#how long will my new found sense of minding my business last? who knows? not me

[phoenix-drop-villager]

The headguard of Meteli is here for some reason I don't know, I don't care, I don't wanna know, but a very grumpy Garroth did tell me as he watched Lady Aphmau and Meteli's head guard on the docks and I was picking through the ruins of Lady Aphmau's obliterated house that it had something to do with a chicken shaman, so there's that. 

[livinginshambles]

Hear me out, please |James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The aftermath of when James found out you were his 'cinderella'. James tries desperately to get your attention to get you to hear him out. A tiny twist.

Notes: Not proofread, grammar mistakes. Timeline might be a little off, but magic so whatever i guess? Sorry for the long wait, I hope you guys will think it was worth it!!

Masterlist Part one Part two

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A lot of things went through James' mind as he stood there in the Great Hall. You could hear a pin drop before Regulus finally shot into action and dashed out the hall to go after you.

The murmuring started to continue now that the first silence had been disturbed.

"Oh gosh, she's so dramatic," your sister laughed. And she put a hand on James' shoulder to pull him back to his seat.

James turned his head slowly. His attention zeroed in on the hand on his shoulder. He coiled away.

"What the fuck have you done," he spat at her.

Marla's eyebrows shot up. "We did you a favour," she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

It sent James over the edge. He grabbed her upper arm and harshly shook it.

"A favour? A favour!?" He asked incredulously. His voice raised in volume. "What on earth is wrong with you!" He screamed and looked around; his eyes blown out. "With all of you!"

"You mean what the hell is wrong with you, James?" Your other sister, Alyssa, piped up. "Why are you defending her?" That last word was spat out with so much disgust that it opened finally James' eyes to what you must have endured. He fought the urge to slap her expression off her face.

James let go of Marla's arm and pushed her a few steps back while doing so.

No, he needed to fix this. He just had to. If you would just listen to him, he would explain it all. And then he'd protect you. From every hurtful comment out there.

If you would just let him.

"Regulus," James grimaced. The boy was blocking his path and view, standing in the doorway. You were out of sight, or at least out of James's sight.

"Potter," Regulus curtly nodded at him.

"I need to talk to her."

"You've said plenty."

James 'brows furrowed, and his jaw flexed. Why was everyone deciding everything for him all of a sudden? Why couldn't everyone just mind their own bloody business? If they had, none of this would have occurred.

He would be patrolling with you in the evening, and you would make him laugh about one of your dry remarks. He wouldn't have known that it was you who he was looking for, but in time, maybe he would've figured it out. Or maybe he would've pushed his mystery girl to the back of his mind to let you and all the new feelings in.

"Actually, I haven't. I haven't said enough because everyone is saying things in my place instead. But I never got the chance to say what I want to say, and every time I do, it seems too late. I just want to talk to her." The words flew out of James' mouth, built up regret, anger, and disappointment from how things had escalated.

"Perhaps you haven't said much." Regulus looked James up and down and weighed his words carefully. "And maybe that's part of the problem. But right now, she's certainly heard enough. She doesn't want your grand words."

James closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted to protest, he wanted to scream at himself and pull his hair out, but ultimately, he just wanted yet another chance.

He hadn't expected it to be you. Not at all, but the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more it seemed... right. And he didn't know why he had been so adamant to form some sort of relationship with you, but the way his heart blossomed when you were around only pulled him further in.

James looked at the ground, as if the solution to his problems would be written down there.

"Okay," he relented.

Without a moment of hesitation, Regulus went to slam the door in his face but stopped at the box that James held put to him.

"What's that supposed to be?" He flatly asked James.

With a heavy heart, James showed Regulus the pair of glass slippers that you had left behind at the Yule ball, and that he had so carefully carried around with him.

James searched for his words his. "I've been holding on to these to return them to their owner," he made an attempt at a smile but dropped it, feeling pathetic. He wondered if he looked as pathetic to Regulus as well.

"Well, I suppose I should return them, now that I've found her." James pushed the box into Regulus' hands, threw one glance past the boy in hopes to catch a glimpse of you, and rubbed his face with both hands as he dejectedly walked away from the Slytherin dormitory.

Perhaps he could try again later.

You stared at the glass slippers in your hand. It felt cool to the touch and looked so beautiful, but you couldn’t help the bitter taste left in your mouth. With one smooth movement, you threw and smashed one of the slippers against the wall opposite of your bed. It shattered in pieces, and you had to smile at that. Even with every spell to reenforce the glass so you could actually walk on it, it broke. Then you gathered every bit of frustration you had in you, and you screamed as hard as you could, tears flowing in frustration.

You hated that you were crying. But the sheer defeat and powerlessness that you felt was too overwhelming, your voice cracked mid-scream and you threw the other slipper to pieces in anger as well. It wasn’t even about the gossiping amongst the students anymore.

You were so tired; you actually couldn’t bring yourself to care about what everyone must be thinking right now. But your sisters and James. You dug your nails into your palm.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror and straightened your posture. With your hands, you smoothed out your frown, fixed your hair and put on a wide smile. All in all, you looked psychopathic, but anything was better than pathetic. You turned on your heel and got ready for your first morning class.

James watched your empty seat in Divination class. This was the only class in which the last two years were put together. He wondered if you would show up. But he knew you. Possible more than anyone. So, he knew that you would never miss a class, because you wanted perfect grades and a perfect attendance rate. You were just like that. Ambitious.

James mind replayed your words again. He was every worst characteristic of Gryffindor; you had said to him. ‘Arrogant, prideful, and reckless’.

Next to James, Sirius was also lost in thoughts. Your words resonated in his head as well. Prejudice creates a vicious cycle. It was true. Sirius’ eyes flickered towards the other empty seat where Regulus was supposed to be. He had completely abandoned Regulus, giving his brother the cold shoulder, and despising his elitist thoughts, undoubtedly created by his mother. Because he had abandoned Regulus.

Sirius wondered what would have happened if he had tried to maintain a good relationship with Regulus after having been sorted into Gryffindor. He wondered if he would have been able to convince Regulus to run away with him.

There was a knock on the door and Regulus walked in with a blank face. He nodded his head in apology at the Professor and took a seat. The door opened again, this time with a little more force.

“My sincere apologies, professor.” You wore a smile that sent chills up James’ back. His body almost involuntarily shot up to go up to you, but he caught himself, and he longingly looked at you as you passed by instead.

After having gotten used to your discrete gestures of acknowledgement in the form of waves, smiles, nods or even winks, James’ heart tugged when you didn’t spare him a glance. You graciously took a seat and motioned at Professor Trelawney to continue.

James jumped up when class was over. His belongings had long since been packed, and he dashed towards your leaving figure.

“Y/N!” he called out to you.

You turned around and looked him in the eye. All the words that James had prepared during the rest of class escaped his mind. James felt those chills again and he finally understood that in all his years with fights between the two of you, you had been petty, threatening to take points away. You had been angry, throwing insults back at him, and you had very much been a major asshole in general. But you had never been this hostile.

“Let me say this once, so we can all be done with it, and never talk about this again, Potter,” you sharply stated. “I am sorry that I wasn’t who you wanted me to be. However, let me make it clear that this was my secret and mine to share. And I made perfectly clear that I was not going to, so your blatant disrespect to publicly call me out the way you did, is simply appalling.”

Remus called James’ name and James made the mistake to look back. When he turned to you again, you were already further down the hall, turning the corner with a steady pace.

James didn’t see you around anymore until Thursday morning. His eyes basically lit up and he repeated his apology in his head. “L/N, wait,” James tried, and he chased after you. Unlike last time, you didn’t stop. Curious students watched you two pass while James tried to match your pace.

“Hear me out, please.”

“I said all I wanted to say, Potter. Let’s stay out of each other’s way from now on.”

“After you let me explain,” James pleaded.

You laughed. “Nothing you tell me will change my mind. I won’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth.” You gave him an annoyed look.

Still, James was not planning on giving up. You weren’t the only determined one here. He grabbed your arm and dragged you into a room. Your eyes squinted and gave him the dirtiest look they could. James immediately let go of you, hands up in defence, a string of apologies following suit.

You glared at him and went to walk straight out of the room when James pulled you back again, and this time, he cupped the sides of your face, and pressed his lips to yours.

For a moment, you hesitated, utterly confused and surprisingly rather okay with the unwarranted kiss. And then anger hit you. Did he bloody think this would woo you, and sweep you off your feet and make everything alright? How dare he kiss you in attempt to manipulate you. You slapped him across the face in shock less than a second later. James blinked back at you in horror at his own actions.

“Godric, no- I- I am so bloody sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m- I don’t know what went through my head, please wait-” You slammed the door in his face when you left. James hit his head softly against the door. And then he hit it again but a bit harder as he cursed. “What the hell is wrong with you mate,” he groaned to himself. “You bloody git.”

He stared at the dark wood of the door in front of him reluctantly. To be honest, he wouldn’t mind just staying in the room to rot away, how was he going to face you now?

“Lily, please go in my place,” he begged the redhead. “I’ll take your Tuesday shift, I promise.”

Lily shook her head. “Stop being a baby, James. You reap what you sow and I’m not patrolling tonight.” She walked past James and then turned back around.

“Some friendly advice, James, stop being so pushy. No is no, and it might have been cute as 11-year-olds, but not anymore. We’re no longer kids. But good luck.”

James reluctantly dragged himself towards the Great Hall where he could see you pick your nails in front of the door. He felt ashamed, guilty, and absolutely not ready to look you in the eye.

“Hi,” he awkwardly managed. “So about-“

“You’re late. Let’s get a move on it.” You cut him off.

“Right, yeah, we should do that- patrolling.”

It was quiet, not a word spoken between the two of you as James trailed half a step behind you. He glanced at the side of your face. Shadows and light flickered across your face every time you passed a torch.

The silence of the castle did him good, he realised. He’d much rather walk in silence next to you, than be in the midst of all that chaos that was going on right now. He smiled and stuffed his hands in his pocket happily.

“What are you smiling about,” you asked, a frown on your face.

“Hm? What? Oh, sorry.” The smile dropped of James’ face.

“Well, you don’t have to stop smiling because I said so,” you shot him a strange look. “I just wanted to know what’s so funny.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” A beat. And then, “Lily told me to stop trying to apologise to you if you don’t want to hear it.”

You considered his words. You supposed you mostly wanted someone to be angry at. You didn’t want to hear James out and then maybe see that your anger was misdirected. You wanted to stay bitter.

“I don’t.”

“Okay, well, I’ll stop.”

“Good.”

Despite the fact that he hadn’t been able to apologise, and nothing had been cleared up between the two of you, both of you felt yourselves relax a little more. You continued to roam the corridors in silence.

The next three patrols were spent in the same basked silence, occasionally one or two words exchanged. James had so many things he wanted to tell you, but he didn’t want to ruin anything. And then you suddenly spoke up again.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

James perked up at your words. “Thank you,” he grinned at you gratefully. “Are you going to watch the game?”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be helping out in the infirmary.”

“Did you finish your herbal research then?”

Your eyes flickered up at him in surprise. “Yeah, Madame Pomfrey and I will put it to test.” James nodded along.

“Well, if you ever need a patient, I’d volunteer,” he joked. He watched in triumph as you shook your head in amusement.

“Better check your broom for hexes tomorrow,” you replied. “wouldn’t want you to fall off your broom and break a bone or two.” James snorted.

You pulled the curtain to the side with an exasperated expression. “I was only kidding Yesterday, Potter. What on earth are you doing here.”

James gave you a weak smile, trying to hide the pain in his arm and ribs. “Volunteering to be your very first patient, of course.”

“Tell me you didn’t break your bones on purpose,” you squinted your eyes at him.

“I didn’t break my bones on purpose,” James obediently replied. He shifted in curiosity as you rummaged through a cabinet. “Is this not fixable with any spells?” He pondered when he saw you pull out several vials.

“Externally, yes. But you’d be in the same excruciating pain as if they were still broken. You motioned towards the vials. “Hence the herbal potions.”

“Is that the one with the Nettle and Dittany?” James nodded his head to the bottle on the left.

You hummed in approval, not bothering to hide the fact that you were impressed. “Who knows, Potter. Maybe you have a future of a healer as well.” James beamed in pride at your compliment.

“Just keeping my options open.” James sighed happily. He was glad that he could joke around with you again. You tapped a bottle against his cheek. He let you pour the potion into his mouth.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait.” You pulled out a stool and sat down with a notebook in case you needed to take notes of the effects of the potion. At one point, you must have fallen asleep with your face buried on James’ infirmary bed. A strand of hair was tickling your nose and you huffed to get it out of the way. James shifted to tuck it away with his non-injured hand.

You opened your eyes and jumped up. You looked around disoriented and when your eyes landed on James, who had tilted his head, you felt embarrassment creep up on you. “I’m terribly sorry, that was unprofessional of me. Are you feeling any better?”

James nodded. He sat up to prove it, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “All better. And if you get to apologise, so do I, right?” He looked at you hopefully, internally praying that you wouldn’t just march out straight away. “Will you hear me out?”

You sighed, knowing what would come next, but this time you sat down on the stool again instead of walking away.

“I didn’t know.” When you didn’t respond, he repeated himself. “I didn’t know it was you, and I didn’t know it was going to be published in the newspaper because I wouldn’t do that- you know that I wouldn’t.”

He looked at you and saw you staring back at him. He took it as a sign to continue and cleared his throat. It felt so dry all of a sudden. You quietly reached for a cup of water and handed it to him. James took a sip, a deep breath, and started to ramble on without breaks.

“Sirius found your parchment and then you sisters found it too, but I didn’t. I really didn’t. Sirius said they had already run off and he tried to fix it on his own, so he didn’t tell me, and I only found out right before you did and I would never have written such a mean article about you, because we’re friends- well, at the very least I considered us friends- and I just wanted you to like me because-” James stopped.

“What, you fancy me?” you rhetorically commented. 

James’ heart stopped and his face flushed. “No, of course not! I just- Well, I don’t know- It’s, uh I guess I just,” James tried to form a coherent answer, trying to weigh what answer would scare you away.

You frowned and let your eyes flicker across his face. “Stop it,” you shook your head in denial.

“Would it be so bad?” James murmured. “I didn’t know. But I know I liked the girl behind the paper. And I know I liked my patrol partner.” He hesitated and took a step forward. “I think you liked me too, before you knew my name.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Before I knew your name. Once I learned it, I no longer did,” you lied. “Because we would never work. Every student said so. All the whispers and comments, insults and rumour were right.”

James shook his head.

“So, date me to spite them. Prove them wrong,” It was a pathetic attempt, but he saw the consideration flash in your eyes, and the more he thought about it, the more he started to get convinced that this was a decent idea.

“You’d have us enter a fake relationship to spite everyone?”

“It wouldn’t be fake to me,” James shrugged, getting more confident by your open attitude. “And who knows, maybe I can convince you that the guy from the paper is still inside of me.”

“This is so stupid,” you shook your head.

“Guess what,” Sirius asked Remus, he covered the page of the book Remus was reading to capture his attention.

Remus slapped Sirius’ hand away. “What,” he replied curtly. Sirius moved to sit on the table of the library. “Are you angry?”

“Mildly annoyed, yes.”

“Because…” Sirius trailed off unsurely. He hoped that Remus would finish the sentence for him, which, luckily for Sirius, Remus did.

“Because I think it’s time you guys stop pestering her. I know you planned to get James in the infirmary. Leave her be, you’ve done enough damage as it is.” He sounded disapproving. Sirius dropped himself back on the table, laying across it as if he was a sacrifice on an altar.

“Prongs likes her.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s handling it terribly,” Remus drily remarked. He took off his glasses and started to wipe them with the hem of his sweater. Sirius patted his pockets, reached into his left one and handed Remus a cleaning cloth for glasses.

“Why are you guys nice to me,” Remus asked quietly.

“What are you talking about Moony, you’re our best friend?”

“I know, but why?” Remus lowered his voice. “I’m a werewolf, aren’t I? I’m a literal monster. So why are you nice to me. But somehow feel the need to keep pranking and bullying Slytherin students? We’re in our last year. Don’t you think we should grow up?” And with ‘we’, he meant ‘Sirius and James’.

‘I know, Moony.”

“Do you now?”

“I think I’m going to talk to Regulus.”

Remus choked on his spit. “I’m sorry, Pads, you’re what?”

“I just don’t want to be like L/N’s siblings. I know I sort of am, but I don’t want to be. And you said we should start being nicer right?”

“Pads, last time you said something to him, he literally hexed you.”

“I insulted him,” Sirius heard himself say and he felt weird for a moment.

“He’s after your ass during every Quidditch game, trying to knock you off your broom.”

“Well, that’s just the point of Quidditch,” Sirius defended again.

Remus smiled at Sirius. “Alright, just be careful. Mid-terms are coming up and I’m too busy with studies to fix you up again.”

Sirius grinned. “If all goes well with Prongs, I could ask L/N to patch me up.” Remus threw a quill at him. “I think I’ll go find L/N later, see if she knows where my brother is.”

The door opened and Remus looked behind him. He did a double take and put his glasses back on to make sure he was seeing things correctly. Sirius was still laying on the table, looking at the ceiling.

“I think I’ve found her,” Remus remarked, uncertainly.

Sirius sat up and gaped at the sight on you and James, walking into the library together while talking. James was holding a pile of books and by the colour of the cover, he knew that those were not James’.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

You looked up in alarm at the words and found Sirius and Remus sitting at a table in the corner. “We talked it out,” you nonchalantly mentioned. Remus gave you a smile and Sirius just stared at you. Then; “Hell yeah, Prongs, I knew you had it in you to confess.” Sirius jumped off the table and patted you on the back with a grin.

You laughed back uncertainly and looked at James with questioning eyes. James looked back at you, reassuringly. He moved all of your books to one hand and guided you to a seat with the other.

“Where’s Regulus,” Sirius asked immediately as soon as you sat down.

You raised your eyebrows. “He’s in the astronomy tower. Didn’t want to join James and I to the library.” You smiled at recollection of the younger Black’s reaction to you and James.

“No way.” He had replied. “What are you two planning?” James had looked at Regulus with an offended look. “What are you talking about? I fancy Y/N and she fancies me, so we decided to make it official.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe you fancy Y/N, but there is just no way she would enter a relationship with you of all people. What’s the deal.”

Sirius nodded. “Well,” he started, “I mean, if he wants to, he uh, the library is a public space, so he could join. If he wants.” Sirius awkwardly sat down on a chair. You squinted your eyes at him. “I’ll be sure to let him know,” you said. You watched as Sirius puffed out a sigh in relief.

You glanced down at the messy scribbles on Sirius’ paper and raised your eyebrows. You’d imagined that the elder Black would have a better handwriting than that. “Anyway, do you need help with Transfiguration as well?”

The news of your relationship spread like fire. Your sisters both received it with a sour look on their faces. “He’ll see we were right, and he’ll leave you again,” they said, purposely loud enough for you to hear it. James had just entered the room and walked straight past them towards you with a flower. He dropped it next to you and sat down beside you.

Against your will, your heart made a small jump and the corners of your mouth tugged upwards. James’ eyes flickered towards your lips and quickly looked away happily. Then he leaned in a little and whispered, “We’re not breaking up if it’s up to me.”

He shifted in his seat, subtly scooting over closer to you. “Go on a date with me tonight,” James whispered.

“We don’t have time tonight. Patrol, remember?” You argued back.

James grinned and shook his head. “Afterwards.”

“It’s past bedtime afterwards. I will not-”

“Sneak around the castle and get caught, I know. But you forget that I have an invisibility cloak.”

You laughed this time. “I’m almost tempted to take 20 points off Gryffindor for your outrageous plan.” Your eyes twinkled and James joined in. He put his hand over his heart in fake shock. “You wouldn’t do that to your boyfriend,” he squinted his eyes, challenging you.

“If he misbehaves,” you answer amusedly. But then you hummed in thought. “Fine, I’ll bite, what do you have in mind.”

James’ grin widened. “The lake’s still frozen,” he whispered. You deadpanned. “I can’t skate.”

James leaned his head against you. “Exactly, it’s the perfect chance for me to show you my gentlemanly skills and woo you.” You turned your head and breathed in the smell of James’ shampoo. "You just want an excuse to hold my hand," you mumbled in his hair. You could feel James smile against your shoulder. “I’m your boyfriend, I don’t need excuses,” he joked.

James swore his heartrate sped up an unhealthy amount when you confirmed, “No you don’t.”

He was absolutely beaming next to you as you were patrolling down the corridor, hand in hand. Your eyes flickered over to James once in a while. It was suspicious to you that he’d been quiet the entire time. James on the other hand was just looking at your intertwined hands with interest.

“Never held hands with a girl before, Potter?” You laughed, but no venom was found in your voice.

James nodded. “Never held hands with a girl before,” he confirmed, not ashamed at all for it. Why should he. You looked at him with curiosity. “What about Lily?”

James snorted. “Have you ever seen us hold hands?”

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’.

“I was stressing a lot about being a good boyfriend, my hands got really sweaty,” James bashfully explained. You lifted both your hands and squeezed his hand a few times. “You don’t stress about being a good boyfriend for me?” you couldn’t help but ask. You immediately groaned internally and looked straight to the floor, intently watching your feet as they simply fascinatingly put one in front of the other. I mean, have you ever seen something so-. James wasn’t having it.

“’m not stressing with you. I have a pretty good feeling about us.” He sighed contently. You huffed. “Well, I have high standards, and I’ve been told I’m pretty high maintenance, Potter.” You stuck your nose in the air haughtily.

“First, you should stop calling me Potter,” he remarked.

“James,” you nodded. A chill ran up his spine. “And second?” you inquired.

“Second?”

“Second,” you looked at him expectantly.

“Oh! Right, second; I didn’t know you had a relationship before?” And just as soon as those words left his lips, he cussed himself out in his head. Great, now he seemed either a twat as if he couldn’t believe someone like you could have a relationship, or a twat who was jealous and obsessive. And it’s only the first week. James averted his eyes to the wall on his left. Ah yes, the wall seems to be made of stone. Very sturdy, very wall-like-

“No, I’ve been single pretty much my whole life.” You put on your usual sour face, and vaguely gestured to it. “Not very approachable, as I prefer.”

“Then who calls you high maintenance?” James thought bitterly, feeling the need to defend you. “Calm down, prince Charming,” you reassured him with a laugh. Maybe you could see the charm in his recklessness. “I can fight my own battles. And basically, everyone calls me high maintenance.”

The two of you walked side by side in silence again, making your way to the prefect room. You rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a document and started to fill it in. James leaned against the table. “Where do you go during Spring Break? Do you stay at Hogwarts? Because I can also stay at Hogwarts to keep you company, you know.”

“I have my own apartment.”

“You’re not even of age yet,” James pointed out, trying to hide his disappointment unsuccessfully at a missed opportunity of spending time with you.

“Professor McGonagall vouched for me,” you replied. James’ eyebrows flew up. “McGonagall?” He asked in disbelief. You just hummed in reply while you flipped the page to continue filling in the report.

“Well, if you want you can come with me?” You stopped writing and looked up at him intently. As if you were searching his face for any hidden intentions. When you didn’t find any, you gave him an apologetic look.

“That’s kind of you, James,” you smiled. “But I have Regulus staying with me.”

“He doesn’t stay at the Black manor?” James was surprised. You tilted your head. “Tell me, does Sirius stay at the Black manor?”

James quickly shut his mouth as realization dawned on him. Oh.

“Well,” he awkwardly shifted. “You’re both welcome,” he offered. You shook your head in laughing at the mental image. The thought of Regulus and Sirius living together for two weeks was just hilarious.

“I’m done, we can go.”

“Alright, I just need to pick up my invisibility cloak from the Gryffindor common room.”

“I’ll wait here,” you nodded. James offered you a strange look.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him.

“You’re not going with me?”

“What all the way up to the third floor? I think not,” you snorted, plopping down on a chair, and making yourself comfortable.

James huffed and didn’t move. “But what if something happens to me on the way there?” He dramatically sat down next to you on a different chair.

“What on earth could happen to you on the way to your room. This is Hogwarts, you know. The safest place in England probably.”

“What if a monster attacks me, and then I can’t come back, and you’ll think that I stood you up?” James retorted with a pout.

You shook your head and pinched the bridge of you nose. “There are no monsters in this castle, James, where do you think we are? You’re not going to run into a Basilisk on your way.”

James squinted his eyes at you. “But can you promise me that with 100% certainty?” You rolled your eyes in response. “Of course not, but would you take me with you and expose me to such dangers?” you sarcastically retorted.

“Well, technically speaking, and I’m not saying all Slytherins,” James held up his hands at your narrowed eyes. “Snakes are kind of your thing, right?” You closed your eyes. “Charming, you are. Let’s just go,” you sighed.

James grinned in victory as he held the door open for you. “For the record, I would totally protect you from a Basilisk.”

“If you say so.”

Sirius sat up in bed when the door opened, but no one came in. “Hey Prongs, how was ice skating?”

James removed the invisibility cloak to reveal your shivering form. Both of you drenched from head to toe, water still dripping from the locks in front of his eyes. “Got pulled under,” he stressed. “I didn’t know where to take her, I couldn’t let her clean record be tainted for being out past bedtime because of me, and I don’t know the Slytherin password, so I brought her here,” he started to ramble in a loud whisper.

Remus grumbled as he sat up too. “Bloody hell, Prongs, did you take her to the black lake or what?” And when James didn’t respond, “Mate, what is wrong with you.” He got up and walked to the bathroom to get a few dry towels to wrap you in.

James discarded his soaked clothes and dried himself off before putting on pyjamas. Then the three of them stared awkwardly at each other. “Well, she needs to get out of those cold clothes,” Remus remarked. Sirius stepped back. “Yeah, not my girl, not my duty,” he walked over to his bed and dropped down on it.

“Right.”

You woke up and the first thing you noticed was the red colours all around you. You sat up suddenly and blinked a few times. What happened? Oh, right. A hand had broken through the ice, wrapped itself around your ankle and harshly pulled you down into the freezing depths. So that means you’re either dead, or James got you out and brought you to the Gryffindor dorms instead of the infirmary because he kept your clean records in mind. Your heart filled with appreciation at the thought of that.

You looked around and found James on the floor next to you. He was curled up in an extra blanket, but it must be uncomfortable. You went to pull out your wand when you realised that you were wearing his sweater. The little shit changed your clothes, you huffed.

You quietly got up, found your clothes drying in the bathroom and slipped out your wand. With a quick levitation spell, you gently tucked James back into his own bed. Your eyes fell on the two parchments on the nightstand, and you allowed a nostalgic smile to adorn your face. You moved his hair out of the way and let your eyes rest on his peaceful face. Realising you were being creepy, you hastily turned around and snuck out of the room with your clothes and a rolled-up parchment.

“And where have you been,” Regulus sat on the common room armchair in front of the door. He looked like he hadn’t properly slept, and his tone was sharp. “And what atrocity are you wearing. Tell me you didn’t sleep with him?”

“You’re my brother, Regulus, not my mother,” you teased him. You pulled out a chair to sit next to him. “And no, I went skating, fell into the water, blacked out and woke up alive in the Gryffindor dorm. So don’t hex James, if anything you can thank him.”

There was a beat of silence. “I’m glad you’re okay, I was worried.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you. Did you stay up all night?”

“Yes, but mostly because I wanted to tell you something.” You didn’t immediately reply, waiting for Regulus to continue on his own instead.

“Sirius came up to the astronomy tower yesterday evening,” he quietly said. His voice sounded confused, as if he was still unsure of what had actually occurred.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” Regulus immediately said. “It’s just that he apologized.” He shrugged. “You think he meant it?”

You thought it over. “I think he did. He asked me last week you know. Where you are, and that if you ever want to join us in the library, you can.” Regulus nodded deep in thought.

“You know, James actually invited both of us over for the Spring Break.” You looked at Regulus to gauge his reaction to that. He looked slightly interested, though he tried to hide it.

“I suppose it’s still a month away, so we’ll see what we want then.”

You nodded and then got up off the chair. “I’m going to change into something else, before my fellow house students want to jinx me,” you said.

“You’re dating James Potter; people already want to jinx you.”

You winked at him. “Well, I’ll be damned, you’re absolutely right. Isn’t that funny? You know what, let them try,” you challenged them as you smoothened James’ sweater.

James woke up and sat up straight in bed, confused. How did he get here? He Looked at the end of his bed and saw it still neatly tucked in- hospital corners. His lips twitched up. You had left, he realised, but you’d tucked him in. He let himself fall back onto his pillow and turned his head to the side. Then he frowned, put on his glasses, and grabbed the parchment. In your lovely handwriting was a message.

Maybe not a Basilisk, but you protected me as you said. Thank you, James. (All things considered, I enjoyed last night.)

James’ eyes traced the words before he carefully placed the parchment under his pillow with a giddy feeling in his heart.

James found you in the library with Remus. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that you were still wearing his sweater. Red looked out of place on you and James absolutely loved it. Sirius shared a look with him and then the both of them decided to sneak up on the two of you, simultaneously stealing your books from under you.

You and Remus narrowed your eyes at the both of them. “I am this close to kicking you guys.” You held up your hand to show your thumb and finger pressed together. James shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But they’re touching,” he hesitantly responded. Sirius elbowed him in the ribs and quickly handed Remus both your books back.

You sarcastically faked a gasp. “Oh, Merlin, you’re right, they appear to be.”

James cheekily grinned and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You wouldn’t hurt your knight in shining armour,” he bragged, but without any real arrogance laced in his tone. You flipped him off with a grin and pulled out a chair for him next to you. “You’re late,” you airily said.

Sirius suddenly straightened up, his attention fixed on someone behind you. You turned around and waved Regulus over. “Come join us, Reg.”

Three weeks flew by in a blur, but- even though you’ve said this so often now- your were really enjoying your time at Hogwarts again. People’s gossips and predictions about yours and James’ relationship had turned into quiet whispers and envy.

James stood up for you on multiple occasions- after letting you have a go at the imbeciles of course. You had finally gone to a Quidditch game to support James, though of course not when they were playing against Slytherin. You had spent more time in the infirmary and James had joined you a few times by hanging out on one of the empty beds, occasionally handing you an ingredient such as Wolfsbane.

After having established that you absolutely loved hugs, James was always less that a step behind you, ready to give you the affection that you were too proud for to admit you wanted. You had been a frequent visitor to the boys’ dorms as well, making yourself comfortable in James’ arms as you dozed off for a nap. On other nights, you have even managed to persuade Regulus to join a handful of times as well. You wondered what would happen when James would graduate before you, but tried not to think much of it.

“So, we are definitely going to Hogsmeade together this week, right?” James popped up behind you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“How scandalous, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, why? You have a boyfriend or something?” James humoured you.

“Or something,” you joked. The innocent comment hit both you and James at the same time. A reminder that you two were in fact technically not really dating. You shook the thought away.

“I’ll see you at 11 o’clock,” you replied.

James grinned, “I’ll be there five minutes earlier.”

True to his words, he was waiting for you in the courtyard when you arrived on the dot. James offered you his arm and you linked yours through his.

“James?” James hummed in reply. “Does your offer about Spring Break still stand? I mean, I know it’s next week already, and it’s sort of short notice-”

James perked up. “Yes!” he said, a little too quickly and enthusiastic. He cleared his throat and lowered his volume. “Yes, you and Regulus can still come.”

You sighed and nodded in relief. “Right, because Reg and I have been talking and we might take you up on that offer.”

It was evening by the time you and James made your way back to Hogwarts. James had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you held his hand. James pressed a kiss to your temple every now and then. “What happened to the glass slippers?” He suddenly asked.

“They broke.”

“They broke?”

“Yep.”

“But didn’t you enchant them?”

“I did, but I was so angry at you that I smashed them to pieces against the wall like over two months ago.”

“Oh… But have you changed your mind since then?” James decided to finally ask you.

“About what?”.

“Me, and us.”

You looked at James and quietly admired him. James kept his eyes straight in front of him, too scared to look at you and see your reaction.

“Well, we are walking together, coming back from Hogsmeade. There’s not a student in sight and yet we are still holding hands,” You light-heartedly replied with a teasing smile. You squeezed his hand for good measure. It seemed enough to make James look at you.

“I’d say we’re pretty good friends-”

“I’m in love with you.”

You froze in your tracks and let go of James’ hand. Well, that took you by surprise. Fancying someone and claiming to be in love with someone- not loving but being in love- that was a next level. You smiled amusedly, successfully hiding your insecurities. “James, you’re not in love with me.”

James frowned at your response. He’d accept your rejection, but not you doubting his feelings.

“Yes, I am,” he stubbornly responded.

“No, you’re not,” you retorted, equally stubborn.

“Am too.”

“You’re not, James,” you exasperatedly said. “You’re not in love, you just fancy me because you’re comfortable.” You shrugged awkwardly. "And you only feel comfortable with me because I know so much about you. Because you poured your heart out to a stranger, and it so happened to be me.”

James bit his cheek, considering your words. Then he grinned and nodded. Your heart dropped, but not as much as it could have, because you had already prepared yourself for this. The joy behind setting yourself up for disappointment by never letting yourself get your hopes up.

“Yeah, I’m really comfortable with you.” He agreed. “Isn’t that great? Isn’t that love too? Being comfortable to the point you don’t feel the need to keep secrets anymore, where you feel the most accepted? The most at ease?”

You stared at James then cleared your throat. “So, when did you start being all knowledgeable and romantic?”

James snorted. You were adorable when you were awkward. “I’m the most comfortable with you,” he earnestly confessed to you. He carefully, as if to not scare you away, put a step forward and reached for your hand. He squeezed it softly. I mean it.

James felt you pull your hand back and bit his lip, forcing it to curl up into an accepting smile. “Right,” he cleared his throat as he tried to form a reply. But you weren’t done yet. You pulled back your hand and then threw both your arms around James’ neck as your brought him in a tight hug. You dipped your head down into the crook of his neck.

“And I’m the most vulnerable with you,” you mumbled against his skin. James sighed in relief, happiness, and love. He wrapped his arms around you protectively, as if to shield you in response.

You tilted your head sideways as you looked at James who was in front of you, down on one knee in your garden. James looked beautiful. His cheeks were slightly coloured from the cold and his hands held a small box with a ring.

“Love?” He asked, waving his hand in front of you, trying to get your attention. He didn’t sound nervous at all, in fact, he felt the most relaxed he’d ever been. This was definitely the future he’d imagined when he’d watched you laugh with his dad while bringing in the groceries. “My knee is getting numb from the cold, love. So, if you could just say yes or no,” he cheekily grinned.

You hummed in thought and then you replied, “Well, isn’t marriage a little too soon?” Your grin widened and spread across your face. “I mean, you’ve yet to officially ask me to be your real girlfriend.”

“Wait what-”

The end :)

Taglist:

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[warping-realities]

All For The Family - Part 2

“Ryan… Ryan… bro… wake up!”

Brian didn’t wanna wake up; that dream was where he wanted to be. No worries about work, no competition with his brother… brother? What brother…?

“Ryan, brother, get up… NOW!!!” Someone yelled, chucking a pillow at him, waking him up with a start.

Br-Ryan shot up, “WTF? What’s with the pillow, RJ?”

“We’re late for work, you dumbass! Dad’s gonna skin us alive if we take too long. Get your act together!” The muscular guy in front of him said. Ryan still remembered the dream, envying the other guy’s body. Could he ever reach that size? Wait, why would he want to be that big? Something felt off… that dream… and…

“Dude! Get up right now or I’m dragging your skinny ass outta there!”

“Okay, okay, just let me take a shower and brush my teeth!” Ryan replied, getting up and deciding to worry about strange dreams during his downtime. Easier said than done, because as soon as he stepped into the bathroom, a surprise awaited him.

“What The Fuck!” he exclaimed, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The skinny physique he was used to had been replaced by a toned body, like he actually lifted weights, either at the gym or on the job. The physique in front of him was the same as in that dream… had it really been a dream? Maybe it was a memory… but how could he remember something he never lived? Or had he lived it? While he tried to process that info, he was interrupted by RJ, standing in all his muscular glory at the bathroom door. Had he gotten even bigger in the last few minutes? No way, that’d be impossible!

“Bro, you’re playing with fire! I know you’ve made some sick gains since you started working here, but now’s not the time to be admiring yourself!” said the muscle giant, though he sounded more satisfied than scolding. More importantly, that explanation made sense in Ryan's confused mind, causing a smile to spread across his face as golden sparks surrounded him.

“Okay bro, just a minute. I really gotta pee.” He said while sniffing his armpit, finding the smell acceptable; even if it wasn’t, he knew the shower would have to wait. After a long pee, he grabbed his clothes tossed by the bed—a worn-out pair of jeans, a tank top, and work boots—and headed for the kitchen, following the familiar path he had taken for months. The first thing he noticed was the delicious aroma of Mrs. Abernathy’s cooking. Following that scent, he found her chatting with Debra, lunch already well underway. The two didn’t even seem to notice his entrance into the cozy farmhouse kitchen; they were so caught up in their lively conversation. For some reason, Mrs. Abernathy looked more radiant today, as if the weight of a few years had been lifted from her, and even Debra seemed to glow. It must be the joy they were sharing at that moment, Ryan thought.

Not wanting to interrupt, he turned to the table where the two biggest guys he’d ever known were seated, Mr. Abernathy, Roy, and Roy Jr., RJ. They both smiled at him, taking up the whole kitchen with their massive frames.

“Jesus, Ryan. You took your sweet time, son. Sit down and eat a good meal; today’s gonna be busy, so even though we’re late, I don’t wanna risk seeing you hit the floor from lack of fuel!” Roy said, still smiling, but that last part made something click in Ryan’s mind, something about…

“And what about my car?”

“Oh bro, don’t sweat it, we’ll check it out at some point today, either after lunch or later in the afternoon. Now, do what Dad said and stuff your face!” RJ replied. Realizing he was starving, Ryan sat at the table and began piling food onto his plate, way more than he’d ever eaten in his life… or had he? He had the distinct feeling that this was the usual routine every morning since he started working here… so why did it feel so… new? He was trying to wrap his head around that incongruity when a loud burp next to him made him turn to RJ, who was laughing openly.

“Damn, that was a big one! Come on, Ryan, show us what you got!”

“I… I don’t know if… I should!”

“Come on, son, better out than in, and with all you’ve eaten, your stomach must be bubbling.” Roy encouraged as Ryan realized what he was saying was true; he was stuffed, and something was pushing up from his stomach with high pressure until “Burrrrrp.” Ryan let out an even bigger burp than RJ’s. It sent all the guys at the table into fits of laughter, while Mrs. Abernathy shot them a disapproving glance.

“Boys, have some manners at the table!” she said with a serious expression.

“Marisa, leave the boys alone; boys will be boys, right?”

“Then let them be far away from my kitchen!”

“Alright, alright! Time to get to work, boys… and Ryan, I’m really proud of you; you’re showing yourself to be the right kind of man!”

Hearing that made Ryan beam, golden sparks erupting around him once again.

After that, the real work began. Harvesting was tough. The more experienced Roy and RJ took turns driving the combine and the truck that collected the grains, while Ryan helped guide the flow of seeds to make sure they didn’t fall in the wrong spot. Every grain counted, given the family’s tight financial situation. Ryan wondered how they managed without him? Having been there for a year, arriving shortly after the last harvest, he now understood why the family treated him with such care; the work must have gotten a lot easier with him around. After they finished the hearty lunch delivered by Debra in generous portions, without even leaving their vehicles, Roy called for a break. There were only a few acres left to harvest, which could be done the next day. So if the boys wanted, they could work on Ryan’s old Mustang.

As they arrived at the barn, laughing and chatting like the good friends they were, RJ asked Ryan to wait while he grabbed the tools for the car repair. Still chuckling at a story RJ had just told him, Ryan sat down on an old bench. This was the first moment he’d been alone for more than a few seconds since he arrived at the Abernathy home… from where? Didn’t his car have a problem? But his car was currently covered by an old tarp in one corner of the barn and looked like it had been sitting there for months collecting dust. He was sure he had been working for Roy for a year now, but where had he worked before that? The answer that popped into his mind was a bank? But that didn’t make sense; why would he work at a bank? Those were the thoughts racing through the young man’s mind, with light brown hair and well-toned muscles, until he was interrupted by a persistent voice.

“Ry… Ry… RY!!! What’s up, bro? You look like you’re on another planet!”

Ryan looked up to see RJ holding a wrench, his work tank top discarded somewhere along the way, and a worried expression on his face.

“Hey… b-bro… do you remember where I worked before I came here… was it at a bank? I can’t seem to recall what I did after college…”

“Ry… this is a joke, right? Someone like you could never work at a bank! And college? Guys like us don’t do that!”

“Guys like us…?”

“Yeah, man, guys of the land, manual labor, real men. Like me, like you!” RJ replied, smiling.

“You think I’m like you?”

“Of course, you’re exactly like me!”

Hearing that sparked a fire of acceptance in Ry’s chest, which somehow led to another wave of golden sparks surrounding him as a smile spread across his face.

“Now let’s get to work on what you’ve been itching to do, let’s fix your car, bro!”

“Hell yeahh!”

Hours passed as the two worked on Ryan’s red Mustang; there was a lot to do, but luckily they both knew their way around cars. Right after leaving school, Ry had jumped from city to city taking on various jobs, the longest being at a mechanic shop, where he had coincidentally acquired the car they were now trying to fix.

“Man, I’ve always been obsessed with cars. To me, the American Muscle Car is the pinnacle of automotive achievement!” an excited RJ said.

“Dude, I totally agree with you. I needed to have this beauty here. I knew with the right work, it’d be perfect! I don’t get why my brother got so mad at me!” Ry replied, stopping immediately after that comment. Did he have a brother?? Then why couldn’t he remember his face or even his name? He wondered, an expression of anguish creeping his bearded man's face as his defined muscles involuntarily tensed in discomfort.

“Shit…” RJ muttered quietly before quickly recovering. “Your brother? Bro, I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a brother, and I’d never criticize you for buying a badass car like this! It’s like you haven’t learned in all these years we’ve known each other that I’ll support you even in your cra ziest ideas, just like you support me in mine, and buying the Mustang isn’t even close to being as wild as some of the things I’ve done!”

“Years…?”

“Now you’re really worrying me, brother! Dude, we’ve known each other since we were kids! My greatest joy was when you came to work with us right after we graduated. Can you imagine? Working with my best bro!”

“Best bro? I… I’m your best bro?”

“Of course you are, Ty! You and I are best bros for life!”

“Best bros…” Ty repeated, a smile breaking across his face as the biggest wave of golden sparks enveloped him, his strong, toned muscles relaxing as he looked at his lifelong best friend.

“Sorry, man, I’m feeling kinda weird today.”

RJ, sensing that the thinh they are doing was coming to a close, went for the final push while discreetly notifying Roy that their plan was nearing its climax.

“Chill out, man, I know just the thing to help! How about we take a break here and really work out? My muscles are aching for a pump, and even though you’re not a skinny twig anymore, you still have a ways to go to catch up to me.”

“This is definition, bro!”

“No, this is malnourishment, Ty! Let’s head to the back right now.”

The two moved toward the back of the barn, where there was a separate room that, to Ty’s surprise, was basically a fully-equipped old-school gym.

“Wow man, this is sick as hell!”

“Ty, bro! You talk like you don’t live here with me and haven’t used Dad’s gym since we were kids, even though you still seem like a little weakling to me.” RJ said, grinning.

“Shut up, asshole!” Ty shot back, mirroring RJ’s smile. But that quickly faded as he sat down, lost in thought.

“But it’s true, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, man. It feels like something’s off with me. You’ve spent the whole day reminding me of things I already know; I feel fine for a while, and then everything gets muddled again. Am I going crazy?” he questioned RJ who was standing right in front of him, wearing nothing but some extremely short shorts that showcased his massive muscles.

“Ty, bro, you need to stop worrying about that. Now it’s time to work out and try to get close to this!” he said, flexing his powerful chest and arms.

“I… work... out? Yes! But… I… don’t remember… that’s what I’m telling you… there’s something… missing…”

Before RJ could respond, a deep voice interrupted them.

“Can I know what’s going on here?” Asked Roy Abernathy in his work clothes with a serious expression.

“Roy… Mr. Abernathy… I’m sorry… it’s my fault… I wasn’t feeling well, and RJ wanted to cheer me up…”

“I know, son. What I want to know is why you didn’t say anything. You’re like a son to me, TJ. I expected you to see me as a father too!”

“Like a… father?”

“Of course, boy! I’ve watched you play with RJ in these fields since you could fit in the palm of my hand. I’ve followed your football games from Pop Warner all the way to the state championship semifinals in high school. You’ve brought me as much pride as my own son, boy.” Said the bigger man with a smile.

That seemed to trigger the golden sparks once again.

As the trademark smile spread across TJ’s face, knowing how little time they had left before their work was finished, Roy quickly stripped down, donning only some shorts that were just as tight and short as his son’s. His muscular body was less defined but much larger in mass and power.

“Let’s go, kid, take off those pants and show me what you’ve got! Who knows, maybe one day you’ll match this!” he said, flexing his arm and grinning.

“I think that’s pretty unlikely, Roy, but let’s see what I can do!” TJ replied, smiling.

“Start with the warm-up, son! How about some squats?” Roy suggested as the younger man positioned himself.

“And, TJ?”

“Yes?” TJ answered, starting the exercise.

“My friends call me Roy. My sons call me Dad! Show me who you really are, son!”

That phrase, amidst his concentration on the exercise, ignited a new wave of golden sparks. As TJ squatted down and pushed up, his mind flooded with various memories: childhood days playing with his twin brother, who was just a few minutes older, under their father’s watchful eye. The two brothers, inseparable best friends, taking care of the farm chores together. The football games that had led them to the semifinals of the state championship. The decision to stay on the farm to help their parents with the work. Finally, the gaps in his memory were filled. He finally knew who he was. With one final push upward, Tyler James Abernathy finished his warm-up set, smiling at his father and his brother.

“Warm-up done, old man; how about we move on to something real?”

“Not before you do what I asked; show me what you’re capable of. Flex for me, son!”

“Dad, come on!” TJ replied, a bit exasperated.

“Hey, are you gonna let an old man outdo you?”

Smiling at his dad, who despite being frustrating was still his greatest role model, TJ flexed his massive muscles as a grin spread across his face.

…..

As the sun set that day, the twins walked home, chatting animatedly after making significant progress on the Mustang’s repairs. However, they stopped dead in their tracks when they encountered an unexpected scene that made their cheerfull expressions turn serious.

Their father was standing with his arms crossed, staring at someone with his imposing physique blocking their view. But both knew their dad’s posture well enough, even from behind, to tell he was fuming. And a very angry Roy Abernathy was exactly what the other man was seeing.

“I already told you I haven’t seen the guy you’re looking for, officer!” Roy said, his voice steady but firm.

“I don’t want to doubt your word, Mr. Abernathy; I’m just asking to take a look around your property. The last I heard, my brother was supposed to come here yesterday. Brian is many things I don’t approve of, but irresponsible isn’t one of them,” the man said, stepping into the twins’ line of sight.

“Hey, you two, I’m Officer Lucas Harding. Have either of you seen my brother Brian?”

“Fuck!” exclaimed a startled RJ.

Just as Debra and Marisa Abernathy emerged from the house, and Roy turned to his sons. All eyes were fixed on TJ, who stood frozen in place while the same question ran through the minds of the rest of the family, what had gone wrong? Worse than that: what else could happen?

Continue....

[rottenpumpkin13]

Do the boys ever interact with Rufus Shinra?

Ah, yes. The incident...

• It started when Zack went to the Turk's floor to pick up Cissnei. She and Aerith had recently become friendly and the puppy was tagging along on their girl's night.

• He goes to her apartment and she says she's finishing up some reports before she retires for the night. Zack's bored and since he can't sit still for much longer, he keeps touching things he's not supposed to and distracting Cissnei from her work.

• She has enough and tells him to leave the apartment for a bit so she can finish up, suggesting he takes a stroll around the Turk floor.

• Zack's cool with this. He knows exactly what to do. He'll go find Tseng! Tseng's his buddy too, right? So off Zack goes toward the offices, and excitedly knocks on Tseng's door.

• After no answer, he tries the door and finds it unlocked. The office is empty with no Tseng in sight....

• But oh??? What's this??? There's a dog! Er...At least Zack thinks it's a dog. It's wagging its tail at least! And it senses Zack's naturally friendly nature.

• Zack is lovestruck by the dog, who immediately comes up and starts sniffing and licking him. He reads the spiky chain collar. Darkstar! That's her name!

• Enchanted by his new friend, Zack starts to feel sad and confused. Why would Tseng lock away such a cute friend in his office? All alone! With no one to love her!

• He wasn't aware Tseng even had a dog, or better: was a dog person. Poor Tseng. He's so busy he probably doesn't even have time to care for his new pet.

• It doesn't matter. Zack will help! But first, he takes out his phone and snaps a super cute selfie of him and Darkstar. He sends it to the last person he had texted: Genesis.

• Made a new friend! :) I'm going to take her out for a walk! #PupandPup

• Genesis had been working late in his office. He was going to finish all these late mission reports by tonight! Goddess be damned. He was going to prove Sephiroth and Lazard wrong! How dare they claim a lame chocobo had better work ethic than him!?

• He's taking a long sip from his coffee when he hears his phone ding. Ugh, he really shouldn't be entertaining social media nor answering texts. But it's okay, he's been overexerting himself. He deserves a little break.

• Taking another sip of his coffee, he reaches for his phone and—

• Genesis is scrambling. He's throwing open doors, booking it down the hallway and leaping into the elevator.

• He gets to Angeal's door and starts pounding on the door, kicking, screaming, the whole nine yards. Angeal opens it looking bewildered. A concerned Sephiroth is peeking out from behind him. Both men are still in uniform, thankfully, and look to have been in the middle of some drinks.

• Genesis does a poor job of explaining himself. He's hyperventilating, stomping his foot and pointing down the hallway all while mimicking dying fish noises.

• When Angeal and Sephiroth exchange puzzled looks, Genesis pulls out his phone and shoves the picture of Zack in their faces.

• It takes 0.2 seconds for them to connect the dots and run.

• The three are tripping over themselves, slipping and panicking all as they rush to find Zack. They're just—

• Meanwhile Zack is enthused! He and Darkstar are having a blast running all over the tower and playing catch with a rubber band ball he'd found in Tseng's office.

• That all changes when a blur of red leather rushes in and tackles him to the ground. Zack is crushed and pinned by Genesis in place. Angeal and Sephiroth have secured Darkstar by her chains. Her tail's wagging, she's excited as she sniffs Sephiroth's hand. More friends, yay!

• Zack: Hey! What gives? Get off me, you weigh like, a thousand pounds!"

• Genesis: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT BEAST BELONGS TO!?

• Sephiroth: Why is it licking my hand?

• Zack: Yeah! Tseng! He got a new dog and the poor thing was stuck in his office!

• Angeal: Zack! That's Rufus ShinRa's dog!

• Sephiroth: It is now chewing my glove. What do I do?

• Zack: No way! ShinRa Jr. ? I never pegged him as a dog lover.

• Sephiroth: *pets Darkstar* There, there, who's a good.... monstrous abomination?

• Genesis: Yeah, well, he is! And this is his personal guard dog. Do you know how much trouble we'd all be in if you were seen with it!?

• Sephiroth: *continues to pet* You know, the poor creature looks enhanced. This has Hojo's hand all over it.

• Angeal: Look, let's just get this dog back in Tseng's office before Rufus notices it's missing.

• Angeal, Zack and Genesis turn around and—

• .......................

• Genesis: HEY, UH, SEPHIROTH!?

• Sephiroth: Yes?

• Genesis: WHERE'S THE DOG!?

• Sephiroth, looking pleased, points down the hallway where Darkstar is seen running away at light speed.

• Sephiroth: It's free now.

• Genesis: SON OF A—

• The four of them start sprinting after her. The security cameras around that particular area of the tower capture the wild goose chase. Darkstar runs down stairs, into elevators, and finally slows down just enough for Zack to latch onto one of her chains.

• Zack, refusing to let go, is now eating dirt as he's dragged by Darkstar. And Darkstar is only picking up speed.

• Meanwhile, Cissnei is ready to go, and is waiting for Zack at a booth near the Sky View Hall.

• She watches in wonder as Darkstar bolts past her seat with a long chain trailing behind her. Then in comes a screaming Zack being dragged across the ground. Lastly, Sephiroth, Genesis and Angeal are seen running after him.

• Cissnei sighs, then takes out her phone. She texts Aerith: I'll meet you at Goblin's bar in sector 8. Zack's not coming.

• Aerith: Why not?

• Cissnei: Because he's going to be arrested.

• Meanwhile, Darkstar leads the party all the way down into a conference room on the 30th floor. Horror starts to sink in as the 1st class trio remember the interdepartmental meeting currently happening in there.

• Oh no.

• Darkstar throws open the door and rushes inside. Heads turn at the long conference table as every single director (Scarlet, Heidegger, Reeve, Palmer, Hojo, Lazard and the president) watches as Darkstar makes a beeline for Rufus.

• Darkstar barks happily and tackles Rufus out of his seat. Zack crashes onto the conference table, slides across it, then falls directly onto President ShinRa.

• Tseng is hyperventilating.

• Director Lazard sees the 1st class trio appear in the doorway looking disheveled. Sephiroth's hair is a mess, Angeal is out of breath, and Genesis is coughing up blood.

• Lazard passes out.

• Zack sheepishly gets up. Heidegger and Reeve run to help the president, who is bright red and nonverbal with anger.

• Rufus sits up. He's laughing as Darkstar licks him and demands attention. "Poor thing. Couldn't keep away from me for two seconds, could you?" He notices Zack and nods appreciatively. "Lieutenant Fair. Thanks for fetching her for me."

• While Angeal and Genesis run to go help Director Lazard, Sephiroth stares sadly at Darkstar. And then his eyes pin Hojo in place and that sadness is replaced by pure, unbridled fury.

• "You," he hisses, and starts towards Hojo.

[cleolinda]

Creepypasta: The Dionaea House (2004-2006)

I wanted to post a few of my favorite creepypasta/Weird Internet Fiction stories this month, so of course one of the first I looked up was "The Dionaea House." Dated somewhere back around 2004-2006, it's one of the earliest entries in the genre; I’m not sure how many people know about it now, but Back in the Day, it was one of the creepypasta classics. Then, while researching all this, I discovered to my utter astonishment that it was written by Eric Heisserer—who wrote the Oscar-nominated screenplay for Arrival and is currently best known here, I'd bet, as the show runner of Netflix’s Shadow and Bone.

Years ago, the story was at dionaea-house.com (now offline), and it was the kind of thing you'd stumble across somehow—maybe on a friend's recommendation, maybe from a forum discussion—and then lose yourself in for a whole afternoon. It starts out as the story of a fictionalized Eric posting the emails of an old buddy, Mark, who's trying to figure out why their friend Drew... snapped. And "Eric" is posting these emails because Mark now has disappeared. And before too long... someone else has to pick up the story. Because it turns out that, at the heart of the mystery, there is a house, and going to that house is a mistake. I would describe it a little like House of Leaves, except also smelling like cake, and projecting out to multiple locations rather than pulling you into one infinite labyrinth. Also, a shit ton easier to read.

Relatively speaking, at least. "The Dionaea House" started out as “emails” posted on a blog at that original URL [unofficial mirror], then spun out into a Blogspot, an AIM chat, two separate Livejournals, and multiple commenters interacting on them. Some of them seem to be strangers walking in off the street, as it were, but the trick is, we don’t know which commenters are part of the story, which gives the “flesh puppet” comments, for example, a weird jolt of realism:

(I would like to think “TELL THE HOUSE TO FUCK OFF” is one of the in-story commenters, honestly; I like to think this is who I’d be in a horror story.)

So while "The Dionaea House" doesn't have the single-minded realism of "Ted the Caver," the blog-and-comment format—a found document subgenre for the 21st century—also allows for multiple perspectives. (I’ve lost count of the number of protagonists the house consumes, but it’s at least three, maybe four.) Tumblr is currently in year two of the Dracula Daily read-along, and I’ve always argued that Dracula was a techno-thriller for the nineteenth century: correspondence, newspaper articles, diaries, and even audio journaling on a phonograph. Emails, blogs, chats, phone messages, comments, and an article about the murder-suicide that starts the story—“The Dionaea House” is pretty much in the same multi-perspective, multimedia genre. Unlike Stoker’s bound novel, however, “The Dionaea House” wanders the physical space of the internet, and it trusts that either you'll see that the story has a new branch, or you won't, and that's okay.

In fact, I'm not sure if Eric Heisserer didn't know how to bring the story to a conclusion, or he got busy and couldn't keep going—or maybe there is an ending and I just never found it. (The Loreen Mathers blog doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me and seems like one giant loose end, although the mention of engineer-occultist Jack Parsons adds a new dimension at the last minute.) But as with "Ted the Caver," the lack of a concrete ending makes sense for a shaggy dog story like this, as frustrating as it might be. Maybe Loreen got got, just like everyone else! Isn’t “disappearing before explaining what the hell she’s talking about” exactly what that would look like? We don’t know! If there's a scary house and you manage to burn it down to the ground in a complex denouement, that's a story. If there's a scary house out there, somewhere, and we'll never know how it came to be or what happened to the people who tried to take it on—that's a creepypasta. That’s a legend.

[kooruphobic]

HANDS OFF — jean kirschtein/reader

𓆩♡𓆪 notes : is this self-indulgent? yes. am i still going to publish it? ...yes. 𓆩♡𓆪 tags : modern au, jealousy, teasing, fluff and smut, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex, nipple play, finger sucking, name-calling, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, degradation, praise kink, thigh riding, begging, crying, overstimulation, cunnilingus, aftercare (kind of), mentioned eren yeager, jean is a little insecure

𓆩♡𓆪 word count : 3.8k

𓆩♡𓆪 summary : jean can't keep his hands off his girlfriend; you. so when you tell him to keep his hands off for the rest of the night, and in return, you'd let him do anything to you when you got home, he accepts your challenge. but jean has to take you home a little early because you can't stop teasing him.

𓆩♡𓆪 also posted on ao3

You swore you were going to kill whoever designed your dress. 

 For the past ten minutes, you struggled to pull up the zipper in the back. Mentally, you cursed yourself out for not picking the one without one. The zipper wasn’t even stuck on the fabric around the sides; it just wouldn't go up no matter how hard you tried.

Jean watched you struggle, offering to help but falling silent when you snapped at him and said no. You didn’t tell him no because you didn't want help; Jean just found it extremely hard to keep his hands off you once he touched you.

“You know, I can help. I won’t do anything, promise.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you huff, dropping your arms in defeat. “We were twenty minutes late to that restaurant. Do you know how many annoyed texts I got from Sasha?”

You feel Jean's arms wrap around your waist. “C’mon, just let me help.” 

“Jean, I swear to fucking god, get your hands off me.”

“You look so good in this dress,” he mutters, kissing along your neck, “but you would look better with it off.”

“Jean.”

“You can’t even zip it up all the way. It’s a sign from the universe.” He drags one of your dress straps down your shoulder.

“Jean.”

Jean presses his lips against yours, letting his hands roam across your body, tracing every curve and crevice. You try to push him away, but you find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs go weak as he drags your dress strap further down your shoulder. He pushes you against your vanity, and your fingers find purchase in his hair. You pull him closer to you, but when Jean’s fingers begin to unhook your exposed bra, your phone starts buzzing.

You come to your senses and push him off you, glancing at your phone to see it’s Connie calling.

“Ignore it,” Jean says, reaching for your phone. You slap his arm away.

“I won’t answer, but you need to stop doing that.”

He smiles. “Doing what?” 

“You know what I fucking mean. My lipgloss is ruined ‘cause of you. Now help me zip up my dress, and let’s go.”

“Can you really blame me?” Jean sighs, reaching his hands up to your zipper and pulling it up. He readjusts your dress strap and places another kiss on your shoulder. “You’re too pretty.”

“I promise you can kiss me all you want when we get home,” you say, sliding off the vanity. 

“Can I do other things, too?”

“If you keep your hands off me all night, I’ll let you.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Business. That’s what Jean was focused on. Eren invited you both to a big party for his brother Zeke’s company, celebrating their latest success with new locations in another country. Jean didn’t pay much attention to the other details because he was too focused on you the entire time Eren talked to him. His words went in one ear and out the other. All he had in mind was that you both were here for business. That’s it.

Jean was confident at first. He didn’t hold your hand, didn’t put his hand on your thigh, or even bother to talk to you for half the night. Instead, he focused on catching up with his friends, who he hadn’t seen in so long. All that confidence was totally drained when you innocently walked up to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then disappeared into the crowd without saying a word. He tried looking for you everywhere but didn’t find you until everyone sat down for dinner.

You and Jean sat together, with the rest of your friends. You tried to sit across from him rather than right next to him, but he moved as soon as you did, so you gave up and remained in your seat. 

“Why the fuck did you do that earlier?” he whispered.

“Do what?” you smiled at him. 

“You know what I fucking mean. I thought you said I needed to—”

“You haven’t failed, have you? I never said that I needed to keep my hands off, Jean. Just you.”

He struggled the rest of the night. You ran your hand along his thigh, kissed him when nobody was looking, and whispered how good he looked in his ear. You were driving him insane. Absolutely fucking insane. 

Jean really lost it when you grabbed his hand and placed it on your waist while you spoke to your friends. You told him, “It’s okay if I’m moving your hands, just don’t do anything else when I do.” 

He had to count in his head to keep himself from doing anything else. He only gave one-word responses whenever one of your friends questioned him. When one of your friends asked if you two were dating, you simply smiled and told her you were just good friends.

“We need to leave. Now,” Jean muttered when your friends walked away. 

“Hm, why?” you asked, turning to him.

He didn’t even give you a response. He just dragged you out of the building and shoved you into his car, staying silent the entire ride home.

“Do you think you’re fucking funny?” he says, slamming your bedroom door shut.

“What? What did I do?” you question, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me. How is it fair that I can’t touch you, but you can?”

“Excuse me?” you retort. “How is it fair that you can touch me all you want and make us late when we actually have to go somewhere? You think that’s fucking fair—”

“You let me. Every single time, you let me. Don’t act like you don’t love the way I touch you.”

He’s right. You do love the way he touches you, and even though ever since you’ve gotten with him, he’s made you late for just about everything—you’d let him keep doing it. But there’s a part of you that wants to lie, a part of you that wants to keep your confidence and ego safe.

“Please. I fucking hate it. I heard Eren does it better,” you scoff, glaring at him.

A feeling of jealousy bubbles up within Jean. What the fuck are you mentioning Eren for?

“So you think of Eren every time I kiss you?” he asks, backing you up against your bedroom door. “You think of Eren every time I put my fingers inside you?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling. You rarely see Jean get angry, but when he does, he’s just so fucking hot.

“Maybe I do."

“And you’re thinking of Eren right now?”

“Maybe I am, Jean. What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

You tilt your head to the side, glaring up at him. You try to mask your nervousness with a confident smile. You’ve forgotten that Jean is extremely tall. Way taller than you. And the way he’s staring down at you could not possibly mean anything good is going to happen.

“Once I’m fucking done with you,” he whispers, “you’re gonna forget his name. Because the only name coming from your mouth will be mine.”

You open your mouth to say something, but your words are silenced and forgotten when Jean presses his lips against yours. He doesn’t waste his time being gentle. His arms wrap around your waist, and he slams you against the door, pressing you so hard against it you swear it would break. Your mind goes blank, and soon your thoughts are only him. You can only focus on his mouth, his touch, him. 

Your brain fails to register what happens in the next minute because your dress is suddenly on the floor, and you’re on the bed beneath him. His mouth is off yours, and you get the chance to breathe; in the next second, your breath is taken away again when he buries his face into your neck. You feel Jean’s lips, wet from your kiss, against your skin. You whine softly, but Jean still catches it. And then you feel him sucking, his teeth grazing, and his lips again, kissing the mark he’s made. The slight pain mixes with pleasure, sending shivers down your spine.

“You liked that, huh?” he teases, softly kissing the mark he’s made. 

“...No,” you lie.

“Really?” Jean brings one of his hands down to your panties, rubbing your slit through the fabric. “Cause your body’s telling me otherwise.”

“I’m not—” you can’t finish your sentence because he presses his finger against your clit, making you whine and squirm beneath him. He rubs small circles against it, applying more pressure every time you whimper. You close your eyes, trying to roll your hips forward to add to your pleasure.

“What’s wrong? It’s not enough?” he jeers. You whine and shake your head. “Use your words. Don’t get shy now.”

“You know what I want.”

“I don’t think I do. Look at me and tell me.”

Jean grabs your chin, and you open your eyes and look up at him. Your eyes are already begging for it, but when you open your mouth, those sweet pleas leave your lips, and he can’t help but give you what you want.

Jean tugs your panties down, kissing your inner thighs before sliding a finger over your slit. You’re already so wet; he slides two fingers in with ease. You clench around his fingers, and Jean can’t help but groan when you do. You’re so tight, so warm around his fingers. 

He keeps his fingers still for a few seconds before pumping them in and out of you, tantalizingly slow. You buck your hips against him, but he brings his free hand to your waist and holds you in place. Every time you squirm, trying to move your hips so he’d go deeper inside, he’d go even slower. 

“Please. Please, Jean. I’m sorry—”

“Are you really? Doesn’t seem like you are,” he says, tone calm. He rubs his thumb over your clit while keeping his fingers inside of you, relishing the way your thighs twitch. When you clench around him, he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to your mouth. You whine at the loss of contact but open your mouth for him, sucking and swirling your tongue around his fingers. “Bet you wish these were Eren’s fingers, huh?”

Your thighs clench at his words, and you shake your head as he removes his fingers from your mouth. He laughs mockingly, bringing his head down to your chest. His fingers skillfully unhook your bra, and he carelessly tosses it to the side. 

Jean moves his mouth to one of your tits. You shiver when you feel his tongue against your nipple. He blows slightly, and the cool air mixed with Jean’s saliva makes the soft bud harden.

Jean’s tongue runs over your nipple again before he takes the entirety of your breast in his mouth. Jean brings his free hand to the other, groping the soft flesh, flicking his finger over your hardening nipple. He sucks and licks harder on the other. You feel his teeth graze your nipple and gasp.

He switches with his hand, giving your other nipple the same attention he did as the first. When he’s done, and his mouth leaves your tit, a soft, lewd, pop sound fills the room.

“Jean,” you whine, pussy throbbing and needy, “please. Please just—”

“Shh. We’re getting there.” 

He places gentle kisses along your stomach, murmuring how pretty you are as he does. You shiver when he reaches between your thighs. Jean’s breath tickles your clit; then his mouth latches onto it, tongue circling. He grazes his teeth against it before placing kisses along your wet folds. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he murmurs. You feel him lick along your slit, then his tongue prods your entrance, and he lingers there—teasingly—before he plunges his tongue into your warm, wet pussy. 

“F-fuck,” you moan, fingers finding purchase in his hair. Jean teases you, tongue-fucking you slowly, just as he did with his fingers. “More, please give me more.” 

To your surprise, he listens to you this time, and he begins to work his tongue faster inside of your pussy. Your thighs clench around him, earning a low groan from him. His voice sends shivers up your spine, and you shut your eyes, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. 

When your thighs would clench around his head impossibly tighter, he removed his mouth from your wet pussy and sucked your clit before returning his tongue to where it was. He was stalling, stopping you from coming undone before him. It was torture. But he knew you loved it so much.

“Jean… Jean, I need to cum. Please, please let me—” you whine as he removes himself from you yet again, but this time, moving his head away from your thighs. He kisses you, shoving his tongue down your throat, so you know what you taste like. 

“You’ve been such a good girl so far,” he coos, kissing along your jaw, “just be good for a little while longer, okay?”

You nod, eyes flickering down to his pants. He was still fully clothed, and you were entirely bare for him. It made you feel a little embarrassed. 

“I want you to do something for me,” he whispers, pulling you up as he sits against the headboard, “I want you to ride my thigh.”

“...What?” your breath hitches in your throat, surprised at his sudden request. He had never asked you to do this before, not until today.

“You heard me.”

“But you still…have your clothes on.”

“Does it look like I care?” he repositions you, so you’re straddling his right thigh. “Ride my fucking thigh.”

Your swallow because, for some reason, your mouth has gone dry. Jean grabs your arms, places them around his neck, and looks at you expectantly. You avoid his gaze, experimentally grinding your hips against his thigh. You whine, pleasure shooting up into you, your pussy still sensitive and wet. 

“C’mon, you can do it,” Jean plants his hands on your waist. “Do it for me.”

You roll your hips again, harder this time, trying to create as much friction between his clothed thigh and your cunt as possible. Small whines and whimpers fall from your bruised lips as you rock back and forth, harder every time, trying to replicate the feeling of Jean inside you. He flexes his thigh, and even through the fabric of his pants, you can feel it. Jean smiles when you pull yourself closer to him, rutting yourself onto him like a bitch in heat.

“Keep going.” 

Jean’s words egg you on as you lay your forehead on his shoulder, losing yourself in pleasure. Jean watches—attentively, his pants feeling increasingly restrictive with every roll of your hips. As your hips stutter against him, he pushes you down into his thigh, watching your face contort in pleasure. A loud moan rips from your throat; your thighs clench, your pussy spasms around him, and waves of pleasure course through you as you ride your high out.

“Just like that. Good girl. Good fucking girl,” he groans. Jean kisses you for what seems like the hundredth time.

“Fuck. I just…”

“I know, I know,” he whispers, pulling you into him. “But I’m not done yet.”

“What? But I just came—”

Jean turns you over, pushing you down onto your back. In a second, his pants are discarded and forgotten on the floor, and he’s lifting your legs up so you can wrap them around his waist. “You have, but I haven’t. Take this as payback for pulling that shit tonight,” he grumbles. He tugs his boxers down, beads of pre-cum spilling from his tip. “You know how badly I wanted to fuck you when you kissed me? When everyone had their eyes off of us? I wanted to take you right then and there, fuck you while everyone watched. Give everyone at Zeke’s party a little show.” 

His words make you clench your thighs together. 

“You still thinkin’ about Eren?” Jean grunts, rubbing his tip against your sopping wet pussy. You try to respond; you’re still dizzy from your last orgasm. “Answer me, bitch.”

You shake your head, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes, pupils blown with lust. He scoffs, pushing himself inside of you, inch by inch. He could go all in if he wanted to because you’re so wet, but he decides to tease you; to make you feel every inch of him fill you up. “Maybe one day I’ll bring Eren over here. Have you suck him off while I fuck your tight pussy. I bet you’d like that, huh? Fucking slut.”

He’s gone from calling you a good girl to degrading you in a few minutes. Jean knows you like it. He knows you love it because he can feel your cunt squeeze around him at his words.

He finally bottoms out into you; a low, throaty groan rips from his throat. “F-fuck. You’re so fucking tight.”

Jean pushes himself impossibly deeper into you. He slides a hand under you and pulls you closer to him. Your pussy throbs, still sensitive. Jean fills you up so well. You feel so hot, so fucking hot, and Jean pulling you closer to him makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Jean…” you whine, eager for him to start moving. “Please. I need it so bad, please…”

He chuckles, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you want.”

He pulls his hips back so that his tip is barely inside you, making you whine, feeling so empty. But then he snaps his hips forward, groaning every time he does. He continues, thrusting in and out of you slowly—adoring how your eyes go wide every time his dick slams back inside you.

Jean tries to keep his slow pace, but you just feel so fucking good that he can’t. He begins to pick up the pace, slamming inside you over and over. Jean’s grip on your wrists tightens; you suck him in so well, like your pretty cunt was made for him.

Obscene sounds fill the room; the squelch of your tight, wet cunt and the sound of Jean’s hips slamming against yours. Jean lets go of your wrists and grabs the headboard of the bed, and once he does, he starts hitting that sweet spot inside of you that makes your vision blur. 

You squirm beneath him, hands gripping the bedsheets for dear life, failing to form coherent sentences from the pleasure. All you can moan is Jean’s name. His name rolls off your tongue—you keep repeating it, almost like a prayer.

Jean laughs when he hears you, smiling to himself as if he’s won some sort of prize. “Eren could never fuck you like this. You’re all mine. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, huh? Moan my name louder.”

You oblige, squeezing around him as you do. It makes Jean actually moan, something you rarely hear. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna fill you up with my cum. I’d bet you’d like that, huh? And when we go see your friends again, you can go ahead and tell them we’re just ‘good friends’ while my cum is practically spilling out of your fucking pussy.” 

Your jaw goes slack; you’re unable to say Jean’s name. Tears blur your vision as he slams into you impossibly harder. You can feel every inch of him inside you, every slam of his hips. There’s a familiar feeling in your core, like a knot about to be untied. You try to say something, but all that comes out is a broken sob as he pounds into you. You try and meet him halfway with his thrusts, bucking your hips forward in a feeble attempt to cum.

“Shit,” Jean hisses, “don’t cum yet. Cum with me. I’m so close just—just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Jean feels the way you flutter around him. He swallows and notices the tear that rolls down your cheek. He feels a sense of guilt settle in his chest, but it also turns him on to know you’re crying because he’s making you feel good. 

Jean’s rhythm grows sloppy and inconsistent, and you can feel his cock twitch inside you. That sends you reeling over the edge. White hot sparks of pure pleasure course through you, coming at you nonstop as Jean continues to pump into you. You feel your limbs weaken as strings of broken moans leave your mouth.

Jean thrusts into you one last time, forceful and hard, before coating your insides with his cum. He moans, letting go of the headboard and slumping on top of you. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck…”

Jean pulls himself off you, watching the cum dribble out of you. He brings his mouth to your pretty cunt, tongue collecting the mix of both your fluids on his tongue. You twitch at the sensation, still sensitive but too fucked out to give a proper response.

“C’mere,” Jean says, pulling you towards him. He kisses you—softly this time—and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He then kisses you along your collarbone, whispering compliments. “You did so well for me.”

“Jean…” you mutter, body feeling weak.

“Hm?”

“You should get mad more often.”

He laughs and pulls you closer to him, absentmindedly tracing nonsensical shapes along your skin. He falls silent for a few moments. “Did you really mean what you said? About Eren, I mean. And hating my touch.”

You roll your eyes. “If I hated how you make me feel, do you think we would be here right now? And of course, I didn’t mean what I said about Eren. I’m dating you for a reason, y’know.”

“Can you tell me you love me?” he asks.

“Jean. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Please.”

You sigh and press a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

Jean doesn’t smile, but you see his eyes light up when you say it. “Okay, now that you’ve said that, can I ask you something else?”

“What?”

“Can you ride my thigh again?”

“...You’re kidding, right?”

“I thought you loved me.”

“Jesus Christ, Jean,” you grumble. “You’re so lucky I can’t feel my legs right now. Because I would have walked out the door.” 

“...So will you?”

You give him a judging look, but there’s a pleading look in his eyes that you can’t ignore. “Fine. I will. But you have to help me.” 

“Anything for you,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Yeah, you're definitely going to kill whoever designed your dress.

𓆩♡𓆪 notes : got a lil lazy at the end, but this fic idea literally popped into my head at 3 in the morning and i just had to write it. my other wips are definitely death staring me rn...

hope you enjoyed!

[clazaries]

Here's a little teaser of something I'm working on...

I have a MAMMOTH of a fluff/angst Poe fic that I can't wait to post. i'm currently at 6.3k words and yet to finish so I decided that I'd give you guys a little something something until i finish it. It's called Glorious Purpose

~~~~

Many moons circled around D’Qar before you got your next chance to see Poe again. It was an unexpected sight seeing him tend to his X-Wing early in the morning alongside BB-8 who rolled around beside him. He muttered quietly to the android while a fusion cutter sparked away under the panelling where the power generator was located. His golden skin was clean and free from the grime of his last mission with hair that had been washed and curls revitalised. It was a devastating sight to behold and something in you almost snapped into place. It was like your heart started beating to a new rhythm, faster, and suddenly, ordinary moments took on a different glow when he was involved. 

You had stopped dead in your tracks while he held his back to you, deliberating whether it would be a good idea to interrupt him. He seemed busy and interrupting him with your presence ran the risk of losing any, if not all respect he might’ve had for you. 

However, BB-8 decided to take that risk for you. As soon as the little droid spotted you, he whirled and beeped excitedly diverting Poe’s attention from the power generator to you. 

“Hey! Mind lending a hand?” 

It was a slight shock to the system when Poe clocked eyes with you, dressed in your janitor’s overall and boots. You even turned around to make sure he wasn’t addressing anyone else. It made sense in your mind; none of the other engineers enquired for your help, why should he?

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, you. You good with your hands?” 

Starstruck, you couldn’t say a word. Instead, you just nodded bashfully and began to make your way over to him. You were more than good with your hands. Years of stealing gave you the benefit of perfecting fine motor skills, but of course, you weren’t going to tell him that. 

You tentatively crouched down beside him, knees almost touching, and followed his finger to where he pointed to the generator. You sucked in a breath when his head levelled with your own, to match your line of sight to make sure you knew what you were supposed to be looking at. It was taking everything in you to not freak out over how close he was.  

“There’s a bolt I need tightened at the back of that generator but my hands are too big. Think you could reach in and tighten it for me?” 

A small smile fought through the nerves and stretched across your lips. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.” 

With the wrench in hand, you slithered your hand through the various piping and mechanical bodywork of the ship to find the bolt he was referring to. He watched you carefully, guiding your hand exactly where it needed to be. The bolt was loose and you got to work tightening it while Poe started to make small chat. 

“BB-8 tells me that you were keeping him company while I was away.”

“When I could. He makes for good company too.” 

BB-8 bleeped, agreeing. 

“Thanks for looking after my buddy, don’t know what I’d do without him. I’m Poe by the way.” 

You knew, but you responded with your name. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Your name rolled off his tongue fluently. It had been so long since anyone had addressed you by your name that hearing it in his voice triggered a landslide in your stomach. 

There was no mention of your uniform, no mentions of your role, no judgement or prejudice of any kind. In his eyes, you were just you. Despite D’Qar being known for its helping of century-old trees and bountiful greenery, none of it compared to the breath of fresh air you breathed when Poe Dameron proved to you that even in a base where hierarchy and superiority had its place, compassion could still be found. 

“I think that’s it,” you stated. “As tight as it can be.” 

“Thanks, it’s a great help.” Poe rested a gentle hand upon your shoulder when you came to a stand and a blush bloomed across your cheeks. No one had ever shown you such gratitude before. It was…a relief. You almost didn’t know how to respond to it. It wasn’t part of your human nature to be shown such kindness.

“So, are you an engineer too? As well as a pilot?”

“Wouldn’t be a great pilot if I didn’t know what I was flying or how it worked.” 

You ducked your head as you handed back the wrench. “Of course. Sorry, silly question.” 

He bared his pearly whites in an admirable smile, waving you off. “Don’t be. It’s a reasonable question. But yes, this here is my baby. It’s treated me well in the past, it’s only fair I return the favour. I still need to fix one of my laser cannons. It malfunctioned while I was on a mission.” 

You turned to the laser in question. “They’re the Taim & Bak KX9 laser cannons, right?” 

“That’s right.”

“And they’re powered by the cryogenic power generator, right?” 

His smile widened. “The very same you helped me fix. Do you fly?” 

“Me? Gods, no. I’m…I’m just a janitor. But I’ve learned a few things being in and around the engineers.” You waited for the moment for Poe to laugh in your face, a wait that closely resembled the moment you waited for the recruitment officer to stop laughing. 

He folded his arms while his eyebrow dipped with confusion. He looked up at his ship and turned back to you with a questioning expression. “What else have you learned?” 

You proceeded to tell him everything, just as you did with the recruitment officer, though Poe didn’t interrupt, no, he listened. 

“What’s a janitor like you doing with all this knowledge?” 

You looked down to your fingers, nimble but trembling with aspiration. “I…I want to learn. I want to fight.” 

Poe nodded understandingly, but he still maintained that investigative look on his face, like he was making a profile of you in his head. In all honesty, you didn’t like it. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But then with one word, it explained it all. “Why?” 

A beat of silence split the room as you came to the realisation that nobody had ever asked you ‘why’ before, not even the recruitment officer when you first approached him, and despite not having said it out loud, the words had been well rehearsed in your head.

“Because I haven’t lived a very desirable life. I was sleeping alone on the streets most nights, surviving each day to see the next sunrise. No bed, no pillow, no blanket, no company, with nothing but the clothes on my body and a roof of metal over my head where the rain battered against its surface, keeping me awake at night. My life was nothing but stealing, living and sleeping. I didn’t…I couldn’t do that anymore. And I thought to myself, I’ve been fighting all my life and it’s all been for nothing, and if ambition is all I have, why can’t I fight something bigger and make it mean something?” 

Poe’s eyes softened. The dark umbers of his irises melted into a honey brown as the sun bloomed over the peaks outside and casted a warm glow over his features. It was obvious that Poe wasn’t ready to hear your backstory, nor did he expect it to be so tragic. His arms unfolded slowly and his mouth hung agape. Although he didn’t say anything, you could see the weight of sympathy twinkling in his eyes and that was more than what anybody on this fucking planet had shown you. 

Your words had plucked at his heartstrings and they buzzed warmly, as if he was watching a reflection of his former self stand before him. Being a spice runner wasn’t exactly the prime example of living a noble life, and when his daily life started turning into a daily battle to stay alive, he knew he had to get out. The change he made to his life was astronomical. Literally. It saved him. And now he only wished the same for you. 

“Well, being a janitor isn’t going to get you far. You wanna learn to fly? Jump up into the cockpit and I can show you the ropes.”

“Wait, really?” 

“Sure. Do you have anything better to do?” 

Cleaning shit and tidying up other people’s mess? Hell no. 

With a steady hand to the small of your spine and a pit opening up in your stomach, he guided you up the ladder and into the cockpit. The realisation came fast and hard; this is Poe Dameron’s actual ship. The very same that has taken down hundreds of First Order battle ships, the one that outflew a TIE Interceptor in an asteroid field, that one that took down the Dreadnoughts cannons. And you’re sitting in it. The slightly dizzying feeling shot straight to your head and your hands shook with giddiness.

As you settled yourself into his seat, having the controls laid out in front of you was overwhelming. You hate to admit it, but the recruitment officer was right. It was one thing knowing everything about the ship, but flying it is a completely different story. So many buttons, switches, triggers, levers, and lights, it seemed like a whole other language that you couldn’t understand. 

Poe hung over the entrance of the cockpit above you with that same warm smile. 

“First, this-” He swung his helmet, adorned with the Resistance emblem, over the edge and pushed it onto your head, the visor immediately hanging over your eyes. He knocked on the hard shell casing of the helmet. “This thing might save your life if you crash. If possible, never fly without it.” 

The weight of the helmet on your head made it feel surreal. Your greedy hands grappled onto the joystick, the inner child in you moving about the controls as if it was the real deal and Poe giggled along with you. He remembered the feeling vividly; the feeling of the controls in his hands with waves of exhilaration coursing through his veins. He showed you all the pre-flight controls, explaining the entire process from start to finish and while it went in one ear, you tried your hardest to remember everything before it went out the other. You took full advantage and asked every question as they popped into your head one by one and Poe answered every one of them with the same severity as the last. 

“Flick that switch when you’re ready.” The engine roared to life and the vibrations of the ship rumbled beneath you. Pride swelled inside you and you beamed up at him. “Hey! You’re a natural.” 

You wished the moment would last forever, however when one of your superiors came barging into the bay and ordered you to get back to your job, all smiles were lost. The pride simmered into nothing and fearing for the loss of your only job, you hurriedly scrambled out of the cockpit, muttered a quiet apology to an unsettled and confused Poe and scurried away before he had the chance to stop you. 

Voices argued behind you, but you were already too far away to hear what was being said.

**COMING SOON**

[trans-duckling]

KakaGai Week 2024: New and Exciting

Words: 1,661 Pairing: KakaGai Promt: Arrogance

Kakashi jumped from one building to the next one, ignoring the fast-beating heart inside his chest as he moved towards Konoha’s center. It was strange, to be feeling again such a deep emotion as happiness after so long, but he had found there was no point in ignoring it.

Almost a month had passed since Gai and him kissed for the first time after an unusual mission in which the Hatake had participated as jounin rather than ANBU. Tension had been high, and by the end of it their nerves were so out of place that they had launched at each other as crazy teenagers —which Kakashi guessed they were, being sixteen and seventeen—, and kissing until their lips bled. He had ran away the moment he realized what they had done.

But that was the past. Gai, in his classic behavior, had looked for him and demanded a conversation after they moved on from the initial shock. And, somehow, the conclusion of that talk had been that they would keep doing it. Kissing. Nothing serious, of course, because shinobi rarely had time for relationships, but still… It was different from before. And Kakashi enjoyed it. A lot.

His feet came to an stop on a tree next to the building he was aiming for. Gai had told him he would be having lunch there with the team from his last mission —people the Hatake didn’t know or cared about—, and afterwards they could go training together. Normally, Kakashi would be too busy with ANBU missions for a plan like that, but after an incident about a week before, the Hokage had put him on leave for a couple of days. With so much free time, he had no reason to say ‘no’ to one of Gai’s challenges.

“I honestly don’t know what you see in that guy” one voice coming out from the establishment said. “Everybody who ever worked with him says he’s an arrogant and doesn’t know how to work in a team. He’s called ‘friend-killer’ for a reason, you know?”

“I would appreciate if you wouldn’t use that name to refer to my rival” Gai responded a moment after, voice tensed. “If you haven’t worked with him or know him personally, I don’t see why you should be giving your opinion.”

Kakashi could not see them, but he was pretty sure Gai was clenching his fists, probably ready to punch anybody that kept talking badly about him. He had said several times already that it was not necessary, but he continued defending him anyways.

“We’re just looking after you” another person said, probably a woman. “You’re a good person, Gai, we don’t want you to end like… her.”

As gracious as always, the Hatake’s memory was kind enough to bring back to the front of his mind the image of Rin being killed by his own jutsu. Maybe they did have a point. Everybody he had ever cared about was dead. Gai was probably safest if he kept away from him.

“I can assure you I don’t need your protection, less if what you want to protect me from is my rival. I’ll be leaving now. See you around.”

A moment after, Kakahi saw Gai’s figure coming out from the establishment and disappearing in a blink. The next second, his friend was standing next to him on the branch, expression more serious than what he remembered to have seen in quite some time.

“Are you ok?”

“How did you know I was here?” he replied, frowning. “You’re bad at feeling chakra, it’s impossible you noticed me.”

Yeah, he could see why people thought he was an arrogant.

“I don’t need to feel chakra to know when you’re around, rival” Gai explained as if that made sense. “I just know.”

Again, Kakashi’s dumb heart started to beat fast. He didn’t understand either why Gai had such power over him with just a few words. It didn’t make sense.

“So, are you ok?” he asked again. The Hatake just shrugged. “Come on, let’s go to a training field.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, jumping forwards the next moment. As expected, it became a race fast enough, one that he won just for half a second.

“GAH! I won’t lose the next time, rival!” Gai barked with a smile. “Now, do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“I know you heard what they said, Kakashi” the taijutsu master said, kicking a rock. “Surely you…”

“They are right, you know?”

“What?”

“I am arrogant, and people around me tend to get killed or just die” the Hatake repeated as if nothing. “You would be safer far away from me.”

He saw Gai’s eyes opening wide, his expression full of surprise and confusion all at once. It would’ve been funny, if not for the conversation’s topic. A deep breathe a second later indicated him he was about to become deaf.

“YOU’RE NOT!” his friend exclaimed, pointing at him as if he had been the first one to make those accusations. “You never brag about your capacities, or think that you’re better than everybody else! Maybe you were a little arrogant in the past, but… Not anymore!”

Kakashi just shrugged again. If he thought coldly about it, Gai was right in that aspect. He didn’t go around telling the rest of the people he was better than them, he was just direct when declaring facts related to their capacities. Sometimes, that implied telling somebody they were useless. One could accuse him of lacking tact, if anything.

“Rival” Gai called once again. “I’m being serious. You must know I do not think as those other shinobi. I know you. They are the arrogant ones for thinking they need to warn me about you when you have never met each other.”

“Fine” the Hatake huffed, wanting that conversation to end already. “Can we fight now?”

He acquired a fighting stance, but Gai just moved forwards to take one of his hands. Something warm filled his chest and belly, even when the only real contact he was having was through his naked fingers, the rest of the skin covered by protectors. It was absurd.

“And the other bit is a lie, too” the other boy murmured, looking down at their hands. “You’re not the reason why they died, Kakashi. And I don’t need protection from you. You, uh… Make me happy.”

He felt Gai’s skin warm up against his, which was a consolation because it meant at least he was not the only one blushing. The whole hormones thing was really an inconvenient when wanting to keep your emotions in check. Kami, he could feel his back sweating. Disgusting.

“Okay, Gai” he managed to said, removing his hand from the hold to recover some serenity. “I, uh, feel the same. Can we train, now, please?”

He really wanted that conversation to end. Yeah, he was not a friend-killer and he could be loved. Whatever. The Hatake just wanted to start moving so the adrenaline would put a stop to the hormones disrupting his normal functioning.

“Of course, rival!” the other boy finally said, jumping back and bringing his fists up. “Prepare yourself to be defeated!”

Gai ended up being the one pinned to the ground. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Even when training and time had made him stronger —also, bigger and taler than Kakashi—, the taijutsu master still lost the majority of their fights. Each time it was a little more difficult to beat him, though.

He was seated on top of Gai’s belly, one hand holding his arms over the other boy’s head while the free one pressed against his neck without the need to choke. It was evident the battle was finished.

Their breaths mixed with every pant they let out and their expressions quickly changed into something Kakashi had learnt to recognize as desire during the last few weeks. Feeling his face become red —hopefully dissimulated by the heat—, he retracted slightly back and let go of Gai’s arms. That turned out to not be a great idea, since his thighs ended up on top of the other’s lower body. Before the situation could become even more embarrassing, he got fully down of Gai, sitting on the grass and offering a hand to help him incorporate.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before they moved again. Kakashi thought it would be fairly easy to just launch forwards and do with Gai what he had already done with some targets on a mission. However, he also believed it was too soon for that. At least from his part. He was not ready for that level of intimacy. Not yet.

A warm hand came up to cup one of his cheeks, bringing him back to reality and to those deep dark eyes.

“Can I?” Gai asked, fingers brushing over his mask.

The Hatake nodded slowly, feeling the fabric slide down to his neck the next moment. As every other time they’d kissed, his friend took a couple of seconds to just look at him and care the newly naked skin. The warm feeling in his chest and belly came back.

Kissing Gai was messy and kind of a fight most of the time, their tongues battling inside the other’s mouth. This time, however, was different. Gai didn’t kiss him straight on the lips, but on the beauty mark next to them. Then, he moved to his mouth and brushed their lips together softly. Kakashi had to reach for his vest to ground himself as a new, intense emotion ran through his body. Slowly, they built up a rhythm that fitted both of them and didn’t feel like a battle. By the time they came apart for air, their breaths were even worse that at the end of their fight. They started laughing.

“You’re a very good kisser” the Hatake chuckled.

“Careful, rival, or I will become the arrogant one.”

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

First time doing an event, hope everything is alright and you got to enjoy the fic! :)

[ascendingtostardust]

Help You Remember

(Sam Kiszka x f!reader)

wc: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of food/eating, mentions of poor memory - let me know if I missed anything!

When it came down to it, Sam was a creature of habit. Of course he liked to be spontaneous and off-the-cuff on occasion, but he found himself in falling into a familiar rhythm day-to-day when he had some time off from working. That meant that you also stepped into those routines that comprised your daily life together.

You don’t know when exactly it happened, but at some point over the last few months you and Sam had become regulars at a little bakery down the street from your home. Every Monday and Friday mornings before the morning rush, the employees at Snookums came to expect the two of you just as they finished putting the last tray of morning muffins in the case. It had become customary for you and Sam to always choose something different than you had picked out the previous visit “to keep life exciting,” Sam had said.

Their flavors of muffins, danishes, rolls, and loaves rotated weekly, which only highlighted your indecisiveness and poor memory as you stood peering through the glass case to figure out what treat you were going to choose for the day. Ever the patient partner, Sam would wait as long as you needed to come to a decision with nothing more than a simple “you did say you were in the mood for lemon last night and look! Lemon muffins today!”

After your first few trips to the bakery, you couldn’t help but be apologetic about how long it took you to decide what you wanted when Sam made a choice less than 30 seconds after glancing at his options. He wasn’t like previous partners or friends who got frustrated with your struggle to make decisions for yourself or your memory issues on occasion. He waited by your side, thumb brushing over the top of your hand as he asked the employees how their morning was going.

Today was no different than previous trips to Snookums, however you knew that the two of you would have to hurry home to meet one of Sam’s friends who was dropping off seedlings for his garden. The smell of warm baked goods filled your lungs and brought a sense of calm to your busy mind as you stepped into the bakery and immediately took in your muffin options.

Chocolate chip hazelnut, blueberry crumb, banana nut, and triple chocolate.

Greeting the two employees with a smile and a quick hello, you mulled over your decision and felt Sam come to stand slightly behind you, wrapping an arm around your lower back as he hummed softly.

“What can I grab for you, Sam?” one of the regular Friday morning workers, Jenna, asked, knowing that Sam always made his mind up rather quickly.

“Hmmmm….” After another look at the glass case, Sam’s gaze turned to you. “You know what, Jenna, I’m going to let my girl pick hers out first today.”

It was hard not to crack a smile in response to the goofy grin he gave you, silently encouraging you. You had to make a decision, and fast.

“I’ll have a hazelnut chocolate chip, please.” Smiling at Jenna and thanking her as she put your muffin in a light pink box, you turn to Sam.

“I’ve never tried that one before but it sounds good, right?” You say quietly, leaning into his side.

“Sounds delicious, actually!” He responds, giving you a quick peck on the forehead before ordering a banana nut muffin for himself.

“Ooo banana nut, one of my favorites!” You say to him as the two of you follow Jenna down the counter to the register. Sam responded with a sweet smile and squeeze of your hand before letting go to grab his wallet from his back pocket.

On the walk home, it didn’t take long for you to reach into the small box containing your treats and pull a small piece of your muffin from the side of the rounded top. The excitement of trying something new quickly faded the more you chewed and realized that the flavor wasn’t exactly what you expected. With a hum, you close the box and continue walking, though you can feel Sam studying your face without being too obvious.

“Was it good, lovey?” He said finally, reaching to take the box from your hand and cradle it in one of his own arms.

“Um,” you started, trying not to sound too disappointed, “it was okay! Everything they make is good, so…” You let your voice trail off and the sight of your shared home came into view.

Walking up the few steps to the front door, you began mentally going through what ingredients you had to possibly make your own muffins to make up for the one that wasn’t quite your taste.

Once inside, you began looking through your cabinets for the typical baking essentials, feeling Sam lean up against the counter next to you a moment later.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He said, quickly looking around jokingly to make sure no one else would hear his confession, though it was just the two of you in your home.

Onto his antics, you giggle and decide to play along, turning your head to face your ear towards him and leaning in close. He bent slightly and leaned in so close that you could feel his lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

“You tried the hazelnut chocolate chip muffin a few weeks ago and didn’t like it,” he whispered. You turn your head to look at him, eyes wide with the realization that you had, in fact, tried that flavor at the end of last month. It was all coming back to you.

“I finished it for you and found it quite delicious, so when you picked that one again I knew we needed a backup!” He grabbed the pink box from its resting place on the counter and opened it, taking the untouched banana nut muffin out and placing it on a small plate he had set out. Sliding it towards you, he reached his hand out to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

“Now…what are we thinking drink-wise? Coffee? Milk? Tea?” He moved around you to open the fridge, peering at any other potential options.

“I love you.” You said, turning to face him as he stands in front of the open fridge, already grinning when he meets your gaze.

“Oh yeah? Well I love you more, lovey.” He lets the refrigerator door swing shut quietly as he reaches out to pull you close to his chest, moving his palm in circular motions between your shoulder blades.

“As much as I would love to hold you all day, we do need to decide on what to drink with our breakfast so we can take this party outside and enjoy the sun a little before the day really starts!”

You let your head fall back, “umm okay, let me think for a minute…”

“Take all the time you need.”

[yourjughead]

The Past

Sweet Pea X Reader

A/N: In my world Fangs is not dead. I don't know if this makes sense with the canon of the show. it is what it is. Much love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweet Pea jogged through the streets of the South Side, mind racing about following Josie to New York or not. The 11pm  jog a result of another fight about futures between the two. Sweet Peas legs burned as he pushed through, enjoying the pain and believing he deserves it. The rain glowed in the street lights, the centre of the Southside almost deserted, all busy taking advantage of the late night and the cover of  rain to get business done. 

Finally deciding he'd had enough he checked his phone to find a missed call from a private number. Not unusual for a high ranking Serpent he thought, locking the phone again, tucking it into his pocket and beginning to jog again, crashing directly into the door of a taxi. 

“Fucking hell!” He gripped the top of the window with his hands before placing a hand on his chest. You swung your legs out of the taxi starting to apologise, the words catching in your throat at the sight of him. 

“Sweet Pea” 

“YN…YLN” 

You took the door from his grip closing it behind you, the taxi immediately relocking it's doors and taking off back into the streets. The dying light of the last remaining Southside motel flickering light up both your profiles. 

“Emm you're looking well Sweets…Sweet Pea” the red flush from his jog was gone from his face growing pale at the sight of a ghost and a nickname not spoken in almost 4 years, back to senior year. 

“Thank- what are you doing here YN?” tones of confused sadness left Sweet Pea, the anger towards you he felt so many years ago unable to be conjured back at will. 

“I have business with…it doesn't really matter who. I wasn't expecting to see you, it's only a flying visit”

“I suppose you're good at that” you looked away briefly to shield some of the pain of that dig before looking back, exhaling and trying to nodd to him. The rain had began to soak you both down to your skin but neither of you moved.

“I…I'm sorry about how we left…how I left it…I know that's not enough… I don't know how to fix it” it came out of you in a jumble.

“If you had an umbrella that might make a start” he half smiled at you easing some tension, used to playing that role in your life. Your phone ringing cut through the air between you. 

“I have to take this Sweets….Sweet Pea” he nodded in understanding as you swiped to answer the phone while turning from him. 

“Yeah- Yeah - I'm here now - whatevers necessary - Yeah - For how long?! - But - Yeah fine” you looked back around and found a puddle where Sweet Pea once stood, having run back off into the night.

Sweet Pea POV

After my encounter with the ghost I met with my friends at the Wyrm. I needed a drink...or a bull tranquiliser.

“She what?!” Toni chipped the ball over the side of the pool table in shock as told them of my encounter.

“She tried to apologise” 

“Ughhhh” Toni took her shot and Jughead watched from the booth, typing away.

The bar was abuzz with talks of yn. She was the name on everybody's lips, a few people even saying I made it up.

“She should just go back to where she came from” Toni growled.

“Isn't she doing that by being here” Toni looked at Fangs like she was trying to explode his head with her mind.  

“There's no way she'll last the weekend, she'll get wind of all of the gossip about her and bolt” Fangs sunk a ball in the corner pocket.

“Yeah she's good at that” Toni missing a sure bet. It was clear Yn was running laps around her mind, she was in everyone else's. 

“Do you think she'll go to FPs birthday party”

“I'm not sure fangs, I wouldn't think so” I sunk another ball. 

“That'd be pretty ballsy” he sunk two

“Yeah but then again that sounds like yn” Toni chipped another ball over the side receiving teasing from fangs and I. She's usually much better than this, she's clearly very bothered.

The ball rolled along the bar floor and stopped dead under the sole of a boot. Yns boot. She stood, hands in her pockets, confidently surveying the bar. You could hear a pin drop, it was like a scene from an old wild Western. She laughed lightly before kicking the ball back in our direction and strutting towards the bar, there wasn't an eye in the house not on her. Fangs mouth hung open, Toni stood straight with pursed lips and a mixture of hate and pain in her eyes. Jughead was the only one to make noise, busily typing away. Yns eyes dragged around the room, staying a little longer on me than anyone else...or maybe I was imagining that.  The sound of her boots off the wooden worn floor echoed throughout, she sauntered up the back the stairs, pushing a strand of hair over her shoulder. I hate how i want to be the one to do that again. I hate how she can still command a rooms attention without a word. I hate how i don't hate her. She reached the back office door, looking over her shoulders before ducking inside. The bar buzzed back to life. 

“How dare she walk in here!!!” Toni was turning red, fangs looked more confused but not as much as Jughead did.

“So that's yn? Why is she such a big deal?”

“She nearly killed Sweet Pea” 

~

[beeandheroddobsessions]

Don’t Go Away.

Warnings: Supernatural elements, dead!Elvis, Reader is trapped, psychological torture?, manipulation, Elvis is really unstable.

Summary: Reader has plans made and considering the state of house, can’t stay in it. Elvis isn’t having it.

A/N: It took me so long to decide what direction I wanted to take this in. I love love love wholesome stories but I just had to go with difficult reader/obsessive lover. Anywho, happy reading! -Bee💕

The sun peeking through the curtains and the slight breeze across your face welcomes you into a new day. As your eyes adjust and you regain consciousness, the events that took place only hours ago flood your mind. 

Maybe it was an odd dream; there's no possible way you could've met postmortem-

"Rise n' Shine, sleepin' beauty!" 

A shriek fills the room yet again, and it's apparent that last night did, in fact, happen as you remember it. You're gripping the covers for dear life, chest heaving as your heart nearly beats out of your chest.

 Elvis has always found himself funny. Making you jump sky high has him cackling so hard every few seconds it comes out as a whistle.

"Very funny." You grumble. You toss the blankets to the side and swing your legs over the bed, ignoring Elvis and his incessant laughter, to get ready for the day.

The amused booms dwindle to light chuckles as you rummage through your suitcase. Is it warm? You should dress lightly. 

"Are ya busy today, honey?" Elvis questions while catching his breath.

"With the house? Yeah, I ain't got much of a choice but to be." You reply lazily, inspecting a lavender sundress. Not for housework, you think. 

Elvis kisses his teeth, unsatisfied with what he deems a 'snarky remark,'

"No, I mean are ya leavin'?" 

The only reply you offer is a shake of the head. Something else he didn't like. The faux brunet shifts his position, standing directly in front of you. His expression falls flat, and he folds his arms.

"Now y/n, I may be dead but m'still a person. I know your mama taught you better than to ignore someone when they're speakin' to-"

Seeing where this is going has you arching a brow. Who knew he'd feel so entitled to your attention.

"I didn't ignore-"

You can't even get through the sentence before a chair comes rushing from the other side of the room and under your rump. You grip the arms of it, unsure of what just happened. The shocked, more so scared, expression painting your features phases Elvis none.

The man leering down at you breathes in through his nose before placing his hand over yours and squeezing tight.

None of this makes sense to you. Yesterday when you tried to touch him, you went right through, leaving a trail of smoke. Now you're faced with something you can feel. It's unnerving. 

When Elvis begins to speak, a real chill is sent down your spine."  

"Honey, I understand it's early and I gave ya a bit of a fright. That don't mean you get ta be rude to me in my own damn house,” He pauses to take in a breath, eyes stilled trained on you.

“I don't give a damn how much money you spent to get your hands on it. I am trapped here, not you. I'm the one stuck in these walls forever. Not. You."

You're shaking like a leaf. Figuring he's finished, you open your mouth. Elvis holds up a finger, wanting to be sure you understand what he is saying. 

"I know the ins n' outs of this place like the back of my goddamned hand. Don't you cross me twice, sugarplum, wouldn't want you to get lost."

With those striking blues locked with your own eyes, all you can do is nod as you begin to sputter.

"I—M'sorry, Elvis I-" 

As if a switch was flipped, the man before you flashes one of his infamous crooked smiles and clasps his hands together, returning to the drapes.

"No harm done! What'd ya have planned for today?"

The sudden change in demeanor leaves you feeling uneasy. On top of that, you're still reeling at the fact that he could, no…can touch you.

In truth, you didn't know if you could stay here. Aside from the fact that there is a dead musician constantly traversing what was supposed to be your home, it's too dangerous to be in this house right now.

And your mama really was right about the loose beams. Every now and again, the house settles, and you nearly shit yourself at the idea of it collapsing. 

You texted her about it before falling asleep and she all but demanded you crash at hers until the house was stable.

With your eyes laser focused on the floor, you stammer out your plans before you can be reprimanded again.

"W-well, m'gonna head to the hardware store n' see about pricing to get the floors redone. Come back here, fix what I can until dinner, then get some clothes ready and-"

Elvis can't help how his ears perk up at the word' clothes.' Why would you come back for clothes? Were you going somewhere else? A girl like you shouldn't be out after dark. But his curiosity won't leave him be.

"Clothes for what sugar?" 

The question seems genuine to you like he really is just curious. Elvis knows that's only half of it. You are the only one in years that's come to Graceland and treated it like what it was, someone's home.

Maybe it's the lack of interaction or how you care so much for his home; either way, Elvis isn't all that pleased with the idea of you leaving. Even so, he awaits your answer.

"Oh, m'stayin' with mama for a while. Least till the house is structurally sound. She and I both think it's a little…hazardous." You explain.

When you don't hear a response back, a chuckle escapes you. How ironic. You stand from the chair and realize Elvis isn't even in the room. You shrug and head to the bathroom, a shower calling your name.

When you make your way out and begin to get ready, the lights flicker. Ha-ha, you think.

Once dressed for the day, you leave the room and descend the stairs, keys in hand, headed straight for the door. You turn to call out a quick goodbye to your impromptu roommate, but still no response.

You huff and turn back. When you do, the door isn't in front of you anymore. Instead, you're in the kitchen. Weird. You know for a fact that you walked straight to the door. You spin on your feet, itching to leave now.

This place makes you feel crazy. As you step forward, the scene in front of you rotates; the whole house just shifts before your eyes. Now, you stand in the front room. 

If you could, you'd pick your jaw up off the floor. After standing for a moment, the dash you make for the door should be a record. And yet, the door is pulled out of reach. What would typically be a ten-foot walk stretches into a hallway about a mile long.

 Were you on something? Not enough sleep? You don't remember taking anything. Instead of wasting your time getting to the end of this… new tunnel, you try the back door. As you shuffle through the house. 

You're meters away and think for just a second that you were just trippin'. When you pull it open, what you see makes your stomach somersault. It was just eleven-thirty, and your day had barely started, so why was it pitch-black outside? 

"What the fuck?" You say to no one in particular. Stepping out, you look around, absolutely baffled. You take a few steps backward, placing your hand behind you on the knob or where it should've been. Quizzically, you look behind you. The house was fucking gone. 

Nothing lies in front of you except the porch and what seems to be a perfect circle of trees. You're closed in, trapped, and you can do nothing about it.

"No—no, fucking way." Your breathing becomes rapid, and you can't help but wonder if your ghoulish friend has anything to do with this. You conclude that a regular ghost couldn't do something this extreme. 

At this point, you didn't know what to do. You felt defeated. Plopping down on the porch was the only option you had left. There is no way in hell you're taking your black ass into the surrounding woods. 

Your head finds a home in your hands, and frustration gets the best of you. Tears sting in your eyes, and a soft whimper leaves your lips. 

"I j-jus wanted to go see ab-bout the fucking carpet," you hiccup. 

"I told you how I felt about ladies swearin'." A deep, butter-smooth voice chimes.

You lift your head so quickly it could've flown off your shoulders. The front door is just past the man before you.

Sun is shining through the windows, and you aren't on the porch; you're on the stairs. Confusion doesn't begin to scratch the surface of what you're experiencing. 

Your mind couldn't have played a trick this bad on you. Something like that only happens in movies.

"Elvis? Where the—" You clear your throat and correct yourself when you notice the stern look on his face.

"Did you see any of what just happened?" 

The singer chuckles and squats down to eye level, "Course honey, gave me quite a laugh watchin' ya try and figure out this maze."

You tilt your head. Maze?

"What're you talkin' about El-"

He shakes his head, "Honey, don't you think if I coulda walked out that door I would've?" 

When he says this, you nearly vomit. You walk straight through his chest, prepared to rerun the same routine, but you pause for a moment.

"Elvis, you stay where I can see ya." You command. 

He shrugs his shoulders and does as you ask, "Didn't know ya liked lookin' at me. M'flattered."

You roll your eyes and move toward the door. Again, you end up in the kitchen. When you approach the entrance, the house does what it did before and spins on itself.

Elvis doesn't understand why you'd do this twice when once is enough to make someone nauseous. Tenacity has always been one of your best qualities though. 

When you head for the back door, Elvis rests a hand on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him.

"Baby, ya can't leave. Don't waste your time."

You scoff; he can't be serious. 

"Mama left, the movers left, so why can't I?"

Elvis purses his lips, irritated because you won't just drop it. 

"Honey, seriously. Just have a seat, we can-"

"No, I need to go. There's gotta be someway out, Elvis. I ain't stay-"

Elvis's hand meets the wall near your head, mood shifting. The anger ever-present in his eyes lets you know he means business. You fail to realize the sourer he gets, the worse the house's condition.

It's a peculiar thing to watch. The paint on the walls peels in time with the rise and fall of his chest; the lights flicker as his eyes dart across your face. As his face reddens, it gets a bit dimmer. 

“Y/n, last warnin’. Don't interrupt when m'speakin', darlin'."

His darkened orbs bore into yours, searching for defiance. When he is confident you'll keep quiet, his breathing begins to regulate, and he takes a step back, adjusting his shirt a bit.

"This house is structurally sound, and you will stay here tonight. For now, just relax."

The air is thick, making it hard to breathe, even harder to speak.

 "I can't do that Elvis. Look at what just happened…" You whisper, hoping the soft tone won't set him off again.

He almost deflates when he realizes shaking you up didn't do as much as he thought it would. Who gets put through something like that and decides to be difficult?

Y/n L/n, that's who.

 It was starting to bother him; you were clueless about his trickery and capabilities. You should be weeping at the fact that everything is back to normal, and yet here you are, still trying to leave.

He could always make it harder for you to get off the grounds. Keep the illusions going. It's never worked in his favor, though. Everyone dies running from him. Usually, Elvis couldn't give two shits. 

But he already met your daddy; your mama is sweet and kind. And you, well, in Elvis's eyes, the only woman besides his mama to love him without question.

It was the house you fell for, and you could preach it all day long up and down the streets if it made you happy. Elvis wouldn't buy it for half a second, though.

 Why else would you go through the trouble of ensuring everything was untouched? Why would you keep everything he liked? Why buy a dying house you can't afford, if not to save him? 

Elvis saw through your coverup, and in his mind, you love him, and you're staying.

"Honey, you're the first person to…" He sighs, thinking of a way to make you understand that you belong here with him. 

"Don't go away, y/n. I ain't seen anybody worth seein' in years. Jus' spend some time with me? Hm? It don't seem too likely you'll leave soon anyway."

You ponder for a moment. If Elvis is right, there is no leaving anytime soon. In which case, it couldn't hurt to have company.

"Altight. But, ya promise to help me figure this mess out later on?" You ask

Elvis chuckles, not because what you said was funny, but because you have no clue what you've gotten yourself into.

"Of course, Sugarpie.”

Taglist: @powerofelvis @prayerstopresley @re3kin

[ashes-writing-corner]

Hey guys so I'm back with this last part for Ghosts that We Knew! The story isn't over, I'm still gonna write for ghost!Ghost, just think of this as like...a season finale if that makes sense! I'll be back for "season 2" in December but I wanna take this month to work on my original story. That being said, this is kind of a long one! I hope you guys like it ^^

Taglist: @stargatenovus

Ghosts That We Knew

Part 8- Abandonment Issues

You were more than excited to hear the news: your deal had gone through for your new Cafe and bakery! The lease would be there for two years, and if your business was profitable, the place would become yours. The previous owner, now your lease holder, was a sweet older lady who had originally tried to use the place as a small tea shop, so everything you needed was mostly there. You sat Ellie down and told her the news, the little girl squeaking loudly with excitement. It was only a short distance away, about a ten minute drive from your place, so you didn't need to move, much to Ghost's relief. 

He was happy for you, he really was. But he was certain that he wouldn't be able to bear it if you left. Maybe it was his abandonment issues talking, but he always had a feeling you would leave. He couldn't blame you. The apartment wasn't the best admittedly, despite your best effort to make it a home. His death, he knew, left a heaviness around and he knew that wasn't good for Ellie. Or really you for that matter. 

Now that he knew the truth, he had been contemplating the best way to tell you. But how best to do it? You even said you didn't want to know about your donor, that the heart would feel even less like yours. But if you found out on your own, it would breed resentment. 

There was no "right" way to go about this. Only the lesser of two evils. A rock and a hard place. 

Wasn't the first time Simon was stuck in a situation like that, though he had hoped the last one would legit be the last one. 

He was selfish, he knew. He didn't want you and Ellie to leave. As far as he was concerned, you two were his family and he loved you both as best he could. But at the same time, he knew his presence in your life would only hold you back. He had thrown away his chance to live and he knew it was wrong to be so clingy to the living. 

But it was a fact. One day you and Ellie would leave, and most likely he would never see you two again. The thought filled him with dread. He wanted you to stay, but knew that just wasn't possible. The thought of you one day leaving broke something in him as he turned from the living room and back down the hall to his closet. It slammed shut, startling you and Ellie as the room grew cold. 

"Ghost?!" Ellie hopped off the sofa to the closet door and thief to open it, but it wouldn't budge, "Ghost?! What's wrong?!". 

You followed after your little girl, worried for him too. "Ghost? Hey, what's going on? Come talk to us" 

You pulled the communicator app back up, wondering what was going on. He hadn't done anything like that in months and it was concerning. He didn't want to talk, though. He wanted to be left alone, to get used to solitude again. It was best to start breaking hearts now rather than waiting for you two to break his anew. 

"Ghost…please. I can't fix this if I don't know what's wrong". 

"You can't fix this" he wanted to tell you, just like you had told him that night a few months ago, but he stayed quiet. 

"Ghost, are you mad at us?" Ellie asked, sad and worried. 

Horrid negative thoughts were going through his mind, the same ones from the night he died. He was useless, thinking that he could make the world a better place by himself. No one loved him, and anyone who did was dead because of him. Everyone would be better off without him, they just tolerated him because of the job. And now he felt like you two only tolerated him because you lived here. The hall was going icy cold as those thoughts pervaded his mind. 

Ellie wasn't about to stand for it. The little girl stepped to the closet door and put her hand on the knob. You moved to grab it. 

"Sweetie no, that's his space" you told her. 

"He needs us mama! We gotta go in there!". 

"Nöelle, listen to me. We do not overstep boundaries. Much less the boundaries of the dead when they've drawn a hard line. The closet is his space and we need to mind it"

"But mama-"

"Nöelle L/N! No more. You heard me. He will come to us in his own time. He'll be fine, I promise". 

Ellie looked saddened at that as she looked at the door. "I just want him to know that we're here for him…he thinks of us like family". 

Your tone softened at that. "He does now?". 

The little girl nodded. "We talk a lot". 

"I can imagine…" you responded thoughtfully, "we talked a little bit a few nights ago. I…I actually saw him, felt him". 

"You think Didi would've liked Ghost?" Ellie asked, cocking her head. 

Didi was the title Ellie had given to your late partner, and she hadn't talked about them in a long time. Although assigned male at birth, they didn't conform to gender norms and preferred to be referred to by they/them. When picking a parent title upon Ellie's adoption, they picked Didi because one they thought it was cure, and two it was probably the least confusing option. 

"I think Didi would've taken a while to like him, but I think they'd be good friends in the end" you finally answered.

"Maybe Didi sent him!" Ellie's face lit up at the idea, which made you smile. 

"It's…plausible" you shrugged a little. 

As negative as his feelings were in the moment, Ghost listened in. He definitely wasn't sent by anyone, but he didn't want to crush Ellie's belief in that. From what he understood, Didi had also been a soldier, unfortunately killed in the line of duty while trying to protect younger members of his unit. They had died honorably, a hero's death, very much unlike himself. 

"Fucking coward" his mind hissed at him viciously, "at least their death fucking meant something…while you made yourself brain dead in a tiny cramped closet…". 

He didn't want to think about it, but the mind was a terrible thing even in death…

Ghost didn't know how long he stayed in that closet, wallowing in his misery. It made him feel pathetic. He was supposed to be better than that, stronger than that. But ghosts were by nature miserable creatures, and unfortunately he was no exception. When he did finally emerge, he didn't know who to really go to first. You were in your room, making plans for your new bakery and Cafe. He didn't want to disrupt you. Ellie was in her room, playing with her stuffies and dressing them up for the night's events. 

It was that day again. 

Halloween. 

It explained why he felt his emotions more vividly today. It was the anniversary of his death. Now it was three years ago…

Damn time really did fly by when you were dead. 

He watched from a corner of Ellie's room as she sat her three favorite plushies (a bunny, a red panda, and a grizzly bear) at a play table and was giving them tea. It seemed he was interrupting a Halloween themed tea party. This could've been his life, he realized sadly. He could've been here playing with her, or at least helping you with preparations. 

Could've, Would've, and Should've…the three damn stooges of life (and death apparently…). 

He knew it was selfish, but he didn't want either of you to leave. He wanted this to be forever, to be permanent. You and Ellie were all he had now, all that reminded him of what it was like to be alive. You both made him feel something so sweet, a feeling that filled his chest and seemed to spread to every fiber of his being. It was warm, so warm, he realized, that for a moment he almost felt like he was indeed alive again. 

Was this love? Was this obsession? Maybe a combination of the two? He knew he didn't want it to go away. He didn't want either of you to leave him. Ghost just…didn't want to be alone anymore. 

"Ghost?" Ellie's voice pulled him away from his thoughts, "what's wrong?". 

Something inside of him softened at the question. Ellie was a complete sweetheart and he adored her. She had a huge heart for someone so small. 

"I'm alright, lovely. It's just…a rough day for me is all" he answered. 

"Why's that?" Ellie asked, pulling out a small chair for him at her table. 

Behind his mask, he smiled half amused. It was so tiny but he'd never turn down an offer to sit with the little girl's favorite friends. He sat down and she stayed close to him. 

"Halloweens a rough one for me. I…I did a really dumb thing that-"

"Did you die today?" She asked, still feeling sad for him. 

There was no point in hiding it. "Unfortunately…"

"What's it like?". 

"To die? Not something you need to know about yet. Not for a very, very long time". 

"Like when I'm thirty!"

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. Kids were funny even when they weren't trying to be. 

"Way longer than that lovey". 

Her eyes widened. "When I'm a hundred?!". 

That actually got him full on laughing. "That would be preferred actually".

A long full life is what she deserved. It's what they both deserved, really. Ellie looked at him, her eyes warm and sweet, but there was concern in them. 

"What's the matter, Ghost? Why were you sad earlier?" She asked.

"It's not something for you to worry yourself with sweetie" he tried to assure her, "my troubles are mine to deal with". 

"But Ghost…you're family" she told him, "and family's always there for each other". 

Ghost frowned but his eyes softened. "It's just…I don't wanna lose you and your mum. I care about you girls, a lot. More than I ever expected to. But at the same time…I know you guys can't stay forever". 

"Who says that?" Ellie asked. 

"It's complicated. You may be able to stay now but…eventually I know you both are gonna wanna leave. And when you do, I don't know if I'll be able to follow you. I mean, I might but it's gonna take a lot out of me". 

"We would never leave you" Ellie looked at him with utmost determination, "at least I wouldn't". 

"Thank you darling. I wouldn't even think of leaving you either" he wanted to keep himself from going into too much depth about his feelings. 

A lot of them were too heavy, too complicated for a little child to understand. He just didn't want to feel like he did in his last days: alone, and like he had no one. His loneliness was not her burden and he wouldn't dare burden her with it. 

"Oh! Mama helped me get a costume together! I'm gonna be a skeleton ghost like you!". 

Ghost blinked. Wait…she wanted to be him for Halloween? That was…interesting. He looked at Ellie intrigued. 

"I'll show you! I won't look as cool as you, but I wanted to do something like you-". 

"Honey?" Your voice called through the door, "Ellie? Is everything okay?". 

"Yeah mama…Ghost came out of the closet!". 

That got a chuckle out of him. Ellie turned to him.

"Something funny?" She asked as you came in. 

You yourself couldn't see him but felt he was definitely there. The chill was the best indicator. It wasn't a sad chill unlike earlier though, it was more of just how he was naturally. 

"Just a funny thought, dear" Ghost told Ellie as he stood when you came in. 

You looked at Ellie. "We'll need to get you ready soon. Is it alright if I borrow him for a bit?". 

Your little girl nodded. "He likes to talk to you mama. I don't mind. I think he was scared earlier". 

"Scared?". 

Ellie nodded. "He'll explain it if he's up for it". 

You raised a brow as you looked toward the empty seat. "I'll wait for you in my room". 

Ghost nodded, though he knew you couldn't see. Mostly out of respect, being rather disciplined even in death. You waited for him as Ellie busied herself for the night's candy hunt, setting up the app and placing the phone between the two of you. 

"So…Ellie says you're scared. Something scares you?" You asked, looking ahead, as Ghost stood at the end of your bed. 

He responded, the app only picking up: Don't. Leave. 

"I'm just taking Ellie out for-" it dawned on you, "wait you mean…don't leave here, as in don't leave you?". 

Yes. 

You frowned at that. "Ghost, we aren't gonna leave you. You're pretty much a part of our family at this point. Why would you think we'd just up and leave you?". 

Better. Home.

"Well yeah the apartment's a bit small, and eventually I would like to get my own place-". 

Don't. Leave. Me. 

"Ghost, can't you follow us? I've seen ghosts do that on TV all the time". 

Not. Strong. Enough. 

That didn't help things. "We have a few years, Ghost. We'll cross that bridge once we get there. But I want you to know that Ellie and I, I promise you, we will not abandon you. If you're able to come with us, if we do get a new home, there will always be space and room for you. I'll even make sure we get a spare room, to use for you most days. My sister or my mom might come over every so often so you'd have to take the haunting down a tad, but other than that, it'd be yours. I just want you to be happy and if we make you happy, then you're definitely free to come with us. I won't stop you. I don't want to". 

And you meant it. Ghost really was a part of your family, in a way. He made life interesting. He was kind, when he could be, and gentle when he had to be. Who knew a ghost could be such a positive thing? To an extent, you wondered if he was a guardian angel of sorts, perhaps even sent by your partner. It was a stretch but an interesting thought. 

As for Ghost, he sensed no lies on you. You meant every word and then some. He could trust you, despite something in him deep down telling him it wasn't smart. 

"Be careful who you trust, sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most" he remembered telling Soap all those years ago…

But just like Soap, he trusted you. You, just like him, had weaseled your ways into his heart, figuratively and literally. It seemed his defenses were easier to slip through than he realized…

Soap. 

"What?" That was the second time in the past month he mentioned soap. You looked at your phone puzzled. 

Johnny. 

You didn't know anyone named Johnny. You looked up at the supposed blank space where the apparition was. "Who is that?". 

Mac. Tavish. 

"Johnny and Mac Tavish?" You didn't get it. 

Soap. 

"Okay you aren't making any…wait" you blinked, putting the pieces together, "Johnny MacTavish? I don't know anyone with that name". 

You picked the phone up and made a note in it of the name. If time allowed, perhaps you could look it up? 

"Friend of yours?" You asked. 

Yes. 

At least yes or no questions could be easily answered. You gave a soft half smile. "I'll try to look him up later. Gonna help Ellie get ready for trick or treating. Wanna try and join us?". 

Try. 

And that was all you could ask of him. It's all anyone could really ask of anyone...

If you guys liked this please let me know! I love when you guys comment so please feel free to like, comment, and please reblog and tell me your thoughts! I'll be continuing this in December, but for now, I got an original story to work on ^.^ thank you so much :)

-Ash

[bellysoupset]

OKAY. Hi. Im finally free for long long enough to come chat.

I have so much stuff to say I literally went through your blog down to my ask where you said COME BACK HERE (lmaoo) and made a whole list in my notes app so that i don’t forget anything

(dw im gonna send a bunch of separate asks so that it doesn’t clog up your whole dash)

first of all, sounds like we have the same handwriting??? i was thinking oh mines closest to leo + bella and then i read the tags and we have the exact same traits?? wtf. so cool. also jon and luke having rich kid handwriting is so funny.

oohhh and bella??? 😳😳😳 like i KNOW (i think) she isn’t pregnant because you’ve said that’s not a plot you want to pursue rn. but alsoo what the hell. even if she isn’t, i can’t wait to read about her and luke talking about it.

(speaking of bell and luke talking, i’ve been LOVING the little snippets of them just hanging out and vibing) (bella crying for leo was so insanely sweet btw, she’s such a sweetheart) (also scary) (hot) (i’m getting off track)

loved the picking up the car fic so much!! jon and luke are soooo sibling coded it’s insane. also luke revving the car and zooming past them was so hot. and jonah’s “crush them”?? they’re BROTHERS!!!! i love reading stories of your characters just being idiots together <3

and bella going into that shop looking all sweet just to Destroy that old man was sooo funny. she’s so hot?? 🍄

okayy so 1. forgot to mention in the last ask : luke is so stupidly protective of bella lmfao. him being mad at leo for just Being There was so funny 2. jon being the baby of the group is one of my favourite things about him <3 he’s baby 🩷 3. the boxing class fic is soo cool. i love jonah and bella’s interactions!! need to see more of them together! they’re so perfectly bitchy with each other. also did i ask for something similar AGES ago or did i just think about it and forget to actually say anything? 4. jonah and leo’s reunion was soooo cute!!!i adore clingy jonah. (speaking of, i was re reading the fic where jonah gets sick at a medical convention with wendy and gets back home and is all bossy about cuddling leo, and it’s SO. CUTE.) and then finally leo getting sick was **chefs kiss** (ps. the supporting your partners forehead while they puke thing is so hot. who said that.) and jonah!! missing rubbing leo’s back as he throws up!! Sap. Peak simp behaviour fr. Didn’t realise there was competition to Luke for the Pathetic Simp title. 🍄

Hi there 🍄!!! How are you? Missing you loads, I hope life is treating you kindly, even if busy!

God, my handwriting is a mess, I was always the kid who showed up to class with one (1) singular black pen and no patience. Do you also do the Leo thing of saving up pages?

Bell definitely wasn't pregnant, but it was a fun time getting asks begging her not to be 😭😭 And yeah, she loves her little found family so much!! All of them, they're her home and she's a tough cookie, but she hates to see them hurting!

Luke is Golden Retriever coded in every sense of the word. Friendly and goofy and loud, but super protective.

I really do need to write more of the Bitchy Group, which in my head is Jon, Wen, Bell and now... Max. For clarification, Leo is hella bitchy but to me he's just the bitchy part of the trio that is Luke/Vin/Leo 🙈 Does this make any sense?

I'm looking forward to introducing Max to the group and what new units mind come up

Now. Men were made to do two things: simp and be queasy. As far as I was told 😎

[squidknees]

Borrowing

(A short thing about an umbrella and Hiro's memory issues. 872 words.)

You have a visitor, the apartment intercom app chirps at Hiro.

Startled, he nearly drops the phone into his lap. How long has it been since he last heard that ringtone? He swipes it away and flips open his to-do list for the day; only after scanning it thoroughly does he allow himself a small puzzled frown. The late afternoon light is still shining through his windows, so it's not too implausible that someone would want to visit him... But who could it be? Door-to-door salesmen? Surely they wouldn't buzz his apartment number specifically...

The app chirps again; they're impatient, whoever they are. Well, why not? He hits Accept Call - and lights up as a fuzzy image of Ichika streams itself to his phone. "Ms. Ichika! Hi! I didn't know you knew where I lived!"

The image shifts and gives a staticky sigh. "You told me. Three days ago."

"Did I? I guess that makes sense. Hey, did you see the news earlier? They did a special on the Defense Division, and--"

"My umbrella," she cuts in. "Do you still have it?"

He blinks. "Why would I... ohhhh."

It had been three days ago, now that she mentioned it. He'd neglected to bring an umbrella to work since the weather report showed a solid 90% clear skies for once. Ichika had been kind enough to remind him to plan for the remaining 10%, and he'd still managed to forget about the whole thing the moment he stepped into his apartment. "Sorry, sorry! Um, it should be around here somewhere... Anyway, come on up! I can make tea!"

"I don't have time for that," Ichika scoffs. "You'd better have found it by the time I get up there."

She scowls when she arrives to hot green tea and no umbrella. Still, she can only hover in his doorway, watching him dig through his drawers, for so long before she relents. And by the time he finds it crammed between two books on a shelf, she's ready to admit that she's wasted enough time that a cup or two wouldn't make any difference anyway.

He grins at her across his little kitchen table. What a wonderful day.

-----

The next time, she speaks as soon as the call goes through. "My umbrella. You forgot again?"

"Oh, I guess I did." He gives her an apologetic nod through the little phone camera. "Man, I really need to write this stuff down."

"Mhm. Find it faster this time." Click.

He doesn't manage to. "It's just kinda hard," he explains as he plunges an arm between the couch cushions, "to take notes on stuff when you're also holding up an umbrella, you know? Especially when it's storming hard. Maybe you should just stop lending it to me."

Ichika, having just leapt up from the couch, is too busy pretending to be unruffled to pay much attention to his words. "And let you catch a cold - and drag the whole team down? Yeah, right."

He's always known that she cares about him, of course, but it's still nice to hear it again. Ichika gives him a dubious look, but he smiles on regardless.

-----

"I told you to write it down before I gave you the umbrella," was Ichika's greeting the third time around. "How did you manage to mess that up?"

Still, she steps through the door and heads for the kitchen as soon as he's out of the way, which is very encouraging. He closes the door and hurries after her. "Yeah, I checked after you called, and it looks like I wrote it in yesterday's entry somehow? Like, the day before you lent it to me. So I just didn't see it when I checked it in the morning. Won't happen again! Well, hopefully."

"...Right," Ichika says doubtfully.

He reaches down into a low drawer so he can duck his face out of the way. She's always so reluctant to ask when it comes to his memory disorder... She means well, but he can't help but feel a little put out by it. He doesn't mind chatting about the memory stuff, really. Most of the time, at least.

Time to change the subject before this awkward silence can get going. "Since you're here, could you go over the mist-flaring tutorial with me again? I know Ms. Misaki explained it, but I kinda don't get what she's saying like half of the time..."

"Her explanations are perfectly clear." He can hear the bristling in her voice, even facing away from her. Oh, Ichika. "But I suppose a refresher wouldn't hurt either of us. The key is to focus in the right way..."

-----

Ichika sips her tea as she watches Hiro poke underneath his TV stand with his broom. "How is it that you manage to lose the thing in a different weird spot every single time? That can't be related to your memory issues, can it?"

"Oh, well, you know." She can't see his face from this angle, so he allows himself a sly little smile. That reminds him, actually - his list of plausible hiding places is running a bit low. He'd have to dig around for a few more soon. "I'm just a messy guy, I guess."

[finalgirlkateausten]

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

you know how much i love a good baby fic Reveal™️... this is like, the second part of the Reveal™️. Ashley has seen Declan exactly once since she found out she was pregnant, but she hasn't told him anything. He's been on the surface, struggling to stay above water with all the pressure put on the London Sanctuary, and she's been benched ever since Helen discovered she would be having twins. Ashley is 21 weeks along here!

Ashley taps her foot, huffing as the elevator slides up from the sublevels to the above-ground-- as it were-- building of the Hollow Earth Sanctuary. The kids always seem to sense when she's stressed or worked up, and one of them is kicking now, or maybe doing a backflip. Their movements are getting more intense every day, and she's already bracing herself for the day when both of them gang up on her.

Her strides are shorter than she would like as she finally exits the elevator and beelines for her mother's office, opening the door without knocking. "Mom, I get why you wanted your office all the way on the top floor, but really, didja have to put tactical comms so far in the basement?" A familiar scent fills her nose, and she turns reflexively-- cologne and the like bothers her more these days, but this one smells warm. Her mouth is too busy for her mind to present the memories she's reminded of as she turns. "We've got some new friends that our scouts are saying might be Jeholodens abyssinicus maybe? And I think our last Sanctuaries that had specimens of them fell last year, but they're new to Hollow Earth, and they're messing up--" But halfway through her sentence, her brain catches up to her eyes. "Declan?"

He's standing there gaping at her, and well, yeah, she looks a little different than the last time they saw each other, but hey, so does he. His hair is nearly buzzed right now, must've just been cut, and she can't help but think that she likes it better when it's softer. He's standing at attention like he always does when they're in deep shit, not quite looking her in the eye. He's marred with bruises, one of his wrists swollen, a deep gash that the Jeholodens relative is probably responsible for on his calf. He's got a nasty black eye, but she doesn't think that's the reason his eyes are watering right now.

"Ash," he says, his voice quiet. "Long time, no see."

"Um." She swallows, sure she's turning bright red. "Yeah."

"You're looking... well."

It's probably the nicest thing he can manage right now. Acid crawls up her throat, even though she usually only gets heartburn right after a meal. What is he doing here?

She opens her mouth to ask that exact question, only to be interrupted by her mom clearing her throat. "Declan, I'm going to send a containment team to keep our new friends from sending the biome they've entered into disarray. You need to get to the infirmary to have that leg debrided... and find some antibiotics."

"I'll live," Declan argues. "My team should've been able to recapture them before they made it this far. I won't see any more loss of life without trying to intervene."

Helen fixes him with a severe look that has Ashley wincing even though she isn't the target. "You've done your part," she says flatly. "You've got a serious injury, which makes you a liability. Get treatment-- I have other people who can handle this." She stands and moves from behind her desk. "Ashley?" she asks neutrally, inclining her head.

Ashley gulps, wondering if she could escape that hawk-like stare with an excuse about a bathroom trip. One of the kids is definitely mauling her kidney right now, anyway.

"Is it too much to hope you're going to ask me to lead the containment team?"

Her mom laughs as Declan slinks out the door, but the smile fades quickly. Ashley goes ahead and lowers herself to a seat on the sofa, cradling her belly.

Her mom raises an eyebrow, and she's pretty sure she's done for.

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 11. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+ (no smut)

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Violence, injury detail

Summary: The new friend you made at the Holyhead Harpies tryouts is more than meets the eye.

A/N: If there's one thing I'm always gonna do it's announce a chapter will be posted on Sunday and post Friday instead. Sorry this took a hot minute - it's been through several drafts. McLaggen briefly channels Marc Darcy from Bridget Jones's Diary 2 and it made me swoon.

Tag list: @pretendfan, @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 11: Blood Traitor

“Right then, here’s to the Holyhead Harpies’ two newest signings,” says McLaggen, grinning and raising his pint glass.

You beam at him, still giddy with excitement and hardly able to take it all in. You’ve done it. You’ve actually done it. And what’s more, you think you’ve made a friend in your new teammate. The only prospect at tryouts who had managed to get a goal past you was the other newest Holyhead Harpy signing and chaser, Cerys Thicknesse, who had taken McLaggen up on his offer to join you at the wizarding pub a few miles outside of Surrey to celebrate.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind a third wheel while I wait on my friend?”

And with that, the three of you apparated to The Black Dragon which was, from the way McLaggen and Cerys told it, the only decent wizarding pub in the south outside of London. When you arrived, you found it was as packed as you’d expect any pub to be on a Saturday evening. And now as the three of you sit around a small, beer-soaked table, you feel like you can finally relax and enjoy your moment.

“Here, here!” Cerys cheers, clinking her glass against yours and McLaggen’s. She twists the ends of her long, black hair, looking at him. “I’m so sure I know you from somewhere. I recognise your face.”

“Probably from Hogwarts,” he suggests.

She laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” he says.

“Both of you? You’re just babies! I would have been in my sixth year when you started. And no offense but I didn’t pay much attention to the ickle firsties.” She pauses, drinking thoughtfully.

“Does your family live around here?” You ask. “McLaggen, your house isn’t far from here, right?”

Cerys clicks her fingers in realisation.

“McLaggen! That’s it. Crickey, you’re the spitting image of your dad. He’s the Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement, right?”

“You know my dad?” McLaggen looks baffled.

“He works with my dad, Pius Thicknesse, you know him? I did a bit of work experience with them at the Ministry a few years ago.”

“Oh, right! Of course… yeah. How is he?” He asks tentatively.

She hesitates. “Always at work. Yours?”

McLaggen laughs a little awkwardly. “Yeah, he’s the same. Your dad is keeping him busy.”

Wow. So Cerys’s dad was McLaggen’s dad’s boss.

There’s a bit of a grim silence when neither of them says anything. You haven’t read a copy of the Daily Prophet all summer but you know from what McLaggen’s told you that everyone at the Ministry is under a lot of pressure in the wake of You-Know-Who’s return.

“God, it’s like half of Hogwarts is here,” you say, just to break the stony silence. There are a few faces from other houses and years that you sort of recognise from Hogwarts. You suppose it’s a small world when every witch and wizard in the country goes to the same school.

“Oh yeah, all the really old wizarding families live around here. Makes sense really, they all moved out to the country hundreds of years ago when the Muggles in London started multiplying.”

“Right, yeah…” You’re pretty sure that was a note of disdain in her voice. Normally, you’d question it but you’ve only just made the team. The last thing you want to do is make assumptions about your teammate and jeopardise your position before you’ve even picked up your uniform.

McLaggen senses it too. He gives your thigh a comforting squeeze under the table in acknowledgement. Silent reassurance that he not only heard it but understands your predicament.

“So, how long have you two been going out then?” Cerys asks.

You’re glad of another change of subject but you’re not sure when to start counting from.

“Since December,” says McLaggen, looking at you adoringly and not concerning Cerys with the finer on-and-off details. His warm smile and his hand on your leg make your stomach flip. 

“And you both live down here?”

“McLaggen does. I’m about to stay with his family for a couple of weeks until we decide where to live.”

She groans. “You’re so lucky. It’s so hard to find a boyfriend from a decent family these days.” Well. Now you know what she means by that. You’re wondering why you’ve flown under her radar as a Muggle-born. Your performance at trials? Your being here with McLaggen?

Before either of you can reply, Cerys excuses herself to the bathroom. As soon as she’s out of earshot you turn to McLaggen. “What the fuck?” you half-laugh, half-exhale in disbelief. 

He looks at her figure darkly as she disappears through the bathroom door. “I had a bad feeling as soon as she said who her dad was. You’ve heard of Amelia Bones, right?” he asks in a hushed voice.

The name sounds vaguely familiar. “Someone at the Ministry?”

“Amelia Bones was the Head of my dad’s department. But she was murdered - by You-Know-Who himself apparently.”

Your eyes widen. “Murdered?”

“And then everyone assumed Scrimgeour would put my dad in charge. But for some reason, he gave Thicknesse the job.” He shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. “He and my dad are good friends… he must have had his reasons. But now Thicknesse is making everyone work on a ‘top secret’ piece of legislation.”

You frown. “How can legislation be top secret? Doesn’t it need to go through the Wizengamot? Anyone can turn up to watch those meetings.”

McLaggen shrugs. “None of it makes sense. I guess I’ll find out more when I start working there.” He puts down his pint glass glumly.

“You alright, McLaggen?”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally fine,” he says a bit too quickly, rearranging his face into a smile.

“Are you worried about your dad?”

“We’ll talk later. I don’t want to make things about me. Not when we’re celebrating.”

“Well, I think someone’s already put a bit of a dampener on that.” You give an edgy look at the ladies’ to make sure Cerys isn’t coming back. “Tell me. Please.”

He puts down his drink and takes both of your hands in his. “I am so incredibly, unbelievably proud of you. You know that, right?” You stare into his green eyes. He means it. “And seeing your dreams come true today makes me so happy. You’re so sure of what you want and so determined to get it - and today you did. But it also made me realise… I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You mean working at the Ministry?”

“The more I find out about the office politics the less I want to work there.”

You twist your mouth, thinking about Amelia Bones. “It sounds really dangerous. I’m surprised your dad still wants you to join.”

“Yeah… I mean, I don’t think I’d be great at keeping secrets the way my dad does. Or working in an office with all those Ministry-types.”

“You’re starting to sound like my dad.” You allow yourself a small smirk but he doesn’t say anything, he just looks at your hands in his. “Cormac,” you add quietly. “You should take him up on his offer. It would mean you could at least lie low for a bit”

He lets out a tiny exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, right. My dad would kill me. He’d say it’d bring our whole family into shame if I ditched the Ministry to play a Muggle sport.”

“Well… you don’t need to tell him. Not right away,” you suggest. “Keep it vague - you could say you’re taking a gap year in Scotland. Hunting Nogtails or whatever it is you used to do with your Uncle Tiberius.”

McLaggen pauses, considering this. “Yeah… that might work.”

“We’ve still got a few weeks for you to decide.”

“What about us, though? I thought we were going to start looking at places to live near The Harpies’ training ground?”

“I’d move back to Scotland in a second. We could always get a flat, and connect it to the Floo Network so I can travel to Wales. I mean, we’d probably spend a fortune on Floo powder. But it would be worth it if we were both happy.”

He nods, looking considerably more cheerful than he had been a second ago. “Let’s talk about it back at mine. Here comes Cerys - we’ll make our excuses and get out of here after this drink.”

Cerys stops in the middle of the pub, talking to a tall, hulking boy with black hair who has his back to you.

“We might be in for a lucky escape,” you say. “Looks like her mate has finally arrived.”

Cerys waves brightly and starts walking over to your table. Her new companion turns around to follow her and with a sinking feeling, you recognise him. And from the way his eyes narrow when he spots you and McLaggen, he recognises you too.

Marcus Flint. He was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team when you first started playing in your second year. He and your predecessor Rodger Davies hated each other with a passion. And for good reason. It was no secret that Marcus was highly selective when it came to the Slytherin team - only allowing purebloods to even try out whereas Davies was Muggle-born just like you. You frown, remembering how Flint would make a spectacle of wiping his hand on his robes after their Captain’s handshake. 

Cerys sits back down. Her new companion doesn’t follow suit.  “This is Marcus. Marcus this-”

“I didn’t expect to see you keeping company like this, Cerys,” Flint snorts.

She looks up from Marcus and back to the two of you, confused.

“You’re having drinks with an up-jumped daddy’s boy and a mudbl-”

“Careful,” McLaggen cuts across him warningly. “Say that word and we’re going to have a problem.”

“Careful?” laughs Flint. “You’re the one who should be careful, McLaggen.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“What is this?” asks Cerys, her nostrils flaring as she glares at you accusatorily. She looks at McLaggen. “Have you been confunded? Or maybe your dad just hasn’t told you.”

“Won’t be long til they’ve got them all rounded up, McLaggen. You should ditch her before they throw you in Azakaban too for being a blood traitor.”

Rounded up? Azkaban?

“I’m not going to tell you twice -” starts McLaggen, getting to his feet. You remember when you first started playing Quidditch you thought the then-sixth-year Flint was the biggest person you’d ever seen. But as McLaggen draws himself to his full height, you see the tiniest flicker of surprise in Flint’s eyes when McLaggen’s become level with his.

“Cormac, what’s going on?” you ask, panic making your heart pump wildly in your chest, all your senses telling you that something dangerous is about to happen.

“Nothing. It’s nonsense.”

“Didn’t you read this morning’s Prophet?” Flint sneers. “Times are changing. S’perfectly fine to call her what she is.” He takes a step towards McLaggen. “Mudblood.”

McLaggen takes a deep breath. “Flint, will you step outside, please?”

Marcus Flint sneers. “What? You gonna duel me, McLaggen?”

Absurdly McLaggen laughs. So loudly it attracts the attention of several other pub-goers. He looks at you as he laughs as if he simply can’t believe the punchline of a hilarious joke Flint has just told. 

He straightens his face. “No.” He turns back to face Flint and looks at him seriously. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

Before Flint can even twitch his fingers for his wand, McLaggen punches him square in the face. The witches and wizards in the pub reel away from the commotion in panic. Cerys screams and Flint grabs McLaggen’s shoulders, dragging him out of the front doors onto the gravel path outside.

You abandon your bags and brooms, almost knocking the table over to push Cerys out of the way and get through the door before her. 

You burst outside in time to see Flint elbow McLaggen in the face as McLaggen drags him to the floor. They scramble on the ground, sending dust and pebbles flying. McLaggen gets up first, pushing down hard on Flint’s face against the gravel. Flint tries to lift himself up but McLaggen punches down, hitting him once, twice, three times. The sound of his fists make sickening, dull thuds as they sink into Flint’s face while he splutters on the ground raggedly.

You’d always joked you’d like to see McLaggen hit someone.

But this is brutal. 

“Cormac!” 

Your cry rips through the evening air, making McLaggen look up at you for a split second, his bloody fist raised above Flint’s head.

“Petrificus totalus!” screams a voice behind you.

You turn to see Cerys with her wand pointed at McLaggen. 

His body goes rigid and you barely have time to register her using such an unfair, underhanded tactic before Flint kicks out from under him, getting to his feet. Using all his might, he kicks McLaggen’s constricted body right in the stomach and you hear the distinct crack of ribs breaking.

A horror-stricken sob escapes your lips as Flint walks around to his head, and it’s like you see the scene before you unfolding in slow motion as Flint raises a foot, getting ready to stamp on McLaggen’s face.

You don’t have time to think. You just react.

“Impedimenta!” you cry, brandishing your wand and sending Flint flying backwards. Before Cerys can open her mouth again, you dive on top of McLaggen and extend your wand.

“Protego!”

The shield charm forms an invisible barrier between you and McLaggen’s frozen body, and Cerys and Flint who’s getting to his feet. Flint limps over towards you but you hold fast, concentrating on your shield charm with all your might - exactly how McLaggen showed you. 

“You dithgusting-” starts Flint but he stops, raising a hand to his mouth. Cerys looks at his face in shock. In the dim light coming from the pub windows, you can see that several of Flint’s front teeth are missing.

“Let’s go, Marcus,” she says, scowling at the two of you on the floor. “My father will hear about this.”

She links her arm through his and with a crack they disappear into the night.

With a shuddering gasp, you lower your wand and the shield charm breaks. You bring yourself to look at McLaggen. His eye is bloodshot and starting to bruise, and blood trickles from his nose into his mouth through parted lips.

“F-f-f-finite. Fuck! Finite incantatem,” you whisper shakily and he sits bolt upright, choking and coughing as your spell releases him from the body-bind curse. He pants, trying to catch his breath and spits out a significant amount of blood onto the dusty ground.

“Oh, Cormac,” you sob, looking at his broken nose and red welt on his eye.

“I’b alright…” he says thickly, pinching the bridge of his nose then thinking better of it with a wince.

“Do you want me to fix it?” you ask.

“Cab you?” he asks.

“You think I’ve never taken a bludger to the face?” You give his hand a soft squeeze and touch the tip of your wand to his nose. “Episkey.”

McLaggen scrunches up his face, feeling his nose resume its usual shape. 

“I’ve never done ribs before. I think you need Skele-Gro.”

Every time you blink your mind switches from Flint kicking McLaggen to McLaggen pummelling Flint’s bloody face. 

“I’m still handsome, right?” McLaggen’s voice snaps you out of it. You look seriously at his blood-strewn face, dripping down the front of his T-shirt. Flint came off worse, sure, but there’s no two ways about it - even in the moonlight you can see he’s taken a severe beating.

“Cormac, it’s not funny.”

You hear the noise of the pub revellers as the door opens and with a clatter and thud, the barmaid throws both of your brooms and rucksacks out onto the ground.

“Can you fly?” you ask, getting to your feet and extending a hand.

“I don’t think so.” He groans, accepting your hand and with a heave, you pull him up. McLaggen clutches his side and stumbles when he tries to put one foot in front of another. “It’s not far but we should probably just apparate.”

You quickly pick up all of your things and McLaggen shakes his head like a dog shaking water from his ears and nearly falls again.

“Christ, don’t do that Cormac. You might have a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” he insists. 

You put his arm around your shoulders, taking as much of his weight as you can manage. It’s not easy given his size. Then when he shuffles forward everything goes dark as the familiar feeling of all-consuming pressure encapsulates your bodies and you disapparate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You materialise outside a gate looking onto a sprawling lawn, spilling out in front of a historic country house a few miles deeper into the Surrey countryside. 

“Wow,” you look at your surroundings as the moon streaks down, casting a pearlescent glow over the gates. “How far is the walk to yours? Not that I’m complaining,” you add, feeling his weight on your shoulders.

McLaggen gives you a confused look and points his wand at the gate tentatively. “About thirty seconds?” 

Maybe he is concussed.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” You ask gently.

“I’m pretty confident I know where I live. Flint doesn’t have that good a right hook.” 

You almost drop your brooms. You knew McLaggen was well off but this can’t be where he lives. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Yeah, it’s just there. Woah - are you okay?”

You feel your knees buckle and it’s not to do with your strength faltering under his weight - although it doesn’t help - his house is bigger than your entire block of flats.

“This is your house?”

His wand emits a soft golden glow and the gate unlocks. He tries to push it open but lets out a wince of pain and grips his side.

“Here, let me,” you say. McLaggen holds onto the wall so you can shove the wrought iron gate. When you jam it open, you hook his arm over your shoulder so you can help him through.

You feel a trickle of embarrassment creeping through your body as you half-carry him through the open gate and up the path towards the manor thinking about your parents' little flat. Your bedroom so small that your bed is pushed up against the wall. It makes you want to retreat to the safety of your own home.

Home. With your Muggle parents.

You have a million more questions about what Cerys and Flint meant but now isn’t the time. McLaggen is in no fit state to answer them. Instead, you concentrate on helping McLaggen up the old stone steps leading to a pair of giant oak front doors.

“My dad will probably still be at the Ministry but let me do the talking if my mum is still awake.” You help him push the heavy double doors open with difficulty. 

When you step inside and your eyes widen. Until now, the only place you’ve ever been before with an entrance hall like this is Hogwarts. This house is dark at this late hour but there’s enough light that your eyes can make out objects you’ve come to associate with the wizarding world.

There are moving portraits on the walls who peer out at you as you pass through the foyer. McLaggen’s family of times gone by - a few of them look aghast at his appearance as you half-carry him in. 

In the centre of the ceiling is a giant, levitating armillary sphere, depicting the constellations around the earth. Tiny glowing stars light up the bronze ball, casting speckles of light throughout the entryway.

“You’re home!” Comes Mrs McLaggen’s voice, her heeled slippers clicking on the grand wooden staircase as she comes downstairs wearing a beautiful satin robe. 

You feel McLaggen bracing himself for her reaction. 

“So? Can I assume we have a famous Quidditch player staying with us?” She asks. “What are you doing down there in the dark? Lumos,” she says and a dozen gas lamps light up the hall. 

She claps her hands to her chest when she reaches the bottom landing and lets out a whimper of shock when she sees you both.

“Mum, I can explain-“

“Cormac, darling, what on earth happened?!”

“We ran into some trouble. Just… let me get cleaned up before Dad comes home and sees.”

“Before I see what?” Comes a voice from upstairs. 

Uh-oh. You and McLaggen glance at each other before looking up to see Mr McLaggen leaning over the balcony. 

“What in the blazes have you two been doing, Cormac?” he sighs, coming downstairs. 

“It’s my fault - not hers. I got into a fight.”

“You’ve been duelling?”

“Not exactly.”

Mr McLaggen reaches the bottom of the stairs and gets a better look at McLaggen’s bloody appearance.

“Merlin’s beard - don’t tell me you were Muggle brawling. And for goodness sake, stop using your girlfriend like a coat rack. I thought we raised you to behave like a gentleman.”

“I can manage-“ you start but your slightly strained voice gives you away.

“I think I’ve broken something,” says McLaggen.

Mr McLaggen positions himself under McLaggen’s other arm and you’re relieved when he takes the brunt of the load as the two of you help Cormac to the end of the hall and into a large, opulent dining room while Mrs McLaggen busies herself with picking up your things and lighting the chandelier with her wand. Mr McLaggen pulls out a chair so Cormac can sit down gingerly. 

“I think he might need Skele-Gro. I’ve never mended ribs before,” you say. Mrs McLaggen puts your brooms, bags and wands on the dining room table before summoning some potions and fabric.

In the bright light of the room, you can see his lip is burst too. Mr McLaggen draws a chair in front of him while Mrs McLaggen dabs some potion on his face. Cormac winces when it stings his face, healing the skin almost immediately.

“Nose looks good. Did you fix that for him?” Mr McLaggen asks you and you nod, stunned silent by how awful he looks now you can see him properly. 

“Hold this on your eye, sweetheart.” Mrs McLaggen hands him a piece of potion-soaked fabric. 

“Did you win at least?” asks Mr McLaggen and Cormac hesitates.

“It was pretty even.” You answer for him. “I had to break it up with a shield charm.”

“That’s a tactful way of saying he lost,” says Mr McLaggen. “But at least one of you can use magic.”

This isn’t the reaction you’d expected at all. And judging by the confused look on Cormac’s face, he too had expected his dad to be furious.

“Cormac actually taught me how to do them this summer,” you admit. 

“Well, it’s lucky he did,” says Mrs McLaggen, wiping blood from his face. “What a dreadful mess. Who did this to you, Cormac?”

“Dad…” says McLaggen in a strangled voice, looking past his mother warily. “It’s really bad. I’m sorry. It was a fight with Cerys Thicknesse’s friend. And she was there too. She’s going to tell her dad.”

Mr McLaggen freezes. For a moment, you think someone might have hit him with a body bind curse. “Cerys…? You can’t be serious.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. Her friend was someone we went to school with and he -” he hesitates.

“He called me a mudblood,” you finish for him. Mrs McLaggen lets out a shocked shudder but Mr McLaggen just clenches his jaw.

“Cormac,” he says seriously, glancing at you. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

He still doesn’t sound angry - just worried.

McLaggen removes the piece of fabric from his eye to look at his dad properly.

“Dad, I’m... I know I’ve made things difficult for you at work- ”

“Tell me everything - it’s imperative that I know all the details.”

McLaggen launches into the story, explaining what happened at the pub while his parents listen intently. When he gets to the part about Flint calling you ‘mudblood’, Mr McLaggen’s knuckles turn white. You fill in the gaps where Cormac’s memory is slightly hazy and Mrs McLaggen looks faint when you tell them about Cerys putting him in a body bind curse so Flint could hit him unarmed.

“And then we apparated here,” McLaggen finishes eventually. “But I still don’t know what they meant about Azkaban.”

“That’s where I come in,” says Mr McLaggen, taking off his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief from his pyjama pocket. “I’ve been trying my damndest for months to prevent something called the ‘Muggle-born Registration Commission’ coming to pass. You might have read in the Prophet this morning that it’s all but confirmed. And Rufus Scrimgeour didn’t come to work today. I fear the worst - it’s only a matter of time until they announce the Ministry has fallen.”

“Fallen? Dad, you mean-“

“Scrimgeour is either missing or dead. But the outcome will be the same.”

He says it matter-of-factly but you can see the pain in his green eyes, so strikingly similar to his son’s when he puts his glasses back on. They were good friends. Such good friends they spent Christmas together. And now he was gone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your father came home from work early to tell you. And when the two of you didn’t come back right away from tryouts, we assumed it had gone well and you’d be down the road at the pub,” says Mrs McLaggen. “We wanted to let you both have one last day of…” she trails off. You understand. Those precious couple of hours when all your dreams had come true were almost perfect. They wanted you to have that moment. 

“And the Muggle-born registration commission?” asks McLaggen, extending his hand to take yours and gripping it tightly. “What does it mean?”

“All Muggle-borns will soon be asked to register officially with the Ministry so the source of their magic can be investigated.” 

“The source?” Your face screws up in confusion.

“Unless you can prove that you have at least one close wizarding relative, the commission deems that you must have obtained your magical power illegally and you’ll be put on trial. But these will be sham trials - any Muggle-borns who present themselves will be arrested.” 

“Well, we’ll just say you’re my sister or something,” says McLaggen defiantly.

“Cormac, there’s no way- ” you start but Mr McLaggen beats you to it.

“You and I both know that everyone at the Ministry knows our family. And therein lies our problem with your altercation with Cerys,” Mr McLaggen looks at you. “I had made sure your name was erased from the record of recent Hogwarts graduates. But if Cerys knows, I’m sure she’ll make sure her dad adds your name to the list again.”

Mr McLaggen had erased your name. Now you understand why he couldn’t look you in the eyes when you met - he was putting his career and his entire family at risk to keep you safe. Your heart sinks realising that it was all for nought. McLaggen groans and rests his head in his hands. “Shit.”

Mrs McLaggen makes a disapproving noise at his language but she touches his shoulder gently.

“It’s not your fault, Cormac,” you say. “Flint knew I was Muggle-born.”

“Realistically, it was only a matter of time,” says Mr McLaggen. “But I thought you’d be safe here for a while. Now we’ll need to move swiftly and carefully so as not to draw attention to ourselves.”

“Dad, can’t you stop it from the inside? When I start working at the Ministry we could do it together,” says McLaggen bracingly, trying to sit upright in his chair. 

“I’ve tried to do everything I can to stop it already. And with Scrimgeour gone, we need to be seen to be cooperating. I have a feeling Dolores Umbridge will be keeping a close eye on me after your involvement with Dumbledore’s Army last year. She knows I have a son who’s sympathetic to the resistance.”

Cormac groans again. Between his actions and your presence, the two of you have put McLaggen’s family at risk.

“I should go,” you decide out loud. “You heard Flint, Cormac. It’s not safe for any of you if I’m staying here.”

The three of them protest immediately but Mr McLaggen protests the loudest and everyone turns to listen to him.

“No. The two of you can go to your Uncle Tiberius’s first thing tomorrow. When things settle, we’ll join you. But who knows how long that will take.”

“I need to be with my parents.”

“They’re only in danger if you’re with them. The Ministry doesn’t care about Muggles who have produced magical children - only the witches and wizards themselves,” says Mr McLaggen solemnly. “The best thing you can do to protect them is to keep your distance, write to them and pretend everything is as it should be.”

You feel your eyes welling up. Being brave doesn’t come easily to you the way it seems to come to Cormac and his family, so you shut your eyes and nod solemnly, hoping to stave off the tears.

Just this afternoon you were about the join the Holyhead Harpies. Now you’re going into hiding. You were going to move to Scotland near your parents. Now you’re not sure when you’ll see them again.

“How about I make us some tea?” asks Mrs McLaggen. “And then we can all get some rest.”

McLaggen nods resignedly and Mrs McLaggen conjures a teapot from thin air. You watch numbly as the teapot busies itself, filling three china teacups with the hot liquid before one of the cups slides in front of you.  

“Something stronger than tea for you, darling,” says Mrs McLaggen, conjuring two small cups and pouring Skele-Gro into one. “And something to help you sleep through the pain.” She pours a purple potion that you recognise as a sleeping draught in the other cup. McLaggen drinks the Skele-Gro with a grimace and goes to pick up the other cup.

“Not here. I’m not carrying you unconscious upstairs, you great lump,” Mr McLaggen admonishes.

“Oh, right. Yeah,” says McLaggen sheepishly.

As you drink your steaming hot cup of tea McLaggen screws his face up.

“You alright, McLaggen?”

“Yeah, it’s just the Skele-Gro. It’s definitely kicking in.”

He eventually manages to stand up and Mrs McLaggen tells you pointedly that the guest bedroom is next door to Cormac’s room. The two of you bid his parents goodnight before slowly making your way upstairs as McLaggen grips onto the bannister and you carry the small cup of sleeping draught carefully.

“This is my room.” He nods at the door and you open it, letting him in.

There’s no need for a bed to be pushed up against the wall for space in here. His four-poster sits in front of an airy bay window overlooking the vast moonlit grounds outside. With a pained exhale he sits on the edge of the bed.

“This is adorable,” you say, picking up a framed photo of a children’s Quidditch team on his bedside table. “Which one are you?”

“Wait for it,” he sighs. A small boy on a broom cuts through the group and the rest of the team scatters.

“That makes more sense,” you giggle, watching an eight-year-old McLaggen causing chaos. “It’s very cute.”

He shakes his head. “I had meant to tidy that away before you came to visit.”

“I used to think you were tough, McLaggen. This is much better,” you say, replacing the picture on the table.

“I’ve been in a pub fight today. I think that’s pretty tough.”

You sit beside him on the bed and look at his blood-stained t-shirt.

“I’ll help you get this off.” He winces as you help him take it off over his head. You help him undress and arrange his pillows so he can lie back comfortably.

“I’d hoped you’d be taking my clothes off in here under different circumstances,” he says, a little weakly. And despite his injuries, he still manages to give you an arrogant smile that makes you melt.

“Well, I still get to enjoy the view,” you shoot back with a grin as you pull the feather-down duvet over him.

“Sleep in here tonight.” He grips your hand as you smooth out the quilt and those green eyes look at you beseechingly.

“Your parents have been so good to me - I need to respect their wishes. But I’ll stay here til you fall asleep,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. He leans into your touch when you stroke his face. His stubbly chin somehow feels as comforting against your palm as your own touch reassures him. “Drink up.” You pass him the sleeping draught.

He does so and you trace your thumb over his healed lip, wiping away the purple liquid.

“Still handsome. Your dad was right - I did do a good job with your nose.”

He exhales softly and you see his eyelids getting heavier.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he says sleepily.

You’re not annoyed at him. It would be hypocritical of you to criticise him for being hot-headed and getting into a fight. You’d have done the same in his position. And yes, it was awful - you’ve never been so scared. But McLaggen would go to the ends of the earth for you. And you for him.

“Don’t be sorry. You were standing up for me.”

“Not that -“ He stifles a yawn. “I’m sorry… that you have to… go into hiding.”

You’re trying not to think about your dreams of playing for the Holyhead Harpies shattering into a million pieces. 

“I’m just glad we’re together.”

You look sadly at the photo of the little quidditch team. McLaggen zooms in and out of frame in his yellow robes.

“You never told me you were a Wimbourne Wasps fan.”

When he doesn’t reply you look back to see he’s fast asleep - dead to the world. You kiss him on the head and inhale deeply. The beautiful, comforting smell of amber and jasmine calms all of your senses. Everything has gone wrong. But it’ll all be alright in the end.

Just then an urgent clanging sound rings, echoing through the vast hallway outside. You hear Mr and Mrs McLaggen running into the hallway downstairs, their voices raised in panic but Cormac doesn’t even stir.

You wrench your wand from your pocket and leap off the bed and out of the door. When you look over the bannister, you see the giant armillary sphere spinning wildly, the glowing stars burning red.

“The gate?” Mrs McLaggen asks her husband, colour draining from her face.

“Oh no,” you whimper and they look up at you.

You were so encumbered helping Cormac and carrying your belongings that you didn’t shut the enchanted gate behind you. And you can tell by their panic that the gate had some sort of protective enchantment.

Mr McLaggen grabs his wife’s shoulders “I’m sorry.”

He spins around and points his wand at you.

“Expelliarmus!” 

Your wand flies from your hand before you even realise what’s happening. Mrs McLaggen shrieks and backs into the wall in terror, away from her husband.

“Gregor!” calls a voice from the front doors. “I’ve received word you’re harbouring a Muggleborn.” A man with long black hair and a pointed silver beard storms through the entryway, accompanied by two others who you assume to be Aurors.

“She’s upstairs, Thicknesse. We’ve got her!” Mr McLaggen calls back.

Fuck.

Chapter 12: Cold, Hard Facts