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forthehpfanboys · 5 years ago

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I’m Sorry

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You hate Ron, Ron hates you. Pretty simple. It only becomes complicated when the bloke says something about your cologne in Potions class.

Warnings: Swearing, insults, fighting.

Notes: Requested! Probably my favorite so far? I don't own the gif, I just couldn't find it in the suggestions-

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

The rule of thumb that everyone in Gryffindor gets along is far from true when it comes to you and Ronald Bilius Weasley. You guys clashed harder than the titanic and that iceberg. Honestly, no one remembered how it started, but they could remember the insults thrown back and forth. You didn’t exactly hide your hatred for the red-head and he was the same.

The two of you would fight deep into the night, effectively keeping up the whole tower with your insults and burns ringing in the empty common room. When fellow Gryffindors saw you two starting to get in a heated argument, most fled to avoid the damage. Sometimes it came to blows, leading to Fred and George or Hermione and Harry splitting you two apart, but it was mostly the older twins.

You two don’t even remember why you hate each other, at this point, you just do. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time you caught yourself staring at him from across the library or when you’d shove into him in the hallway. His smile was softer than freshly fallen snow and his eyes could rival the ocean with their beauty. You had absolutely no clue he was battling the same feelings.

Ron wished you would smile sweetly at him instead of sneering insults that made him want to hex you into next Tuesday. He wanted to hold your hand instead of get hit by it, but he figured this was best. He did start this. He was the one that turned cold toward you on the train one random year to avoid his feelings for you.

Today was one of the tenser days where you and Ron were inches from ending each other's blood lines. Everyone in the tower could already feel it and you weren’t even in the same room yet. You’d woken up a little bit later than usual all because of your Scream Off™ with the short Weasley the night before. You walked down the stairs of the boys dormitory, your hand running through your messy hair. Insults from the night before rang in your head like a bell.

“What did I do to deserve being trapped with the human embodiment of ginger ale?”

“Since when do you know things? I thought your brain was filled with cobwebs and moth balls?”

“We both know your face looks prettier after my fist has kissed it.”

It made your stomach twist with guilt, but the guilt melted into pure hatred when a cocky voice rang through the common room. You wanted to knock his lights out before your foot even hit the last step of the staircase.

“Finally awake, eh, (L/n)? Only took forever, lazy arse.” Ron was snickering on the main couch right in front of the fireplace. The atmosphere in the common room immediately shifted. You rolled your eyes as you walked up to the couch, standing right behind him.

“Shut it, Weasley.” You grabbed his hair, forcing his head back to look at your glare. “I hope you fall off a broom during Quidditch today.” Your voice was laced with a false sweetness. Your glare shifted to a dark smirk before jerking his head forward. After letting go of his hair, you walked past him, flipping him off. “Good morning Granger. Have a good game, Potter!” You smiled and waved goodbye after they said good morning and a quick thanks.

You got along perfectly with 2/3 of the Golden Trio. They were always polite to you, even if you would throw hands at their best friend. They didn’t play favorites though, which was nice. If one of you started the fight, they’d make it known when they broke it up.

“Oi! Don’t be a basta-!” Ron stood up quickly, going to run after you as you left, but was stopped by Harry’s hand pulling him back down onto the couch. “Ronald! Not today, please!” Hermione spoke up, rubbing her temples. “We already have to deal with Slughorn. I’d rather not also have to deal with your pathetic excuse for flirting.” She sighed out. Poor girl already had a headache and it wasn’t even 10 oclock.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, his face heating up some. He cringed at the mere thought of finding you romantically attractive… Ok, he would admit you did have a nice ass, but not out loud.

“I’m not flirting. I hate his guts, Mione.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious! How could anyone find that twat even remotely attractive or adorable? He’s the bloody worst!”

Harry and Hermione shared a look before turning back to Ron. Harry and Hermione both knew better than that, this was a classic Enimies-To-Lovers scenario, at least that’s what they hoped, if not.. This was going to be a long, long, long year.

“No one said anything about him being adorable OR attractive, Ron.”

“Sod off, Harry, I know it was implied. You both know what I mean anyway.” Ron stood up, heading for the portrait hole.

“Where are you going?” Hermione groaned out. Her headache just got worse. “To get payback for the hairs that git ripped out.”

Ron walked down the hallways of the castle. He was so determined to find you he skipped breakfast, leading the remaining additions of the Golden Trio to come hunt him down. With some help from the older Weasley Twins, they managed to catch up with him pretty easily. Getting him to go to class, however, was a lot harder. Ron looked between his friends, then his brothers standing behind them for reinforcement. The keeper wasn’t moving an inch, not without seeing you first.

“No.”

“Ronald-”

“No, don’t Ronald me!”

“Ron! Come on! We have to go to potions in less than 5 minutes!”

“No! I’m just going to end up sitting next to that git and his stupid attitude the entire class! It’s going to be worse torture than seeing Snape everyday.” Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, my fist has a date with his lips and I’m not going anywhere until that date happens!”

“He was at breakfast, you missed him. You can fight him after potions. Can we go to class now?” Harry tried to reason with the hot-headed idiot, but alas, nothing is ever that easy. He groaned when Ron shook his head no, causing the twins to step into the picture. If anyone could get him to go somewhere, it was them.

“Wow, Hermione, you're right.” Fred started, turning to his twin.

“He’s got it bad and he doesn’t even know it yet.” George finished, while Fred shook his head in dismay and muttered a quick ‘shame’.

“I do not, nor will I ever, like him. Ok? Get that into your thick skulls!”

“No one believes you, Ickle Ronniekins! In fact, most of Gryffindor Tower has a bet that you two will end up shagging in some broom closet in less than a week!” George stated while he rested his arm on his brother's shoulder.

“What?!” Ron’s face was turning pink again. “No! Ew!” Ron faked a few gags. “No! That would never happen!”

“Hey, if you don’t want him, can I have him? I’d love to see how he’d look on his kne-”

“OK! I’LL GO TO CLASS IF YOU SHUT UP-” Ron didn’t hesitate to cover his ears or turn briskly on his heels. The red-head hurried in the direction he came from, his two classmates following after him who both called out a thank you to the mischief masters. “Godric, why’d you ask them for help? Now I have that gross image in my head.”

“We both knew it’d be the only way to get you to Potions. Now hurry up! I’d rather not be late!” Hermione grabbed her friends wrists and dragged them down the intermixing hallways until they stood right outside the classroom, only then did she let go. Harry handed Ron his potions textbook while Hermione patted down her hair and walked in, trying to act like she didn’t just sprint across the school.

The two boys looked at each other, one rolling his eyes while the other snickered before walking in after her. The snickering red-head paused when he walked in, getting hit with a strong smell of mixed berries and fruit, almost like shampoo. He actually didn’t hate it, in fact, it made his heart beat a little faster. It was familiar. The idea had Ron lagging behind his friends.

Once he joined the crowd in the back of the classroom and stood beside his friend at the edge of the crowd, did he notice the scent almost shift. It was your cologne. It made him gag with how powerful it was. Godric, did you pour an entire bottle of cologne on you? It was literally making him feel sick. He was going to lose every marble he had if someone didn’t open a window for him.

When Slughorn began talking about today's lesson, it went in one of Ron’s ears only to travel out the other side. Your cologne was close to killing him and everyone was acting like it didn’t exist.

“Do you see (L/n)?” Ron whispered to Harry.

“He’s across the classroom, Ron, why?” Harry whispered back. The two continued to whisper over Slughorn. They’d end up asking Hermione for help anyway. “Worried about him?” Harry grinned until his friend jabbed him in the side with his elbow.

“No, just wondering so I can rag him on his shit cologne.” Ron made eye contact with you across the classroom. He stuck his tongue out when you discretely gave him the bird. “I’m so gonna beat his ass.”

“What? Ron, what cologne?”

“You can’t smell it?”

Harry was about to answer when he got interrupted by Slughorn abruptly asking everyone to take their seats and start the project. Neither of them noticed that pack of girls staring longingly at the bubbling cauldrons in front of them while they took their seats next to each other.

See, the thing that sucked the most about this is Slughorn was determined to make you and Ron basically best friends, so he stuck you at the Golden Trio’s table for the whole year, which led to more trouble than good. Luckily, he paired you up with Harry and Ron with Hermione so you didn’t ruin each other's faces or potions. However, today, the bickering began before you sat down.

“How’s your head feeling, Weasley?” You smirked, walking over with your brown side bag.

“How’s your shin feeling, (L/n)?” Before you could question what he meant, he kicked your leg before sitting down. You let out a grunt and sat down in your own seat before rubbing your now sore and most likely bruised leg.

“I can’t wait for this class to end so I can rip out more of your stupid ginger hair, Ginger Ale.” You pulled out your textbook and flipping to the page.

“Don’t bloody call me that, besides, why not just use that horrid cologne as pepper spray. With how much you wore today, it’s already doing the job for you.” Ron scowled at you from across the table, but his demeanor shifted ever so slightly when you dropped your quill and looked at him with wide eyes. He blinked a few times before looking around the room then behind him. “What?”

“Red, I.. You smell my cologne?” Your voice was filled to the brim with turmoil.

“So what if I do?” Ron’s face scrunched up with confusion.

“Have you heard of a potion called Amortentia?” You spoke up, covering your rapidly heating up face.

“A-amor- What?”

“Look, Red. Long story short, it’s a love potion. It’s strong enough to change love to obsession. It emits a smell that’s different for everyone and mimics the smell of your crush.” You looked at him between your fingers, seeing his confusion still so clear on his face.

“Ok.” Ron snorted. “What does that have to do with your shitty cheap cologne?”

“Weasley, mate, I know the cogs in your brain are super rusty, but just try to use ‘em ok?” You slammed your hands against the table as you spoke. “I’m not wearing my cologne today. I ran out last night. Slughorn had an open cauldron filled with Amortentia in class today.”

“S.. So what your saying is-” Ron’s brain was trying to process everything you’d said. He was still refusing to believe he loved, liked or tolerated you.

“You fancy me, you idiot.” You spoke up, louder than you intended.

Ron stared at you with wide eyes. His pale cheeks turned red, out of anger or embarrassment he wasn’t sure. He looked between Hermione and Harry before looking back at you.

“What? No I don’t. That’s ridiculous, borderline mental!”

“Then why did you smell my cologne?” You questioned, leaning over the table some. Ron went back to glaring at you, his arms crossing over the table.

“Probably because you're lying about having none.”

“Ok, say I was lying, Harry would smell it, yeah?”

“Yeah and I don’t smell anything besides the potions brewing.” Harry shrugged while Ron’s jaw dropped.

“Harry! Don’t encourage him!” Ron slammed his book shut, drawing more attention to the bickering table.

“I’m not encouraging anyone. Just being honest.”

“No, you know what? This is a load of bollocks! I do not like you, (L/n). In fact, I loathe you!” Ron stood up quickly, his stool tumbling to the ground with a bang. “I feel anything, literally anything except affection for you!”

You watched Ron storm out of the classroom and looked down at the table. You ignored the students and Slughorn staring at your table and, instead, focused on your bruised knuckles. Were you supposed to tell Ron you smelled his own stupid cologne, broom polish from Quidditch, chocolate frogs and hits of firework ash?

Before you knew it, you were running out of the classroom, ignoring the calls of your name. You spotted a glance of him rounding the corner and sprinted after it.

“Ron!” You called out, rounding the same corner. He turned around, his eyes narrowed. This was the first time he heard you say his first name and he wasn’t going to let his shock show through.

“What? Here to make fun of me? Well, go on. You’ll end up doing it anyway tonight. Don’t hold back now.” Ron’s hands balled up into fists.

“I’m not going to make fun of yo-”

“Yeah, and my hair isn’t red. Don’t bloody lie to me!”

“I’m being serio-”

“No, you aren’t!”

“Ok, you know what?” You stepped forward, grabbing a bunch of his shirt and slamming his back into a wall. He raised his fist to throw a punch, but your free hand caught his wrist. Before he could do anything else, your lips slammed against his.

He froze against the wall, his skull filling with emptiness at the feeling of your soft lips against his chapped ones. He couldn't stop the questions tumbling through his lips when you separated. He managed to stop when you pressed your forehead against his. The red-head didn’t have to strain his ears to hear your whisper in the empty hallway but shuddered when your hand threaded through his hair, gently massaging where you pulled earlier.

“I’m sorry..” You pulled back a tiny bit to look into his blue eyes, only now noticing the green flecks twinkling like stars in the night sky. “Does it still hurt?” Your voice was so soft it made his heart ache. He would’ve shaken his head, but didn’t want you to pull your hand away.

“No, it never really hurt.” Ron confessed, his shaky hands awkwardly landing on your waist.

“But you said-”

“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean..” Ron chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dropping to your sneakers.

“Yeah, so did I.” You whispered awkwardly, just staring at the red-head against the wall. It was a good few minutes before you spoke up again. “Broom polish, earth and chocolate frogs..”

“What?”

“The um- the love potion.. That’s what I.. That’s what I got from it.”

“I’m co-”

“Ron, please. I smelled your cologne, the stupid sweets and your broom polish. Idiot.” You chuckled a little.

“Well excuse me, I haven't gotten my brain cogs oiled yet.” Ron smiled a little, desperate to hear more of your laugh. He mentally fist pumped the air when you did, in fact, laugh louder. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Red.”

“Soooo..” Ron dragged out the o as he tapped his fingers along your waist. He gave you a lopsided grin as he continued. ”Should we go on a date or kiss more?”

“Why not both?” You leaned in again, stopping just before his lips.

“I like both.. We could go swimming in the Black Lake?” The pale boy grinned wider as his fingers tugged your shirt free from your trousers.

“Ron, it’s like 10 degrees outside- you just wanna see me shirtless!” You pecked his lips, chuckling when he faked a gasp, his hands now resting under your shirt..

“That is entirely not true, (L/n)! Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Not here, Weasley. I might’ve left it in the classroom, ya know, with my books since I had to chase your ass out here.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” It was Ron’s turn to kiss you.

“We have a lot to make to each other already. Let's just start at the basics.”

#ron weasley x male reader #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley #hp imagine #hp x male reader #male reader #harry potter #hermione granger #fred weasley #geroge weasley #x male reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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damnbluewires · 2 months ago

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She set up her instruments for a routine autopsy, and realized she has run out of gloves. Having no one else in the facility to fetch them for her, she headed out to the supply closet down the corridor. The lights were muted, but she liked it that way, being used to stay overtime. The work was indeed grueling and demanding, but this, staying this late, was out of her own volition. Not to be a walking stereotype, but she much preferred the company of the cold, dead cadavers to the company of her cold, and emotionally as good as dead coworkers.

Not mentioning, that the cadavers were far better conversationalists as well.

She didn't choose the profession because of her gift, it was more like the gift chose her because of her profession. Yeah, that didn't make sense to her either.

All she knew is that one day she was opening up some old man's chest cavity to investigate the potential cause of death, and the bastard started hitting on her.

She had nerves of steel, never even as much as grimaced during all of her training, despite how bad the smell was, but this, she must admit, made her yelp and stumble onto her metal tray. She eventually was just glad nobody was there to make fun of her. Apart from the man with a scalpel still poking out of his ribs.

She learned that day, that sometimes she can see the corpses rise from the dead, for exactly ten minutes, before collapsing back, that time for good. What surprised her more, was that most of the people who were brought to her morgue were already more or less prepared to die, so they were just glad to have one last opportunity to have a chat with her.

She adjusted to that new aspect of her job rather quickly, never once thinking of quitting. She would stitch some poor sod's guts back into their body, while talking to the other next in line, about nothing in particular. She would listen to odd stories, treasured memories, and what it felt like to die. It was rather nice, all things considered.

She mused on that, as she grabbed a new box of gloves from the supply and headed back.

The one she had today was some bloke they found in the alley in a pool of blood. What was odd, is that he had no injuries on him. She would have to ask about that.

She put the gloves on, rechecked the instruments, took a scalpel, and started to feel for the right muscle to open the chest from, with practiced grace. When she found the right spot, she began the incision, and heard an inquisitive and amused: "Not even going to buy me a drink first?"

"I don't drink, thanks. Half a year sober." She answered, unfazed as ever. She wanted to continue the cut, but realized it's probably impolite to do so, and raised her eyes at the man, who was dead silent.

He was quiet for a while, and then uncertainly mumbled: "…Congratulations?"

She smiled at him, "Thanks! It has been hard to resist drinking something you know you shouldn't, but it just felt so damn good. You know?"

"I might be aware of the feeling, yes… But, hold on, why am I the stunned one? Why are you not running away, screaming?"

"And miss all the fun? Plus, that honestly sounds exhausting, and I have some more people after you, so I'd rather not waste that energy." She rationalized, while the man tried to collect himself. What the fuck?

"Right. Because the corpses coming to life is just another Tuesday for you."

"It's Wednesday, actually," she beamed again. "But, yeah! Pretty much." Is this hell? Was he finally in hell?

"Are you a demon of some sort?" There was no other explanation.

"Aw, flattery? And who was asking about a drink first?" Yeah. Hell. Most definitely.

"But, no, just your average clerk. Say, how did you end up in that alley? I've been dying to know." That's it. He had to get out of there.

"I have to get out of here."

"Oh, no, you don't. I don't need another runner, thank you very much."

He swooped off the metal bed and bolted to the door. Which was locked.

"Look, I know you are confused, I shouldn't have started with the jokes, but I really need you to go back to the bed. You will collapse somewhere on the street in less than ten minutes, and I really don't need another cop on my ass."

He paused his attempts to get the door open. "You have a cop on your ass?"

"Had one in my ass also, but that was long ago."

He slowly turned at that, and stared at the mortician, who was still just sitting idly on her stool with an innocent smile.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you will be dead again soon, and won't be able to tell anyone."

"I have been dead for a while now."

"Oh, really? Would love to know about that, if you come back and sit down. I'd offer you a coffee, but I will have to be the one to clean up the mess later, and I would honestly rather not."

He did come and sat back down.

"I don't drink coffee anyway." He said, almost to himself.

"What do you usually drink then?"

"Blood of my enemies."

"Ha! And i thought i was the one with dark jokes around here." He didn't say anything to that.

"So, back to my original question, what were you doing in that alley?"

"Drinking the blood of my enemies." He said deadpan.

"I complimented you way too soon, that joke was only funny the first time." She said, and he swears, she almost sounded disappointed. He should not care. He really shouldn't. But…

"You should try it. Tastes better than any alcohol in the world."

"It does sound good, I can't lie. But I bet Becky's blood will be gross no matter how much I hate her. She's on that new 'raw meat' diet. She adds butter to her coffee!" She made a disgusted noise and a face, and his head spinned a little. Must be from the disgust as well. Must be…

"I can understand raw meat, but butter in coffee? Really? Some people just do not care about what they consume, I swear to g-" The word stuck in his throat. He forgot for a second he couldn't say it. But the mortician seemed to not catch that.

"I know, right! But I do prefer my meat cooked. I honestly don't know how I'm not a vegetarian yet. The sight of blood doesn't make me hungry at all."

He quirked his brow at that, "Not even a little bit?"

"Not in the least. Just reminds me of my job. I do love my job, though, comes with its perks."

"Like what?"

"Like talking to you."

She smiled at him yet again, and something warmed inside the place where his heart used to be. But her smile vanished, as she raised her arm to check the clock. The ten minutes must be coming to the end, and she was dreading being in silence again. Alone. Always alone in the end. Only these rare moments of genuinely nice company is all she ha-. She froze. Twelve full minutes have passed.

It was the man's turn to smile at her confusion.

"What's wrong, doc? Forgot to put in the time of death?" He seemed to be amused all over again. "You are a bit too late for that. About two centuries too late."

She looked up at him, for once lost for words.

"I told you I was dead for a while now."

"So, in the alley…"

"Yes, I was actually drinking the blood of my enemies. And it did have a strange aftertaste. Maybe that horrid diet trend is spreading." He mused.

"You are not a ghost?"

"Ghost?! I am deeply wounded by that assumption. I am something much better than a mere ghost." He lowered his voice seductively. "I am a vampire."

She blinked. "…Like in twilight?"

"Oh for fucks- Why is that the first thing people think about? There was not a single vampire in that whole production."

"There are vampires in movie production?"

"In good movie production - yes."

"I have so many questions."

"So how about that drink? Bubble tea sounds good? There is a good place just across the road, and it is still open, I know the owner. Meet you there in ten." And with that, he winked, transformed into a bat, and flew out the window.

She sat there for a while. And then snickered, starting to get ready.

"Curiouser and curiouser…"

okay I had a BRILLIANTLY UNHINGED story idea for someone to write

a mortician has the magical ability to speak with the dead so she doesn't realize anything is unusual when one of her corpses sits up and starts sassing her

only to discover that her conversationalist is actually a vampire

and said vampire very confused about why the mortician isn't freaking out, normally this prank gets 'em every time

#my writing #i did it!!#let me know what yall think!

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magnusgoetia · 4 years ago

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Transcript of a Sinner’s Conversation: A Meeting with Caecus

--Begin (In Medias Res)--

Sinner: You kiddin'? Dyin' was the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Caecus: There’s nothing you left behind? No family to miss?

Sinner: My family? Fuck 'em, I'd ‘ave hired 'elp to kill 'em already if it meant they'd be dead-dead, and I wouldn't have to spend time wiv 'em down 'ere. It wouldn't be right for me to force this on my friends either, but they'll be 'ere in due time anyway. I can wait.

Caecus: So, you’re expecting your friends to join you here as well. The wait must be awfully lonely.

Sinner: Ah, not really. I’ve made friends while I’m ‘ere. The shit I can do ‘ere is like, fucking magic and with it I can make up for what I lack in a lot of different ways. Just wish I could remember how I ‘ad died.

Caecus: Maybe it’s better not to remember… Not all of us intended to be here, after all.

Sinner: No. No, perhaps it’s best not to remember. I quickly found out that it's not just evil folks that end up here, lots of good folks, plenty of weird ones too. I'm sensing you’re of the “gooder” ones, you radiate...well, it’s 'ard to describe, but I don't sense any hostility from you at the very least, even though you were born ‘ere.

Caecus: How amiable of you. But remember, a birth is just a new beginning of sorts. You couldn’t have been alone since you were… delivered to us.

Sinner: Ah, you’re a poetic type aren’t ya? Anyway, I’ve not made many friends but I do ‘ave a particular fondness for this one clown...me an' 'im seem to 'ave this weird connection wiv each other. Actually, he's more of a jester type, though rather embarrassingly his name escapes me...

Caecus: Are you, by chance, referring to an imp named Blocko?

Sinner: Yeah, don’t surprise me you know ‘im. He seems like the type to ‘ave a particular reputation.

Caecus: That he does, and yet a divine will connects us. I’m being led to believe your intriguing appearance has an even more… intriguing history.

Sinner: Riiiight...Well, you know what they say about skeletons and closets. Though I suppose I ‘ave nothing to hide ‘ere...Well, to put it simply, I was a broken kid. I never got help, and I did... unspeakable things to anyone who ‘ad wronged me—or simply didn't like.

Caecus: Even the purest of souls can be corrupted by another’s sins.

Sinner: Yeah...Well, it's not like I'll stop doin’ what I did while I was alive, with all that murder and hedonism. Though death has a way of humbling some people...In any case, the murders mostly stopped as I grew older. I seemed to have preferred to just traumatise people instead, ruin lives of the people I saw as bad or evil.

Caecus: Then you found a different punishment for those you had judged.

Sinner: I suppose so. A lot of it involved me spying on groups of people. I'd worm my way into the seedy societies that thought they were safe in their little circles and collect dirt on them. Really sick shit too by the way but don’t worry, the hypocrisy wasn’t lost on me either.

Caecus: Oh? You judged yourself a hypocrite yet continued along a path of self-appointed righteousness... Why?

Sinner: I don’t know, maybe a sense of catharsis? A lot of these were people who I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about killing or whatever. Sometimes it was more personal too, there were—still are people I am attached to up there that got hurt, and I took my revenge on them in their place.

Caecus: Ahh, how noble. Fighting for your friends.

Sinner: Yeah, there was this one particular bastard. Actually, there were a few…but…eh, nevermind…this one particular guy who was essentially lying to one of these “friends” and caused them a psychotic breakdown. I didn’t take action right away, but I did end up killing ‘im. Didn’t even bother hiding the fact it was a murder.

Caecus: What made you wait?

Sinner: Money, mostly. It makes the world up there spin, and you need a lot of it to get anything done, right? Well, I ‘ad to wait until I ‘ad enough money to fly to the states on top of all that shit involved in immigratin’. When I settled in, that’s when I made my move on a buncha grudges. This guy was just the first. Moving to the states made my life a lot easier in some ways. Was a lot easier to sleep when I took care of the grudges too.

Caecus: Oh, wow. You must have had remarkable resolve to keep a “grudge” that long… Tell me, did all of them truly deserve it?

Sinner: No, most didn’t, but I am…was, an angry person. I found I was very much capable of venting my anger, to put it mildly, and I was much too young when I had...shall we say...discovered it.

Caecus: Young minds are impressionable.

Sinner: Right, and the fact that I was generally good at getting away with it made me feel just that little bit better about it.

Caecus: So, you exploited that validation to continue justifying your actions. Most sinners in your position never reach awareness...

Sinner: Yeah? I’ll take that as a compliment, but I was totally emotionally disconnected when committing my crimes. Afterwards I pretty much always dealt with conflict. Cognitive dissonance is a bitch. Though I had largely stopped my ways. I’m ‘aving way too much fun down ‘ere, and even though I won’t drag ‘em down here with me, I’d love to have my friends join me eventually.

Caecus: Would they be pleased being here, embrace this existence like you have?

Sinner: I dunno, some of them have a hard enough time as it is with one existence, I doubt they’ll be too happy to find out there’s another waitin’ for ‘em. The others I’d imagine would be quite surprised all the same, being atheists and such, but I reckon they’d come to like it.

Caecus: An existence you cannot escape is itself a prison. Albeit, choosing to enjoy it in spite of that perspective is a marvelous thing. If you could imagine them in your presence, what would you do?

Sinner: Again, I dunno. It’s hard to tell when they’re not here yet but I am somewhat interested in what’ll end up happening should they get here. I dunno if I’ll be able to tell if it’s them even.

Caecus: And how do you dare to enjoy existence now?

Sinner: Well, I’ve been doing everything I’ve ever wanted to do but could never do in life amongst other things. It’s kinda embarrassing, but I played a bunch of video games, so I miss those quite a bit. I’ve found plenty of ways to fill that void though. Some of your movies are pretty sick down ‘ere, and importing goods from the other rings to ‘ere means I don’t miss out…mostly, on their fun too. I just wish I could explore the other rings; I don’t get why us sinners can’t.

Caecus: Decretum is often difficult to understand. However, it would seem a blessing that you’ve been placed with the multifarious company of the pride ring.

Sinner: True enough, whatever that means. There’s a lot of strip clubs, greedy businesses and shit, stuff you think you’d only find in the other rings. Though I think I probably would’ve ended up in wrath if we landed in the rings based on our sins.

Caecus: Most catechisms view wrath as an excessive anger. You strike me as having more control than the average sinner.

Sinner: A lot of people on the surface woulda said the same too, I was and I suppose still am really good at keeping it in check, well, good enough to not make it obvious anyway. Though it’s been a lot tougher down here.

Caecus: This is a realm of collective temptation, after all.

Sinner: My only judge here is myself and perhaps my peers if I let them. I still kill down here, but it’s been in self-defence. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone out of anger yet but let’s just say I’d feel sorry for the poor sod who happened to piss me off on a bad day.

Caecus: You’ve always been your own judge. I suspect the lack of good comparisons for your behavior here has coaxed you further.

Sinner: Actually, I could tell you about the first person I “killed” down here. It was soon after I woke up. I suppose this guy thought it’d be easy—fresh sinner, just in time to be another tally mark on some statistic.

Caecus: A second death, the lake of fire…

Sinner: Uh...yeah, I reacted on instinct and it musta been a sort of “kiss of death” type shit. I only touched the dude with my hand, and he just kinda…shrivelled up and died. You know…like when a cartoon character eats a lemo—ah sorry, you can’t watch TV.

Caecus: Ah, yes… a shrivelling death is nevertheless descriptive.

Sinner: Anyway, I have a bunch of other powers too but that one I’m most afraid of you know? I can drop the ambient temperature of an area so shit gets cold, have some form of telekinesis and a buncha other stuff, like I have some kinda control over this weird glowy energy, it’s how I have my eyes, which are purely for show, I don’t need them since I can see perfectly fine without ‘em...not that you’d know I even have ‘em.

Caecus: I’m aware you observe our world, in a traditional sense. My observations are just a bit more… unorthodox. And I feel as if your fear is not from a lack of understanding.

Sinner: Well I seem to have it under control, but I’m afraid in a moment of weakness I might react without thinking, you know? I’ve not had it happen yet, but it would be so easy when flippin’ out that I just give ‘em the ol’ touch of death.

Caecus: Even a king’s heart is just a stream of water to the hand of… fate.

Sinner: Gonna be honest, I haven’t the foggiest of what you just said. Though if I’m being honest myself, I couldn’t care less if it was someone I didn’t know anyway. Only really care about my friends and such. You seem pretty neat yourself.

Caecus: The impression is mutual. It’s not often that I’m seen as anything other than senseless and intimidating. I don’t find it unwarranted, granted; my appearance is as disconcerting as my psyche.

Sinner: How do you even know what you look like? It’s not like you can just look into a mirror.

Caecus: I was presented with a vision soon before I arrived, my last blessing I suppose… Regardless, my rebirth is a tale for another time. I’ve relished in your company long enough, and I must answer my calling. I’m sure our paths will converge again.

Sinner: Hey, I hope so too...uh....

Caecus: Please, call me Caecus.

Sinner: Well, it’s only polite to give you my name too. I go by many names here, but I am quite fond of “Mr. Death” as silly as it sounds.

Caecus: Silly, yes, but very becoming of you. A pleasure, Mr. Death.

Mr. Death:Well, don’t let me keep you. I’d like to see you again sometime, Caecus. I’ll take my leave.

Caecus: All in due time.

--End--

#hazbin hotel oc #helluva boss #helluva boss oc #hazbin hotel #transcript #Mr. Death #caecus #blocko #story

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hhoriginalworks · 4 years ago

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here's to luck | g.w

"Merlin, George, how are you not shaking?" You breathed, your hands still unsteady from watching Harry just nearly survive the first task. "I can't believe they're going to make us sit through two more of these. I swear, if I have to watch either Cedric or Harry get drowned, I'll petition against this tournament."

George just chuckled, pulling you into his side. "Oh, y/n, always the worrier. Although I see why you're worried for Cedric- he's just a handsome bloke with a teeny-tiny brain."

"Oh, shove off it, Georgie," you chuckled, walking alongside him, feeling giddy. "We both know you're just upset that he beat you fair and square last year."

"Yeah, sure, let's call that 'fair.'"

"Aww, George, I didn't mean to spoil your mood, especially since I heard Gryffindor is throwing a party to celebrate Harry," you joked, reaching up to ruffle the tall ginger's hair. "Though, I imagine you'll have to party some without me."

"What why?" George suddenly stopped, pulling you to the of the main path back to Hogwarts. "You aren’t seriously going to the Hufflepuff party, are you?"

"No," you drawled out, attempting you pull George back onto the path. "Remember how you stopped me from finishing my charms homework last night, and the night before that, and the night before the night before?"

"I don't reckon that sounds familiar," George hummed in response, feigning innocence. "Although, I imagine if I did, I had a good reason. Like, perhaps, I can't sleep as well without you, my best-est friend besides Fred, by my side."

"Oh, how lucky for you that your ‘best-est friend besides Fred’ doesn't snore," you laughed, playfully nudging him with your arm. "Might I attempt to imitate you? 'UGGGGGGGG.'"

"Sod off, y/n, you love me," George chuckled, slowing getting back on the path with you. "Now back to business- one shot of firewhiskey?"

"No," you quipped, sticking your tongue at the pouting redhead. "We both know that one shot actually means three, which in turn, lands me hungover in bed with you and my charms homework still undone."

George let out a grin as you spoke, walking in front of you to slow you down. "Harry lives through the first task, and you don't even want to celebrate a little bit? You can't honestly look me in the eyes and say that firewhiskey and a party in the Gryffindor Common Room aren't a little tempting," George coaxed, turning around, so he was walking backward.

"Oh, it sounds more than tempting, but, as I said, Georgie, I have charms homework to do. Not all of us can fall back on good looks and impeccable business skills," you commented, ignoring how George's face fell. Ordinarily, you would have already agreed to your second drink at this point, but you were determined not to give in to George's brown eyes and saccharine smile. "Now, George, stop slowly leading me towards the Gryffindor tower. You know that if I go in, I won't want to come out."

"You're a genius? Did you know that? I mean, you're so bloody brilliant that you solved my ingenious and slightly diabolic plan. Which, might I add, is the reason that you can just not turn in this one charms homework," George attempted again, moving to walk beside you. "Tell me, love, how many drinks do you think it would take to get Lee to streak?"

"Um, fewer drinks than he would care to admit," you laughed, beginning to part from George.

George quickly reached out- his slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into his side. "But I can show you how to have a good time, y/n, and who knows, maybe we'll end up in a broom closet... again," George smirked, mumbling the words into your ear. "Tell me that doesn't sound like a perfect way to celebrate Gryffindor's own Triwizard Champion."

"You and me in a broom closet? Please, Weasley, only in your dreams," you scoffed, shaking your head at the redhead's cheeky words.

"My dreams? Sometimes, but it plays in my head more from memory," George mused, skillfully avoiding your attempted to swat the back of his head. "So, was that poor attempt at a swat as yes to letting me show you what a good time looks like?"

"I don't need you to show me how to have a good time. I was the one who taught you how to light your alcohol on fire and still be able to drink it." You could help but roll your eyes at George; he may not be the most responsible student around, but Merlin, was he persistent.

"Okay, fine, but I still need you," George pouted, a sly grin slowly finding its way onto his face. "Remember what happened last year after celebrating the O.W.Ls being over?"

You couldn't help but toss back your head onto his shoulder as you laughed about the incident that George swore he wouldn't ever bring up again. "I'm sorry, could you specify? I think my memory is a little fuzzy about the incident you're talking about."

"Haha, you're lucky I even mentioned it," George huffed, his face turning a light pink color. "In all seriousness, I need you to be with me, so we don't have a repeat of, well, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know. I seemed to have suddenly remembered when you and Fred got absolutely trashed and somehow thought it would be a good idea to race on Hippogriffs... butt-naked. But, Merlin, I seemed to have forgotten who had to pull your drunk asses into the greenhouse before McGonagall caught you," you teased, shooting George a wink. "Who was it again?"

"You," George muttered, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

"I can't hear you- perhaps I need to ask the question louder?"

"You, oh so lovely y/n, pulled me into the greenhouses and forced me into my pants," George mumbled louder, sticking his tongue out as you smiled at his response. "And I don't want a repeat of it tonight, so you should come with me."

"I don't know, Georgie. I think the blast-ended skrewts would love a bite out of you," you joked, pinching his arm. "Imagine they would love the taste of you."

"You would know," George snickered, earning a not-entirely playful smack on the arm. "Ow, you can't hit me for true facts!"

"Oops, I just did," you chimed innocently. "Now, George, please let me go study, and I promise to meet you in the Gryffindor common room afterward."

"Damn, I should've known you we're going to 'y/n out,'" George grumbled, his eyes widening once he realized what he had said out loud. "Hey, don't get angry, y/n. I swear there is a logical reason as to why you heard something come out of my mouth when I didn't actually say anything."

"What did you just say, carrot-head?" You hissed, narrowing your eyes at the Gryffindor.

"What, y/n? I didn't hear anything, did you, Lee?" George asked, grabbing Lee Jordan, who was passing by with Fred and Angelina. "Angelina, the smartest Gryffindor I know that also has flawless hearing, did you hear anything?"

"Oh, you are so in the doghouse," Angelina replied, shaking her head at George with pity. "I told you that if you kept saying it that one day you would slip up and say it to y/n's face."

"You turned my name into a verb? And, even worse, you've been doing it behind my back? "What is 'y/n out' even supposed to mean, huh? Is it supposed to mean being a responsible student? Come on, Georgie, I expected better from you," you scoffed, stepping away from George with a glare. "I guess you got what you wanted, Weasley. I'm no longer in the mood to do homework. No, I instead feel like yelling at you for the next hour."

"Now, y/n, we haven't heard Lee's opinion. Lee, the best announcer that Hogwarts has ever known-"

"Sorry, mate, but you got yourself into this one. I promise to save you drink once y/n's gotten a chance to yell at you," Lee chuckled, cutting George off. "Make him grovel, y/n, he deserves it."

"Oh, I will, Lee," you promised, waving the boy goodbye. "Oh, Georgie, how I look forward to seeing you charm your way out of this one."

"So, you think I'm charming?" George quipped.

"Very much so, which is why I think you should start with begging for my forgiveness," you offered. "Then, you can flatter me with comments, and finally, if you're forgiven, you can pour me a drink."

"Then, we make our way to the nearest broom closet?" George asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Only if you're really really lucky, Weasley. Now, come on, you have all night to make it up to me," you chuckled, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him through the portrait entrance.

George quickly made his way over to the table of drink, pouring himself and you a plastic cup of what smelled like a butterbeer and firewhiskey concoction. "Well, here's to being really really lucky," George smirked, raising his cup and placing a kiss on your cheek.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

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lostinthewoods-kristoff · 4 years ago

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After all, why not? Why can’t I hook up twice in one night?

DATED: Prom leave us alone SUMMARY: Mitte convinces Kristoff to let his hair down at prom NOTES/WARNINGS: None just good clean kinda steamy fun @mighty-mitte

MITTE

Town wide prom was… A strange phenomenon. Not the sort of thing Mitte had ever encountered before Swynlake. Of course, this was a place that had brought a lot of new experiences. Magic, alternate o

realities, vampirism. She wasn’t complaining, but it was discomforting how quickly these events had started to feel normal. Mitte was getting eager to shake things up, be a little bit of a troublemaker just for the hell of it. She’d had to be so careful lately with the dangers of killing someone so easily. But tonight she was well fed and looking fine as fuck, if she did say so herself- and she did- so she wanted to have some fun.

You could easily argue she’d had plenty already, what with sneaking off to her favourite town hall storage room with her date already for some messing around, but, well, if Kristoff was going to turn up to a second town hall event- without even having been dragged along by her this time- what was Mitte to do but push her luck?

Of course Marisa was her date, but they were two independent and easily distracted women. She’d wandered off to talk with some work friends and Mitte, who did not know them and wasn’t at all interested in the awkward this-is-my-date-no-not-my-girlfriend-just-my-date dance, wandered off to go see her old pal in espionage instead.

“As I live and breathe.” Mitte said as she sauntered over, voice breathy and one hand placed on her chest, “Kristoff Bjorgman, am I seeing you at another town event, or am I just losing my pretty little mind?”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff had no idea why he was even here.

He had been aware of Swynlake’s various events since he had started coming back into town of his own free will. They had made the shop workers a little ditzier than usual, a road would be closed here or there, and come sunset, the place would be like a ghost town. Kristoff had stood and watched from the sidelines, head tilted, brow furrowed. Why were there so many parties? What were they celebrating?

Turns out, they were never really celebrating anything. Kristoff had never understood that.

And he had never really had any desire to go to any of those events, something which definitely hadn’t changed -- what had changed, though, was that now people kept bugging him about going. His flatmate, his work friends. And then there was the inevitable talk about everything the next morning, a blow by blow account of everything that had gone on. At least if he was there he wouldn’t have to have those conversations…

Which is why Kristoff was stood in the corner, in a rented suit that definitely wasn’t to theme, wondering if it was too early to go home. When Mitte arrived, it was as silent as always, and in a dress that-- that-- what was his point again?

“Who says it can’t be both?” He returned, eyebrows arching.

MITTE

His heart stuttered. It was, obviously, not the first time someone's heart had gone funny at the sight of her, but hearing it always made her feel powerful. If she pointed it out Kristoff might make the argument that she had simply scared him by dancing over all quiet like, but even if his glance down at what she was wearing had been brief it wasn’t brief enough for her not to notice the way his eyes lingered on the slit at her thigh and the low neckline of her dress.

That was rather the point of wearing the thing, she’d be offended if it didn’t get to him at least a little. Marisa was a big fan of the look.

Apparently he was used enough to her antics now to be able to return fire. There was one version of reality where Mitte curled her lip and said ‘bite me’ and cackled and then the two of them were just old buds for the evening. But that would be boring, even if it did come with significantly less risk of giving Kristoff an aneurysm.

So instead Mitte pouted, eyes all wide. “Oooh, that was mean.” She simpered as she reached his side, shaking her head. “At least now I know you’re the real Kristoff and not some super social imposter.” She tipped her head back and smiled up at him, shifting her weight to rest over one hip so the slit on the side of her dress rode up her thigh.“I’m glad you decided to come along.” Mitte said, one hand resting softly on his arm, grin turning a little devilish, “you cut a real handsome shape in a suit, y’know.”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff rolled his eyes, looking away— but it was mostly an excuse to not have to look at Mitte anymore. Not that he didn’t want to (he definitely did want to, actually, way more than he probably should, which was probably her intention in the first place, wasn’t it?), just that he kinda didn’t trust himself to. Making a fool of himself? Nothing new. But pissing off a vampire? Even one who was his friend? He didn’t want to stray into that territory.

Plus, the eye rolling and the teasing were what he was used to. That was what they did. Not as easily or as readily as they had in that dream, mind, but still. It was pretty typical for the two of them. And focusing on that was better than focusing on the way her dress shifted as she did, exposing even more skin—

And now she was complimenting him, and smirking, and he was definitely blushing. Right? “It’s not mine,” he admitted, blurting the words out because he apparently didn’t have anything else to say. “It’s rented.” He clarified, his face screwing up like he regretted every word out of his mouth. “We can’t all have—“ he waved a hand at her dress, immediately regretting acknowledging it. “Fancy event wardrobes.”

MITTE

Flustering Kristoff was just so easy. She doubted anyone would blame her for having fun with it. At the end of the day no one could say he was really suffering right now, could they? Poor Kristoff with the undivided and flirtatious attention of a girl in a revealing red dress. Even a short month or two ago his blushing might’ve been enough to spook her into cutting the whole game short, because there were some things you just didn’t play with- peoples’ lives, for example- but now though it caught her attention her thirst was sated enough that it didn’t entirely distract her and she only thought of the blood pooling under his skin for a moment.

Mitte’s smile turned bemused as he bumbled his way through the story behind his suit, her laugh light and airy. “Oh, you like my dress?” She looked down like she was only just noticing it for the first time herself, fingers delicately tracing along the neckline. “I guess it is kind of fancy. Want to know a secret?” She popped up onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, voice low, “it’s not mine either. I’m borrowing it from a friend.” Mitte stepped back, head tipping slightly to the side so her hair spilled down one shoulder, “so you see, neither of us actually have fancy event wardrobes.”

KRISTOFF

It took all the little Kristoff’s inside of big Kristoff’s brain a second to pull themselves together after Mitte stepped in close to him. She was definitely saying something (and hopefully he’d catch up to that later), but he was distracted by the warmth of her breath on his ear, and the scent of her perfume, growing stronger as she leaned in towards him before fading away again. He watched her hair tumble down over her shoulder and then, like two ends of a cut wire joining together again, he sparked back to life.

Kristoff searched his back catalogue of self-deprecating jokes for one that might suit, because usually when he wasn’t sure what else to say, but he came up kinda blank. His mouth was open, definitely like he was about to say something, so he probably should—

“Guess not,” he managed eventually, which definitely wasn’t worth the wait. Kristoff cringed a little, turning an even deeper shade of red (he would match her dress in a moment though, wait, maybe don’t think about the dress—) and awkwardly cleared his throat. “What about your date?” He asked, because that was normal, right? He was being normal. “Do they have a fancy wardrobe?” Wait, was she even here with anyone? He had just assumed— “I’m guessing you’re not here alone. Right?”

MITTE

Oh, it was going so well. Mitte might have almost felt bad for how quickly she could turn his brain to goo if it wasn’t so satisfying. It felt good to be flirting for the sake of flirting again, and not just for the purpose of luring some stupid sod into an alley for a bite to eat. She waited for Kristoff to pull himself back together, wondering how long it would take him to twig that amusing as it all was, she was also seriously interested in the idea of dragging him off to that little supply closet for some fun.

He would probably turn down the offer, at least at first, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he was staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

She swallowed a laugh when in all his fumbling for something to say all he could think to ask about was her date. “No, I’m not here alone.” Mitte answered with a wry smile, “I came with my friend Marisa. She’s…” She actually knew exactly where Marisa was- could’ve probably found her with her eyes closed on smell alone- but she pretended to scan the crowd anyway, tapping a finger against her lower lip. “Oh, she’s over there.” Mitte made a gesture towards a group of girls, and one particular brunette in a pale blue dress, “she does have a fancy wardrobe. Case in point, I borrowed my dress from her.” She smoothed her hands down her sides, turning back to Kristoff, “what about you? Anyone lucky on your arm tonight?”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff looked across the room, following Mitte’s eyes as they scanned over everyone. Admittedly when she pointed, all Kristoff registered was a group of pretty girls in very expensive, but very nice looking dresses. Whichever one of them was Mitte’s date didn’t really matter, because they all looked pretty much like they were up to snuff. Up to Mitte’s standards, he meant — or the standards of that dress. Whichever were higher.

(And Yknow, for his own sake, Kristoff kinda hoped that Mitte’s standards were low, ‘cause he was the opposite end of whatever spectrum that girl was on, and he didn’t think that was a good thing. Not that he was necessarily thinking about being Mitte’s date, or anything, he was just thinking— how had he got onto this again?)

He was a little startled to find Mitte looking at him again, and it took him a moment to register what she’d said. “Me? No.” Ha. Funny, Mitte, very funny. Kristoff had a grand total of two friends, and she was one of them, and he didn’t really know if Olaf thought of him as a friend, ‘cause he had hit him with a car, so he probably shouldn’t— “No, I got dragged here by the guys from work, but— I doubt I’ll be staying long. Just this drink, and then,” he jerked a thumb in the general direction of the door. He wasn’t one for parties, even when his friends hadn’t ditched him.

MITTE

He was here all alone. Perfect. Mitte wasn’t sure why exactly she was so determined to extend their physical relationship beyond the realm of an alternate reality. Well, primarily it was just because he was hot, but also if she could bag him in one universe but not the other that was basically implying Other Mitte was somehow better than her and Real Mitte would just not stand for that. It was as thorough a reason as she ever had for doing anything. That reason being: to see if she could.

“You wanna duck out so soon?” Mitte stepped a little closer and stared up at him, all sultry pout and innocent wide eyes, her hand resting on his arm again. “We haven’t even danced yet.” Her voice was soft, almost a purr, meant only for him to hear even though she wasn’t quite close enough to whisper. “You can’t come to a party looking all handsome and not stay long enough for at least one dance.”

KRISTOFF

There she went again, calling him handsome. He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not; it would be kind of a cruel joke, if she was, and he didn’t think Mitte was necessarily a cruel person, but Kristoff also wasn’t a very good judge of character. Whether it was a joke or not, it still made him blush, ducking his head and turning his face away as his lips twitched into a small, almost amused smile. His reaction wasn’t helped by the far too familiar weight of the hand on his arm, or the way she was so close that all he could smell was her perfume, or the low, coy lilt to her voice that reminded him once again of that dream…

“I don’t dance,” Kristoff told her, his eyes glancing from hers, to her lips, to the hand on his arm; there was a lot going on right now. He was having a little trouble processing it all. “Unless you’re not very fond of those shoes.”

MITTE

Hook, line, sinker.

It was almost too easy, and she’d be bothered by that if the outcome wasn’t certain to be satisfying. Yes she caught him staring at her mouth, didn’t need super senses for that one. Didn’t say anything about it but she did soften the sultry edge of the pout by smiling just a little bit, like he had been.

It grew into a smug grin at his quip, and Mitte trailed her hand down his arm until she could twine her fingers through his, “I borrowed the shoes too.” She gloated, glancing over at the dancefloor then back at him, though her voice was softer when she spoke again, “and it’s not like my reactions aren’t sharp enough to avoid your feet.” Though really, if he didn’t want to dance it wouldn’t be the worst thing… Mitte leaned in to whisper again, letting her eyes drop to his lips for a second before looking back up, “unless you’d rather skip straight to sneaking off to the storage closet to make out. I do like dancing but I wouldn’t be against that.” She didn’t lean back right away this time, one brow quirked as she waited to see how he would react.

KRISTOFF

Had Kristoff fallen asleep? Was this another dream? Mitte’s hand was in his and she was like super close, and then she was talking about closets? And making out?

Listen, Kristoff had not done a lot of dating. In fact, he had done no dating. There had been that boy out in the farmlands, when he’d been just a boy himself and still not quite used to human company but that was… different. And he’d been kinda glad when he’d moved away, ‘cause he’d never really known what to say to him after that summer.

So yeah, forgive him if he was blushing. A lot. And if he kind of gawped like a fish for a second whilst he fully registered just exactly what she was suggesting. “Is that what you do?” He asked, clearing his throat and ducking his head. He made no move to put some distance between them, or to take his hand from hers. “Go to closets and... make out with people? Sounds like a movie, or something.”

MITTE

OK, that had been pretty strong, she knew that. Mitte just figured it was better to get the offer out there, oblivious Kristoff would never pick up on it otherwise. So she lapsed into silence after making it and just watched his reaction play out on his face, not even being distracting by rubbing her thumb across his knuckles even though it would be funny to interrupt his thought process.

From anyone else his comment might sound like judgement, but Mitte knew he was just trying to work it out, work her out. "It has become a bit of a habit actually, now that I think about it." She said after a soft laugh, amusement colouring her tone. It really had become her go to prom activity. Now she was just trying to one up herself by getting two in one night.

He looked so good when he blushed. Some monster rattled its cage in the back of her head but Mitte pushed it back down by spending a moment counting the threads on Kristoff's jacket. He hadn't let go of her hand, or moved away. Now Mitte did sweep her thumb across his knuckles, just to get his attention. "Its fun." She promised, voice silky. "The dancing and the making out. Seriously, we could just dance if that's all you want." Her eyes darkened and she used her free hand to trace slowly and delicately down the buttons of his shirt, stopping just shy of his belt and pulling her hand away, "I'll even stop flirting." Mitte said on a breath, looking up at him through her lashes, "if you ask."

KRISTOFF

Kristoff was not going to ask.

He had a lot of things he wanted to ask Mitte. Mostly, why him? Don’t get him wrong, that dream had been good (very good), but it wasn’t like Kristoff was the same person as that dorky-but-in-a-cool-way super spy. He wasn’t dorky in any way except that; awkward, occasionally unpleasant to be around, usually clueless as to what was happening right in front of him.

He inhaled sharply as he fingers ran down the front of his shirt, and he tried to look at them, to watch the path they took down his chest, over his stomach, but she was too close; it just made him go cross-eyed. Definitely not dorky-but-in-a-cool-way. He looked up instead, meeting her eyes. Should he be afraid of her? Well. He was kind of afraid of her, in that moment, but had nothing to do with her being a vampire.

She could probably see the cogs turning in his head. The instinct to run vs the desire to stay, how to put that into words, how to put anything into words, because it had been a while since anyone had said anything— “And what’s my other option?” He asked her, sounding vaguely strangled. “If— if I don’t just want to dance? And… if I don’t want to stop the flirting…?”

MITTE

Let it be known; Mitte was a danger to people like Kristoff long before she’d become a vampire. Because she knew how to present herself, how to charm her way in or out of a situation. It was an advantage of life on the road, she’d met people of all different temperaments, and once you’d dealt with a personality type before it was a simple matter of small adjustments to cater a technique to the individual.

Kristoff was your classic awkward guy. Cute, unassuming, not great with social cues. Not always fantastic bed partners at first but usually willing to learn and easy to teach. (She had enough evidence that Kristoff was very capable in that department not to be too worried if he wasn’t perfect from the get go.)

She really would be fine with just dancing, if he drew that line, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to. He proved her assumption correct just a few seconds later, sounding for all the world like he’d just run a marathon or something. Mitte giggled and tipped her head to the side, in the direction of the hallway, then leaned back towards him to whisper. “Making out in the storage closet.” She reminded him, letting her lips brush the shell of his ear before she shifted away.

Mitte lightly circled a few of the shirt buttons in the middle of his chest, looking up at him. “Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna catch us. Unless you’ve got an overprotective father on the town board I don’t know about, that’s the only time that happened. And I still managed to get away with a tupperware full of fancy crab cakes so not a total loss as far as a prom goes.” She grinned, letting the mood lighten a little before Kristoff went into cardiac arrest.

She cast her gaze back to the hallway again then quirked a brow at him, voice low and sultry, “you wanna get out of the dance hall?”

KRISTOFF

Yeah, yep. Kristoff thought that was his other option.

He had no idea what he was doing here. Well, no, not true, he knew exactly what he was doing here, he just wasn’t sure what was making him do it. He was hardly the adventurous type, had never been one to sneak out of parties to make out in places you shouldn’t (or places you should, for that matter).

And there was always that little voice in the back of his head, the one that nagged, that whispered his doubts to him. But what about Mitte’s date? What about their friendship? What if this ruined everything? Worse, what if he was super bad at it, or at least worse than he had been in that dream, and Mitte decided she wanted nothing more to do with him--

The little voice was silenced for a second, though, as Mitte joked again. He was kind of glad for the momentary change in tone, for the opportunity to roll his eyes and give her a ha ha very funny expression. He definitely didn’t have an overprotective father, though he was probably going to have to ask Mitte for that story…

And then she was looking at him again, doing that thing she did where she looked all coy and mysterious, and Kristoff decided that that little anxious voice could go right to hell. “Lead the way.”

MITTE

This had all been surprisingly smooth sailing. Mitte had expected a little more protest, some more shock, maybe Kristoff telling her she was just acting weird. She wasn’t sure how much that old dream played into his desire now, or if she’d just managed to bambozole him so much with all her flirting he couldn’t use the sensible part of his brain, but either way she was pretty proud of herself.

He was cognizant enough to roll his eyes at her story, so as far as she was concerned she still had enough control of his faculties to be making the choices he wanted to make. And that choice was to sneak off and make out with her. Mitte grinned up at him and stepped back, taking his hand more securely in her own and striding out of the main hall, into a hallway that’d become very familiar.

As before when she’d been here with Marisa, it was empty, and the closet door still unlocked. She ushered Kristoff in first and slipped in after, closing the door by pressing herself up against it. He still looked a little lost, but less panicked than before. Mitte slid her hands up into his hair, using it to pull his face down to hers. She kissed him slow but firm, not wanting to freak him out with too much at first.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff knew that if he allowed himself to think for even a second, he was going to psych himself out. He would panic about getting in trouble, or upsetting Mitte’s date, or her using this as some kind of an excuse to get back to draining his blood (which wasn’t fair, and he was really trying very hard to put that behind himself), and then he would say y’know what, never mind, and he would probably leave his personal belongings back at the work table and just walk directly out of the town hall and back into the forest, never to be seen again.

So, no thinking, which turned out not to be a problem pretty much as soon as Mitte closed the closet door behind them both. There was no pause, no fumbling; she pulled him towards her and he didn’t put up any argument, deciding that letting her take the lead was probably for the best. Case in point: he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hovered for a second, whilst he was admittedly a little distracted with her lips on his and her hands in his hair, before they managed to find her hips, shifting over her waist, settling just below her ribs. He was glad she had started slowly; he kissed her back almost carefully, like he was frightened he’d do it wrong -- and to be honest, he sort of was.

MITTE

While there were cons to what she had become, heightened senses were absolutely a plus in these scenarios; she carded her hands through his hair and marvelled at how soft it was, the warmth of his hands at her waist, the gentle curve of his lips against hers. He was almost shy with the way he did it, but Mitte was sure he’d warm up soon enough. She let her hands roam along his shoulders and down his chest, and considered wriggling them under his jacket to push it off, but did not want to freak him out. So she pushed them back up into his hair, nails scratching ever so lightly against his scalp.

When it started to seem like he was going to need a minute to breathe she trailed soft little kisses across his cheek and jawline, resisting the urge to dip her face down and trace her lips across his neck- again, she did not want to freak him out- eventually reaching his ear. “You’re doing fine.” Mitte murmured, “would you relax and kiss me like you mean it? Messing this up is more difficult than you’re assuming.” She shifted her mouth back to his, keeping to that same steady pace.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff wished he could say something smart. Something like, I didn’t know this was a performance review, or… well, that was the only thing he could think of, to be honest. And he couldn’t even really think of that, because there was some kind of disconnect happening between his brain and his mouth - the speaking part, at the very least.

So: he was going to have to use his actions, if he couldn’t use his words. He raised one hand to her face, palm pressing to her cheek so that he could tip her head back a little more as he pressed closer to her. At least they couldn’t fall backwards through the door, so he didn’t have that to worry about. Though, to be honest, the leaning down probably wasn’t the best angle for his neck… so. Kiss her like he meant it.

There was a shelf behind them, or a cupboard, or… something. To be honest, Kristoff had no idea what it was, but he didn’t think it mattered. He pulled away just long enough to make sure that there was some space before he reached down, lifting Mitte with his hands behind her thighs, pulling her legs around his waist. It was a complicated motion for someone as clumsy as him, but he managed to get them turned around and Mitte set down on the bench/shelf/whatever without taking his lips from hers, and without major injury, which he thought was quite impressive.

“How’s that?” He asked her, nipping at her lower lip before leaning in again.

MITTE

He smelled good, which was not new information at all, but it was amplified and impossible to ignore in this small space. Mitte wasn’t worried about going crazy sexy vampire killer on him though- thanks to her time right here with Marisa earlier, all those urges were sated- so it just served to get her more excited, the din of the world outside the door forgotten.

All she really had to worry about was making sure she didn’t grab at him too hard, but she could manage that. Most of the time. And if she did get a little carried away she’d know real quick, so it would be fine.

Speaking of getting carried away. Mitte made a noise of surprise in the back of her throat when Kristoff picked her up, grinning for a moment as he set her down on some surface that had been behind him. Smart. With her legs wrapped around him and the split going up one side her dress had risen up the top of her thighs almost enough to expose the lacy red underwear she had on, but she didn’t think either of them were upset about that.

“Perfect.” Mitte said all sultry. Her hands roamed his chest while they kissed, dancing about lightly, occasionally swooping down low to flirt with the line of his trousers where the shirt was tucked in. Eventually she slid them around under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff definitely wasn’t upset about it, mostly because he hasn’t noticed it yet, because his attention was conveniently caught by Mitte’s lips, and her hands as they slipped across his chest. It was enough to make him shiver, but he slipped out of his jacket without any protest. It wasn’t like it was his, anyways; she could do what she liked with it.

It was a lot easier that way, he found. Let Mitte take the lead and follow suit, though to be fair, lifting her up and spinning her round had been his idea, and they had both definitely enjoyed that. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this after all? He was still trying not to get too far ahead of himself.

He pulled back from her only for a second, taking his lips from hers to trail kisses across her jaw, down the curve of her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair and her perfume as he went.

MITTE

He was hot. Literally, Mitte wanted to soak up his warmth like a sponge, make her cheeks go red again. She was used to being cold but not to her core, not like this. She wasn't used to not being sure if someone shuddered at her touch because it was good or because she was cold enough for them to feel it through their clothes.

Kristoff wasn't against taking more clothes off anyway, so she couldn't be cold enough to stop him. She tipped her head back when he turned attention to her jaw and down, making a soft sound of pleasure as her legs tightened around him. (Vocal cues were good, and so was praise, so Kristoff earned some for his bold moves for sure.)

Her hands slipped under his arms and around his back, scratching down his spine gently. "Would it be okay if I did the same?" Mitte murmured in the general direction of his ear, "no funny business, honest. Just regular sexy neck kissing."

KRISTOFF

The old Kristoff (of about twenty minutes ago), would have said yknow what? Let’s wrap this up actually. The last time he’d had Mitte’s lips at his neck he’d lost an unknown amount of blood and had felt pretty nauseous for a while, and he wasn’t in any particular rush to repeat that experience.

But the Kristoff that was now stood in a supply closet with Mitte’s legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on her hips was not the old Kristoff. He was potentially, just maybe, someone who was kind of fun, and apparently someone who gave in to certain urges, and he was definitely someone who responded well to both praise and vocal cues…

Mostly, though, he was someone who trusted Mitte.

“Yeah,” He nodded. Eloquence wasn’t his strong suit. “Yeah, that’s - that’d be okay.”

MITTE

It was weird to ask, but the last thing Mitte wanted to do right now was freak him out. Things were going so smoothly.

Too smoothly of course, and she should've known better than to trust that. Or herself.

Maybe it was because she'd never been alone in such a small space with him. It was all filled up with his smell; earthy and warm and dangerously familiar.

Her head tipped down and she pressed a trail of hot kisses along Kristoff's jaw, leading down his neck. The deep breath she took was what started the trouble. Oh god, it would be so easy. Her mouth lingered at his pulse point, she felt sharp and unwelcome teeth prickling her lower lip.

"Fuck-" Her voice was shaky, just a breath.

This was it. She was a monster now, wasn't she? Normal things like making out with a hot guy in a storage closet were suddenly out of reach.

Mitte braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, trying to be gentle.

Still too close. His cheeks were red. His blood thrummed hypnotically. She wanted it. She wasn't even hungry. It'd be so good. Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, aching to drag him back in.

No. Not again. "I gotta go." This wasn't fair.

She slipped off the table he'd sat her down on, trying to keep it together. Casual, calm, collected. Not yearning for his blood and cursing herself. "I-" Mitte swallowed thickly, and wondered how visible fangs were when you talked. "This… Somewhere with better air circulation next time, maybe." As she backed towards the door and yanked on the handle she managed a wink, her hand curling a little too strongly around the metal as she got it open.

It was easier to breathe immediately, and Mitte spared him a final glance as she headed back out to the hallway.

KRISTOFF

There was a moment of fear, of minor panic, that made his pulse jump in his neck when Mitte’s lips finally met the curve of his neck. He’d thought the trail she’d begun might’ve distracted him, but his subconscious wasn’t fooled. The longer she lingered, though, the less he cared--

And then she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back, and Kristoff took a step away, giving her space. She hadn’t said anything, but he had a feeling he knew what the issue was, and even if it wasn’t that she wanted to sink her teeth into his neck (again) and drain him of his lifeforce, he supposed it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. If he was honest, his brain was running the 400 metre sprint to try to catch up to what had just happened, and by the time he had thought to ask Mitte if she was alright, she was already gone, throwing a wink over her shoulder as she went. The door swung shut behind her, and Kristoff huffed softly, running a hand over his face. For some reason, he didn’t feel any better for having just escaped death. After a moment, he tidied himself up, and slipped back out into the hallway - this time, though, he headed for the door, out into the cool night air, putting prom behind him.

#mistoff #( t; after all why not )#we finally finished it

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buggeredson · 4 years ago

Text

He can taste the conflict in the angel’s mouth and even that isn’t enough to dissuade him. The tongue beside his stills and he pulls back, kisses the corner of that irritatingly beautiful mouth, but when he goes back to invade it again it has formed a strict line, no entry permitted, and Crowley sighs as he rocks back on his feet and nearly falls over, stumbling back and laughing about it as one hand shoots out to grab the furniture, keep him upright. Castiel realizes only belatedly that he’s never seen Crowley act this way before. He’s witnessed inebriation, but never from the demon. Is he faking? Or is something more wrong than that? Castiel frowns, brow furrowing, and Crowley snorts with laughter from where he’s seated on the bed, struggling to take off his own shoes.

“You look consti-- const-- you look like you need to take a shit, darling,” he says, stumbling over slurred words and laughing it off. It’s very...un-Crowley, laughing off his inability to articulate as if his elocution means nothing to him, pawing at the knot of his tie with fingers too dumb to undo it properly. Cas steps forward and moves Crowley’s hands away, taking over the duties of unknotting the tie as the demon continues to chuckle from below him. “Water closet’s the other way, Cas. Maybe I’ll join you in the shower afterwards--”

“You are unwell.” It’s a statement, not a question, but its also an assumption, the kind that usually raises at least some of Crowley’s ire. But he continues to laugh. Puts his rather meaty hands over Castiel’s once the tie is undone and pulls him down so they’re a little closer to level. His eyes drop to the angel’s lips and Cas become aware of how chapped they are solely because Crowley looks like he wants to devour them.

“Guess I’m in need of some ‘Bad Medicine.’”

“Why would you need bad medicine?”

Crowley huffs at that and the moment’s over; he sucks in a deep breath he doesn’t need and lets it out in a short sigh, glazed eyes coming up to meet Castiel’s once more. “No, it’s--‘Bad Medicine,’ darling, has Dean taught you nothing? Bon Jovi? ‘Your love is like bad medicine’? Ringing any bells? No?” Cas stares blankly until Crowley sighs, and then chuckles again, and lets go of Castiel’s hands. “Nevermind.”

He starts unbuttoning his shirt now, swaying a small bit as he tries to focus, and Castiel stands useless before him, head tilted, feeling...small. Smaller, almost, than Crowley has ever made him feel--and this time on accident, no less. He stares at Crowley but his gaze is a million miles away when he becomes vaguely aware of Crowley frowning up at him.

“Y’know I was joking?” Crowley mumbles, a little defensively, and Castiel comes crashing back into the present moment, far away from the thoughts tumbling through his mind but not yet far enough to ignore them. “’S not like I expect you t’know all the music from--”

“That isn’t my concern.” Crowley’s eyes sharpen a bit at that and Castiel realizes he’s said more than he’d meant to. What he meant to be a placating dismissal before Crowley’s mood soured had confessed more than it had placated.

“That right? So what’s it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Crowley is having none of it, trying to push himself up to stand despite the scant space between them making that a difficult maneuver. “What’s your concern?”

“Crowley--” But the demon of the hour is on his feet, and his eyes are drilling into the angel’s, and Castiel falters a small bit beneath them. There is silence for a moment, and then, as simply and coolly as possible--something studied from Crowley but not yet enacted--Castiel answers. “I was only thinking of the future.”

“Future,” Crowley scoffs, tilting his head back. Castiel can see he’s not buying it.

“I was wondering where...I would go.”

Crowley scoffs again, wordlessly this time, and drops back to sit on the bed again. “Honestly, angel. Had me worried there! Don’ need to go tonight. Bed’s big enough for two--”

“When you are done with me, I mean.”

Crowley rolls his eyes and levels the angel with a still-slightly-inebriated glare that speaks volumes about his perceived intelligence in that moment. “I know sleep’s a bit alien, but there’s always telly if you don’t feel like staying in bed, you know.”

“Not tonight. Later.”

“Enough RIDDLES, Castiel,” Crowley groans. “What are you on about?”

“When you leave.” In the silence that follows, you could almost hear the twin heartbeats in the room. Tension takes hold and Castiel fixes his gaze on a far wall, pushing the rest of the words out now that the hardest three have popped loose. “Like everyone else does. When I have outlived my usefulness to you, I wonder where I will go.”

There’s silence again, and Castiel swallows hard against it. Words like that are almost impossible to retract, once said.

“You know I’m not using you. Well. This time.” Castiel feels as if heat has drained from his cheeks at that comment, and he wonders for a moment if he’s gone pale.

“I know,” he says, almost whispers. The room feels airless. Castiel does not look away from the far wall. There’s another rush of silence after he speaks and then--the creaking of bed springs, Crowley grunting, the pop of a human socket being unexpectedly stretched out. Crowley stands up in front of him but Castiel cannot make himself meet his eyes; he can almost hear the face Crowley pulls before, to his surprise, Crowley pulls him down onto the floor beside the bed. He does not resist.

“Someone’s done a job on you,” Crowley mutters as he seats himself beside Cas. He crosses his arms over his chest--shirt still open, still on--and closes his eyes, humming a tuneless note as he rests his head against Castiel’s shoulder. The moment now is quiet, not silent, but there is still cement weighing down Castiel’s gut.

“What are you doing?” he asks finally.

“Thinking,” Crowley replies. His tone should be short, or sharp, an slap across the knuckles for asking a stupid question, but it’s just tired instead. Castiel is about to ask another question before Crowley continues, “‘M very drunk. Thinking’s hard.”

“You should--”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Crowley lifts one finger and holds it against his lips, and Castiel finally glances over at the devil on his shoulder. Drunk, with his eyes closed, Castiel can almost see the man Crowley might have been all those centuries ago. His thoughts must not be going well: his forehead is pinched, nose wrinkling, and Castiel can see the beginnings of grumpiness seeping into Crowley’s expression. When he lets out an explosive sigh, Castiel only tenses: but nothing comes. Crowley opens his eyes and his expression becomes neutral again; he pulls away from Cas’ shoulder, and that almost hurts, but he only swings himself around so that he sits straddling Cas’ lap.

That, in itself, is a bit of a gift: Crowley so hates to be reminded of his vessel’s short stature, of how it sometimes limits his imposition, that he almost never allows himself to be held, let alone to straddle. But there he sits, one hand slipping behind Castiel’s head as he leans in, noses the angel’s hairline and then ducks his head to kiss just under his jaw.

“What are you doing?”

“Only thing I could think of: kiss it better.”

“Crowley.”

“Castiel,” he replies, mimicking Cas’ tone. He slides his tongue along Cas’ jaw--ever lewd, ever dirty--but gives his chin a chaste peck before leaning back. He trails large hands over the face Castiel has chosen to wear, traces cheekbones with thick fingers and grazes stubble with his palms, delicately running the top of one finger under Castiel’s right eye all the way up to his temple, memorizing.

“Bloody wonder they could ever leave you,” he says, almost to himself. He seems significantly less inebriated now than he had before, tracing over the bridge of a nose, the cracks in dried lips, even the curve of an ear. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Novak is a very--”

“Fuck the meat, Cas,” Crowley says, cutting him off yet again and looking into his eyes with a sudden intensity that wears even his patience down into silence. With Crowley, he’s become so used to borrowing human eyes to see, he had almost forgotten how much more was there. Now, he wonders if Crowley ever used human eyes to see him, or how long he had been staring with eyes that could see so much more. “If I could touch the rest without being burnt to a crisp, I just might--’cept then you’d be a sorry one, and I wouldn’ be able to see you again, an’ that’d make ME even sorrier.” Castiel could say something about the greedy nature of demons, but he doesn’t. Crowley keeps petting his face, but yes, Cas sees it now: whatever eyes he was staring with before, he’s looking at the angel now with eyes that can see it all: the cracks, the scars, the bruises. Broken wings. Faltering grace. Every inch of him, all the beauty of angel that he’s spoiled just by being...him.

Except that Crowley looks almost enraptured by it all. Castiel has rarely if ever seen such awe on the demon’s face. “Radiant. If the night could do shine instead of glow, Cas, that’d be what you look like.”

He couldn’t mean that. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” It was just the sort of language lovers use with one another--and Crowley, of course, was the consummate lover. (All possible entendres fully intended--and blamed on the demon, of course.) It was natural he would be fluent in this language, too, even if he had never used it before. “More than anything I am,” Crowley continued, “anything I could EVER have been...Cas, you’re so much.”

The tracing hands stop, holding Castiel’s face firmly between them. Crowley lifts up and kisses both of the angel’s eyelids, uncannily gentle, and then the tip of his nose, and then...he just...hovers. Breath ghosting across Cas’ lips. He waits there until Cas looks at him again, meets his eyes, and he holds them there still. “I could write poetry about you--and I’m a fucking poor sod at that, too.” Crowley cracks a smile again and kisses Castiel firmly, moving against him until they are caught in something languid and loving and very unlike them, Crowley trailing a hand down the side of Castiel’s neck and to his clavicle, center of his chest, back up again. Crowley’s kisses almost always promise sex. Not this one.

“Not leaving ‘til you fucking make me, angel,” he mumbles at some point between kisses, draping both his arms around Castiel’s shoulders so he can melt against him. “Can’t believe...waste your time on a fucking demon...so much better, could do better, too....” Crowley inhales sharply and holds himself just far enough away to pant against Castiel’s lips again, keep the angel at bay as he licks his own lips thoughtfully. He seems to come to a decision, teasing his way back into the kiss with just the faintest touch of tongue until Castiel follows his lips every time he pulls away, desperate for anything to do with them: words, kisses, anything.

“Worthiest fucking man I know, and he’s a bloody pigeon,” Crowley mutters before finally lifting his eyes back up to Cas’. “Selfish me,” he says, louder and more clearly now, “and even I wouldn’t want to keep on in a world devoid of you.” One last kiss and Crowley draws away completely, hoisting himself up from Cas’ lap and offering his hand to help the angel off the floor. Crowley yawns and strips his shirt the rest of the way off, belt, trousers, and all soon to follow, before crawling into the bed and patting the space beside him. Castiel follows suit much more meekly, head spinning from the information he’s still processing. Although neither one sleeps, both stay in the bed, silent for the rest of the night, lost in mutual warmth and affection.

#IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS LONG #;;i play the tune; everyone else dances to it (drabbles)#crowstiel #drunk crowley cw lol #long post for ts

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george-fabian-weasley · 4 years ago

Note

Also a 🥺👉👈 please?

I’m niya, I’d prefer a male ship, I’m a Slytherin. I enjoy reading and writing. I love my friends and feel the safest with them. I enjoy a good drama, a total romantic at heart. I’d say I’m pretty bold and quite flirty. I’m a little impulse when it comes to decision making.

HIII NIYA DARLING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR JOINING <333

I ship you with Neville Longbottom!

i just love the dynamics between Gryffindors and Slytherins so here we go!

You've known Neville since First Year, but you're not close to him, you've only seen him in your classes ocassionally

You've always thought of him to be quite... adorable yet you've never made any move, well, until Fifth Year anyway

Something about him being timid and innocent makes you want to protect him and veil him from any harm

As you joined Dumbledore's Army at the Room of Requirements, you've been making moves at Neville (because who says the guys should always take the first move?)

"Hello, Neville!" You greeted as you bumped into him on your way to the Room of Requirements for practices. He flinched when he saw you, raising his hand awkwardly, "H-hey, Niya."

"How are you this evening?" You said cheerfully as you walked beside him; you've never talked to him before this. Neville spared you a confused glance, "Uh, lovely, I suppose... You?"

"Oh, I'm doing splendid! Isn't it fun just sneaking behind Umbridge to be part of an army to save the world?" You gave him a huge smile, and Neville felt his cheeks reddening.

"Yeah, as long as we're not caught, that is. I heard Filch is keeping a close eye on us," He told you, turning his head to you occasionally as you walked together.

You snorted, "That old Squib is harmless, really," You said, and suddenly an idea comes to mind, "You should be worried about me instead."

Neville furrowed his eyebrows, stopping on his tracks as he turned to you, "Why? Are you sick, perhaps?"

You chuckled, a teasing smile on your lips, "If you are my antidote, then why not?"

Poor Neville was so flustered his fair skin reddened instantly

You left him a blushing mess there as you entered the Room of Requirements, chuckling to yourself at how adorable he was

During sessions Neville couldn't help but to glance ever so often at you, his heart could be heard pounding oh so very loudly at his ear

He had never been flirted with before; he wasn't that good of a social pleaser to begin with

You caught him a few times (boi wasn't good on hiding it) and winked at him

Starting from there, just before every session you would walk with him and gave him a pickupline, and Neville blushed every single time (clearly enjoying it my sweet boy)

From flustered shocked expression to shy smiles, Neville begins expecting your presence around him every time

One night, the twins informed all of you that Filch has been patrolling around the hallways more often in order to catch some of the members of Dumbledore's Army

He almost caught you two (he's surprisingly agile for his age)

"Run, Neville, run!" You said as you spotted Filch at the end of the hallway, pushing Neville forward to make him go faster.

As you were running away from Filch, you didn't realize you were holding hands with Neville, pulling him towards each turn, hoping to lose Filch and that demon cat, Mrs. Norris.

"I'm going to catch you two!" A holler from Filch was heard, he was far behind you, but still very dangerous if get caught.

"Quick! In here!" Neville exclaimed as he pulled you into a confined space; which you later realized was a brooms' closet.

The closet was so small you could barely fit two people in there yet somehow you managed; your chests almost touching each other.

"Taking the first step today, eh?" You teased and Neville shushed you, yet a small smile on his lips told you he's amused.

You heard footsteps of the old Squib, hitching your breath as you did so. Well you hitched your breath because of that; and because Neville was staring at your lips.

You felt warmth travelling up to your cheeks, this time you were the one getting flustered yet you decided to tease him more; you bit your lower lip and gnawed on it slowly.

"What are you staring at, Longbottom?" You whispered, your lips quirking into a giddy smile. His eyes flickered to yours and to your lips a few times, "You, obviously."

"A bit bold tonight now, are we? First the closet, and now very not subtly staring at my lips? My, my," You feigned innocence as Neville rolled his eyes playfully, scoffing a quiet chuckle.

"Couldn't help it when you're this close to me, and I can't kiss you."

Miss ma'am, Neville might look like an innocent angel waiting to be protected but this dude; given his times of bravery thanks to Godric Gryffindor, can be as wild as Fred Weasley

And you know what's the scariest part?

No one sees it coming

He kissed you, obviously

it was just a soft peck of sudden bravery on the lips but still he kissed you first

and yknow, snogging in the broom's closet might not be ideal for your first kiss but who's keeping tally anyway

Starting then, you're stuck with Neville

Every day within classes you two would find time for each other to just relax and hang around with each other

You would lay your head on his lap as you read your book at the shore of Black Lake, and he would in times interfere to see how far you've reached to talk about the story with you (he read it in one night because you told him you like the story)

He would teach you how to throw stones at the lake, standing behind you (mind you this precious bean is over 6ft) and guiding your hand and waist to throw the stone

Library dates library dates library dates LIBRARY DATESSS

I see Neville as a guy whose love language is affirmations and gift giving (also a tad of touch) so your first anniversary, he gave you a love letter and a scarf his Nan made for you

He balances you out perfectly and it was a relationship everyone made an example of

"Why can't you treat me like how Niya treated Neville?" "Bitch please you're nowhere close to Nev sod off"

"Hey Nev," "Yeah, Niya?" "Would you still be my antidote after we graduate?" "Well, do you want me to be?" "Obviously." "Then, always and forever."

JOIN MY SLEEPOVER!

#syaf's 600 sleepover #syaf sleepover party!#neville longbottom #george-fabian-weasley #neville is making me mushy

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blindbatalex · 5 years ago

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A snippet small, a sentence even, for your carraville accidental twitter fake relationship for the sake of the outed footballer au.

Gary notices Becks and in an instant the nagging feeling that he has been forgetting something -- something big -- that he has been carrying with him all afternoon leaps from the shadows into the limelight.

He mutters a heartfelt “bollocks”; Jamie turns to him, startled at his reaction, but that’s all they have time for.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” David, now having reached them, is smiling. If you didn’t know him, you could mistake it for a friendly inquiry. Gary does know him, however, unfortunately, and hears the bitter incrimination for what it is. You have been dating this man and you didn’t tell me.

“Oh,” Gary downplays it best he can. “It’s not as if we are engaged.”

Everything happened so quickly today. One minute Gary was typing “and what if I am” in response to some Twitter scum who accused him of sucking Jamie’s dick because Gary stood up for that poor Brighton player who got outed, and in the next he and Jamie were attending a charity gala -- this charity gala -- as a couple. (Jamie had all but thrown the Sun article titled “Truth Revealed: Carragher and Neville in a relationship?!” in his face, but it soon led to a dawning realization that every minute the tabloids and fans are spending talking about them (two over the hill sods with nothing to lose) was a minute they were not talking about the poor Brighton player (a young man with everything to lose.))

A brilliant plan, except with everything that was going on, they forgot to tell David, who is now standing next to them in a tux, and smiling. It will still be hell to pay when David gets him alone, but he can explain then too, and he thinks they might have just gotten away.

That is until he feels an arm -- Jamie’s arm -- curl around him with a possessive hand coming to rest on the small of his back, mere inches away from his arse.

“Not yet!” Jamie chimes in brightly.

Gary turns sharply to him -- what on God’s sweet earth? -- and the sudden touch, the sudden flood of Jamie in his personal space, is enough to throw his brain for a loop. Jamie glances between him and David. “Well, we couldn’t plan for our future because we were in the closet but since Gary took care of that today-” He turns to Gary and smiles, oh so sweetly. “You know how much I love you, babe.”

“James-” Gary manages to say and he is going to murder Jamie. David is smiling so hard he looks like he is going to have a stroke.

“You know, you and I should get a drink sometime and talk,” David tells Jamie, before Gary can get enough brain cells together to say something more coherent.

His arm still wrapped around Gary, the touch still sending electric shocks through Gary’s spine in a way that is wholly unpleasant, Jamie turns to David.

“What about?”

Gary considers elbowing him out of the way so he can get this situation under control, except he has a sense that is not what boyfriends are supposed to do, and definitely not at fancy galas. David is too quick for him anyway. He shrugs.

“I care a lot about Gary. I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“I care a lot about Gary too, and I won’t let him get hurt...again.”

David inhales sharply, his smile breaking around the edges into a sneer and Gary gets hold of his mental faculties in the nick of time. He throws himself bodily between his once-best friend and current pretend boyfriend and tells David they are getting drinks and he is coming with Gary.

He is actually going to murder Jamie if only for the way he reaches out and runs his thumb tenderly across Gary’s lips and tells him to hurry back. As Gary drags David away, his lips prickle as if they have been touched by acid, but that’s what he gets isn’t it, for hatching a plan based on fake-dating Carragher of all people.

#carraville #hope this is to your liking!#Anonymous

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yetanotherauthor · 5 years ago

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Day 4 of @narutorarepairweek. Today’s prompt is soulmate au.

Pairing: MadaraIzuna Word count: 1469 Rated: T+ Summary: Madara still loses things all the time - just as the universe intended him to.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Oh Brother Where Art My Shit

There was a reason that Madara had started the habit of getting ready for important events the day before they happened and that reason was simple. He was a messy sod. A terror on the battlefield and a clan head not to be crossed, it would have been hard for most people to reconcile the persona he carried for the outside world with the flaming disaster that was his everyday life at home.

Both hands buried up to the wrist, Madara cast a weather eye over the massive pile of junk he was currently sifting through in the bottom of his closet. Maybe if he learned to keep better track of his things it wouldn’t take him so long to find them all the time but it was hard to break a habit after deliberately cultivating it for so many years. He was doomed to a messy home for the rest of his life. If only he could find the blue obi he’d spent the last hour searching for then maybe he could live with that but until then he would continue to curse how desperate he’d been for a soulmate when he was young.

“Are you looking for something?” Izuna’s voice drifted over his shoulder and Madara scowled.

“No,” he growled sarcastically. “I just thought now was a good time for spring cleaning.”

“In the middle of winter?”

Yanking one hand out from under the pile of clothes it had been clawing through, Madara reached back to swat at his sibling without looking. “Just shut up. How am I supposed to attend Hashirama's stupid jubilee tomorrow if I can’t even look presentable? I’ll be the laughing stock of the other clan heads!”

“Ah, I see. So it wouldn’t happen to be an obi you’re looking for?”

“Obviously! I’ve got everything else laid out on the bed, don’t pretend you’re smart for guessing!”

“Mn. And would it happen to be blue? Midnight, silver stitching, just a little slimmer than all your other ones?”

It wasn’t just the perfect description that had him swinging around with a scowl but the teasing lilt in his brother’s voice. He scowled even deeper to see the very obi he’d been tearing their room apart to find draped over Izuna’s shoulders like a lady’s shawl, tasteful silver patterns catching the light and setting off his skin like a pale moon spirit.

“You weren’t supposed to see it!” he snapped. “Why do I even bother trying to surprise you with anything if you’re just going to go through my stuff anyway?”

His sibling rolled his eyes and cocked a hip. “I didn’t go through anything. There I was just minding my own business on the walk home and what do I see? An obi draped over the bushes out front. Now who in fire’s name would go to the trouble of throwing an obi in to our front lawn? Absolutely no one. It must be that some poor idiot…lost it.” Izuna’s lips quirked up on one side. “Good thing I found it, ne?”

Madara sat back on his heels with a sigh.

“I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t find it somewhere in the tower like last time.” Coming up with an excuse for why Izuna had suddenly pulled his older brother’s favorite underwear out of a desk drawer had been one of the cleverest and yet most embarrassing things he’d ever seen the younger man do.

“What you should really be grateful for is that I’m giving it back instead of hiding it. Really, take better care of your things.”

“Hmph, I take good care of you, don’t I?”

The words came out with little thought but he got his reward anyway in the softening of Izuna’s face, the fingers that reached out to card through his hair. Madara swallowed and let himself lean back against his brother’s legs. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to realize that his soulmate had been hiding under his nose almost all his life. As a child Madara had built the habit of deliberately leaving his things lying about in every corner of their house in the hopes that he would lose them only to find them in the hands of someone else. Whenever Izuna came to him with some shirt or sandal or badly drawn explosive tag that he’d stumbled across it never really registered as odd. Of course his brother was the one to find so many of his things, they shared so much of the same space after all.

“You do, aniki.”

“Damn straight,” Madara grumbled, a little embarrassed to have shown his softer side without meaning to.

“Are you going to try this all on now or just wait for tomorrow?” Izuna asked.

“I already know it all fits, why would I need to try it on?” Twisting to look up at the other man, Madara felt silly the moment he caught sight of the leer staring back down at him. Apparently he’d missed something between the lines there but that was nothing new. He was nearly as famous for his obliviousness as Tobirama was. Clearing his throat gave him a moment to think up some kind of response and still he wasn’t able to come up with anything better than to mumble under his breath, “If you want something you should just come out and say it.”

Shoving everything that he’d pulled out of the closet back in would have to wait. Madara looked over the mess once and shook his head, standing up and squeezing past his brother with both eyes on the floor because unfortunately obliviousness went hand in hand with embarrassment once he understood what was going on. He wasn’t in the least surprised by the arms that slid around his waist to catch him on the way by.

“Alright, if you need me to be so blunt about it. I was kind of looking forward to seeing you take your clothes off.” Izuna followed his words with a low chuckle that rumbled through Madara's body like a pleasant shiver.

“You watched me change just this morning; are you so insatiable?”

“For you? Of course.”

Slim hands traced their way down the lines of his abdomen to fiddle with the edges of the yukata he’d been lounging around the house in. With a sigh Madara caught them and twisted to slide his own fingers under Izuna’s chin, raising that pretty face up for his inspection. The smile that greeted him was filthy, enough so that anyone else might assume he had only one thing on his mind, but Madara knew his brother even better than himself. For him it was easy to look at Izuna and see the warmth of love in those beautiful eyes.

“You’re a minx,” he accused softly.

“I am,” Izuna agreed with a breezy wave of one hand, dismissing the words.

“Why do I put up with you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, more than familiar with the sass that would come back to bite him if he did. Instead Madara gave a show of rolling his eyes and then leaned down to capture Izuna’s lips with his own. The kiss was gentle, drawn out, but not for long. Gentle only ever lasted for so long between them. Barely a minute or two had passed before they were savagely biting at each other, pulling hair, legs bumping together as they turned to stumble towards the bed.

A quick twist at the moment they fell put Madara in the perfect position to cage his brother against the blankets neither of them had straightened when they got up that morning, leaning back to pause and admire the prize beneath him. It hit him then as it did every so often just how lucky he was.

“Admiration is lovely,” Izuna purred, “but I’m more a man of action myself. Get down here. We so rarely have a day off together and I plan to take full advantage of having you all to myself for so many hours.”

“You really do only ever think with your little head, don’t you?”

“Complaining?”

“No.” Madara let himself be pulled down in to another violent kiss that was their favorite way to express the passions between them.

It might have taken him years to see the bliss just waiting for him right in front of his eyes but from the moment he finally understood he had never looked back, not even once. Izuna was the entire world to him. He couldn’t imagine a world where he could ever love another quite like the man writhing beneath him.

Of course his brother was his soulmate, the only one who could ever truly understand him at his core, because Izuna was the one thing he could never ever stand to lose.

#narutorarepairweek2020 #yetanotherstory #madaizu #madara #izuna #fanfiction #soulmate au

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 6 years ago

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Edinburgh To Boston - Chapter 12 - At The Crossroads - A Deal With The Devil

Good evening all! I am excited to have Chapter 12 of Edinburgh To Boston ready. This is a far, far cry from what I normally write. And it comes with a warning: THE CONTENT IS GRAPHIC. DO NOT READ IF THIS KIND OF THING IS OBJECTIONABLE TO YOU!

I do need to thank @julesbeauchamp @smashing-teacups and @scubalass for being betas on this. I do want to thank @scubalass who called me out on several points of this story. I know this has made the story significantly better overall. She is a “dog with a bone,” and wouldn’t let it go.

As always, I welcome any thoughts, suggestions, comments, respectfully submitted, of course.

I hope you enjoy reading.

Without further delay, for better or worse, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 12 At The Crossroads - A Pact With The Devil

“What the hell are you doing here, Frank?” Claire snarled her nostrils flaring.

“Why Claire, dear, what does it look like I’m doing? I’m having dinner. What do you think I’m doing here?” he said mockingly.

She snorted with derision. “With whom? Another one of your students? Taking advantage of some poor misguided girl?”

“Poor and misguided girl, no. One of my doctoral candidates, yes. We were discussing the best methodology to use in her dissertation. Sandy is a very bright girl.”

Jamie’s head spun from Claire to Frank. The fucking sassenach bastard! Shite, he dropped his guard just for a moment and look at what happened. He needed to put an end to this now. He needed to get Claire away from him.

Frank turned from Claire giving Jamie a cold stare, “You are remiss in your manners pet, you have yet to introduce me to your dinner companion.”

“Don’t call me that!” There was a marked note of threat in her voice.

Standing to his full impressive height, Jamie insinuated himself between the Englishman and his Sassenach effectively shielding her with his body.

Frank briefly staggered leaning into Jamie for balance as he tried to get closer to Claire. That would prove to be an impossibility. An impenetrable mountain-sized man stood guard over her preventing even the meerest of glimpses of her.

Christ, the man stank like a distillery, his eyes were glassy, tie askew, and his balance impaired. Jamie wondered how much the man already had to drink.

He also looked like a man with a chip on his shoulder. A man angry at the world.

His assumed a protective mode, body taut, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his side, ready to keep her safe. “Dr. James Fraser, Dr. Beauchamp’s partner,” his voice husky as he tersely introduced himself.

There was no pretense of civility, no offer of handshakes made. The men took on the aspect of two dogs sniffing each other reading to fight. Jamie’s posture defensive while Frank’s became increasingly aggressive.

“Now if ye will excuse us, we were just getting ready to leave,” Jamie said gruffly and offered his hand to Claire. “Come, lass ‘tis time we leave. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

She took the proffered hand to get up. As she leaned over to reach for her purse, the wrap dropped exposing her whole back.

“Oh, ho! I think this is more than two colleagues simply having dinner together. You do look ravishing my dear,” Frank’s eyes raked over Claire’s body lasciviously. A body that was once his and now it belonged to…? His eyes then went to Jamie’s left hand observing the absence of a wedding ring. He looked at the Scot with contempt, how dare he claim something that was once his?

Her cheeks flushed crimson. What did it matter what he thought or what he thought he knew. The man was of no consequence to her anymore. And after all his liaisons past and present, who the hell was he to judge her?

Jamie helped adjust her shawl covering her once again. He knew that dress would be trouble.

He stood on the periphery of his limits struggling to control his anger. He needed to hit something or better yet someone. But, he did not want to cause a scene in the restaurant in front of Claire. Christ, he wanted to wipe that lecherous look off the arsehole’s face.

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?” Jamie asked tenderly as he turned to walk toward the front of the restaurant wanting to sign for the bill and return to the sanctuary of their room.

“Yes, let’s go. It’s been a long day,” She sighed.

“I guess this is it then. This is goodbye, Claire.”

Claire ignored Frank wanting to not have anything further to do with him. She turned and started to walk away.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Beauchamp? Think you’re better than me? You and your uncle always acting like you were better than anyone else, especially me. I’m talking to you, Claire,” he raised his voice causing the other patrons to turn and look. Frank grabbed Claire’s shoulder, spun her around to face him. She could feel his sweaty palm on her skin as he firmly seized her. He leaned in close enabling her to smell his fetid alcoholic breath skim hotly across her cheek.

It was obvious that he was drunk. The memories flooded back in a torrent. He often became hostile and threatening, even to the point of becoming physically abusive when he was deep in the drink. It had been years since she had seen him like this, morose and surly.

He had failed to make tenure and came home drunk. Of course, he blamed Lamb for his failures. He always did. Needless to say, she would be the one to pay the price. He demanded sex from her. “You like it rough, don't you, darling,” as he dragged her up to the bedroom. Frank threw her against a wall tearing at her clothes. She fought back but he was too strong. Naturally, he apologized the next day. “So sorry, old girl. I was drunk...pressure from work...the stress...a man needs the comfort of his wife in times like this...it will never happen again.” Yeah, you got that right. It will never happen again. He kissed her bloodied lips before he left for work leaving in a chipper mood like nothing had ever happened. Rising from the bed, she went to her closet. As she tugged her suitcase out of the closet, she dislodged a box that contained the love letters from his students. She took her few meager possessions and the box of letters. Battered and bruised, she left her home for what would be the last time for the safe haven she had with her Uncle. She never told anyone else other than Lamb what had happened. She never would.

She wanted to turn and leave just walk away from him now forgetting the whole ugly sordid mess that had been her time with Frank. But her loyalty to Lamb commanded her to stand her ground defending him against this pissant.

“DON’T. YOU. DARE. Lamb loved you like his own son and you betrayed both of us. Let go of me this instant you fucking sod.” Claire growled trying to pull her shoulder out of his grasp, but his grip tightened. For a man well into his cups, he was quite strong.

“I betrayed you and your uncle?! How little you know,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “He wouldn’t share his research with me, hmm. Yes,” his speech slurred and he swayed slightly. “He said I had to earn the right to have it. I thought he meant all I had to do was marry you. But I was mistaken,” he laughed nastily. “You were a cunt then, and you’re still a cunt now. That’s all you were good for was a good fuck.” Frank drew closer narrowing the gap between them. His open hand familiarly cupped the space between her thighs, a part of her body that he once intimately knew. He stroked, squeezed and kneaded her like she still belonged to him. “You like that don’t you, bitch.”

Claire gasped, crying out, “JAMIEEE!”

Jamie turned his head and realized that Claire failed to follow him. He saw that mac na galla grabbing and touching her in a way no man wants to see happen to his woman.

“C L A I R E!” he bellowed in a hoarse angry voice. Christ, would no one go to help the lass?

Bystanders, diners, wait staff, were all stunned into inaction watching the tableau unfold around them not able to believe what their eyes told them.

With eyes narrowed dangerously, mouth grimly set, he pushed his way through the crowd recklessly. He must get to her. Waiters carrying heavily laden trays with dinners were knocked out of the way. Food flew about, dishes and silverware crashed to the floor, sending shards of china everywhere.

He watched Claire fighting and struggling with Frank. Taking her purse, she struck him about his head then clawed at his face. She kicked his ankle and stomped on his foot.

That’s it, lass, gie it to him. He took pride in how braw she was.

Observing Jamie’s approach, Frank called out loudly, “Had a piece of this yet, Fraser? I’ll bet you have. She likes to fuck and she’s good at it too. If she didn’t become a doctor, she could have made a good living as a whore. Did she ever su..”

Frank never got to finish his sentence as his face became acutely acquainted with Jamie’s fist.

There was something quite satisfying about being able to hear and to feel the nasal cartilage crunch with the impact of his fist. He knew he broke it on the first blow. Blood splattered out of Randall’s nose and mouth. He struck him about the face and eyes. That eye would be swollen shut and black come morn.

He was outside of himself now no longer the kind and gentle giant but a man consumed with rage. There was a blood lust coursing through his veins. A man blind with the need for vengeance. He would deliver blow after blow thus becoming her avenging angel to see justice done in her name. I fight for her.

He pummeled the filthy bastard in a trance-like fury reminiscent of his Viking berserker ancestors. He heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing other than the opponent before him.

He did, however, hear the voice of his Da. His Da had taught him how to fight, to defend himself. “Hit him in the soft parts, Jamie. Dinna waste time hitting yer opponent in the face. Ye’ll hurt yerself and no’ be able to defend yerself.” And he did as his father counseled him to do all those years ago. He struck his foe over, and over, and over again.

Slowly a soft musical voice began to cut through the haze in his mind. The voice called his name, told him to stop. The voice soothed him bringing him back. A hand so small, so fragile pulled him away stopping him from inflicting further damage.

Jamie blinked and looked up, not sure of where he was or what he had been doing. He felt weak as a kitten. Looking down, he saw his clothes were a mess splattered with blood, fluids, and wine. Someone called his name. Eyes the color of honey and fine whisky peered into his own.

“Sorcha”. He spoke to her in the language of his forefathers, in the Gàidhlig, for he had no English.

“Come with me, Jamie,” the voice said. And he knew he would follow that voice wherever it took him.

Claire began to issue orders to the wait staff like a drill sergeant. Towels, bowls of ice, antiseptic wash, wooden dowels, tape, a plastic bag, and whisky miraculously appeared. Jamie’s scrapes and wounds were cleansed, each digit, each bone palpated, bringing with it a hiss of pain. The adrenaline and endorphins were wearing off. There were definitely broken bones. How badly broken she couldn’t tell for sure. At least there were no bones protruding from the skin. She used the dowels for splints, taping his fingers together, and placed his hand in a plastic bag sealing it closed.

Smiling at him, she eased his hand into the ice bath to help keep the swelling at bay. She poured him a healthy dram of whisky telling him to drink.

“Moran taing.” He smiled back at her.

Unwillingly, she turned her attention to her former husband. A small blond woman was kneeling cradling Frank’s head on her lap stroking his forehead. She was dabbing at the blood seeping from his nose, wiping more blood from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re Claire, Fran, um, Professor Randall’s ex-wife? I’m Sandy Travers, his doctoral student.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are, my dear,” Claire said brusquely.

Pierre, the maî·tre d'hô·tel paced up and down sweat forming on his brow and lip. He began giving instructions of his own to the staff trying to resume order and business as usual. Guests were moved to empty tables away from the scene. Wine and liquor poured freely. Shit, how many dinners will I have to comp tonight?

“Madam, I must call the police to report this ah, disturbance. I shall call for medical assistance for the gentlemen as well.”

“Pierre, I am Dr. Claire Beauchamp room 702. Before you make any calls, let me finish examining the gentlemen and I will let you know what else needs to be done.” She smiled at him sweetly.

He gave her a quizzical look before acquiescing, “As you wish Madam.”

“Alright Frank, let’s have a look, shall we?”

“Keep your fucking Neanderthal boyfriend away from me,” he said glowering at Claire with his right eye. The left eye had swollen shut and blackened.

“He’s not a Neanderthal. He’s of Viking descent. Now hold still,” she said as she began to poke and prod his face and body.

Jamie had done a thorough job of beating Frank to a pulp. His nose was definitely broken. The orbit might be fractured and she was concerned about the tenderness in the left upper quadrant.

“Does your left shoulder hurt?

“What doesn’t hurt? But, actually yes it does a bit.”

“You need to go to the hospital now. I am very concerned about the tenderness in your abdomen.” Thank goodness his belly was soft, not rigid.

“I’m not going anywhere until I see that fucker in handcuffs for assault and battery.”

“Then you want to call the police to report this?”

“You’re damn right I do!”

“In that case, I assume you are prepared to be arrested too? If you have Jamie arrested, I’ll have you arrested for sexual assault. That was really very careless of you, to touch me that way in front of a room full of witnesses. So many of the women gave me their phone numbers offering to testify as to what they saw you do. Oh, and by the way, I kept all the love letters that your doctoral candidates sent you. It will make for very interesting reading in court showing your sexual inclination. Don't you think? Are you ready to be branded as a sex offender?”

“Claire, you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I just do that, pet,” she said caustically lightly patting him on the cheek. “It would give me great pleasure to ruin you, just like you ruined me and hurt Lamb. So, what’s it going to be, darling?”

Sandy looked from Claire to Frank. Her mouth open, her eyes wide with shock.

“Fr, Fr, Frank what does she mean by this? You told me I was the one you loved and there was no one else.”

“Oh, shut up, Sandy,” he snarled.

“You have a deal, Claire. No police. Just get me to a hospital. I’m not feeling well.”

“One more thing, you will never bother me or Jamie. There will be no contact, no threats of going back on your word ever, do I make myself clear? And you will stop using your students as your personal playthings. If you break any of these promises, I will make sure Dean Innes knows the reason why we divorced. Did you know that Innes was a close personal friend of Lamb’s? No, I don’t believe that you did. He always wondered what caused our breakup. If you break your promise, I will make sure Innes knows what your academic counseling includes. I think he would find reading the love letters quite informative. I am no longer the meek and obedient child you once knew Frank. I will ruin you and enjoy doing it,” she smiled contemptuously.

“Excuse me Dr. Beauchamp, but I think I am going to be sick. I have to go.” Sandy lifted Frank’s head off her lap, laid his head down gently and stood up uneasily.

“I am sorry that you had to hear this my dear, but it is for the best.”

Sandy shakily nodded her head and left.

Claire gently propped up Frank’s head. “I’m going to call Joe Abernathy to make arrangements for your admission. He’ll admit you discreetly.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Abernathy too, Claire? Is there no end to your crass friendships?”

“You are a true elitist, Frank. Perhaps you would like for everyone to know what happened?”

“Call Abernathy, then. Be quick about it, I don’t feel well.”

And he didn’t look well at all. He began to develop a noticeable pallor. Skin becoming slightly sweaty. She was afraid that he might be going into shock and commanded blankets to wrap him up in.

She quickly scrolled through her contact numbers finding the one she needed.

“Joe Abernathy,” answered the male voice.

“Joe, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Lady Jane is that you?” he said with a wide grin on his face. “Where are you?”

“I’m here in Boston. I was supposed to be at a conference, but it was canceled at the last minute because of the blizzard.”

“Conference? I don’t recall...well anyway, good to hear your voice. What can I do for you?”

Claire proceeded to tell Joe about what happened and how she needed his help.

“LJ, you can’t be serious about this. The man molested you. You need to have him prosecuted for this especially after everything he did to you.”

“I can’t risk Jamie’s career. He’s a brilliant surgeon and I won’t have it. Not on my account anyway. Besides Frank had to promise to stop using his doctoral students as sex objects in exchange for my promise to not prosecute him. If I can stop him from hurting anyone else, my silence is well worth it. Joe, please, will you help me?”

“Of course, I will. What about Jamie, you think he has broken fingers?”

“I do, I have splinted them. Now all I have to do is convince him to go to the hospital. They may need to be set.”

“I’ll send an ambulance. See you in a little while.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

“Frank, the ambulance will be here soon.”

He grunted. “Is he coming with us?”

“No, you’re coming with us. Let’s get that straight. There is no you and me, Frank.”

“One more thing before you go, Claire.”

“What is it?” she said in an exasperated tone.

“I’ve been watching you with him all night. What is it that you find so appealing in him?”

“He’s a man, something you know nothing about.”

She turned on her heel and began to walk back toward Jaime.

Now all Claire had to do was to convince one very large and recalcitrant Scot to go to the hospital.

“Lord, give me strength,” she prayed.

#edinburgh to boston #chapter 12 #At the Crosroads: A Deal With the Devil #outlander fanfiction #My writing #Here Goes Nothing #julesbeauchamp #smashing-tea-cups #scubalass

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thayerkerbasy · 6 years ago

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Crowley’s Guide to Life, Supernatural: Official Magazine Issue #25, June/July 2011

You don’t get to be King of Hell without knowing how to get ahead in life (or after that, more to the point). So, who better to share his own particular brand of self-help with us than that silver-tongued demon, Crowley? The Official Supernatural Magazine met up with him at our nearest crossroads to find out how he does it.*

*Please note, this guide details the personal opinions of Crowley, a demon, and The Official Supernatural Magazine does not endorse any of this behavior.

AIM HIGH

Think about your resume. Mine used to say “King of the Crossroads”. That was good -- I liked being King of the Crossroads. I had power, I had fame, I had an army of underlings who used to do all the deal-kissing for me (unless I fancied a bit of tonsil-hockey myself. It’s good to be the king). But if you’re going to be in charge, make it worth your while. “King of Hell” sounds so much better, doesn’t it? You can’t argue with a title like that. Aim high and you might find your career rises up to meet your dreams -- and if it doesn’t, just kill anyone above you until you get there. Same difference.

FAMILY DOESN’T MATTER

Ah family. What a royal pain in the arse they can be! The Winchesters have one weakness: each other. It’s fun to exploit that. The angels are all about family too, but the fallout from that brotherly bickering up in Heaven nearly set off the Apocalypse.

So I say: sod all that! I say that family should be nothing to you. Back when I was still a miserable human, my misbegotten son and I hated each other like Tom hated Jerry, only there weren’t enough anvils falling on his head for my liking. Revel in being alone and you’ll go a long, long way -- and nobody will be able to use your family against you, either. Look out for number one, and number one is where you’ll be!

MUST LIKE DOGS

When you’re a demon, there’s one thing you can rely on -- that you can’t rely on anybody. Other demons will backstab and double deal; humans are a waste of space; angels...well, don’t get me started on bloody angels. But there’s one creature who’ll remain loyal to you no matter what, and that’s your dog. I’m not talking about those pansy little lapdogs, either -- I’m talking about the kind of dog who could drool on a chihuahua and drown it in two seconds flat. Hellhounds, people, hellhounds! With a few of these blighters by your side you can take on anybody. Just make sure yours is bigger...although that applies to so much in life, doesn’t it?

LOOK GOOD

Never underestimate the importance of a good suit. If you want to command respect, authority and gravitas, nothing can help you more than a great piece of tailoring (well, there’s also torture, but that’s a given). Sophistication -- that’s what’s missing from the world these days. Pride in your appearance. Look at these flipping Winchesters: denim, plaid shirts, layers, layers, layers. No wonder nobody takes them seriously; they look like a couple of farm hands!

You need to look as though you spend your days sitting behind a desk doing deals so important that the rest of the measly maggots on the Earth could barely understand them; you need to look as though you could walk through the flames of Hell and come out unsinged. Which, in my case, is true. So make sure you have a good tailor, and make doubly sure that nobody eats him. Happened to me once. I was devastated.

IMBIBE WITH PRIDE

Coffee? Get lost. Beer? Bugger off. You shouldn’t let anything slip past your lips except Scotch, and make it the good stuff while you’re at it. Not that I’m encouraging alcoholism here -- oh no. I know that not everybody has the constitution of a 450-year-old demon like me. But I despair when I see so much bilgewater passing for booze these days. Refine your tastes! You need to look good on the outside and feel good on the inside. Whisky burns all the way down. I’m the King of Hell. Burning’s kind of my thing. It should be yours, too.

PAY ATTENTION TO THE SMALL PRINT

After centuries of making deals, there’s one thing I’ve learnt; you can trick anyone out of anything -- especially their soul -- if you put some sneaky little clauses in their contracts. Most of the poor schlubs who sell me their immortal souls don’t even know how to read the terms and conditions, even when they should know better (Bobby Singer, I’m looking at you). You might think that writing contracts is dull, but you’d be amazed at what you can sneak into one...and the wails of despair when your clients realize what you’ve done is always a riot. If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone bleat, “But it’s not fair!”...well, I’d probably be just as rich as I am now, but you get my drift. It’s good to be bad!

GOAD, DEMEAN AND BELITTLE

Never, ever pass up an opportunity to make someone feel small. Insult them with a smile, so they’re still processing what you've just said while you move on to other things. Call them names, but do it cleverly. Find out their secrets and embarrass them. It’s all schoolyard stuff, of course, but you’d be amazed how much a few well-chosen words can smart; how a few barbed comments can fester under the skin. I’m sure Sam Winchester is still muttering about me calling him “moose”, for example. And remember how I took a photo of me and Bobby Singer lip-locking our deal, just so I could show it to his pals? Ah, good times...

PLAY CHESS

I don’t mean the actual game, the one with all those horseys and knights and all that bollocks. No, I mean play chess with people. Use them as pawns and move them around your own personal chessboard. Use blackmail and torture if necessary, or just trick them any way you can, but get others to do your dirty work for you. An example: I wanted a fine collection of alphas to interrogate so I could find Purgatory, and I got that old coot Samuel Winchester to find them for me by promising him his beloved daughter. I even got Dean and his moose to go on hunts for me by holding Sam’s soul as collateral. Get my drift? Grab your victims by the you-know-whats and they’ll do anything for you. Why get your own suit dirty?

THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX

The box, in this particular case, just so happens to be Hell; I may be its King but it’s too small for me. Other demons (or angels, in the case of Lucifer) might be content with a Hell that’s too small to swing some entrails in, but I’m not. I want to be able to swing everything. I think big, see, and every good businessman knows that real estate is important. Hence my hunt for Purgatory. So, let that be a lesson to you. Expand those horizons, people! Don’t let your limited means stop you from acquiring more! (Also, if you actually know where Purgatory is, drop me a line...Cheers.)

HIDE THE SKELETONS IN YOUR CLOSET

I don’t mean metaphorical ones. I mean the real ones. If you don’t, one day you’ll find yourself in a sack being held by an angel who fancies having himself a little barbecue.

Bugger. Or not, as the case may be...

#supernatural magazine #from the archives #crowley #spn season 6 #that being when this was released #this is peak performing crowley #as in this is what he says and does #not necessarily how he feels #it's important to look as evil as possible so nobody questions it #a huge thank you to mel for digging this up #long post for ts #happy crowley friday

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divagonzo · 6 years ago

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Would you ever consider writing some demi or grey-ace Ron headcanons? I can easily imagine Ron being so confused about it, there he is, kissing Lavender, a beautiful and kind girl, and just not /feeling/ it. He knows everything is in working order, he knows he likes girls, he doesn't mind kissing her, but whenever her hands start to wander it just doesn't feel right.

Oh honey... I let my mind wander while I was out wandering in the 0*C for six hours. Hang onto your britches because I went overboard on this one:

Ace-Spectrum!Ron HC... (please bear in mind that they were thought up to solidify how I see/write/portray Ron in my writing, since I do see him as Hermione focused for the most part. (And this will be a Lavender-appreciation zone, too.)

Ron, being ickle, overhears how Big Brother Bill is talking about someone he's dating (he didn't quite catch a name) and all he can think is, "Ewww, that's icky."

Brother Charlie is the one he trusts more than Bill because Charlie "never talks about girls that way and rather talk about Chess, and Quidditch, and Dragons." Charlie never talks about icky things, like girls.

Even when he sees his parents being more affectionate, beyond a hug (They do have 7 kids, so you know that it's not just Molly being over-bearing) he turns his head.

Quoting The Princess Bride, "Is this a book where there's a lot of kissing? Can we skip those parts?"

When he's older and finally attending Hogwarts as a firstie, he stumbles across his brother Percy snogging Penelope in a broom closet, mistaking it for a loo. They don't see him (they are rather preoccupied) and he stares for a moment and then quietly leaves, wondering what all the fuss is.

Ron accidentally stumbles into the loo at home and finds Percy *in an awkward moment* (cough) and backs out of the loo, wondering what all of the fuss is.

He goes to bed that evening, hearing the ghoul banging on the pipes in the attic, and decides to see what all of the fuss is. Suffice to say, it does absolutely nothing for him.

On the train ride the first time, and meeting Harry, he feels something. It's a first, really - someone who makes his heart flutter just a bit more. He's glad to share space and time with Harry and is absolutely delighted when Harry tells Malfoy off. (Whom he knows from listening to his father regail things from work over games of chess in the evening at home.)

Harry gets sorted into Gryffindor and he does too and he's so incredibly appreciative to have a friend that isn't a hand-me-down. It's something *only he* has - his friendship with Harry.

*The troll incident on Halloween* Harry and Ron make it back to their dorm after having been given cover by Hermione who they think can be their friend now since they saved her and talk late into the night, including how Ron made that club the troll was carrying levitate so easily when he had trouble in class. Ron sleeps well into the next morning, a peaceful night's sleep.

*Spending time with Harry is the brightness that keeps the negative thoughts at bay, most of the time. It's like the voices berating him constantly, a drumbeat of things he made messed up and the mistakes he made were a little more quiet, a little less harmful.

*In PoA, after Buckbeak's judgment, they are all under the Invisibility cloak. Ron, being the tallest, catches a whiff of Hermione's hair and he has a fleeting thought of "wow, Hermione's hair smells nice."

Hermione’s tenacity and determination, along with force of will, is something he appreciates.

*In GoF, when Ron is stuck wearing grotty manky robes, he sees Hermione (while he’s standing next to a very pretty Padma) and feels, for the first time, his stomach get a butterfly.*

*In OotP, he finds himself spending plenty of time with Hermione (since the twins are being gits and Ginny is hanging out with them mostly) while cleaning. The fumes from the cleaning solutions do nothing to keep the mad rush of 4 butterflies flying around like bludgers in his stomach settling down*

*When Hermione gives him a kiss on the cheek, for good luck, the 4 butterflies multiply to 16. But eventually, like joke galleons, they dissipated back to 4*

He never forgets the feeling of those 16 butterflies bouncing around like rogue bludgers

*HBP happens and the problems grow exponentially. When he finds out that Hermione kissed Viktor first, he gets irate. He's not so much irate that she did that but it's that everyone but him knew and didn't tell him. The pangs of hurt run so deep. The betrayal of not being told hurts the worst.

*Everything is going wrong with Hermione, even if he's mostly forgiven her for doing that but not for not telling him. They are best friends, aren't they? She kept secrets from him. The break in trust hurts worse. So it's quite obvious that she doesn't feel the same way he does.*

"Maybe if I go snog the first person who shows me some interest it'll be better*

*But it actually isn't. He wanted it as a once off but Lavender was amenable and appreciative and feelings of validation are there. She's nice, she's attentive, she's a bright ray of sunshine but that level of trust just isn't there. He finds that he just can’t talk with her on the level he needs - and doesn’t have that emotional intimacy built on trust. It's fun but the things he grew up believing, that you only should be that close to someone you intend to marry hampers anything else that happens.

(Thanks to @vivithefolle for me seeing him as a Prude/Ace for that!)

They fool around some and he discovers that the things that the twins told him about that happen when guys are into girls just doesn't happen with him.

But he knows he’s not gay. That’s for the other buggers in the dorm room, Seamus and Dean.

He sends a letter off to Charlie one afternoon when Harry is off with Dumbledore and Lavender and Parvati are in Divination, asking his brother questions about such feelings.*

He gets a letter back in a fortnight, explaining so many things, including how it's OK if you don't feel something for a girl snogging you. But you do right by her and break it off with her because using someone isn't right.*

Charlie also mentions that if he feels a certain way for Harry that those feelings are valid too. "But the thing is, little brother, is that you can love someone so much without having the desire to shag them 'til their body explodes."

Charlie talks about Tonks and Ron appreciates that story.

"And before anyone tells you anything else, yes, you can feel that way towards more than one person in your life. No one says that you can't love more than one person at a time. Only Mum’s trashy novels she claims to never read tells her that.”

He realizes that it's not Lavender he loves, even if he does appreciate what he's gotten from her.

Poor Ron has no clue how to do that without hurting her. Things continue, including how mean and petty and spiteful Hermione is towards him

He gets poisoned and is in the Hospital wing for days on end. Hermione shows up one afternoon, when he's kind of awake, but out of it, and he hears her voice. The butterflies return. He hears her talking, the occasional sniff, and warmth, like he took a pepper-up potion, works through his system. It's a feeling he's never quite had with Lavender, as sweet as she is. But he still has no clue how to break it off with her.

Lavender handles it instead and he’s quietly relieved, even if he knows he was a cold sod for it.

When Harry is yelling at him to go, and they are rowing, the ache inside his soul hurts so.damn.much.

Those weeks without both of them were the absolute worst of his entire life - even when he’s white-haired and bent over with age. Nothing else came remotely close.

After the locked tormented him one last time, and Ron is completely broken, Harry is still there. He tells him that He's not interested in Hermione. They’re friends. They are practically siblings.

"But I thought - "

"Look, mate, we both need you. Can’t you tell?”

Ron considers that he can love both of his best friends, even if it's possible in different ways. That realization is an enormous firework going off in his soul.

That first snog was like the expansive fireworks going off. It's better than Firewhiskey, better than treacle tart, or even chocolate cake. It’s like he’s finally found the home he craved and wanted.

But there's Harry, whom he has shared everything and then more. He would love to continue to share everything with him since he's pretty much half of his heart.

And Hermione is half of it.

Ron comes to realize that the two of them are the portions of his heart but he's the entire muscle pumping away, keeping them working, safe, feeling needed and wanted.

Because his heart is his two best friends, whom he loves equally and just as passionately. He loves them the same but in different ways.

They all have a sit-down at some point and hash things out for good.

There are some parts that Hermione just doesn't get, understand, or appreciate. There are some parts that Harry just doesn't get, understand, or appreciate. Both know how Ron feels towards both of them and agree on how they share him.

Ron, finally, sleeps well that night, having both of them on each side of him, sleeping comfortably, for the first night in years.

Because his best friends love him, even if they are absolutely pants at telling him that. But damn if they don't show him in their own ways.

And that is how I see Ron and Harry and Hermione - because the love is there along with the deep emotional intimacy required to love both of those headstrong and absolutely stubborn best friends of his.

#Anonymous

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fanatic1997 · 7 years ago

Text

You’re Mine (2)

Summary: You are Tom Holland’s assistant. He’s a lot to handle at times and you’re like his mom but maybe that will change when a certain best friend takes an interest in you.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: None Really

Words: 2709

Part: 2 out of 3 maybe 4 I can't control myself

Part 1

Part 2:

Harrison decided to wake up Tom by jumping on the poor guy, effectively waking him and Tessa up in one fell swoop. Tom’s face brightened up after the initial shock of being woken up by a body slamming on top of him.

“Harrison! What are you doing here?” Tom laughed, sitting up on the couch.

“Actually, this charming woman asked if I wanted to surprise you on your day off” Harrison had placed an arm around your waist, effectively making your once pink cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red. You noticed that Tom’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he stared at Harrison’s arm around your waist.

Tom didn’t say anything in response and you, feeling awkward, stepped away from Harrison, grabbed your makeup bag and walked towards the door.

“Don’t get into too many messes or I’ll quit and leave you with the damage. Have fun guys” You smiled as the two guys laughed mischievously. “It was nice meeting you in person Harrison” you added as an afterthought.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine” Harrison said sending you a smirk.

As soon as you left, Harrison rounded on Tom, “Why didn’t you tell me she was so bloody attractive! We should invite her out with us tonight” He said plopping down on the couch. “If I had her dotting after me like she does with you, she’d be more than just my assistant.” Harrison didn’t notice Tom’s grimace.

Of course Tom had noticed how attractive you were but he never thought twice about it. He would never make you one of his conquests.

“I think she might be busy tonight, it is her only day off” Tom said flatly. Harrison seemed to be in a daze.

“Does she have a boyfriend?” Harrison asked turning to look at Tom. Tom shook his head but then stopped; he realized he didn’t know the answer actually. Harrison noticed

“How do you not know mate” he laughed. “Is she dating anybody, texting anybody?” He continued to ask. Tom slowly realized that he honestly didn’t know. You knew everything about his life, down to the smallest details. You knew he hated warm pickles but cold ones were ok, he drank his tea with 2 spoons of sugar and a splash of milk, you knew that he loved wearing christmas socks year round because it was his favorite holiday. But he didn’t even know if you were dating! Tom reasoned with himself that it was your job after all to know these details but as much as he reasoned, he realized he was not a good friend to you like you were to him.

“Then you should ask her to hangout with us tonight! What’s the worst she can say, no? I doubt it” Harrison said smiling to himself.

Tom was in a dilemma. His interest in your personal life was piqued but he didn’t want to spend the whole night watching Harrison flirt with you either. That would just be too weird, he reasoned.

“Or…... are you interested?” Harrison turned to look at Tom.

“No” Tom stated flatly, leaning over to scratch Tessa on the head, not able to make eye contact with Harrison for a minute.

“Good, then text her or give me her number and I’ll text her.” Harrison reached for his luggage bag, deciding to pick out his outfit for the night.

Tom scowled at the ultimatum but he pulled out his phone anyway. He sent you a short text finding your contact as y/n💙 after spending a long time debating what to say.

Tom: Hey, do you want to hangout with Harrison and me tonight?:)

When you had seen the notification, you had thought that Tom had managed to already get himself in a scandal after only 20 minutes with Harrison and needed your damage control. But instead, the text had taken you by surprise. You took a few minutes to reply, weighing your options.

y/n💙 : Hmmm…...should I remind you that our contract clearly states that my personal days should not be fickled with? Lol, what are you guys planning on doing?

Tom looked up at Harrison, “you want to go to the Arsenal?” Harrison shrugged in agreement.

Tom: How about the Arsenal around 8:30?

y/n💙 : Not really my scene.

Tom: Come on, just hang out with a couple of poor sods that have nothing else to do:)

y/n💙 I don’t know…….

Tom: If you don’t come, I’ll make a scandal, one that you can’t clean up…….😈

You laughed upon receiving the text from Tom. You knew his threats were empty but Tom really was a child when it came down to things he wanted. You decided it was best to just accept your fate.

y/n💙: Fine, but I’m driving there. I’ll see you guys later!

Tom laughed at your message, happy that you had accepted.

“I’m guessing she said yes” Harrison said walking back into the living room. He headed toward the kitchen ready to get started on the food you had ordered. “I can’t wait to see her tonight” Harrison yelled out while chewing his food.

Tom sighed, leaning back on the couch. He couldn’t wait to see you either.

Tom and Harrison wasted the afternoon catching up and napping since Harrison was jet lagged and Tom’s nap had been interrupted.

It wasn’t until much later that Tom was awakened by a hungry Tessa who had jumped on couch with him and began to lick his face. He laughed, getting up to grab her bowl and some food.

Tom realized it was already 7:30 and so he walked over to his room where Harrison was already laying out an outfit for the night.

“Dressing to impress?” Tom asked, not waiting for the his reply since he already knew the answer. Tom opened his closet to pick out his outfit as well. He found it a little difficult, seeing as you usually chose out his outfits beforehand. He decided on a black leather jacket and some dark denim jeans topping it off with his favorite christmas socks. Fixing his own hair was also an interesting task as he usually didn’t stress over what it looked like but tonight, it did matter.

Tom was never punctual but Haz had nagged at Tom to hurry up.

Tom attracted a lot of attention when he walked towards the nightclub after parking. It was a club many celebrities frequented so there was always paparazzi waiting out front, ready to catch a glimpse of a celebrity. He usually didn’t get a lot of paparazzi’s attention as they were used to his presence at the club but today, the paparazzi were going bezerk and snapping tons of pictures of Tom.

The paparazzi were trying to catch Tom and you possibly, after his interview from today where he accidently let slip his affectionate nickname for you, calling you “my girl” on national TV. The actor had never publicly confirmed any of his past relationships so this interview had stirred a lot of interest. Of course Tom had meant nothing by the affectionate nickname, but that didn’t stop the blue hearts from being left in the comments.

You had arrived before Tom and Harrison and you were bombarded with paparazzi, not able to make your way to the entrance. You had never been trained on dealing with the press so you were trapped in their web of questions and suggestions. You had yet to see the interview so you were at a loss when the paparazzi asked if you and Tom were dating.

You didn’t notice Harrison approach you until he touched your shoulder to grab your attention, smiling at you in greeting. This seemed to drive the paparazzi wild as they snapped even more pictures.

Tom hadn’t seen you but he did see Harrison standing next to someone with a plunging backline.

It was only when Harrison spun the girl toward the entrance that Tom realized it was you. He stilled, eyes raking over your body unabashedly, admiring you in your dress. The paparazzi snapped photos faster.

Once your eyes met his, your cheeks warmed at the look Tom was giving you. His eyes were darkened, hooded over as he traced your curves with his eyes. You felt self conscious, almost regretting the dress you wore.

Tom snapped out of his haze once he noticed Harrison’s hand at your back. You gave him a shy smile. The paparazzi went wild catching every emotion Tom expressed from surprise to desire to sourness.

You could feel Harrison’s hand on your back guide you inside the club, steering you towards a booth close to the bar.

You sat down and Harrison joined you on the same side while Tom sat across from the both of you.

There was an awkward tension that engulfed the table. Harrison leaned over, closer than what was necessary in Tom’s opinion, to ask you what you wanted to drink.

“Long Island” you replied, deciding that you needed something strong enough to blame your flushed face. Harrison bristled goodnaturedly, and then asked Tom what he wanted.

Tom decided on a beer, deciding that he needed to stay level headed tonight.

After Harrison left to get the drinks, Tom gave you a lopsided smile “we might corrupt you a little tonight”.

“It beats my plans” you laughed. Tom leaned in closer.

“And what were those plans” he asked seeming uninterested as he stared at the dancing bodies on the dance floor.

“Probably just a date between me and ….” Tom eyes snapped to yours immediately and a glass was set in front of you at the same time, interrupting your sentence.

“A date?” Harrison questioned sitting down next to you with his glass in hand after handing Tom his beer. You laughed but your cheeks warmed slightly.

“My couch… I had a date with my couch and netflix. I haven’t really had a day off in a while so I was going to catch up on all my favorite shows” You could hear Harrison sigh in relief.

“Good, because I would be very disappointed” Harrison winked at you.

You didn’t say anything, just took a nice big gulp from your drink. You watched Tom take a long swing of his beer as well.

You would never admit this outloud ever, but you were such a lightweight. You could already feel the effects of the alcohol giving you goosebumps as a shiver raced down your body with the first gulp.

“So you don’t usually drink do you” Harrison smiled, noticing your dazed eyes after one drink.

You giggled, feeling your ears pop “you could say something like that.”

As you were sipping on the last bits of your drink, a girl in a dress that left nothing to the imagination approached the table. Rolling your eyes, you recognized the girl as the one night stand from the morning.

“It’s nice seeing you here Tommy” the one night stand giggled. She turned to look at you with piercing eyes when you had snickered, poking fun at the nickname she had given Tom. “I thought you would be too uptight to have fun” the one night stand said giving you a once over.

You thought Tom would dismiss her immediately but he let her drag him to the dance floor.

Tom definitely didn’t want to stay to witness his best friend hit on his assistant any longer so he was much relieved when a distraction was offered to him on a silver platter. He blamed the alcohol for the boiling in his veins even though he only had a beer as of yet.

Feeling unsettled and quiet daring, trying to prove you weren’t uptight, you asked a waitress for a couple of shots of tequila when she was making her rounds, cleaning up the empty glasses from the tables.

You asked Harrison to help you down the 6 shots you had ordered. After the first one’s burn, the rest of the shots went down like water, feeling as if they had no effect on you. You could feel yourself laughing at something Harrison had said, not able to recall what the joke was about. You felt good, you felt no tension or awkwardness anymore.

You decided to get some more shots from the bar, asking Harrison to slide out from the booth to let you by. You could feel your knees go weak for a second as you stood feeling the effects of the alcohol on your balance but then you caught yourself and continued walking toward the bar.

After catching the busy bartender’s attention, you asked for 6 more tequila shots, not realizing that you were way beyond your limit. The bartender rang up your card, telling you that the shots would be brought over to your booth. You thanked the bartender, ready to make your way back only to be stopped by a random arm that had wrapped around your waist.

“Let’s dance sweetheart” the random guy stated, pulling you even closer to his chest. You could feel his sweaty hand on your bare back and you shivered disgusted. The guy reeked of alcohol and sweat and he gave you the creeps.

“She’s with me actually” You felt a firm hand around your wrist.

You turned to see Harrison standing next to you, looking a lot more sober than you at the moment, The creep grunted but left you alone.

“You ok love” Harrison asked. You smiled, already forgetting the creep. You pulled Harrison to the booth so you could wait on your shots.

If Harrison was in his right state of mind, he wouldn’t have let you down the second round of shots so fast. But he wasn’t.

A particularly good song started to play on the dance floor and you pleaded Harrison to dance with you. He didn’t need much pleading but he liked the puppy eyes you were giving him so he let you sweat for a minute.

You guys danced, well he danced and you swayed unsteadily on two feet letting the alcohol give you the illusion that you were dancing fantastically.

The song ended and another one began. The song had an interesting beat, something you weren’t sure how to dance to. Looking around, you noticed that the couples were much more provocative in their dancing, sliding their bodies against each other. You looked at Harrison who gave you a shrug, grabbing your waist to pull you in closer.

“Just copy what you see them doing, love” He whispered in your ear.

Unbeknownst to you both, piercing brown eyes were watching your every move. Tom had his eyes trained on you both since you guys had walked onto the dance floor.

Just as you were about to turn to place your back against Harrison’s chest, mimicking the other women around you, you felt a strong arm pull you away from Harrison. You stumbled into a familiar chest.

“I think it’s time for me to take you home” Tom said, glaring at Harrison. Tom noticed you stumble. “How many drinks has she had Haz?” he seethed. Tom’s voice was icy but his hand was warm on your bare back, not sweaty at all like the earlier creep.

“I can answer for myself” You slurred, a detail that Tom didn’t miss. “I stopped counting after the 4th shot honestly” you giggled truthfully. Tom held you even closer to his chest, angry at himself for trusting Harrison to take care of you.

“Let’s go darling” Tom said softly, pulling you out of the dance floor.

He called an uber to take Harrison back to his place but he was going to drive you home personally. The beer he had earlier had already been drained from his system.

Tom walked out of the club with you wrapped in his jacket since he knew it was going to be a chilly walk back to his car. Tom had completely forgotten about the paparazzi, only to be reminded when blinding flashes went off once the paparazzi noticed him and you together and no Harrison in sight.

Tom could only imagine what the papers were going to say tomorrow.

Part 3

@theamazingspidermann @reanethefirst @bishopl @fijiangecko @greenarrowhead @cafe-sabor-a-chocolate @sincerelymlg @maddieisaacs @i-aint-nobodys--bitch @embrace-themagic @dashofholland @ashleyhearto @dogsandrocketsocks @ilivelifecaerazy @strang-ersclub @alltoowhalee13 @catnolannn @whymak @thingsienjoylookingat @armygirl157 @loricwizardbluetoastedcake @aelin-firehearts-court @world-moon @scarlett-is-in-deep-shit @castawayparker @125bluemachine125 @flowerchild8341 @prada-cat @misunderstoodasfeelings @queen-tay-tay-love @uh-how-dare-you @bubbles8898 @seargantbcky @that-random-ass-blog @dream-catcheer @avahodge @kjminch @ruefulposts @ladypuddle @I-luv-doggos @shutuppeter @embracingtom @racewife2004 @skelkitt

#tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #avengers #tom holland imagine #tom holland #spiderman #ifinity war

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