#it's been sitting in my dafts for an entire year... why am i like this?

[theartofnieriel]

Even heroes and villains need a day off. 

When the two couples incidentally find themselves on the same beach, they decide to bury the hatchet for the day and enjoy their vacation.

-

reblog, don’t repost. thank you

[fandomsaligninstories]

Year Two: A Bit of Draco

Chapter List

WC: 1,405

10th November, 1992, Tuesday

As it would turn out, the entirety of the Hogwarts staff was quiet about the latest petrification. That didn't stop the students from talking, though.

Word had gotten around that the boy, Colin Creevey, had been petrified. More than half of the student body was afraid, worried about who could be next. Colin, as had been revealed, was muggle-born, so rumours and discussion over the Heir had started becoming louder and harder to ignore.

Violet remained solid on her stance; neither Harry or Draco were the Heir. By Tuesday morning, she found herself defending both boys to her friends. Most, if not all, of the Hufflepuffs were convinced it was Draco. Though a few, including Hannah and Ernie Macmillan, thought it was Harry.

The more time went on, the more Violet grew frustrated with her friends. They began to argue over the subject, to the point that Professor Sprout had to separate the girls in Herbology that morning. They didn't speak at all during lunch, and Potions class was uncomfortable as Violet, Hannah, and Aimee had been paired up for the day.

By the time Violet arrived at the library at three that afternoon for her lesson with Draco, she was in a sour mood. She could hardly stand to be around anyone else, as her frustration was beginning to overwhelm her and she was worried she'd lash out at someone.

Draco was already sitting in the back of the library, at the same table as Friday. He was looking over the assignment they had due in Astronomy later that evening when Violet stomped up to the table, throwing her bag onto an empty chair. He looked up, startled. He watched as she sat in the chair across from him, her scrunched up face telling him just what sort of mood she was in.

He hesitated a moment before asking, "Want to talk about it?"

She looked at him then, her face relaxing slightly, "Surely you don't want to hear about my troubles."

"Not really," He leaned back, willing himself to appear nonchalant, "But I don't want your bad mood to affect your tutoring me.”

She rolled her eyes, "Unless you can convince my friends that neither you or Harry is the Heir of Slytherin so they'll stop arguing with me, there's nothing you can do to help."

Draco had to recite the words in his mind several times to convince himself she'd actually said them. Then, when he finally let the words sink in, his posture straightened and he stared at the girl in shock.

"What's that look for?" She asked, glancing at him as she pulled out a few books and notes for their lesson.

He still wasn't fully convinced he'd heard what he thought he did, "You... You argued with your friends? About me?"

"Well, you certainly aren't defending yourself, now are you?" She snapped.

"You defended me? To your friends?"

Violet finally focused her attention on him at his dumbstruck tone, his expression matching.

"Right, sorry. I forgot, I'm supposed to hate you and claim you're evil, or whatever." She rolled her eyes, "I defended Harry too. Despite everything, I don't believe either of you are the Heir. You might both be a bit daft, but I don't think either of you is capable of releasing a monster that's petrifying muggle-borns."

Draco couldn't get over it. This girl- a girl he'd insulted for the past year and a half- had defended him. She'd fought with her friends to claim his innocence.

"Why would you do that?" His tone was harsh, "For all you know, I am the Heir. Maybe I did open the Chamber of Secrets, hoping it would eradicate the school of you filthy-"

"Are you finished?" Violet interrupted, pretending his words didn't sting, "We've only got a few hours before dinner, and we have Astronomy tonight, so I'd really like to get some studying done."

Draco blinked dumbly at her. She really didn't believe he could be the Heir? Godric knows half the school was convinced it was him. The entire Slytherin house all but celebrated him for it. He couldn't find the will to keep arguing with her, though. For whatever reason, he knew that it was pointless, that nothing he could say would poison her against him.

For the entire session, Violet had to ignore the fact that Draco was staring at her. There was no malice in his eyes, only hesitant curiosity. She could tell her words had shaken him, but she wasn't sure why. Had no one ever believed him to be anything other than evil before? Was she truly the first person to believe he was innocent? The questions nagged at her for the rest of the evening.

━━━━━━⊱༻ ༺⊰━━━━━━

The rest of the week was just as awful. Between not talking to her friends, the other houses gossiping, and any class shared with Slytherins, Violet was feeling more and more alone. The only person she could really talk to was Cedric, who was adamant in not taking sides, and even talking to him was hard.

Whenever Violet would complain about Hannah and Aimee picking a fight with her, Cedric would simply tell her to "give them time". Well, she didn't want to give them anymore time, she wanted her friends back. Unfortunately, she wasn't ready to forgiven them for how rude they'd been about Draco.

She spent quite a bit of time thinking about why she felt so protective about the boy. She rationalized it as he has no one who stands up for him, aside his housemates, and even they do it for all the wrong reasons. She truly believed he was innocent, no matter how often he claimed to hate muggle-borns or how foul he spoke of them.

During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Violet was forced to sit in the back of the class, alone, as she didn't feel comfortable sitting next to her friends. Draco, who sat at the table in front of her, looked back at her frequently.

She kept her head down the entire hour, her focus on the book in front of her. Something for Herbology he guessed, judging by the drawings of plants on the cover. She often had a Herbology book on her, reading whenever she had the time. He'd noticed that the previous day, during History of Magic, when she had the Herbology book sat in her History book, promptly ignoring Professor Binns.

Draco was beginning to notice more and more about the girl. He, like Violet, wasn't sure why he held a particular fascination for the girl. Somehow, no matter where they were, his attention would find her. He tried not to think about it, but as he found himself watching her in D.A.D.A, he wondered about her.

He wondered if she was still fighting with her friends over him. He wondered if she continued to stand up for him, no matter how many insults he hurled at her. He wondering why she didn't hate him, when so many others did.

Draco decidedly didn't like how sad and angry she'd been all week. He hated that he felt this way, especially over some Hufflepuff who was likely only helping him because she pitied him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the unfamiliar ache out of his chest when he thought about it…

When he thought about how he'd seen her crying in the hallway before Astronomy the previous night, after her friends ignored her on their way into the tower. About how she barely ate at meals, and how the table was so quiet when she sat down. About how she'd become so quiet whenever someone would try to talk to her, especially that odd Ravenclaw girl with long, white-blonde hair. Or, the worst of all, when he'd find her staring at him, with glassy, absent eyes. That he hated most of all.

Draco didn't know how to handle this new feeling. He couldn't even identify it; he knew it wasn't anger or resentment. No, he'd felt those often throughout his childhood. It wasn't disappointment or sadness, something else he was used to. It wasn't jealousy or envy, as he certainly didn't want to be in her place. So what was it?

His answer would come later in the evening, when he was on his way to the library for their tutoring lesson.

━⊱༻ ༺⊰━

TAGLIST:

@stellarlune-love

[rpmemes-galore]

disney’s treasure planet ... sentence starters

“What future?”

“Was it worth it?“

“I'll make you proud.“

“She's lost her mind!“

“There you go! Poetry.“

“I don't wanna lose you.“

“Mom’s gonna love this...”

“I say we kill them all now.“

“Playing games... are we?“

“Why, you impudent little...!“

“You have... wonderful eyes.”

“That's all they were; stories.“

“Go ahead! Slice him, dice him!“

“Don't ever let me do that, again.”

“Now at last, we hear some sense.“

“Okay, okay! You're both grounded!“

“So, uh, how'd that happen anyway?“

“Mmm! Delightfully tangy, yet robust.“

“But, he knew the risks, as do we all.“

“Yeah. Too bad my nose works just fine.”

“A ludicrous parcel of driveling galoots...”

“Don't you remember? All those stories?“

“Just a lifelong obsession... I’ll get over it.”

“Hit your head there pretty hard, didn't ya?“

“I don't know what to do, I get so flustered.“

“You give up a few things, chasing a dream.“

“We were better off on the exploding planet!”

“Why? You got something to hide, bright-eyes?“

“Oh, shut up. You know I don't mean a word of it.”

“Oh, don't be daft. You've been very helpful. Truly.“

“Hey, mister? Hey, mister, you're okay in there, right?“

“I mean, I am a doctor, but I'm not that kind of doctor.“

“I'm fluent in ‘flatula’. Took two years of it in high school.”

“I'm just sorry I couldn't have been... more helpful to you.“

“I just don't want to see you throw away your entire future!“

“I gotta find a place to hide, and there's pirates chasing me.”

“Aw, he took a shine to me. We've been together ever since.“

“I really, really, really, really want to go. And it's the right thing.“

“No. He was more the taking-off-and-never-coming-back sort.“

“Oh, pirates! Don't get me started on pirates! I don't like them.“

“With the greatest possible respect... zip your howling screamer.”

“All that talk of greatness? Light coming off my sails? What a joke.“

“Ah, I've got some plans... to make people see me a little different.“

“Yes, yes. No, I mean, I understand, but, um, co-couldn't we just---?“

“You can keep that kind of flim-flammery for your spaceport floozies.”

“Look, if you're gonna come along, you're gonna have to stop talking.“

“I don’t know... they weren't exactly singing my praises when I left home.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I was never much good at games... Always hated to lose.“

“You won't so much as eat, sleep, or scratch your BUM without my say-so!“

“Without the map we're dead. If we try to leave we're dead. If we stay here...“

“You're as trim and as bonnie as a sloop with new sails and a fresh coat of paint!“

“Are you saying this because it's the right thing... or because you really wanna go?“

“It's totally preposterous, traversing the entire galaxy alone... that’s why I’m going with you.”

“Like it or not, I'll be pounding a few skills into that thick head of yours to keep you out of trouble.”

“They're... How did I describe them? I said something rather good this morning before coffee.”

“You got the makings of greatness in you, but you got to take the helm and chart your own course!”

“Look at you! Glowing like a solar fire. You're something special. You're gonna rattle the stars, you are!”

“He's a-comin'. Can ya hear 'im? Those gears and gyros, clickin' and whirrin' like the devil, himself!”

“Didn't your pop ever teach you to pick your fights a bit more carefully? Your father not the teachin' sort?”

“I know that I keep messing everything up. And I know...that I let you down. But this is my chance to make it up to you.“

“I should never have listened to that pushy two-headed saleswoman... this one said it fit, that one said it was my color...”

“Is it that your body is too massive for your teeny-tiny head, or is it that your head is too teeny-tiny for your big fat body?“

“Look, don't you get it?! I screwed up! I mean, for two seconds, I thought that maybe I could do something right, but --- !”

“Whatever you heard back there, at least the part concerning you, I didn't mean a word of it. If that bloodthirsty lot thought I had gone soft, they'd have gutted us both.“

“This should be a wonderful opportunity for the two of us to get to know one and other. You know what they say. ‘Familiarity breeds...’, um, well, ‘contempt’. But, in our case...”

“I mean, I am a doctor, but I'm not that kind of doctor. I have a doctorate, it's not the same thing. You can't help people with a doctorate. You just sit there and you're useless!“

“And when the time comes you get the chance to really test the cut of your sails, and show what you're made of! Well, I hope I'm there, catching some of the light coming off you that day.“

[luxwritesfanfic]

Don’t Take The Money

Poor reader thought it would end up being a normal Sunday but that must’ve been the mix of bleach and Pinesol fumes getting to their head. Or, the one where reader finds out they have more in common with the other woman in Sherlock’s life than they thought and Sherlock has an aneurysm at the revelation. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were just waking up when Sherlock was moving around the bedroom trying to pack his overnight bag. You groaned at the noise of drawers being opened and hangers jostled and rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Sherlock? You’re leaving?”

He stopped in his tracks back towards the closet and moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. He looked down at you with fondness that so many people thought he was incapable of feeling and as always, it made your heart swell. Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, you relished in his undivided attention.

“A case was brought to my attention. I won’t be gone for long, it’s a few towns over.” He insists, trying to ease your worries before they arise.

Although you’d miss him, it never did anyone any good when Sherlock was bored. He needed something to keep him occupied and you needed time to clean up the drywall shrapnel that constantly covered the couch due to the boredness. It would give you the opportunity to deep clean the flat and the idea wasn’t so bad.

“Is John going too?” Sherlock nodded. You don’t know why you asked, they always worked together.

You turned your head to kiss his palm and sat up to get out of bed. “Okay. I’ll make you breakfast before you guys leave. Nobody likes train food anyway.”

Sherlock moved to help you stand, one of the smiles he reserved just for you gracing his lips. “You take excellent care of me. But you should know, you don’t have to be useful for this to mean something to me.”

He caught you off guard, but he usually did when he read you like a book. Your whole life you’d made yourself useful and you weren’t sure if people liked you for you or for the fact that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them. You would do anything and everything for Sherlock and it didn’t have anything to do with being useful, honestly. You loved him dearly and you couldn’t imagine treating him like you felt anything less than that. You couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Omelettes or pancakes?”

—

Your shirt was soaked from washing the dishes and you smelled like a mixture of bleach and formaldehyde from scrubbing the fridge clean and removing the severed head that took up the space where your coffee creamer should be. You had done more loads of laundry than you could count, bleached the bloodstained tub from Sherlock’s latest pig quest, the entire flat smelled like Bahama breeze and you couldn’t be more content. The boys weren’t due back for a day or two so you figured you’d spend some time with Mrs. Hudson when you were done and see if you could meet up with Bucky and Greg for lunch. When you passed the kitchen on your way to your bedroom to change, you decided that this may be the only chance you ever get to clear off the dining room table. Sherlock’s science equipment had overrun it and you figured it wouldn’t hurt if you straightened it up just a bit.

You were in the midst of cleaning out Sherlock’s beakers when you heard the knock on the door. Figuring that John would have posted on his blog that they weren’t currently taking clients because they were on a case, you expected to see Mrs. Hudson and the mop she was letting you borrow. You cracked the door just enough to see who was on the other side and was surprised to see an older woman holding a plate of baked goods who wasn’t Mrs. Hudson.

“Hi... how can I help you?”

The woman in question’s eyes lit up at the sight of you and you weren’t sure why. She smiled and gestured to the platter in her hands. “Is Sherlock Holmes here?”

She must be a client, you thought. Shaking your head, you responded, “No, sorry! The boys off on a case. I’m a friend of theirs. Is there something I can help you with?”

She was looking past you into the flat and you weren’t sure what she was looking for. “Do you mind if I come in? I could really use a cup of tea. And I wanted to drop these cookies I made for Sherlock off.”

You looked at what she was holding and decided it wouldn’t really hurt to let her in, and the cookies looked amazing. Sherlock must have helped her in some way.

“Sure, come on in. Sorry about my clothes... I’ve been doing some spring cleaning.” You stepped aside and let her in. “So, are you a client of his?”

She went to place the platter on the table and you were excited that it was already worth cleaning off the table. “Not quite. I’ve known him his whole life and have loved him even longer.” She turned and smiled at you, seeing through you in a way that seemed eerily close to Sherlock.

You hummed, taking in her answer. Sherlock didn’t talk much about his friends, so you weren’t surprised that you never heard of her.

“Just a minute, I’m gonna change.”

You excused yourself to the bedroom where your phone was charging on the bed. After sending Sherlock a quick text that someone who wasn’t a client was here for him, you dug around in the closet for something clean and more appropriate.

The lady didn’t really seem like a threat and you were sure if it came down to it, you’d be able to protect yourself. You could chuck the skull on the mantle if need be, it was a hard hitter.

When you returned, she was wandering around the flat and looking at all of the pictures of you, Sherlock, and John that you’d recently framed and put out.

“You and Sherlock, you’re close, yes? Tell me about him. It’s been so long.” She was holding a picture that you took of you two in the back of a taxi. Sherlock was on his phone but you thought his hair looked extra good and the golden hour light made him look like an angel so you had to take the picture.

“Yeah, I mean. He’s a seriously great person. A brilliant detective, he’s so smart. He helps all these people for free, and he never complains if they don’t offer him anything. He hates when I tell him he’s a godsend but who else would do that? Um... he’s really funny, probably one of the funniest people I know. You just have to keep up with his humor. It can be kind of dry, but it’s there. He’s one of the most loyal people there is and he’d do anything for the people he cares about.”

It was so easy for you to speak so highly of him. It was like second nature.

“He can be stubborn sometimes, and he can be a little more blunt than he needs to be but... he’s amazing. There’s no other way to explain him, really. He’s got a light that comes from him that rivals the sun and I don’t think it could ever be dimmed.”

She turned back to you and slowly broke out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen someone wear. “You really love my son.”

“Your son?” You blinked, unsure of what was going on. You really started to look at the woman in front of you and you realized Sherlock had her eyes. A complete copy and paste. “Oh my God, you’re Sherlock’s mom. I never even introduced myself. I’m Y/N, a friend of-”

“You’re not his friend, dear, and I’m not blind. Old age takes a lot from you, but I could never miss the way my son shines. And you... you see it too.” She walked up to you, still holding the picture frame in her hands. “You love my son in a way that no one else has. Let me tell you all about him.”

—

You couldn’t stop laughing.

Sherlock’s mom had brought over tons of scrapbooks and old pictures that she had acquired over the years, and you had a feeling she knew you were here alone before she even knocked on the door. Mycroft, probably. You spent the whole day getting to know each other and taking a stroll down memory lane with her telling you all about Sherlock as a kid and how it was growing up with two geniuses as sons. She even gave you a copy of one of Sherlock’s high school pictures that you were going to cherish forever. She seemed so happy to have someone to talk to and assured you that spending time with you was the closest she had felt to Sherlock in a long time.

You insisted that she stay and let you make dinner, but she was as equally stubborn as Sherlock and ordered you takeaway as her treat. You tried to argue but she was having none of it. “My God, you scrubbed this whole flat clean. I’m not going to let you dirty your dishes. How does Chinese sound?”

—

Sherlock barreled up the steps with all the force he could muster in his legs and rushed in to see you, perfectly fine and all in one piece, having dinner with his mother.

“Sherlock!” You both exclaimed, his mother full of excitement and you full of worry.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, standing up from your end of the couch. “I thought you were on a case? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve been texting and calling you all day! You’re that daft that you couldn’t text back once all this time?” He’s still out of breath and he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. His tone is exasperated and you could hear the mix of anxiety and relief in his voice as he’d yet to acknowledge his mother. She seemed perfectly content to sit back and watch the situation unfold, amusement at her son’s unusual outburst gracing her features.

“My phone was dead! And then I put it on the charger and I forgot about it once your mom came, by the way!” You went to the bedroom and retrieved your phone to find a dozen missed texts and calls.

Probably just a client. SH

11:07 AM

Are you sure it’s not a client? SH

11:43 AM

Are they still there? SH

1:00 PM

Missed Call

1:17 PM

Missed Call

2:03 PM

Call me back. SH

3:26 PM

Y/N, I’m on a case. Call me back. SH

3:44 PM

Missed Call

4:13 PM

Is everything alright? SH

4:52 PM

Missed Call

5:08 PM

Missed Call

5:10 PM

Missed Call

5:12 PM

I’m boarding the train now and I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry. SH

5:21 PM

Sherlock followed after you, still without ever acknowledging his mother, and shut the door after himself. With his palms braced against the wooden door, he tried to ease the tension out of his bones through a deep breath as he watched you check your phone. He wasn’t worried about the case at all. It was mostly solved and what little was left John could do with ease. He felt the weight of the missed calls in his stomach like lead and the three hour train ride that he couldn’t curse to defy time any quicker. He had plenty of enemies and you had virtually none, so there would be no reason to think you’d hesitate to assist anyone who came to his door, especially if it was in the name of helping him. He thought he’d walk into a crime scene and he couldn’t shake those images out of his head.

You got up from the bed and walked over to him, reaching to wrap one arm around his neck and to take his hand in yours in the other. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then to his chin, over his eyelids, his nose, and then lastly you met his lips, murmuring “I’m sorry” in between every kiss. He didn’t usually voice it, but you had known him long enough to know when he was upset. He relaxed into your touch as he always did and you pulled away from him long enough to pull on the ends of his scarf. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Let me help. We got takeaway for your mom and I but we can share mine. I got what you like anyway.”

He let you pull his scarf and jacket off and you were delighted to see he wasn’t really mad with you. You hang his jacket on the closet door and by the time you turn back to face him, he’s already making his way back out to the living room. Following after him, you see his mother gesturing him to come over.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told Mycroft to tell you I was away on business.” He was messing with the cuffs on his sleeves but his question was directed at his mother with unmistakable intent. She tsked at him, and you began to see even more similarities in their mannerisms.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother, William. I was spending some time with your darling partner here and I don’t even get a kiss or a hug?” She began gathering her belongings and threw her purse over her shoulder. You weren’t happy to see her go.

You did peak up at the name. “William? Your name is William?”

Sherlock groaned, ignoring you completely. You swore you could see a blush dusting his cheeks. In no time he was at the door, holding it open for his mother. “It’s getting rather late, don’t you agree? Father must be wondering where you are. Be sure to pay Mycroft a visit the next time you’re in town. I assure you, he always has time for family.”

She turned to you and blew you a kiss. “I had a great time with you today, I hope you’ll manage to bring Sherlock home more.”

Walking over to Sherlock, she paused to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, “I know you know what you could lose here. So be sure you don’t, Sherlock.”

Before she totally stepped out of the flat, she turned around one last time. “Promise me you’ll come home soon. Your father and I miss you dearly.”

“I heard you the first ten times. Goodnight and safe travels, mother.” Sherlock shut the door before his mother could get another word and your shoulders slumped.

“Hey, that was your mom! She’s really nice. We had a good day.” You started to clean up the coffee table and take the dishes into the kitchen. You couldn’t understand Sherlock’s relationship with his family but you were sure there was a lot of things you didn’t know. Still, it was nice to have a chance to bond with your (maybe one day) future family. It was then that you realized that Sherlock never said anything when his mother mentioned you being his partner. You two never really officially defined what you were, so to see him not object to an actual title made you feel all warm inside.

“No, you had a good day. I was trying to work a case and clear a man’s name while trying to figure out if I’d come home to you kidnapped or dead.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, watching you from the doorway. You looked back at him as you dropped the dishes into the sink and let out a sigh. You hated the fact that you let him down.

“I have to go back tomorrow to tie some loose ends with John. If you come with me, I have a feeling I’ll get over it a lot quicker.” His voice was quiet but full of mirth. He won’t hold this over your head, and you both know this, but if it makes him feel better you’ll follow him. You’d follow him to the ends of the Earth and off the edge if he lead you.

Sherlock pushed himself off of the doorway and walked towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

“So, you’re staying home tonight?” You swung around the  kitchen doorway and called out to the hall. You hadn’t even thought about Sherlock having to go back, and you couldn’t help but be excited that he would be there for you to fall asleep next to tonight. 

“You didn’t expect me to make the trip back at this hour, did you? Besides, I sleep better with you and it’s obvious that I don’t focus well if you’re not around, Which is why I need you to come with me tomorrow. It seems you owe me, anyway.” Sherlock takes a step back so you can see him in the bedroom doorway, and you can feel your heart in your throat.

He’s so beautiful, you think, all alabaster skin and lean muscle. He’s pulling a t-shirt over his head and you wonder if you could manifest a photographic memory long enough to commit him to memory. Of course he notices you staring, and you almost want to mention all the times you catch him staring at you but he changes the subject and opens the blankets for you and you shut up and follow him. You follow him and you love him and you wake up in the morning at the crack of dawn to run downstairs and order coffee from the shop next door before your train leaves, being sure to get them to write “William” on the cup. Sherlock doesn’t find this funny at all, but he still lets you fall asleep on his arm on the train ride there and doesn’t complain when his arm falls asleep right along with you.

He thinks that if this is the life his mother wished for him as a child, that would be one thing he could take off of his list of things she eventually needs to answer for. Because mothers know best, and when it came to you, she could have never been more right.

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Ik you've done something like this but can u pls do a smut were me, remus and Sirius are in a relationship and I'm remus's good girl and he's a soft dom with me but he's all strict w Sirius

Good girl and bad puppy

Or

Sirius getting wrecked and you treated like a princess

Enjoy darling <3

Warning: 18+

---

“You do know he loves me more right?” Sirius asked slowly, as if he was talking to a daft toddler.

“Shut up Sirius” you hissed, “I know you‘re doing it on purpose.”

You hid your head behind your book again, desperately trying to block out his annoying face.

“He loves me moreeee” Sirius sang, his voice breaking midway and you snorted.

“Yeah right, especially with that voice.”

Sirius grinned, his tipical eye-crinkling, teeth showing grin. It let you know that he did not mean anything he had said earlier. Both of the boys loved you just as much as you loved them.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you do behave every once in a while though.”

Sirius’ face fell, as if you just said the most ridiculous thing in all those years you’d know each other.

“And why would I do that?” He looked genuinely spooked.

“Because he would be nice to you as well?” you said slowly, this time him being the daft toddler.

His face was horrified as he yelled out with utter disgust in his voice. “That is absolutely outrageous! Why would I want Moony to be nice? Ew! You take your vanilla shit and leave me out of this mess-”

“Alright I get it! Jesus Christ, you need anger management!” You cut him off, angrily turning back to your book.

“Vanilla shit, huh?”

Sirius closed his eyes, silently cursing under his breath. Putting on an exaggerated smile he turned in his chair, hugging Remus around the waist. 

“Moony!” he said, overly cheery, “Oh I’ve missed you! Sit, sit.” Sirius ushered him to sit and gave you a pleading look. Caving, you put your book down.

“Hi Rem” you smiled and he leaned over to kiss you after he kissed Sirius.

“Hi sweetheart, what were you talking about?”

You shrugged, cheeks tinting pink. Fuck, you are a terrible liar.

“Oh um nothing. You know, the usual...” Your voice trailed off and Sirius nodded ethusiastically. 

“Exactly!”

Remus smirked and turned to Sirius, raising a brow. “So you were discussing how vanilla I am?”

Busted.

You immediately responded. “I didn’t say that, Sirius did!”

Sirius gaped at you, mouth opening and closing a few times before he spluttered, “You - You utter bit-”

“Padfoot.” Remus warned, expression turning strict instantly. Remus hated insults out of the bedroom.

Sirius turned to him, a pleading look in his eyes. “Moony, I swear I didn’t mean it like that!”

Remus tilted his head to his right. “How did you mean it Sirius?“

Now it was Sirius‘ turn to blush. „I just said that I like you being“ he cleared his throat and rushed the last part “um- roughwithme.“

Remus smirked at Sirius and nodded to himself.

„Bad puppy.“

Sirius melted.

---

„Moony?“ Sirius stuttered as Remus looked him up and down, a thoughtful look on his face.

„Can‘t decide if I want you to fuck her or if I want to fuck you...“ Remus said with a coy smile.

You bit your lip when you felt your cunt clench at his words, already wet from the way Remus was staring at the both of you. Like he just wanted to wreck you.

„I certainly wouldn‘t mind fucking her“ Sirius smirked, but Remus just hung his head and chuckled.

„I don‘t care if you mind Sirius.“

Whenever Remus said your boyfriends actual name you knew that the scene was starting. It was a warning, if you will.

You pinched his hand to make him shut up and for once he listened.

„What do you say pup?“ Remus looked at you, a gentle smile on his face when you shyly played with your fingers. „Tell Remmy what you want.“

„I want-“ you licked your lips exitedly „I want you to watch us fuck, Remmy.“

Remus‘ smile widened and he nodded his head. „If that‘s what my baby wants...“ He opened his arms and gave you the signal to start, leaning back on the chair to watch you. His two precious subs, both the most gorgeous beings in all of Hogwarts.

Sirius took the reigns and pulled you on his lap, lips eagerly smashing on yours and he kissed you sloppily. Your hands wandered under his shirt and you traced his soft skin with your fingertips, savoring his soft moans and shivers. He flipped you over, craling between your thighs and continued to kiss you soundly, hips grinding on yours. He slowed down, his clothed cock grinding over your bare cunt, slow and teasing.

“Stop showing off and fuck our girl.” Remus said between grittet teeth and Sirius smirked at the dom. Turning back to you he put your hands on the waistband of his boxers.

“Undress me” he drawled.

You tugged his boxers down and his hard cock sprang free, already flushed and leaking. You tried to wrap your legs around him and pull him close, but he blocked your attempts and forced you into a different position.

Your were on your hands and knees with your fae towards Remus when Sirius pushed in with a hard thrust, not even giving you a second to adjust before he pounded into you. You fell forward and let out moans and shrieks when he hit that spot inside of you over and over again. God, it felt so good. The veins of his cock were rubbing at your sensitive walls, his balls slapping your ass. The sight was obscene, being watched by one boyfriend as the other one just watched with a self-satisfied grin. Watching you get fucked like a slut.

Remus made his way over after a particular loud cry from you and took your face in both of his palms, thumbs smoothing over your flushed cheekbones. Your hands instantly clasped on his wrists for some stability.

He chuckled. “Look at my darling girl, getting fucked by our puppy, hm?” Both of you groaned at that, Sirius starting to get aggressive, fingers digging into your hips with one hand on your clit. 

“Ah there!” you gasped, thrusting back against him “Right there Siri please!”

Sirius growled low in his throat. “Oh? There?” He pushed so deep your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open. 

“Make my good girl cum, puppy.” Remus barked out, leaning in to swallow your moans.

“Yes, Sir.” 

Sirius pushed you further down with one hand between your shoulder blades and kept you there, adjusting his hips and oh. Hit punded your spot over and over again, his sweat dripping on your back as he fucked and fucked. 

“Is my beautiful girl gonna cum for her Remmy? Yes?”

You were gone at this point, babbling absolute nonsene as your desperately clawed at the sheets for some stability. 

“Cum, baby.”

You screamed out when your release hit you like a brick wall, your entire world turning white. Legs trembling, fingers shaking and your cunt clenched so tight Sirius was forced to stop moving. So full, you felt full to the brim. 

“Out, puppy.” Remus commanded and Sirius pulled out, sitting back on his knees, cock steadily leaking cum. Fuck, he had been so close. 

“Princess” Remus turned to you “Prepare our boy.”

You grinned and crawled over to the bedside table, pulling out a dildo. Sirius hated lube, the masochistic fucker said he loved the burn of the stretch. Remus sat down and pulled Sirius up until his back was resting against his chest and spread his legs, holding them up for you.

Remus kissed the side og his head and nipped at his ear harshly. “Don’t you dare cum, puppy.”

You pushed the dildo against Sirius lips and he spat on it, taking it in his mouth until it was completely wet. The dildo wasn’t exactly big, only a preperation before Remus fully stretched Sirius with his own cock.

You rubbed the tip against his tight hole and watched as he began to open up. Remus put his hands around his cock and bally, squeezing hard to keep him from cumming. Sirius let out a loud groand whe the tip slipped it, back arching with the delicious pain of the stretch. 

“You fucking slut” Remus mocked “Getting fucked with a fucking dildo like a whore. Thank her for pleasuring you!”

“Thank you!” Sirius cried out when you fucked him in a steady rhythm, the dildo gliding in with difficulty, making it feel oh so better.

You kissed his legs, biting at the flesh of his ass and went faster. You fucked him until his legs trembled and he couldn’t talk, before you ripped the dildo out. He chased you with his hips and begged shamelessly.

“Please no! Please Moony, please! I’m a good boy!”

Sirius was crying, his cock fucking hurt and his prostate throbbed with irritation of being yet again robbed from another orgasm. 

“Come here baby and wet my cock. Wanna fuck my little puppy.”

You took Remus in your mouth, suckling gently and wet him with your spit. He twitched at pulled away, too sensitive from watching you both the entire time without touching himself once. 

“Sit on his face.” Remus told you gently and you quickly straddled Sirius’ pretty face, effectively shutting him up by pressing your cunt on his mouth. Remus spit on Sirius’ hole, a degrading sight but Sirius relished in it, watching Remus push inside his tight clench.

Sirius nails scratched your thighs and he gladly tasted your pussy, his groans going straight to your clit. His tongue was everywhere, in your hole on your clit, sucking and slurping liek a starved animal. You were maoning loudly, your huips grinding on his face with sharp movements, hsi nose catching on your clit and making you cum for the second time. 

“Yes! Yes, lick it all up!” You cried out and gushed all over his mouth and Sirius whined, truly like a puppy, and lapped everything up diligently. You felt another pair of hands on your waist and Remus pulled you back, your tits pressed against Sirius chest and Remus fucked you.

Sirius was crying now, his third time being denied to cum, while you were getting your third in a row. 

“I can’t Remmy!” you shrieked “Please! Too much!”

Sirius and you were holding onto each other as Remus made a mess of you. He knew exactly what he was doing to reduce you to a blubbering mess. Giving Sirius nothing and you too much.

Sirius tugged you down to press a punishing kiss on your lips, angry that Remus treated you so gently and him like a slut. His teeth sunk into you bottom lip and you came again, falling against his chest. Remus growled and pulled out, jerking Sirius off in a fast pace and fucked into him deeply. With one hard thrust he came deep inside of Sirius, and Sirius shouted, voice raw as he finally came for the first time. His cum coated your fronts and Remus fucked his release inside of his tight clench, making it leak out from the sides.

“My precious loves” Remus cooed and kissed your cheeks. “So good f’me. Love you so much, c’mere.” 

Remus laid down in the middle, pulling you both to his chest and stroked your hair softly. You were a sticky mess, dried cum and sweat, but you didn’t care.

[hxlyhead-harpies]

Pink is the Color of Love (G.W.)

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Cursing

To say that your week had been bad would be an understatement. On Monday you had woken up too late to go to the Great Hall for breakfast which left you in an uncharacteristically bad mood. A bad mood that landed you in a two-hour detention with Snape, causing you to miss a quidditch practice at the behest of your captain. On Tuesday you’d left your charms essay on the couch in your common room, an excuse Flitwick didn’t believe. On Wednesday you’d snapped at a poor first year who had run into you in the halls, a moment that had been witnessed by none other than Professor Snape, a man you swore had it out for you. That little incident had cost Hufflepuff five points, which only further sullied your week. And on Thursday, a thread had begun to run on your uniform. And when you attempted to pull it off, nearly half of your sweater unraveled. So when you awoke on Friday morning, you prayed that the final day of the school week would go by uneventfully. So when the sun filtered its way through the curtains and forced your eyes open, you let yourself hope that today would be a good day.

And then you looked into the mirror.

You hear your shriek escape you before you even realize that you’re screaming. You furiously rub at your skin to no avail, hoping that you could somehow fix the predicament that you found yourself in.

“(Y/n) what’s the matter- oh my Godric,” your roommate says, sidling up beside you. You turn to look at her, angry hot tears forming in your eyes.

“So it’s that bad huh,” you ask sarcastically, your voice breaking partway through the sentence.

“(Y/n)... You’re pink,” she says, clearly at a loss for words. You chuckle darkly.

“Wow thank you, Michelle, I didn’t even notice,” you bite back. Michelle flinches at your words. You turn back to look into the mirror, assessing the damage that has been done. Michelle was right, you were pink. A very hot pink to be exact. Every inch of your skin had been replaced with the flaming hot color. You found yourself furiously rubbing against your skin once again, somehow deluding yourself into believing that it would somehow get rid of the pink. After a few moments of this, you turn back to Michelle, who is looking at you with nothing but pity in her eyes. You bite down on your lip hard, attempting to keep the tears at bay. Michelle pulls you into a gentle hug, wrapping her arms around you while you lay against her limply.

“What am I going to do?” you ask her, voice thick with emotion. She pulls back from you and holds onto your shoulders.

“You stay here today. I’ll tell our professors that you’re sick. Okay (Y/n)?” She says in a nurturing tone. You sniffle and wipe your nose.

“I don’t know Michelle. We have an exam in potions today and you already know Snape hates me. What if he won’t let me take it later? I can’t afford a bad grade in his class,” you reply. Michelle shakes her head slightly.

“Well, Snape’s an ass,” she says.

“Yeah, an ass that could fail me,” you retort, beginning to become frustrated. Michelle sighs, dropping her hands from your shoulder.

“Fine. But are you really going to go to class like that?” she asks.

“I guess I have to,” you say.

“I mean it has to wear off eventually. Or maybe Madame Pomfrey has an antidote or something, though I’m not sure she’d know how to fix this,” Michelle says, gesturing to you. You groan in frustration and fling yourself back onto your bed.

“Yeah I doubt she just keeps an antidote around for pink skin,” you say bitterly, running your hands over your face.

“Do you know who did this to you,” Michelle asks from her place by the mirror. You frown to yourself. You hadn’t thought about that yet, too caught up in your anger at your condition and your ruined week.

“I have no idea,” you reply, moving to prop yourself up on your elbows. “Who’d want to do this to me?” you question.

“Maybe that first year you almost hexed the other day,” Michelle said with a laugh. She snapped her mouth shut once she caught sight of your glare.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Well, obviously whoever did this to you got their materials from the Weasley twins. Zonkos doesn’t sell anything like this,” Michelle continues casually. You sit up with a start.

“Of course! Oh, Michelle, you’re a genius!” you practically yell, jumping up from your bed.

“Huh? I know but what did I do to deserve the title?” Michelle asks as you grab your wand from your nightstand. You smile at her mischievously.

“If the Weasley twins made whatever turned me pink, then they obviously have the cure,” you say as you quickly slip on your slippers. Michelle’s mouth forms an “O” as she realizes your plan. You shout a quick goodbye before heading out the door.

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

As you march down the halls towards the Gryffindor common room you find yourself lost in your thoughts and getting increasingly angry.

How dare they! Who gave them the right to mess with people’s lives for profit? You think to yourself as you near the large portrait that guards the room. Your frown deepens as the stress of your entire week envelope you. By the time you stand in front of the fat lady, you feel anger coursing through your veins like an uncontrollable wave.

“Password?” she asks, looking down on you with a wide-eyed expression.

“I don’t know the damn password just let me in!” you shout back at her, red hot anger overtaking you.

“Do you actually think I am going to let you in if you don’t know the password? Are you daft?” she responds haughtily. You feel you face flush (though considering your skin was already a deep shade of pink, you weren’t sure if anyone could tell) with rage.

“I swear to Merlin if you don’t let me in there right now I will rip down your frame with my bare hands! Do you understand me?” you yell back. You watch her expression morph into one of extreme shock before she is pushed open by a group of first years who appear to be on their way to breakfast. Your gaze snaps to them, watching as their eyes widen at the sight of your appearance. You quickly take advantage of the situation and shoulder your way into the common room. The portrait hole closes behind you with a bang, causing the students in the room to all to turn their attention to you. You glower at them all, not caring how you must’ve looked with your hot pink skin, pajamas, slippers, and extreme bed head.

“Where are they?” you growl, eyes shifting around the common room. An array of hands point to a couch on the far side of the room. You turn to look at the couch to see one twin sitting on it, his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. His face was twisted into an amused smirk as he took in your appearance. You began to stalk your way over to him, the other Gryffindors practically jumping out of your way. You arrive in front of him, the redhead still donning the same obnoxious expression.

“Weasley,” you say, seething.

“Speaking. How can I help you?” He replies, amusement lacing his voice.

“Give me the cure for whatever it is that you did to me,” you spit out.

“I’m sorry love but I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Fred Weasley I swear to-”

“It’s George actually,” he says from his spot down on the couch.

“I don’t give a damn which one of you this is! Just give me the antidote,” you scream. “I have had possibly the worst week of my entire life so I need you to give me the cure right now or so help me God,” you say, anger lacing every word. George at least has the decency to look guilty for a moment, but the look is quickly replaced with another overconfident smirk.

“I really am sorry but there’s nothing I can do,” he says, holding his hands up in front of him. You huff in anger before grabbing the collar of his uniform, pulling his up out of his sitting position to be eye to eye with you.

“George Weasley I do not care if there is nothing you can do. You will find some way to fix me or I swear on my life that I will castrate you!” you say through gritted teeth. George looks shocked for a moment before a grin spreads across his face.

“Promise?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. You frown, pulling him slightly closer to your face.

“Weasley do not test me,” you retort. George stares at you for a moment, smirking. He then looks over your shoulder at his younger brother.

“Ron? Go fetch Fred for me? And tell him to bring the antidote for the skin tinting potion,” he says with a smile. You release his uniform from your grip, stepping back slightly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says with a lopsided grin. You turn over your shoulder and see Ron scrambling up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. You glance around the common room and realize how many eyes are on you before crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from their gaze. You steal a quick glance at George only to see him still looking at you with that dumb smirk on his face. You attempt to scowl at him, but now that you have been made aware of the audience you garnered, you can’t quite muster it up. You look back down at your feet, mentally scolding yourself for running out of your dorm before you thought to change your clothes. If the scene you had just made wasn’t embarrassing enough, you were wearing an old tshirt for a muggle boyband and slippers shaped like rabbits. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

After what felt like hours but was likely only a few minutes Ron returned with another red head at his side.

“What is it George,” Fred asks, clearly still half asleep. George turns his gaze away from you and turns to his twin.

“Did you bring the antidote?” He asks. Fred rolls his eyes before producing it from the pocket of his robes.

“Yes George. Why do you need it?” he asks. George gestures to you before saying, “This young lady right here threatened to castrate me if I didn’t find her a cure.” Fred turns to look at you, seemingly just noticing your presence, before beginning to laugh. If your face could turn any pinker you were sure that it would.

“Oh Merlin I can’t believe that really worked!” Fred exclaims. “I really had my doubts about this potion but clearly I was wrong,” he says proudly. You flare your nostrils in annoyance.

“Weasley,” you say. “Can you please just hand over the antidote?” Fred taps his chin for a moment, as if in deep thought.

“I’m not sure. It’s against our company policy. After all we were paid good money for you to look like that,” he answers. You feel your expression shift into a glare before turning to look at George.

“George, you told me I would be getting the antidote,” you say.

“Hey, I never promised anything,” he says with his hands held out in front of him. You scowl at him.

“Do I need to remind you of the conversation we had a few minutes ago?” you ask. With that, George turns towards his brother with a smile.

“Fred, if my balls are in this much trouble I think we ought to give her the cure,” he states, crossing his arms. Fred gives him an incredulous look.

“George what are you-” Fred begins.

“Come on mate just give her the antidote,” George says, cutting off his brother. The twins stare at eachother for a second, appearing to have a silent conversation. Fred eventually sighs and gives you the bottle.

“Congratulations, you’ve become the first exception to our ‘no antidote’ rule. I hope you enjoy your day pink free,” he says in a slightly sarcastic tone. You smile triumphantly before grabbing the bottle.

“Thank you very much,” you reply as you examine the potion in your hand. You quickly look back up at the twins. You nod at them before turning around and making your escape towards the portrait hole. The other Gryffindors avert their eyes and pretend that they hadn’t been listening in on the whole conversation while the twins stare after you. After the portrait hole closes behind you Fred turns to face his brother.

“What the hell was that?” he asks. George continues to stare at the portrait whole, almost like he was in a daze.

“Huh?”

“I can’t believe you gave her the antidote! We had an agreement and that kid payed us for the potion so you can’t just go around curing people for free! What if hat kid wants a refund now or-”

“Freddie?” George says, interrupting his brother’s rant. Fred lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes Geroge?”

“I think I may have just fallen in love."

[lord-explosion-baku]

Keep Away

Yandere!Bakugou x reader

It’s a special occasion, so Bakugou decides to wine and dine you. It’s too bad for him that you’re intent on ignoring him.

Warnings: yandere, dark themes, lime, forced orgasm, minor food kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, light violence

A/N: I woke up at like three in the morning and decided to finish this. I saw a bad ending to a certain cyberpunk bl dating sim, and thought “would be kinda cool to be force fed cake,” but then it didn’t really turn into all that much cake feeding which is probably for the best. Who’s to say. It’s just kinda fun to say “it came to me during a cyberpunk bl dating sim bad end,” rather than, “it came to me in a dream.” Also, I’m so sorry if you read this and go “ew strawberry cake isn’t my jam. Belgium chocolate 5evah!!!!1!!” but if you do happen to like strawberry cake, I got you fam. 

“So you’re not talkin’ to me now, is that it?”

You keep your gaze low, careful not to even lock eyes with your captor—because no, you’re not talking to him, you’re not looking at him, you’re not even going to acknowledge his existence. It’s your verbal keep away. You’ve decided that it’s the worst possible punishment for Bakugou—ignoring him. You’ve tried just about everything: screaming at him, hitting him, crying to him, begging for your release, and it’s all given you nothing. You figure, why be anymore of a source for his entertainment?

“You should at least thank me for cookin’ you a proper meal.”

From across the candlelit table, Bakugou uncrosses his arms, glaring from the admittedly very well-made plate, to you. He clicks his tongue when you don’t respond, then moans around a mouthful of pad-see-ew, just like he knows you can’t stand.

“It’s so good, baby. Practically melts on my tongue…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at that. It would be different if it wasn’t his food he complimented, but that’s Bakugou for you. Insolent, prideful, and terrible.

Bakugou stabs his chopsticks into his plate. “You’re not wearing the dress I bought. Not good enough for you?”

You didn’t even try it on. You want to tell him, but that would only spur him on. Bakugou likes it when you challenge him. He always gets that stupid smirk on his face, that daring look in his eye—always like he’s ready to bend you over and fuck you into submission. More often than not, that’s what ends up happening.

“Your ass would look great in it,” he says before taking another mouthful. You can feel his crimson glower scorching your skin, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You can wear whatever you want, though. I want your ass even in those sweats.”

You exhale and lean back back in your chair. He really has to be so vulgar, doesn’t he? Well, that’s not gonna make you crack.

“Yeah, I won’t force you in it. Not yet, at least.” Bakugou grins at the thought, chewing loudly. “I wouldn’t mind playing a little dress up with my doll.”

Your lip twitches, and you hope he doesn’t see. You have to squeeze your thighs together and ignore impending thoughts of Bakugou’s hands on you—first tearing your clothes off, then slowly, sensually zipping that tight, black dress up. You can’t keep from imagining his lips grazing your back, hands running through your hair, him pressing into your backside…

“Need some water, babe? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Your eyes snap to Bakugou’s and your cheeks warm even more when you realize he’s just caught you fantasizing. At least he doesn’t know what you were thinking about. Christ, you could only imagine the field day he’d have with you if he found out you ever thought about him like that.

After you’ve spent plenty of time hating yourself for having these thoughts, you’ve come to the conclusion that it has to be natural. In a psyche class you’ve taken, you learned a bit about Stockholm syndrome, and though you’re sure you’re definitely not falling in love with your captor, it’s perfectly fine that you occasionally think about him in the lusty kinda way. Admittedly, he’s earned it with the amount of orgasms he’s given you since you’ve been taken. But he hasn’t earned your love. Definitely not.

Bakugou stands, folding his napkin onto the table, and walks over to the ice chest he has on standby. He’s wearing his red dress shirt, paired with that white floral vest and nice slacks. You want to know what the occasion is for, but you won’t ask. You’re definitely underdressed, and a part of you wishes you had put on that dress he picked out for you.

You close your eyes and empty your mind of such stupid thoughts.

“How about some champagne?” Bakugou flips a knife out and cuts the cork off with a pop!, making you jump a little bit. He glides over to you, puts his hand on your shoulder, leans in, and fills the crystalline flute sitting on the table. He smells like spice and that natural burnt toffee aroma he has. It’s so nice that you can’t help but lean into him just a teeny bit. And he notices.

“You’re gonna eat somethin’ for me, yeah?” he whispers lowly into your hair before kissing your temple. You freeze while he moves down your neck, brushing a finger along the opposing side of your face, coaxing your head to turn. “Or are you not in the mood for Thai? We can always skip straight to dessert.”  

Bakugou dips down to kiss you, but you turn so he misses and kisses your ear. He growls out a sigh and you clench your hands into fists. You’re waiting for it—for him to lose his cool. You don’t know why he’s trying to act kindly to you, but that’s sure to end at any moment, and when it does, he’s going to feel guilty. You’re planning on exposing him as the monster you’re always accusing him of being.

“I’m serious, I made cake,” he says, a slight edge in his voice. He twirls a finger around a strand of your hair, tugging it so you face him. “Your favorite. Strawberry cream frosting, and it tastes fucking fantastic.”

Bakugou’s gaze drops down to your lips before finding your eyes. “I could feed it to you—have you lick that sweet cream right off the tips of my fingers.”

Your scowl tightens on him. He smirks.

“Your lips always look the prettiest when they’re wrapped around something. I’m startin’ to really like that idea.”

“Why?” you bite out, because you can’t take it anymore. You’re either going to die from curiosity or die from embarrassment when he inevitably undresses you and finds out just how much his teasing gets to you, and you won’t let him have that.

Even still, Bakugou looks as triumphant as ever because you gave him what he wants: your attention.

“Why what, huh?”

“Why the dress!” You bark, resolve out the damn window. “The meal, the champagne, the cake?! Why are you trying to be so nice to me all of a sudden?”

“I’m not trying to be nice. I am nice.” Bakugou rolls his eyes as if he’s explaining something simple to a child.

“No, you’re not!” You insist. “You’re...you’re…” Shock sets in and your shoulders grow rigid. He couldn’t possibly be...but if he is...he’d be absolutely daft to think you’ll say yes. “You’re not proposing to me, are you?”

“Hah?” Bakugou’s eyes widen. You definitely caught him off guard, and you could melt from the steaming blaze in your cheeks. “You want me to put a rock on those pretty fingers of yours? Make an honest man out of me?”

“No! No!” You exclaim on a head shake. “I just thought...with the whole atmosphere-“

“Princess,” he interrupts, taking your hand into his. He brings the back of your wrist to his lips, and for a moment, you think you could be right about him proposing after all. At least, until he speaks again. “We ain’t gonna get hitched ‘til you’re good and knocked up—at least four months in, too. That way, there won’t be a chance in hell you can skip out on me.”

There won’t be a chance in hell he will knock you up with your IUD in, so good luck to him on that endeavor. It’s not like he doesn’t know about it, either. There’s a reason why he’s never been hesitant to enter you unwrapped. Although, considering what he just said, you don’t believe he’d be any different if the circumstances were different.

Your lips curl into a snarl. “Then what’s going on?!”

“You seriously don’t know?” He scoffs, then leads your hand to your champagne flute. Once you take it, Bakugou tells you he’ll be right back, and you down the drink. You let the bubbles wash down your throat and quickly take a bite of noodles before he sees. You sigh. They really do melt on your tongue. Bastard.

Before you know it, the faint smell of burning wics envelope your space, and all the lights in the room besides the candles on the table dim. Then, there’s a cake placed in front of you—pink, with intricate, white designs lining its frosted edges. You count the candles and there are exactly the same amount of years you’ve been on this earth, plus one—no, not plus one.

You look up to Bakugou for an explanation. He’s simply grinning down at you, looking proud.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Bakugou kisses the top of your head. “Make a wish.”

Absently, you blow the candles out, but you don’t make a wish, because your brain is too busy doing mental math. On your last birthday, you’d gone on a date with Hitoshi Shinsou. He took you to a cute, little café, bought you a coffee and a tiny cake. He’d ended the night with one of the shyest, sweetest kisses you’ve ever received. Not even four days later, Bakugou took you. You never got to thank Shinsou for that perfect day.

The hair on the back of your neck rises with the sudden realization that you’ve been with Bakugou for nearly an entire year. That’s one year of your life ripped away from you. One year where you haven’t made any progress achieving your dreams. One year that you’ll never get back.

“What’d ya wish for?” Bakugou asks, but you hardly hear him due to the scathing fury that rings in your ears and burns your back. You’re unsure of what you should say or how you should react; you already pulled the silent treatment and you think you’re far too livid to go zipping your lips again.

There’s only one thing you can do: go absolutely batshit crazy.

“I hate you!”

With a quick shuffle, the cake is splattered on the table, your plate flies across the room, and chopsticks are in your hand, aiming for Bakugou’s eyes. It’s too bad for you that Bakugou either expects it, or his reflexes are just so good that he catches you by the wrist before you can stab him. You’re immediately twisted around, chest on the table, arm pinned to your back, and his erection pressing into your ass.

“Yeah? You hate me?” Bakugou’s voice is erratic, husky, dripping with lust. He climbs on top of you, grinds into your behind, and hisses, “wanna say that again?”

“Let me go, asshole!” You below and try to buck him off of you, which only encourages him to pull your arm tighter, forcing you into paralysis. You grit your teeth while tears sting your lower lashes. The only weapon you have is your voice, and that’s always proven ineffective against him in the past. Still, you can’t stop yourself from yelling. “It’s been a goddamn year! I’m sick of being your prisoner!”

“Is that right?” Bakugou shifts, and you hear the sounds of metal clanking. You know instantly that he’s taking off his belt. You writhe as much as you possibly can, fearing a lashing. He hasn’t ever really hit you before, and though getting him to the point had been your end goal, taking the belt is a whole other level of pain you’re not willing to endure.

“Katsuki,” you pant, desperate. “Please, no. Please don’t. It’s...it’s my birthday!”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Bakugou releases your wrist, and goes for your hair instead. He yanks you back so that his chest presses against your back. His lips are against the junction of your shoulder and neck as he growls, “after everything I’ve fuckin’ done for you? Ungrateful little slut.”

He pulls your sweats down, cupping your ass roughly with his large, calloused hands. They feel good—his rough touch against your soft cheeks—and despite feeling fearful for the state of your ass, you can feel yourself getting aroused. “I really gotta put you in your place today of all days?” He squeezes your ass tight and possessive, like he owns it, and in the moment, you can’t really say that he doesn’t.

“No,” you cry and god you’re pathetic. You had this entire plan set up and now it’s barreling out of your control. As his lips graze your shoulder, you let out a sigh and say, “the cake was really, really pretty, Katsuki. I’m sure I would’ve loved it. I’m sorry I did that. I just…”

“Just what?” He rasps against your neck before his hot tongue draws a long line across your skin, making you shiver in response.

“I was just...overwhelmed,” you admit. “Our anniversary-“ you choke out, the words sour on your tongue, but you manage to make it sound sweet-“is just around the corner. I wasn’t prepared...I don’t have a whole lot of resources to do something special for you…”

Katsuki Bakugou sure is a lot of things, but he’s not a moron. You’re positive he can read your facade like a book and he’s certainly not one to play along. .

“Oh yeah? You wanna do something for me?” He sucks in your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling playfully. You mewl as Bakugou reaches around your body, large fingers moving down the front of you and sliding down your pubic bone. He dips two fingers between your lips, swiping smugly at the traitorous puddling at your core. “Is this really what gets you off, sweetheart? Lying to me just so I get a little rough with you?”

“N-no.” You try to sound stern, sure of yourself, but Bakugou is light to the touch, fingers barely teasing your sensitivity. You catch yourself grinding into them, directly resulting in your ass moving against his erection. You can feel him pulse against you, and it only makes your pussy throb in direct result, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just admit you want me,” he seethes, pressing more firmly against you while his middle finger teases your entrance. “You like me like this. You don’t want sweet—you want me to be a hard ass, don't you? Why else would you act like such a slutty little brat? Good girls don’t get wet after shit like this, baby. Good girls don’t like to be thrown around.”

“Katsuki,” you say on a sigh while bringing a hand to his arm, hoping to direct him to break through your surface.

“Put your hands on the table,” he growls.

“Please.” You ignore him, pulling his arm more insistently, needing him to deepen his touch.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you; put your hands on the table, or I won’t hesitate to use this belt against your bare fuckin’ ass. I’ll lick you so good, you’ll have bruises for months. You’ll need to sit on a fuckin’ ice pack the next time I’m courteous enough to have you dine with me at my table.”

Shuddering, you obey him, planting your palms against the flat of the table, away from the splattered cake. Bakugou lets out a contemptuous scoff, brings your wrists together, and easily wraps his belt around them, tight and with no leeway.

He then pushes your shirt up so that it’s around your wrist with the belt, and pulls your sweats down all the way off of your legs. You’re virtually naked in front of him, with the exception of your bra and panties, helpless to do anything about it. Just like he likes it. He always wants you to bite back until he gets you to submit. He was probably enjoying your little silent treatment show, too; it was just another kind of rebellion, another barbel that he’s fought and won.

A tingle runs down your spine as he traces it with calloused fingers. You feel your stomach tighten from anticipation when he reaches your tailbone and his touch leaves your body. You hear him chuckle as he pulls at a strap of your thong, snapping it back into place. “At least I know you like the panties I got you.”

Pain bursts on your right cheek as the sound of his sharp slap ricochets around the dining room. You have to bite your lip to keep from crying out—even still, you’re trembling when he rubs the sore spot.

“Awww,” he coos, snickering. “You gonna try and act tough?”

You exhale, trying and failing to keep a steady breath, but it’s all wrong and you’re already panting.

“Show me how much you hate me, baby, I wanna hear you sing it.”

The next lick comes without any precursor, no warning, no time for you to brace yourself, so when he slaps your ass, you can’t help but cry out—ecstatic or indignant—it’s not your place to decide.

“Katsuki!” You fall forward, forehead on the table, inches away from the ruined cake.

He chuckles at your position, petting the back of your hair. “If you want me to stop, you’re gonna have to lick it up, Princess.”

Your eyes narrow and you shoot a sideways glare back at him. “I’m not a dog.”

His lips tilt sideways, cocky and annoyingly hot, cheeks red, brow raised provocatively. “You sure look like a bitch to me.”

He spanks you a third and fourth time, and your mouth hangs open with unspoken yelps, a familiar, shameful feeling traveling down your stomach to your throbbing heat.

Taking a second, Bakugou dips his fingers into the pink frosted mess in front of your eyes, and brings it to your mouth. “Taste it for me. I worked hard to get the flavor right,” he commands, smearing the cream over your bottom lip. You’re helpless to oblige. Only, when you stick your tongue out, he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

“Bite me, and I’ll have you tied up for the entire night. I’ll make you scream until you’re on the edge of passing out, then I’ll fuck you awake. I’ll use you—fill every hole you’ve got ‘til you’re nothing but a leaky drainpipe full of my cum. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mhmm…” Not wanting to test to see if he was just making empty promises, because he never makes empty promises, you glide your tongue around his fingers, aiming to please. You let out a soft, appreciative hum when you taste the sweet, strawberry flavored frosting, and suck his fingers clean.

“Good girl,” he says, his fingers leaving your mouth, only to dip back into the cake. He brings them back to your lips and you take him in willingly. “Now, I don’t want to hear another word out of that pretty little mouth, until I tell you to speak. Understand?”

You look at him with affirmation. He spanks you again.

Your body jolts, spit and cream drooling out of your mouth as you moan, trying not to utter a comprehensive word. The vibrations from the impact sends waves of pleasure dancing across your clenching heat. He hasn’t even really touched your sex, and yet, you feel the coils of an approaching orgasm winding up in the pit of your stomach.

The sixth and seventh spank has tears falling down your cheeks. The heat is too much to bear and you can feel sweat sliding down your back. You want to warn him—to request that he takes a break, because the oncoming shame that’s making your toes tingle and your heart race might be a little more humiliating than having him torture you for the entire night. But you say nothing, your curiosity besting your dignity. The next spank does you in. Your body shakes as you wail, your coils breaking while you pool out, thighs sheened with your arousal. There’s absolutely no hiding yourself, and Bakugou is going to be all too smug about this. You simply cannot believe yourself.

“No way,” Bakugou husks, fingers leaving your mouth. You’re panting again when he brings his fingers to your fluttering pussy. He pushes them in and all you can offer is a sigh when he’s up to his digits in you.

“Aww...oh no.” You can’t tell if his concern is genuine or not, but it doesn’t matter to you. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, and defeated. He’s never going to let you live this down. You can already hear his future taunts buzzing around in your head. ‘You can’t pretend like you don’t like me when I’ve made you cum just by spanking your perfect little ass.’

God-fucking-damn it.

He has all the merit to tease you for it now, and you’re expecting him to—hell, you’re practically bracing yourself for it, but instead, he pulls his fingers back and pushes your bottom over, so you face him.

“Ah~Ow!” You wince when your butt hits the table.

“Ah. C’mere.”  He frowns and pulls you up by the belt at your wrist. You don’t stop yourself from falling into his embrace. He might be the source of all of your dread, but he’s also your only means of comfort. You let your tears roll onto his chest, muffling your sobs into his shirt. He hushes you, nails tickling your back as he kisses your hair. “S’okay, princess. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you cry, and though your wrists are still bound, you manage to clutch onto his shirt. You pull him into you, shamelessly reveling in the familiarity of his scent.

“Hmm?” He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What for?”

Your lips tremble and you shake your head, unable to voice exactly what you’re sorry for. Climaxing? Telling him that you hate him? Treating him so poorly when all he does is take care of you? You shake your head again when the actualization of your situation sets into the forefront of your mind. There’s practically a river of tears streaming down your face now and you wish for nothing more than to do disappear, because you’re a stupid girl, there’s cake in your hair, and Stockholm syndrome is bullshit!

“What is it?” He insists, he is tone low, caring.

Dumb. You’re so dumb. Your brain is screaming at you to not say anything, but your skin still buzzes from the thrill of your orgasm. Despite loathing yourself more than ever, you’re practically high, both from catharsis and euphoria.

“I don’t...hate you.” It’s small but it’s there—your voice. There’s a lot to decode from your confession, and by the way Bakugou’s eyes soften just the tiniest bit, you know that he knows what you will not say..

His thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth, wiping away at some residual frosting, then brings it up to where your lips part.

“I know,” he says as you take him in again, swirling your tongue around his thumb, now enjoying the taste of the cake. “Of course I know.”

Your heart swells when he doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t even look all that proud of himself. He simply gazes at you with adoration and amazement—and, of course, lust because you have your lips wrapped around something. Prick.  

“That was very hot, babe,” he says before kissing your forehead. “I really didn’t think that you could be so responsive to me.” He chuckles darkly, but it lacks his familiar malicious undertone. “Don’t really feel like I earned it, either.”

His thumb leaves your mouth, slides against your bottom lip, and is abruptly replaced with a kiss. Bakugou’s tongue teases your mouth open, then caresses yours with his. “Mmm,” he hums, the reverberations of his voice sending sensational buzzes down your neck. He nips at your bottom lip, then smirks against you. “Tastes good.”

He kisses you again, molding his lips perfectly to yours, and you feel his arousal poke at your bound hands. Not quite lucid enough to think it through, but feeling a bit mischievous yourself, you cup his girth through his trousers, rubbing his hard length up and down. You run your tongue against his, wanting to taste the power he has over you.

“You want me, baby?” Bakugou asks, pressing himself more firmly into your hands. “You wanna feel me slide inside that wet pussy of yours?”

Still not willing to give him a verbal confirmation, you squeeze his cock, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him closer to you. He growls when you have him grinding against your heat, a dark stain appearing on the prominent bulge he rubs against you. When he pulls away, you see that his pupils are blown, barely a sliver of his crimson iris to be seen. He looks moonstruck, predatory, and beautiful.

“Naughty girl,” he scolds, a tick in his jaw. He pushes you lightly, easing so that your back is on the table, your legs spread out for him. He groans when he runs a finger up your damp, clothed slit.

“I asked you a question,” he continues, playing with your core. He gets a dreamy look in his eye when he pulls your panties to the side, and feels exactly how wet you are for him. Then, he shoots a scathing glower your way. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Fuck. You?”

“Yes,” you say with a nod. “I want you to fuck me, Katsuki.”

“That’s really too bad.” He snickers arrogantly and your heart falls into your stomach. Didn’t you just have a soft moment?! “Only good girls get fucked, pretty baby. You can’t confess your undying love for me and expect that gets you out of your punishment.”

“I did not!” You argue which earns you a dangerous look.

“You and I both know what the hell you meant,” he says with a threateningly sexy lilt. “You can’t take something like that back at the drop of a hat.”

”I think you’ve punished me enough already,” you bite out defensively, quick to change the subject, because you‘re bitterly aware that he’s right.

“And who are you to decide that?” He smirks, brushing a thumb across your pubic bone. “Thought you were my prisoner.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“No?” Bakugou gets down to his knees, leveling his face with your center. “Actions speak louder than words, angelface.” He kisses your clit, making the same noise he does when he’s trying to bother you while eating, only when he does it on your cunt, all of your nerve endings catch flame and you’re spiraling back to needy senselessness. “Prove to me that you’ve earned my cock by riding my tongue.”

He’s nothing if not altruistic when he’s between your legs. He’s always been generous and dedicated to getting you off, but there’s something different about how he’s moving now. He uses the flat of his tongue and draws languid strokes up your entrance, taking his time while he swirls around your clit. He groans into you, and if the vibrations of his voice weren’t enough to finish you off then and there, his fingers sure as hell do it for you. He pushes them into you, reveling in the feel of your spongy walls hugging him tightly. He traces intricate patterns across your skin, mapping out the places that make you moan the loudest, just to be keen on teasing you for harrowing minutes. He’s going about this agonizing slow, but there’s something about him taking his time, rather than completely ravaging you to prove just how good he is at eating you out, that already has your walls clamping down around his fingers, your back arching, whimpers and pleas tumbling out of your mouth.

It hits you like a brisk wave crashing against the oceanic shoreline. First it was one liquescent sensation, then a pandemonium of your nerves roaring to life. Your thighs close against his head, locking him into place while your fingers twine with his hair. He moans into you, multiplying the excruciating thrill tenfold. You rock against his tongue, savoring this magnificently prolonged ecstatic escapade.

When your nerves cool down and you’re no longer twitching too much, Bakugou offers you a wry grin before licking his lips.

“Look at what a mess you’ve become,” he coos , kissing your shaking thighs, eyes locked on yours. “Was that all because of me, princess.”

“I...don’t think I’ve come so hard in my life.” You breathe, disoriented by the fact. “Oh my god.”

“That so?” He asks as his tongue travels up your thigh.

Bakugou fervently laps up your post-orgasmic juices all the way back up to your drenched cunt. He groans dramatically while his tongue dives back into you. You’re far too sensitive now, and he doesn’t stop—he likes having you squirm around, bucking your hips this was and that, all attempts at finding an escape for his erotic torture futile. Soon he has you spasming out of control for the third time this night, and he rides the waves of your grudging pleasure with delight.

“K-katsukiiii, pleeease!” You’re breathless, hot, and irrational. He has a large hand gripped tightly on your side while three fingers continue to curl inside of you. “I can’t t-take it anymore! It’s t-too much!”

“What? You don’t think you’ve got another one in you?” He keeps your eyes locked on his as his hands push your thighs farther apart, his tongue slowly gliding across your throbbing clit.

You shake your head, practically sputtering your pleas. “I will do whatever you want, so please-“

‘’S that right?” Bakugou grins up at you, smug and triumphant. He pushes you farther up on the table and climbs over you, one hand at the side of your head, holding him up—the other reaching out to grab a coin-sized piece of cake. He presses it against your mouth as he prompts you with an, “ahh.”

“Ah,” you mimic and he pushes the cake into your mouth. The moment you swallow is the moment his lips latch onto yours. You taste your headiness mixing in with the creamy texture of the cake and you can’t help but moan openly into his mouth.

Bakugou ends the kiss too soon, catching you out of breath and wanting more.

“You can be a good girl, can’t you?” His voice is raspy, thick with need, and you know he’s close to falling apart. You want him to. You need him to. He’s broken you, so it’s only just that he breaks sometimes too.

You nod, cautious to see what he’ll be doing next. He’s certainly not taking off his pants, which was the only thing he should be doing.

He moves your arms over his shoulders and leans down low, breath hot on your ear. “You’ll do anything for my cock?”

“Yes,” you sigh and wish more than anything for your hands to be free so tear his shirt off.

“Because you don’t hate me at all. In fact, you fuckin’ love me. You love everything I do to you, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. That right?”

You scowl ahead, teeth clenched. “Yes.”

He draws a line with his tongue against the most sensitive part of your neck, making you shudder, and asks, “yes, what, princess?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, I am stubborn.”

With a “teh!” Bakugou kisses your cheek and leads you up so that you’re sitting straight, and guides you both carefully off the table, sweeping you up to carry you so that you don’t step in any of the food you’ve tossed around. He cradles you in his arms, you half-naked, him fully dressed, and smiles sardonically.

“I’m not gonna make you say it, because it is your birthday, but I will have you know that your punishment is not over.”

“You’re kidding me!” You bark back, leaning away to look him in the eyes to see if he’s serious.

“Sorry, baby.” He laughs. “But I had a romantic evening planned out for the two of us and you just had to throw your little bratty tantrums.”

“What do I have to do—?”

“—to get me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re going to take a shower, put on that fuckin’ dress, then we’re gonna do this whole dinner thing over again. If you can behave, then maybe—maybe you’ll get my cock. If not—well princess, history tends to repeat itself, but I was hoping we could act like a normal couple just for one night. Thought maybe you’d be into it too, but that’s not what you want at all, is it?”

“I...want to be a normal couple,” you say unenthusiastically. You’re not sure if you meant you wanted to be a normal couple with Bakugou or if you wanted to be free and normal with somebody else entirely.

Bakugou snickers, as if you said something childish. “No you don’t.”

“Because you think I don’t want to be with you.”

“Nah...I know you want to be with me. But you don’t want to be a normal couple. You want this, babe. You want what we have. You want the chaos. You revel in it.”

“Well, I—“ you begin, desperate to find an argument point that doesn’t make you sound dumb. Is he right? Do you enjoy this? Everyday is like a game with him, and it drives you up the fucking wall, but what would you be without it?

“I hope you can keep your self-control,” you retort flippantly, abandoning the argument. “Hope your dick didn’t burst your buttons, Katsuki.” Your gaze drops down to the tent in his pants, then snaps pointedly back at his face.

He’s absolutely unfazed. In fact, he’s more chipper than you’ve ever seen him—like he’s the cat who caught the mouse. “Just for that, I’m gonna join you in the shower. Keep my belt around those wrists and have you watch me wash myself—see all that you’re missing out on.”

You groan, head falling into his chest as he begins walking towards the stairs. “I really do fucking hate you.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he says back, a smile in his voice. “Just as long as you know that you’re not the only person here that knows how to play keep away.”

[zanniscaramouche]

Sunday Snippet - FATE & CHANCE εϊз 

thank you @allwaswell16 @ladyaj-13 @local-troubled-writer @justalarryblog @brightgolden @larrydoinglaundry @jacaranda-bloom @neondiamond @cyantific @lululawrence for the(sometimes multiple) tags! I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had time to reply or write but I am finally sitting down to get some things done. Here is the first look at my @1dfrightficfest wip! It has major The Illusionist/The Prestige vibes including magic, ghosts, and passionate sex murder!  Perfect for the spooky season, no? Check the link above for more info ♡ tagging everyone back and so many more because I am nosy and love you and want to know what you’re up to! @falsegoodnight @soldouthaz @kingsofeverything @louandhazaf @birdstattoo @princelyharry @beelou @louloubabys1992 @wadey-wilson @bluecolouredlou @afterglowslouis @beckydoesthings @evilovesyou @quelsentiment @theisolatedlily @mercurial-madhouse @disgruntledkittenface @a-brighter-yellow @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @solvetheminourdreams @haztobegood @lwstvles xx

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。* ✧.εϊз . ✧* 。

“I know how it appears,” Louis insists. 

The inspector raises his eyebrow. “Do you, now?” 

Louis breathes deeply through his nose, lips pursed tightly. A hand fists at his hip while the other rubs his brow to hide his face and the small curse he lets out under-breath. Christ. 

He meets the pale blue eyes of the inspector he’s called upon, the one he’s seen speak with Eldrick on many an occasion. Without his hat, held now under arm in proper decorum, his tousled blond locks give him a boyish appearance helped by the permanent ruddiness of his cheeks. 

Louis stands to his full height and forces his head high, using every ounce of his determination to keep from dismissing the matter entirely. He is a Duke, and if things are to continue as has been laid out for him he shall be Prince Consort of Vienna. 

Both hands return to his hips in a grip strong enough to stifle their tremor. “I am a reasonable man, I would not implore your services if I did not believe the validity of their need.” 

“Reckon that to be true, Your Grace.” The inspector shifts his weight and the dim evening light of the palace glints on the brass buttons of his navy wool coat. He tilts his head, not in disrespect but with seeming earnest perplexion. “However, to what end do you expect me to chase after a phantom?” 

With his jacket tossed in the nervous pacing he’d indulged in earlier, Louis’s fingers dig tightly into his silk waistcoat and leave little doubt he’s adding to the bruises littering his skin beneath. Pain shoots from where his teeth bite so harshly into his tongue he’s at risk of losing the thing entirely. His eyes heat in frustration, a dull ache of shame throbs behind his temples, and yet he can not force himself to laugh this all off as a daft joke. 

“The impetus is sinister or simple tomfoolery, all I wish of you is to parse together which is the root of it all.” Louis explains as calmly and reasonably as possible. 

The inspector, and bloody hell Louis should know his name by now after the number of times he’s surely been introduced throughout the years at Eldrick’s side, merely shifts his weight with an equally deep breath as though keeping himself from saying his true thoughts on the matter. Louis appreciates the control the man has to at the least carry on this conversation without making a fool of Louis. He’s done a rather good job of that himself, he thinks. 

“To be clear, you wish me to track down the ghost of Your Grace’s likeness and inquire after their intentions?” 

Louis’s mouth is parched at the mention of it. Of the shadowy figure that’s been looming around him for a fortnight, the shocking discovery just two days ago when he’d abruptly come face to face with it as though encountering a transparent mirror and realised he was looking into his own eyes. It’s yet to say anything, this phantom, but it’s constant lingering presence has done enough to shake Louis to the core. 

At first it was a glimpse at the end of long corridors or a flash of movement in an empty room as he passed by, yet it’s grown in proximity and frequency until he’s caught sight of it nearly every hour of the day. Always watching, always a step or two closer. His throat tightens at the mere thought of what will happen when it finally reaches him, the fear of such an encounter having driven him to call upon the inspector for this very meeting.

Louis nods small, his bolstered determination weakening at the plain address of the matter. Hopefully his sincerity shines through and is what makes the inspector remain solemn faced instead of laughing his arse off at this claim. 

The inspector shifts his hat into both hands, fondling it idly as he rocks on his heels towards the door. “I shall do my best, Your Grace, but please do not expect miracles from a bloke lacking in experience with the spiritual. In fact, the only man I’m aware of capable of bringing back the dead is in Burgtheater, perhaps I shall start there with an inquiry on how to proceed.”

Louis’s face asks the question he’s thinking well enough.

From the doorway the inspector smiles fondly as he explains, “A travelling magician has taken residency there, he’s to preform tricks of the likeness you are experiencing. Perhaps yourself and the Crown Prince may enjoy such a show to laugh off these encounters of yours as the jest they are.” 

[wondernimbus]

excuses — fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x female!reader

prompt: reader is dared to kiss a certain redhead. 

requests are closed for now. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

She sighs, clenches her fists, and steels herself for the inevitable and incredibly humiliating moment that is about to unfold in five, four, three, two, one—

Standing on her tiptoes, [Y/N] puts her hands on his shoulders and plants a kiss on his cheek as fast as humanly possible. As soon as she does, she pulls back, fast as lightning, and hurriedly explains herself. "It was a dare—I was dared, no, wait—blackmailed to do this and I didn't wanna risk it so—I know what you're thinking, Fred, and I don't like you. I mean. Not in that way. And I'm not a pervert either," she adds as an afterthought, finding herself breathless as she takes a step back and clears her throat awkwardly.

For a moment, Fred Weasley looks just as surprised at herself as she does. And then he starts laughing, which makes [Y/N] feel ten times more embarrassed than she already is. Although she can't see herself, she is still very much aware of the fact that her cheeks have turned a bright shade of red—perhaps almost as red as Fred's hair.

Just so she doesn't have to stand there awkwardly, she forces out a few timid laughs. Fred grins at her. "I'm sorry, [Y/N/N], but that's a very poor excuse," he says, and though his tone is teasing, there's still that underlying tone of you like me, don't you? Or maybe [Y/N] is just imagining it. Is she, though?

She bloody hates having crushes.

She rushes to defend herself—albeit not doing a very good job at it. "No—" she sputters out, feeling ridiculously helpless as she catches the eye of none other than Ginny Weasley, who is standing a mere few feet away looking severely amused. [Y/N] sends her a death look that she hopes to Merlin sends the message across: "I'm never forgiving you for this."

And forgive Ginny she will not. It's at times like these that she horribly regrets ever telling Ginny about her little crush on her older brother. Ever since [Y/N] had told her a month ago, Ginny hadn't stopped teasing her every chance she could get. This morning, it seemed that the evil side of her well and truly came out as she threatened to tell Fred about her crush if she didn't kiss him on the cheek. (Downright evil.)

Not willing to risk it, [Y/N] had decided that a tiny kiss on the cheek was slightly more doable than having to admit to the fact that she liked him. Him being Fred Weasley: the tall, ridiculously attractive redhead in her year who she only started talking to last year when she'd befriended his younger sister, Ginny. Ginny had introduced Fred and George to her briefly, and ever since then she'd developed a friendship with them. She wasn't extremely close with the twins—their friend groups were drastically different—but they were friends: she'd wave to them when she passed by them in the hallway, they'd tease her about random things whenever they felt like being annoying, and sometimes she'd even help them come up with prank ideas.

But while she'd become good friends with both Fred and George, there had always something about Fred that attracted her in a way that didn't seem to fit the "friends" spectrum. Sure, he and George were quite literally identical, but Fred just felt—different. She'd feel butterflies in her stomach whenever he'd sneak up on her and tug on her braid, singing "[Y/N]!" into her ear, after which she'd raise her eyebrows at him and go "How can I help you?" Or when he found out that she loved strawberries and made it a habit to take her strawberry-flavored food whenever he snuck down to the kitchens. Fred was something else; something that made her feel like a blushing, giggly little girl. Made her feel unlike herself.

And so here she is, a few moments after making an absolute fool out of herself, trying to explain to him that "No, listen to me, Fred, I was literally blackmailed. Now excuse me while I cleanse my lips ferociously."

She turns on her heel and speed-walks away, refusing to look back. She doesn't even wait to see if Ginny has caught up with her—what's important right now is getting away from Fred. And perhaps never showing him her face again. Because if he hadn't known back then that she'd liked him, then he certainly does now.

—

"He knows, Ginny," [Y/N] moans, burying her head into a cushion as she flops down onto the couch. "He knows."

The Gryffindor common room is empty save for her, Ginny, and a bunch of quiet first years doing their homework in the corner. It's raining outside, and if she wasn't so busy wallowing in her own self-pity, she'd be basking in the peaceful sounds the rain was making against the window.

"No, he does not," says Ginny matter-of-factly, perching herself on the arm of the couch with her arms crossed. "I can assure you that Fred is just about the most oblivious person ever. I'd know—I'm his sister."

"You heard him," she moans again, her voice muffled underneath the couch cushion she's practically stuffed her face into. "He said it was a bad excuse to kiss him—oh God, he knooooows."

The group of first years turns their heads to stare at her, looking genuinely concerned.

Ginny rolls her eyes and shoots [Y/N] a reprimanding look, which she is completely oblivious to due to the fact that she has her face buried in a couch cushion. "Even if he has noticed that you fancied him—"

"He has—"

"—then good! I've told you this a hundred times already but I will tell you again just in case this time I'm able to get it through your skull: he fancies you too. Maybe even more than you fancy him."

"Sure," she mutters, prying the cushion away from her face to stare into the fireplace and contemplate throwing herself in it. "Your brother doesn't find girls like me attractive. He likes sporty girls—girls like, I don't know, Angelina Johnson—"

"Like you're not sporty," Ginny pokes her leg. "You're on the bloody Quidditch team."

"Yeah, as a reserve!" she throws her hands in the air, sitting up properly. "Point is, I'm not his type. Have you seen the girls he's dated?"

"Girl," says Ginny. "Just one."

"Whatever. She is gorgeous—"

"But he didn't fancy her. She was obsessed with George, George didn't like her—"

"And so Fred pretended to be George for two months."

Ginny giggles. "Exactly. George literally paid him, [Y/N]. Which means Fred never liked that girl—he was paid six galleons and two knuts to date her."

She scrunches her nose, an involuntary pout settling on her face. "That doesn't prove anything," she says sullenly. "Doesn't fix anything, either—he still knows I like him. And he doesn't like me back."

Ginny looks like she wants to smack her in the face. "You are completely mistaken, [Y/N]," and then, just to get the point across, "Completely."

"Am not," she flops back down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling whilst looking utterly crestfallen. It only takes her a few seconds of silence before she starts up again: "He knoooooooooooows."

—

[Y/N] trudges into the Great Hall the next morning with Ginny walking next to her, constantly throwing her reprimanding looks every now and then as though to warn her not to start moaning "he knows" again. Weirdly enough, she doesn't look anything at all like she spent the entire night moping over Fred Weasley; to anyone's eye, she looks as cool and composed as she usually does. She's done her hair, concealed the bags under her eyes with a bit of make-up, and she's ready for a normal school day.

Except on the inside, she is in shambles. Seriously—shambles. She's been mentally whacking herself upside the head since last night; why did she have to look so flustered after kissing him? She could have played it off better and pretended it wasn't a big deal.. she could have pretended she was under the Imperius Curse..

[Y/N] and Ginny sit down at the Gryffindor table. Fred and George are nowhere to be seen—thank Merlin. Maybe luck is on her side today and the twins have decided to skip breakfast. Or maybe Fred just doesn't want to be in her presence after she kissed him yesterday. "Totally uncalled for," she imagines him telling George. "D'you think she's gone bonkers? Bloody pervert."

There's a hand waving in her face. She blinks once, then twice. Ginny drops her hand back down to her side and shakes her head at her. "Are you still thinking about Fred?"

"No," she snorts. Ah, the liar she is today. Ginny makes a face like "sure" and [Y/N] regrets ever letting Ginny get to know her well.

Breakfast in the Great Hall goes about as it usually does, except [Y/N] is a lot more preoccupied with her thoughts and Ginny has to tap her on the shoulder a few times during their conversation to ensure that she was paying attention. When Ginny pokes her for the seventh time, she sets her toast down on her plate and says: "Okay. You know what—forget it," she slams her palms down on the table, startling the two fourth-years sitting across from them.

"It's not a big deal. Alright, I was being daft and I kissed him and may have potentially revealed the fact that I fancy him—so what?"

Ginny raises her eyebrows, obviously surprised at the sudden turn of events.

[Y/N] keeps going, talking more to herself than anyone else. "Even if he does know, so what? I'll get over him even though he is just about the only boy I find attractive in this sch—"

Someone tugs on her braid from behind. "[Y/N/N]," a familiar voice sings. "Get up, I have something to tell you."

The world doesn't just hate her—it despises her. She realizes it at this moment.

As much as she wants to dive under the table and pretend like a certain redhead isn't standing behind her, she knows that she can't avoid him forever. So she steels herself, turns around in her seat, and flicks her eyebrows up at Fred out of routine.

"How can I help you?" she asks, and for the most part, her voice is level. She hopes to Merlin that the warmth spreading across her cheeks doesn't show.

"I've got something to tell you, I said," Fred tugs on her braid again. She pulls a face at him; he grins down at her. "Come on, then. Get up. Up, up."

She rolls her eyes and meets Ginny's gaze—she's wearing an all-knowing grin on her face. Shaking her head, [Y/N] swings her legs over the bench and rises from her seat. Even standing upright, Fred towers above her by a good few inches. He's smiling, and George is standing behind him, wearing a suspiciously wide grin on his face.

"Don't mind me," titters George, taking [Y/N]'s previous seat next to Ginny and swiftly snatching her buttered toast. ("Hey, that's mine!" says Ginny, outraged) "Listen to what Freddy has to say. Very important. Oh, yes."

She narrows her eyes at George, then at Fred, who shifts a little on his feet. "Have you come to confess your undying love for me?" she says jokingly, ignoring the sheer panic swelling in her chest. You're okay, she tell herself. Just fine. Just keep up the familiar, friendly banter—act the way you always do—you'll be fine—

Fred tilts his head to the side, feigning a look of contemplation. "Something like that," he decides, a whimsical smile on his lips. [Y/N] raises her eyebrows at him, ignoring the storm of butterflies flitting around inside her stomach.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

Fred's grin, if possible, widens. He shrugs one shoulder, then says in the same casual tone one would use when talking about the weather, "How would you feel if I kissed you, [Y/N/N]?"

Her mouth falls open in surprise.

"If you what now?" Did she hear that right?

Fred grins. She stares at him, searching his eyes—"This is a prank, isn't it?"

A part of her almost wants him to say yes, that's he's just pulling her leg and this is a ridiculous joke he and George came up with just for the laughs. But he bunches his lips up to one side and shakes his head. "Nope," Fred replies nonchalantly, and then his lips droop down a little as a touch of somberness sneaks its way onto his face. "Would you like it to be?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. She is—although this is a severe understatement—stunned. She has to be dreaming—there is no way this is real life and she's standing in front of bloody Fred Weasley, who has just now basically asked if he could kiss her.

This is not real life. There is absolutely no way.

But the way her heart is pounding wildly in her chest feels too real.

"You see," Fred begins, once more grinning craftily, "I wanted to ask for your permission first. Didn't wanna come up to you and steal a kiss out of nowhere like they do in those Muggle movies—like a certain someone did to me yesterday."

He gives her a look full of meaning. She purses her lips, warmth quickly spreading across her cheeks as she scratches the back of her neck sheepishly. "I already apologized," she says, averting her gaze. "And I already told you I was blackmailed into doing it.. and besides, it was just a kiss on the cheek!" she adds hastily, sounding a little more defensive than she'd been intending. "It could have been worse.. it could have been on your.." she trails off, a rather prominent pink blush settling on her cheeks.

There's a fond little smile on Fred's lips as he listens to her—one that she doesn't quite notice because she's too busy drowning in embarrassment. "Anyways, I'm sorry," she mutters guiltily, raising her eyes to look at him again.

Fred shakes his head, patting her on the shoulder. At this, it's her turn to send him a look of feigned irritation. He beams back at her. "There's really nothing you should be apologizing for, [Y/N/N]," he reassures her breezily. "That kiss was quite enjoyable—although I have to say I am a little offended that you had to be blackmailed into kissing me instead of doing it because you wanted to."

She stares at him, eyebrows raised as she fights to maintain a neutral expression. Meanwhile, the gears in her brain struggle to figure out where exactly he's going with this. Is he saying what she thinks he's saying—that he actually liked that she'd kissed him?

"You still haven't answered my question, [Y/N/N]," Fred reminds her, wagging an annoying little finger in her face. She keeps her eyes on his, trying to read him. Behind the mischief glinting in his eyes, she thinks she can see a bit of sincerity—cautiousness, as though he's willing to back off if she wants him to.

She purses her lips, a whole tornado of emotions unfurling in her chest. "I mean," she says slowly, chewing on the inside of her mouth as she ponders a response. She can almost hear Ginny screaming "Kiss him!" inside her head, but her voice is drowned out by logical thinking. She doesn't want to seem too eager, and besides, just because he asked her how she'd feel if he were to kiss her doesn't mean that he will, necessarily—

"I wouldn't be totally opposed to it," she admits finally, her fists clenching beside her as she averts her gaze to look at anything but the ridiculously attractive redhead in front of her—goddamn it, Fred Weasley. Unable to help herself she glances at him; his lips have curled into a small smile, one that grows when she meets his eyes. Flushing, she huffs, "Well, you asked—"

Out of nowhere, he swoops in and lands a brief kiss on her cheek.

Someone—Ginny or George or both of them—squeals from behind her.

She blinks, momentarily startled as her brain struggles to register what the bloody hell just happened. Her mouth has fallen open slightly, and she blinks again, swallowing as she tries to make sense of the situation. Fred, meanwhile, has the audacity to actually look sheepish. He ducks his head in an attempt to conceal the faint red blush that dusts his cheeks, clearing his throat before letting out a laugh that was meant to sound flippant.

"Still not opposed?" he asks, arching his eyebrows. There's a goofy little smile on his face, and the exhilaration in his tone of voice does little to hide his giddiness, but at the same time the way his eyes dart over [Y/N]'s face searchingly—trying to deduct how she feels about the events that just unfolded—shows his slight uncertainty.

And how does she feel?

She lets out a long breath that she hadn't realized she was holding, trying to calm the butterflies—no, scratch that—the entire bloody zoo that has been unleashed inside her stomach. And then, because she's lost all ability to form words, she lets out a breathless laugh, shaking her head as she looks down at the ground.

"Well?" Fred prompts expectantly, leaning a little towards her anxiously. "Don't leave me hanging here, [Y/N]."

She presses her lips in an attempt to conceal the jubilant smile that tugs at them as she raises her head to look up at Fred. Urged on by the giddy feeling swelling inside her chest, she juts her bottom lip out, feigning a look of thoughtfulness as she pretends to ponder over it. And then, shrugging, she grins at him, eyes twinkling—"That wasn't all that bad."

The uneasy, expectant look on Fred's face is quickly replaced by one of relief. He exhales, tense shoulders relaxing as he grins right back at her, the same bright, mischievous glint in his eyes. "How would you feel about another one?" Fred suggests, tone hopeful as he takes a tentative step closer.

[Y/N] fights to keep on a stoic expression as she shrugs. "Wouldn't hurt, would it?"

George and Ginny break out into a chorus of squeals as Fred leans in for a second time.

read pt. 2 here!

[kalimagik]

Ronald?

Ron Weasley x Reader

Word Count: <2K

Warnings: None I think...

A/N: So I have a very large soft spot for Ron Weasley in my heart. I love him oh so much, so here’s a little take of mine on when Lavender Brown kisses Ron after that one faithful quidditch match 6th year. (I know she had some good qualities, but she’s always bothered me) Anyways....if you enjoy reading, you know the drill, like, reblog, comment, or even follow! Happy Reading <3<3

-

Reposting because the tags weren’t working 

*Not my GIF - Credit to the owner

Y/N pushed around the food on her plate as she waited for her friends in the Great Hall. She’d been at Hogwarts for 5 years and was completing her 6th year with hopes that it would be a lot more calm. Every year had been something and after the year everyone endured with Umbridge as Headmaster, she could really use a break. Of course, not everything about the chaos had been bad. She’d gained friends like Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Harry and had even started dating the youngest Weasley brother. Yes, Ron could be daft sometimes, but he really did show that he cared for her and never failed to make her laugh. They kept their relationship pretty lowkey, but those who knew them best knew how happy they were together.

“What? Is the food bad today?” Ginny asked as she sat down next to Y/N, Neville close behind.

“No, I’m just super nervous for the Quidditch match today. Ron was tossing and turning all night. I just want him to do well,” Y/N spurted without any breaths.

“I’m sure he will! He’s been doing great in practice!” Ginny encouraged.

“I know. But after Hermione told me that she had used that charm to help him, I’m just worried about his confidence....oh shh. Here he comes! Good morning, babe!” Y/N smiled as the redhead sat next to her and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Good morning, love! The nerves are getting to me, but hopefully they’ll go away!” He responded.

“I know you’ll do great! Don’t you worry,” she charmed.

Hermione and Harry made their way into the Great Hall and joined the rest of the group. Ron seemed to be doing well until Seamus and Dean came over.

“Ron! We’re expecting a lot from you today! Gryffindor needs this win!”

“You’ve got it mate!”

“Is there really that much pressure on me?” Ron asked Harry.

That’s when Y/N noticed that he stopped stuffing his face, something that was very bizarre for Ron.

“Ron. You’re looking kind of pale...” Hermione pointed out.

And that’s when Y/N saw Harry pull something out of his pocket. It looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Harry?” Luna asked, sliding in with her large lion head, “what did you put in Ron’s drink?”

Ron looked up with wide eyes. Had Harry just put the luck potion in Ron’s drink?

“Harry! That’s got to be against the rules!” Hermione gasped.

“What? I just thought he could use a bit of luck to calm the nerves. That’s all,” Harry stayed simply.

“Ron, you can’t drink that!” Y/N insisted.

“Common, it won’t make that big of a difference!” Ron replied as he took a large gulp from his goblet.

Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head. Didn’t she say that he could be daft.

Down at the pitch, Y/N snuck into the changing rooms before the match started to wish Ron luck, even though he probably had enough.

“Y/N, what are you doing in here?” Ginny whispered.

“I just wanted to wish Ron luck. Is he around?”

Ginny rolled her eyes before pointing to where Ron was. She didn’t know how Ron got a girlfriend, but she sure was happy it was Y/N. She was just great for him.

“Y/N/N! What are you doing in here? Not that it’s a bad thing, I’m happy to see you!”

Y/N grinned as Ron stumbled over his words.

“I just wanted to wish you luck before your first match! I’ll be cheering for you up in the stands!”

Y/N stood on tiptoe in order to give him a kiss. She was going for a simple one, but Ron placed a hand on the back of her head, holding her in for an even longer one.

“I definitely needed that for luck,” he winked as she ran off to get a good spot in the stands.

The match was CRAZY! Ron was doing such a fantastic job! He was blocking every shot on the posts, got the quaffle to the chasers without any problem, and even spun around his broom to block a shot! He was on fire! Y/N was so proud of him, even if Harry had slipped him some good luck potion. (She really hoped he hadn’t)

“GRYFFINDOR WINS! Potter has caught the golden snitch! What a fantastic match here at Hogwarts!” The announcer called over the loudspeakers.

Y/N couldn’t believe it, well she could, but her boyfriend played so WELL!!! She couldn’t wait to get back to the Common Room to celebrate with him and the rest of the team.

“Y/N, you coming?” Hermione asked as Y/N stopped in the entrance of the Common Room, “Y/N?”

Why had she stopped? Just a minute ago, the entire Gryffindor house was chanting Ron’s name and Y/N had been excited to go in. What changed was all Hermione could think. That’s when she turned and saw it. Lavender Brown had gotten up on the table and kissed Ron. Hermione turned back to Y/N and she was gone.

As Y/N had stood there in shock, all she could whisper was “Ronald?” and run away before the tears began to fall.

“Harry? Did you see which way Y/N went?” Hermione asked hurriedly.

“No, why?” Harry asked cluelessly.

“Look,” Hermione pointed up to where Lavender was hanging onto Ron.

“That bloody fool,” Harry said, “ummm, she may have gone this way. Let’s go.”

Hermione and Harry rushed from the Common Room to try and find Y/N.

“Do you have the Maunderer’s map with you?” Hermione asked after they couldn’t find Y/N anywhere.

“Oh, good idea!”

Harry searched his robes to pull out the old piece of parchment.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he said with his wand in the center.

Black ink began to spread across the parchment and the pair opened it quickly to find Y/N’s footsteps in the castle.

“Harry, look. There she is!” Hermione pointed to the two stationary footprints in the East Tower on the Astronomy Tower steps.

“Common,” Harry replied quickly as he folded the parchment and grabbed Hermione’s arm.

“Y/N? Are you still here?” She asked as they got closer.

There was no reply except for the sniffles in the dark.

“Lumos,” Harry said, emitting a bright light from his wand.

“Oh, Y/N. Are you okay?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Oh, hi guys,” Y/N whispered as she wiped her eyes, “if you wouldn’t mind, I would kind of like to be left alone...”

Hermione completely ignored that request and ran over to hug her. Harry was quick to sit on the other side.

“I’m sorry. He’s just so daft. There is no way he meant it,” Harry tried to explain.

Y/N was just silent. It had still happened though. Not to mention, Harry and Hermione had come to find her and she didn’t even know if he had left the oh so grand celebration yet.

“Harry, that’s not helping! Y/N, has anyone else been through here?”

“Just Peeves and Nearly Headless Nick. Peeves threw stuff at me and told me to stop crying. Nick went away when I asked him to. But those are just ghosts...”

“I’m sure he’s wondering where you are,” Harry tried again.  

“Well then where is he?”

“Y/N?” a voice came from the bottom of the astronomy steps.

“That’s him,” Hermione whispered, “so you want us to leave?”

“I don’t know...” Y/N drew out.

“Love, please. I know you’re up there...” he called out again.

“We’re up here, Ron,” Harry finally gave in and called, “I’m sorry. He is my best friend. He deserves a chance to explain.”

“Oh thank goodness. Y/N/N, love, I’ve been looking for you everywhere...how long have you been gone?” He asked as he came up the steps.

Y/N didn’t even want to look up at him. She couldn’t if she didn’t want to start crying again.

“Guys, could you give us a moment please?” Ron pleaded to his two friends.

Hermione looked at Y/N for permission, wanting to make sure her best friend would be okay with him. She nodded her head. Knowing she’d have to hear him out at some point.

Ron waited until the two had left before he started talking.

“Y/N, please, please, please talk to me. It didn’t mean anything. She came out of nowhere and everyone was celebrating and pushing in, not giving me any room. I promise, love, I didn’t kiss back. She finally let go and I looked around for you and you were gone. Love, I would never want to hurt you!”

“Ron, as much as I want to believe you, it still hurts. So, so much. It felt like my heart was being stabbed. I know we’ve been staying low key, but I thought enough people knew. Lavender knew what she was doing. And it lasted so long. You are so much bigger. You could’ve pulled away. It could’ve not happened...” Y/N could feel the heat behind her eyes, the puffiness Of her cheeks, and the tears that began to roll down.

Ron’s heart began to shatter. How could he have let this happen. He should have been thinking and not caught up in the celebration. He didn’t do it on purpose. He couldn’t lose her.

“Y/N. Please, I’m begging you, try to understand. I can’t lose you!”

He grabbed her one shoulder and used his other hand to lift her head so she would look at him. He looked into her E/C eyes and wanted to pull her in close when he saw the tears.

“Why can’t you lose me? I wouldn’t be very hard to replace...” Y/N tried to look down again.

“Don’t you dare say that. Y/N, you are everything to me. You’re smart, supportive, you see me for me, and you somehow know how to protect me even when I go on those ridiculous adventures following Harry... Y/N,” he paused for a moment, “Y/N. I love you.”

That got her to look up. He had never said that to her before. They’d been together for nearly a year and neither could figure out how or when to tell the other how they felt.

“You what, Ron?” She stuttered.

“I love you Y/N!” He said a lot louder.

That put a small smile on her face. He really was a goof....

“Will you please, please, please forgive me?” He asked again, taking both of her hands in his.

“I love you too, Ron. I love you so much...”

Ron couldn’t stop himself from beaming. That made him take her face in his hands and pull her lips to his. He hated the circumstances that he had to tell her, but he had felt this was for so long. His heart was content and he knew that he couldn’t mess it up. Y/N had him wrapped around her finger and could completely break him if she went away.

Y/N broke the kiss off and looked Ron dead in the eyes.

“I will have you know that if Lavender ever comes near you again, I will sock her in the face!”

Ron let out a loud laugh, appreciating his girlfriend’s feistiness.

“Oh you could take her any day! Want to go back and celebrate now?”

“Are you okay if we stay here for a little while, just the two of us?” She asked him with wide eyes.

He just smiled as he brought her in close again, “I hoped you’d say that.”

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Go to the ends of the earth for you - Part 3

One more part after this...at least that's the plan. Hopefully this week! I decided to fix a bit more of the current Emmerdale that I don't like ;)

(AO3 link)

“What the hell were you thinking?” He barely lets Robert say hello, he’s so angry. It’s taken two days for him to call and he’s been both going out of his mind with worry and angry at him for telling him the wrong date.

“Still mad then.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be? Why Robert?” He sits at the kitchen table, resting his head on his hand. He’d come to bring his stuff to the house before going out to buy anything else he’d need. The social worker was expected sometime during the week and he wanted everything to be just right.

“Because you couldn’t do anything, and it was Seb’s birthday.”

“That’s not…I wanted to be there. You knew that. You know I hate it when you think you know what’s best for me. You were on your own.”

“You would’ve been too, in the gallery. How would that be any better. This way I knew you were with Seb, you were having fun and so was he. That’s why I did it, and if that’s me knowing what’s best then I’m not sorry.” He was right, he knew that, he couldn’t have done anything from the gallery, but even so he’d wanted to be there, so they could at least see each other.

“I hate you some times.”

“Nah, my charm wins through every time.”

“So you say. Don’t do anything like that again. Promise me, don’t shut me out.”

“I promise.” It’s barely a whisper. “Any regrets?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You don’t have to deal with my family where you are.”

“I should be thankful for small mercies I suppose. I mean it though, do you regret it?”

“No. It’s going to be hard I know, but after this we can be together, a family and then we can go wherever we please with no one looking for us. You can get through this Robert, I know you can.”

“I’m not as strong as you.”

“Yes you are. I know you don’t think it, but you are. You’ve got me through the hardest time in my life, you couldn’t do that if you weren’t strong Robert, and I’m going to be here, I’ll visit every second I can, be by the phone whenever you call.”

“Ok.” He’s quiet and all he can hear is the noise in the background, the everyday sounds of prison and he hates it, hates that Robert’s stuck there and there’s not a thing he can do about it. “I have to go.”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He can’t let go of the phone even when Robert’s hung up. It was already much harder than he’d expected and it wasn’t even a month without him. He had no idea how he’d last a year.

————

“Well Mr Dingle, this all looks very nice. I see no problems at all and it shouldn’t be long at all before Sebastian can come home.” He’s so nervous he barely hears the social worker speak as she wanders round the house. It’s still so bare looking, aside from some of Seb’s toys left the last time he’d visited.

He’d thought of going to Mill and see if Liv had kept the stuff they’d left behind, but then he reasoned it had been a year, they’d likely have been chucked out long before and as he didn’t want to see her or the house he’d left it. He’d have to go shopping, something else he didn’t look forward to.

“Er, thank you. So, um, do you know how long it might be?”

“Officially a week but I really have no objection at all if he were to stay here from now on.” He wants to laugh with relief. Finally something seemed to be going right. “You have all the childcare arrangements sorted so I see no reason to keep you apart any longer.”

“Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means.”

“Oh I think I do. Anyway, you can expect a call to confirm everything but, enjoy having your son back with you.”

He feels like he’s floating on air as he sees her out, as he walks up to Vic’s and he can’t wait to tell Robert that everything is sorted out. All he has to do now is talk to Seb, to try and explain why he’s going to another new house.

He’s helping Vic in the kitchen when he gets to Keepers and she can immediately tell by the look on his face and he gets a blinding smile in return.

“Dada I’m making cake!”

“I can see. When you’re done can me and you have a little chat?” Seb nods even though Aaron’s not entirely sure he understands but he’s content enough to sit and watch him and Vic for a while.

When they’re finished he sits the little boy on the sofa and he crouches in front of him, Vic’s supportive smile helping him work out exactly what to say.

“So, you know how you’ve been living with Auntie Vic while me and Daddy were away?” He gets a little nod. “Well now we’re back, we thought perhaps you’d like to come and live with me in my new house.”

“And Daddy?”

“Well Daddy has to stay away a little bit longer, but when he comes home then yes. What do you say?”

“I still play with Harry?”

“Yes mate, all the time and you’ll still see Auntie Vic loads and loads.”

“Of course you will, I need my little chef helper don’t I?” Vic sits beside him on the sofa, exchanging a glance with Aaron. Seb seemed to be thinking everything over, and he was a little nervous he was going to say no. “What do you think?”

“And Daddy’s coming?”

“As soon as he can, promise. He calls me too, not for long, but maybe you can talk to him sometimes eh?”

“Ok.”

“Yeah? That’s great.” He looks over to Vic once more, surprised to see her looking a little upset. “Hey mate, why don’t you go upstairs and sort out a few toys to take with us, while I talk to Auntie Vic.” When he’s gone Aaron sits beside her. “Sorry, I’m taking him from you aren’t I?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m just being daft.”

“No you’re not. Do you want to wait, we can leave it a few days.”

“No. He’s yours Aaron, yours and Robert’s. He should be with you. How are you anyway, you never say much.”

“I’m just…getting along, sitting by the phone every night, wondering if we made the right decision. Coming back here, it’s…a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“Have you spoken to Paddy yet?” He looks at her in surprise, he didn’t know she knew what had happened. “Robert told me, made sure I looked out for you. Told me to do what I could to keep Paddy away. But, maybe you should talk, not to make it all ok again, but to stop yourself feeling like this, like you shouldn’t be here. This is your home Aaron, yours and Robert’s and nobody should make you feel like that.”

“I don’t know. I think he’s avoiding me and I kinda want to keep it that way right now.” She nods but doesn’t look convinced. Anything she’s going to say is cut off by a thump from upstairs. “I think I better get up there in case he’s trying to pack the furniture or something.”

————

It’s his first day back at the garage after taking a couple off to settle Seb in at home, and it’s just him and Cain. He prefers it that way, Cain is just as content as him to work in near silence, unlike Dan who insists on inane chatter all day. With Cain he can just get on with his job and the quicker he does the quicker he can get Seb from Vic’s and take him home.

In the few days he’s been back with him he’s felt lighter than he has since they came back, the little boy managing to lift his mood no matter what. He’s full of questions, about Robert, about where they were and all sorts and Aaron loves telling him everything he can about his Daddy Robert and their house in France.

The shouting makes him stop and look up, seeing Jimmy and Nicola having a full on row in the street. He’d heard rumours that things weren’t good between them but he’d thought it was just that, village gossip.

“What’s going on there?”

“According to Charity, Nicola’s going to hand over half the haulage to her and Jimmy knew nowt about it.”

“What? Why on earth would she do that?”

“Who am I, Pearl?”

“Can I take my break now?” He was worried, about Jimmy, about the business. Robert still had his shares and if things were that bad then he felt he ought to keep an eye on it.

“If all you’re going to do is gossip then you may as well.” He grins as he takes off his overalls, heading in the direction he’d seen Jimmy go. He finds him sitting on a swing in the playground.

“You alright?”

“How did you deal with Robert doing stuff behind your back? When he took no notice of what you said?”

“Shouting mostly. Is this about the haulage firm? Cain told me.”

“Charity of all people! I can’t work with her!”

“You said that about Robert once, remember?” He vividly remembered the ranting in the portacabin when Charity handed her share over. “Is this really about Charity?”

“The police charged me, Juliette is trying to take my son away and all the time Nicola’s going behind my back with Charity!”

“She hasn’t actually signed anything yet has she?”

“No…well I don’t think so but then she doesn’t tell me anything these days.”

“Can you get her to hold off for a couple of days?”

“Why?”

“Because me and Robert would be a better option than Charity.” He hadn’t even given it a thought, but seeing how distressed Jimmy was, the idea had popped into his brain. They had the money, they still had most of the proceeds from the sale of the scrapyard. He’d need to talk to Robert though. “I’m seeing him tomorrow, I could talk to him.”

“You want to buy us out?”

“Well, no. Not completely, but Robert’s still a partner so it makes sense. You wouldn’t have to deal with Charity and to be honest it’d be a bit more income for me and Robert until we know what we’re going to do. It’s up to you.”

“I need to talk to Nico.”

“Of course, and I need to talk to Robert. I’m serious though Jimmy.”

“Well, thanks.”

“You know Nicola and Robert are pretty similar aren’t they? For all I used to be mad at him when he did this kind of thing, it was usually for good reason, for us. Is that the case with Nicola? Does Charity taking over mean you’ll have money to fight for Carl? To get you a decent lawyer?” Jimmy doesn’t say anything but Aaron can tell he’s got through to him. “For everything Robert did, scamming Kim, Joe, hitting Lee, he did it for someone, to protect Vic, to try and get us money for our surrogacy. Not that you shouldn’t be angry, but if it was for good reason then maybe you can find a way to forgive her. The two of you belong together Jimmy, you know that. Don’t throw it all away.”

“I thought we did.”

“Here.” He reaches into his pocket, handing him his house key. “Go to mine, calm down. Stay as long as you like and then go and talk to her. If you need to send the kids over and they can help me keep Seb occupied when I get him from Vic’s. Don’t fight in front of them.”

“You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s what Robert would do and you know it. He’s not here so…” He shrugs, he’s not used to having heart to hearts with people, but he knows Jimmy’s been a good friend to Robert and that he’d want him to help.

“Is he getting on ok…I mean…”

“As well as he can. You know, I think he’d really like to see you, see someone other than me.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’ll ask him tonight and then we can talk tomorrow. If we do this he’ll want to talk to you anyway and he might be more help than me, the business, Carl…the police.”

“You’d give up a visit for me?”

“I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but yeah, if it’ll help. You and Nicola were two of the few people who didn’t treat him differently after…who haven’t tried to tell us what to do. You’re his friend, and if he can help then he’ll want to. Like I say, go back to mine, have a cuppa and calm down. It’ll help.”

Jimmy just nods and he watches him go, staying on the swing for a little bit longer, enjoying the sunshine even if it was still cold.

He’s just about ready to go back to work when he hears footsteps and he sighs when he looks up he finds Paddy standing there.

“I’m busy.” He gets up and starts walking away.

“You don’t look it. I thought you would’ve been over to see us by now.” That makes him stop, turning back and just staring at Paddy.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No. You have a baby sister Aaron.”

“Which no one told me about.”

“We couldn’t just pop in. We didn’t know where you were.”

“I had my phone and when I ditched that Cain knew how to contact us. I text Mum at Christmas and got no reply. You obviously didn’t try that hard.”

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult. You broke your Mum’s heart leaving like that. You’re not a teenager anymore Aaron, running off because you can’t get your own way all the time.”

“My own way? What part of this is me getting my own way? Can you even hear yourself.”

“Aaron…”

“No. You wanted to talk so you’re going to listen. All I wanted was the support of my parents, for them to understand that I couldn’t let my husband go, that it would break me if I did. I thought they would understand that. I can’t believe how wrong I was.”

“Now wait a minute, it wasn’t like that.”

“No? What was it like then? First Mum, using the baby as emotional blackmail to stop me leaving, and you know what I got that, I really did, after everything with Grace I understood. But you, I won’t ever understand what you did.”

“It was for your own good.”

“What was? Locking me in my own home?” Paddy just opens his mouth. “Because it wasn’t just that. That house, that was the one place, the only place I have ever really felt safe. It took me until I was twenty five to have a place where I didn’t have to hide or I didn’t feel like I had to be ready to run, and you know who gave me that? Robert. The man you seem to hate so much. He made me feel safe, he made me a home. You took that and you ruined it.” He starts to walk away but he stops. “And you know what’s worse? According to you, he’s the bad guy. You should look in the mirror.”

This time he does walk away, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets. He waves at Cain, a quick nod of the head in Paddy’s direction tells him everything and Cain nods back. There’s only one thing that will calm him down right now and it’s not work.

“Aaron! Wait. You can’t just walk off like that. You’re not even letting me explain.”

“Because there isn’t anything you can say to make this better. I told you I wouldn’t forgive you but you went ahead anyway. There’s no excuse for locking me in, none at all.” He sighs. “I will always be grateful to you for being there when I came out, when I…” His eyes flick to the garage, memories swirling around, “But that doesn’t give you the excuse to treat me like you did. I’m not that kid anymore. Just stay away from us.”

He doesn’t stop this time, not when he tries to grab his arm, not when he calls his name, he just carries on walking until he reaches Vic’s, letting himself in, resting against the door when he’s closed it, letting the sounds of Seb and Harry playing in the living room calm him down.

————

“You want to buy them out?”

“It was just an idea.”

“Aaron…last week you were talking about moving away.” Robert looks and sounds exhausted and he hates how he’s adding more stress but the more he thinks about it the more the idea is a good one.

“There’s nothing stopping us doing that. You didn’t see him Rob, I’ve never seen Jimmy looking like that, like there was nothing left to hope for. They’re our friends.”

“I know but…”

“I’m still happy to move, but you’re here for months yet, and then on licence so we can’t go anywhere right away. I’m not exactly making fistfuls of money at the garage. This way we get a little more coming in, and when you get out you have a job. That’ll look good for you.”

“Ok. So, say we do this, what if we want to move away in the future, what do we do for money?”

“I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“Of course you have.” There’s something in his voice. “I feel like everything is moving on without me.”

“It’s not, I swear. I’m still here, I’m just waiting for the day you come home you know that, but our friends need our help. Look, just talk to Jimmy, the two of you know more about this than me, but would you really subject them to Charity?” Robert chuckles at that and he takes his hand. “I said he could visit, you can work it all out.”

“You don’t want to visit?”

“No. That’s not what I said. Of course I do, but, and don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s feeling really guilty about Paul, although goodness knows why from what I heard. I just thought that you could probably help him with that more than me.”

“What do you mean?” He frowns at him and pulls his hands away. “Katie?”

“No! I was talking about Max. You told me how guilty you felt, even though there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to get him out. I think Jimmy’s feeling like that. One visit, and you can bet I’ll be counting down the days until the next one.”

“Hmm, ok. You remember me talking about Max?”

“Of course I do.”

“You know, I think he was the first real mate I had in the village, someone I knew I could rely on. We were leaving together. He hated the village as much as I did.”

“Ever wonder what would’ve happened if the crash hadn’t happened, if you’d gone with him? Reckon you would ever have come home?”

“I don’t know. We’d both had enough of our families, maybe if I’d had him I would’ve made different choices…but if I hadn’t then I wouldn’t have met you would I?”

“Nah, we would’ve found each other.”

“Oh God, I go to prison for five minutes and here you are believing in fate. Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

“Shut up!”

“Right go on then, this grand idea of yours of what we do for money.”

“I’ll sell my half of Mill.”

“What?

“I told you before, it’s not our house anymore. I wouldn’t feel comfortable there any more you know that so it seems stupid to hold onto it.”

“But selling half a house, that’s not easy. Who’s going to buy it? Liv can’t afford it.”

“I don’t know…Cain, maybe Debbie. Even Charity when we do her out of the haulage yard. I honestly don’t care. I’d never take it from Liv but I have no need to hold onto our share if we can use it for something else.”

“She’s going to hate it.”

“Yeah. When she stops avoiding me I’ll try and talk to her, warn her, but the longer I spend in the village, the more I feel like it’s not the right place for us anymore. As soon as we can I want to get out of there.” Robert nods, he knows he feels the same. “But whatever happens, we’ll decide it together. Me and you, no one else, not any more.”

“We’re going to get through this, aren’t we?”

“Course we are.”

[peanut-in-the-goal]

7 or 34 for some good ol’ angst

tw for child abuse and flashbacks (kinda)

also no i did not proofread who do you think I am?

this isn’t goodbye; It’s just you and me

Sirius turned away from the door, his door. Just on the other side lay his bedroom. The one that was painted an ugly green, with posters upon posters up on the wall. Stick charms in place, keeping them there. He had pictures of his friends hanging there too. James, Peter, Remus, all of them laughing, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. 

He hated leaving it, but it had to say. He never thought he’d leave this place, as much as he hated it, it was his home. At least somewhat a home. 

Not like Hogwarts, where people loved him, they laughed with him, celebrated after quidditch games together. They grew up together, they’re growing up together.  And it hits him that he’s just a kid, because it’s so easy to forget that sometimes. He’s sixteen, and he’s leaving this home for good. He hated it here, since he was 8 and understood what the word family meant he hated it.

Home has always meant a person for Sirius, not a place. Home used to be Grimmauld Place, here with his parents and his little brother, they were their own little family. And it had worked, for a while. But the illusion of safety and love had quickly faded into something else entirely.

The next time he picked a home, it was at Hogwarts. As soon as he got on the train with that messy-haired boy who had glasses that magnified his eyes, he knew this was where he wanted to be. There wasn’t the need to prove himself to his parents, he didn’t have to sit up straight at the table or isolate himself in his room. 

He was at Hogwarts with his friends and his found family. That was the best feeling in the world. 

He shouldered his bag, his trunk was shrunk and safely stored inside. He was finally getting out, the thought brought a smile to his face. He started down the stairs, the last time he’d be walking these steps, last time he’d be in this miserable hell of a house. 

House, not home.

His footsteps sounded louder as he padded down the steps, reaching the landing. His wrist still throbbed from his run in with his father earlier that day. His ribs were sore too, and he could feel his ankle swelling under his sock. But that wasn’t going to stop him. 

His vision blurred and unfocused as he reached the landing, moving as quietly as he could from then on as to not wake Kreature. He almost made it to the door, hand outstretched, but he paused. Did he really want to do this? Did he want to leave his baby brother here?

He curses himself for stopping, because he knows how hard it was going to be to get going again.

He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, but he also knows he won’t leave if he sees his brother’s face again. He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Sirius’ head snaps around when he hears a creek at the top of the stairs.

He panics, ready to fling himself out the door and run if it’s his parents. But when he turns to look, he sees a pair of the same eyes looking back at him. 

“Regulus…” He whispers his name, and he hopes it’s not going to be the last time he says it. That this isn’t going to be the last time they see each other, looking at each other, or even talking. He doesn’t want it to be the last time before staring his brother down on the war field.

He’s not going to hurt him then either, he can’t. He still sees his baby brother, the one that promised to follow him anywhere, the one who said he wanted to be a Gryffindor. Just like his big brother.

And now, looking him up and down, he’s grown up. The kid who used to be afraid of the monsters under his bed now sneers at him across the hall, the one who keeps his head down while his “friends” curse the mudbloods.

He sees the kid who wants to rebel but won’t because he’s too afraid to face the consequences.

But then again, he sees the scared grey eyes of his little brother who would come to him when he was afraid of the monsters under his bed.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Regulus is walking down the stairs, slowly with one hand sliding against the railing. “You’re finally getting out.” 

Sirius didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t place Regulus’s tone, whether it was defiance, or bitterness, or even sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” He faced Regulus fully now. “I just… I can’t stay.” He looked down and to the side, ashamed. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on his brother’s face, not that he’s never seen it before. But something in this moment felt different. 

“Leave.” 

“W-what?” Sirius snapped his eyes back up to his brothers. “You want me to go?”

Regulus stepped off the landing, “I want you to live, you idiot.” He walked towards Sirius, with a sad smile on his face. Sirius had to swallow a lump growing in his throat.

“Come with me.” The words surprised both of them.

“I can’t, you know this,” Regulus shook his head, pushing lightly at Sirius’ shoulder.

“Why, Reg, come on. We can get out, the both of us.” 

“Sirius, look… You got to rebel in your own way, let me rebel in mine.” 

“Quoi?” Sirius was affronted, not expecting that answer. “What do you mean, how are you rebelling.”

“You daft idiot. You rebelled by, let’s say showing your displeasure—”

“Their ideas and viewpoints are stupid.”

“Not the point. You rebelled out loud, showing your displeasure, and spoke. Sometimes yelled—”

“—yea, sometimes.”

“Can you just let me talk? We don’t have much time you prat.” Regulus sighed, running his hand through his hair. A habit he picked up from Sirius.

“Okay, okay, fine, speak.” Sirius held his hands up in surrender.

“Thank you. You rebelled in your own way, out loud and in front. I want to rebel in my way, from the inside. Let me do this.” Regulus pushed.

Sirius sighed, there was never talking Regulus out of something he set his mind to.

“Be safe? Promise me you’ll be safe.” Regulus shoved Sirius again, towards the door.

“I’ll be safe. Now go, Mother and Father should be up soon.” Sirius nodded, hating the tears that were welling up.

“This-This isn’t goodbye Reggie.” Regulus’s smile shrunk a little at that.

“It never is.”

That was the last thing Sirius heard as the door swung shut behind him. The journey ahead was still so far. He let the tears fall, slipping down his face. But he wouldn’t give up yet, not when he had the chance of starting over.

He starts towards one of the few places he wants to call home. James.  And he runs, he runs as fast as he can before remembering something. James isn’t home. He won’t be home for another 4 days. 

He goes to the next logical choice. Remus, or course Remus. The two had started dating last year. He doesn’t know if the thought of Remus makes him more upset or relieved, but the tears are still spilling down his face, and he wants to know how he even fit that much saltiness in his tear ducts. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to reach the young werewolf’s house, but he’s so tired, and his backpack feels like it’s weighing him down. It’s so dark out and he just wants to sleep. Just a few more steps… Just a few.. more… steps... 

He wants to collapse, to just lay there in the fluffy grass of the lawn, but he figures his moony’s arms are much more comfortable. His limbs ache, a mixture of all the adrenaline that’s wearing off and the wounds that are starting to present themselves. He can still feel the harsh tingle in his spine from the aftershocks of the cruciatus curse. The wounds that have long scabbed over on his back and stomach are reopening every time he shifts.

Finally, he drags his feet up to the door. The tears that are dried on his face came flooding back, prickling at his eyes. 

It’s around 4 in the morning when Sirius finally gets there. He’s cradling his right arm to his chest, shaking like a leaf from the cold. Sirius hesitates yet again at another turn. Should he knock, and disturb one of the only people who’s ever loved him. Did Remus love him?

He almost walks away, but he doesn’t. He’s come far too far to give up. 

He knocks on the door softly at first, before a little louder. He still isn’t sure if he should do it. But lucky for him, Remus was awake. He still has no idea what the button on the right does, he doesn’t push it even though he wants to.

He had gone to bed hours ago, and he meant to sleep, really he did. He just got so invested in his book that by the time he checked the clock it was half-past 3 in the morning. He was in the kitchen, filling a glass of water before going back upstairs.  He was startled by a quiet yet insistent knock on his door.

He jumped, almost dropping the cup. The knock was so quiet, he thought he imagined it in his sleep-deprived state.

Then, it came again, followed by a barely-there whimper.

His heart pounding, racing in his chest. He could hear his pulse in his head. Who would be knocking at this hour? Was it safe? Should he get his parents? Should he-

“Re?” The voice was weak, followed by almost silent sobs that he wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t for his advanced hearing.

His heart raced for a different reason this time, he knew that voice.

Sirius

He rushed towards the sound, not even thinking this could be a trap. He threw the door open and revealed a tear-stained Sirius.

“Moons?” His voice cracked, and his eyes flitted around widely like he couldn’t believe Remus was really there, standing in front of him. Like he was still trapped in that house, and he never made it out.

Remis stared at him with wide eyes, Sirius’ hair had been cut uneven and choppy. His pale skin was looming with bruises.

“Sirius,” he whispered, not having meant to have said anything at all. But he can’t believe that this is the same boy he fell in love with. He doesn’t want to believe that his boyfriend, the boy that was brighter than life, brighter than his star in the sky, was reduced to-to this. After only a few days over the holiday at that. 

What kind of monsters would do this?

The Blacks apparently.

It takes Remus a moment to react before pulling the probably disowned heir into him. Sirius goes willingly, melting into the embrace. He feels comfort, cared for, safe. He feels like he’s finally home.

He lets out a small cry as Remus squeezes him tightly, the painful wounds making themself known to Remus.

The pain in his arms, his ribs, the pain of leaving Regulus. The pain where the mark would have been burned into his arm, The pain of showing up on Remus’ doorstep in the early hours of the morning. The pain of forcing himself to stay living there, under those conditions, for so long.

All he knows is pain and part of him wishes he were numb.

He’s apologizing, a mantra of “Please, I’m sorry,” spilling from his lips. He’s not sure who he’s apologizing to. Whether it be to his parents for failing them, to Regulus for leaving him, his friends for not being good enough, or Remus for coming. He doesn’t even know if he’s apologizing to himself, but that’s not likely.

His knees give out, and his hands are shaking from where they’re gripped onto Remus’ nightshirt. He registers the flashes of pain shooting up his arm from how hard he’s gripping, but he’s not ready to let go yet.

He’s reliving it, all of the abuse, and the spoken words. All those years he felt abandoned inside those walls. And he feels like he’s back there again. He doesn’t know how to make it stop. He wants it to stop.

He feels a hand on his chin and he flinches. Please, don’t hurt me, he thinks. But his eyes meet honey brown ones, his parents don’t have honey brown eyes. They have grey and terrifying ones, not the comforting ones he’s seeing right now.

It’s moony, I made it to moony. It’s okay, I got out.

“It’s just you and me,” He hears the whispered words, the lips saying them being pressed against his forehead in a soft kiss. He finally feels safe when his eyes involuntarily close and he falls into a deep sleep. His wounds can wait until tomorrow. Because nothing else matters when he’s wrapped in his moony’s arms.

[nazyalenskyism]

Shadows in My Mind

Summary: It wasn't supposed to happen like this, not yet. A/N: I really don't know how to tag this fic but it's been sitting in my drafts for a few months and I hope you like it! As always feedback appreciated, and thanks for taking the time to read! <3 The rest of the fic is under the cut!

Ao3: Shadows in My Mind

        “No,” she hissed, pressing all of her weight into her hands but the pallor of his skin kept worsening despite her efforts. “No. Hey. Stay awake!” Zoya snapped, tapping his cheek with her blood stained fingers. She fought back a wince as she left scarlet prints on his face, his unfocused eyes fluttering open at the sharp pain she’d dealt him. “I won’t let you leave me, you idiot. You’re not allowed to leave.” Zoya couldn’t even summon the horror that would usually wash over her when tears rose in her eyes. She rarely let them fall, but now, they streamed down her face as her best efforts yielded no results. She continued pushing down on the wound, feeling Nikolai’s weary gaze on her when she paused for a moment, using her Squallers’ abilities to throw her voice, calling for someone, anyone, even though she knew there would be no answer. ‘This can’t be how this ends,’  Zoya let herself despair for a moment before turning back to Nikolai,  ‘he was supposed to have more time.’ She steeled herself, ripping off a sleeve of her bloodied and torn shirt, pressing it into the wound. Her bones were tired, her powers screaming, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the ground and close her eyes, but she couldn’t afford that-- not until she’d saved Nikolai. ‘If I save him, then everything will be fine.’ 

        “Okay,” she whispered, “okay, we can do this. I just have to reapply pressure before I get you onto your feet.” She reached out, faltering when warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. Nikolai looked up at her, pale, bloodied and beaten, but his eyes were still bright. “Nikolai you need to stand up, if you can walk, we’ll do that, or I’ll carry you.” ‘Whatever it takes,’ she thought, trying to pull herself from his grip, but he was surprisingly strong. 

        “Zoya,” he said hoarsely, “it’s no use, dear.”

        “No,” she snapped, looking at him incredulously, “you’re always the one babbling on about hope and optimism, you do not get to tell me it’s futile. Not now,” but in her heart, she realized that she was at yet another funeral, being left behind again. He was going to leave her. He had promised that he would come back. He was leaving her.

        “Nazyalensky,” Nikolai muttered, fingers brushing away the tears that had spilled from her eyes. “Don’t shed tears for me, I don’t like seeing you cry.”

        “Well I don’t like seeing you--” she broke off, she couldn’t do this. 

        “Hey,” he said softly, “I need you to go back to the others, there’s a document with the finance minister, and another with Tolya. I need you to put them into action immediately, don’t give anyone a chance to hurt our country.”

        ‘Our country’. “You’re not thinking about Ravka, not right now.” 

        “I’m running low on moments,” he replied, and to her horror his eyes were shining too. 

        “We can try,” she insisted, “we can’t be too far from the others.” 

        “No,” he said firmly, “I’m fine where I am. I need you to do something for me.” She nodded without hesitation and he continued, “let’s pretend we’re an old married couple.” 

        “What?” Zoya croaked.

        “Tell me a lie. Tell me it will be alright,” his eyes were wide, imploring.

        She pulled on her best guise, what he’d taught her, how to play the part. “Don’t be daft, of course you’ll be fine. You think that your best general would let you d--” she choked back a sob. “That she would let you die? No, you’re going to make it back to the camp, and the healers will patch you up perfectly, or else they’ll have me to deal with. You’ll ride back to a capital on your favourite horse in your best coat, the victorious king of a resilient country.”

        “Will there be a ball in my honour?” the corners of his lips pulled up, “I would’ve loved to dance with every lady in the country.”

        “Of course,” she replied, clinging on to the moment, this moment that was just them as if nothing was wrong, as if this was not their last moment like this. “They’ll write ballads in your honour, and perform hours into the night, the festivities will last for weeks, until you can’t stomach any more parties. All the ladies will be fawning over a chance to dance with their handsome king” 

        “Handsome?” he let out a laugh, wincing immediately, clutching at the wound in his side. Zoya carefully peeled his hand back, replacing it with her own over the injury. She tried not to think about how feverish his skin was under her hand, how his blood had soaked through the fabric of her balled shirt sleeve. ‘I need to remember everything about this moment.’

        “Yes. Handsome.”

        His eyes found hers, a steadfast sincerity behind them. “You’re forgetting how the king may dance with every woman in the country, but the entire evening, his eyes will only be on one.”

“You will meet a nice girl, fall hopelessly in love, have too many children to inherit your throne, and you will grow old with a family and country that love you as you deserve, ” Zoya continued, attempting to ignore his words, the look in his eyes. 

        “The woman whose name the wind whispers in his dreams.”

        She pushed on, “you will be a fantastic king, you will--”

        “And if he never summoned the courage to follow his heart, he would spend every day of the rest of his life wondering what could have been if he had been able to make a queen out of his ruthless general.” 

        “Nikolai--”

        “Zoya,” he whispered, “I fear that I don’t have much time left. Can I ask of one more favour from you?”

        “I thought kings never begged.” She bit out as Nikolai pushed aside new tears, his hand warm against her cheek.

        He gave her a sad smile, “is it truly begging when asking something of a queen? If not, then it will be our secret.” His voice was growing fainter with each word and Zoya felt her heart lurching. She was not ready. ‘Help me’ she implored to the dragon inside her, but the Saints were quiet, like they always were. No one would be coming to save her, they never did.

        She nodded resolutely, “what do you need?” 

        “Will you kiss me sweetly? In my dreams you always do, and this seems like nothing if not a dream of mine.” 

        “Nikolai you--”

        “Nazyalensky, humour me please. I know you don’t share my sentiments but--” 

        He was cut off as Zoya dipped down, pressing her lips against his fiercely with years worth of longing, hope, desperation combined with her heart’s mournful goodbye to a future they would never see. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her harder until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

        She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his. “That was sweeter than I ever dreamed,” he said quietly. 

        Zoya took his hand in hers, “don’t go.” 

        “I have to,” his voice was barely there now. She drew back, his fluttering eyelids racking another sob from her chest. “I’ll see you again one day, I hope.” He pushed open his eyes, gazing at her intently, as if struggling to commit each detail to memory, to hold onto the picture for a moment longer. “Don’t forget me.” Nikolai drew their intertwined hands towards him, pressing a brief kiss against her knuckles. 

        “I won’t.” 

        “I know,” he smiled up at her, before closing his eyes. “I’m only going to take a short nap, Zoya dear. Wake me up when our friends are here.”

        She was fully weeping now, “I will, Nikolai. I will.” 

        The world was quiet for a few moments, Nikolai’s slowing breaths the only sound. 

        Then, as quick as sleep, he was gone. 

        For a shining moment, she didn’t believe it, but it shattered all too quickly when she pressed her fingers to his neck. Nothing. He was truly gone.

        “No, no, no,” she murmured, throwing herself over his warm body, crying out as she felt the wind knock out of her chest, her lungs aching from impact. A searing bright light and stars engulfed her vision and she fell back, breathless, cold, smooth tile delivering another blow to her battered body. 

        She blinked rapidly, attempting to right herself, her surroundings only just beginning to register in her mind. She was in a secret cell hidden behind the Darkling’s, now Nikolai’s war room in the Little Palace. It was the place that they were keeping the Darkling— or at least had been— until he had escaped, wreaking havoc and delivering the fatal blow to Nikolai.

        ‘Nikolai,’ Zoya thought, scrambling to her feet despite the pain. How had she gotten here? She had been in the middle of a barren battlefield, her body thrown over her king’s lifeless one… had she been captured? Where was his body? Zoya glanced down at the broken skin on her hands that had braced her fall backwards. They were clean, no trace blood. She frowned, her shirt was whole, her kefta clasped overtop of it. Last she’d remembered, it had been torn off her back as she fought in battle. Looking up, Zoya found a chair that had toppled over laying at her feet, and a metal table before her, and behind it, was the Darkling, a predatory smile playing at his lips.

        “Did you like that little dream?” his voice was as smooth as glass, his hands bound together before him. “All those tears for your little boy king, did you cry like that for me, Zoya?”

        She said nothing, her head still fuzzy. ‘What was happening?’

        “No,” he continued, his eyes fixed on her, trying to gauge her emotions. She knew this game, he found the gaps in your armor and twisted the knife until you were writhing on the floor and he was satisfied with his work. “I don’t suppose you did, you were pretending to hate me at the time, what with the way that you turned against me,” he sneered, raising an eyebrow at her unflinching demeanor. So it had all been fake? Then why did it feel so real? She could feel Nikolai’s lifeless presence over her like an enormous weight, even now. 

        “What was that?” Zoya asked, pushing to make her tone as even as possible. Her fingers dug into her crossed arms, forcing herself to stay in place. She needed answers, she couldn’t afford to run out of the room and make sure that Nikolai was actually okay. As her head cleared, she began to remember what had happened. She’d volunteered to try to get the Darkling to talk, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to have to deal with him. It was her fault that he was back and she refused to let him hurt her friends again. Nikolai had been hesitant, and the look he’d given her at the meeting was puzzling. She had assumed it was because of the story she’d told him that night in the Fold, about what the Darkling had said to her. But now, after whatever she had just experienced, she wasn’t so sure.

        “That,” the Darkling began, pulling Zoya’s attention back to him. “That was a little glimpse into your future.”

        Zoya rolled her eyes, unable to help herself, “let me guess, that’s what’ll happen if I don’t let you go?” 

        “No,” he leaned back in his chair, “it’s inevitable now, that’s the only outcome left after what you and your prince did in the fold.”

        “King,” she replied absently. She didn’t believe him for a second, but the vision had been so real-- she could still feel Nikolai’s blood on her hands, his lips pressing against hers, his lack of a pulse under her frantic fingers. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t her future. The Saints hadn’t been able to determine this for her and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let the man in front of her try to. 

        “So it can’t be stopped then?” 

        He looked up at her, “oh noble Zoya, so desperate to save everyone. First it was those cubs, then your aunt, Juris, and now the Lantsov pup. As much as you try, they all die in the end. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be.”

        ‘No. No. You don’t let him play these games.’  Her inner thoughts were echoed by the dragon inside of her, and it took everything to stop herself from slamming the Darkling’s face into the table. As she took a step towards him, planning her next move with blood roaring in her ears, the door behind her flung open. 

        “Zoya, we need you.”

        She frowned, she needed answers. “ Give me a minute,” she called.

        “Now, Commander.” 

        “Ask your little king how he felt about that vision.”

        Zoya spun around on him, unable to hide her shock. “You showed it to him?

        “Why don’t you ask him what it felt like to die? He should remember that feeling, it’s going to happen again sooner than later.”

        Zoya forced her feet out the door, slamming it behind her as she followed Tolya into the viewing room, where a mirror looked out at their prisoner. 

        “What is it?”

        “What happened in there? You froze, and the next thing I knew you were crashing to the ground.”

        She waved him off impatiently, her heart still racing from the Darkling’s parting words, “where’s Nikolai?”

        “He’s with Ehri in the gardens, why?”

        “Go check,” she said, her chest tightening, “go check on them now.”

        “What’s wrong?” he asked, briefly touching her arm. His face was full of concern and Zoya couldn’t take anymore heartbreak now. She couldn’t imagine the possibility that anything might take her friends from her.

        “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Go now, and check on David and Genya and Tamar too, that’s an order.”

        He shot her another puzzled look before leaving her alone in the observation room, while the quiet slowly began to consume her. She didn’t order her friends around, not like that, but with every passing second she felt more of her control slip away. Her heart was full of pain, she couldn’t see anything but red.

        He’s fine, it’s alright. They’re all unharmed. But it wasn’t enough. She sank to the floor, knees drawn to her chest, numb as the dream repeated itself again and again in her mind. All the while her king strolled through the gardens, entertaining his future queen at his side, unaware that all she could feel was his lifeless body under her, as she watched him die over and over again.

[jenivi7]

First Lines Tagging Meme

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE TAGGED IN THIS TWICE!  Thank you @ink-flavored and @clyde-side !! (I almost just did this on my own too because I love babbling about my own fics...)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Now pinned and under a cut because it became a really long, really good introduction to me and my stories! 

Hello!

Unnecessary and overly wordy introduction/personal musings: I love opening lines so much. When I worked at a bookstore, I used to open books and hardcore judge them on their first lines. I had barely any free time to read at that point so if it didn’t grab me in the first line or two, I put it back. The first Harry Potter book is actually in my pile of really good openers. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” (Subtle alliteration, HELLO??) So I'm super excited to see if my own first lines come even close to the standards that I apply to other people lol. MY OWN MONEY IS ON NO. I have the feeling that I'm so frantic trying to get the story down on paper before the good words disappear from my head that I'm not actually paying attention to the first line. BUT LET'S SEE, SHALL WE.

So just straight up going backwards, I've written and posted TWO BRAND NEW THINGS after being away from fandom almost entirely for 10+ years! They're drabble length but they're shiny and new! <3 (All available fics are linked!)

1. Tango:

She teaches them to dance so that they can dance with her but when Atem gets that mischievous smirk on his face and pulls Yugi into his arms, their bodies spark and the dance floor smolders at their heels.

(The fic is so short that this is a full 1/5 of it but actually, I think I crammed all the good stuff right into that first line. This already might be my favorite. Like it says there in the line itself, Puzzleshipping.)

2. No Betting:

Anzu sat at the kitchen table writing carefully calculated answers onto sticky notes before attaching them to a fourth-grade math worksheet.

(Peachshipping! This one doesn't pop off until about line five so here's the rest of that bit:)

She had the same arrangement with her spouse as most parents had. When the kids were good they were hers. When they were bad, they were his. And when they were winning at games because they picked up rules with uncanny speed and read their opponents with more insight than ought to be available to a child, they were definitely, definitely his.

3. If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say (working title):

When he realized that the figure sitting under the game shop display window and smoking wasn’t Ryou, the physical body response was as though it had discovered a coiled snake not two feet away.

(This one! It's a NEW half finished(?) WIP. I actually started this one before the drabbles but wanted to finish before posting it. Then it got out of hand, then work got out of hand, then I started a couple more projects and well. I keep putting words on it though and eventually there will be a Kleptoshipper that turns into Puzzle and Tender for your reading enjoyment. Also, fair warning - don't use song lyrics as a working title. Every time I look at the document I get the song stuck in my head.)

Now we have polished up reposts of old stories for their move to AO3, where I'll basically keep my master archive. Not full re-writes but I fixed a bunch of typos and awkward sentences and they're much stronger for it. Most of these are from a pairings contest way back when so LOTS of different pairings and lots of AUs!

4. Human:

It was like a bad noir, the thought crossed both of their minds.

(Scifi AU, Rivalshipping. That one's not bad for a first line. Actually no link at the time of writing cause the re-edit is going up in like, a half hour? an hour? a half day? It's my next project after finishing this, finishing up the edit and posting it on AO3. Now with link!)

5. Blood:

Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses. 

(Dungeonshipping, Pegasus x Otogi, vampires AU. Oh that’s a nice first line! <3)

6. Crazy for You:

The keys are too large and too heavy for the doctor more used to more modern facilities but she doesn't say anything, just follows the orderly as he pulls the large door open.

(Manipulashipping, Anzu x Marik, Psychward AU. Still one of my favorites from that era. Big bold warning though, THIS ONE CONTAINS NON-CON)

7. Finality:

“What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye.” Bakura’s translucent arms swept across the graveyard. “Is this not an appropriate place for it?”

(First two or so bits of dialogue as the first first is a generic question. You can tell this is one of the really old ones just by that but it's a sweet, sad little Tendershipper that still has a special place in my heart.)

8. Pieces of You:

Glitter caught the light, leaving shimmering trails in the air as it got everywhere.

(Glittershipping, Anzu x Kisara. Another one that's special to me. Kisara is my girl and my first writing muse. <3)

9. Cambodia:

“It was summer of fifty three...”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, it can't have been fifty three. You might be that ancient but I'm not. It must have been sixty three.”

(Jiishipping. Yes. Sugoroku x Arthur. HEY, IT CAME UP IN THE RANDOM DRAW FOR THE SHIPPING CONTEST OK. And my writer's brain hasn't backed down from a challenge yet... Another one that takes 4 lines to pop off but it's a good start. Actually, here's the rest of the bit just because I cannot get enough of these two bickering:)

“What do you mean it must have been sixty three? You don't even know what story I'm trying to tell.”

“Am I in it?”

“What?”

“So you're deaf now as well as daft? AM I IN IT?”

“Of course you're in it, y'old coot. Don't know why I'd tell a story without you in it when both grandkids are sitting here.”

10. Coffee and Cigarettes:

"Cigarettes and coffee? That's not a very healthy lunch." 

Mana crossed her legs and took a refined sip of her own coffee even as her company was not. 

(Mischiefshipping, Mana x Thief King Bakura. Oh this one I'm actually sad that it doesn't immediately sparkle in the first line cause it's one of my absolute favorites of everything I've written. And I think it's the only time I've ever written Mana but I LOVED IT AND HER. Oh no! I lied, I've written her at least one other time though I don't think that one quite captures her sheer chaos energy like this one does.)

11. A Million Missed Chances:

Somewhere along the line, someone made a choice.

(This one. THIS ONE. I think this is by far the most epic idea I've tackled. I still don't know if the sheer scale of the thing came across in the actual fic but in my head it was massive and I remember pounding away at my teeny tiny laptop late at night because the whole thing hit me maybe a day or so before the story was due for the pairings contest. We only had a week to write each fic and my really good ideas never came to me before the very last minute. T.T Conquestshipping, Mai x Valon.)

12. A Fear of Falling:

She drove.

Like she always did when something bothered her.

(Oh the first chapter on this is also one of the really ancient ones. Like one of the very first things I wrote. That first chapter really shows its age and is a little shaky but the others are better and the last one is what fits into the chorological order here. Polarshipping, Jou x Mai. One of my very first ships. Probably THE first actually <3)

13. What Our Creators Make Us:

"Well, well." The match flared, scattering dark shadows until it was blown out and the only light that remained was the red glow from the cigarette end. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

(Psychoshipping, Marik x Spirit of the Ring Bakura. With a bit of Bronze, Angst and Tender in the follow up. Old but I'm ridiculously proud of it, hence it's place in the master archive. Ahaha you can tell how old it is though by how clever I think I am. I thought it was funny to make my audience figure out who was talking and not reveal the characters for a good fourth to third of the fic. Ahhhhhhh. Sorry about past me.)

14. A Revolution of the Spirit:

It wasn't fair.  It just wasn't.

That they were close was understandable (you don't get much closer than sharing headspace) but that even now, after deals were made with gods, endless arguments, compromises and the ultimate guilt trip that he had only been a teenager when he willingly sacrificed himself for all of humanity, things she had only half seen and only partly understood even though they had all been there to witness, that even now Atem continued to invade Yugi's personal space as though he belonged there got on her nerves.

(Woah Nelly! That third sentence should probably be three, four and five. Even if I just split it in half we'd continue the pattern of things popping off in the fourth line. I think that's one pattern that's emerging! A really good bit takes me about four lines to set up and deliver! Oh, the challenge was Revolutionshipping, Anzu x Atem, but the fic is actually Spiritshipping, Anzu x Yugi x Atem.)

So confession time, I haven't been out of fandom completely, I just hadn't written my own standalone stories in a very long time. There are a few (ok ok more than a few) long-running rps that @miss-moberg and I have been adding to on and off over the years. I can't resist throwing in a couple of these.

15. Cafe!

The door shut behind them with the soft click of the latch and the exhale of a breath long held.

(This opening line was from December of 2020 when we rebooted a very old Prideshipper and that is a damn good opening line if I do say so myself. I can definitely see the difference now between the newer works and the older ones. I've gotten better, she's matched me pace for pace and eventually something will be finished, I'll work up the courage to ask permission to post it and the whole internet will get to see how brilliant the two of us are together.)

16. Treasure Hunt!

"Ryou, I think you're going to regret letting me tag along on your adventuring this time."  Yugi didn't bother turning away from the airplane's tiny window to see if his seatmate was paying attention.  He was more thinking out loud with his friend playing the role of a convenient sounding board.  "Because I think this trip is the only thing I'm going to talk about ever again."

(One more from RP because it's got that fun, four line punch that we've discovered is a pattern for me! Opening entry is from 2017.)

Also, in truth, my count is a little off when I say I'd been out of fandom 10+ years. I've been away from YGO for that long but I did spend a brief stint in Homestuck where I read a ton of fanfic, flirted with a couple group RPs and even wrote a tiny bit. 9 years without writing a new fic isn't as impressive as saying ‘over a decade’ but it is a little more accurate.

17. What You Will:

In the land of fair Illyria, along a small, sandy stretch of its rocky shore, a ship has come to ruin and one lone woman lies still as death among broken wood.

(The beginning of a Homestuck/Twelfth Night crossover that I'm still determined to work more on someday. It's only got a single chapter but it's magic though now I'm concerned about not being able to recapture that. Not a bad first line though. The style is so different it took me reading it a couple times before going, oh yeeeeeah, that's pretty good!)

18. Relentless:

You pull him to the deck and then across it by the remains of his shirt. Let him say one last goodbye. His ship pillaged, his crew murdered, his hands bound behind his back and at your mercy.

Funny word, that. Mercy.

(The first line is pretty decent but there's that four line combo again! Five but I could basically fix that with a comma. Featuring the troll ancestors Mindfang and Dualscar because every time Hussey introduced new characters they were instantly my favorite.) 

19. Black:

There is dark and there is dark and there is dark and then there is black. She is black. Licorice and coal. She is hate and resentment and everything that tastes bitter, the kind of black that coats the tongue like oil, drips down the back of the throat and keeps going.

(Oh wow. Am I allowed to say that about my own work? A Terezi/Vriska drabble that I'm putting as much here as I think I can get away with because it's so good that it fucks me up a little going back and reading it.)

And here it gets tricky because I think the more recent of the old, old fics are in the Drabbles and Shorts collection on ff.net and I can't see a post date. So I'll just pick a good one to end on.

20. Two Princes:

It was inevitable as the rising of Ra's chariot after a long night, as the flooding of the river banks every spring, and Atem always knew that Yugi's kiss would be as warm and gentle as the evening breeze in the summer that brought relief from the scorching day. It was.

(How about the final honor going to more Puzzle/Blind? This probably has the strongest first line of its era. Actually I'm not sure when it was written. It was just hanging out in my writing folder and, thinking about it, I probably wrote it when I was fading from fandom the first time around but still trying to hang in there. No wait! That’s too sad, we can’t end on that! Lets add one more to the list for the sake of personal narrative!)

21. Linger:

The world doesn't need him anymore. It doesn't need his sword and it doesn't need his pen.

(A tiny Princess Tutu afterward that I wrote for myself. Nice one-two punch in the opener. Also it rounds out the personal story that accidentally developed here with a line later in the fic, "Words, however, never stray far from a good writer..." Like, wait, stop. Past me, how did you know T.T)

Did that take a sudden emotional turn for anyone else or was that just me. Can I offset that a little with an honorable mention? Let’s do that while I collect myself. Here’s one more.

Honorable mention: Ryou and the Thief

There was a storm gathering and too much magic in the air. Much more than occurred naturally and magic at this level was never a good thing.

(I can’t have a list of things I’ve written without having Ryou and the Thief on it. If you click on this one though, BEWARE, it’s old, it’s silly and it has a ton of explicit gay sex that… would be written very differently if we were handling it today I’m sure! This is the first RP @miss-moberg and I ever did together and our excuse to Gemship and Puzzleship turned into us running the boys through a whole adventure based on the Osiris myth. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever completed and I’d still consider it kind of my legacy.)

And that’s the last 21(+1!) stories that I’ve written! 

The clear winner of best first line for me is 15. Cafe! It’s short, elegant and manages to contain a whole mood even without the context of what’s going on and who’s involved. (Spoilers: It’s Seto and Mokuba making an AU escape from Gozoboro.) Close second is Tango, the most recent story. It’s neat to see just how much better I’ve gotten and also really cool to see that even if the first line itself doesn’t contain a punch, it’s usually because there’s a nice, strong idea being set up and delivered in the first four lines (or so). What a pleasant surprise!

AND WOW, this whole tag thing didn't need to be so long! Or personal! Seriously, if you get this tag from me the challenge is only to list the first lines to 20 stories and maybe try to draw one or two conclusions from them. You all thought I was joking when I said I loved talking about my own writing! But actually, I guess it’s fine like this as I ended up using it as a way to re-introduce myself. Like, "Hey, I used to live here a long time ago and oh my god I love what you've done with the place!" Rather than being someone who's just popped up out of nowhere a few weeks ago to creepily bother all your best of the best creators so....

^///^ Hello!

Thanks for letting me ramble!

Tags! I think I've seen most of the authors I follow do this already but on the off chance you haven't been tagged yet: @elexica (checked your blog to see if you'd already done the tag and saw that you're another person returning to writing fanfiction after 10+ years. Same! Hello!!), @danieco, @draconicmaw, @nedjemetsenen (has someone tagged you already?) and two shots in the dark, @miss-moberg and @edmondia (I'm so sorry you two. T.T Please feel free to block me forever.) And please, anyone else who wants to babble about their own writing! Do this, it was so much fun. <3

[murswrites]

No Fucking Fighting ⎯ Shelby!Reader One-Shot

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x Daughter!Reader, Shelby!Family x Shelby!Reader, Male!OC x Shelby!Reader Fandom: Peaky Blinders MASTERLIST Word Count: ~ 1,000 Warnings: Cursing SUMMARY: Despite your best efforts to get your family to behave, they don’t listen. Request from anon: Thomas Shelby x Daughter!Reader, it’s her wedding day with a member of the cavalry, but her family can’t hide their displeasure even tho they try their best to be happy for her. There's some fuss and she calls a family meeting with her husband by her side and gives a speech saying she loves him and with some resemblance to the one Thomas gave in his wedding — and also some fluff between father and daughter. (edited)

A/N I took out the part where her husband was with her because it didn’t feel right, but she does threaten them lmao. Also, reader is 17, this is set in 1924 aka series 3, instead of Grace and Tom’s wedding.

Today was your wedding day and despite begging your family to be respectful… your uncles were acting like fools. Despite Finn being younger than you, he pretended to hold some power over you, constantly bringing up that he’s your uncle. “Well, you’ve got to listen to me since I’m your uncle!” He’d yell.

You’d remind him that he was your “little uncle”, and that age matters more. Your father was nice enough to let you have the reception at the Arrow house, it would be the last night you spent there. You suspected he was trying to convince you to stay by reminding you that the Shelby name also held weight. It was too bad you were marrying the man you’d fallen for, not for his status, but for himself. 

But no matter how much you reiterated it, your family seemed to doubt you. You knew why your father and uncles despised the man you were marrying… he’s a cavalryman, his entire family is. And even if uncle Finn had no part in the war, he was acting stuck up. It was getting on your nerves.

The Shelby women were acting respectfully even though James’ family wore their uniforms to the wedding. That among the many other issues annoyed the hell out of you, you had asked specifically that they were formal wear…. Not their fucking red coats.

Beside you sat your husband, he’s seven years your senior, making him ten years younger than your father. Thomas has often told you how much he disliked the age gap between you two, but you said that age had no matters in the affairs of the heart. To which your father replied with, “You’re too much like Pol, beliving in that love shite.” 

In other words, your father, Thomas Shelby found love to be futile. Only believing in the love between family members. Ever since you lost your mother, apparently Tom’s been different. Then the war took your loving father and turned him into a stone-cold shell. 

John laughed to himself before gaining the attention of James’ cousin, “Hey, listen. Listen, listen. What do you call an animal with a prick halfway up its back? A cavalry horse.” Arthur and John burst out laughing before they saw the anger on your face. 

You turned to James, forcing yourself to smile at him, “I’ll be right back, love.” James nodded and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Don’t be too long, Mrs. Adler.” Being called that made you genuinely grin, you brought James in for a kiss despite sitting in front of both of your family’s. You made eye contact with each and every man and Peaky Blinder present at the table. They seemed to understand what you were implying.

—

“Where the fuck are they?” You spat out and your father shrugged. Arthur and John sauntered into the kitchen slowly, “What the fuck? Are you two daft?”

Uncle Arthur shook his head, “I am telling you now, we got lost. You really need to do a map.” You sighed loudly and did your best to calm down. 

“Right,” You beamed at them and it made an unsettled look appear on their faces. “I’ve already heard some shit that you’ve fucks have done and I won’t have it. I don’t care if most of you are all older than me, this is my fucking wedding day.” You pointed at them.

John shook his head, “Yeah, and you said there'd be no bloody uniforms.”

“I know, I asked James not to but it is what it is. They are his family, therefore they’re now my family. And for his sake, you will not fucking embarrass him. And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass him, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything…” You were aware that you sounded like your father, but you just wanted to make sure to cover all bases.

“I fucking love him, he’s my life now. And if you lot try and ruin it, because they’re cavalrymen, I’ll make you regret it, yea? Now, I expect your best behavior. Uncle John, that means no more jokes, Arthur, no more threatin’, Dad, no more cold stares, and Peaky Boys… if I hear of fighting, sports, snow, petrol sucking, fortunes! Anything! And your arses are done!” 

Finn shook his head, “Those bastards keep lookin’ us up and down like we’re the scum of the Earth.”

You shrugged in response, “And? The main thing is, despite the provocation from the cavalry, no fighting. James is my life and I don’t care if you lot dislike him, he treats me right, he loves me, and his family has chosen to overlook the fact that I’m a Shelby. This is the first man who’s treated me like a person and not an extension of the proud Thomas Shelby, which means… NO FUCKING FIGHTING!”

—

The night was coming to a close as you sat in the library away from everyone. Despite your warning… the boys still fought. It was all too much to deal with and you just needed a drink to yourself. Maybe you were a carbon copy of your father after all, “I was wonderin’ where you went.” 

Your father walked into the library with a glass in hand, “Here I am…” You mused unenthusiastically. 

“What’s wrong?” Tom moved to the armchair beside you and sat down.

“Every-fuckin-thing. Those bastards are fighting in the yard, saw them from my window.” The whole thing annoyed you beyond no end. Everything was going wrong. Your veil ripped before the initial ceremony then the boys ignored your adamant orders. “You’d think, being your daughter, they’d fucking respect my wants… I just wanted them to show James’ family that we aren’t what they think we are.” 

Tommy chuckled and the look you shot him only added to his amusement, “I don’t think it’s been all bad… I’m just worried about never seeing my best girl anymore.”

Your face softened at the melancholy tone in Tommy’s voice, “Dad… I’m not going away forever.” He mumbled something along the lines of ‘Seems that way’. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it, “I promise I’ll visit and call all of the time. You’ve been my moral support since mum died. I love you, Dad.” 

He sighed, “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N.” 

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

I've had a really hard day today and I saw someone wanted more Jimary crack, so I decided to write it to cheer myself up. I hope three fics in a row isn't too excessive. (All credit goes to the anon who suggested this.)

--

‘She’s drunk.’ Joe said very matter-of-factly, lifting his wine glass to his lips, only to discover there was nothing left in it.

‘Very drunk.’ Replied Phoebe, reaching for the bottle nearby and giving them both a refill.

It wasn’t as though they had never seen Mary drunk before. She was usually all giggly and bouncy after a few drinks, perhaps more talkative than usual and, in Joe’s opinion, far less uptight. But they had never seen her like this; her eyes heavy lidded, downing her wine like it was water and clumsily swaying to the music that filled the busy lounge, stumbling every now and again to keep her balance. She was clearly taking her break up with Piers very badly.

‘Freddie’s livid.’ Joe murmured, glancing over at the singer who appeared to be deep in conversation with Peter Straker, but kept glancing over at the intoxicated woman who was trying to coax Brian into dancing with her, much to the displeasure of Anita. ‘Prepare yourself for a screaming match later on.’

‘I already have the popcorn ready.’

Mary eventually gave up on Brian and loudly announced she was heading into the kitchen for another bottle of rosé, almost stepping on Delilah as she staggered through the door. She surveyed the kitchen a moment, the room spinning as her alcohol consumption finally caught up with her, before she noticed Jim sitting alone at the kitchen table, trying unsuccessfully to uncork a large bottle of champagne between his knees.

She had always been a little jealous of Jim. Before he came along, she had always held out hope that Freddie might return to her one day, discover he wasn’t actually into men or something daft like that. But then this Irishman appeared, who wasn’t like Freddie’s other boyfriends; for the first time, it seemed like Freddie was in love and ready to settle down, happy in a way she had never seen him before. It had been hard for her to accept; but when Piers had finally had enough of her obsession and left her, she realised that she would never be able to properly move on with her life if she kept latching on to the past. She had to let Freddie go. She had to accept that, while they would always be friends, Freddie was gay and what they had all those years ago was over.

Jim noticed her hovering and looked up, giving her a small smile. ‘Enjoying the party?’

Mary hummed in response, going to the cupboard where the booze was kept and digging around until she found the rosé she was looking for. When she looked back at Jim, he still hadn’t managed to remove the cork and was quietly cursing under his breath in his thick Irish accent.

It was quite a nice voice, her inebriated mind told her.

‘You have a lovely voice.’ She suddenly said aloud, her words slurred. She wobbled up to him, heels clinking against the kitchen tiles as she unscrewed the top of the rosé bottle. ‘Where is it you’re from again?’

Jim blinked at her dumbly. He wasn’t used to Mary initiating conversation like this; she was usually so reserved. ‘Um, a town called Carlow. It’s near Dublin.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Mary drawled and without any warning, she suddenly plopped herself down in Jim's lap, making him jump in surprise. ‘Ireland is sss-such a lovely place. Lots of sheep there.’

Jim’s face went red, and he carefully set the champagne bottle down on the table. ‘Yeah, I suppose there are.’

Much to his horror, Mary put the bottle of rosé to her lips and began downing the drink ruthlessly, not stopping until it was almost half empty. When she finally stopped, she carelessly abandoned the bottle next to the champagne and turned around to stare Jim directly in the eyes, her smile disturbingly wide.

‘You have beautiful eyes.’ She garbled, moving her finger as if she was going to poke them out, but she instead ended up giving him a weird boop on the nose. ‘And your arms are so big.’ She reached down to squeeze his bicep, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘I bet you’re really strong. Remember when you lifted me up at Freddie’s birthday party?’

Jim remembered. He was so plastered that night he had almost dropped her on her head.

‘Are you feeling alright, Mary?’ he asked warily, not comfortable with how close their faces were.

‘I’m wonderful, Jim.’ Mary giggled again, though it sounded a little manic. ‘I really, really want to dance. Will you dance with me, Jim?’

‘I’m not much of a dancer, Mary.’ Jim coughed, glancing over his shoulder in hope that someone might come through the kitchen door and save him.

‘That’s not true! I’ve seen you dance!’ Mary insisted, pulling at his hands, ‘come on.’

Jim didn’t have the energy to argue with her, already a little tipsy himself, and he allowed her to drag him into the middle of the kitchen, face filling with colour as Mary threw her arms around his neck and sagged all of her body weight against him. He realised rather quickly that if he let her go, she’d probably fall face first onto the floor and never get up again.

The next five minutes had to be the most uncomfortable of his entire life, as he swayed in awkward circles with his husband’s ex-girlfriend, mindfully trying to keep his hands off her waist. He wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment, he prayed to every God in existence that someone would call him from the lounge and rescue him from this predicament.

Mary suddenly lifted her head from his shoulder and whispered in his ear. ‘Marry me, Jim.’

The Irishman stared down at her, eyes comically wide. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Marry me.’ Mary grinned at him, leaning so close that for one horrible moment he thought she might try to kiss him. ‘We can have lots of beautiful Irish babies together.’

Jim sighed. Next time they had a party, he was going to replace Mary’s wine with Ribena. ‘I’m very flattered by your offer, but there are two problems; I’m gay and I’m married to Freddie.’

‘Oh bugger.’ Said Mary, as if she had forgotten that detail. ‘You can still marry me though. We can run away to Cardiff together.’

‘Carlow, Mary.’

Her face suddenly fell and she stepped away from him, looking betrayed. 'Is it because of the cats?'

'The what?'

‘That's why you don't want to marry me, isn't it?’ Mary's lip trembled as if she was about to cry. ‘Freddie has cats and I don't!'

‘Mary, I’m going to get you some water.’ Jim replied, making a beeline for the sink.

‘No, don’t leave!’ Mary grabbed his sleeve, trying to tug him back. ‘Stay with me, Jim. I'll buy you all the cats you want!’

‘You’ll feel much better after drinking this.’ Jim said firmly, pouring a glass of water and turning around to hand it to her. As soon as he did, her lips were suddenly pressed against his own, arms locked around his neck so there was no escape as he yelled against her mouth in surprise.

‘Mary!’ he roared, as soon as she released him, half the water having spilled onto the floor during the struggle. ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?!’

Mary grinned; lipstick smudged across her face, so she looked like the Joker. ‘I’ve never kissed an Irishman before. Does that make me Irish now?’

Before Jim could even answer, she suddenly dry heaved; he grabbed her and stuck her head into the sink as she vomited up the contents of her stomach.

--

‘What the fuck happened?’ Freddie demanded, as Jim walked into the lounge, his shirt ruffled, a smear of red lipstick on his mouth and a very drunk Mary giggling uncontrollably in his arms.

‘Your ex-girlfriend asked me to marry her, then threw up.’ Jim replied, as if this was a normal occurrence. ‘I’m going to put her in one of the guest rooms so she can sleep it off.’

He turned and walked out of the lounge before anyone could respond. Freddie clenched his glass so hard it was a miracle it didn’t shatter in his hand.

‘I’m going to murder her!’ he growled, lunging towards the door, only for Phoebe to grab him from behind and hoist him up. ‘Let me go! That backstabbing homewrecker is trying to abscond with my husband!’

‘Take it easy, Fred.’ Phoebe said calmly, holding onto the man effortlessly. ‘You can kill her tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, we haven’t even had dessert yet.’ Said Joe, holding onto Freddie's legs to stop him from kicking. ‘I spent all fucking day slaving over that baked Alaska, you’re eating it whether you like it or not!’

Firstly, I am so sorry you are having a hard day. I feel terrible that whilst you are doing so much to entertain us with this outrageous crackship, you are not having a good time. I can just hope that writing these stories bring you as much joy as they bring us.

And now, the fic. I AM WHEEZING. First of all, I fucking love Joe. Even though we've never heard him speak, or ever listened to his words through his own perspective, I feel that your characterisation is so realistic. His dessert comment slayed me lmao.

And oof, Mary being drunk off her ass is my new favourite trope. And lmao her thinking that Jim doesnt want to marry her because she doesn't have cats😂😂😂 Leave him alone, Mary. He doesn't want to have irish babies with you.

And hahahahaha Freddie's reaction is as epic as I had envisioned. And god, this is another nightmare that Jim isn't going to recover from soon.

This is such a fantastic crackship, omg. I absolutely loved this💙💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

Also anon, if you ever want to talk, you can always dm me, if you are comfortable of course🧡