 

“So…” Remus started awkwardly. “Are you two like, together or…?” 

“Um,” coughed Luke. “Something like that.” 

Saint stayed eerily quiet. Luke glanced over at him quickly, finding his face stony and pale. It was uncharacteristic of him, and a bit disconcerting to see that vibrant color drained from his face. 

“Oh well, uh. Good for you, I guess.” 

“Could you give us a minute?” Luke asked, gaze flitting back to Saint. Remus watched him warily for a second but he nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. Luke had the fleeting thought that he was only going to listen through the wall, but he pushed it from his mind. Remus wasn’t like that.

Luke turned to Saint, stepping cautiously toward him the way one might approach a spooked horse. “You alright?” he asked softly. 

Saint’s gaze snapped to his, icy cold for only a single moment. Then his face crumbled. He said nothing, simply stepped closer to Luke and pulled him in, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Luke’s eyes slipped shut and he felt Saint lean into him. He took the weight silently, nuzzling against Saint’s neck and breathing in the familiar smell of sea salt and fresh air.

 He didn’t pull back until Saint did, cradling his face in gentle hands and looking into those lost hazel eyes. 

“It’s just Remus, remember?”

Saint sniffled. “Damn you Tweedle.” 

Luke smiled. “Come on.” He held out his hand and, surprisingly, Saint took it. They headed for the door and, when Luke opened it, Remus was waiting on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” Luke blurted out then, surprising even himself. If possible, Remus’ eyes grew wider.

“What are you sorry for?” 

“Not telling you.” 

Remus sighed. “It’s… I mean, do I wish you would have told me? Yeah. Am I gonna make you tell me everything? No. Besides, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I did.” He swallowed hard. “There’s something you should know.”

“About you and Sirius, I know,” Luke interrupted, wanting to stop the terrified look on his friend’s face. It seemed that fear didn’t go away, even with those you were closest to. 

“You know?” 

“Yeah. Well. Saint told me. I wouldn’t have figured it out.”

Remus’ gaze shifted to Saint, who just smirked and shrugged as if to say ‘what can I say, you aren’t subtle’. At least, that’s what Luke got out of it. 

“Oh. Well uh… guess that makes this night a bit easier then.” 

“Guess it does.”

Saint sighed long-sufferingly, that indifferent mask fixed back on. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, let’s go.” 

Luke couldn’t help a small smile, but it hurt his heart that Saint felt the need to pretend around everyone, even their friends. It was true that Remus was more his friend than Saint’s, but they had gotten closer over the past few months. On occasion, Saint had even been polite. But Luke should have known that wouldn’t be enough. Saint didn’t trust people, didn’t open up to them. He still found it miraculous Saint ever opened up to him. 

“Luke, you coming?” Remus asked, and Luke glanced up to see both him and Saint standing at the top of the stairs waiting for him. 

“Yeah.” 

Luke grabbed Saint’s hand again as they headed down the stairs towards the front door, squeezing gently. Saint glanced at him curiously, once. But he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pull away. 

When they reached the first floor, Remus headed outside without a second thought, but Luke paused, pulling Saint towards him.

“Hey,” he whispered, Saint falling against him. Their lips met, just a brush of a kiss, before Luke pulled back again to look at Saint fully. “Are you okay? Truthfully.”

Saint smiled Luke’s favorite smile. “I’m fine.”

“Good.”

With another gentle kiss, Luke let Saint go and followed him outside into the cool night air to where Remus was waiting.

[dizzyingdaze]

no seats | s.r

a scenario where you can't keep your mouth shut and steve rogers wouldn't want it any other way.

only warning is cursing

New York was somewhere you never thought you'd visit let alone live in, yet here you were. Clutching the bag of your friends coat as she shuffled her way into the busy cafe during lunch time, the worst time to be in any cafe in the city.

Women in pencil skirts exchanged pleasantries with men in dark suits, briefcases occasionally knocking off the guitar case lain against one of the long sofas a group of teenagers occupied.

The jazzy playlist was overtaken by the loud chatter of the customers, the scent of fresh toasted panini's and cinnamon buns intermingling with the raw coffee bean tones. It was chaos to be short if the screaming baby who knocked over their babysitters iced coffee, smack in the middle of the bustling building, was any indication.

Hearing a hefty sigh pass your side, a young worker grabbed a mop and placed down a wet floor sign, shooing anybody standing nearby away.

"Oh no, we're not going to get any seats I think," your friend Karolina said to you, eyeing the usual window seats taken filled up completely.

You signed in response as the line waddled forward, names being shouted out as you continued to eye all tables, eager to jump at any tables with packing bags and empty drinks.

"I'm going to shoot upstairs and check, get me a mocha?," She nodded her head in reply as you broke away from the impatient grumbles and weaved through the tables.

As you neared the end of the stairs, accidentally kicking an empty cup on the floor, you eyed a girl sitting by herself, nestled in the of the window sets. Her bag sat on one chair while an empty one sat across from her.

Eyes widening with an idea you began to walk towards her when a couple beat you there. An almost six foot boy placed his hands down on the table, garnering the attention of the lone girl.

"My girl and I need somewhere to sit and I see your cup is nearly empty. Mind moving? Thanks," He bared his teeth at her in an almost smile, the annoyed crease between his blonde brows giving him away.

His girlfriend seemed less than interested, typing out a message on her phone, only glancing up when the girl opened her mouth.

"Actually I'm waiting on somebody as I'm meant to be tutoring, I don't mind giving you one of the seats though?" She gave a watery smile, her hands beginning to slowly shake at his direct nature.

He downright glared at her response, leaning further into his hands until his face was an inch away from hers. "I was being courteous, now I'm annoyed. Move it,"

Her face flushed red at the embarrassment as his girlfriend began to giggle behind him, clearly used to his egotistical nature. Your own face flushed too but rather in anger, just who the fuck is this dick ordering around random girls?

What a huff you strode up to till you stood between the two, pushing him back with your hand you glared harshly at him as a "What the fuck?" escaped his lips.

'What the fuck yourself, who are you to tell this girl to move? Everybody here wants a seat to yet you don't seem them acting like a little child," You spat watching his neck go red at the confrontation, clearly not used to it.

He stumbled for a second finding words before shooting back "I can tell whoever I want to move especially if she's been sitting there with an empty coffee cup. I don't have to listen to any bitch trying to boss me around!" The cafe had gone quiet as he shouted out the last sentence, Karolina looking on surprised, the drinks held in her hand. She moved forward to pull you away from the scene but you didn't even budge.

"Oh I'm the bitch? That's rich coming from a dickhead picking on somebody smaller than him, tell me, do you always start throwing tantrums when you don't get what you want? Like a child?," Hearing you call him a child again seem to strike a chord in him.

His girlfriend moved to pull him back as his hand balled in a fist, Karolina whispered to you "Not again, let's go please," into your ear. But you both shared the same stubborn nature, refusing to move.

The tension rose as you just stared each other down, veins almost bulging, jaws clenched so tight they began to ache. The man pointed his finger right in your face, the thought of biting it ran through your mind. "You do not tell me what to do and I'm not a fucking child you hear me? You better learn to keep your sharp tongue to yourself and out of my goddamn affairs!" His attention shifted to the girl he had originally spoken to, her eyes beginning to tear up as he moved the finger from you to her.

Pushing him back again, outraged at the audacity he had to even speak to her again you pushed him back full force with both your hands, grounding your boots into the sticky floor. Taken aback he stumbled into his girlfriend and you swore you could see his pride take a physical hit.

Without missing a beat he rolled his shoulders and balled his fists and you did the same before two large figures stepped between you two.

"Easy there tough guy, hitting a dame the best way to win a fight you shouldn't have started?" The voice wasn't familiar but the metal fingers peeking out of the black denim jacket was, clutching the boys shoulder so hard he bent forward at it. "Let me go what the fuck-" He started before the stranger grabbed the back of his lettermen jacket and dragged him out of the shop through the back exit, the girlfriend shouting along with him as she followed them out.

The second man had bent down in front of the girl in the middle of this all, her shoulders shaking as the man whispered soothingly to her. You coughed awkwardly uncurling your fists, clocking all the eyes on you and your friend just deadpanned at you. "Don't you even try, why does your ass always have to get in the middle of other peoples business? I said, don't start!" She placed a finger over your lips as you obediently went quiet.

You could always explain later. You turned to face the man and the girl, to see how she was when you recognized who he really was. Light blue eyes stared into yours as you took in the broad shoulders and blonde hair peeking out from under his cap. You just blinked in surprise but said nothing, choosing to crouch in front of the girl who was no longer shaking.

"Are you alright?" She nodded, thanking you as she bent forward for a hug you gladly returned, albeit a bit quickly because there was so many people here. "I probably would have moved and most likely cried in the bathroom so you know, thanks for that," You grinned at her response, standing up as Karolina threw her free hand up.

"If you're not outside in the next five minutes i'm throwing your drink down the drain," She stalked out, blonde ponytail bouncing behind her as the onlookers resumed their previous activities, leaving you standing rather stiffly in front of Captain fucking America.

"I take it from your friend being annoyed, you do that thing a lot?" His lips curling up as you nodded shortly. "She's not actually annoyed at me, she'd be more annoyed if I let that twat continue to shout at her and do nothing," He chuckled at that, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket as you stared at the door your friend left.

"Well don't let me hold you back but hey, Captain America approves of your social justicing! Or in the name of social justice? You get what I mean," His cheeks blushed a light pink as you giggled at his roundabout way of complimenting you.

"Yeah I'll say that next time it happens. Nice to know an Avenger approves! I'd better go..." You trailed off as he stepped to the side and sent a curt salute your way.

As he watched you saunter away Bucky, who re entered the shop from the entrance, clapped a hand on his shoulder, sighing lowly. "She reminds me of you in some weird, female way, hopefully she doesn't end up in back-alley brawls" He commented, Steve scoffed as they made their way back to the two seater in the corner of the cafe, drinks now a gross lukewarm temperature.

"Please, did you hear her? Her words alone could get a guy bleeding internally," The words slipped out and Bucky whistled at them. "Didn't know all it took was some curse words and authority to get you mushy. Yet, Natasha is a poster child for it and you couldn't care less," Bucky grimaced after sipping his hot chocolate, the once sweet warm mixture now cold and slimy on his tongue.

The other soldier slowly circled the rim of his latte, thinking of how fast you stood up to him, pointing your finger up in his face. "Nat sticks up to assholes 'cause it's her job but she did it for the sake of it. Excuse me, I am not mushy!" He sent a quick dig to his friends shin the offended's brows furrowed at the sharp pain.

"Oh yeah? You're wearing the same damn look you did when Peggy came into the pub all those nights ago. Bet you even tried to find her name on those coffee cups the blonde had," Rubbing the attacked body part, Bucky snidely remarked.

Steve said nothing in response, choosing to stare out the window next to him. He was right, your quickly scribbled name was engraved in his mind as was the white ford fiesta you had hopped in a few meters down from the cafe. Not that he was looking, of course, it was mere coincidence his eyes never seemed to leave your figure.

Mere coincidence, he thought to himself as Bucky rolled his eyes at his friends behaviour. He wondered what weird excuse Steve was going to give for the rest of the week or month it would take to run into you again.

[15-dogs]

something like this |s.b.|

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: sirius always seems to have something to say about your boyfriend, but maybe it’s because his words are powered by another emotion

warnings: light swearing

guide: (Y/N) = your name, italics = flashback

word count: 2229

a/n: hi hello I’m a HUGE new girl fan and I was rewatching some episodes the other night (specifically oregon s4e16) and then I had an urge to make a fic?? off of the episode?? so yeah that’s what I did lol I hope all of you like it!!

“Sorry,” Remus said as he placed a letter before you, “it’s not from him.”

You groaned and threw your head in your hands. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you― specifically Sirius― so you regained composure, meeting everyone’s sad eyes with a smile.

“It’s fine!” You shot a glare at Sirius who hid his smirk with a long sip from his mug. “Don’t start with me, Sirius.”

“I haven’t said a word, love.”

You rolled your eyes as you got up from the table. “He’s coming, I know he is.”

“I bet he’s just busy, (Y/N),” Peter assured you.

“Yeah, you’re right, Peter. He’s just busy.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t make time for you,” Sirius interjected.

You rounded on the raven haired boy, finger pointed at his chest. “I thought I said not to start with me,” you sneered.

Sirius raised his hands in defense, standing up so he towered over you. “I’m just saying, Ben’s your boyfriend, he should be spending his summer with you here. Or at least he should write you. When did he say he was visiting us? Four days ago, was it?”

You scuffed your feet against the wooden paneling of the little home you shared with the three boys. You suddenly felt ashamed; you didn’t want to admit that Sirius had a point, but he most certainly did. Ben hadn’t bothered to contact you since you moved in. When you two went long distance, Ben had promised he’d at least stay for a bit to help you unpack but there you were, living in your new flat with Remus, Sirius, and Peter for a couple weeks now, nearly fully unpacked and ready to move on. But you weren’t ready to move on from Ben.

And then you were back under Sirius’s gaze, his eyes softening as your shoulders drooped. “Six days ago. He said he was coming six days ago.”

Sirius cursed himself for falling prey to your doe eyes. He grabbed you by the arms, ducking to meet your gaze. “Hey, look, I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You wiggled out of his grasp and waved him off as you stalked towards your room. “It’s...it’s really fine, Sirius.”

He ran his hand through his hair in distraught. “Shit, no-”

“It’s fine, Sirius, it’s fine.”

As you disappeared into your room and shut the door behind you, Remus clapped Sirius on the back. “So smooth, Pads. Really, I think she might have fallen in love with you already.”

Sirius shrugged out of Remus’s hand and stormed off towards his room, leaving Remus and Peter stifling snickers behind him.

Sirius flopped onto his bed, throwing his head back onto the pillow. He groaned at his actions, recalling what happened months prior, before you got together with Ben.

“Listen, I can’t just kiss you like this!” Sirius cried. A cocky grin tugged at your lips. Sirius’ eyes went wide and he shook his head fervently.

“What does that mean?”

“N-nothing.”

Sirius Black was nervous. And it was all because of you.

He started to stammer our poor excuses before promptly shutting himself up and darting off towards his dorm. You called after him, feeling terrible for making fun of him during the little drinking game. Something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he wasn’t joking when he said he didn’t want to kiss you like that, but still wanted to kiss you.

And Sirius wanted to. He wanted to since he met you but you were too blind to see it.

―

You paced around the kitchen, awaiting an owl from Ben. Remus almost felt sorry for you, watching you pause every few minutes because you thought you heard a hoot or a flap of wings.

But for the hundredth time that day, you paused at the sound of wings. And so did Remus.

You ran to the window to catch the owl, seeing that it was Ben’s tawny. You squealed with excitement as Sirius exited his room. He felt instantly filled with regret as he saw you petting the owl, bouncing up and down.

“Sirius, look! I told you he’d write, I told you!”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and feigned happiness. “Well, you proved me wrong, (Y/N).”

“What does it say?” Remus interjected.

You ripped open the letter, your eyes scanning over the sweet words that your boyfriend wrote you. You read it once, twice, three times, your face falling with each individual read. Sirius furrowed his brow and placed a hand on your shoulder. You gasped at his touch and looked up at him, tears in your eyes.

You let out a watery chuckle and forced a smile on your face. “Ben’s not coming,” you explained. “Too busy. He says that we’re probably already unpacked so it wouldn’t make sense for him to buy a Portkey and travel from America and whatnot, so…”

“What?” Sirius looked appalled. “You’re joking.”

“I guess you could say I can’t be Sirius.” Even Sirius couldn’t laugh at your joke. You shifted your weight and looked at the floor. “Go on, Sirius, tell me how shitty of a person Ben is. I know that you’re dying to.”

Sirius sighed, looking over your shoulder to meet Remus’ knowing eyes. Remus shrugged as if to tell Sirius that whatever he would say he had to mean because you could see right through him.

“Listen, you’re probably right. He’s just busy.”

You nodded, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks. “I’m gonna go to my room.”

“Wait, (Y/N)!”

You dropped the letter at Sirius’s feet as you ran towards your room and shut the door behind you, collapsing on your bed in a ball of sorrows.

Sirius picked up the letter and read it once over, scoffing at his poor excuse of an apology. Remus stared at his friend amusedly, sipping coffee from a mug. Sirius slammed the paper on their table, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t believe he would do that!” Sirius hissed.

“You can’t? Because I most certainly can.”

“She deserves someone who actually cares about her, someone who wants to be with her, someone-”

“Like you, Sirius? She deserves someone like you?”

Sirius froze. Remus raised his brows awaiting Sirius’s response, but nothing came. That was as much an answer as any.

―

You had been crying in your room for the past couple days. Remus would occasionally bring you chocolates, Peter crafted little toys like fortune tellers, and Sirius? Sirius hadn’t shown up so much.

He would check in on you, sure, but he never brought you anything like the other guys. You weren’t necessarily upset about it, but you were confused as to why he seemed to be more distant than the other guys. Not avoiding you, just distant.

Maybe he wasn’t good at comforting people. But you knew that wasn’t true, Sirius had always been with you, always been there for you. What would have caused this change in behavior?

As if he could sense your thinking, there was a hesitant knock at your door.

“Come in,” you called out as you brushed used tissues onto your end table. Sirius entered, waving at you awkwardly.

“Can I sit here?” He pointed towards the blank spot on your bedsheets.

“I cleaned it off just for you.”

“How thoughtful.”

You tugged the blankets up to your chest as Sirius laid beside you. You continued to stare at the ceiling, feeling Sirius’s stare on you. You sighed; nothing good was about to come out of that boy’s mouth.

“Say what you’re gonna say, Sirius,” you whispered. “I know you didn’t come here to just check on me. Just spit it out-”

“Okay! Fine! I will!” You were taken aback by his abrupt change in demeanor. “You need a guy who shows up, love, and Ben is not doing that!”

You sat up and rolled your eyes. “Say what you really feel,” you shot under your breath.

“When are you going to see that you’re stuck dating a wall, (Y/N)? You have to know that you’re too good for him!”

“Oh, but I’m not too good for you? In fact, I must be just perfect for you!”

You weren’t exactly sure where those words came from, they just came. Maybe it was that drunken night he was dared to kiss you and you hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Maybe it was the way he acted more like a boyfriend than your own boyfriend had. Or maybe it was the way he gave you butterflies when he smiled. Maybe it was the way electricity shot up your spine he rested his hand on the small of your back. Maybe it was the way that you wished you never dated Ben in the first place, but rather dated Sirius but you were too damn stubborn to admit it, even to yourself.

“What are you on about?”

You rolled out of the bed and opened the door, hearing Remus and Peter scatter back to their rooms. “Leave.”

“But, I-”

“Please.” 

You choked back a sob and Sirius then knew that he went too far. He got off of your bed and stumbled towards the door, pausing to look at you.

“I’m sorry-”

“I can’t help that I’m a hopeless romantic, Sirius. I want things to work out, and they will.”

“You’re wasting it on the wrong guy.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, mumbling an excuse as you shut the door in his face.

But, Merlin, was he right.

―

A week later, Sirius sat out by the pond that stood about 100 feet from your flat. He tossed a pebble in between his hands, debating what he could do to make it up to you.

Little did he know you were on your way to join him.

“Hey, Sirius.”

His eyes snapped up to yours and he began to grab his things to leave. “I was just heading out, actually-”

“We really need to talk.”

His heart sank into his stomach as his steps slowed to a stop. You picked up a rock and skipped it across the pond. 

“I broke up with Ben, actually. You were right.”

Sirius tried to fight the feeling of excitement that rose up in his chest. “How did he take it?”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Really well, actually.”

“He didn’t respond yet?”

“No, he hasn’t responded.”

You let out a wry laugh and Sirius joined in, feeling some of the tension flood from his body. You picked up another rock and skipped it across the pond.

“Is it bad that I’m relieved?” you said, interrupting the silence. Sirius’ eyes went wide. You met his stare and he quickly attempted to save face by clearing his throat and picking up another pebble.

“I don’t think so. I think that you did the right thing.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

That sense of dread crept back into the forefront of Sirius’s mind as you picked up yet another rock. 

“You know,” you began as you moved closer to Sirius, “my friends back home would always play this game; there was a little pond by our houses that we’d go to on weekends. We’d talk about whatever, but it was usually boys. So we developed a little tradition: you think of your crush’s name and you toss a rock across the pond. Depending on how many times it skips, your fortune with your crush would be told.”

Sirius eyed you skeptically. “Has it ever worked?”

“Merlin, no,” you chuckled. “But I’d still like to do it.”

He nodded dutifully as the both of you retrieved your rocks. You glanced up at Sirius, thinking of his name as you skipped it across the pond. It skipped two times before sinking, causing you to frown.

“What’s that mean?” Sirius asked.

“It means it’s not up to me anymore.”

Sirius snorted. “And you made these rules when you were a kid? That’s quite depressing.”

“Oh, shut up. Just skip yours.”

Sirius did as he was told, skipping the rock across the pond three times. You gasped before turning to him with a gentle smile.

“Three times? What’s that?”

“It means they fancy you back.”

He was thinking of you, who else would he be thinking of? But he couldn’t tell you that just because of some silly game you made up when you were a kid. There was no way you felt the same― you just got out a relationship!

Sirius smiled back at you, nodding with faint confidence. You nodded back and made your way to leave but Sirius wouldn’t let you.

The moment he had admitted that he wanted to kiss you back in school stirred in his mind like nothing else he knew. He thought about you constantly but he had to hide it. That was, until, that very moment. He couldn’t keep waiting.

“Listen, I can’t just kiss you like this!”

He grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you towards him, connecting your lips. You didn’t even hesitate to clasp your hands behind his neck, his own trailing over your body like a dying man to the prospect of life.

As you pulled away, both of you were panting messes. He rested his forehead against yours, placing a peck against your lips again.

“I meant something like that.”

[rudypankwow]

climb through my window (pt. 3) | jj maybank

not my gif! (posted by @rudypankows​)

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, very very mild, also not really proofread oops

word count: 2.5k

masterlist, pt 1, pt 2

a/n: hi!! i know i’ve been slow to post and i’m so sorry :/ i am very much trying just bear with me....there’s lots and lots of jj in this part so pls enjoy. also this didn’t turn out the way i thought it would but i think i like it. do not be fooled. angst is on the way.

You didn’t get much sleep for the next few days. Every sound you heard outside your window sounded like a knock. Of course, it never was.

There was really no explanation for the crush (you had decided it must be a crush) you had for JJ. Your interactions with him were limited, mostly at boneyard parties and occasionally at times when you were at the Wreck. You were pretty sure he’d never even noticed you, until recently, at least, but that never seemed to deter you.

It was about a week after your awkward interaction in the yard, you were still up trying to get some work done. School had started not that long ago, but you were somehow already loaded with assignments. You thought you heard a knock on the window, but you dismissed it, assuming it was something moving around outside. It wasn’t until you heard a “Hey, (y/n),” that you realized it was real this time.

You looked over to see JJ’s face a few feet away, looking back at you. You jumped out of your bed, suddenly wishing you had put on some actual clothes, instead of the pajama shorts and tank top that covered little skin. You walked over to the window, quickly unlocking and opening it wide enough for him to slip inside.

His lip was busted, and he had a large bruise that spread from the side of his cheek and covered his eye. “Hi,” you said simply as he found his footing, trying not to stare at the marks on his face. You had promised not to ask questions, but you weren’t quite sure if that covered things like “Are you okay?” and “Do you need anything?”

“Hey,” he said back, “you were right, it is easy to climb up here.” He reached a hand up to his lip, wincing. It was then you noticed that he was still bleeding.

“Oh, shit,” you say, “you’re bleeding.” You look closer at the cut. “Here, sit down on the couch,” you tell him. “I’ll grab something so you don’t bleed everywhere.” He nods and you step out into the hallway, closing the door very carefully to not wake up your parents. You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, taking a deep breath and splashing some water on your face, before scrambling to grab a few things to clean up JJ’s cut. You soak a washcloth in some cold water for him to put on his eye, too nervous to go all the way downstairs to get an ice pack, as well as a second wet towel he can use to clean up some of the blood.

When you get back to your room, he’s sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, feet up on the armrest, shoes and all. You walk over to the couch, grabbing his legs and moving them so you can sit. 

“Here,” you say, handing him the wet cloth, “I, uh, couldn’t go get you an ice pack for that eye but hopefully that helps a little bit.” He presses it to his dark eye, relaxing a bit. “Let me see your lip,” you tell him, and he turns his head. You use the other towel to wipe the dried blood off his face. 

Your attention is so focused on cleaning his face, that you don’t even realize how close the two of you are. It’s not until he exhales, and you feel his breath hit your face, that you realize your face is mere inches from his. You chew on your bottom lip, trying to re-concentrate on cleaning the cut, but it’s no use. You lean away, balling up the towel and tossing it into your hamper.

The silence is awkward, neither of you really know what to say. “Am I-” you cut through the silence, sighing. “Am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?”

He laughs. “I thought you said you wouldn’t ask any questions,” he says. You lean against the back of the couch, and before you can defend yourself, “I’m okay,” he tells you. “This stuff happens all the time, right?”

You want to tell him no, it doesn’t happen all the time, but that seems like it could be taken the wrong way. So instead you just say, “If you say so.” It’s silent again, and frankly it starts to become unbearable. You stand up. “I’m gonna get you a pillow and some other stuff,” you tell him. “Do you need anything else?” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he says.

You nod and go into your closet to grab an extra pillow and blanket, tossing them his way. He catches them and makes himself comfortable. You go back to your bed, closing up all your abandoned textbooks, and dropping them to the ground next to you. It’s a Friday night, meaning you don’t have to worry about waking up early the next morning to get to school, so you don’t worry about putting them back in your bag.

“If you need anything, just wake me up,” you tell him. “The bathroom is the first door to the right. But, please god, be careful if you go.”

He laughs and says, “Got it, captain,” giving you a little salute. You roll your eyes and reach to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight, (y/n),” he hums.

You sigh and say goodnight back. In reality, you know there’s no way you’ll be able to fall asleep while he’s in your room. But you pretend, pulling the comforter up to your chin, so he can’t see your eyes wide awake.

You listen to his breathing, listen to it start to even out as he falls asleep, listen to it turn into light snores. You try to match your breaths with his. You close your eyes, counting each breath, at the top of the exhale. Sometime after 134, you manage to fall asleep.

———————

JJ is gone the next morning when you wake up, which you expected. The blanket is folded and placed on top of the pillow, which you had not expected. You put them back in your closet with a sigh.

This routine happens a few more times. JJ comes over, covered in a collection of bruises and cuts, you clean them up, you go to sleep, and he’s gone by the time you wake up. Sometimes he comes early in the night, sometimes it’s almost 1am. You never ask questions, besides those that you’ve already established are acceptable: “Are you okay?” “Do you need anything?” Falling asleep to the sound of his breathing becomes the only way you can, and the nights when he’s not there become virtually sleepless.

On any other Friday night, JJ knocks on the window. You throw it open, and he climbs in. You go through the routine. Clean his cuts. Forget how to speak for a minute because you’re so close. Grab him the blanket and pillow. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” “Do you need anything?”

JJ laughs at that one this time. “Yeah,” he says, “a beer.”

You laugh back at him, and then remember the handle hidden under your bed. “Well,” you say, squatting down and pulling it out, “does vodka count?”

His jaw drops. “You’re amazing,” he says. “Give me a shot.” So, you do. You pull out a dixie cup from your nightstand, fill it halfway, and hand it to him. He goes to take it and then notices that you’re just looking at him. “Aren’t you gonna take one too?” he asks.

You normally wouldn’t, not in your room on a Friday night with one other person. But you decide, why not. So, you shrug and pour yourself a shot of your own, downing it immediately. You try to not make much of a face, to seem “cool”, but you can’t help your sharp intake at the taste. “That’s my girl,” he says anyway, taking his own shot. You’re pretty sure your heart actually does stop beating that time.

You don’t mean to get drunk, per se. Maybe just tipsy. Maybe just enough that he’ll say something embarrassing. You’re constantly shushing him, and yourself for that matter. Your parents are only a few doors down, and could definitely hear everything if you get too loud.

Regardless, you did get drunk.

You weren’t sure how drunk JJ was, but he was taking two shots for every one you took, so he couldn’t have been sober. You were falling, he was laughing, it was a mess.

“Okay,” you said around 2am, “I’m gonna go to sleep.” You were slurring your words, but you were also determined to act like you were fine. He was tough, you had to pretend you were too.

You flopped down on your bed, getting under the covers. “Hey,” JJ said, “don’t you want to put on some comfy clothes?” You looked down, realizing you were still in jeans,

“Oh, shit,” you laughed, standing back up. You gave yourself a minute to balance before walking to your closet and pulling out some shorts and a t-shirt. “Can you, uh,” you stuttered, “close your eyes or something?” you asked.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, quickly covering his eyes with both his hands. “I’m not looking.”

You were confused. Where was the womanizer you had heard so much about? He was willingly covering his eyes while you changed. You kept your gaze on him, changing quickly, hoping he didn’t open his eyes out of nowhere. He didn’t. He didn’t even try.

“Okay,” you said when you were done.

He didn’t take his hands away from his eyes. “I can look again?” he asked.

You laughed. “Yes,” you said, “I’ve got pajamas on.” He nodded and took his hands away, peeking first to make sure you were being serious. You shake your head at him, climbing into your bed and leaning against the headboard. Immediately you feel like you could fall right off. You close your eyes, trying to stop the room from moving around you. “Woah,” you say. You grab onto the comforter and lean your head back, taking a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You hear him, but your brain doesn’t quite register a reply. “Hey,” he says. You feel the bed dip by your feet, and you slowly open your eyes to look at him. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you pause, “I just did not realize how drunk I was until I sat down,” you tell him. “And now the room is spinning.”

He laughs at you. “You have water right?” he asks, pointing at the bottle on your nightstand. You nod and grab it, taking a few big sips. “Good,” he adds. “You’ll be okay.”

He starts to walk back over to the couch. “Wait!” you almost yell. “You could, um,” you look down at your hands and bite your lip. “You could sleep on the bed,” you say, “I mean, if you want, of course.” You look back up at him.

He smiles. “Do you want me to?” he asks simply.

You really don’t want to play that game. “If you want to,” you say back.

“Okay,” he says. He walks to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers without saying another word.

“Okay,” you sigh, laying back against the pillow. “Oh, my god, the room is still spinning.”

“Oh, my god, come here.” He reaches over to you under the comforter, pulling you into his chest. Your whole body lights up, and suddenly you’re not dizzy because of the alcohol. “It’s because you’re laying down now,” he tells you. You nod, not trusting your mouth to form coherent words. “I have no reason to know if this actually helps,” he says, you can feel his fingers on the skin of your back, where your tank top has ridden up, “I just figured you might feel more steady.”

You press your lips together, taking a deep breath through your nose. You weren’t sure if the shock had sobered you up or what, but it actually did help a little bit. “No,” you tell him, “it does help, actually.” You close your eyes, listening to his heart pound in his chest, your ear pressed almost directly above it. 

Maybe it’s just because you’re drunk, but it really seems like his heart is beating just as heavy, and just as loud, as your nervous one.

———————

You wake up with a horrible headache, the sound of snoring behind you. You remember separating from JJ in the middle of the night, rolling over to your side, only for him to roll after you, wrapping an arm around your waist. You could feel his chest pressed against your back. You were almost too scared to move, sure it was a dream and you would wake up any minute, but your heart rate was increasing with every minute, and if you didn’t get up you thought you might forget how to breathe.

So, you moved slowly, gently picking up his arm and placing it back down on the bed. Thankfully, he didn’t wake up. You let out a sigh of relief, going to your closet and grabbing some clothes before walking to the bathroom, careful to close the door tight behind you.

You tried to make yourself feel human again, washed your face, brushed your teeth, put on some clothes, took an Advil. You grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water for JJ, wishing you could go downstairs and get him an actual cup but not wanting to deal with your parents.

JJ was awake when you went back to your room, his back resting against the headboard. “Oh, hi,” you said. “I brought you some water. It’s not a lot but it’s all I’ve got right now,” you told him, placing the cup on the nightstand and sitting next to him on the edge of the bed

“Oh, thanks,” he says, grabbing the cup and drinking it in one go.

“You didn’t leave while I was asleep,” you said. You look over at him, and you see his cheeks turn the slightest bit pink.

“Well,” he says, “you seemed pretty drunk so I wanted to make sure you were okay when you woke up.” He leans back against the headboard, running a hand through his hair. “I just figured it’s the least I could do.”

You’re about to reply when there’s a knock at your door. Both your eyes good wide, and JJ scrambles to grab all his stuff. “(y/n)?” your mom calls. “I have your laundry.”

“One second, mom,” you yell back, “I’m, uh, changing.” She seems to buy it. JJ hurries over to the window, gently pushing it open in an attempt to not make more noise. 

“Hey, (y/n)?” JJ says once he’s out the window. You just look back at him. “I’ll see you soon.” And he climbs down the drain.

You’re pretty sure you had a whole conversation with your mom when she came in, but you don’t remember a single word.

taglist!! considering doing away with this but in the meantime please INBOX me to be on the list, otherwise i will not put you on :) also some of the @s didn’t work so just inbox me again, also if i put you on but you didn’t ask also inbox me bc it’s possible i wrote some of these down wrong

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[jangofctts]

Quix·ot·ic (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: He's an enigma. Something completely unattainable, but after finding yourself on the wrong end of trouble, that all changes. Who knew getting beat up would end up with a handjob.

Warnings: Smut, language, dirty talk, handjobs, mentions of blood and violence, reader gets beat up :(

You never knew for sure what you would end up doing in your life. You imagined you'd become a moisture farmer on Tatooine or a bartender on Coruscant, maybe get to see a drunken fight or two if you were lucky. Or maybe you'd end up in some Wild Space planet where you'd live out the rest of your days eating berries and soaking up the sun. Whatever the case, being hired by a Mandalorian was not on your list of positively exuberant made up occupations. Or, you know, having a teeny tiny crush on said man.

It's generous pay, a gracious 12 percent of his quarries, and you feel sorta bad because, truly, you don't do anything besides babysit the little green monster and occasionally fly the Razor Crest. You do however, manage to get the hyperdrive working up to a staggering 68 percent functionality rate that you're quite proud of. You're not sure if he cared when you mentioned it to him, but he did offer an impartial tilt of his helmet. You like to believe it was his way of saying that, Ah, yes, of course. I needed that fixed. Thank you so very much my beloved companion. What would I do without you?

He would never say that. In fact, he doesn't really say anything at all. You're used to bustling crowds and chatty folk and talking your way out of things because, hey, not everyone is a walking armory that's nigh indestructible. You don't think you've ever been this silent in your meager life, and so you've pushed yourself into a corner. You don't ask questions even if that miraculous shiny helmet and smooth modulated voice makes a million of them spring forth. You don't know a thing except for the highly exaggerated or just plain wrong theories you've heard about the Mandalorians, and you don't want to offend him. You're not willing to poke at his patience even if it is tempting.

Sometimes, when he brings back bounties, it offers you a bit of in-house entertainment. Seeing him wrestle them into carbonite is really, if you're being honest, hot. It shouldn't be and it terrifies you that he's that strong, but your dirty, disgusting ape-brain still gets a kick out of it.  

You end up just talking to the kid most days. It just coos and babbles, understanding jack-shit, but the Mandalorian is unattainable, a lonesome planet that's not even in your fucking orbit,  and you're pretty sure he forgets you exist most of the time.

And then everything shifts.

You go outside for once, antsy from being cooped up in the Crest for so long and you need stuff for the kid (and caf for yourself). Naturally, you wander through the markets, not really thinking, just letting your eyes graze over things, take in the buzzing crowds. It reminds you of home and you get so lost in your head (you blame it on your constant isolation) that you wander into some grubby cantina. They're playing Sabaac in the corner and somehow you're roped into playing. Stars, you don't even know how to play Sabaac very well and of course you end up loosing.

It wasn't even your money to begin with; you took the seat of a Bothan who angrily threw their cards down, but for some reason the stupid Rodian sitting to your left got the idea that you did, in fact, owe him a great deal of Calamari flan. You thought you outsmarted him by feigning the need to take a piss and then squeezing through the much too small window in the bathroom. Unfortunately, when you're halfway sticking out, wriggling around like some weird earthworm, the Rodian's got two more buddies with him and they yank you out the window.

Really, you're lucky that all they did was beat the living shit out of you instead of selling you to some Spice mine or to some seedy guy with a penchant for half-naked slaves. You tell yourself this as you manage to pick yourself off the grimy ground and limp, somewhat conscious, back to the Razor Crest.  

Your head is pounding noticeably by the time you reach it and fuzzy darkness is creeping at the edges of your vision. You're relieved that he isn't back yet, because this is embarrassing and you don't want him to think that you're some sort of trouble maker. He doesn't need more problems added on to his plate. You have just enough time to lower yourself onto the floor and pass out against a cargo crate.  

Hours pass before you wake up, and you know this because the sun is melting against the horizon like butter (wasn't it just morning?) and oh—the Mandalorian is hovering over you. The sun is reflecting off his armor and it almost hurts to look at him. You have to blink a few times to make sure you aren't hallucinating and he really is saying your name in that lovely baritone voice of his, all raspy and modified by the vocoder.

"Ah, shiny, you're back." You don't know why that's the first thing you say and you want to knock yourself out again.

"Who did this?" He's asking and you can't really process words right now, much less concentrate on anything but your spinning head. He sounds mad but you can't be sure if it's directed at your own stupidity.

Maker, how are you still alive?

You don't recall shutting your eyes again but two large hands that cup the sides of your face make them open. "Hey. Stay with me."

"Never left, Mando."

"Who did this to you?" He asks again and your brain finally catches up a bit and it's jarring to know that he cares about you. At least a little.

You try to sit up but he's gently holding you in place. "M'fine. Jus—jus' a few bruises."

Again, you try to stand but his hands are gripping your shoulders and forcing you back against the crate. Your heart pounds against your chest at his prolonged touch.

"Just stop—damnit! Stay still," Mando snarls as you try to wriggle out of his grip for a third time. "Let me see."

You stare up at that unforgiving mask as he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, wincing at the movement. You know you have a black eye and the crusty feel of dried blood is lain on thick above your hairline and you wonder if it looks as bad as it feels.

"They did a number on you."

Yup. They sure did you wanna say but it hurts to move your mouth and your tongue feels swollen and puffy like you're allergic to your own blood.

He says something about moving you to the bunk but as his hand slips under your armpit and wraps around your waist, you're gasping in pain. Your breath gets sucked away like someone's punched you in the gut and you crumple back onto the floor. His gloved hand comes away dark red.

"Shit—Take off your shirt." He commands, leaving no room for argument.

You huff out a laugh that's closer to a faint wheeze. "B-buy me a dri—a drink first."

"Maybe later."

Now that certainly grabs your attention but you don't have time to analyze all that because he hooks his hands under the hem of your shirt and yanks it above your shoulders and off your head. You look down and holy fucking shit—when the fuck did you get stabbed? You don't remember those thugs having knives.

"Stay here."

Like I'll be going anywhere, you want to quip back. The Mandalorian shuts the hull, blocking off your view of the spectacular sunset and returns with the cauterizer in hand. You make a face and try to fend him off, because you are not in the mood to get your flesh singed back together but he's set on the idea. It doesn't take long for him to wrestle your arm down and under your back, exposing the bloody gash that stretches from the middle of your ribcage and down until it stops just above the last rib.

You don't like the way you're positioned. He's somehow got your legs trapped between him and the crate while you're half splayed over his lap, one arm stuck beneath your own weight while the other he holds in a death grip. It's too vulnerable and when he trades his hold on your arm for a hand on your hip to get a better hold so he can start pressing the laser onto your flesh, arousal sparks in your belly.

Unfortunately, you don't get to enjoy the weight of his long fingers splayed across your skin or let the fantasy of him fucking you into the next galaxy play out, because razor sharp pain is erupting throughout your whole left side. You jerk in his grip and your mouth falls open with a silent cry. You've been burned before from stray wires or way too hot sheets of metal, but this? This is pure fucking torture and you don't know how the hell he does this to himself. Let alone stay conscious.

You do end up passing out again (an embarrassing fact he doesn't mention and you're thankful for it) and you awake to something warm and calloused trailing up and down your exposed skin, avoiding the sensitive area surrounding the charred and throbbing wound. It's soothing and almost entirely masks the pain. It isn't until the tip of a forefinger is carefully tracing lines between your freckles, most certainly studying them, that you realize whose finger it belongs to. Sans gloves.

You go rigid and he stops. You bite back a whine at the loss.

"Is...is this ok?" He's saying softly through the vocoder. It still sounds warm and dark despite the mechanical tone to it. You can hardly form a comprehensive thought and you have to fight through the hazy fog to force out a jerky nod of your head.

"Y-yeah," you croak out and there's a half second delay, if not shorter, before he's touching you again. This time it's bolder, braver like his fingers are starved and the only thing available is you.

His breath comes out stuttered as you twitch under him. "You're so soft."

His hands are a beautiful sun-kissed brown, speckled with scars from past battles. You want to plant kisses over the slopes of his knuckles, trail your tongue over the lines of his palm, but you're still uncomfortably trapped in his lap against the cold beskar cuirass. It's torture.

The Mandalorian's fingers dance up your shoulder, your breath stuttering as they skim over your collarbone then sweep up the column of your throat you readily bare for him. He threads those long, warm digits through your hair, thumbing the strands then tucks them behind your ear. Your heart slams against your ribcage and you're sure it might just burst.

"Breathe," he says. You can hear the smile in his words.

Despite the shaky inhale, it's even harder to breath and you wonder if one of your lungs collapsed as well. He gently pinches your chin, cradling your jaw so you're staring up at him. You can feel is eyes on you through that shaded visor and you nearly miss the hitch in his breath when your tongue flicks out and slides along the pad of his thumb that traces your bottom lip.

Liquid heat pools in your lower belly as two of his fingers press at the seam of your lips. You part your mouth and he ever so slowly slips them in. You groan softly and curl your tongue around the two digits until the shine with sticky saliva, the surrealness of the situation making you lightheaded. Who would've thought you'd be here after getting beaten and stabbed after a Sabaac game gone wrong, and you're all but giving Mando's fingers a blowjob. You wouldn't fucking believe, but yet, here you are.

His hips twitch as you curl your tongue around his middle finger and slide it between the delicate skin there, and you can feel the firm bulge digging into your lower back. Desperate and burning for the chance to touch him, you manage to wiggle your arm behind your back, tracing the cuirass all the way down to the hem of his trousers. You palm at his cock through the material and his hips jerk into the touch, his torso hunching over you, the cold metal brushing over your arm. His fingers leave your mouth with a slick pop and he's reaching in between you to grasp at your wrist and grind your palm harder against cock. The angle in which your arm is twisted is uncomfortable at best, but your mind rears at the thought of moving. You don't want whatever this is to end.

"Shit," he hisses. "S'good—fucking good."

"Mando," you whimper. He feels just as firm as beskar if not harder and you know your underwear is far beyond salvaging as his other hand wraps around and grabs at your breast.

"You—you're so pretty an—and brave," he grunts, thrusting his hips in tandem with the hold you've got on his throbbing cock. Your heart swells and you're blushing for an entire different reason. "So b-brave for me."

There's a brief pause as he shoos away your hand and your chest seizes in worry that you've upset him somehow. That he'd suddenly changed his mind about this whole thing. Is going to kill you? Put you out of your fucking misery? Or—oh. Your fears are quickly stamped out once you realize he's shuffling his trousers down and tugging your hand back around him. He is searing hot, thick and pulsing in your hand and when you give it an experimental tug he makes a punched out sound.

It's an awkward angle, but Maker do you try. Mando doesn't seem to care and judging by the sticky wetness that's dribbling over your knuckles, he certainly likes it. Much too focused on your current task, you don't note his hand smooth over your stomach and slip under the waistband until his fingers are circling your clit. You gasp and buck your hips into his touch, your hand stopping.

"Keep—ah—going," he's muttering, lowering his helmet to rest on the curve of your shoulder. "Fuck. Don't stop."

It's hard (pun all intended), real hard to focus when his fingers are swiping down your soaking slit, gathering the wetness there then back up to draw meticulous patterns over the bundle of nerves. At this point, your brain is a muddled mess and you aren't doing much except for holding your hand loosely so he can fuck into it.

The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burn through you, drag you closer to the precipice, and you're whimpering out the only name you have for him. Wicked heat blooms in your abdomen, spreads through your core and sweeps out into your shaking legs. You arch into him and with a steady hand, he parts your lips, thrusts his fingers inside and grinds the heel of his palm where you need him the most.

"That's it. Go-good girl. Cum—cum for me." Paired with his voice as his fingers press up and curl into something sickeningly good and you're gone. "S'good girl."

Your eyes squeeze shut as light compatible to hyperspace explodes behind your eyelids. You don't think you've ever cum this hard and it almost aches how good it feels as your legs lock and your nerves are set on fire. It burns through you and you wouldn't be surprised if your body goes up in flames. You twitch and jerk in his lap, breathing ragged, as he continues to thrust into your cunt, letting you ride out each and every tendril of pleasure until you melt into his lap. He still toys with your oversensitive clit and you have to push his hand away.

An overwhelming wave of exhaustion abruptly washes over you; a mix of getting stabbed and just having the best damn orgasm of your life you think. But Mando is still rutting up against your back and you fight the urge to close your eyes and pass the fuck out. With a shaky hand, you reach for his cock once again, a fresh wave of heat flashing through you as a lovely moan, soft and vulnerable echoes through the modulator.

"Maker," he gasps, "You—I'm—M'gonna cum.."

He wraps his hand around yours, squeezing around the hardened flesh and giving his cock a few more hard thrusts before a broken gasp rips through the modulator. His body stiffens and the Mandalorian cums hard. Hot ropes of liquid coat your hand and the small of your back, his cock throbbing and pulsing in your grip. He snarls out your name, still thrusting up into your fist, milking every last spurt of cum until it tapers off and swears are tumbling out.

Sleep is tugging at your eyelids when his rapid breathing begins to even out, his fingers spreading his seed over your back as if marking you. You shiver. "M'falling asleep."

"Yeah, ok," he's breathes. "You need rest. Brave girl—you did so well. Close your eyes."

You do just that and fall into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

[thebakunawa]

Paint me in trust

Cross posted from my archive I’m just here to vibe and be gay

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

“I don’t settle. I’m not made that way.” You smile, flagging another drink for yourself and raising it to her as she smirks. “Then what will it take to change your mind?” “A lot more drinks, for starters.” She smiles back, her teeth seemingly glinting under the light of the bar and you nod, clinking your glasses together. “I can do that.” “What do you want, demonio?” Revenant chuckles, his voice the familiar cold and steel that haunted her nightmares. He leans against the doorframe of the room they were in. His cold eyes looking over the room where the USB is located. She notes this, because her hand goes to her little pack, securing it. “Relax.” His voice echoes in the room. “I’m not after that,” “Then what are you after, demon?” She sneers. “Why are you here?” “A little courtesy call.” He says standing up properly and grinning. “How are you and your, pet?” She immediately tenses, her expression cold. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t play coy with me, girl.” He tuts, stepping over a dead body. Loba doesn’t move back, instead standing her ground as Revenant moves a little closer. “We know about her, your little, pet.” “Whatever business or interest you have with her, you can conduct.” The bitterness is in her voice. “I have no care about it. What she does with her life is on her.” Revenant laughs, and Loba finds herself cringing, the hair on her arms rising in a mix of fear and barely contained anger. “If this concludes our business, then I suggest you leave. We’re done here.” She turns on her heel, walking out, pulling out her Jumpdrive, and readying herself to go when Revenant speaks up again. “Did you know she did it for you?” The words make her pause, and she berates herself for turning around. For looking at the obvious trap the demon had set but it was interesting news. “What do you mean?” “We’ve all heard of what broke your relationship,” he sounds happy with himself, his voice reeking with delight it makes Loba’s guts sick and twist. “And I know what happened.” “You sound like click-bait.” She deadpans. “It’s done. It’s history. She made a mistake and I moved on from her.” She tries not to betray the emotions that swirl in her chest, the sharp ache that never leaves every time she is reminded of you and your treachery. “Tsk, little girl, you never learn.” Revenant laughs and before Loba can tell him to fuck off or any other variation of it, he tosses her another USB. She catches it easily, the device cold to the touch and Revenant has stepped back, making his way through the door he entered. “I suggest you watch it.” He says, pausing to looking behind him and offer her one last smile. “I’ll tell you when I find her—you might want to be present at least for her funeral.” He disappears soon after, just before she can reply. She grits her teeth, and sighs, looking at the USB in her hand and it’s decorated to look like a wolf head. She considers breaking it for a moment but Revenant has never gone this out of the way to offer her anything. Against her better judgment, she pockets the USB, readying herself before jumping out and throwing her Jumpdrive. Letting the air rush past her calm her as she runs back to her home.

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

You’ve known for months they’d come for you. You did your best to hide. You’ve laid low, survived off of the odd jobs here and there. You’ve also killed your fair share of people, garnering a vanishing vigilante/mercenary that never lingered too long. But you were new to this game, you weren’t a seasoned outlaw, nor were you blessed with the resources some of the hunters hunted you with. More than once you’ve only barely managed to save yourself from walking into a trap set by hunters for the device. You’ve killed even more when you entered them without meaning to. Somedays you wonder if any of this was worth it. After all, you’re dead to her. If you ever showed face to Loba she’d probably greet you with a bullet and a kick to the groin. Then again, given what you’ve gone through, the idea sounds a lot more tempting and needed. But you know you owe it to her, she trusted you. Even if you did betray it, you intend to see the promise through. You remember the hurt in her eyes, the way she had pushed you back and you knew, you’d never reach through to her. The smiles you’ve gotten, the secret vulnerability she had shared, all a memory now, and you’re left with the cold, heart-wrenching memory of her pulling her gun out at you. “Go.” She says, the laser dot in between your eyes. “Consider this my mercy.” But you both know you didn’t deserve her mercy. You ran from her like a coward, you knew she wouldn’t believe you. Not after you had gone behind her back to give crucial information. Not that you were held at gunpoint or tortured for it. Your mind lingers to the burn marks at the base of your neck or the hot iron on your thigh. You sold her out, the worst crime to do. At least that’s what everyone thought. You gave them enough information to make it factual, but you gave it in disorder. You gave half guesses and half-truths, and you knew the moment they found out you had actually lied they’d sent people after you. It was only time they’d send Revenant after you. You know he’s there before you even open the door. The cold that seeps from the other side makes the hair on your arms rise. You’re exhausted, having barely escaped from a skirmish earlier and a part of you wants to ignore it and simply let yourself get taken but you know it would be a fate worse than death. So you pause, looking out at the window, wondering if you’ll die if you’ll be injured if you fall—and test it out only seconds later when you hear the familiar hiss of his Silence and you immediately launch yourself out the window. Your eyes close and as you break the glass, falling for a few seconds before you open them and roll safely onto the ground. There’s screaming in the apartment, a gunshot was fired from where you were standing moments ago and you run. Your feet hitting the pavement, your blood thundering in your ears. Everyone starts running inside, not keen on getting caught in a firefight. You can hear Revenant’s distant cursing, and you make a beeline to hide under the bridge. Traversing through the confusing huts and houses all strung together. You don’t hear him coming after you but it doesn’t mean you're out of the woods yet. You’ve slowed your running into a walk, you're exhausted, your bones feel like they’d grind themselves and your breathing is harder, much more labored. Your joints ache, and you have enough energy to check your bullets, revealing you’ve only got 32 left in your Flatline and your Mastiff only has 6. In short, you’re truly and utterly fucked. The people under the bridge don’t dare talk. Fear of Revenant has kept them cowed and you have to get out of there quickly. It wouldn’t be the first time you had been squealed on by a passerby. Not that you blame them, the Syndicate had sweetened the deal for your capture and your appearance was a signal for a mess. But you’re tired, dead tired. The ground seems to be calling to you and it wouldn’t be safe for you to pass out here in the open. So you push yourself up, not realizing you had fallen to the ground, you force yourself to crawl until you could walk, trying to find a place where you could pass out in. It took a lot of time, time that Revenant spent hunting you down. You’ve barely made it to the edge, walking using your Mastiff as a cane when a gunshot is fired and it bounces right in front of you. “Well, well, well,” Revenant says, a coffin on the ground next to him. “Caught you, girl. Time to go.” You manage a snort, “I can’t believe you’ve actually brought a coffin.” You smile, much too tired and delirious to take the situation seriously. “Nice to know you keep your promises.” “If it suits me.” He replies amused. “Now get in.” “You know I can’t,” you muster your bravado. “Got the good ground calling me into bed.” “Get in so I can shove you in the dirt then.” Their amusement is waning and you can hear the edge in their voice. “I’m taking you in this, whether you like it or not.” “Pass.” You say and you pull your Mastiff back, brushing a smoke grenade you hadn’t accounted for, and throw it—using the last vestiges of adrenaline you have to run. Revenant doesn’t seem too concerned and it worries you—only realizing why when you feel a bullet tear through you. For a few moments, there’s no pain. Just a fleeting feeling of something passing through you, it was like going through Wraith’s portal, except the bullet was the one passing through and you fall onto the ground, biting down onto your lip, barely suppressing the screams. You hear his footsteps, and see his feet before you’re suddenly on your back, the air knocked from your lungs and you’re gasping for breath—the action making your lungs burn. “I have to admit, softie, you did well.” He says, stepping on your chest, and you struggle to breathe, weakly trying to push it away but you know it’s futile. “So tell me, where is it?” Your vision is dancing now, the red is occasionally taken by black. “I—won’t...talk....” you wheeze out. “Rath...er...die” You hear his laughter and you don’t know if you scream, you feel him crack a rib. “You will die. Just not quickly.” Revenant promises, and you feel another rib crack and you’re sure you’re screaming because your voice is hoarse. “I’ll ask again. Where are the codes? Where did you place the map?” “F...fuck—off—!“ You say and you feel another crack and snap and his growl. “I have no patience for this, girl.” He sneers. “Every time you deny me—I can have you killed and brought back to life. Again and again, and again.” His voice has a sharp glee in it. “So answer me. Where. Are. The. Codes?” You can barely focus now, the exhaustion and the wounds have taken a toll on you. You manage to meet those glowing eyes, the cold expression, and weakly make an attempt to spit at him. “Fuck...off...” His boot deepens on your chest and you pass out promptly after that. “Wait until you see what I have in store~” You turn around to see Loba smiling at you, her hand outstretched and you take it. She’s smiling, the same smile you’ve seen on her when she had found some rather good loot or when she had time to visit you. It’s a quick trip down your apartment, loading up into the cab she must have called and you lean against her. “Aren’t you affectionate?” She teases, nudging you slightly. “You utter poor fool.” “Better a fool for you,” you murmur and you smile against her, feeling her tense up before relaxing. “Besides, I’m your fool.” “That you are.” The words are laced with more affection and you bask in it. “My, poor, pain-loving fool.” This time it’s you who flush. “Excuse me! I’m not—" you pull away to continue your sentence but she places a hand over your lips. Her eyes glinting with amusement. “Not all secrets need to be spilled,” she purrs and you sigh, leaning into her touch as she strokes your cheek. “So where are we going?” You ask after a while, pulling away to smile at her. “I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important.” “For your sake, I hope you never do.” She hums before turning her attention outside. “Be patient.” She tells you. “I’m not patient.” You grin and lean against the chair. “But for you, I’ll do it.” “You do a lot of things for me,” Loba says, and she turns to look at you again, appraising you. You hadn’t seen her look at you—not when your eyes are closed and you’re covered in the lights of the city—a myriad of different colors that somehow brighten your features. “You’ll see.” “Okay, Ms. Andrade.” You snort, opening your eyes, barely missing her quick glance at your direction. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” She smiles, hiding it by looking outside and she holds the vault key to her own treasure vault tightly. “Good. I’d like to keep it that way.”

[angelz-dust]

masters of none - part 2 (jason todd x reader)

summary: thank you all for taking interest in this! i’ve gotten wonderful feedback and helpful criticism that i appreciate so much. i’ve decided to give you guys some more jason since i’m sure you all want to see him lol. i have a plan tho so bear with me. we are currently laying the foundation.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: alcohol. food mention. anxious reader.

part 1 /// part 3

ungodly hour

when you decide you like yourself. when you decide you need someone. when you don't have to think about it.

...

you felt an uncomfortable churning in your stomach as your bare back pressed against the cold leather seats of the limousine. you laced your fingers and rested your hand over your middle, hoping the subtle self soothing would calm your nerves. it wasn't everyday you went to a wayne gala after all. your silence and clear discomfort was enough to stir a reaction from misha, one of your fellow producers and stylist.

"you doing alright over there?" she asked after applying her lipgloss, carefully wiping the corners of her mouth.

"chillin'," you responded with a little shrug.

that was a lie. you felt like you were going to shit and projectile vomit simultaneously. however, it was freezing in the limo so you were definitely chilling in some sense of the word. your navy off the shoulder dress made of tulle embroidered with stars but it wasn't really warm. your shoulders were exposed and so was a good portion of your arms. you didn't know how misha was holding up in her dress. her entire back and arms had to protection from the cold at all.

"you know this isn't a big deal, right?" she reminded you gently. she must have picked up on your discomfort. "we'll go in, i'll network with the old money of gotham, and we'll leave."

"yeah but where does that leave me?" you asked her, shifting in your seat and almost slipping out of it. the tulle didn't provide much traction against the slippery leather. "i'm your plus one, remember? i serve no purpose."

"i thought that was the selling point," she pouted before making an attempt to cheer you up. "you don't serve no purpose. you're there to make me look good. my arm candy."

"i believe people may see it as the other way around," you informed her with a sigh. "but... fine. as long as you don't leave me alone."

"and let somebody snatch up my trophy wife?" misha scoffed, causing you to exhale through your nose with a barely visible smile. "i'm not letting you out of my sight!"

the limousine slowly stopped in front of the venue, your door lined up with the red carpet that had been laid out for the guests. it was time. you glanced around, briefly considering your escape plan just as the driver had opened the door, snuffing our any idiotic thoughts you had about jumping out through the sunroof or shimming out of the opposing window, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

the lights. bright, blinding white lights flashing on and off. if you weren't acutely aware of where you were at the moment, you would've thought some kid had an essay due at midnight with the furious clicking and shuttering that filled your ears. misha was the first to step out, waiting for you to maneuver your way out.

the golden light emanating from the venue, paired with the harsh lights from the press honestly made misha look even more beautiful than normal. here you were, completely out of your element, standing next to a goddess in lilac chiffon. you looked up at her, noticing how the soft edges of her face contrasted with the sharp ones of her collarbone and the plunging v neck only accentuated that. the person you were with wasn't your friend, or your label mate. no, you were with gotham's resident fashionista and trendsetter, misha matsuri. if anyone was the arm candy, it was her.

you were brought out of your trance when she linked arms with you and began leading out down the red carpet. you honestly couldn't make out what the paparazzi were shouting at you both, aside from the occasional scream of your names. normally, you'd be a little more lively but this was a very important and formal event. it wasn't like the times where you went to award shows and you could feed off of the other seven's excited energy. you weren't surrounded by fans or people who were interested in hearing about you. you were here for misha and only her. you liked that aspect of it, but it was still uncharted territory for you.

"misha! can you tell us more about your foundation?" a reporter asked, pushing through the eager paparazzi who wanted to monopolize on their close contact with you both.

"of course," misha smiled, flipping her hair out of her face. "to cut to the chase, m squared is making fashion accessible to everyone. we've have homeless people on the streets who have no access to clothes that are befitting of the harsh weather they endure on a daily basis. we have low income families who can't afford to give their children new clothing for the school year. there are people who can't afford a nice shirt and slacks for their job interviews. our goal is the provide these people with what they need. access to clothing is a necessity, not a luxury."

you listened to misha and felt pride swell up in your chest, replacing the nausea that had plagued you previously. you were quickly reminded of why you came with her in the first place. she was trying to do something wonderful for the community and aid others in doing the same.

misha left it at that, dragging you along once she had said what she wanted. "see? that wasn't so bad."

"we haven't even crossed the threshold, mother teresa," you reminded her, jerking your chin in the direction of the large double doors behind held open for you both. misha flashed her invitation to the bouncer, quickly being let in.

the two of you walked in and you were stunned at the venue. everyone was dressed to the nines. you recognized many politicians, socialites, and some celebrities as you worked your way to the main ballroom. you felt your eyes widened as you saw bruce wayne out socializing with his guests. you had seen him on the news and in magazines but never in person. he was much taller than you expected. and closer in proximity to you. how was that happening?

"miss matsuri, miss l/n," he had greeted you both, almost surprising you. you weren't sure if misha brought you to him or he brought himself to you. maybe they met halfway while you were in shock. either way, he was here now. "it's wonderful to finally meet you both."

both? he knew you? bruce wayne knew you?

"thank you for your invitation, mr. wayne," misha smiled politely as they gently shook hands. he turned to you, offering you the same courtesy. you felt your brain lag out before you snapped out of it, taking his hand with nervous laughter. "it was a pleasant surprise."

"anyone that has the best interest of gotham in mind deserves recognition and support for their efforts. and please, bruce is fine."

you zoned out as bruce gave you the run down on the place. your eyes wandered around, occasionally lining up with a location bruce was telling you about. you were brought out of your boredom when you heard a loud crash off in the distance. you saw a group of four boys all surrounding a broken champagne bottle like it was a crime scene. you saw a twinge of annoyance on bruce's face before he collected himself.

"please excuse me. i need to reprimand my sons," he said apologetically, making his way over to the group who paled at his presence, except for the youngest one.

"father, this was todd's doing," you heard him say with a frown. "he kept antagonizing drake and they knocked over the champagne. grayson and i were merely bystanders."

"you are such a snitch," the apparent perpetrator sneered.

"here, come on," misha laughed, dragging you away from the scene. "i have old men to seduce for their money."

your gaze lingered on the group while you were dragged away. you knew that none of them were related by blood, expect for the little one and bruce, but handsome clearly ran in the wayne family. there must be something in that expensive tap water.

you spent majority of the night helping misha on her quest for benefactors. she wasn't made of money and she had made it clear that she didn't want money coming from the community. she wanted to 'milk the rich bastards of gotham for everything they've got' or something to that effect.

not actively participating in these conversations required you to try and keep yourself occupied. you started counting the chandeliers (there were five), thinking about one of the tracks you were working on (the chorus was lacking something and you didn't know what it was), and at one point you tried listening in on other conversations, hoping to hear about something juicy (you didn't).

how many glasses of champagne have you had now? three? four? you lost count. you realized you should've been counting them instead of the chandeliers. either way, you were definitely starting to feel the effects of that err. or was that the sensation of being watched?

misha had left to use the bathroom, leaving you by the fancy finger foods. as you ate the bacon wrapped enoki mushrooms, you could feel the presence of another person. you swallowed your food with a helpful swig of champagne before turning to the person who had made a claim on one of the strawberries with chocolate drizzle.

you watched as his lips parted, carefully taking a bite of the potentially messy dessert, his gaze directed at you. it was the handsome wayne boy from earlier. the champagne murderer was what you were calling him in your head. he was very tall and much better looking up close. his eyes were very striking, too. from the look in those eyes, you quickly figured out what he was trying to do.

"she's in the bathroom," you informed him, his brow perking silently as he chewed the berry, licking his lips of any lingering juice. he had this look on his face. confusion? but then you saw him fighting back a smile as he looked down at the table before looking over at you again.

"who?" he asked, his tone and look in his eyes awfully playful. you confused his flirty tone for coyness.

"don't play dumb," you laughed. normally, you wouldn't help out guys when it came to getting on misha's good side but you were making an exception for the dangerously handsome champagne murderer. "i can't give you her number. she hates that. but if it's any consolation, you're definitely her type."

"well, what about you?" he asked after taking a short pause to digest your words. "am i your type?"

you scoffed. the gall of this man. 

"am i the backup plan or something?"

"no," he said, his lips pursed slightly as he shook his head. "would you like to be?"

"there's not going to be a plan to back up if you're trying it with me," you told him seriously. what a dick. it was to be expected, though. he was bruce wayne's son after all. of course he was a player.

"i never said i was trying anything. you're the one who keeps assuming things," he reminded you with a little grin. "had it occurred to you that i came over here, simply wanting to indulge myself in these divine strawberries?"

and he did just that, looking you in the eye as he took a slow bite of his new berry, raising a brow as you watched him. "what?"

"are they as divine as you anticipated?" you asked, not being able to resist some teasing.

"absolutely."

there was something about the way he answered you. was he flirting? were you flirting? the champagne was making it hard to read the situation. there was no way someone as gorgeous as him would spare you a glance and even if he did, you didn't have the time or energy for romance.

"alright. i'll be honest. i came over here because, well, i'm a fan," he told you, turning his body to fully face you now.

"oh," you nodded, not sure what to say next. when people led with that, it always felt awkward. were you supposed to say thank you, or was that weird?

"yeah. i've always wanted to meet batman."

you visibly paused, turning to face him as you watched him give you a lopsided grin. you breathed out a laugh, shaking your head. so he was a fan. he was referencing something you tweeted a few days ago. someone had jokingly made a conspiracy thread, claiming at you and the rest of cloud 9 were the vigilantes of gotham. they had theorized that you were orphan, to which you rebuffed, saying that you were clearly batman and they were blind not to see the resemblance.

"shhh, it's a secret," you whispered, putting your index finger to your lips. 

"ohhh. right, right. my mistake," he whispered back with a firm nod. "how do you juggle your two jobs, though? seems difficult."

"well, if you must know, batman is actually a robot that i control from the comfort of my couch. very advanced technology. you wouldn't get it," you joked, making jason laugh out loud. was it really that funny or were you missing something?

"funny," he answered unintentionally. or you thought. could he read minds? "i'm jason."

"jason," you tested out his name on your tongue. jason. you liked it. "wayne?"

"todd," he quickly corrected you, seeming very adamant that you understood that.

"jason todd," you said again, almost addicted to how it sounded coming from your lips. jason. jason todd.

"and you're y/n l/n," he said, almost as if he were telling you, reminding you that was your name. you weren't sure if you liked saying his name or hearing him say yours more. before you could even register what was happening, he took your hand and gave it a soft kiss.

you locked eyes with him as he looked up at you with his lips, soft as silk, pressed against your knuckles. you could see something in them. he looked... unsure. afraid of his actions. you found yourself subconsciously mirroring his expression in an effort to try and identify it.

"it's a pleasure to finally meet you," you said breathlessly, noting how his demeanor changing a little now that the two of you searched each other's souls for a few seconds. he rubbed his thumb over your fingers before letting go.

"pleasure's all mine," he said, his voice softer now. he was the one who broke eye contact, looking around absentmindedly. he grabbed another strawberry, about to eat it when you went to carefully grab it from him. his lips grazed your fingers as he loosened his lazy grip, letting you take it from him.

"you can't hog them all," you informed him, trying it out for yourself. they were divine, just as jason described them to be. you let out a satisfied hum, which seemed to grab his attention.

"things always taste better when they belong to someone else, right?" he teased and you couldn't help but wonder if there was a double meaning to that.

"you don't own the strawberries, jason.”

"no, but i owned the one that's in your mouth, y/n."

you were sure he was saying these things on purpose now. you just smiled, softly sucking the juice off the pads of your fingers. seldom did the opportunity to harmlessly flirt with someone present itself so you wanted to enjoy it while you could. during your back and forth, you could feel yourself holding back, despite this. you felt jason was doing the same. you were both constantly thinking about what you were doing and actively fighting against it but not doing a very good job at it. it was odd, but you felt like you and jason had this unspoken, mutual understanding for what you were doing in that moment.

still, you couldn't let yourself fall into that trap. you knew when this was all over, that was it. nothing would come from it and you were fine with that. besides, he was a fan, right? it wasn’t right to be with a fan. there was a power imbalance there that you weren’t looking to exploit.

"sorry to interrupt, but my wife and i have an early morning tomorrow," you heard misha say from behind you as she wrapped her long, slender arms around you. saved by the bell.

"wife?" he parroted, giving you a curious look.

"yeah, for like, two more hours," you reminded her as you glanced at your watch.

"and you have to respect the sanctity of our fake marriage until then. just like cinderella," misha told you, putting her arm around your shoulder now.

"i don't think that's how the story goes," you laughed, giving jason an apologetic look afterwards. "i should get going."

"i understand. i'd hate to be branded a home wrecker," he joked and misha gave him a look.

"oh, i'm sure you would," she smirked, tugging you along. "goodbye, thief."

"bye jason," you called to him, waving goodbye, receiving a silent wave and smile in return.

"what was that about?" misha nudged you playfully, giving you a suggestive look as she led you through the maze of bodies blocking your escape route.

"i'll tell you on the way home."

you exited the venue from the back, where your limo was waiting for you. what started out as a scary social event ended up being surprisingly fun. you learned a thing or two from watching misha network and that conversation with jason was entertaining, to say the least. you wondered if you’d ever run into him again.

probably not.

[sooibian]

Dittany

✨ part of the Spellbound collab series with insanely talented writers @hkynm ​ @fullsuninbloom​ @blackberrykai​ and @j-pping​

✨ pairing: hufflepuff!kyungsoo x ravenclaw!oc/reader ft. ravenclaw!chen

✨ themes: fluff, mild angst, slow burn, cheesy couples

✨ genre: hogwarts!au

✨ description: broken bones and a tedious detention - can I still say that this is the best christmas i've ever had? it’s because I found magic in him - the big eyed, dark haired, hufflepuff boy. funny I say that as a witch! but sadly, good things don’t last forever.

✨ word count: 16.5k

✨ tag list: @eggsodose @christiandosworld @imgonweast @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt @changshapatrol @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @his-mochi-cheeks @charmedbaek @xiusoomygod @crescent-iak @gdaystays @mangobaek @keonaforever21 @staryyugy @hyckrens @yixing-jaebeom @halfbloodkjm @thepoeticfirefly​

With a baggie of Caramel Cobwebs grasped between her fingers, he saw her head towards Gladrags Wizardwear. He feigned untied shoelaces as his friends Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Chen made a beeline for a table at The Three Broomsticks. He stayed just so that he could see her for just a little bit longer as she walked down the quaint but bustling lane of Hogsmeade. It baffled him how different she looked to him every time he saw her. 

Yet she looked so familiar.

A sound of girls giggling reached his ears suddenly making him more aware. A jet of purple light shot in her direction and she stood frozen, right in the middle of the street, face buried in hands.

It enraged him to see her like this, weak and lost. With a flick of his wand he unbound her legs. Misty eyed, she hesitantly looked over her shoulder for a fleeting moment before hurrying into the safer confines of the shop as though nothing had happened.

This was their first ever trip to Hogsmeade and he thought J. Pippin's Potions worth the detour. 

Rat tails. Porcupine quills. Billywig stings.

The Hair Raising potion had its benefits, after all. 

A few drops of it in their pumpkin juice and those girls went around school with their hair standing on end. It made them the laughing-stock and not a single soul suspected the innocent looking, third-year Hufflepuff boy.

.

.

.

Professor Trelawney's got me feeling like I’ve downed an entire flask of Felix Felicis.

Maybe it was the fine sherry I brought her for Christmas and if I'm being honest she was most likely under the influence of some at the time - a bit too early in the day for such an indulgence but that’s just my opinion. Anyway, she has prophesied that today’s going to be a momentous day for me. She said it would “change the course of my destiny”. Jupiter has entered Pisces owing to which I’ll be able to open myself up more to the world. I shudder at the thought but her comically large, moony eyes bore a distinct hint of euphoria so I’ll take her word for it. And I don’t care what “opinions” other students - or even Professors for that matter - have of her but I’ll always believe that Divination is a highly compelling (albeit misunderstood) branch of magic. 

And Professor Trelawney is a truly gifted Seer.

With a spring in my step, I'm practically galloping down the Great Hall after a hearty breakfast and Professor Flitwick is unfeignedly in his element. A peppy tune on his lips, he blossoms golden baubles out of his wand, trailing them over the branches of the new dozen of frost covered fir trees akin to a Maestro weaving a symphony with his baton. Christmas has always been an ethereal treat for the eyes at Hogwarts. The Castle is covered in several feet of silver snow, in the Great Hall thick streams of holly and mistletoe criss-cross the ceilings and enchanted snow falls warm and dry from it. While I do feel a little lonely sometimes, I'd rather spend the holidays here than back home with Gran.  

Fourteen years of having to raise me all by herself after Mum and Dad passed away couldn’t have been easy. I reckon she could do well without having to unnecessarily fret over me during the holidays. And I could do very well without her persuasions, asking me to live up to the dreams my parents had had for me. Hopefully, she's enjoying herself with a cup or two of Firewhisky in the evenings in the company of her Ministry friends and gorging on those delicious Ugly Christmas Sweater Cookies and Liquorice Wands that she so relishes!

"Looks great, Professor!" I say to Professor Flitwick and with a cheery laugh he waves his wand bearing arm at me. I duck at the sudden attack of tinsels but one golden bauble nests in the loop of my topknot anyway. I think I'll keep it and use it for Hagrid's gift.

Hagrid!

A glance out the window behind the staff table and I resolve to brave the weather and pay him a long overdue visit. I have a little something for him and old Fang. I won’t lie, it helps to be the granddaughter of an influential woman for Hagrid’s Christmas presents don’t come easy. 

Another great thing about Christmas is that I have the castle all to myself. The dormitory is vacant and the Common Room is far emptier than usual. And I’m spared the everyday torment of hushed whispers and giggles and the occasional “practical jokes”. Carefully, I bring Hagrid’s present out of its little pen to measure it up against the stray bauble. Not his size. He rapidly blinks his beetle brown eyes at me and crawls up my arm with a certain urgency, nestling into the crook of my neck. “Aww Mr. Twiggles”, I plop the Bowtruckle down onto my lap and wrap a pink ribbon around its knobbly brown arm. Placing him under an airy bronze cloche, alongside a huge slab of butterbeer fudge, I bid him adieu. 

***

My butt is freezing, I’m pretty sure I heard something crack and it was definitely not the ice. A terrified Bowtruckle is smack in the middle of my face while I lie amidst crumbs of Butterbeer Fudge. Since this could be his only shot at freedom, Mr. Twiggles scuttles into the Forbidden Forest. Taking stock of the situation I realise that Fang’s present has now become one with the snow, I’ve lost Hagrid’s present to its natural habitat and probably snapped a few of my bones in the process. 

But this is the least of my concerns. 

My literal fall further down the school’s social structure has a witness - the Muggle-born Hufflepuff boy, who belongs to probably one of the most influential cliques in school. I don’t think much of them, to be honest. They’re just a babbling band of bumbling baboons. But can’t I have a day go by without being humiliated? Is that a lot to ask? Hagrid’s hut is barely ten feet from here. I wouldn’t mind breaking all of my bones in his company. He would’ve probably offered me some tea and his infamous rock cakes before carrying me to the Hospital Wing. Out of all the places in Hogwarts... out of all the places in the world...did this wide-eyed bloke really have to be here? Exactly in this moment? And just how many students is Hagrid friends with anyway? And why him? I swear I’ve never seen the boy smile. Not even when he’s with his rowdy friends. 

This can’t be it. 

This can’t be the ‘momentous day that changes the course of my destiny’. This is just like...any other rubbish day and it’s crushing my soul. I'm starting to believe that Divination is a whole lot of hogwash and Professor Trelawney is indeed a fraud. But at this point, I can’t feel my limbs and I really, really could use some help.

Squinting hard, the Muggle-born rushes to my aid. My lips begin to quiver and I feel warm tears trickle down my temples, further wetting my already damp hair. He stoops down and his eyes widen with surprise and recognition and he scoffs at my immobilized state. As he’s helping me up, I wrap my right arm around his shoulders. An imperceptible smile tugs at his lips as his left arm firms around my waist and before I know it, I’m standing on my own two feet - or one. My weight is supported by him and my good right leg. But before I can begin to thank him, a sharp pain shoots to my head and I see little stars buzzing around his ears. Maybe they are real! 

“Wrackspurts”, I mumble and observe his lips form the shape of a heart when curved into a wide smile. His smile is….bewitching.

And it's the last thing I see.

***

Madam Pomfrey strongly insists on keeping me caged in for the night. She’s implacable and my protests are met with a standard taut response, “Broken bones are particularly dangerous in winters. You’re staying the night.” How do I explain that I feel fine and keeping me in will only make matters a LOT worse for me.

I have to go see the Hufflepuff boy.

I have absolutely no memory of the events that unfolded after I literally started seeing stars. Not Wrackspurts. Did he perhaps carry me to the Hospital Wing? I have no answers and this isn’t exactly the kind of topic I wish to broach with Madam Pomfrey. My throat dries up at the thought of him struggling to bring me all the way up here and it makes me actively consider a transfer to Beauxbatons - if that is indeed possible. Because this cannot be happening right now! Sixth year has been quiet and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. 

I don’t know if the Hufflepuff boy will keep it down for me. Will he tell his friends about it? Will I become the talk of the town even before school resumes? Will he keep it to himself if I cut a deal with him? I don’t mind helping him out with schoolwork or something.

My delirious train of thought is interrupted by three rhythmic knocks on the slightly ajar double door.

It’s him.

He’s standing in the doorway, twiddling a rectangular purple box in his hands, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Does he expect me to invite him in? What’s the protocol? Smoothing out the wrinkles in my blanket, I sit up slightly and crane my neck to find Madam Pomfrey who seems to be in her Office. Pursing my lips into an awkward smile, I turn to look at him and shrug noncommittally. He takes it as his cue to enter.

“This is for you.” He says in a low mellifluous voice which tastes like honeyed milk and gingerly places the box at the edge of my bed. Caramel Cobwebs. My favourite! He finds a seat at the edge of the other end of my bed.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to...and thank you for everything. I -”

His deep brown eyes suddenly meet mine and I lose all sense of speech.

“It was Hagrid who brought you here”, he says nonchalantly, drumming his fingers on his knees while allowing his large eyes to survey the sterile, sprawling infirmary.

Then why is he here?

“Aren’t you missing lunch?” I ask, unwrapping the box and offering the constellate of bite sized confectionery to him. “I’m not too hungry”, he says, guzzling down a few anyway. A soft smile touches the corners of his mouth. 

Silence echoes in the Hospital Wing, save for our muted nibbling. It’s soothing in its sense of comfort as neither of us is particularly chatty. And that’s just as gratifying as the sweet treats.

“Looks like we have company!” The stern but kind Matron swooshes out of her office, scrutinizing the boy from top to bottom, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. She’s never been too fond of visitors. I remember the day I tagged along with Chen last year to visit his human banshee of a friend - Baekhyun. 

A doxy had apparently sunk it’s double row sharp front teeth into his arm, injecting him with its venom. His dense idea was to experiment with doxy venom to appear ill just so that he could cut a couple of lessons with his dimwitted oaf - Chanyeol. While the latter went unscathed and even managed to extract an ounce of venom out of the doxy (cute fairies he liked to call them), the human banshee had to be brought into the Hospital Wing to be administered the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. I only visited the boy who cackles like a goose to get a little look-see of what doxy venom could do to a person. But to my absolute dismay, he looked... peachy, with an annoying boxy grin plastered across his face. The Matron shooed Chen, me and the big oaf out in a matter of minutes. It’s not that I blame her. I would’ve probably done the same in view of the racket that ensued amidst their boisterous conversation.

Madam Pomfrey brings out a small vial of brown liquid and applies a few drops of it on my elbow. I hadn’t noticed the nasty wound my fall had left on it, up until then. A greenish smoke billows upward and it quickly clears out to make the wound look several days old and new skin stretches over what had been a deep cut.

“Dittany!” The Hufflepuff boy and I say in unison.

“Well done! 5 points each to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw!” Madam Pomfrey jokes as she peers over her spectacles and her gaze flits between him and me. I catch his heart shaped smile again. And for some reason, makes my stomach contract and my heart go into a somersault. Or maybe it’s the effect whatever Madam Pomfrey’s got me under.

The Matron raises her wand and points it at the table adjoining my bed. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets and a jug of a cold beverage appear with a pop.

It's honeyed milk. 

She retracts into her office without pressing on him to leave and for that I am grateful. We share sandwiches in silence as a mildly bitter citrus aroma of Dittany wafts through the space between us. The plate endlessly refills itself but we’re both satiated by the third fill.

“I’m Kyungsoo, by the way. Sixth year.” He says in his dulcet tone and I take a huge gulp of the sweet nectar out of the goblet.

***

Madam Pomfrey sets me free with not one but two warnings. Avoid slippery outdoors if you’d like to enjoy the Christmas feast and Don’t count your owls before they are delivered. I’ll admit the second one is a bit difficult to stomach since I had my eyes trained on the door for the better part of the morning. It comes in fine print at the bottom of the letter of acceptance - steer clear of parent-less weirdos who believe in Divination and Nargles. Of course the sweet and quiet Kyungsoo received the same letter. 

After having sent Hagrid a Christmas greeting via an owl, I head over to the library. Its musty fragrance clears my mind off trivial sentiments. Sixth year is no child’s play and I need to read up on Apparition to avoid having a limb splinched especially after yesterday’s disaster. 

“Umm...HI!”, a chirpy voice startles me and I almost collapse into the Restricted Section. This voice is a little too sprightly for a deserted library and its owner looks like someone who does not belong in school during the holiday season. Her dazzling smile perfectly complements the twinkle in her eyes. She’s one of those girls but she seems nice? My puzzled expression asks her the obvious questions.

“Sorry! Professor Slughorn asked me to give this to you.” She hands me a rich parchment. It’s a letter addressed to me in the most exquisite cursive inviting me to dinner held by Professor H.E.F Slughorn.

Bleaaargh!

The girl is still here, eyes beaming with curiosity, “It’s for the Slug Club, right? What’s it all about? Well... I’ve always wondered.” Her voice trails off in an awkward giggle.

“Be my guest!”

It’ll help to have a slightly known, apparently friendly face in an obnoxious crowd.

***

I’m no stranger to the opulent ways of prestigious wizarding families but this isn’t something one would expect to see in a Professor’s office at Hogwarts. It’s barely even an office! It’s an enormous tent bathed in a dim orange of the sunset with its ceiling and walls draped in emerald hangings. The deep melody of violins drowns the frantic squeaking of house elves who are obscured by the heavy silver platters of the finest hors d'oeuvres.  

A circular dining area is set up right in the middle of the room where most of the invitees have taken their seats. There aren’t too many compared to last year. No Warlocks, no Vampires. Just a handful of students with their guests and a couple of past students - Slughorn’s proteges of course - who’ve managed to carve a name for themselves all thanks to the powerful connections he’d helped them forge through this very same Club. Or so he’d rather believe.

The tap on my shoulder strikes me with the realization that I’m still stood at the entrance. It’s my chirpy guest! The fifth year Gryffindor Prefect. One awkward small talk later, we find our seats at the ostentatious table.

Despite the grandiose, this is a rather intimate gathering. But judging by Professor Slughorn’s enthusiasm, the turnout is certainly not off-putting to him. He drones on about his overachieving handpicked students and I let my mind wander into the distance while Miss Prefect is certainly taken by the charms of this first-class motley. Well, at least someone’s liking it here.

“Kyungsoo, m’boy!” Slughorn jumps mid-feast at the sight of the newest entrant to this coalition, almost causing me to choke on my roast duck, “Welcome, welcome!” 

At a gesture from Slughorn, he sits down in the empty chair next to me and mutters a velvety ‘hullo’ in my direction and I’ve suddenly lost my appetite thanks to the butterflies in my stomach. He’s dressed casually in blue denims and a beige knit sweater yet he’s shining brighter than Sirius among all these boys in their finest ensembles.

“This young man is the only sixth year I’ve ever seen who’s managed to concoct the Draught of Living Death”, he takes a dramatic pause to peer at his guests over his spectacles before meeting my eyes, “flawlessly!”

Almost everyone at the table acknowledges Kyungsoo with a smile or a slight nod, save for a few overtly arrogant Purebloods who merely grunt in response or completely ignore his accomplishment. I, on the other hand, have my eyes trained on the roast duck to keep my erratic heartbeat in check.

Slughorn gears up for another act, “So tell us, Mister Doh, what exactly does your family do in the Muggle world?” His smile is cold, unwelcoming.

“My Mum is a chef, Professor...my parents own a restaurant.” Kyungsoo answers.

Slughorn contemplates on his answer for a while with a ‘hmm’, “A Muggle-born, eh?”, he lifts an eyebrow, “But the fumes from his cauldron almost lulled this old man into a deep slumber”, he chortles, wagging a sausage like finger, only to receive cold silence in response from everyone else except one invitee.

The feline eyed man laughs the loudest at Slughorn’s pathetic joke. One might think it’s probably out of sympathy. But it’s not. He seems to have actually found that funny.

Slughorn introduces him as Minseok Kim and goes on to sing praises about this former student of his. Slytherin. Excellent potioneer. One of the youngest registered animagi. 

His animagus is a cat. 

Minseok interrupts Slughorn’s discourse with an uncomfortable laugh showcasing his wide gummy grin, “You give me too much credit, Professor!”

“You’ve made me proud, my son! So tell us how your career as a Magizoologist is treating you? Well, I hope? Your uncle Soo Man Lee, a notable Warlock and a dear friend of mine, wrote to me saying that you happened to cross paths with an obscurus during one of your recent travels! That must have been...” Professor Slughorn shakes his head in horror and awe as his voice tails away.

“It’s certainly a story for a different occasion, Professor. Although, it happens to be one of my most memorable experiences.” Something about Minseok’s discomfit demeanour tells me he’d rather have a tête-à-tête with the obscurus than with Professor Slughorn. I take an instant liking to this man. 

“Minseok, we happen to have an aspiring Magizoologist in our company”, I loathe the nickname. It’s a garb. It’s a lie. But the conversation seamlessly steers towards me as a dozen pairs of eyes follow Professor Slughorn’s snivelling gaze. Clearing my throat, I say to Minseok, “I’m delighted to meet you - ”

“My dear, if I may ask and I hope you won’t mind”, Professor Slughorn interrupts me, per usual. Kyungsoo lets out a barely audible annoyed grunt and I hold my breath in anticipation of what he’s about to say next. Slughorn has a knack for broaching treacherous territories with utmost eloquence. I didn’t think it was possible for me to despise this gathering any more than I already do. I know where he’s going. I know what he’s going to say next. He’s going to play the Devil’s (Gran’s) Advocate. 

This is not a party. It’s an intervention which serves as an offhanded reminder of my parents’ gruesome deaths.

“You come from a lineage of Aurors par excellence. Your grandparents with whom I had the great fortune of exchanging notes and secrets in these very same classrooms. Your parents…. a tremendous loss to our world…” 

At this point, I’ve lost Professor Slughorn. 

He’s testing me again to see if I have any of my parents’ flair. I do not. Magizoologist is just a veil that conceals my seemingly purposeless life. I’m not sure what I want to be. Or who I want to be. If there’s one thing I know it’s that I don’t want to end up like my parents. Neither am I brave nor am I self sacrificial. Their deaths, I’ve come to terms with. It’s the torture they went through that keeps me up most nights - the unimaginable pain of the Cruciatus Curse before they were engulfed in blinding green light. My throat seizes up and I chew on the insides of my cheeks to feel pain that’s more superficial.

My sweaty palms clutch at the hem of my silk lilac dress. I feel hesitant fingers gently graze the back of my left hand, steadying the tremble. Judging by my lack of protest, Kyungsoo’s grip around my hand courageously strengthens. 

In subliminal comfort. 

I don’t feel cornered anymore.

.

.

.

KYUNGSOO

Oh I shouldn’t have. 

OH BOY I SHOULD NOT HAVE!

I’m not a pervert. In my defense her hand was right there! Trembling. Astray. Seeking shelter.

Asking to be held.

She didn’t say a word to me after that ridiculous party. I couldn’t muster the courage to say anything to her, either. What could I have said? I’m sorry? That would’ve been dishonest. I wasn’t sorry about it at all. Are you alright? I didn’t want her to feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. So I left it at that. Like I always do. 

Because I’m a coward. 

She swooped out with her friend as soon as the snoozefest was over, leaving her food completely untouched. In fact, I didn’t catch her taking a bite out of anything ever since I arrived. Her slender fingers were gracefully wrapped around a silver goblet the entire time.

It’s always been like that with her. She always needs something or the other to physically hold on to. The straps of her bag, books, remembralls, whatever she can find. I notice these little things about her. I always have. But to her I’m only a face in the crowd. The very same crowd she fights shy of. I don’t blame her. It is quite rare for pretty girls to notice me. 

And she’s ethereal.

Year One

My heart was hammering in my chest as I was ridiculously close to missing the Hogwarts Express. Partially because the oddly named Platform was nowhere to be found and I was starting to think of the entire thing as an elaborate prank. And when we did end up finding the way to the Platform by following a snooty wizarding couple who seemed to be seeing their daughter off, I quite frankly lost my mind at the prospect of having to run through a solid wall to get to it.

I said a final word of my goodbye to my teary-eyed mother.

Earlier in the day, her theatrical sobfest went on for hours after she progressed from outright denial and came to terms with the fact that witches and wizards do exist and that her only son is in fact a wizard. He wasn’t going to take over his parents’ restaurant business like she’d always hoped he would. Honestly, at this point he’s not entirely sure what his future beholds but he’s a wizard and is indeed very happy about it.

But I didn’t dare say this to her. 

I pretended to be upset about having to practically move out at the age of eleven. In all honesty, I was mildly upset but far more excited about this school I’d, obviously, never heard of before the Letter arrived - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

But it wasn’t long before all of my bubbling excitement was reduced to a pile of rubbish.

I had lost my little pouch of wizard money which I thought I'd carefully tucked into the back pocket of my jeans only to find out about it seconds prior to having to pay for the strange but oddly tempting treats. I felt myself shrink under the kind old lady’s sympathetic gaze as I put my little confectionery treasure back to where it belonged. On the top of her trolley. Suddenly, the embarrassing rumble of my stomach was drowned by a welcome jingle of coins.

The second year boy in my compartment - who later introduced himself as Baekhyun Byun - paid for the treats instead. I didn’t like him at first since he had a permanent smile plastered across his face, was giggly and extremely chatty. He’d told me all kinds of sorting stories which made me want to take the same train back home. I discovered his annoyingly loud chewing habits while sharing a stack of Cauldron Cakes with him. But I guess a happy stomach makes one truly tolerant.

We tried to offer Pumpkin Pasties to the girl in our compartment who had her face buried in a book right since the moment she boarded. Baekhyun even tried to strike up a conversation with her, multiple times, but to no avail. She’d only respond in nods and slight smiles.

After a point, we gave up. There’s no cure to snobbery.

There was an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach even after having annihilated five Chocolate Frogs, a dozen Liquorice Wands, six Pumpkin Pasties and two Cauldron Cakes. It wasn't even the first day yet and I’d lost ten Galleons in wizarding money which equalled fifty Pounds in muggle money which equalled two meals at our restaurant.

The rain thickened as the train sped further north. Baekhyun pulled on his long black robe, gave me all of his Chocolate Frog cards and scurried ahead with his trunk leaving me alone with the oddball. We were nearly there.

“Here”, she said, thrusting a heavy, knotted pink cloth in my hands before exiting the compartment in a rush.

It was five Galleons neatly wrapped in a cloth that smelled exactly like the “farewell” cake Mum baked me. 

Vanilla.

***

We didn’t have to wrestle a troll or turn a fat rat yellow for the Sorting Ceremony like Baekhyun said we’d have to.

“RAVENCLAW!” the Hat bellowed and the girl from the Hogwarts Express found her place amidst the brains at Hogwarts (as Baekhyun liked to call them) and that didn’t leave me surprised at all.

When the strict witch called out my name I almost stumbled upon a step on my way up to the wooden stool. For no particular reason the word “Ravenclaw” rolled off my tongue and the Hat contemplated, “Intelligent and hard-working, eh? Hmm….where should I place you...I see. I see! HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table next to Ravenclaw cheered me on as a ghost, the Fat Friar, swooshed past me in what was supposed to be a bone chilling embrace. I caught her eyes and she gave me a little wave.

Ravenclaw...at least I knew where to find her. I’ll return her money but not the piece of cloth.

It is a reminder of home.

Year Two

Am I invisible to her?

Every time I’ve so much as smiled at her she’s returned it with an unreadable expression like that lady in the fake painting at our restaurant. If I approach her and she doesn’t recognize me, I’ll be making a complete ass out of myself. Anyway, she probably thinks I’m not good enough to be seen around with but third-year Chen is. People say she belongs to one of the oldest wizarding families and she sure does act like royalty. I guess, five Galleons to her is nothing but a drop in the ocean.

***

While Professor Sprout thinks I’m the next Tilden Toots - a celebrity Herbologist and Potioneer, Professor Snape’s way of expressing his satisfaction with my abilities in Potions was with a scowl and a barely audible “five points to Hufflepuff.”

Most of the students think of Potions as a lot of hard work but to me, it’s really not. I don’t entirely blame them. The classes are held in a dungeon and the Potions Master looms over us with a murderous intent but if you ignore all of that it’s just intricacies of timing and stirring techniques.

The Hair Raising potion was disgusting to concoct especially since one of the key ingredients was rat tails and three counter clockwise stirs left the cauldron with a sickening green residue causing the entire dungeon to smell like a dead rat.

I must admit, Hogwarts is one weird school. What on earth would I need this potion for?

Year Three

Whenever I’ve tried to avoid the joined at the hips duo Baekhyun and Chanyeol, I’ve found myself in their ear splitting company. By now, I’ve resigned to my fate. My fellow Hufflepuff Yoongi isn’t up for much these days. To be honest, he’s always liked to stick to the confines of the Hufflepuff dorm and that’s kind of a downer.

So I spend almost all of my free time in the company of the Perpetually In Detention duo and their Ravenclaw friend Chen. And I realise that I can never be Chen. Chen is perfect in every way. He’s polite, he’s intelligent, and at such a young age he’s got his life planned out. He wants to work for the Ministry of Magic. Which, I believe, is a cakewalk for the likes of him. He’s also kinda good looking. While we’re all struggling with embarrassing bulk sticking out of odd places and less than appealing skin, he could very well replace Gilderoy Lockhart for the next issue of Witch Weekly.

***

When I saw her head toward Gladrags Wizardwear, fingers clutched at a baggie of Caramel Cobwebs, I feigned untied shoelaces as Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Chen made their way into The Three Broomsticks. Suddenly, a jet of purple light shot in her direction and a sound of girls giggling reached my ears. She stood frozen in the middle of the street, face buried in hands and with a flick of my wand I unbound her legs. Misty eyed, she hesitantly looked over her shoulder for a fleeting moment before hurrying into the safer confines of the shop as though nothing had happened.

This was our first ever trip to Hogsmeade and I thought J. Pippin's Potions worth the detour.

Rat tails. Porcupine quills. Billywig stings.

The Hair Raising potion had its benefits, after all. 

A few drops of it in their pumpkin juice and not a single soul suspected the innocent looking, third-year Hufflepuff boy.

Year Four

Hagrid seemed quite proud of his crate full of Blast-Ended Skrewts. They were cuddly creatures, very useful and made for exceptional pets. 

If you looked at them with Hagrid’s beady brown, affectionate eyes.

Everyone in class was visibly disturbed at the sight of them. Yoongi was quite close to disappearing into the Forbidden Forest. But that’s just him - slimy, foul smelling, shell-less lobsters or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he chose, out of the blue, to live as a hermit in the company of centaurs. Not sure if he’s aware that they’re averse to humans.

Smiling, she took two graceful steps towards the crate as the rest of us took two steps back. Then four, then six as her waist length hair rippled down her shoulders and sunlight bounced off the silver trinkets in her ears. Perhaps motivated by her deep affection for Hagrid and anything non-human, she dipped a piece of frog liver to tempt the freshly hatched Skrewts.

It was pointless. Skrewts don’t have mouths. Mine is carefully locked away in a little pen under my bed. Honestly, I don’t care whether it survives the semester or not. 

Anyway, she ended up earning a roaring applause from Hagrid and ten points for Ravenclaw.

I found myself following her to the hideous crate like my legs had a mind of their own while Yoongi gaped at me in horror. I don’t know what struck me but I’m pretty sure that I don’t love Hagrid enough to get stung by an ugly lobster. 

But she had her eyes lovingly trained on the Skrewts the entire time and my valiant battle against a six inch burning, biting and stinging hybrid went completely unnoticed by her. 

Would I have to transfigure into an ugly Skrewt to get her attention? Or gulp down a vial of Polyjuice Potion to look like Chen? 

I’d still lack his charm.

Year Five

How Chanyeol and Baekhyun managed to advance to the sixth year is anyone’s guess, really. 

Because at this point I wish I had a Time Turner. Twenty four hours in a day are not enough for what the O.W.L.s demand. I’ve got Potions, Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic and Defence Against The Dark Arts. 

And Divination is entirely her fault.

There’s one thing, though, that Trelawney’s “Inner Eye” was right about - Everything is not as bad as it seems, my dear. It’s true. Professor Slughorn isn’t half as bad as Professor Snape. Although he’s a little vain and self-serving, I have a better shot at earning an O in Potions with him than I could have ever had with Snape. Where Snape would dismiss my nearly perfect brews with a grunt, I manage to earn some real points for Hufflepuff with Slughorn.

Professor Sprout, ever so confident in my abilities, had laughed away my Career Advice session by calling me the next Tilden Toots. Her face fell slightly when I told her that I aspired to be Tilden Toots the Potioneer and not Tilden Toots the Herbologist.

But my dreams won’t materialize if I don’t have near perfect scores in Charms and Arithmancy and these are the two subjects that have kept me away from my “happening” social life.

I’d been haunting the Hufflepuff common room with my fingers in my ears, muttering soundlessly and my dear friend Yoongi chose to “take a quick catnap for a refreshed mind” every chance he got. I haven’t seen them in a while - Baekhyun, Chanyeol, Chen and their Quidditch friends Kai and Sehun. With twelve (failed) study schedules strewn on the floor and six weeks left until the exams, I seized my copy of Defensive Magical Theory and stepped out of the dorm for some fresh air and mindless chatter.

Last I’d heard, they’d managed to earn themselves a week’s worth of detention for setting off Filibuster’s Fireworks in Filch’s office. 

What I witnessed in the corridor on my way out made me stop dead in my tracks. Chen had his arm around her shoulders as they walked along the hallway laughing and talking animatedly. This was the happiest I had ever seen her in all these years. At the sight of them, I felt a paralyzing dread seep into my consciousness. 

I hated it.

I hated to see her happy. With him. A part of me saw this coming but I could’ve never prepared myself for it and I immediately regretted leaving the unwitting confines of my Common Room. 

Seething, I went in the other direction, taking a detour for the Quidditch pitch, to find those clowns. 

With them, I could very well drift in and out of conversations. While I lacked patience for most of their rubbish and I usually brought my earmuffs along, today was different. I needed to hear something refreshing to get my mind off the horrible fragmented flashbacks of what I’d witnessed just minutes ago. It’s probably nothing and they’re just friends but the nagging rebuttal to my ‘just friends’ argument is making me restless.

To my absolute horror, Chen breezed into the pitch with an annoying grin on his face, cheeks flushed. I felt the knot in my stomach tighten.

“Guys! I asked her out and she said yes!” He announced to the world in his usual thunderous scream invoking a deafening response from the rest of them. Slamming my copy of Defensive Magical Theory shut, I rushed to the common room, ignoring Kai calling out for me.

Year Six

Study hard and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so and the consequences may be... severe.

And rewarded, I was. With 6 Os, 2 Es (Arithmancy and Defence Against the Dark Arts) and 1 A (Divination). Yoongi had managed to scrape through with a decent O.W.Ls score as well. And “Chen’s girlfriend” had topped the year, per usual. With 8 O’s and 1 E in Defence Against The Dark Arts, having messed up one counter jinx in the practicals.  She’s strangely under confident when it comes to this subject.

My house-elf friend Winky smuggled in a congratulatory vanilla cake - a Muggle recipe I’d helped her recreate.

***

So turns out “Chen’s girlfriend” isn’t Chen’s girlfriend. 

I mean, Chen has a girlfriend but it’s not the girl from the Hogwarts Express. It’s the Ravenclaw Head Girl. Because I spent nearly half a year sulking, slogging away in the library, feeling betrayed for no particular reason, despite my well above average O.W.Ls score I felt like a complete idiot.

The bearer of good news was Chanyeol Park.

Who enraged me and made me want to kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt on its non-existent mouth at the same time with, “Of course he’s not dating that Ravenclaw oddball. He’s dating the Ravenclaw Head Girl.”

Smacking him on the head with my copy of Advanced Potion Making, I decided to spend the upcoming Christmas at school. 

It’s now or never.

***

She’s SUCH an idiot!

A freezing, injured, drenched, clumsy idiot. 

A Bowtruckle whirred past me into the Forbidden Forest as I rushed to help her off the ground. Tergeo, I muttered to siphon the blood off her elbow and hoisted her up not long before she collapsed into my arms.

She’s a cute idiot whose pain is… my gain.

.

.

.

“Why aren’t you home for the holidays?”

Howling, a chilly breeze engulfs us but the panoramic view of the landscape from the Wooden Bridge is well worth it. As is the mildly attractive Hufflepuff boy who’d asked, very shyly, if he could see me here.

“My parents are always busy with the restaurant during the holidays, anyway. Thought I’d use this time to prepare better in advance for N.E.W.T.s”, says a red-nosed, shivering Kyungsoo.

He’s ambitious as he is kind. “So, are you?”

“Hmm?”

“Preparing for... N.E.W.T.s?”

“No. Something’s kept me busy.” An imperceptible smile tugs at his lips and I find myself unconsciously mirroring him. It’s freezing out here but my cheeks are ablaze.

“What has?” My tone is unwavering but his rich pause has me dreading as well as anticipating the answer.

“The Patronus Charm”, he says, “All I can manage is formless silver vapour.”

Oh.

“I could help if you like.” I turn to face him to find his confused expression uncoil into a toasty smile.

“You can conjure an actual corporeal Patronus?” His excitable voice is not as deep as his regular talking voice but it’s melodic anyway.

Nodding, I say, “Let’s go.” 

Kyungsoo’s eyes aren’t exactly trusting. I’ve brought him to the seventh floor and we’re gawking at a tapestry of trolls ridiculously bent in a plier. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. But Hogwarts is an ancient castle and I’ve spent a good amount of time recceing it’s rooms, hallways, and everything in between. Yet, I discover something new, every time. 

Last year, I discovered this - The Room of Requirement - or as Meady likes to call it - the Come and Go Room.

“Okay, so we’re going to walk past the area of this door, thrice, thinking clearly of what we need.” Pointing at the wall opposite the funny tapestry, I say to Kyungsoo but a look of sheer confusion mixed with worry clouds his face.

“We’re going to think of a large, dingy classroom where we can have our lessons without anyone disturbing us.”

His expression is short of saying, ‘You’re crazy. Goodbye.’ Despite that, he valiantly follows my instruction.

After the third pass we’re in a spacious classroom completely devoid of any furniture, save for two desks.

“Ahhh”, hands on hips, he gapes in surprise surveying the dimly lit room, “but...we could’ve practised anywhere. Why here?”

“For the effect?” My fingers clutch at the edge of the desk as a knot tightens in my stomach and I find myself hoping that he stays.

His ha-ha-ha echoes in the room and his voice is at it’s high pitch again, “Shall we?”

Nodding, I take the centre of the class, “So the incantation is ‘Expecto Patronum’”

“Of that, I am aware.”

“Great now concentrate hard on a happy memory. I know it’s going to be tough without an actual Dementor or even a Boggart to practise on. But let’s give it a try, alright? Professor Flitwick taught me using a Boggart last year. I didn’t leave him alo -- sorry I’m rambling. Okay, happy memory... now...go!”

Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut and his face screws up in concentration. With a swish of his wand he stutters, “Ex-expecto Patronus!”

Nothing except peals of laughter echo in the room.

“Lets go again. Together now.” I say patting his shoulder.

Signalling each other with a nod we try again, “Expecto Patronum!”

A lynx rises out the end of my wand, trotting across the room before diffusing into nothingness. While Kyungsoo manages to issue a not so tangible cloud of silver.

A few tries later, he manifests something visibly stronger but he’s not quite there yet. And we’re both exhausted. I fish for a Chocolate Frog in the pockets of my cardigan and hand it to him.

“This charm is ridiculously advanced! How about we try again after Christmas?” Leaning on one of the desks, he offers dejectedly, nibbling at the Frog’s head.

I gladly accept it.

***

Owing to the small number of students that have stayed back this year, the House tables have been put aside and a single table has been set up for the Christmas feast. As if it were the most natural thing to do in the world, Kyungsoo comes and sits next to me. I hope he doesn’t hold my hand like he did during Slughorn’s party or maybe I hope that he does. I hope we do get to hold hands often and discuss what happened at the party. But we’re both great at pretending that nothing unusual did. The Gryffindor Prefect is somewhere on the other end of the table, chatting to a fellow Gryffindor. And the spread, as always, is sumptuous. 

Digging into a delectable roast turkey I ask Kyungsoo, “What’s Christmas like in the Muggle world?”

“Isn’t half as exciting as it is here. For starters, we have no Wizard Crackers. Or silver Sickles hidden within puddings.” He says toying with the cardboard tube moments before it went off like a canon, covering him in a cloud of blue smoke. A flurry of white mice scamper down his legs and scurry out of the Great Hall.

His mouth drops, inviting a roar of laughter from the rest of the table and he chooses to steer clear of the Crackers for the rest of the Feast.

He insists on dropping me off to the Ravenclaw Common Room, “I’ll see you again tomorrow? Six in the evening, the Room of Requirement?”

It’s a date?

***

Today’s class wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous one but God knows Kyungsoo’s in a dire need of practise.

We sit on the floor after two scarcely productive hours with our stash of Chocolate Frogs pooled in the space between us.

“Here’s something I don’t get about Muggleborns. How are your parents okay with sending their children away to an entirely different world? Doesn’t matter what Professor Dumbledore has to say, I refuse to believe Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. We have moving staircases, a murderous tree, Quidditch, and Filch!”

His laugh reverberates in the empty classroom, “It’s not much of a trade off, really. The Muggle world has its own set of issues.” He unwraps a Chocolate Frog and offers it to me, “You live with your grandmother, right?”

“My fierce, retired Auror, grandmother. Yes. And you?”

“With my parents. I’m an only child. And you’re right. My mother wasn’t very keen on sending me away but she couldn’t risk their restaurant being reduced to a pile of ash every time I threw a temper tantrum.”

“You don’t look like the temper tantrum sort.”

“Ah you underestimate me.” He chuckles, “so the holidays end soon and I don’t have a Patronus which means our classes will have to continue. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Very much”, I nod but an upsetting finality pulls at me.

“Is there anything...you’d like to do on the last day of the holidays?” He fixes his gaze on my feet.

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Do you want to...well I was thinking if...I need to procure some Wolfsbane from the Forbidden Forest would you like to come with?”

“Are you daft? Do you have any idea what sorts of -”

“Creatures dwell in the Forest? Yeah, I’ve been there, multiple times.”

“And you haven’t been caught? Mauled? Battered?”

He sighs, “Unfortunately, not once.”

Meeting his unflinching gaze I welcome my impending doom, “Okay...maybe I’ll end up finding Twiggles in one of those Wiggentrees but don’t abandon me if Werewolves come for us.”

***

I guess there’s a first time for everything. But it’s my first time flouting a rule and getting caught. My adventurous friend from Hufflepuff seems absolutely unperturbed by the ghastly smile that’s spread across Filch’s face. And anything that makes Filch this happy can’t be good news. Kyungsoo shoves the bunch of Wolfsbane down the pocket of his jeans and I just stand there as an unwitting accomplice to his dumbassery. To my dumbassery. I should’ve never agreed to this. I didn’t even have any luck with Twiggles. But then again Bowtruckles are master camouflagers. What was I expecting?

“Follow me”, the sadistic old man wheezes and my legs feel bound by shackles. Kyungsoo tugs at my arm and teary eyed, I slowly shake my head. He laughs mouthing, ‘It’s nothing.’ Maybe it’s nothing to him considering the company he keeps. What if I get expelled? Where will I go? It’ll be enough reason for Gran to disown me but this bespectacled charming boy doesn’t have a lot to lose now, does he? He can waltz back into his Muggle world and work in his ‘restaurant’. Of course he’s an exceptional cook if he trades recipes with freaking house-elves! I can’t end up having a life worse than squibs. Boys are trouble unless they’re Chen. I literally never should’ve. What of this was a trap all along? I’m SUCH a fool!

I find myself in the part of the vast echoing Entrance Hall I’ve deliberately avoided in all these years. It’s foul smelling, really dull and a cat menacingly meows at us while curling around her Master’s feet. 

Room 234-00. Filch’s office.

Coughing, the caretaker points at the chains and manacles that are hung from the ceiling, “I keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re needed. The Forbidden Forest, eh? Brave enough for Acromantulas and Werewolves, are we?” His face is barely inches away from Kyungsoo’s and I feel a sudden pump of adrenaline, “Sir, please, it was a mistake. We promise to never venture into the Forest again. We promise to never venture out of our own dormitories again. Please, please just let us go!”

Filch is taken aback by my plea and Kyungsoo has pursed his lips, holding in a laugh and I feel stupid.

With the sound of a crack, Filch’s equipment of torture comes crashing to the floor. Mrs Norris’ tail shoots up in fear and a raucous laugh echoes in the room souring Filch’s mood, “PEEVES!”

“Nasty Filch! Leave the luuuuurve birds alone! Leave them alone! Loony woony filthy Filch!” An invisible Peeves’ annoying cackle resounds before ceasing with a deafening crack. 

Filch is boiling in rage. I tilt my head to look at the slightly experienced in disciplinary matters Kyungsoo and judging by his sullen expression, we’ve had it.

.

.

.

Does he think that I somehow jinxed his great expedition to the Forest? Because it’s been two days since the start of semester and there’s no sign of Kyungsoo. Neither in the Great Hall, nor in the classes I share with Hufflepuff. Is he avoiding me now that his friends are back? The lump in my throat aches.

“Oww!” 

Chen greets me with a smack of a book on my head, “I MISSED YOU, GOBLIN!”

I’ll never get used to Chen’s incessant need to announce everything to the world to get his point across but seeing him makes me realise just how much I’d missed him, too. Despite his dig at my height and an underhanded compliment to my brain. He slumps into the chair next to me, activating his ability to speak like a banshee. Not very different from his white haired Gryffindor friend. 

“So tell me. How was Christmas? Did you get the set of Wizard Chess I sent you? We should play sometime. Thanks for the Floo Connection, by the way! It was really thoughtful of you and I love it! My darling loved it a lot, too but I had a tough time explaining it to my folks. So how was Christmas?”

I wait patiently for my closest friend in school to finish babbling before telling him what I think he’d like to hear about my little adventures. Or the information Kyungsoo would rather have me share. The nagging feeling that he’s been avoiding me weighs me down like a rock. 

 “So you broke your leg, told Slughorn off and earned yourself Detention with a Hufflepuff boy who happened to be in the Forest at the same time as you. All of this in a matter of two weeks? Wait, why were you in the Forest again?” Chen is amused but also a little suspicious.

“I told you! I was bored. I went looking for the Bowtruckle!” I argue, needlessly.

“Bored? Didn’t you have to read up on Apparition? Also, you of all the people should know how elusive Bowtruckles are, Miss Magizoologist!” I cringe at the nickname. “And who is this Hufflepuff boy?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Chen were a Legilimens.

Letting out an exasperated sigh I answer, “Some Kwangsoo something?”

“Glasses? Kinda short? Squints a lot? Brooding?”

“So you know him, Mister Tall Guy?” I ask, inviting another smack on my head.

“Yes, through Baekhyun. I mean, haven’t you seen him with us? His name is Kyungsoo, by the way.” Chen’s not particularly suspicious now which bolsters my confidence to spew rubbish.

“No I haven’t. It’s probably because I can hear you guys before I can see you and I prefer not to violate my eyes like I do my ears when I’m around any of you. I hope this answers your question.” I think it was a bit much but Chen breaks into a fit of laughter.

“Then you’ve probably not heard him, either. He isn’t a lot like us.” He contemplates, “but don’t you look around in class? You haven’t ever noticed him before? He’s in the same year as you! You’re ridiculous!”

Of course I’ve noticed him. 

Every time he’s tried to talk to me, return my money, earned points for his house or even a sneer from Snape. Every time Madam Pomfrey has cooed at him. Even when he braved feeding a Skrewt. I’ve seen him in the hallways, in classes, in the Great Hall. 

But to know someone is to invite heartache and I’ve had my fair share of it.

“You mean he isn’t noisy like the rest of you. And no I haven’t. It’s probably because he’s not as attractive as a Merperson or as lithe as a Basilisk.” I lie. He’s not anything like the magical creatures I’ve studied about. He is a human. And humans are too tricky for my liking. Two weeks with him, two days without him and I seem to have lost my marbles. 

Guess, I am pathetic if not ridiculous.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around either”, Jongdae ponders.

***

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Maybe it was too direct but I need to get this weight off my chest. I can’t spend every Saturday until the end of term with him in close quarters, clearing out Filch’s old files (the Muggle way) with animosity looming between us. Peeves is enough trouble with his water bombs already. And Kyungsoo’s silent treatment is simply too much. 

He brings me Caramel Cobwebs, holds my hand and refuses to talk about it, insists on being tutored, spends Christmas with me, lands me in Detention and starts avoiding me as soon as his friends are back.

“I caused you trouble and you seemed so disturbed by it. I’m sorry. I’ve not been avoiding you...I just thought maybe you wouldn’t like to see me again.” Mumbles Kyungsoo, dropping Filch’s File Number 27 on the floor, leaving a mess of loose, dusty papers.

‘Butterfingers’ here isn’t right at all. I’ve been dying to see him.

I help him clear the mess by re-filing the records of the 27th file in alphabetical order. 

“I’m not mad at you. I was a tad bit worried, that’s all. This is my first time being...punished and none of this is your fault. I’m sorry if I made you feel like that.”

His little smile and an understanding nod makes my heart flutter. Snapping out of it, I read out an amusing record from a random file, “at least we’re not pickling rat brains in the dungeons.” 

His eyes grow wide in horror, “What?”

“Sehun Oh and Kai Kim for bewitching snowballs to hit Professor Snape!” I summarise.

Kyungsoo guffaws, “Yes! This was last year. Baekhyun had dared them to it and those idiots thought Snape wouldn’t notice. They ended up reeking of dead rats for two weeks after that. Nobody would go near them! Not even Baekhyun.”

I put the file back with an ‘ahh’, “So Kai Kim, Sehun Oh, Baekhyun Byun are your friends right? And Chen, too?”

“Yeah, Chen and Chanyeol Park. Why?”

Of course, the Great Oaf.

“Nothing, you’re quite different from them.”

“How so?” Resting his chin in his hand, Kyungsoo inquires and avoiding his eyes I reply, “Well, you’re not very noisy or mischievous?”

He chuckles, “I’m not noisy that’s true. But I literally took you to the Forbidden Forest and it’s the reason why we’re here today sifting through these records. Will you still say that I’m not mischievous, Miss Ravenclaw?”

“I take back my words, Mister Hufflepuff”, I need to get away from this sweet talker, “Now let’s look for more, shall we? Filch certainly has your friends’ adventures chronicled in these files.”

“We’ll probably find something on Chen, too.” He says quietly.

“No wayyy! Chen’s perfect.” I protest.

He throws a file onto the desk, creating a cloud of dust, “What if we do end up finding something about him here, in these records? Then what?”

“Then I’ll….do whatever you ask!” 

Why! Why?

“It’s a deal!”

***

Kyungsoo and I have been seeing each other fortnightly for the sake of Dementors. Let’s just say if he were required to actually fight one off today, he’d end up having his soul sucked out. Does the boy have no solid happy memory or what? Or maybe I’m just a terrible guide.

In class, we’re cordial. But somewhat distracted.

We spend all of our Saturdays together. Turns out he’s a couple of weeks older than me which means we both qualify for  Apparition Lessons. The lessons are scheduled for Saturday mornings and we spend the rest of the day in Detention.

The first lesson was...quite unforgettable. 

For Kyungsoo, me and whoever was witness to our idiocy. Professor Flitwick positioned Ravenclaws into a line as did Professor Sprout with Hufflepuff which had Kyungsoo and me standing next to each other with the requisite distance of five feet between us. The Instructor from the Ministry waved his wand and old-fashioned wooden hoops appeared on the floor in front of us.

“Destination. Determination. Deliberation!” The man who was a white wispy version of humans, squeaked.

“Concentrate upon the destination now. Which is within the hoop. Then focus on your determination to occupy the visualized space. And when I give a command, on three, turn on your spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation!”

Kyungsoo gave me one furtive glance and I lost all sense of Destination and Determination.

“On my command….one….”

I spun on the spot, lost my balance and fell over and Kyungsoo crash landed into my wooden hoop. With our Professors’ eyes on us, I felt myself melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

The inexplicable tension crowding the office during Detention that day left hardly any room for conversation. Which was kind of okay considering the ground we covered with Filch’s wretched files.

Although, the next lesson found us positioned at the two opposite ends of our respective House lines by Professor Flitwick. 

Despite being in the same room, I missed Kyungsoo.

Transfiguration hasn’t been particularly eventful with Kyungsoo. With Professor McGonagall’s hawk-like eyes on us, we don’t dare to so much as shoot a glance in each other’s direction. 

But last week was different.

In a lesson that included conjuring a flock of birds out of our wands, the entire class managed a few feathers, some gross mutations, and severed heads. Everyone except Kyungsoo. He’d succeeded in creating several twittering birds in his third try. Which was not so great for me since the little yellow chirpers zoomed in my direction and circled around my head, singing merrily. This continued even after most of the class, including Professor McGonagall, had already left. His idea of an apology for the inconvenience was flashing his heart-shaped smile. 

I guess it doesn’t take a lot for me to forgive him.

***

It’s nearing the end of the third month of the semester and there’s no dirt on Chen. 

Like I’d said, he’s perfect. We’ve found volumes on the other two, though. Chanyeol and Baekhyun. How they’ve not been expelled yet is anyone’s guess. These delinquents make my little Forest excursion look like a joke.

They’ve set off dungbombs in Snape’s dungeon, cursed each other and ended up having a slug attack right in the middle of their Astronomy practicals, got caught sneaking out of their dorms after curfew only eleven times, transfigured McGonagall’s desk into a ferret to ‘showcase their Transfiguration prowess’, set off Filibuster’s Fireworks in Filch’s office, distracted Filch by jinxing Mrs Norris with Tarantallegra - her legs spasmed wildly out of control, making her appear as though she were dancing. 

No wonder they’re the only students Peeves gets on with.

This little vault of information made Kyungsoo exceptionally happy after moping around for not having anything on Chen, yet. He’s going to use these embarrassing incidents (one of the punishments included cleaning out the bedpans in the Hospital Wing without using magic) against the two of them, he says. 

Detention and shared classes is the only time Kyungsoo and I get to see each other since sixth year is no cakewalk. 

Free periods come by few and far between and are used to keep up with the vast amount of homework we’re being set. We’re studying as though we have exams everyday and lessons themselves are far more demanding than they used to be. Especially since we’re required to use Nonverbal spells now in every lesson that requires incantation. I often catch Kyungsoo’s motley around school. Somehow, they’re everywhere but he’s hardly ever to be seen with them. Working hard towards his ambition to become a Potioneer, I suppose. I wish I were just as passionate about something.

.

.

.

Sixth year is an anomaly. 

Professor Sprout says we’re allowed to swear loudly in today’s lesson since we’re going to be dealing with one of the most dangerous plants ever - Venomous Tentacula - a green, spiky, toothsome magical plant with mobile vines that tries to grab living prey. Kyungsoo quietly stations himself next to me in the greenhouse inviting snarky sideway looks and hushed whispers from a couple of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws around us. “She’s latched on to him now”, sniggers a Ravenclaw boy and I notice Kyungsoo ears turn scarlet. 

A pair of thick gloves on, Professor Sprout takes her place behind a trestle bench in the centre of the greenhouse, “We’ll be extracting Venomous Tentacula’s essence for Professor Slughorn’s experimental Potion No 7 today. Now, who can tell me how we should proceed to extract essence out of a plant that could try to strangle you?”

Kyungsoo’s hand rose in the air like it always does during Potions and Herbology, “By using the Severing Charm, Professor.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Hufflepuff”, Professor Sprout beams at her favourite student, “We’ll use the Severing Charm but Nonverbally. Which will stun Venomous Tentacula and sever its mobile vines. Along with me, on three. One...two...”

I nearly squeal as one of the Tentacula’s sharp fangs grazes my arm. Kyungsoo notices and in a state of panic tries to stun my plant for me only to get seized and bitten by his own. “Diffindo”, I flick my wand at Kyungsoo’s plant, flailing it and flouting the nonverbal spell rule but it’s too late for any of that. The plant’s poison, although non-fatal, has started working on Kyungsoo. 

His skin turns bright purple, knocking the wind out of me.

Professor Sprout rushes him to the Hospital Wing.

***

On Professor Sprout’s special request, Filch has begrudgingly exempted Kyungsoo from this week’s Detention. I saw him for Apparition this morning and we’d both managed to, with Destination, Determination and Deliberation in mind of course, land into our own hoops. 

Kyungsoo looked perfectly fine. Which is to say the purple of his skin from yesterday has been washed over by the roses of his cheeks and the honey of his skin. Madam Pomfrey was required to keep him in only for the day as Professor Sprout was quick to act and the poison hadn’t caused much harm. I feel like a bad friend for not having visited him since lessons ended in the a.m. with Astronomy but he says he was out in a couple of hours at most. 

He’s planned to spend the rest of the day with his friends who he’d not had a chance to catch up with off lately.

By late afternoon I’d unexpectedly fallen into a state of blissful slumber on one of Filch’s old files. Coughing, I woke up engulfed by dust. I had to admit, Detention was boring without Kyungsoo and it’s honestly starting to scare me how used to I gotten to his presence, the faint scent of eucalyptus that trails after him and the ambrosial warmth that infiltrates through his seemingly tougher exterior.

But at the same time I regret misreading him. Mistrusting him or sometimes trusting him too much. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be. His simplicity is comforting but at the same time it is truly baffling. Maybe it’s okay to not give it much thought and let Jupiter do its celestial dance while I do mine by recreating damaged detention records.

#1116

>> Chen Kim

>> Lack of concentration in Charms resulting in production of a hoselike jet of water instead of a fountain from his wand, knocking Professor Flitwick flat on his face in the process

>> Lines - ‘I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick.’

>> Issued by Professor Flitwick

>> Points taken: None

I do a double take when I read the name. 

Chen! Chen? Chen in Detention? How did I never know about this? Even if it’s just lines it is still a punishment. And how did The (then) Ravenclaw Prefect Chen mess up a Charm in Professor Flitwick’s class? I must know. But Kyungsoo’s got to see this first! I quickly replicate the record on a spare parchment and shove it in my bag and with a flick of my wand, I place everything exactly where it belongs in Filch’s office. What’s he going to do about it when he finds out? Give me another detention? Bring it on!

Throwing caution to the wind I allow my feet to take me where Kyungsoo said he’d be. Swiftly descending down the staircase, I exit out the side door down the corridor off the Entrance Hall and run towards the courtyard feeling the harsh winds tugging against my skin.

It’s unusually cold for the first day of April.

Seated between Chanyeol and Baekhyun, he’s laughing away seemingly at the two lanky boys - Kai and Sehun who’ve got their wands at the ready. The courtyard is oddly vacant, save for these four rioters and Kyungsoo. 

Even Chen’s not here. 

All banter comes to an abrupt halt when Kyungsoo’s eyes meet mine, his expression solid as a rock. With a barely perceptible shake of his head he’s signalling me to walk away from here and maybe this is what it feels like being punched in the gut. Four curious pairs of eyes flit between Kyungsoo and me and I feel too numb to even get out of there. Did I make a mistake being here? Is he too embarrassed to acknowledge me in front of his friends? The frigidity of his expression is eating away at my insides. Moments of complete stillness later I sprint out of the courtyard amidst wolf whistles and peals of laughter.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I wipe the angry tears rolling down my cheeks and vow to never see this doe eyed pretender again.

KYUNGSOO

It’s been two weeks since the incident. 

Two whole weeks of her arriving after and leaving before me for our shared lessons. She’s even charted up a Detention routine which limits our interactions to curt nods and dismissive grunts. Needless to say, I still don’t know how to conjure a corporeal Patronus. She thinks she’s the only one I could’ve asked? Not Baekhyun. Not Chanyeol’s Slytherin friend. Just her?

So much for her big Ravenclaw brains. 

She walks around all high and mighty displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty but in the moments of truth she plays ostrich. I wasn’t trying to avoid her. I would never. But she’s a complete idiot who’d rather believe otherwise. An idiot who’ll never look into my eyes to feel what I feel. Even if she does, she’d just never accept it. It took me five and a half years to get her to talk to me. And if it takes just one misunderstanding to drive her away like that, I’m not sure if I want to try again.

.

.

.

The only two things I’ve gained out of my short lived acquaintance with Kyungsoo Doh are Detention and a new foul nickname “the girl who follows Kyungsoo around.”

I hear it everywhere I go. The Great Hall, the corridors and the Common Room isn’t very forgiving either. So all thanks to Kyungsoo, I’ve retracted into my wretched shell. I arrive late for lessons and swoop out like an owl as soon as it’s over. I spend every free period in one corner of the Library and try to avoid the Common Room as much as I can.

All these years I spent pretending like the cute, short, portly boy I met on the Hogwarts Express didn’t exist were far better than the last couple of months of letting him into my small Universe. In all honesty, I’ve started to loathe him. It takes immense self control for me to not have his pretty face eat slugs every time I cross paths every time I lay my eyes on it.

“Now, this one here….who can tell me what this is. My dear boy, Kyungsoo?” Holding a vial of liquid pearl in the air for us to see, play-acts Professor Slughorn. Another potential victim of my out-of-character slug attack.

“It’s Amortentia”, Kyungsoo’s voice reaches my ears from the far end of the dungeon. 

“It is indeed. It almost seems foolish to ask”, he says, bringing the vial to my eye level, “but I assume you could tell me what it does?”

“It’s a love potion, Professor.” I say.

“It’s not just a love potion, sir. It’s the most powerful love potion in the world.” Kyungsoo offers and I feel the heat rising up my cheeks. I hate having this volley regarding a love potion with Kyungsoo.

“Excellent! And how did you recognize it, my dear?” Slughorn directs his question to me.

“By its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen.”

“And?” His theatrics redirect to Kyungsoo.

“And the steam rising in characteristic spirals.” His dulcet tone echoes in the gloomy dungeon.

“Well, well, take ten well-earned points each for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw”, says Slughorn genially, “would you two please be kind enough to come forward?”

Kyungsoo and I take, in what it seems like, ages to be stood on either side of Slughorn, arms over our chests, looking in opposite directions.

“There is one more key characteristic --”

“It’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us”, Interrupting Slughorn, Kyungsoo and I garble.

“So to demonstrate”, Slughorn brings the vial closer to my face, “my dear?”

Consumed by the heady steam rising out of the potion, I clear my throat, “I can smell honey and...eucalyptus and….” Dittany. But I leave it at that, “That’s all Professor.”

“Very well, Mister Doh?” Slughorn quizzes.

“Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion…..Vanilla and …..Dittany.”

***

‘Evanesco!’ 

With that my last bottle of Sleekeazy vanishes in thin air.

“What are you doing up so late?” Chen’s groggy voice makes me jump but I counter, “What are you doing up so late?”

“Early. Up so early. It’s three in the morning”, yawning he waves his Charms textbook in front of my face, “Protean Charm.”

“Vanishing Spell”, I say pointing my wand at the empty table in front of us.

Chen relaxes into the chair next to mine and I let my gaze wander around the deserted Common Room. It really is a work of art encapsulated in all the blue and bronze. The stars painted over the domed ceiling, shine the brightest at this hour of the night, waltzing gracefully across the midnight blue carpet. If they were my stars, they’d wobble and fall owing to their two left feet. Could they, in the very least, give me a reason for this nagging ache in my chest?

‘Aguamenti!’

Drenched and dishevelled by a jet of cold water that shot out of Chen’s wand, I silence his raucous laugh and shower him with the choicest expletives before lifting the spell and drying myself.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR!” I demand.

“You seemed so lost I was tempted. It’s what my dad uses to wake me up when I oversleep, you know? A nice cold bucket of water.” Chen’s snicker causes me to silence him again and he continues to blather soundlessly. How is this idiot so energetic at three in the morning!

“I’m going to bed”, wearily, I get up to leave and wave my wand at him.

“Wait! Stay”, says Chen, “It’s been quite a while!”

Groaning I slump back into the chair without further protest, “You’re right...so how’s our Head Girl doing?”

“She’s doing great. We’re doing great! She’s signed up to intern with the Ministry this summer under a certain Arthur Weasley...The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office.” Chen beams and making me want to pinch his cheeks in adoration.

“Congratulations Chen! Ah but I’m not surprised. She’s always been as bright as a button.” I can’t help but coo at these lovebirds. At how absolutely smitten they are with each other while I suffer with an inexplicable tug of longing.

“And you, not so bright. Stopped following Kyungsoo around, have we?” Putting on his ‘big brother cloak’ he quizzes me with a raised eyebrow and I shrink back into my chair out of embarrassment, “You know about it?”

“The whole school’s talking about it!”

“I’ve stopped ‘following him around’ now why isn’t anybody talking about that, eh?” My anger is misdirected at Chen.

“He’s been talking about that. About how you’ve been acting like he’s invisible. A notch below satisfactory behaviour, am I right?” The low rumble of his voice thunders.

“You’re defending your stupid friend here! So much for being unbiased, hah!” Seething, I argue.

“You’re absolutely right Dung Brains I am defending my stupid friend here which is you. Now tell me, airhead, what’s it called when two wizards have their wands pointed at each other, in a combative position.”

I groan, he can’t really be asking me that but the urging silence is uncomfortable.

“A duel”, I mumble.

“You, my dear, were walking straight into a battlefield of hair-brained blokes who were surrounded by stink pellets, dungbombs and fireworks. It was only natural for Kyungsoo to ask you to skedaddle, make a run for it...save your life! If only you’d have let him explain?”

Guilt courses through my veins and I find myself in the defensive, “But then why didn’t he just tell me instead of giving me that terrifying look? I thought he’s ...I thought he didn’t want to see me...and..and why didn’t he do anything when those great prunes started laughing at me? Also why do they keep causing trouble everywhere they go? Do they want to fill up Filch’s office with their records before they graduate? It only means more work for me. And for Kyungsoo.”

“They were celebrating a Muggle custom, April Fools’ Day as per the wise counsel of their frog brained leader Baekhyun and Kyungsoo was only trying to protect you. And you were too obtuse to see that. Why won’t you give him a chance? He’s one of the good ones, you know? And those prunes aren’t too bad either. They were laughing not at you but at him...they’re just happy for their friend.”

“Happy? Why?” My heart goes into a wild frenzy.

“You should ask him that. We’re going to be at the Three Broomsticks for Baekhyun’s birthday celebration on our trip to Hogsmeade this Saturday. So naturally, your Detention is suspended for the week. Come along?” He eyes me expectantly.

“Not in a million years”, I deadpan.

“Don’t be stupid”, with a flick of his wand he makes the three bottles of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion reappear, “and live a little.”

***

On Saturday morning I went down for breakfast feeling thoroughly depressed but trying my best to act normal. Kyungsoo was seated with Yoongi at the Hufflepuff table. He was stealing glances at the Ravenclaw table before his eyes met mine. Pursing his lips he nodded slightly in acknowledgment. For a fleeting second I had a strange desire of joining him at the Hufflepuff table but I quietly slipped into my seat besides the fifth year girl who’s been tutoring Kyungsoo’s friend Kai and has been a tad chipper ever since.

The largest portion of my headspace has been occupied with an internal debate on whether I should apologize to Kyungsoo or not. But I’ve noticed how he’d not been trying too hard either. If I handed him the Detention routine he went along with it without a single word of protest. If I’ve been ignoring him in class he hasn’t been exactly forthcoming. The familiar sense of finality sets deep into my bones and I’ve lost my appetite. I gulp down my tea and slip out of the Great Hall to pay Hagrid a long overdue visit.

.

.

.

They never tire of it. 

The two boys from Slytherin provoked me to strike them with the Twitchy-Ear hex. They’d found it particularly amusing to call me by my stale nickname as I made my way down to Gladrags Wizardwear to buy Hagrid a new moleskin robe. 

He’d been exceptionally understanding despite my despicable behaviour. Not having visited him in nearly six months and communicated with him only via a flurry of owls, I had no idea Fangs had been suffering with distemper. Kyungsoo’s been helping out with a self prepared brew to keep him stable. Explains why he’s been frequenting Hagrid’s hut. Also explains why he didn’t come see me on the second day that I’d spent in the Hospital Wing.

And my attitude towards him explains exactly why he chose to keep the truth about helping me get to the Hospital Wing that day. 

I don’t know how to thank him or apologize to him. Maybe he’s just better off without me. 

I am here in Hogsmeade on a whim. 

As the sun fades into a deeper blue my feet stop outside The Three Broomsticks and I’m desperate to see him. But he’s at a friend’s party and I’d only be making it awkward for everyone.

“Hullo”, a familiar honeyed voice reaches my ears making me stop dead in my tracks.

Taken by surprise, I turn and tip my head back slightly to look up at the large eyed boy, his face bearing that lethal heart shaped smile. I hug myself despite the warmth of May wishing I could make myself smaller.

Having rehearsed an entire apology speech in the shower in the morning, I found myself strangely tongue tied at the sight of him. He prods me to walk the quaint streets of Hogsmeade by his side.

“I’m sorry”, staring into the distance, I muster with a giddy head and a seized up throat.

“No. I’m sorry”, says Kyungsoo as his hand slowly finds mine, inviting stares from passersby, “I should’ve...communicated better. But promise to never shut me out again? I couldn’t take it.”

Fireworks go off in my head at the sudden contact, “No, no I’m sorry I should’ve trusted you and… I promise to never shut you out again.” I couldn’t take it either.

“So what are we now?” He interjects, lacing his warm fingers with mine.

If only he could hear the thunder of my heart, “We’re friends again?”

“Friends who fancy each other? Isn’t that a bit odd?”

“I-- umm, I--”.

“I --- umm?” He teases, “Okay...I fancy you. I always have. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

Going up on my toes I plant a little kiss on his jaw, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I’ve finally gone mad.

His fingers run over his jaw lightly and he chuckles, “If you attack me like this again I’d have to report you to Professor Sprout.” Letting go off my hand he wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I feel a tingling sensation run down my spine.

Having circled the rural settlement for nearly an hour, we’re famished. We find ourselves on the High Street, right outside of Honeydukes, “After you, M’lady!” Crouching down in a bow, Kyungsoo gestures me to walk in.

M’lady?

Together we stare in wonder at the shelves upon shelves of the most succulent looking sweets imaginable. We’ve both, individually, been here countless times but together we feel like children lost in wonderland. I realize how light my pockets feel as Kyungsoo’s eyes wander around the shop ambitiously.

“Kyungsoo, I only have enough for Hagrid’s moleskin robe. I didn’t think I’d need a lot of gold for this trip...I could make a quick run to a Cashpoint first”, embarrassed, I admit.

“If we were to compound the five Galleons that I’ve owed you for six years now, I’m certain I could buy you half the shop!” The portly Ambrosius Flume, the owner of Honeydukes, clears his throat in annoyance at Kyungsoo’s comment, eyeing us suspiciously. 

Buy half the shop we did. 

Kyungsoo wasn’t entirely lucky with all the flavours of Berti Botts having sampled soap, dirt and earwax while I almost choked on a rotten-egg flavoured one. The Pepper Imps had us breathing fire at each other and a lock of my hair got caught in the line which Kyungsoo doused just in time and saved my scalp from going up in flames. We pigged on Peppermint Toads which made us sick after they literally started hopping frantically in our stomachs. 

Kyungsoo suggested we make a quick stop at Dogweed and Deathcap for a handful of leaves of a very foul smelling plant that were supposed to help us keep our barbaric fare down. When I absolutely refused to chew on them, Kyungsoo force fed me. The weird red dotted black leaves made our mouths go completely dry and left us with a pungent after taste.

“If you wanted me dead, you could’ve just used the Unforgivable Curse instead!” I cried.

We realized if we weren’t quick about it, we’d just end up breaking curfew so we sprinted to Gladrags Wizardwear to pick up Hagrid’s robe only to be tempted to by the thought of staying longer in each other’s company. Going back to Hogwarts meant being held hostage by the blue and bronze and the yellow and black. I’ve never appreciated Hogwarts’ divisive House system, even more so now.

“We’ll make it in time if we leave exactly at 9:30 p.m.” Kyungsoo reasons.

“How much longer do we have now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“20ish?” he says sheepishly.

Burying my face into his warm and fuzzy sweater, I whine, “That’s not a lot.”

Squeezing me in a hug he says, “Then let’s make the most of it!”

We enter the shop that’s apparently been dressing ‘the Elegant Wizard’ for over two centuries with lurid socks and flashy robes. I chance upon a moleskin one which I quickly set aside for Hagrid and a furry red one with silver and gold stars that bounced off of it. I egged Kyungsoo to try it on over his all black Muggle clothing along with a bright yellow hat made out of chicken and pheasant feathers. He on the other hand picked out a black velvet robe with a high collar, a set of fake fangs and dragon hide boots that made me look like a vicar at something that the Muggles call a “rock concert.”

The disapproving help at the shop agreed to get our magazine cover worthy looks on camera. She said she’d get them printed and that we could get a copy on our next visit for fifteen Sickles.

Along with Hagrid’s robe, I purchased a pair of socks for the birthday boy Baekhyun. They were patterned with wolves that howled when the socks got too smelly.

And then, just like that, it was time for us to go back to Hogwarts.

***

Which came first; the Phoenix or the Flame?

The eagle knocker drawls and for the first time in six years I have no clue what it’s talking about. I’ve lost all ability to reason and all I want to right now is run over to the Hufflepuff Tower. A tall, thin boy who stood leaned against the wall next to the door comes out of the shadows ‘tsk-ing’ at me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the smart ones? Did Kyungsoo really manage to dumb you down?” He chuckles before proceeding to answer the knocker, leading us into the Common Room. 

I choose to not answer him but he continues to look at me questioningly. He extends his arm and says, “I’m Sehun Oh, fifth-year.”

“I know”, I say, “I’m --”

“I know who you are. The pretty girl who’s captured Kyungsoo’s heart thus breaking mine.” He dramatically clutches at his chest, falls and rolls over on the floor. 

Excusing myself, I softly apologize to the elongated Flobberworm and head over to the Dormitory.

“Wait!”, he calls out, “I didn’t mean to weird you out! Are you up for a game of Chess? You’re practically a friend now… considering what you have going on with Kyungsoo. And I’m really bored.”

What do I have going on with Kyungsoo and what does Flobberworm know about it?

Unsure of my role here as a friend or an entertainer, I decide to indulge him with, “...just one game!”

“Wicked! Let me call Chen and you can ask his girl to join.. also Miss Ravenclaw!”

“Aren’t we all Ravenclaw?”

“Sorry...you know the girl who’s tutoring Kai?”

This is by far the most eventful day I’ve had in all of my six years at Hogwarts.

***

Resting his chin on my shoulder, he’s circled his arms around my waist as we stare into the distance from the Wooden Bridge. Every free period finds us together, somewhere very far away from prying eyes. The seventh floor and the Bridge are our usual haunts. Although, we think of these excursions as extremely detrimental to our upcoming exams, we realize there’s nothing to be gained out of fighting a troll. That is, our intense feelings for each other. But I’m not that brave and honestly neither is he. The shadows underneath his eyes are self explanatory.

“We need to chart up a study schedule. We barely have any time left!” I say bursting out of our saccharine bubble.

“Sure”, he nods, “whatever you say.”

“Kyungsoo!” Freeing myself from his embrace I turn around to face him, “We need to make it to the seventh year!”

“Who says we won’t?”

He’s loopy.

“Kyungsoo!”

“That’s me.”

“Kyungsoo!” 

He pulls me into a hug again and I’m close enough to see the constellation of moles on his neck. “Mmm Sleekeazy”, he hums, sniffing my hair. Distracting me.

“Do you need some?” I ask, immediately realising how his hair seems to be getting shorter each day. I run a hand over his head, “guess you don’t. What do you keep doing with your hair?”

“I like it like that. It’s more comfortable”, he sighs, “Wait! You don’t like it?”

“I can learn to live with it. Besides, more Sleekeazy for me. Keeps my hair from looking like a bunch of Flobberworms!”

Flobberworm! 

I have a Chess game to win!

“Kyungsoo! I have to go. I need to win this time. That Sehun boy is ridiculously good at Chess. Even Chen and I together don’t stand a chance against him.”

“Wait! You’re abandoning me for Sehun?” He asks, mock angrily.

“Noooo! I just….have to win this time. And you need to go chart up a study schedule for us. Also, what are you doing next week?”

“Whatever you’re doing next week”, he says, batting his eyelashes. And I try to suppress a smile.

“Have you ever watched a Quidditch match before?”

“Baekhyun’s Captain of Gryffindor, Kai is the Keeper. Chanyeol is the captain of the Slytherin team and Sehun’s the Seeker for Ravenclaw. And Yoongi is a lousy Beater. So yes, I have. Except I’ve never found myself rooting for my own House. And if you tell those Mandrakes this, I’m afraid I will have to break up with you despite you being the prettiest, smartest, nicest girl I’ve ever met. I’m sorry I don’t make the rules.” 

“Aww”, I tease, “Noted. And you could’ve just said yes. Let’s watch the Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw match next week?”

“We’ll be in different stands!” He cries.

“Oh! That’s absolutely terrible but can we go anyway? I finally have someone to root for.”

“You’ve always had Ravenclaw to root for!”

“No, silly! Sehun Oh.”

“Ah! Of course”, he says, putting his arms around me. Again.

***

On the morning of the match, I had my game face on. I don’t even know why.

Having successfully followed the study schedule that Kyungsoo had laid out for us, our mood was light, and we were ready to let our hair down. Which, for all practical purposes, wasn’t something Kyungsoo was capable of. We were walking up to the pitch until it was time for us to go our separate ways.

“You turn right and I’ll go left”, I instruct Kyungsoo.

“I’m aware of where the Hufflepuff stands are. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Okay then”, I giggle, “see you later?”

“No...you’re joining me in the Hufflepuff stands.”

“Do you want me to get expelled? Was that your grand scheme all along?”

“Of course they’re going to expel you for this. And if they do, I promise to voluntarily drop out.”

“What will we do then? Deal in stolen artefacts?”

“Looks like you have it all planned out.”

“No, I just know someone...great we’re off on a tangent again! No, I’m not joining you in the Hufflepuff stands. Bye bye Kyungsoo Doh. See you later!”

“You’re bound by law to break the law”, he hands me a neatly folded parchment, “Chen’s detention record. When you came to see me that day, it made me wonder. What was so important? So I went back to sift through the records you’d worked on and voila!”

“What’s ‘voila’?”

“Don’t digress. Come along, house-elf and find me a good seat.”

“Yessir”, I give up. And covering all the blue and bronze of my uniform with the black robe, I sneak into the Hufflepuff stands. 

The things I do for this bald idiot.

The pitch is pulsing with a contagious energy and I find myself completely engaged as soon as Madam Hooch’s first whistle sounds. All the whizzing and whirring players make my head spin so I have my eyes trained on the Ravenclaw goalpost except for when I’m checking up on Sehun’s progress with the Snitch. Ravenclaw hasn’t been doing too well and with the game down to it’s final few minutes, Sehun really is their only hope. Kyungsoo pulls me down everytime I jump or squeal for the Ravenclaw side, “Do you want to get thrashed?” he whispers.

And just then the commentator shouts, “Ravenclaw’s Seeker Sehun has caught the Snitch! RAVENCLAW HAS WON THE MATCH!”

My voice is hoarse from all the screaming. I turn around to face Kyungsoo pulling him in a tight hug annoying all the Hufflepuff fans around us. 

In a fleeting moment of exhilaration, his lips are on mine and the world stops.

***

"Happy memory!" I parrot for our last lesson before the year ends but Kyungsoo seems to be awfully distracted. That teasing smile on his face he's trying not so hard to contain is making my heart thump against my ribcage.

"Focus", I croon once again with mock annoyance but my brain is mush and I feel like I'm levitating because there's no way my jelly legs could be supporting my stance right now. He sways closer to give me a quick peck on the nose. 

"Happy memory", he whispers as his eyes search mine. Brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face, he allows his thumb to softly caress my cheek. His fingers pry for mine before they're intertwined in a steady grip. 

We take our positions, raise our wands and yell with a flick, "Expecto Patronum!"

Two lynxes dance around the Room of Requirement illuminating it with the gleam of their silver.

Dumbstruck, I tilt my head to face Kyungsoo, “Your Patronus...”

“Our Patronuses”, he whispers.

“We have the same --”

Kyungsoo reaches for my waist and draws me close, his plush lips an agonizing touch away from mine. Twirling my fingers in the seams of his robe, I close my eyes and feel my breath hitch in my throat. A tingling sensation spreads through every fragment of my being as his hand finds the back of my neck and his lips meet mine in a dizzying kiss.

.

.

.

Two Years Later

My house looks wonky.

And, no. It’s not the after effect of Apparating here. A wonky house held up by charms in the middle of nowhere was the only thing Kyungsoo and I could afford with his meagre pay at J. Pippin’s Potions and the modest “severance” I received after being practically disinherited by Gran for wasting my time with a Muggle-born.

I trudge the short distance from the shabby front garden to the main door, weary from my dismal performance in today’s Stealth and Tracking lesson. 

The door swings open and the pungent odour coming out from Kyungsoo’s makeshift Apothecary in our basement makes me want to barf. Putting a bubble around my head to avoid the smell, I traipse to the basement.

A bald Kyungsoo is bent over a cauldron, the steam from which has fogged up his glasses and has apparently made him go deaf. I poke him on his shoulder to grab his attention, making him jump. Therefore causing his little vials to smash on the floor.

I just set us back by twenty Galleons.

Kyungsoo is quick to clear the sloppy and shard-y mess I’d made and reverse the Bubble Head charm I’d put myself under. He covers up the putrid cauldron immediately.

Tears well up in my eyes and I lean into his chest. 

The world is bleak.

“You’re home”, he coaxes, gently running a gloved hand over my head.

“Remind me again why I chose to become an Auror? I could’ve done anything with my perfect N.E.W.T. scores. I’m disastrous at this!” I’m sobbing against his soft ‘t-shirt’ as he comforts me with a ‘shhh..it’s okay’. “The chickens have made such a mess in the coop, Soo and I haven’t heard back from the Auror Office on the internship yet. We have a piteous stack of gold in our vault at Gringotts….” sniffling I continue, “You know we could just keep our money in a safe here..those clever Goblins are making so much money out of our money! The vault is a bad decision...we’re losing more money because of it. I hate the vault and the chickens and this house! What if it crumbles down while we’re asleep? What will we do then?” I pull away from him, my wide eyes demanding answers.

“We won’t have to worry about much if the roof comes crashing on us”, He reasons with a slight teasing smile. 

“The very stringent Auror Office accepted you because you’re a brilliant witch and right, I believe you enrolled with them only to spite Gran. And honestly my love, you’re being too hard on yourself. You did really well on the Concealment and Disguise training, didn’t you?” He says, lifting my chin up.

“Also on the Memory Charm”, I offer quietly, making him chuckle.

“Exactly! What else is bothering you? Ahh the chickens and the vault?” 

“Also the fact that Gran hates you and your parents think I’m a sinister witch who has tied their son down”, my lips begin to tremble again.

He sighs.

“I promise to take care of the chicken situation tomorrow and my love, we finally have a reason to keep that vault”, his eyes enlarge into beautiful brown circles and his plush lips stretch into a heart. A shrill pitch betrays his otherwise deep, calm voice, “Dogweed and Deathcap has offered me a job with a pay raise and a free supply of ingredients! Which is a great thing because ever since you’ve started your Auror training you’ve practically emptied my Dittany stores!”

“KYUNGSOO! I’m so happy for you!” Screaming, I jump into his arms and he twirls me around, dancing and giggling.

Panting, he says excitedly, “Wait! There’s more. Apparently the article on the benefits of Confusing Concoction I co-authored with Slughorn’s Warlock friend’s daft grand nephew?”

I nod vigorously.

“That article really took off! One of the reviews called me a ‘promising Potioneer’! Gran apparently got a whiff of that article...”

My expression soured, “And?”

“She’s invited us home to discuss it!” He rummages for a letter in his desk drawer and hands it to me, “Take a look at this!”

The letter reads in Gran’s shrewd yet artistic handwriting. She mentions, to the best of her abilities, how proud she is of me for following my parents’ footsteps and that she’d like to see us for dinner to discuss our ‘future’.

“She’s coming around”, Kyungsoo crouches to peer into my blank eyes.

“Took her long enough.”

“There’s one more thing”, he says sheepishly.

It looks like an evening full of surprises. 

Kyungsoo gives me a glossy magazine with a still picture of a woman in the most garish outfit I’ve ever seen with the word VOGUE sprawled across her scrawny frame in big bold white letters.

“Soo, why are you giving me a Muggle magazine?”

“For Muggle clothing inspo.”

I hate it when he uses these ridiculous foreign terms like “inspo” and “voila”. “Voila” is definitely his favourite.

“Why would I need clothing inspiration, Soo? Do you not like what I wear?”

“I love what you wear. Even when you don’t wear --”

“Soo!”

“Okay umm we have to take a trip to London...my parents would like to have us over for the weekend….you’re”, he pauses, “you’re okay with that right?”

It’s a lot to process. 

What if they prosecute me by hanging? I’ve read about what Muggles do to witches. Idly running through the pages of the magazine which suddenly seems too heavy for my arms, I buy time. Kyungsoo patiently waits for my answer.

“What’s ‘goss’?” I mumble, eyes trained on ‘Vogue’.

“Gossip?”

“Ahh...I have some ‘goss’ on Baekhyun and his girlfriend.” I digress and let me.

His brows crinkle in concern, “Oh-kay?”

“They were caught snogging in one of the Training Rooms yesterday...”

“And what became of them?”

“I don’t know.” They were made to clean all the Training Rooms the Muggle way. “Kyungsoo, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He pulls me into his arms and presses his soft lips to my forehead, “We’ll get through this.”

“Of course, we will. We’re soulmates”, I say into his chest, reminiscing the time we’d kissed while two lynxes waltzed around us.

Suddenly, with a loud boom, Kyungsoo’s cauldron went flying in the air. It’s bubbling hot contents splattered on the walls of our basement. The impact made us duck under his desk.

“I forgot to turn off the burner.”

[korpuskat]

Kinktober Day 3 - Overhaul/Reader

[Ao3 Mirror]

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,134 Summary: Overhaul’s curiosity drives him to explore your other holes. Contains: Previous Noncon, dubcon, kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome; Sounding, lowkey edging, all kinds of mental health issues Reader is super not doing okay. =====

Time oozes past, runs backwards and slides forwards in an endless haze. There are no clocks in your room, no window to judge the days. Even your meals, which are usually brought by whichever unfortunate underling has met his ire lately, come at what feels like random intervals. All you have is the right now the exact moment you exist in, timed by the beating of your heart, the next inhale in your chest-- but then again, there are the times when even those lose count. When his hand touches you, unwrites you- until your heart beats again, some unknown time later, and the pattern resumes.

Day has lost meaning entirely when you measure time in when he'll come next. With knife or- more recently- with the occasional meal, that's all the interaction that even registers in the ever-slowing cogs of your mind. It's the lack of stimulation, you tell yourself- the absolute isolation with nothing to separate one moment from another except for his presence, his voice, his touch.

And just when you think you'll lose the last scraps of your sanity to the monotonous nothingness (he's been busy, he said last time, in the lab, wouldn't need fresh samples from you for a while. you had told him okay in a flat voice that made one sharp eyebrow quirk up) he appears again. The door to your room, your cell, cracking open until a rectangle of white light washes over you.

You get up too fast, walk with him. To have something to do, is what you tell yourself. He'll force you there anyway, might as well keep it painless for now. But that's not why and you know it.

He doesn't have to guide you to the table, which earns you another strange look. You sit there, fidget, feel slightly cold against the vinyl and wait as he swaps his full beak-like mask for a simple black cloth one. He doesn't bother if he's just getting blood, the beak mask won't get in the way of that. You stomach twists, knows it's something more again.

You wait for Chrono to come in, to fit you into the restraints and take notes, play nurse to Overhaul's mad doctor. But Chrono does not arrive and white gloved-hands tap the arm rest. Ah. It's one of those days.

You comply, let him strap your arms down one by one, the leather belt tied down too tight, makes your fingertips tingle.

It used to be a distraction- these days. A reason to remember why you hate him, a vile act that kept you sane until- until it just became another set of sensations, another chance for you to leave your gray, meaningless cell. The ache in your head sharpens as he pulls the next strap around your other wrist.

"I missed you." You don't know why you say it. Maybe it's just because there's no one else you can say it to. He's all you have left, after all. You meet his eyes in some vain hope he'll stabilize you, stop your mind from capsizing in the ocean of trauma he's created. "Does that... mean there's something wrong with me?"

"You're sick." is all he says, resumes his task.

"Oh." When he moves on to the strap for your torso, one that cuts into your skin just below your rib cage, it again makes your stomach flip. He usually leaves that one free; he must really need you to be still today. You flex your fingers, push blood back into them. "You'll fix me, won't you?"

His hands don't pause this time, keeps right on working. "Of course. I'm going to fix everyone."

He starts with your ankles then, adjusting your legs until they're in the right position before tying them down too. The brush of his gloves against your thigh makes you jump, but you force yourself to relax before he can chide you. The thin material of your shift pushes up past your waist with no resistance- and like so many times before, you are bare to him. He takes something black from the tray table- and you can't stop yourself.

"Would you..." Your voice trails off. You expect him to just ignore you, but find his golden eyes have slid from the warm place between your legs to your face. Tears fall without warning and shame makes you turn your face into your shoulder (even though you know well enough he's never minded your crying before). You continue before you annoy him, voice tiny and foreign, "talk to me?"

His hand smooths across your thigh; if you were not tied down, it would be as though he were keeping you from closing your legs. "Why?"

"Please..." His thumb, still covered in the cloth of his glove, prods between your labia, draws outward, opens you up before him. Cool air graces your pussy and you shiver, bite your lip. What could you say, really? That he's the only person you've spoken with in you don't know how long, that even as you've bled out on this very table you strain to listen to him speak with Chrono just to find some twinge of normalcy? You meet his gaze again and beg. "Overhaul..."

Two fingers prod at your entrance, soak in the slickness there and draw it up over your slit. You tremble with shame, rejection the worst thing he's done to you since the last time he unmade your body. And then, as he rubs your clit in clinical circles, he starts. "I found something online." Relief washes over you. He eyes your thigh as it relaxes under his palm. "A while ago, actually, but I had no need to explore it."

He presses one finger into you. The cloth chafes in its typical way. except... not. It's easier, slicker than it normally is when he starts. "Curiosity has a way of sticking around, even when you'd prefer it not to." A second finger joins in. "Is that why you want me to talk? You're curious about me or what I'm doing?"

"N-No, but," You force out. He doesn't look up as you speak this time, continues on with his movements. Usually he'd stop by now, as soon as you were wet enough to make it comfortable for him. "What are you- ah," He curls his fingers, makes your thighs strain against the straps. "curious about?"

Overhaul hums, withdraws the fingers inside you, but still strokes over your clit as he takes something from the black case he'd grabbed before. "Your Gräfenberg spot is particularly sensitive." And with the same hand he holds up a thin metal rod. "I read it can also be stimulated through urethral penetration." With his thumb on your clit you struggle to make sense of what's going on past the weak rocking of your hips.

He stops then, leaves your pussy pulsing and warm, as he retrieves a tube of lubricant from the tray. You're wet enough, aren't you? You certainly feel like you are, had practically been grinding against his fingers. But he doesn't pour it onto you; he squeezes out a thick glob onto the metal rod, holds it up so you can see as he smears the clear gel over its length. Only when he's satisfied that it is covered does he wipe the excess off onto your pussy. The cold makes you tense- as does its location. Too low to be on your clit, but too high to be for your entrance.

It didn't seem like him to miss on something so obvious- and his hands come back between your legs. One keeps your labia spread wide, while the other- you tense, peer down your body as best you can. The angle doesn't help, gives you no clue except- except that his other hand is held away from your body, the rod between his fingertips as something prods against you.

"Tell me how it feels." It presses in. Stinging- that's the only way you can describe it. Different than when Overhaul didn't stretch you enough. At least your pussy had been stretched before, was built to accommodate that at all. This tiny hole was not.

"Hurts," You huff.

He stops. "How badly?" Your pussy clenches on instinct, a feeble attempt to force the intruder out of your body. Between your legs, the rod bobs midair.

"Uncomfortable. Bearable." Perhaps your pain scale has been knocked loose from one too many uses of his Quirk. As strange as it feels, it's doesn't even register compared to the moment between the touch of his fingers and actual death. Overhaul begins to slide it in further and you whine, "Feels weird."

"Give it a moment." He, however, does not- he pushes the rod deeper, that stinging feeling crawling further inside your body. It doesn't hurt, it just feels... wrong. That innate sense of knowing it's not meant to be used that way, your body trying too hard to reject it. He goes on, on until he stops- apparently deciding it is in deep enough. "Now?"

"Still stings." You mutter, clench around it again. "Feels like... like I need to, uh." Your cheeks heat and you bite your lip. You shouldn't be embarrassed about it, considering what he's doing to you, but you still can't bring yourself to finish the sentence.

"Perhaps, you just need some additional stimulation." For a moment you fear what that means exactly- and then his thumb is settling over your clit again. He strokes you with slow circles, draws pleasure with his touch until the discomfort in your urethra fades in favor of the soft tingling in your clit. It's different, somehow. With the space just below those sensitive nerves stuffed full, it makes the sensation that much more acute.

"Feels weird," You murmur, twist against the restraints. "Full."

"Do you enjoy it?" His thumb never breaks pace, never speeds up despite the growing agitation in your hips.

"I don't..." His fingernail catches on the hood of your clit through his glove and your voice falters. "Don't know... I..." You pinch your eyes closed, pull against the binds of your wrists as the pleasure in your clit spreads, warms you from the inside out- "I'm close."

His touch leaves you and the whimper that escapes you makes you duck your head in shame. "Not yet," He says, no trace of judgement in his voice. "Need to test your internal sensitivity with the sound inserted."

There's no time to come down, just his fingers pushing into you. At first it hurts, makes that stinging sensation come back, but as they slide in you again, he spreads them to rest on either side of the rod.

"It's..." You start, but can't find the right word for it. Different, strange, weird, not right- but that's not quite it. His fingers move, reignite that spark in your belly, still suspended and waiting to pop-

"Tell me." He says again.

"It's, I don't-" You shake your head, writhe against the straps because it's all you can do- that or watch his covered face as he undoes you in a new way.

"How does it-" He curls his fingers.

"Oh!" He pushes up against the rod. No longer moving parallel, he squishes that sensitive front wall between his fingers and the metal sound. You place the feeling now. "It's good! It's good!"

"Don't interrupt me." He chides, but doesn't stop the motion, keeps milking that spot for all it has while you try and fail to be quiet. "How does it feel?"

"It's-" You break off into a keen.

"Tell me and I'll make you cum."

"Feels full." You gasp, throw your head back. "Makes everything feel shah!- sharper!" His fingers curl again, stroke along the length of the rod until you're shivering, "Makes it tighter and I-" Your nails bite into the vinyl, legs kicking uselessly and you can't breathe, "Please, please, Overhaul, I-"

His thumb strokes your clit, falls in perfect rhythm with his fingers. "Good, now cum." Your whole lower body seizes, clenches around the metal, each pulse of your cunt making the end of it jump between his hands. Every throb of your clit, every time he curls his fingers, it's like a lightning rod, draws the pleasure out until you're choking for air. He keeps going, lets you ride out your high as he counts under his breath, measures out how long it takes for your thighs to stop quaking. Counts again after he withdraws his hands, watches and waits as your body shifts, twitches in the aftershocks.

He does not, however, wait before unbuckling his belt and pressing the head of his cock- hot and hard and swollen against your sensitive, still-fluttering entrance. "Should check if it's any different with this, shouldn't we?"

=====

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[obscureoperations]

What about Martin fingering himself for the very first time??? I don't think he would do that out of the blue, so let's pretend he read about it in a gay porno magazine ;) GOD the sounds that would fall out of his lips would be divine

I um... Yes! This. I believe I wrote something like this before, but it’s like wayyyy back in my archives. Not the best, but here ya go! I’m here for it! Nsfw

The breeze that drifts in through the open window does next to nothing to cool his overheated skin. Martin was splayed out in the middle of the bed, completely bare, a fine sheen of sweat already forming across his brow. His body was on fire, his left thigh was threatening to spasm. His wrist was bent at an increasingly uncomfortable position. If only he could get just..a..bit more--

His lips fall open as sparks erupt behind his eyes, he finally found that spot again. With renewed vigor his heels dig into the bed as he continues to assault himself with lube slicked fingers. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it.. It was the only thing on his mind since he found that magazine. He was rummaging through one of your drawers, he just wanted to borrow your walkie talkies. Call it the price of snooping, he knew exactly what was in that box. It was where you kept all your ‘toys’ and various devices, some of which he had used on you before. Heat rose to his face at the memory, he found himself scrounging deeper.

 Soon enough he saw it, it was one of those magazines with two greased up guys on the cover. He wanted to laugh..he really didn't think that they were your type. Out of curiosity he begins to leaf through the magazine, the pictures get increasingly lewd. He was about to just put it away until he flipped to the center of the magazine. What on earth were they…? He flips the page holding it further away from his  face. How were they even--where was it supposed to go? Upon closer inspection his eyes grow wide as realization washes over him. He can’t describe why his stomach begins to flutter as heat begins to rise to his face. It was around that time that you cleared your throat, causing him to drop the magazine. He began to stammer, lamely trying  to come up with an excuse.

“I was… I was just looking for your walkie talkies.” He mumbled,face bright red.

“They’re in the same place they’re always been Martin… under the bed.”

“Oh..” He offered lamely. 

Your eyes cut over to the box, various objects strewn about, once your eyes land on the magazine laying face down on the carpet, you have to bite down on the insides of your cheeks. Once his eyes followed where yours land, he flushed even deeper. He quickly reaches for the magazine tossing it back into the box.

“Did you find anything interesting?” You smirk

“I’m sorry…”

“Why?” 

“I’m sorry I went through your things. I-I didn’t mean to pry I just… I saw the cover and I was just surprised.”

You kneel down beside him as you start to help collect your things “It’s fine Martin, I have nothing to hide. You can go through my things if you like… I doubt you’ll find anything interesting.” 

He lets out a snort of amusement as he gestures towards the box.

“Oh yeah… that.”

“Why do you even have that magazine...I mean those guys don’t really seem like your type.”

“I don’t have a type” You shrug. “And they just sent it to me… it was because I ordered some other things. You were nose deep by the time I got upstairs… you see anything you like?” 

He opened his mouth to speak before rolling his eyes.  “No… I think I’m good…”

You decided to change the subject, though numerous questions began to form in his brain, the images seemed to be etched into his mind.  A lot of things about you seemed to click into place.

Sometime later that evening, he caved in and asked a simple question. “So it’s supposed to feel good?”

“Of course.”

“How? It seems like it would hurt.”

“Well it can, if you don't take adequate precautions. It’s pretty much just  like sex in general.”

More probing questions, you ended up explaining basic male anatomy, he seemed insatiable for more knowledge.

“Martin… do you want me to?”

His eyes widen, mouth falling ajar. “No! I mean.. I don-- No. I was just curious.”

“Okay then…” You kiss him lightly on the cheek “But do know if you change your mind.”

And with that you turned over to your side, flicking off the light leaving him alone with his thoughts.

~

That was almost two weeks ago, and at this point he had to admit he had grown a bit obsessed. You explained everything to him about the male g spot, all the while he listened with bated breath.  He couldn’t possibly be considering it- he just wanted to know, call it plain old curiosity. He didn’t linger in one particular area in the shower trying to see if he could make anything feel good. He imagined you taking him in the worst possible ways. Would you even bother to be gentle? It soon became a staple part of his fantasies when you were away, he imagined you turning him face down onto his chest. Your smooth hands roaming along his lower back, spreading him apart, leaving him completely exposed. Why did he want it? He wanted it with you--perhaps it was just to quell his curiosity.

This was as far as he ever took it. Two fingers deep, spine arching off the bed. He finally got the briefest taste of what he was missing out on, but his fingers were clumsy, the second the spark rose it was gone.  He accidentally spilled some of the lube on the sheets. He would surely have to clean that up later. If only he could just reach a bit…

His lips fall open as a keening whimper escapes his throat… what was that? How could it possibly feel so good? A sharp jolt of pleasure, unlike anything that he ever could have imagined. It sent his heels driving into the mattress. He repeats the motion of his fingers and his spine practically arches off the bed. That was it. 

You toss your keys absentmindedly on the drawer as your eyes survey the living room. There was no sign of Martin though you knew he was home. You figured he must be asleep. With a sigh you move to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for a bottle of soda. You could hear a distinct knock above you. It sounded like something bumping against the wall. Odd. You place the bottle on the counter as you head upstairs. 

His heart was pounding, threatening to explode within his chest, It became easier once he propped his right knee against his chest. No holds barred he began to plunge into himself relentlessly, every time his fingers brushed against that intangible place. He was panting, moans slipping out occasionally, but for the most part he struggled to find his breath. Sweat glued him to the sheets his hand began to cramp, but he was convinced that if he stopped, he’d die. 

You pause at the top of the stairs, eyes focused on your bedroom. The door was slightly ajar leaving a steam of sunlight beaming into the otherwise dark hallway. You could hear… noise.. It sounds so familiar, as you step in, you can recognize them as moans.  Anger flares within your chest before you calm. It was not the first time you caught Martin spending some time ‘alone’. As you step in close, the sounds become more distinct. You can clearly hear the sound of your name on his lips.  With a sigh you carefully peer in, nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you. 

His left knee was locked behind his elbow, his entire body seemed to be slick with sweat. The most beautiful but bordering on obscene noises escape his throat. And his hand… Jesus…

His hand wasn’t poised over his cock as you would expect, instead it was plunging into himself relentlessly, as you lean you can practically hear the sound of his fingers working him open. Heat began to rise to your face. 

Your name fell from his lips like a prayer as he began to rock against his hand. He needed his fingers to go deeper you could tell. All he had to do was ask. He sits back on his left elbow, as he lets his leg fall back onto the bed. Head thrown back in sheer ecstasy, you can actually see the force of release.

He collapses back against the sheets, utterly spend as you decide whether or not to alert him that you were home.

[bleachanimefan1]

Oblitus Part 18

Poor Unfortunate Souls

58 days left until Extermination...

The show was huge hit that Mimzy suggested the she hosted an after party. Demons, imps, hounds, and other creatures were mingling, chatting, with some occasional flirting, and dancing with each other. Niffty was pushing Baxter into dancing with her. Anna sat down to rest as she watched them. Charlie came rushing over with Vaggie over to the table.

 "I can't thank you and Am enough!" She exclaimed, happily. "I know that it's probably not enough to encourage everyone. But, it's enough to give them hope. Thank you!" Anna smiled.

"I made a promise, didn't I? I always keep it."

 "Aren't you going to dance with the others?" Vaggie asked. 

 "Maybe, I'm going to rest first." Anna replied. 

 "Well, Vaggie and I are going to dance! Bye!" The princess shouted as she dragged the moth demon away and onto the dance floor. As Anna watch them as the two left, she heard a chair slide next to her. She turned her head to see that it was Angel.

"Why aren't you out there with the rest of those losers?" the spider demon questioned. 

"I'm resting. Dancing in high heels is not exactly easy you know." Anna groaned as she stretched. "My back is killing me."

"Uh huh, sure," Angel replied. He turned his head and saw Husk leaning against the wall, drinking some wine. Anna glanced over and saw the spider demon looking at the cat demon.

"Why don't you go over there and ask him to dance?" She asked. Angel looked back at her.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to!" He smiled, lusciously. 

"But, first tell me how it was with Smiles? And don't lie to me, I saw a couple of smiles coming out of you as you were dancing with him." He leaned in resting his elbows on the table.

"It's not like that, Angel." Anna answered. "It was just fun, that's all there is, nothing more."

 "Bullshit!" Angel hissed. "I know love when I see it."

 "I'm not in love with him," Anna answered, flatly. 

 "Oh really?" Angel pressed. He turned Anna's head. "Then why don't you look over there then?" 

She saw Alastor dancing with Mimzy, next with Rosie then with Charlie as he shoved Vaggie out of the way. He spinned the princess around then dipped her as he rested his hand on Charlie's waist, pulling her closer to him. Vaggie glared daggers at him as he did. She looked like she wanted to kill him.

Anna began to feel her chest grow hot as she saw the two of them together. She didn't want to see anymore. She turned to the spider demon.

"How about a dance, Angel?"

"I don't usually dance with girls, it's not really my thing, doll face. Not unless they're paying, or course," the spider demon smirked, shrugging his hands.

"Great, let's go," Anna said, ignoring him, grabbing Angel's hand and pulled him on the floor.

As Alastor was dancing with Charlie, he saw Angel and Anna as the two came closer. He had a strained smile on his face watching the two dance together. Without thinking, Alastor accidentally dropped Charlie as he saw Anna place Angel's hands on her waist. Vaggie helped Charlie up as the antlers on the radio demon's began to grow, slowly.

Several demons quickly moved out of the way as Alastor began to advance towards Anna and Angel. As Angel twirled Anna around, Anna soon felt that the spider demon was no longer there. Alastor had ripped Angel away from Anna and tossed him across the floor, landing with a hard thud.

"Angel!" Anna called out to him. She tried to run over to him but Alastor grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"What...do..you...think..YOU...are...doing?" Anna heard a dangerous and angry growl coming from Alastor.

"I'm dancing with my friend," Anna cried as she tried to break out of his grip, but to no avail. "Now, let go! That hurts!"

There was definitely going to be a nasty bruise on her wrist tomorrow. 

"Why are you dancing with him?!" Alastor shouted, furiously.

"What does it matter? I DON'T belong to you." Anna hissed. "I can do and dance with whomever I want! Now.Let.Go!" She shouted. 

Alastor laughed. "My dear, you claim to faithful to your "boyfriend", but, I can see now, that you've broken that vow."

Suddenly, Anna felt a hard slap on her butt. Her eyes widened in shock as she squeaked. A harsh slap was heard as several people gasped as everyone saw Anna slapped Alastor, knocking his monocle off as she did, as it fell to the floor. Mostly every demon cringed and tensed up waiting for the radio demon to burst into an uncontrollable rage of fury.

Alastor stood frozen in his place, stunned as he held his cheek. Anna turned around and walked away. Alastor growled and snapped his fingers. Some demons flinched waiting for something to happen, or some the to happen to them. But, nothing happened. Alastor had vanished, disappearing into his shadow, slipping away.

"Anna, Alastor, wait-"  Charlie called out but Vaggie held her back.

"Let them go, hun," She said. "It's best to let them be for now."

Angel stood up brushing himself off. He looked around seeing everyone had gone silent.

"Man, this party sure died," the spider demon commented to himself. Then he looked over at Husk and smirked. "Oh Husky," the spider demon said flirtatiously batting his eyes, while gesturing with his finger for the cat demon to come over. "Wanna give daddy a good time?" 

Anna walked outside closing the door behind her. She wiped her eyes as she began to walk away from Mimzy's. She couldn't stay there any longer, not with him, there.

Suddenly, her vision went dark as a sack was thrown over head. She felt someone grab her legs, lifting her up. Anna squirmed to get out of her captive's hold, kicking and punching as hard as she could. Then she felt a sharp sting on the back of her head. Her vision went completely dark as she was knocked unconscious.

after what seemed like hours, Anna's eyes began flutter open, squinting them, seeing that she still had the sack on her head. Suddenly, it was pulled off and a vibrant electric blue and violet light pierced her eyes. She groaned as she rubbed them. Anna felt leather underneath of her and it was moving as she felt it vibrate underneath. She was in a limo. Anna heard someone cackling with a sort of static sound as looked up to see a strange looking demon sitting across from her, looking like a TV.

"What's going on? Where am I?!" Anna demanded, looking around nervously. Vox made a strange grin as he leaned in closer to her.

 "Hello, missy," He said, holding out his hand. "I've been dying to meet you." Anna stared at it, not shaking it, leaning back into her seat. 

"W-Who are you?"

 "I'm Vox," the tv demon introduced himself, pulling back his hand. He pulled out a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it. Vox inhaled it deeply and breathed out a pink smoke, making a heart, right into Anna's face. She nearly gagged from the smell and coughed. It was like burning ash. Vox laughed, as Anna waved the smoke away. He continued. "But, I'm sure Alastor's told you all about me."

"No, he hasn't." Anna said. She saw Vox frowned slightly before it quickly went away back into a twisted smirk.

"That's such a shame. He and I go way back. You could say we used to rivals when we we're alive, still are today." He said, blowing another puff of smoke.

"That's great and all. But, what ever you have against him, I don't care." Anna replied. "Now, I'd like to leave."

 Vox flicked his stogie before setting down into the ashtray, putting it out. "That's too bad, because I could help you end your contract with Alastor." Anna's eyes widen in surprise.

 "What do you mean?" She asked.

Vox made an even more menacing grin as he leaned over, hands together. "I know that he forced you into a deal with him, otherwise why would he be around you all the time. What if I told you that I know how to break it," 

"How?!" Anna exclaimed. Vox held a hand up stopping her.

"I will tell you," He paused "For a small price." He hinted rubbing his fingers together. Anna began to feel more and more unease. She swallowed and spoke. 

 "And what do I have to do?"

 "Get me Alastor's microphone." Vox pointed out. 

 "His microphone?" Anna questioned, confused, staring at the TV demon. What does that have to do with anything with her contract with Alastor? How is that going to help?

Vox nodded. "Yes, his microphone." he explained. "It is a living part of him. If anything happens to it, he will die. That is why he keeps it hidden at all time." 

"But, I don't even know where he keeps it." Anna murmured. "Even if I did, it's not like he's going to let me near it."

Vox chuckled. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Maybe, put a few moves on him," Anna blushed. 

"There's no way I can do that," She stammered. "He's not into that sort of thing!"

"Sure, you can! Everybody saw you two on the big screens. You are the only one who can get under his skin like that. It shouldn't be a problem," Vox said. "So, do we have a deal?" he held his hand out again. Anna stared silently at it, pondering. Then she looked at him directly into his eyes.

 "I'll do it. BUT, you have to promise not to hurt him." She pressed.

 "I'm surprised to hear that. Hasn't he hurt you enough? Don't you want to see him suffer in humiliation as he did to you?" Vox taunted, making a smug smirk.

 "I-I..." Anna stammered.

 "So,...do we have a deal?" Vox leaned his hand towards her. Anna reached out and shook it.

 "It's...a deal." A vibrant blue glow emitted from their hands as they did. Vox made a satisfied smirk.

 "Good!" He said. The limo stopped right in front of a park. He gestured Anna out of the car as she climbed out closing the door. Vox poked his head out of the window. "Now, once you have his microphone, call me and I will come get you." He instructed.

 "But, I don't have your number," Anna questioned. "How do I?-" Vox chuckled darkly, interrupting her.

 "I already put it in your phone." Anna pulled out her hellphone to see that his number was already installed into her phone.

"Now, go and have fun. I'll be waiting," He smiled evilly, rolling the window. The limo sped off leaving Anna alone. Anna felt a sense of dread in her heart.

[scarlet-nin]

I'm Not An Idiot (But I Think You Are)

@ilyiccia I used your second prompt on your 50 Tua writing list!

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves

Prompt: Diego tried to hide an injury once. He failed pretty miserably.

Set in: Childhood. They're twelve.

Out of all people in the house, of course, it had to be Klaus who found him.

Anybody else would’ve been better. Hell, he’d rather have Luther here than Four, because Number One was obvious and somewhat dense enough to fool when one knew how to push his buttons correctly, something Diego couldn’t resist on a good day, let alone a bad one.

But no. It had to be Klaus, who even with his head lost in the clouds, could see through a lie with little to no effort. Diego’s half-convinced his brother’s secondary power is a bullshit radar. There’s no other explanation for the way that cloudy, glassy green gaze would sharpen and clear up from the fog of weed in the blink of an eye.

A bit creepy for Diego’s tastes, but he guessed that was a buy-one-get-one-for-free kinda deal with Klaus’ powers. Seeing the dead couldn’t be sunshine and rainbows. At least, he stopped writing all over his walls like Five with his disturbing poems.

Another reason those two got along. The only person to ever catch Five in a lie aside from their Dad, who thankfully was currently absent and, on a trip, far away from their house—had been Four.

Five hadn’t even gotten mad about being caught. The weirdo seemed oddly pleased. At least, Diego didn’t have to worry about running into him nowadays, since he rarely left his room.

Small mercies, he supposes, do happen occasionally.

“What’s up with the sunglasses?”

Diego shrugs. “They block out the light.”

Klaus blinks. “But we’re inside the house.” He glances pointedly upwards at ceiling. “There’s no sun in here.” There’s the faint smell of herbals and smoke lingering in the air as Klaus steps closer.

Resisting the urge to step back, he’s not going to give up ground, Diego crosses his arms.

“I got a headache and the light’s stings like a bitch in my eyes. Got a problem with that?”

“Uh huh,” Klaus hums agreeably, wrinkling his nose. “Did you tell Mom about your headache?” He emphasizes the last word with bunny ears, a grin forming on his lips.

“No,” Diego says, too quickly, too defensively. “I don’t wanna worry her. It’s nothing.”

“Au contraire!” Klaus sing-songs, taking another step forward. “There’s something you’re not telling me. C’mon, give me the gossip and I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

For all that he’s basically a second lie detector, Klaus lies an awful lot himself. Takes on to know one, Diego guesses, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” Klaus blocks his attempt of walking past by throwing an arm out and moving into his way. “Is it embarrassing?”

“Go away, Klaus,” Diego groans, rubbing at his forehead. Christ, where’s a scary ghost when he needs one? Though, he immediately feels a bit bad for the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.

“Not until you tell me.”

“Be annoying somewhere else.”

“Tell me, tell me, tell meee,” Klaus whines. “Did you fight with Luther again?”

“No.”

Klaus falters at that, squinting at him. Diego waits in silence, refusing to fidget under the heavy stare. Silence never meant anything good with his brother. After a minute, Klaus straightens up, no longer slouching as a frown finds a way onto his face.

Oh, shit.

“You know, that’s a very nice pair of gloves you’ve got on your hands,” he says, nonchalantly if it weren’t for the narrowing of his eyes. “Leather, that’s so kinky, Diego. Very you. Now, wanna fess up and tell me what trouble you got yourself into or should I bother Mom into checking up on you?”

Diego bristles, “Klaus, don’t you dare—“

His brother response by taking in a deep breath, opening his mouth most likely to scream the house deaf. Darting forward, Diego presses a hand over his mouth, shushing him quickly.

“Alright, alright!” He hisses, glancing around the empty hallway. “You win, okay? Shout for Mom and I’ll toss you out the window, got it?”

He pulls his hand back, wincing at the wetness on his gloves. “Gross, man.”

“Says the guy who eats raw eggs for breakfast.” Klaus shudders before reaching out to grab Diego’s hand. “Let’s go to my room.” He starts dragging Diego down the hall, ignoring the protests.

“Why yours?”

“Because nobody dares to come in without knocking. Not after Luther accidently caught me changing into a near pair of clothes last week, remember?”

Oh, he does. Luther’s horrified yell could have been heard from Five’s room. It had taken him three days to look Klaus in the eye again.

Needless to say, when Klaus actually closes his door for once, nobody dares to open it. An understandable sentiment. People don’t open pandora’s box either.

Diego doesn’t resist as Klaus pushes him into his room, kicking the door close. He gets shoved to sit down on the bed and Klaus’ hands gently remove his sunglasses without permission.

“Hey—”

Klaus’ whistle cuts him off. “Woah, that’s a nice shiner there, Dee. Wanna tell me who gave it to you?”

“Why?” Diego snorts. “You’re gonna beat them up for me?” He gives Klaus a critical once over, dragging his gaze up and down with a smirk on his face.

“No.” Klaus slaps him on the shoulder, huffing out an annoyed sigh. “My face’s too nice to end up like yours. Doesn’t mean I can’t scare them by telling them their dead granny hangs around to haunt them or something.”

Oh. Coming from Klaus, who hates using his powers, that’s weirdly touching. Swallowing past the forming lump in his throat, Diego lets Klaus take his hands into his own, gently tugging them off to inspect the bruised, bloody knuckles underneath.

“You’re sure you don’t want Mom to take a look at you?”

Diego gives him a sullen glare. “N-n-o. Don’t tell anybody. N-not even Allison. She’ll tell Luther.”

There’s a moment where Klaus simply looks at him. Open and face blank while his fingers curl around Diego’s own. He breaks the eye-contact first and when he speaks up, he doesn’t mention the stutter coming back to haunt Diego.

“Okay,” he says, taking a step back. “Hang on for a hot second and don’t run off just yet.”

Diego nods, watching him turn towards his desk. He opens the drawers, searching for something, slamming them shut with his knee after finding whatever he needs and setting that down on his desk. He leaves the room, coming back as quick as he left with a wet towel in his hand and pulls his desk chair over before sitting down.

“What are you doing?”

“Patching you up, what else?”

Diego’s brows furrow while Klaus gently rubs the blood off his knuckles. “I don’t need help.”

“You’re getting it anyway.” Klaus tosses the cloth onto his desk after he’s done. “I’m gonna wrap up your hands and you can keep the gloves, since they actually are kinda cool, but the glasses need to go.”

“No way,” Diego says, firmly. Without them his black eye would be visible for all to see. Mom would see and he couldn’t stand her smile dimming when she caught sight of it.

Klaus groans, finishing up wrapping his hands before turning to grab the things from his desk. “That’s what’s concealer’s for, idiot.” He shakes the tube in front of Diego’s face.

“I’m not going to wear make-up!” Diego attempts to sit up only for Klaus to push him back down. “That’s for girls!”

“And for boys!” Klaus grabs his chin roughly. “Especially for dumbass boys who sneak out when their Dad’s are away and then get their ass handed to them. Now, hold still and let me show you how to cover up bruises without looking like an idiot.”

Grumbling under his breath, Diego goes still.

The edge to Klaus’ voice doesn’t match his hands, who are gently applying and blending in the cream around his eye. When he turns to the brush, Diego tenses, holding back a grimace, but the pressure is soft enough on his skin he barely feels a thing.

After what feels like forever, Klaus pulls back, hands on his hips and nods. He pulls out a hand-mirror from his desk, practically shoving it into Diego’s face.

“Well?”

Diego startles, fingers coming up to brush against seemingly unmarred skin only for a hand to swat away his own. The bruise is noticeable still, but nowhere near as glaringly obvious as before. If one didn’t know where to look Diego might go as far as to say they wouldn’t even notice he got a fist to the eye at all.

He doesn’t look like a girl and guilt begins to fester.

Handing the mirror back to Klaus, he scratches at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he mumbles while Klaus puts his things away.

“Yeah, you should be.” Klaus pouts, the sharpness draining from his eyes, leaving them soft and warm instead of hurt and cold. “Sneaking out without me, how could you? I thought what we had was special, Diego!”

“As if you didn’t sneak out every time you thought you could get away with it.”

“I did get away with it.” Klaus is quick to correct, grinning like the cat who got the cream and the mouse. “Mostly, anyway. Next time you go out you have to promise me to take me along for the ride. That’s my payment for helping you out. I’ll even be the lookout!”

Seeing the eager twinkle in his brother’s eyes, Diego couldn’t help but agree.

“Sure, why not.”

“Great! Do remember if we run into trouble, you’re deaf and I only speak German.”

[theamberwriter]

Movie Night Mix Up[Billy Hargrove]

[ PART TWO ]

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Word Count: 3018

Warning: Cursing

Max had been getting suspicious lately. Billy wasn't as pissy as usual. And you had been hanging around a lot. Not that you knew she knew you had been. But she'd caught you sneaking through Billy's bedroom window one too many times to be a coincidence.

Max knew better than to flat out ask Billy what was going on. But she didn't know if you knew her. You didn't really have a reason to. Even if you did hang out with Steve a lot. You tended to leave when all the kids came around. 

Today was one of those days, you hung out in Scoops Ahoy for no real reason. Other than to bug Steve. Along with Robin, who you'd recently become good friends with. An irritating child, you'd heard Steve scold as Erica, was pulling her third round of samples. An abuse of power really.

You sat glaring out into the mall. You were so bored. But Steve and Robin were working. And Billy was at work. And it seemed like you were the only one in Hawkins who didn't find a job! Not like you would do much with Billy other than take a drive or watch TV. Still, it was nice to be around him. 

You'd been dating in secret for a few months. You hadn't gotten up the guts to tell Steve yet. You knew he'd have a fit. He hated Billy, and honestly, your boyfriend wasn't a huge fan of him either. But you'd put your foot down when you started officially dating. Billy was not going to dictate your friendships. To which he retorted about not stopping him from flirting with the town moms at the pool. You supposed he figured that would get you to give, but you didn't.

Honestly, the whole situation was kind of strange. You both played it by ear really. Neither quite having the guts to announce the relationship. You wanted to, but you hadn't convinced Billy. Not yet.

"Steve!" shouted a voice, jostling you out of your stupor.

"What do you want?" Steve groaned. 

"Erica, I think you've had enough," said the voice you recognized as Lucas.

"You ain't the boss of me," she retorted. "I want to try the fudge swirl."

You glanced back to see Robin roll her eyes, but get a little sample anyway. Then you caught the eyes of Max, who was staring at you. She knew, didn't she? Goosebumps raised across your skin, and you shot up out of your seat.

"I'll see you later, Stevie!" you called, awkwardly backing out of the shop. "Movie night tonight, my place! Bring Robin!"

You ran farther into the mall until you couldn't see the Scoops Ahoy sign. You weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up. If Max was catching on, it was only a matter of time before she told the others. And then - Steve. What were you going to do? Billy wasn't going to be happy.

Max hated that you always ran away. She couldn't figure out what it was. You'd hung around with them before. Before Steve and Billy graduated. When she was still new, and trying to figure this whole 'Upside Down' thing out. She'd heard the others whisper occasionally about missing you. Then Steve would utter out a pitiful, me too.

Something had changed. And Max was going to figure out what.

"Right, movie night!" Steve had called weakly back. His grin fading quickly. He slumped onto the counter, face in his palms. "Honestly don't know why they bother anymore. Not like they're ever around for anything."

"Maybe we can help," offered Max. This was just the opportunity she’d needed.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Right, and how are you gonna do that?"

Mike jumped in then, "I mean, [Name]'s been acting weird. Maybe we can figure out why. We can snoop in on your movie night. Poke around a little, see if we can find anything."

Lucas nodded. "Maybe Eleven can use her powers to spy on them."

"We are not using El." Mike sent a sharp look at him.

"Okay. Sorry." Lucas held up his hands. "I was just saying."

"I dunno," Steve mused, "I don't want to seem like I don't trust [Name]..."

"You're never going to figure it out if you don't do anything," said Robin, finally free of Erica.

Steve hesitated then sighed. "Fine. But you're in and out. [Name] can't know I let you do this."

You wandered around the mall some before deciding to head home. What were you going to do? You couldn't have Steve find out before you were ready to tell him. Though you should've told him in the first place. You paced anxiously around your room. Watching as the clock ticked down.

Six o'clock came faster than you'd hoped. Steve and Robin were going to be at your house at any minute. You just had to act natural. You'd gotten out snacks, made popcorn, and rewound the VHS you'd rented. Now you were sat nervously on the couch.

You screamed as Steve's voice came from behind you. "So what's on the roster tonight?"

"Steve, what the hell?" you panted, twisting to see your friends behind you. "I didn't even hear you come in."

"Thought we'd surprise you," he said with a smile. Then produced a quart carton. "We brought ice cream. I'll go get spoons."

"We nicked it from one of the freezers at work," Robin said, sitting beside you. "They won't miss it."

Steve crept lightly to the kitchen. Banging around a drawer or two, so you didn’t get suspicious, before going to the back door. There stood the kids. He eased it open for them, careful not to make any noise. The group came gently stepped into the kitchen.

"Remember - you're in and out. You were never here," Steve whispered, then pointed down the back hallway. He grabbed three spoons, going back to sit with you on the sofa.

"Should we be doing this?" Will asked as they made their way up the stairs.

"[Name] used to hang out with us all the time. Then they just - stopped," Mike said, "Don't you want to know why?" 

"But who says we're even going to find anything?" Will landed on a creaky step, causing a whole group pause. But all they heard was the movie. So they continued.

"Well then at least we tried, right?" Dustin asked. There were quiet whispers of agreement.

Max had a feeling they were going to find something. She just wasn't sure what yet. They split into groups, looking around the four upper rooms. Luckily enough, Max found your room. El was attached to her side.

"There's got to be something in here," Max muttered. "[Name] has been coming to my house a lot so -"

"Max," El said, pointing to something on your desk.

Max peered over her shoulder. Call me if you want your book back - Billy was scrawled on a piece of paper beside a number. It was next to your desk phone. The writing was nearly worn off, the creases of the paper soft. It'd been opened and closed a lot. There were little hearts drawn in blue pen. Along with this jerk better answer written in small script on the bottom.

"So [Name] does know Billy…" murmured Max. "Let's see if there's anything else."

Although El was hesitant, they did shuffle through your things. Random papers, clothes, books, scattered shoes - nothing interesting. Not until they looked under your bed. Max pulled out a box. From Billy was scribble across the top.

Inside was an empty chocolate box, a couple cards, a dried flower, a small stuffed animal, and a few other little things. Max knew immediately what this meant. She'd been right all along. But she didn't know how to feel about it.

"They're dating," Max said, showing the box to the guys. "[Name] and Billy are dating."

"Cool now we know," said Mike.

Dustin reached for the box, "Are you serious? We gotta tell Steve."

"No." Max shook her head, pulling the box away. "If [Name] didn't tell Steve, there's gotta be a reason."

"Yeah," groaned Lucas. "Like Billy is a big jerk."

Max glanced around the group.“But -”

"Friends don't lie, Max," said El, giving her a meaningful look.

Mike nodded. "He deserves to know."

Max deliberated silently, the box gripped tight in her hands. Then nodded, "Yeah, fine. We'll tell Steve."

"Uh, guys," Will said, coming from one of the rooms. "I don't think we'll have to."

"What do you mean?" Max's heart leaped.

Will's face was distraught. "Billy is here."

"Shit, we gotta go," rushed Lucas, heading towards the stairs.

Max caught his arm. "No, if we leave now he'll see us. We have to wait."

You about jumped out of your skin when there was a knock on your door. It was a little after seven. You weren't expecting anyone. You shoved off the couch, saying you'd be back. Your stomach dropped as you opened the door.

"Shit!" you hissed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind you. “What’re you doing here?”

Billy was there on your stoop. Trying to pose in some sort of sexy way, with that smile that made your stomach tingle. He was smelling nice, looking good - and totally unexpected. You glanced around, making sure no one was around. He seemed surprised at your reaction.

"Thought you'd be happy to see me," he said, "You ready to go?"

"Go?" you panicked, "go where?"

Billy's face fell. "I was taking you to see that movie -"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I thought that was tomorrow!"

Billy sighed, rubbing his eyes with his finger. "What day is it?"

"It's Monday," you nearly shouted, Billy cursed under his breath. He’d gotten the days mixed up. "Movie Monday with Robin and -"

"Harrington…" growled Billy, glaring behind you.

"Yes," you groaned. "I've been reminding you for months that Mondays are -"

"Months?" that was Steve's voice. And it was cold and angry and hurt.

You tensed up, your stomach growing cold. Your heart raced painfully, blood rushing deafeningly past your eardrums. This was not good. You turned to find Steve and Robin in the doorway. Steve was pissed, and Robin looked like she was trying not to laugh. You were royally fucked.

"Steve, I -" you started. Billy pulled you toward him, holding you close. Glancing at him, you feared the hatred in his eyes. 

Steve's glare went between you and Billy. "When were you going to tell me? Once you two were off on your honeymoon!! What the hell are you even thinking?!"

You tugged against Billy's steel grip. You were going to have bruises. "Steve, I can explain!" 

"Don't bother, glad to know he's more important," he spat, then slammed the door. You pounded on it with your fists. "Go away!"

"You're in my house!" you cried, "Can't we talk about this?"

"So you can what?" yelled Steve, ripping open the door. "Lie to me some more?"

“Easy there, Harrington,” Billy warned. You elbowed him and shook your head.

You groaned loudly, your throat becoming thick as you choked back tears. "This is why I didn't tell you! This is why we kept us a secret. Because I knew you'd have a problem with this!"

"So now I'm the problem?! I'm pretty sure you're dating the problem!" Steve gestured to Billy as he stepped forward.

Billy tensed behind you. You wedged yourself between the two. "Behave, both of you! For God's sake!"

Tears brimmed over and down your cheeks. Frustration, anger, despair - this was why you'd wanted to pull Steve aside and tell him. Talk to him about it.  Anything but this, this was the worst way to find out. You jumped off the side of the small porch, into the flowerbed. Then stormed off around the house.

“Where the hell are you going?” Steve yelled; Billy snapped something at him.

"Oh shit," groaned Dustin as you spotted the group. They were hiding in the backyard. The box was still in Max’s hands. She tried to hide it.

You sniffled. "What the hell are you all doing here?"

Dustin paused. "Well I, uh -"

You spied the Billy Box in Max’s hands and gasped. "Were you in my house?! Did Steve put you up to this?!" 

Nobody spoke. But guilt and panic were evident on their faces. Your chest ached, realizing that he really didn’t trust you. He didn’t trust you enough to wait for you to tell him what was going on. It hurt more that he didn’t come out and ask about it. You would’ve told him.

"No, I did," Max said, stepping forward. She held the box out to you. "I - I've seen you climb out of Billy's window. A lot. So I thought we'd come and -"

"You don't have to cover for him, Max. It's okay. Billy and I are dating, so - surprise. I'm sorry, guys." You took the box and sank to the ground. "I should've told you. But I was scared. We were scared."

"Why?" Max asked, sitting beside you. Everyone sat where they were.

You wiped your eyes. "Your stepdad isn't the nicest. Billy was afraid, somehow, someway, he'd end up taking his frustration with Billy out on me instead. And you know Billy doesn't have the best reputation. I didn't want to tell anyone yet, because I knew I'd lose people over it. Girl friends who wanted him, and guy friends who hated him. My family is always griping about the Hargrove Boy. And Steve, God Steve - I was so scared of losing him. But I did anyway, cause I'm a fucking idiot…I should've just said something. Billy and I have been dating for eight months, ya know. Well before we even graduated. Fuck, I'm so stupid…he's not going to forgive me for this one. And Billy…"

There was a hand on your shoulder, and someone sat near to you. You were overtaken by the scent of cologne. You looked up to see Billy, no black eyes in sight. He gave you a small smile, leaning his forehead to yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," he breathed. "I'm the screw-up. The hell are all these kids doing here anyway?"

You shook your head a little. "This was my fault. If we were keeping it a secret, I should've told Steve, at least. Then he wouldn’t have had to tell them to spy on me. And I'm sorry…" You looked over at the cluster of teens. "I ignored you guys. It was stupid. I shouldn't have done that. I was just so worried about slipping. Then you would say something to Steve…"

"It's okay, [Name]," said Dustin, "I totally get it. My girlfriend, Shelly -"

"I think what Dustin's trying to say," Lucas interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Is that we forgive you."

You smiled. "Thanks, Stevie won't."

"I might." You flinched, turning to find Steve wandering slowly into the backyard. "If you stop calling me Stevie. It always did drive me crazy."

"Steve." You got part of the way up, but he sat on your other side. So you lowered yourself back to the ground. You could feel the tension coming from either side of you.

Steve glared at your boyfriend. "If he makes you happy, I don't wanna get in the way of that. I'm still pissed that you didn't tell me. - but I don't think I would've told me either. I’m sorry about sending them in. I guess, I just got tired of waiting for you to talk about what was up."

Steve took your hand, which caused Billy tense up. He grumbled under his breath, but you elbowed him. 

"I'm still your friend," Steve assured. "I promise. But tell me next time you're secretly dating someone. This was honestly the worst way -"

"If Billy hadn't gotten the dates mixed up," you gritted out, shooting a glare at him over your shoulder. He shrugged sheepishly. "Then I've would've told you differently."

“How’d you two meet anyway?” Steve nodded to the box in your lap. “And what’s that?”

Heat filled your cheeks as Billy leaned in and tapped the box lid. “What is that, doll face?”

Steve grumbled at the pet name but you didn’t pay it any mind. You sighed. “I let Billy borrow one of my textbooks when we were in school. He said that if I wanted it back, that I’d have to call him. I put it off until I couldn’t anymore. So I called him, and we sort of - hit it off. We agreed to keep it a secret until the time was right. I didn’t think it would be this long. I’ve kept everything he gave me in this box.”

Billy chuckled, kissing your cheek.  “Didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

You puffed out air, “Yeah, well…”

"You nerds gonna come finish this movie or what?" Robin called out the back door. You'd honestly forgotten she was there.

"Yeah," you called, "we're coming. Get another bowl of popcorn going!"

You stood as Robin disappeared back into the house. You pulled Steve to his feet and held out a hand to Billy. You clutched the box and Billy’s hand, heading for the house. 

"You kids coming, or you plan on hanging out here all night?" you asked, nodding towards the door. They couldn't scramble to their feet and in the door fast enough. You caught Max's arm, though, pulling her aside. "Hey, Max, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I mean, I am dating your brother. I should've said something, I hope you can forgive me."

"Yeah, I’m sorry about going through your stuff," Max said, hugging you. You hugged her back. "Just don't get married in secret too. I want to be in your wedding."

You laughed, then the two of you headed in. Billy and Steve moved awkwardly around each other. Glaring when they thought the other wasn't looking. You rolled your eyes, going to the couch next to Robin. The kids kicked the guys to the floor. Billy leaned against your knees. And Steve sat leaning against the far arm of the couch.

You were really going to have to work on their friendship. But at least you were forgiven. Now there was just everyone else to tell.

[lynne-monstr]

@undead-robins replied to your post “@joatamon replied to your post “@afincf-tirwer replied to your post...”

Of course, after this, hst is coming round more often, sometimes to bring groceries, sometimes to tell him about an important piece of gossip he just found out about one of the other pro players, sometimes just to say hi. The first time ywz finds him sitting on the doorstep in the rain, he gets a second key cut 'just for emergencies' but hst is pretty sure that taking in the ice cream before it melts qualifies as an emergency. 

It takes about 6 months, but ywz finally realises that hst has pretty much moved in with him, and tells him to pack up the rest of his own apartment and make it formal. It's only practical, after all - why have two sets of rent to pay. Neither of them mention that there's only one bedroom and only one bed.

yu wenzhou almost doesn’t recognize him at first. 

a gust of wind mangles his umbrella and he lowers it with a resigned sigh. by the time he makes it to the end of the street, his hair is dripping into his eyes and down the back of his neck. he can barely see past the scattering of droplets on his glasses. 

all he wants to do is get inside and get dry and put this day behind him. 

at least he’s not as bad off as the huddled lump in a bright green windbreaker crouched miserably under the too-narrow ledge of his apartment building. the awning blocks some of the rain but doesn’t shield the unfortunate stranger from being drenched from head to toe. he walks past and catches a glimpse of messy dyed hair beneath the windbreaker’s hood. 

the familiar color teases a smile at the edges of his mouth. no matter where he goes, something always manages to remind him of huang shaotian. 

they’ve seen a lot more of each other these past couple months. more than he ever intended when they agreed to the idea of a cooling off period. in the end, it barely lasted three months before his new life was upended with a knock on his door and an armful of groceries. they’ve been texting almost nonstop ever since. 

part of him wonders if he’s doing the right thing, allowing their lives to become so entwined again so quickly. it’s mostly drowned out by a warm fluttering in his chest every time the phone in his pocket vibrates with another message. 

his phone has been suspiciously silent all afternoon. 

probably busy with work, yu wenzhou figures. for all his multitasking ability, huang shaotian has a tendency to get swept up in new projects and new ideas, riding the high of his own excitement and forgetting he no longer lives in a building where people he knows can physically pull him away from his computer. it means he occasionally falls down a black hole and only emerges when yu wenzhou knocks on his door with groceries for dinner and movie recommendations. 

he files away a mental note to call huang shaotian later, just to check that everything’s alright.

the human-shaped lump under the ledge rustles and shifts as he fits the key into the lock. he pauses, hoping he isn’t about to get mugged in front of his own apartment building. how embarrassing.

he meets the eyes of the stranger on the ground and nearly drops his keys. 

“shaotian?” blinking away the water in his eyelashes, yu wenzhou squints through the mess of his glasses. it doesn’t change the sight before him.

huang shaotian is sitting on the ground, soaked to the bone yet still smiling. his eyes shine, a stark contrast to the dreary gray curtain of the world around them. yu wenzhou bends over without conscious thought, shielding him from the rain with his body.

“captain.. no wait, sorry, i mean—” just as quickly, the brightness of his expression shutters shut. “wenzhou.” 

the edges of his grin turn strained and yu wenzhou’s knuckles clench around his housekeys. it’s a jarring reminder that yu wenzhou isn’t his captain anymore and the days when huang shaotian could stroll uninhibited into his room are over. 

not even the deafening rain can drown out the surge of melancholy the thought brings.

luckily, huang shaotian is a force of nature all on his own. “wenzhou, wenzhou, i thought I was going to drown waiting for you. what took you so long to come home?” he gestures to the large, reusable tote bag tucked behind him, more shielded from the weather than he himself is. “i was bringing groceries. do you remember the fish you liked so much last time? they had it again and so i bought double. halfway here it started to rain and i guess no one wants to go out in this weather because no one came into the building to follow inside and i’d gone too far to turn back and...”

yu wenzhou lets the words roll over him like the steady crashing of waves against the shore, reliable and constant. he hustles them both into the lobby of his building.

“why didn’t you call? are you trying to get yourself sick?” he finally asks when huang shaotian takes a rare pause for air. out of sheer habit, he tilts his head in the way the used to indicate an upcoming reprimand.

huang shaotian nearly squeaks in his rush to answer, and yu wenzhou has to bite back a laugh. "my phone battery died. stupid thing, I knew I should have bought one of those spare battery chargers. but it’s okay i knew you’d come eventually.”

he’s still talking when they enter the elevator and finally the apartment, and he hasn’t lost steam by the time yu wenzhou ushers him into the bathroom to dry off and change clothes. by the time he’s fetched a spare pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt for them both, he realizes with a start that the tension in his shoulders has lifted. he feels lighter. happier.

there isn’t a second bathroom and so he contents himself with dry clothes and a towel rubbed over his wet hair until it’s no longer dripping. once that’s sorted, he starts unpacking the hoard of groceries. the recipe he’ll need to use is taking shape in his mind with each new item he unveils.

rain batters the windows in a sharp staccato rhythm as he takes down pots and pans from their various shelves. soon after, it’s joined by the low hiss of the shower running. 

cooking isn’t enough to fully occupy his thoughts and his mind starts to drift. 

he doesn’t have a dormitory room in blue rain anymore. those days are over and they can never go back. he does, however, have an apartment. huang shaotian will have to make due with barging into that instead. 

as he works, he mentally crosses off ‘call huang shaotian to check in’ and replaces it with a note about spare keys.