#we do so poorly while playing bottom table teams

[kyuutekyu]

Well at least Cincinnati also lost... 😒😐

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 28: Back to Indiana

Word Count: 658/Rating: T/Pairing: None/CW: mention of bullying, mention of the 1986 "earthquake," Corroded Coffin is famous/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, Principal Higgins, 1992, Hawkins High

Divider credit to @silkholland

Six years ago, the members of Corroded Coffin were at the bottom of the Hawkins High food chain. Taunts of ‘freak’ and ‘loser’ followed them in the hallway, and those were some of the nicer words used to describe them. On more than one occasion, they’d overheard teachers referring to them as ‘devil worshipers.’ 

But now?

Eddie leaned back in the chair opposite Principal Higgins. The man was a little grayer, more tired than he’d been in ‘86, but every bit as miserable. 

“Well, well.” Eddie grinned, hands folded and elbows perched on the chair’s arms. “It appears you need a favor from us, Higgsy-Poo. How the tables have turned.”

The principal took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Munson, I believe I asked you to stop calling me that.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “But yes. We need to raise money, and having Corroded Coffin play would definitely sell tickets.”

It was obvious that the school had fallen into utter disrepair. Insurance had covered some of the damage from that fateful earthquake, but it wasn’t enough. And the fixes that had been made were done poorly, already showing cracks. 

It was Corroded Coffin to the rescue. But just as the system had kept Eddie from graduating—twice—the show would not go on without a fight. 

Eddie looked at his bandmates, the four of them sharing knowing smiles. Make him grovel, he silently commanded. 

“I dunno, Higlet.” Gareth scrunched his nose in contemplation. “We’ve got a real busy schedule: recording, touring, press…”

Jeff slung an arm around his former principal. “And you’re asking us to do this for free?”

“It would be to help out your alma mater,” Higgins tried. 

“Right, because we have such fond memories of this hellhole.” Grant snorted and rolled his eyes. “I mean, I can’t think of a better way to spend my teenage years than dodging bullies because you,” he jabbed his forefinger at Higgins, “didn’t give a shit about anyone besides the jocks.”

A bead of sweat trickled down Higgins’ face. Eddie had never seen him so frazzled; not even during the ‘83 senior prank involving petting zoo animals running wild in the hallways. 

“Please,” Higgins begged, “the town is going to condemn the building if we can’t get it fixed. They’ll split students up and send them to neighboring districts and…” He swallowed. “…and I’ll be out of a job.”

Eddie raised his brows and smirked. “So…you need us?”

“Yes.”

“Then say it.” Eddie stood up and crossed his arms. “Say, ‘I, Principal Higgins, am a pathetic loser who needs Corroded Coffin to save my sorry ass.’”

Higgins’ eyes widened. “What?!”

“Say it, or no show,” Jeff chimed in. 

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the offer was considered. “Fine.” The principal took a deep breath. “I, Principal Higgins, am a loser—”

“A pathetic loser,” Eddie amended. 

“A pathetic loser who needs Corroded Coffin to save my sorry ass.” 

The band exchanged looks, ready to agree, but Eddie spoke up before they signed the contract. “One more thing.” The twinkle in his eye did not just convey mischief; it also signified justice. “This show is gonna bring in more money than you’ll need, especially since you’re not paying us. So anything left over will go to the Hellfire Club.” He stared at Higgins. “I have it on good authority that they’re supposed to be going to a national DnD championship, but they can’t afford the entry fee.”

‘Good authority’ referred to Erica Sinclair, the current Dungeon Master who constantly lamented about the sports teams going to away games funded by the district while Hellfire had to pay their own way.

“Okay.” Higgins nodded. “I’ll have it added to the contract.”

“Then we have a deal.” Eddie shook the man’s outstretched hand, relishing in its slight tremble. “See you at the concert, Higfried and Roy.” He winked. “We’ll save you a seat, front and center.”

--

[youngerdrgrey]

relax (this is private, too) // a Mary/Ryan oneshot

about: In a post-2x13 world, Mary welcomes Sophie to the Bat Team, and Sophie derails the conversation with an observation.

“It’s a tale as old as time. ‘Straight’ girl meets somebody that she just has to know, wants to spend all her time with her, starts wearing her clothes….” Sophie and Mary both look down at the color-block jacket that Mary’s wearing — Ryan’s color-block jacket. But Mary couldn’t possibly have a crush on Ryan… could she? + read on ao3

notes: Surprise! Truly, none probably more surprised than me. One moment I'm saying that I probably won't write for a bit, and the next I'm writing this because we really didn't talk enough about Mary saying, "Okay, that's kind of sexy" over the hot shot moment. (As a note, yes, platonic, intimate friendships between women are important. At this moment, though, let's run the tape back with Mary who is very confused.)

🦇

“Sit, sit, sit.” Mary leads Sophie through the loft to the living room. “You must have questions.”

Sophie does sit — on the chair this time, which leaves the couch open for Mary. It’s a slightly different seating arrangement than they had yesterday. There’s definitely a lot less attitude and tension here, but then again, it is only Mary and Sophie right now. Unless Ryan’s patrol goes poorly, but it probably won’t. Besides, Mary had texted Ryan about wanting some one-on-one time to suss Sophie out. Sophie’s a great person, but she might need to come around to Ryan wearing the suit.

Mary uncorks the wine bottle on the coffee table and gives a generous pour into the two stemless glasses. It’s a rosè, which is the perfect drink for a casual conversation. It’s light, airy, and has absolutely no chance of worms or poison in the bottom.

Sophie eyes her glass a moment before picking it up anyway. “Honestly?” She chuckles. “I have less questions now.”

“Really?” Mary settles back into the couch. “Because I won’t judge you if you do. It’s a lot to take in.” Mary’d wanted to rip the suit right off of Ryan the first time that she saw Ryan in it. Granted, at the time, they’d still been trying to find Kate, and a stranger was wearing Mary’s sister’s secret vigilante costume.

Sophie swirls her glass. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still processing the Ryan Wilder of it all, but… well, it all makes sense now.” She leans forward, her elbows finding the tops of her knees as she pitches towards Mary. “Before last week, I couldn’t understand why Ryan was suddenly everywhere. Sure, she worked at the bar, but then you were roommates out of nowhere. You went from zero to….” Sophie snorts into her wine glass.

Mary laughs too, but she doesn’t quite get why. It’s like they’re playing Never Have I Ever all over again. “Zero to what? I want in on the joke.”

Sophie shakes her head though. Her eyebrows pull together like she’s still puzzling something. Then she gives in, and her voice still has a hint of that humor as she finishes, “Zero to U-haul.” Mary chokes on the air in her lungs. Sophie raises her glass in a silent toast. “So, the Batwoman thing — makes a lot more sense than you suddenly having a girlfriend.”

Mary’s cheeks flush. Leave it to the lesbian to assume Mary’s hiding her sexuality. “A secret girlfriend is much more your speed.” Wait, is that rude? “Uh, no offense.”

Sophie takes a swig of wine. “None taken. You’re right. So, tell me more about working with Ryan.”

Mary smiles. This, she can do. She could talk about Ryan for hours. “She’s amazing. I mean, you know, you’ve seen her. She totally fills out the suit. Like it suits her and not the other way around. You’d think that it wouldn’t, but she really makes it her own.”

“Right, with the wig.”

“With everything!” Mary drinks some more. “She really gets this city, you know? Everything we’re doing with the Center is all Ryan’s idea. She came up with the plan, and she has these rules that we follow as the Bat Team! No killing, no working with Crows — again, no offense. Er, well,” Mary tilts her head to the side, “some offense. You guys have an awful track record at this point.”

Sophie takes another drink. “So you tell me.”

“But we also do team building exercises. It’s mostly us playing Taboo, and Luke getting really tired of us. Ryan’s so great. It’s like we don’t even have to say anything to know what the other is thinking. And even though she’s the boss, and she’s the leader, it’s like we’re really working side by side to make Gotham the place we always wanted it to be. The Center’s only the start. She has ideas about upgraded transitional shelters for people experiencing homelessness, and expanding the clinic if we get enough resources. She listened to my whole pitch about what we would need to do it, and asked questions, and— what?”

Sophie’s staring at Mary. Staring hard, but soft at the same time.

Mary swipes a hand across her cheek. “Is something on my face?”

Sophie shakes her head. “No, it’s nothing.” She drinks again, but her brows stay furrowed.

“Sophie, come on. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Maybe hearing about all the good that Ryan wants is too much for Sophie right now. Mary can wait. It’s not like she’ll run out of good stuff to say.

“It’s the way you talk about her,” Sophie says finally. That softness is there again. A gentle touch in her voice. “Between that and your ‘kinda sexy’ comment yesterday… I don’t know, Mary, it just sounds like you have a crush.”

“A crush?” Mary repeats. “On Ryan?” She scoffs. “Hate to break it to you, Sophie, but I am straight. Like so straight. Like—”

Sophie puts her hands up in a silent casual defense. She drops them a moment later. “You don’t have to convince me. I believe you.”

“Thank you!” Mary flops back into the couch. Her head bounces just a bit on the top of it. Her curls smush, and she sinks down so that the thought can hopefully follow it out of her head.

She knows what sexy is. She can identify that something could be attractive without actually being attracted to said thing. There are all the different types of attraction. She ran a course on gender and sexuality for the doctors and volunteers at her clinic to make sure that everyone was on the same page in how to properly treat people that the medical field did not always regard with respect. She would know if she had a crush on Ryan.

Wouldn’t she?

Sophie sets her wine onto the coffee table. “It’s a tale as old as time. ‘Straight’ girl meets somebody that she just has to know, wants to spend all her time with her, starts wearing her clothes….” Sophie and Mary both look down at the color-block jacket that Mary’s wearing — Ryan’s color-block jacket.

“Okay, but we live together,” Mary reasons. Roommates borrow each other’s clothes. It’s not like she’s taking her crush’s jacket so that she has an excuse to see Ryan again. She can see Ryan whenever she wants. She does see Ryan whenever she wants. She can’t even count the number of times she’s come back from an awful shift, walked into Ryan’s room, and flopped down onto the bed beside her.

Her bed’s not softer than Mary’s. Mary obviously cared a lot more about her rest than Kate did, so Mary’s mattress is a dream. But Ryan’s room smells like a dialed down greenhouse. It smells alive and hopeful and earthy in a way that instantly calms Mary down. And when Mary’s having a really rough day, Ryan will put a pillow in her lap and run her hands through Mary’s hair until she stops seeing whatever gruesome wounds that she’s spent the last few hours dealing with. That’s not a crush. That’s… comfort. Intimacy. A deep, deep starvation for physical touch after a lifetime of parental neglect.

Friends can be affectionate. Friends can want to be close to each other.

She wants to be close to Luke. And to Sophie! She would love to curl up next to Sophie right now. Though, the more that Mary thinks about curling up with Sophie, the more she recognizes that it wouldn’t be the same as cozying up to Ryan. Ryan’s basically her same size. She’s got this warmth that radiates from her cheeks and her chest, and she hums songs and asks Mary to guess which song it is. Mary’s awful at this game, by the way. She usually ends up giving up, or drifting off to sleep while Ryan’s clearly picking songs that Mary — as someone who did not grow up in a Black household — did not grow up with.

(The one time Mary used that as a defense, Ryan had pointed out that Ryan didn’t grow up in a Black household either. Ryan grew up in a mismatch of cultures and identities in group homes before Mama Cora found her in high school. They’d made up for lost time with plenty of Miss Anita Baker and all the classics that Ryan had missed out on. The rest of Ryan’s cultural education came from other Black students and friends who’d either clowned her for not knowing a reference, or rushed to show her what their parents told them. It hadn’t been as simple as a natural osmosis for Ryan to feel at home with some of the cultural references around her.)

(Mary had whispered that it wasn’t easy for her either. Not with her mom working all the time and the rest of her Korean-American family out of reach. “There weren’t many Korean people in Gotham.” An understatement, but Ryan had leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of Mary’s head to comfort her. Sadness Mary hadn’t even known was still there had welled up. Liquified into tears that slipped onto Ryan’s pillow.)

(“It was—” Her breath had caught in her throat. The tears smeared her vision, which was fine, since all she could see from this angle were Ryan’s plants by the window anyway. “It was so lonely sometimes. And my dad…. With Kate… And Alice….” She couldn’t finish a single sentence. All the tears turned to sobs, and the sobs turned into this soul-clenching pressure in her chest.)

(Ryan had curled around Mary then. An arm found its way under Mary’s knees and softly tugged her into a tighter ball in Ryan’s lap. Ryan rocked them, whispered again and again, “It’s okay. Let it out. I got you. I’m here, Mary. I’m here.”)

Mary gulps now. “Ryan is….” She’s Mary’s roommate. Mary’s best friend. She’s the one who got Mary through losing Kate and who welcomed Mary onto the Bat Team. She’s the first person Mary calls whenever anything happens and literally the only person Mary could entrust The Hold Up to. She’s Batwoman, and…. And Mary has no idea what she would do without Ryan at this point. But it’s not like Mary wants to kiss Ryan. Just look at Ryan.

Look at Ryan in those ridiculous flannel shirts. She has twelve. Not including jackets. And she’s a woman, which is not Mary’s type. Mary hasn’t been super successful with her previous type, but they definitely have certain characteristics that Ryan does not. They don’t walk around in fluffy robes that they bought to spite their ex-girlfriends, or wake up super early after a late shift to use the workout bike that Mary still has never actually tried riding. They don’t make Mary sweet potato pancakes and encourage her to try out cooking on her off nights for stress relief. They don’t make her feel like home. They don’t…. Shit.

The lowest groan that Mary has ever done in her life grumbles out of her.

Sophie pops her lips. “There it is.”

Mary squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re not right. I don’t — I can’t — it’s Ryan.” She can’t fall for her best friend! She doesn’t have a backup bestie. “Besides!” Mary pops up to tell Sophie, “I have never once wanted to kiss her.”

Sophie raises an eyebrow in the smoothest, most silent way to ask, Are you sure?

(Mary got them breakfast the next morning. She couldn’t do the sweet potato pancakes, but she knew the right cafe to get Ryan’s favorite vegan chorizo burrito. She got back just as Ryan was finishing up a shower and called out, “Breakfast!”)

(Steam followed Ryan out of her bedroom. The tips of her hair dripped softly onto her shirt, just above her chest, and Mary couldn’t stop glancing down at it. Normally, she would’ve been able to, but that morning…. Ryan snatched up her burrito and flopped down onto the couch. On the first bite, Ryan let out a soft moan that somehow carried straight over to Mary. Maybe Mary made the wrong food choice? If the burrito was that good, and Mary could feel it, then she needed some of what Ryan was having.)

(“You’re brilliant,” Ryan said. Then she locked eyes with Mary and gestured with her burrito. “Anyone who would ever leave you behind is a dumbass. Full offense to the entire Hamilton-Kane family.” Ryan dug in for another bite, and Mary’s heart swelled in her chest. She couldn’t even smile with how full she felt. How warm and safe and loved. God, she loved Ryan. She really, really could spend the rest of her life like this.)

(Ryan’s face scrunched up. “Stop looking at me like that. I don’t care how hungry you look. I’m not sharing.”)

(Mary faked an outraged gasp. She wasn’t even hungry. Not anymore, not really. Still, she threw herself onto the couch beside Ryan. “I paid for it! Give me a bite!” Ryan squirmed away, and Mary had to cling to the curve of Ryan’s back to try and reach for the good. “Come on! Ryan!”)

(If Ryan was a guy, this is when Mary would’ve kissed him. Would’ve peppered his head and his cheeks and his nose with kisses until he turned just enough for her to kiss his full lips and suck his tongue into her mouth. To lose every bit of resistance in the soft brush of her hands, and the gentle curls of Ryan’s hair beneath her fingers. Ryan’s teeth nipping at her bottom lip, then her neck, then—)

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!” Mary sinks even deeper into the couch. Then shoots up at the reminder of the memory of wanting to kiss Ryan on this exact freaking couch. She turns her wide eyes to Sophie. “What am I going to do?”

Sophie clicks her tongue. “Nope, I want nothing to do with that. Whatever happens there is between you and Ryan.”

“But what if….” Mary loses her words in a squeak. What if she doesn’t know what she wants to happen? What if she doesn’t want anything to happen? What if she’ll be totally fine, going about her business, continuing her life where she gets to occasionally cuddle up with her best friend in their apartment? Maybe she doesn’t need anything more than that. She’s made it this far, and she didn’t even know she had any sort of feelings, or attraction. She can keep on going now. She can be normal.

Not normal meaning straight, just normal meaning Mary’s normal state. Which was straight. Is straight?

Mary groans. “I hate my life.”

Sophie reaches for the wine bottle and fills Mary’s glass up to the brim. “Look on the bright side — at least you know who she is. No secret identities, or clandestine rendezvous. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I am apparently into a lot of things I didn’t know,” Mary mumbles.

Sophie sighs. “It’s not that different, and for you, maybe it’s not different at all. Maybe….” Sophie glances around the loft. Mary follows her eyes as they bounce from the wine to the hallway to the silly bat wall decals that Ryan got from Party City and put near the TV. Sophie nods her head, as she finds her words. “Ryan loves Halloween.”

“What?”

“Stick with me.” Sophie points to the bats, then the tiny plastic pumpkins from the checkout section of Target. “Ryan loves Halloween. She decorates the whole house around it because she loves it so much. But me, I grew up in a strict Christian household where Halloween was not what we did. We did Christmas. And you….”

Mary follows again. “We did a mix. Christmas and Hanukkah.”

Sophie winces. “Okay, a mix of holidays. You’re not strictly a one holiday kind of girl. And that’s fine.”

Mary glances back to the Halloween decorations. “So, in this metaphor—”

“It might be time to celebrate Halloween. Maybe you’ll love it. Maybe you’ll hate it. But it’s October now, so, get a costume, grab a pumpkin, and tell her how you feel.”

Okay. Mary can do that. Mary can totally do that. If she can handle Alice imploding her entire life in front of the whole world, then she can tell her roommate that she has a crush on her.

Maybe.

Someday.

When she’s ready.

“Can we, uh, work our way up to Halloween? I feel like I’m still hearing fireworks.”

Sophie grins at her. “Of course. We’ll go at your speed. And if you have any questions?”

Mary picks back up her wine glass and knocks back nearly half of it. “I’ll ask you. Or Parker. She’s incredibly knowledgeable for a teenager.” She probably wouldn’t use such convoluted metaphors either. It’s a win-win really. Great, last time Mary saw Parker, they were watching the lesbian drama; now Mary will be a part of it. Ugh. "I'm never living this down, am I?"

"Oh, absolutely not. Hey, Mary?" Sophie waits until Mary's turned her steadily narrowing gaze to her. "Never have I ever had a crush on Batwoman."

Mary flips Sophie off.

🦇

[lizzzweasley]

Hand-Me-Downs (George x Reader)

*This is a re-write of my original story so make the overall series flow better*

🖤This is a follow-on from Love Potion, so if you haven’t read that, read that first if you want the whole story🖤

——————————

You woke up the next morning and sat up in your bed, looking at the love potion you had taken out your pocket and put on your bedside table.

Yoy have to tell him, the love potion, on the train, smelled like him.

You sit there staring at the sprawl of books on your bed.

Angelica walks in, she is looking as gorgeous as ever, but slightly disheveled. She always woke up an hour before you to make sure her makeup and hair looked perfect for the day.

“You okay, y/n?” She asked, walking into the dorm

“Yeah, I’m just thinking, are you?” You asked, but she was already looking at herself in the mirror, fixing her makeup and hair, so she didn’t really hear your response.

“I’m gonna go downstairs, do you want anything?” You asked Angelica

“I’m okay Thankyou! Just “ate” she gave you a wink “with Freddie”

You looked her up and down, the attempts to fix her makeup were obvious now.

You walked down the long winding steps, into the great hall. You search the hall looking for George but no sign of the Ginger haired, pixie pop drinking boy.

Penelope noticed the confusion in your face.

“Looking for someone” she asked from a seated position

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen George” you asked trying to hide your pink cheeks.

“Weasley boy? Yeah he’s out back, quidditch practice” she said.

You didn’t even respond and tried to walk calmly out the hall, but as soon as you left her eyesight you walk turned into a jog.

You walked onto the quidditch turf, which was muggy from the days rain. Madame Hooch asked if you were okay, this was not your domain after all, she was shocked to see you in your dolly shoes, covered in mud.

“Sorry to disrupt, Madame, just waiting for practice to be over, I’m looking for George”

“It’s no worry at all, love, he’s there” she said whilst pointing to what looked like a dot in the sky. “They should be done soon!” She said, still looking at the team, whizzing past in the sky.

You decided to take a seat in the changing rooms until he was done, you put you hand in your pocket and around the love potion. “It’s a dud” you though to yourself.

After a while all the team came into the changing room, you looked the whole team up and down, and while all of them were lovely, they just weren’t George.

They all looked at you as if to say “should you be in the library” or “what is she doing here”.

George passed, he didn’t notice you at first as he high fived Lee and said “we’re going to kick Slytherins ass!”.

Lee high fived him and then gestured your way to George.

“Is everything okay y/n? Is Fred okay, he didn’t turn up to practice?” He said and his face dropped.

“Everything’s okay George!” You giggled, “I just came to tell you about the love potion” you said shyly

“THEY WORK RIGHT? IVE HAD A FEW GIRLS LOOK MY WAY, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” He said excitedly

“Oh..Erm well, well I guess they work!” you said.

Look his way? As in like him? Does he like them back? You wondered to yourself

“So, what ya’ here for?” He asked taking off the top part of his quidditch kit off, he didn’t mind, he was totally comfortable.

You saw his chest, it was defined, but not overly, you looked to the floor, the thought of seeing him like that would light that spark in your tummy again.

“Oh erm. I was just wondering if you wanted this” you said pulling a Pixie Pop out of your side bag, you must be shattered after that practice” you said.

“MY FAVOURITE” he said giving you a wink “wait, you saw that?” He shyly asked, but his confidence always covered up his shyness.

“Of course, you’re really good out there you know, and, urm....”

“HEY, we’re gonna go back to the common room! Let’s find Fred and get this party started” Lee said. He was a flamboyant boy, he didn’t really play quidditch, but he narrated it, and turned up to quidditch practice regardless.

The rest of the team walked out, they were pumped up on adrenaline and couldn’t wait to celebrate their (soon to be) win against Slytherin.

George threw his white shirt on , buttoned to his sternum, and put his tie in his bag, he rolled up his sleeves, which honestly drove you crazy.

“Let’s wall back” George said, and then, just like magic, the rain started to fall and you heard it patting against the tent you two were stood in.You grabbed your stuff and he grabbed his and walked into the rain.

His hair was sweaty from the game, but the rain made it wet, splitting into different sections, he took his hand and pushed his wet ear length hair back from his forehead. You could’ve swore you never saw anything more beautiful.

“How are classes going, anyone giving you any jip?” He asked you, not just a conversation starter, but a genuine question.

“Snape’s a bit mean, but bar that I’m am loving it, gets me away from Muggle studies!” You replied, the whole time noticing every raindrop that fell off his hair and onto his shirt, which was practically see through by this point.

You got to the front of the castle now, and everyone was either inside, or lovers in the rain, kissing like it was their first, and you wondered what that would be like.

“You going to the party in the dorm?” He asked you

“Well seeing how it’s about 10 steps away from my bedroom, I guess I must”

When you arrived no one was in the dorm. “This party isn’t a party without Fred” a note from Lee read.

“Welllll I guess we have the place all to ourselvesssss” he said whilst throwing himself down onto the sofa and throwing his arm on the back of it “also you might want to do something about..your shirt”

You were drenched and your black bra was showing through your white shirt, usually you wouldn’t mind, but George could see everything, you weren’t embarrassed, you could feel that heat again, it was moving down your stomach and onto your thighs, and George felt the same way.

“Do you want a jumper?” George asked

regardless of you having a trunk load in your room you couldn’t pass up the offer.

“Please” you said, shaking with cold and anticipation next to the fire.

“Sure thing” he said practically jumping out his seat to run to his room.

He was rummaging around but all he could find was a jumper his mum had knitted him years ago, perfectly preserved in his drawer. It was a green jumper with a gold letter “G” on it.

He grabbed it by the collar and shook it off.

He made his way back down the small stairs from his room, where you were still shivering next to the fire.

“There you go!” He said, hand stretched out to you with the jumper in it, his eyes were on the floor, trying not to look at your bra.

“Thankyou!” You said.

He kept his eyes on the floor, “I’ll look away if you like” he said as you started to take off your shirt

“It’s okay! Don’t worry” you said as you turned you back to him to slip off the wet white shirt and put the jumper over the top.

Now when George handed you the jumper it looked small in comparison to him, but when you put it in it fit you like a knee high dress and hit your legs just where your skirt would too. Your skirt was drenched with the rain so you decided to take it off, but leave your knee high socks on.

When George looked at you, he took all of you in, from the knee high socks to the jumper of his that was now draped around your body “wow” he whispered under his breath.

You walked over to him, and he was convinced with that sultry look you had in your eye that you were going to sit on his knee. His shirt still wet from the game and you could still see the outline of his chest.

You stood over him.

“So, who’s “looking your way”?” You asked, almost domineering

“Some girls, the right one just hasn’t stepped forward I guess” he said, he put his hand on the side of the couch and lifted himself up, he was now looking down at you, his wet hair starting to dry on his forehead.

“And who would be the right one? Don’t tell me it’s Penelope” you giggled, but he didn’t laugh, he just kept taking steps towards you, and you kept taking steps backwards until you were against the wall.

He put his hand on either side of the wall next to your head. “Love potion doesn’t create the real thing” winked back at you.

He thew himself into your lips, despite how fast he came at you, his kiss was soft and well though out.

You kissed back and moaned into his mouth, very softly, but even your quiet moments, he heard the loudest.

You raised your leg up to his hip and he grabbed your thigh, kissing and moaning quietly into eachother was enough to warm the both of you up.

When you placed your hands on his chest, the cold of his shirt shocked you, you could feel his heart thumping against the fabric.

He grabbed your other thigh and lifted you up against the wall, he felt his was up your legs and found his hands touching the bottom of the jumper he had given you, which was (poorly) covering your ass.

You let yourself relax against the wall and him, and as you did you could how hard he was, resting against your inner thigh.

You kissed him and he bit your bottom lip, you both giggled .

“fortuna major” you heard people outside the common room say.

You both looked at eachother and gave one last hasty kiss and he quickly placed you down onto the ground and he took a seat back on the sofa, his heart was beating hard, and so was yours.

The party walked in with Lee leading them

“Gry-ffin-dor. “Gry-ffin-dor”. We’re-the-ones-that-you-adore” he said chanting, and Fred was following suit. They walked into the common room and with a flick of his wand music stared playing.

Everyone started piling into the common room, chanting the house chant.

You got up to see yourself to bed, george saw you leaving and he felt heavy, he got up to talk to you.

“Y/n...” he said across the room and walking over to you

“Oh, sorry george, do you want you jumper? I’ll wash it and get it straight back to you”

“No , no. In our family we do hand me downs, we don’t have a lot but whatever we do have we share. This is yours now” he said tugging at the sleeve of your (his) jumper.

“Thank you, George” you say, looking straight into his brown eyes, a kiss waiting to happen.

You turn. And make your way up the stairs.

Then 6th or 7th step up, George was still looking at you. But from that angle he could see right up you jumper, which made him hard again.

“Going to bed so soon?” Fred asked george as he was picking up your uniform from the floor, which no one seemed to notice .

“Yeah mate, some of actually turned up for practice” he said jokingly, he took himself to bed, and was thinking of you.

When you reached your room you snuggled down in his way oversized jumped, tonight you didn’t need to smell the love potion, you had the real thing right here.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 82

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I woke up to my head feeling split open. Not my best start to a day but considering where I'd left off yesterday it was about as good as I could expect to be doing. I couldn't recall my dreams either which I took as a promising sign. Maybe Mother had laid off for once.

Yeah right. And maybe pigs will fly.

She'd probably attacked me as ferociously as she ever could if she knew I'd met my sisters yesterday. I remembered so much.

Digging up worms with Iris before a fishing trip.

Fake .

A family photo with me surrounded by my energetic sisters. Lily smiling and upside down on the couch for the photo. My eyes rolled for the camera.

Fake.

Playing huntsman in the woods near my home with Saphron. I used a small stick as a small imaginary sword to fight off pretend Grimm.

Fake.

Kolumbine and Juniper teasing me over my first crush. A wispy girl I could hardly remember from back home.

Fake.

Home. Where even was home for me? I remembered it as a lone tall house in a small woods but where had it been? What was the name of the town it had been a part of? I couldn't remember. Had it been anywhere at all? Or was it all fake pressure from my Mother to help me along the way to losing my mind? A gatekeeper to my madness.

I stood from my bed and took my morning medications. I swallowed them down my dry throat without any water. I tried to shake off what I knew were incomplete memories but I couldn't. I remembered so much and so little at the same time. The same few frames replaying over and over in my head, there was nothing I could do to escape my wrathful memories of peaceful times.

I felt like a bug on a leaf. So unsteady. So uncertain. Ready to be swatted down at a moment's notice. I felt like hardly anything at all.

I wanted to kill something. That would make me feel better. Even if it was just Grimm. Slaying monsters would get me warmed up and ready to go. It would put me in the right mindset. Instead I settled down at my desk and pulled out my chair. I pulled out my needle for a moment and I focused on it.

Change.

I demanded of it.

Transform.

I told it.

It did neither. The needle remained a needle. And I performed no magic. I wasn't sure who Ozpin thought he was fooling. My sisters had done no magic and they would have had my Mother to teach them their entire lives. However long that was. They couldn't be older than me chronologically or biologically. They must be younger than me. They must have been grown until they were about as old as they are now give or take three years. How long I'd been alive and out of my tank for.

There came a knock at my door. A polite double tap-rap. It sounded like Weiss from my experience without even opening it. I could be wrong but it sounded like her.

I wasn't sure I wanted to see her. Or anyone. My head still ached and remembered losing my mind a little the night before. I was embarrassed by it. I was embarrassed by my own weakness. And Ruby and Weiss had seen it all unfold.

I got up anyway and left the needle behind. The frustrating fucking thing that it was. Ozpin had transformed it so easily and here I was still struggling two weeks later. I'd made no progress. None.

I opened the door to find Weiss as I suspected I would. Her blue eyes like shimmering ice and her hair not yet done up in her plait. It left it mid-back length long locks of platinum. She was beautiful.

I looked away. I was embarrassed about losing my marbles last night over my sisters.

"How are you feeling, Cloud?" She asked in a low voice. She raised an eyebrow at where I blocked the door. "Are you going to let me in?"

I was because of course I was. I stood to the side of the door frame and held the door open. She stepped inside, slippers making soft noises against the cold floor.

"I'm alright," I told her.

"You always answer that way. Even when you're doing poorly. You can tell us how you're really feeling. We won't hold it against you if you're not your usual self," she murmured. She gave me a soft reassuring smile.

I looked away and sighed. "What is my usual self? I'm feeling fragile today. I want to kill something though. I want to be violent. I feel like that's all I'm good for. Violence. I can barely stave off the memories in my head that I know are fake. I know that they're fake."

"Tell me about them." She brushed her hair back behind her head as she spoke.

"My Mother was always wearing the same white dress in every memory I have of her. And… and I don't remember my father's face. There's other inconsistencies too. Little impossibilities. I remember being teased by my sisters about my first crush when I was a small boy. Something I know is impossible. It couldn't have happened but it feels real to me. I wonder if they remember these things too but from their own perspective. I wonder how twisted Salem has made them."

"You care about them. Your sisters."

"I… I do. My feelings for them are not real, though. I've never met them. Not like I've met and gotten to know the rest of you. You and Ruby. And Blake and Yang. Even my team when they were around. When they were around."

"Your feelings are valid, Cloud."

I scoffed. A low sound. She reached out and touched my face. She had to stand up on her tiptoes to truly manage it. She forced me to look at her. I could hardly stand it. She was gorgeous even with the long scar running over one eye.

"What?" She asked. "They are. Just because Salem has you all twisted and strung out doesn't make what you feel any less true. I remember my own father's emotional manipulation. My feelings were valid then even if they were caused by him."

"Your father… will you tell me about his manipulations?" I asked. I bent low and ran my lips over hers. I threaded and held her bottom lip between my own and she let out a little sigh through her nose. I watched her eyes flutter shut and I reached my long arms around her waist and just held her close to me. She put both her small hands on my chest and let out a hum into the kiss.

"I will if you let me," she whispered when I finally broke off the kiss. "Are you going to let me?"

"Tempted to not…" I groaned.

"He brought up my mother a lot. He liked to imply that I was responsible for her drinking habits. I wasn't. She had only herself to blame for them."

"Your mother was a hard drinker?” I confirmed. I think she’d told me before but it had been a while.

"Yes, she was. Ever since I was very young. My father was sober and in control throughout most of my life. It wasn't a good thing. I wonder sometimes if my mother would have been a better parent even as a drunk. Or perhaps no one at all. At least I had my butler, Klein. He really raised me."

"Well, not to shave off your suffering, but I think you turned out pretty good. Good enough to keep," I informed her.

"You would say that," she said softly. But she had a small smile quirking her lips to let me know I scored at least a few points with her.

"How did the election go last night? I went to bed and didn't pay it any attention."

"I forgot, myself. But when I woke up this morning Robyn won her seat. She's a sitting member of the council now, with Ironwood. But there's some investigation going on into the election. Electronic voter tampering."

"Sounds like bad news for Mantle. But then what isn't in this place?"

"You're so pessimistic, my gods," she laughed at me a little. "Good thing Ruby is around to balance me out or I might join you down there. She keeps me balanced."

"It's my experience. All my recent, which is to say real memories usually involve somebody I care about dying. Or worse."

"We're here for you. So don't be all doom and gloom. You have two beautiful girlfriends."

"Little arrogant of you, don't you think."

"Please," she retorted. Swishing her hair back behind her. "I am beautiful."

"Don't forget narcissistic."

"You don't go down that road. This is the part where you agree with me. Didn't you say boyfriends agree with their smart girlfriends?"

"Hey, of course I think you're beautiful. First real crush, remember? Couldn't believe I thought I had a chance with you. Then it turns out that I did. Still can't really believe it."

"You just needed to change a little. To grow up some, lose the fake confidence and get your hands on something real."

"Change my look, too. That probably helped."

"Now who's being narcissistic."

"Please," I pushed a hand back through my hair. "I am beautiful," I managed a passable imitation of her and she beat my chest with a tiny fist in retaliation but she was giving me a sly smile.

"You don't go down that road either," she cautioned me.

"Fine. Fine. What's Ruby up to?" I asked.

"Still sleeping. I am an early riser, I wasn't sure you'd be up."

"Late to bed and early to rise? Aren't you burning your candle at both ends? And I was just up trying to turn my needle into a feather."

She shrugged. "I can't help it. It's a part of who I am. Did you have any luck?"

"Not really, no. I'm starting to doubt that I have Ozpin's brand of magic. My sisters didn't fight with it either or anything like that."

"Maybe you just need more time or more faith."

"Maybe…" I trailed. I looked down at her and she gave me an odd sort of pleading look her lips pursed out and her eyes closed. She looked scrumptious like that. I figured what she wanted and I bent down and I kissed her again while she hummed in satisfaction.

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"I never even got to drive the bike yesterday. We were attacked by Cloud's sisters," Ruby said.

"What? You were? Why is this the first I'm hearing about this?" Yang asked around the dining hall breakfast table.

"You got in late, remember? You and Blake both. We were already asleep by the time you got back," Ruby responded. "Cloud took it poorly. I thought the experience might have knocked some screws loose for him."

"You mean a few more screws loose. Cloud doesn't scream stability."

"Blake!" Weiss hissed.

"No, no," I said. "Blake's got a point."

"Well you don't have to agree with her," Weiss muttered. She shook her head at me. Plait waving slightly as she did. We'd split up and she'd gone back to her room in the early AM to get it done.

"She does though. I'm not the sanest of individuals."

"That's not your fault," Ruby told me. She reached out and stroked my arm.

"So I have more excuses than your average person. Salem's influence, the way I was grown, probably some other factors I can't think of… the list goes on." I shrugged through a bite of eggs. "Plus I think I did almost lose it yesterday. My head still hurts off of it."

"You sure that's not just because what's her name shot you in the head a couple of times?" Ruby asked.

"Saphron. And not entirely."

"How many times did you get shot exactly yesterday evening?" Blake asked.

"I forget. She was really hitting me in the head a bit. I'm not immune to headshots."

"Then she hit you with that knife…" Ruby reached out and touched my face. "She cut your cheek. You'll have a little scar there, I think."

I reached up and touched where I'd been cut next to Ruby's own fingers. There was a triangular scab on my cheek. Ruby was probably right.

"And there goes my good looks. You will be missed, we hardly knew ye."

"Oh stop it. You'll look fine," Ruby sighed exasperatedly but she smiled up at me.

"They never really got through my aura. A bit like you. You got shot yesterday too."

"I was fine." She waved off. "My aura protected me from everything but a bit of pain. Thanks though."

"A bit late for that kind of worry, isn't it?" Yang asked.

"It's the thought that counts." Ruby returned. "And Cloud was really out of it last night. He was delirious and talking about a family reunion."

I shuddered.

"A family reunion for Cloud. Get me the fuck away. His family is problems," Yang said. "No offense Cloud but your family has issues."

"I'm really the only one with issues. All my sisters seemed fine. The ones I met did at least."

"They tried to kill you," Blake pointed out. Jabbing a fork at me as she did.

"I think I'm the black sheep," I muttered. "They even seem to get along with Mother fine. No, it's just me that has a problem. I am the failure, after all."

"And your sisters are all successes?" Oscar asked. He'd been quiet in his new huntsman outfit. A suit jacket with a white undershirt and orange gloves.

I nodded.

"Well according to who? The people that made you all? Those aren't good people anyways. What would they know about being a failure or a success."

"Yeah. We're not taking a bunch of mad scientists' word on it," Ruby followed. "You're not a failure to us, Cloud."

I took a bite of banana and said nothing. They didn't really get it. I was a failure in a scientific sense. Not a moral one. I was just a prototype for those models which came later.

"Do you know your sisters' names?" Blake asked.

"Iris, Juniper, Kolumbine, Saphron, Violet, Lily, and Lavender," I told her.

"They're all flowers. They have pretty names, at least," Yang said. She took a forkful of her own food.

"I told the others this but they're like car models, the successes."

"That sucks to think about people like cars. And you're what? Jealous of that?" Yang asked.

"I wish I'd been built better. I guess,” I defended my feelings. It sucked to think about myself as the kind of failure I was. “Might as well just end it all, the way I see it.”

"Bad, Cloud. No suicidal thoughts," Ruby scolded. She hit me, harder than flirtatious. "You need to want to live."

"Damn, Ruby, let him alone. He's going through a lot right now," Yang protested. "Just listen to his family problems."

"That still isn't the kind of line of thinking we want to encourage in him," Weiss retorted in Yang's direction. "We want him to be on the bonuses of living. Not thinking about how bad things could be."

"'How bad things could be,'" I quoted. "My fucking family is literally the worst, isn't it?" I asked nobody in particular. I took another bite of banana. "It's just me that's this side of fucked up as opposed to the other side. The other side of fucked up, that is."

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-WG

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #9

Orion Amari x MC

 A/N: I swear @kc-needs-coffee I’m almost done borrowing KC, I just enjoy her so much xD

Warning: use of alcohol

 Word Count: ~ 2.600

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Chapter 9: A Knight in Shining Armour

Tired and beaten down, the Hufflepuff team trudged back towards the castle. It hadn’t taken the Ravenclaw seeker much longer to capture the Golden Snitch after KC’s Bludger had hit Lizzie. None of them was in the mood for much talking. Losing this match was a heavy blow to them.  

When they neared their Common Room, they could already make out the loud music and sound of chatter behind the narrow passage leading up to the entrance. Upon entering, they found themselves in the middle of a full-fledged post-match party taking place inside the round room. Their peers had set it up while they had been trying to wash off the pain of the loss. To the people of their House it didn’t matter if their team won or lost. They always found a reason to celebrate anyway.

Before long, Lizzie found herself chatting away with Penny and Tonks. The butterbeer in her hand spread a comfortable warmth from her stomach into the rest of her body, numbing the pain still throbbing inside her bruised shoulder.

Her foot was lightly tapping to the rhythm of the music that was blasting out of the enchanted speakers Face Paint Kid had mounted above the huge fireplace. They obscured the huge portrait of Helga Hufflepuff, who had retreated to a picture of her friend Rowena Ravenclaw near the Astronomy Tower. She couldn’t stand this ‘modern nonsense people called music nowadays’.

Lizzie had just downed the rest of her drink, when Penny nudged her and nodded inconspicuously towards one of the ledges that were protruding from the walls of the Common Room.

Skye was seated there all on her own, as had been her habit for the last weeks. She was nursing an empty mug in her hands and seemed to be brooding on something, deeply lost in thought.

“Someone should go talk to her,” Penny proposed softly. Lizzie contemplated passing on the task, but eventually her conscience got the better of her. She lifted her glass towards Penny and Tonks.

“I was going to get a refill anyway.”

She left her friends standing and made her way through the thick crowd towards the refreshment table, grabbing two fresh butterbeers before heading over to where Skye was sitting. She noticed people were giving the gloomy looking girl a wide berth and braced herself for being snapped at. But when Lizzie sat down next to her, she just accepted the drink Lizzie offered with a thankful smile.

The two of them were as used to fighting with each other as they were to making up again. There was no needs for many words or apologies. Lizzie held her mug out to Skye in a silent offer of reconciliation and Skye simply clanked hers against it before both took a deep swallow of the sweet liquid inside.

“Seems like Orion was right after all.”

Lizzie wasn’t looking at Skye as she spoke, rather staring at the bubbles rising up from the bottom of her glass. She was slowly swivelling it, watching the light from the fireplace illuminate the golden drink.

“This stupid quarrel likely cost us the match today. We can’t win if we don’t work together. It made getting our hands on the Cup just that more difficult.”

Skye chuckled wryly. “I’m always in for a challenge. How about you?”

Lizzie grinned back at her. “You know me.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Skye spoke up again. “Just wish I could have shown Rath the ropes. We’ve lost more times to Ravenclaw than I care to admit.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Lizzie sighed. “At least, KC and I can now talk to each other again like the civilised human beings we are.”  

Skye snorted. “Your choice of friends has always been questionable.” She was acting up this time, Lizzie could hear the teasing in her voice.

“That’s why I’m friends with you, I guess,” she shot back.

Both of them started giggling, all the tension that had built between them over the last weeks suddenly dissolving into fits of laughter. They were drawing wondrous glances from their peers.        

Calming down, Skye’s face suddenly grew serious again. “Sorry for what happened today. Shouldn’t have said all those things to Orion. Or you. Not a good move from me.”

“You should tell him that, not me.” Lizzie gave her a sideways glance. “I was a bit harsh to you as well. Sorry about that.”

Skye raised her mug. “Forgiven and forgotten. Glad we could solve this mess.”

Lizzie leaned closer to her. “Speaking of solving the mess…” She motioned to where Penny was standing with Tonks, watching them through the crowd. “You should go talk to her. You can’t hide from Penny forever; I’m sure you will find a way to work things out.”

Skye had suddenly gone pale, a pained expression showing on her face. “I don’t know, Jameson, you sure about this?”

Lizzie just shoved her off the ledge for an answer. Shooting another uncertain glance over her shoulder, Skye made her way towards Penny. With a relieved sigh, Lizzie leaned back against the cold stone wall, propping one foot up on the ledge before taking another sip. Finally things were starting to get normal again.

Her sitting alone didn’t go unnoticed, however. Within minutes she could spot Everett breaking from the crowd and heading towards her, fresh mugs of butterbeer in hand. Lizzie groaned inwardly. She wasn’t particularly keen on getting into a conversation with him. She didn’t mind her new teammate during practise, but Lizzie had started feeling uncomfortable with the way he had been looking at her recently.

Gulping down the remains of her drink, Lizzie tried to get up as fast as she could. But before she had a chance to escape into the mass of students, Everett had reached her and slid down onto the ledge next to her. He sat a little bit too close for Lizzie’s liking.

“What are you doing, sitting around as lonely? Fancy a drink?” He held the mug up for her to take.

Lizzie couldn’t think of a valid reason to refuse and gave in to her lot. “Sure, why not. Thanks.”

She awkwardly accepted the butterbeer, not quite knowing how to start a conversation with him. Her not being overly keen on it didn’t help either.

“You played well today,” she tried treading on safe ground. Nothing wrong with a little Quidditch talk.

“Not as good as you, though. You were fantastic!”

“Hmm,” Lizzie hummed in response. That was a flat out lie. Today had been one of the worst matches she had ever played. She had performed just as poorly as Skye and Orion had done, perhaps even worse.

Everett didn’t seem to sense her disagreement, however. “You were almost as good back when you played Beater. Crazy good aim. I could use a bit of improvement in that area.” He smiled mischievously at her. The uncomfortable feeling in Lizzie’s stomach increased.

“Maybe you could show me how, some time? So I can better protect you.”

Of course Lizzie knew he was referring to Quidditch, but somehow the way he was stressing ‘protect’, combined with her general discomfort around him, rubbed her the wrong way.

She bristled at him. “I don’t need any protection, let alone yours, thank you very much. I can perfectly handle myself,” she snapped indignantly.

Laughing, he raised his hands in defence. “Relax, kitty cat, no need to get all angry. Doesn’t suit your pretty face.”

“You want to be a better Beater? Here’s my tip for you: more practising, less flirting.” She set her drink down with a clank and got up. She had enough of his attitude for the evening.

But before she could make off, Everett had grabbed her wrist and pulled her down next to him again. Lizzie raised her eyebrows, her face anything but friendly.

Feeling the need to change tune with her, Everett ran his hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, don’t run away just yet,” he smiled apologetically.

Lizzie was still on edge, but her posture gradually softened again. She noticed he had pulled her down even closer to him than she had been before.

With a wink, Everett reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a silver flask. The light of the fire place was reflected in it as he was brandishing it in front of her face. “What do you say? Let’s have a drink on peace?”

Her eyes followed the blinking flask as he poured a shot into his mug. Lizzie wasn’t one to object to a little extra punch when it came to her drinks but she really wasn’t interested in talking to Everett anymore, let alone drinking with him.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll pass. I’ve had plenty already. I don’t want to end up doing anything stupid,” she added lightly.

Everett’s smile grew wicked. “Like this for example?”

He quickly leaned forward, putting his hand against the stone wall next to her face, effectively blocking her means of escape. To her horror, he started leaning in to kiss her. It was all she could do to duck under his arm supporting his weight to get away. Coming so close to him, a familiar scent reached her nose, fresh and spicy at the same time. It made her hesitate for a split second.

She knew the scent, but it thoroughly confused her to smell it on him of all people. It reminded her of the component of the Amortentia she had had problems placing.

Using her hesitation to his advantage, Everett got up as well, grabbing her arm before she could dart away. Anger flashing in her eyes, Lizzie tried to yank herself free.

“Is there a problem?”

Orion had suddenly appeared next to them. He looked calm and collected as ever, but his posture was tense, the tone in his voice firm. Lizzie sent a quick prayer to the heavens for sending him along just now.

Everett didn’t seem as happy. “Nothing to see here, Amari,” he snarled, but his territorial demeanour didn’t so much as make Orion flinch.

“That is fortunate, because I am aware that McNully’s Kneazle is up in our dormitory, chewing away on your Transfiguration essay. I believe, it is due on Monday?”

The aggressiveness visibly drained out of Everett as he turned pale. “It took me three weeks to finish that assignment! I’m going to make a hat out of this fleabag!” He raced towards the round door at the far end of the Common Room and vanished behind it.

Lizzie’s brown furrowed in concern. “He’s not going to do anything to Kneil, is he?”

“Don’t worry, Kneil is somewhere in the castle, probably hunting his dinner,” Orion smirked in response. “To be honest, McNully saw Everett hitting on you and sent me to your rescue.”

“How gallant,” Lizzie giggled.

Orion wasn’t even trying to hide his grin. Instead, he nodded towards her arm. “How is your shoulder feeling?”

Lizzie shrugged it off with a laugh. “Better than Everett’s ego, I image.”

Her eyes followed the path he had taken through the crowd. “I wonder what’s been going on lately; Everyone seems to be out of their minds,” she mused.

Including her, apparently. She could still smell the lovely scent lingering in the air, just as strongly as it had been before. She fought the urge to inhale deeply.

Orion laughed lowly. “That’s how it goes. I remember my fifth year vividly. Between O.W.L.s and people getting interested in dating each other, it was… “ A mysterious smile played about his lips for a moment, amusement sparking in his eyes. “Let’s say it was a singular experience.”

Lizzie remembered what Rowan had told her about Orion having a history when it came to dating. She felt self-conscious invading his privacy like that, but her curiosity and the fair share of butterbeer she’d drunk by now got the better of her.

“So, did you get to do some?” she asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Orion took a sip from his drink. “Did I get to do what?”

Lizzie felt herself blush, glad the light emanating from the roaring fire hid the changing colour of her face. “Dating, I mean. Did you get to go on some?”

One corner of Orion’s mouth quirked up, the mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes intensifying. His lopsided smirk gave him a totally different presence than what Lizzie was used to seeing on him. Despite herself, she found herself staring at his oddly compelling smile, quickly shaking out of it as soon as she realised.

“A bit here and there.”

He knew his ominous answer only intensified Lizzie’s curiosity. So before she could ask, he added “Nothing serious, mind you. No real commitment from both sides.”

Not satisfied at all by this vague answer, Lizzie blinked at him, now even more curious than before. It felt completely out of place discussing this topic with her Quidditch captain, but she just couldn’t resist.

“You never mentioned seeing anyone. Why did you never tell us about any of them, or bring them to one of our matches?”

He slightly shook his head, his face changing to a more thoughtful expression. “Nothing worthwhile ever came of it. And I don’t know whether I would’ve been able to balance both things at the same time. Being the team captain and just me.”

Somehow, Lizzie was not entirely sure they were still talking about the same thing they had in the beginning of their conversation. She had noticed the tinge of frustration creeping into Orion’s voice, however.

Before she could reply though, a hand snaked around her waist and Rowan appeared at her side. Lizzie let out a small gasp of pain as she rested her head on Lizzie’s injured shoulder, a girlish giggle escaping her mouth.

Although Rowan didn’t exactly dismiss alcoholic drinks as a whole, Lizzie knew her to be rather restrained when it came to drinking at parties, especially since she had been appointed prefect. It made seeing Rowan as drunk as she obviously was even stranger.

“Lizzie, there you are! I have been looking for you all over the place,” she shouted into Lizzie’s ear a lot louder than she had to. Lizzie tilted her head away from her to protect her eardrums from bursting.

“Skye has been looking for you, you should go find her,” Rowan explained, her voice slurry. She tried to talk matter-of-factly but the slight swaying as she stopped leaning on Lizzie for support vastly undermined her effort to appear sober.

Scanning the crowd, Lizzie could see Skye joking around with Tonks and Penny. Apparently, they had been able to calm the waves. It did not appear to her as if Skye was searching for anyone though, let alone her.

She started telling Rowan, but was silenced by the pointed look her friend gave her. Her eyes flickered to Orion for a moment, who was watching them patiently. The penny finally dropped on her.

“I’d better go and see what she wants then.” She winked at Orion, her hand resting on his arm for a moment. ”Thanks for being my knight in shining armour.”

She left the two of them standing, while she made her way towards her friends, the spicy scent that had shaken her earlier still hanging in the air.

[bechloebeale]

I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her (1/1)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing: Bechloe

Words: 6.6K

Summary: Beca is quietly in love with her best friend/roommate. They go out for drinks after a long week of work. What could possibly go wrong?

Notes: Title from and fic inspired by Calum Scott's cover of Dancing On My Own. Set in the 'PP3 doesn't exist but bechloe still live together in the Brooklyn apartment' universe. I apologize if it's a little rusty, this is my first fic in years.

Read on AO3!

Or...

Beca lets out an exaggerated sigh as she kicks the door shut with her foot, immediately dropping her bag close by and flopping down onto the poorly made fold out couch that her and Chloe share in the small Brooklyn apartment.

 Thank god it’s Friday, she thinks when pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her skinny jeans and rolling herself onto her back. 4:45 pm. Chloe will be home in half an hour, depending on how quickly she gets out of work to manage to catch the 5:05 train. Not that Beca memorized Chloe’s schedule and always waits for the older girl to arrive home... Not at all.

 She sits herself up with another slightly dramatic sigh. She shouldn’t be this exhausted from work, mentally and physically. She enjoys her job, most of the time. She should be happy that she’s living her dream, producing music and doing what she loves while also getting paid. But, the number of imbeciles she has to deal with on a weekly basis often makes her wonder why she ever wanted to do this in the first place.

 All she really looks forward after a long day of work is coming home to her best friend every night and cuddling up on their bed with snacks and her laptop, to watch whatever tv show or movie Chloe decided they have to see. Yeah, Chloe may have broken down a couple of Beca’s walls with her overly affectionate personality, she was also really hard to say no to. Especially since Beca has had feelings for the other girl for as long as she can remember, though she refused to admit it to herself for a while. It is easier to deal with now, the whole pining over your best friend/roommate wasn’t the hardest thing ever. She would never risk her friendship with Chloe because of some silly feelings, feelings that may have slowly turned into realizing she was in love with her. Who wouldn’t be totally head over heels for that girl? If her looks aren’t already enough; bright, gorgeous, bluer than the sky eyes that are full of hope and happiness, her smile that never fails to make Beca’s heart beat a little faster every time and let’s not even get started on her adorable giggle. It’s her gentle, dorky and bubbly personality that could light up a dark room. Her determination and passion, her love for the Bellas, her ability to see and appreciate the good in even the smallest things in life.

 There are too many reasons to count why Chloe Beale is one of the most genuine and beautiful people Beca has ever had the pleasure of knowing… Actually, she is the most genuine and beautiful person Beca has ever known.

 So, aside from the underlying feelings for her best friend that she neatly hides under a rug, Beca loves living with her. She is tidy, she gives Beca space to go into her anti-social bubble whenever needed, she makes her coffee every morning because Beca still hasn’t figured out how to use the stupid coffee machine even after having it for over a year. The two both genuinely enjoy each other’s company; they go grocery shopping together, they occasionally go out to lunch or dinner on weekends together when they aren’t extremely broke from paying monthly rent, they listen to music and dance stupidly around the tiny apartment. They work really well as a team.

 Usually, Beca forgets Amy also lives there too. She’s never really around that much anyway and when she is, it is just to grab a few things, make sly comments here and there about how married Beca and Chloe act before heading off again. Often but not always, coming home in the early hours of the morning– from her weekly boy toy’s house, or from the nightclub.

 Beca eventually sits up from her position of laying defeated on the bed and shuffles back to lean against the pillows, resting her phone in her lap. Starting to scroll through the Netflix app to see if anything sparks her eye to suggest to Chloe that they watch for the night, although nothing ever really does and the older of the two always ends up picking something.

 She’s only halfway through the ‘Popular on Netflix’ section when the door flings open and Chloe bounces through. “Hey!” she says with a cheerful grin, walking to place her handbag down on the coffee table. “How was your day?” she asks, turning to face the smaller girl after removing her jacket and hanging it up on the back of the door.  

 “Exhausting,” Beca groans, dropping her phone to lay beside her, “very glad it’s Friday,” running a hand through her hair lazily and continuing, “what about you? Save some more innocent little creatures to live another eventful day in the city of Brooklyn?” she says with a slight smirk.

 Chloe lets out a soft giggle as she kicks off her shoes, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “Not today, but I did get to meet this really cute puppy who needed his first vaccinations,” she beams with sparking eyes and a smile before shrugging lightly, “so, I’d say it was a pretty good day.”

 “Ah-ha, nothing like a tiny puppy to end the week off,” Beca says with a soft laugh, “wish I had your job sometimes, but then I remember the story of the cow and that thought goes away pretty quickly...”

 “Don’t remind me!” Chloe scrunches her nose, shaking her head with another giggle. “Why don’t we do something tonight, you know, to get your mind off of work,” she tilts her head towards the brunette with an empathetic smile.

 Beca raises an eyebrow curiously, “Depends on what you have in mind… I was pretty ready to just lay here for the rest of the night and do absolutely nothing.” – And maybe, cuddle just a little… she thinks to herself, refraining from saying it a loud. Chloe doesn’t have to know how much Beca actually does enjoy their cozy cuddling and patiently waits almost every night for the other girl to climb into the bed after her shower, smelling purely of strawberries & cream from her shampoo.

 “I mean, that is always fun, and I did find another interesting tv show for us to watch… But, why don’t we go out for some drinks?” Chloe shrugs a shoulder, “Let off some steam, dance it out… Get those delicious, unhealthy but awes burritos afterwards from that place you love down the street…” her lips turning into a small smirk.

 Beca hums softly, “I do love those burritos,” pausing for a moment, chewing her bottom lip as she thought about the proposition, “but I don’t know about having to deal with more dicks than I already do at work… With them also being drunk and wild, doesn’t sound like the best way I want to spend my Friday night.”

 Chloe pursed her lips with a small understanding nod. “Oh!” –she spins on the bed excitedly to properly face Beca, crossing her legs with a small bounce– “we could go to that groovy place Amy took us once, with the neon signs and yummy cocktails! It’s never usually that busy, that’s why Amy didn’t want to stay there long… Plus, it has that local DJ that you like playing there on Friday nights,” she says with a grin.

 “Damn. Cocktails, decent music and burritos… You really make it hard to say no, don’t you?” Beca smirks, watching Chloe doing an adorable little dance, making the bed shake lightly. “Alright, alright. Fine. I guess it wouldn’t be terrible… I do feel like a drink, maybe 10…”

 “Yay! Don’t worry, it will be aca-awesome!” teasingly emphasizing on the last word because she knows how much Beca hate the phrases that Chloe and Aubrey still haven’t let die. “I’m gonna have a quick shower and get ready then,” the older girl leaps up from the bed to head towards the shower, stripping her scrubs off on her way and chucking it into the laundry basket close by. Something that had become a reoccurring thing for Chloe to do, she’s seen the confident redhead in underwear or wrapped in a towel more times than she can count.

 Beca narrows her eyes, focus gazing down Chloe’s toned back before shaking her head and looking away, glancing down at herself to see if what she is currently wearing is nightclub appropriate. Probably not. She slowly shuffles off the bed to look through her rack of clothes hanging nearby. A different pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a slightly nicer top to match her leather jacket is what she decides on.

 Roughly an hour after Chloe gets out of the shower, she’s finally putting on her heels to match her little dark green dress and walking to the mirror to put in her gold hoop earrings. Ruffling long red hair to fall in waves down her shoulders.

 Beca raises an eyebrow from where she sits at the coffee table, putting her phone into her jacket pocket. She managed to get changed, freshen up her makeup, pour herself a drink of whiskey & cola and catch up on the rest of her work emails while Chloe was still getting ready. She admires the other girl’s outfit from afar, slowly trailing her eyes over her body and down her tone legs. She does love Chloe in green, it makes her eyes glow even more, if that was even possible, and goes so well with her bright, radiant hair. She sips the last of her drink before clearing her throat, “Finally ready to go, miss?”

 Chloe spins around with an enthusiastic nod, “Yep!”, walking over to grab one of her small purses and putting her phone into it. “How do I look?”, she cocks her head to the side with a confident smile.

 “Chlo, you know you look great,” Beca says as she stands from her seat, “I like that dress… It’s nice,” she smiles softly, finding it extremely difficult to take her eyes away from the bright ones staring back at her.

 “Thanks, Bec,” Chloe’s cheeks blush lightly as she looked down at herself and then back up, “you look great, too… Always.”

 Beca shrugs a shoulder, moving to place her empty cup in the sink to break the longing stare happening between them. Chloe really wasn’t shy when it came to eye contact. “I guess we clean up nice,” she says with a smirk as they move towards the front door.

 _____________________

 Chloe was right, the club really isn’t that packed, and it’s big enough that even with a few more people, it is still tolerable for Beca. They find a booth to sit in which isn’t far from the bar, so they’re taking it in turns getting the rounds of cocktails, so they don’t lose their seat. The music isn’t too bad either, Beca has a habit of over analyzing others remix choices but, this DJ is pretty good so she can’t complain.

 “See, told you this place would be cool!” Chloe nudges the smaller girl’s shoulder as she holds her straw between her fingers, taking a sip from her pineapple and passionfruit cocktail.

 Beca’s lips curl into a smile as she glances over to Chloe, “You’re just waiting for me to say it was a good idea, aren’t you?” she says with a soft laugh, “it is pretty cool, though,” she finishes with a shrug. “This cocktail is amazing, too. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol at all“–she stops to take a small sip– “Very deceiving, slightly dangerous. I know there is at least two shots of tequila in it ‘cause I watched him making it.”

 Chloe giggles as she shuffles slightly closer into the smaller girls side, “Let me try, I might get that one next,” she reaches over, taking a small sip and then glancing at Beca with wide eyes, “Oh, wow, yeah that is really nice… Try mine! It tastes like sunshine in a glass,” tilting her cocktail towards Beca.

 “You are like sunshine in a glass,” Beca says with a soft laugh before taking a sip, nodding her head slowly as she narrowed her eyes, “Mhm, yeah. That’s good shit.”

 “You’re good shit,” Chloe replies with another giggle, nudging against Beca’s shoulder again and settling her glass down on the table. “Now… It’s time to dance it out,” she whispers close to the other girl’s ear and then standing up, holding her hand out. Sending shivers up Beca’s spine from the quick closeness.

 Beca freezes halfway through sipping her drink, “Oh, no, no. I’m still about two drinks away from that, Beale,” she says with a shake of her head. Mentally trying not to break as Chloe’s lips turn into a small pout.

 “C’mon, Bec! I know you can dance! You’ve done it on stage in front of thousands of people,” Chloe argues, emphasizing her pout with a furrow of her brow.

 “That’s… Very different. Choreography and lots of practice,” she scoffs back with a laugh. “You go. I’ll watch your drink and keep our super cool, comfy booth company,” Beca grins as her lips try to find her straw again without breaking eye contact with the pouty redhead in front of her.

 Chloe lets out a soft huff and softens her expression, “Fine… But you better get your butt off that couch soon. This is just as bad as getting you out of bed in the mornings. Get yourself another drink!”

 Beca rolls her eyes and nods, watching Chloe bounce off to the slightly crowded dance floor in front of them and letting her shoulders drop slightly as she leans back, looking down to see how much of her drink was left– only halfway and tequila really did hit her pretty hard. Maybe she only needed one more before she was ready to dance. Again, Chloe is extremely hard to say no to. Plus, she really does want to dance with her best friend, although Chloe’s innocent flirty behavior only gets worse when she has alcohol in her system and Beca finds it harder to deal with every time they drink together. She always has to monitor her own drinking, just in case she did something stupid like accidentally tell Chloe she is hopelessly, pathetically, in love with her.

 She looks around her surroundings, the people in here aren’t actually too bad, compared to some of the places Amy has forced the two of them to go to in the past. There are hipsters, other people around their age who seem to be doing the same as them by enjoying the cocktails and some younger girls that appear to just be there to take photos with the neon signs to upload to Instagram.

 Beca eventually settles her eyes back on Chloe, a small smile appearing on her face at how freely the redhead is dancing, she really does look majestic and gorgeous without even trying. Her hair flowing down her back as her body moves with the beat of the song, hips shaking from side to side and a drunken smile on her face as she turns to look over to the booth, winking at Beca after noticing that she’s already staring.

 Beca gives a shy smile back and recoils slowly further back into the seat, glancing down into her glass as she plays with the ice using her straw. She looks back up about a minute later to see a, frankly, stunning brunette girl dancing near Chloe, seeming to get closer as the song continues. The stranger finally makes her way in front of Chloe, who gives her a friendly smile as she starts to dance with her, the two moving together to the beat. The other girl puts her hands onto Chloe’s hips, whispering something close to her ear. Beca swallows thickly and tries to look anywhere but at them, taking a slightly large gulp out of her drink as she tries to ignore the slight jealousy building up in her slowly.

 When she finally glances back at them, it’s just in time to see the brunette moving one of her hands to Chloe’s cheek and leaning in, starting to kiss her and… Chloe actually kisses back. Beca feels her stomach drop like she just went down a giant hill on a rollercoaster. Surely Chloe isn’t that drunk, she’s only about one or two drinks in front of Beca and even drunk, Beca has never witnessed her kiss another girl. Sure, she might have said to her a couple of years ago that she wished she experimented more in College… But she never actually brought it back up again after that, nor did she get anybody else to take her up on the proposal, she definitely would have told her. Beca thought about it a lot after it happened and mentally punched herself a couple of times for not taking Chloe up on the offer or at least exploring what she actually meant by it. Once she actually wanted to confront Chloe, after her and Jesse had broken up, she told herself it had been too long, and it would just be weird to randomly ask about it.  

 Beca furrows her brow as she glances away with a confused expression, instantly gulping down the rest of her drink and wincing slightly at the burn of tequila at the bottom of the glass. She tries to stop her eyes from glancing back at them but struggles and gives in, immediately regretting it when she sees them still kissing, more so, full on making out now. She puts her drink down on the table and rubs her sweaty palms over her jeans as she stares down into her lap. The feeling in her gut makes her feel sick and she can feel her chest tightening up like she was about to have a panic attack. Stop being stupid, Mitchell. She’s not even yours, she thinks to herself, but it doesn’t stop the lump forming in her throat. She had to get some air. Right now.

 She squints, glancing around while trying to avoid the two that she can still obviously see right in front of her and stands up quickly, immediately heading for the exit door, taking a deep breath in once the fresh air hits her. There’s a brick wall to her left that she immediately moves to lean against, closing her eyes as she tries to swallow back the stupid lump in her throat. Her hands patting her jacket pockets anxiously, letting out a small sigh of relief as she retrieves the cigarette packet and lighter– a terrible habit Beca has when she gets too stressed. She lights one up and leans her head back against the wall to look up at the sky.

 She has witnessed Chloe kissing other people before, and though it hurts a little every time, it shouldn’t hurt this much. But watching her kiss another girl rattles something inside of Beca that she can’t control. There are a few reasons behind not telling Chloe how she truly feels, aside from potentially ruining their friendship, she’s pretty certain the redhead is completely straight, and her own insecurities convince her that Chloe would never like her in that way.

 Taking a drag from the cigarette with shaky hands, she closes her eyes to try and focus on her breathing. She really should have just stayed at home.  

“Bec?” Chloe slightly yells as she comes out of the exit door while looking around, making Beca jump lightly, straightening herself up to not look so miserable against the wall.

Chloe furrows her brow and scrunches her nose as her eyes fall on Beca and the cigarette between her fingers, “What are you doing?”

 Beca glances into Chloe’s direction, “Just–” she clears her throat “–getting some fresh air…” She purses her lips and resists the urge to take another drag of the cigarette in front of Chloe after she notices how her red hair is slightly messier and her cheeks are flushed.

 “Well, don’t you think you’re ruining getting fresh air by putting that in your lungs?” Chloe questions as she tilts her head slightly. “Come back inside, we’re going lose our seat,” she steps closer.

 Beca can see how Chloe’s lipstick is slightly smudged once she gets closer. “Um, I… actually… think I’m going to head home,” Beca replies with a soft shake of her head, avoiding looking into Chloe’s direction, “That tequila kind of gave me a headache and I’m pretty tired.”

 Chloe’s face drops and her brow furrows again, “Oh…” She perks her head back up, lip quirking into a small smile, “Well, I’ll come with you then, we can get you some water and–”

 “No, it’s okay,” Beca interrupts, “you looked like you were having fun in there so, I’ll just see you at home,” she forces a half smile, a pretty poor attempted one and turns, walking away in the direction that she thinks the apartment is in, before Chloe can speak again.

 ______________________

 Beca gets back to the apartment in about double the time it took her and Chloe to walk there, she definitely did not go the right way. She shuts the door with a little too much force, making half the coats hanging on the back fall to the ground, giving them a glare and deciding she really doesn’t have the energy to pick them up right now. She glances around the small apartment, making sure Amy isn’t there. No surprise, she isn’t.

 She sits on the end of the bed, a dramatic and shaky sigh leaving her lips, feeling even more exhausted than what she did when she arrived home from work. The apartment feels even more empty and quiet than usual, making that dreaded lump in her throat come back. She isn’t even sure where she is looking, somewhere on the ground, but her eyes begin to blur as a few tears stray from her eyes to roll down her cheeks. Shaking her head with a groan, she wipes them away quickly and puffs out a breath. This is stupid, you are stupid, she thinks as she stands up, unsteadily shuffling off her jacket.

 Her eyes spot the bottle of whiskey she used earlier on the table, pressing her lips together and clenching her jaw slightly, she walks over to it and removes the lid, taking a long swig then instantly closing her eyes tightly as it burns down her throat. She makes a slow move back to the bed, slipping her phone out of her jeans with bottle still in the other and settles down against the pillows.

 Her mind wanders to what Chloe is doing right now, if she just walked back into the club without second guessing Beca’s behavior. What she might be doing with that girl right now. She’s probably still having fun. She can’t be mad at Chloe for any of it, she isn’t mad, it’s not her place, but it still is really hard for it not to hurt. She should have seen this coming, Chloe being with someone else, she should have prepared herself. Chloe is beautiful, she is bound to kiss or even get into a relationship eventually. Beca just didn’t properly prepare herself, like most things in her life.

 She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, mind preoccupied by thoughts. She opens her phone, having to blink a few times to focus her eyes down on it. No notifications. She’s not surprised. Actually, she’s a little surprised. Chloe is the type to text if Beca got home safe, if she’s feeling better, if she’s sure she doesn’t want her to come back. Obviously, she was still having fun without her. Beca doesn’t care. She shouldn’t care.

 She throws it to the side and lifts her knees to drape her arms over them, hanging the bottle between them. The keys rattling in the door shakes her out of her thoughts, looking up with a slight frown as the door opens.

 Chloe walks in cautiously, holding a large paper bag in one hand. “Hey, you,” she says as she closes the door behind her, brow furrowing at the pile of coats near her feet and stepping over them before glancing up at Beca and then the bottle between her legs, “I thought you had a headache,” she settles the paper bag and her purse onto the coffee table.

 Beca chews on her bottom lip for a moment before responding, “Uh, yeah… I– I did…”, she glances around, unsure of what to say because she is terrible at lying, especially to Chloe. Clearing her throat, moving to settle the bottle down on the small bedside table carefully and crossing her legs in front of her.

 Chloe cocks her head to the side as she stares at Beca for a moment, “Okay, well, I got you this–” she pulls bottled water out of the bag, settling it on the table “–I know you don’t overly enjoy the tap water we have here,” her lip curving into a small smile before continuing, “I also got you this,“ pulling a wrapped burrito out of the bag.

 Beca smiles slightly, “Thanks, Chlo…”, she says in a soft tone, “I was going to get one… But I think I took the wrong way back.”

 Chloe pulls her own burrito out of the bag, struggling to balance both of them in her hands and pick the water back up at the same time but manages, walking over to the bed to sit down on the corner, dropping the items down, “I was going to tell you that, but you walked away too quickly for me to get a word out,” she blinks up at Beca, pushing the items closer to her.

 “Sorry,” is all Beca manages to get out as her eyes follow the other girl’s hand, glancing back up to find those ocean blue eyes still staring back at her.

 “Are you okay, Becs?” Chloe says with sympathetic eyes, shuffling further up the bed to get closer to her.

 Beca distracts herself by fiddling with the wrapping of the burrito in front of her, shrugging a shoulder lightly as she thinks about her response, “Yeah… Like I said, just tired.”

 Chloe lets a soft sigh fall from her lips as she studies Beca’s face, “You know, you can talk to me, right? I thought we were past this whole walls-built stories high Beca thing… “

 “I said I’m okay, Chloe. Just– Just drop it,” she runs her palms over her jean covered thighs, suddenly realizing how sweaty they are again, “please,” she adds on.

 Chloe blinks slowly as her mouth gaps open a little before pursing her lips together with a frown, staying quiet for a long moment before changing her mind, “Actually, no. Beca, I want to know what happened. It’s pretty clear you’re not okay. We were having a good time… Is it about that girl who started dancing with me because–”

 “No! I don’t care, honestly,” Beca laughs dryly, “I am totally fine, I just wanted to go home. I’m glad you were having fun… Tongue down her throat kind of fun.”  

 “What is that supposed to mean?” Chloe frown grows further with a wrinkled nose, “Are you jealous or something? I could have easily got her to come over to you instead.”

 Beca lets out another dry laugh, “That’s not what I wanted,” she shakes her head, slowly lifting her gaze from the bed to meet confused eyes.

 “Okay, then what do you want?” Chloe replies in lower tone as she looks over Beca’s face with those soft, glowing eyes that momentarily drop down to her lips before making their way back up.  

 Moments like this; she thinks, maybe, just maybe, Chloe has feelings back. That Chloe wants it all just as much. “I want,” Beca trails off, chewing the inside of her cheek, “to eat my burrito, I’m starving,” breaking the eye contact that was making the beat of her heart ten times quicker every second it continued. Idiot. Just tell her. Tell her how you feel.

 Chloe expression flattens into defeat as she sighs quietly with a small nod, standing up from the bed to grab an old t-shirt and sleep shorts out of the draw, changing out of her dress close by.  

 Beca distracts herself from glancing up at the redhead by unwrapping the burrito, taking a few small bites as she fights back and forth with her mind. She really wasn’t that hungry. Why did Chloe react like she was expecting, even hoping, for Beca to say something different? Did she really just miss her chance to say ‘I want you. Please want me the same way I want you.’  There are a thousand things going through her head as she sits quietly on the bed with her eyes fixated on the food in front of her.

 “I hope I got your order right; I’ve memorized it pretty good,” Chloe mumbles as she moves to settle down on the other side of the bed to lean back against her pillow, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. Her own food forgotten about at the end of the bed.

 “It’s good, exactly how I like it. Thanks, Chlo,” she says with her mouth half full, sending a small smile into Chloe’s direction, which instantly disappears when she notices how sad she looks. It’s like looking at a hurt puppy and makes that sudden drop in Beca’s stomach come back. She swallows her final chew and leans to settle the half-eaten burrito down on to the bedside table next to the bottle of whiskey. Gross combination, Mitchell. She turns back to shuffle to lay on her side facing Chloe, propping herself up with one elbow, “Hey, I’m sorry… I know I kind of ruined our night and all.”

 Chloe shakes her head faintly, “You didn’t, it’s okay,” turning her head to meet Beca’s gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile, “I’d much rather be here with you than anywhere else,” she says in a soft tone as she shuffles herself down to mirror Beca’s position and face her.

 Beca really hopes the dim, pathetic lights in their apartment hides the blush she can feel creeping up her cheeks. “You really are my favorite person, Chloe,” she says in an equally as soft tone, her eyes wandering over Chloe’s soft features, watching the way her smile brightens after Beca’s words which makes her eyes crinkle and her eyelashes flutter through slow blinks.

 “You’re my favorite person, too,” Chloe replies, moving her free hand that isn’t being used to support herself to gently brush a strand of hair away and behind Beca’s ear. Sparkling, blue eyes following her own movement before trailing back to land on Beca’s lips again, and then slowly returning to her eyes.

 Beca knows she didn’t imagine that one, that lingering stare definitely lasted longer that time. She closes her eyes for a moment to bask in the feeling of Chloe’s fingers lightly trailing down her ear and jaw, skimming down the side of her neck, sending a small shiver down her spine that she really hopes wasn’t that noticeable. She opens her eyes back up slowly to meet the soft ones staring back at her. Her lips part like she’s ready to say something but closing them again after realizing she has no words for what is happening right now, and she definitely didn’t want to disturb or stop whatever was. Her heart is beating like it was about to jump out of her chest.

 Chloe’s tongue flicks out to lick over her own lips and Beca’s eyes dares to skim down. She could feel Chloe inching closer ever so slowly, she could smell her fragrance–still that hint of strawberries & cream, mixed with the floral scented perfume she uses every day– Beca feels intoxicated and not at all by the alcohol she had consumed tonight.

 Chloe’s fingers gently continue to trail down Beca’s neck before returning their journey back up to behind her ear and rest her hand against her cheek to cup it softly. She’s moving so slowly like she is worried she is going to scare Beca away, searching her face for any evidence this isn’t okay before finally closing that last bit of distance between them, lips barely brushing against each other.

 As soon as she feels Chloe’s lips brush hers, Beca takes a light shaky breath in and leans further into the lips against her own. Was this really happening? Was there something unusual in that tequila cocktail that could possibly be making her hallucinate this? And then her mind stops working, drowning out to nothing but how soft Chloe’s lips are and how her knees feel weak even though she was lying down. She presses her lips further and tilts her head slightly as Chloe adds the same amount of pressure, kissing her back gently.

 Beca’s free hand trails up from where it was awkwardly laying between them to rest on Chloe’s rib cage and pull her closer as she feels Chloe’s thumb rubbing softly against her cheek, eagerly pulling her further into the kiss.

 The gradation of it all is innocent at first, their lips moving with each other’s like they are made for one another, shaky tiny breaths exhaled in between. But then Chloe’s tongue traces slowly out to meet Beca’s parting lips, Beca feels like she is melting into the bed as her tongue meets Chloe’s and her hand trails from Chloe’s rib cage around to her back, pulling her impossibly closer as their bodies press against one another.  

 Chloe is the first to pull back slightly after what seems like too long but also not long enough, to let out a much-needed breath. She leans in to press another soft kiss to Beca’s lips before fluttering her eyes open just at the same time as the darker blue ones, her lips curving into a smile, “I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” she whispers.

 Beca just blinks back at the clear ocean eyes staring back into her own for a moment, “You have?” she eventually whispers back, the hand she has laying on Chloe’s back mindlessly starts trailing to hold onto her side again, like she’s scared she is about to suddenly disappear and she’ll wake up from a dream.

 Chloe just nods, the smile on her lips brightening.

 Beca sighs, slightly in relief and slightly trying to calm herself, she can still feel her heart beating way faster than it normally does. She surges forward to meet Chloe’s lips again, feeling Chloe’s hand moving from her cheek around to the back of her neck and instantly deepening the kiss again. One of Chloe’s thighs makes their way in between Beca’s jean covered thighs as they pull each other closer, and closer. This makes the arm Beca was propping herself up on instantly give out.

 A soft giggle leaves Chloe’s lips after it happens before meeting her tongue again, she moves to slowly roll them over, so Chloe is lying on top of Beca, thigh still settled comfortably between her legs and the hand around Beca’s neck moving to tangle into brunette hair.

 Beca takes a shaky breath in as she relaxes onto her back, one of her own thighs finds its way between Chloe’s and she swears she hears the other girl let out a quiet moan. Her hands trailing to rest on Chloe’s hips as their tongues dance around together passionately, Beca can’t control herself from arching her hips up ever so slightly.

 Chloe meets her hips with a gentle roll down of her own, eventually tearing her lips away from Beca’s to start pressing soft kisses down her jaw line and across the side of her neck.

 Beca tilts her head back to accompany the soft lips trailing across her neck, keeping her eyes pressed closed as she breathes heavily before– “Wait…” she whimpers out.

 Chloe immediately stops and lifts her head up to meet Beca’s gaze with a slightly confused look, searching her eyes for uncertainty, “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I just–“ she swallows thickly, realizing how dry her throat has become “–Can we just–“ she stutters out, looking into the pair of eyes that stare back at her so protectively and lovingly “–I don’t want this to just be some drunken make out or just sex… I really, really, like you, Chloe,” Beca says the last part a little quieter.

 Finally. Beca feels a weight lifting off her shoulders as the words she’s been holding in for years finally leave her lips. Although she’s definitely holding herself back from saying I love you, just in case Chloe doesn’t feel the same. The possibility of losing her best friend is too much to think about right now.

 Chloe’s expression softens as she pulls back to be able to properly look at Beca, the hand in her hair trailing back to cup her cheek and caressing again with her thumb, fingers moving lazily against the soft part of her neck right under her jaw, “I really, really, like you, Beca. I have since the moment I met you,” she says with an adorable smile spreading across her face.

 Beca breathes out another sigh of relief, “Okay, cool,” her lips curving into a smile that’s probably a little too satisfied, “good to know.”

 Beca still couldn’t believe this was really happening. Did she really hold and suppress all her feelings for so long without knowing Chloe has felt the exact same? Was she that oblivious that Chloe liked her back? Clearly.

 “Yeah,” Chloe leans back down to press a gentle kiss to Beca’s lips, “good to know,” she murmurs against them, kissing soft lips a few more times before moving to kiss her cheek, shuffling to lay beside Beca again, “We’ve had a long night. Why don’t we cuddle and go to sleep, hm? Then I can show you just how much this definitely isn’t some drunken make out in the morning,” she hums, dancing her fingers down Beca’s neck, collarbone and shoulder blade.

 Beca nods softly, the smile plastered on her face not leaving any time soon, “I’d like that,” she turns to steal another gentle kiss from Chloe before shuffling herself out of the bed. She struggles her skinny jeans and top off, finding a band t-shirt already on the floor to slip on before picking up the burrito from her bedside table and Chloe’s from the end of the bed, “I’m going to put these bad boys in the fridge for breakfast,” she smirks and walks them over to the fridge.

 Chloe rearranges the blanket from underneath her so she can slip in and giggles, “Gross. But I like your thinking,” she winks and opens the blanket up as Beca turns off the lights and makes her way back over to the bed.

 Beca settles back in with a content sigh. “Just one more…” she leans in to press a gentle kiss to Chloe’s lips, feeling the redhead smiling against her lips as she kisses back. It’s not hard to map out where her face is because of their shitty blinds that don’t block out the streetlights or the morning sun.  

 Chloe shuffles them down as she wraps her arms around Beca’s small frame as Beca reluctantly turns around after a few more soft kisses, pressing her back into Chloe’s front. “Hey, Becs,” she whispers, pulling Beca closer as she nuzzles her face into her shoulder.

 “Mhm?” Beca hums out, already content enough to fall asleep quickly as one of Chloe’s hand finds her own.

 There was a long pause before Chloe speaks again, “I actually really, really, love you.”

 “I really, really, love you, too.”

   The end.

[jilytho]

Never Lose You P2

the second (and final) part of my Jily fic, Never Lose You, totally inspired by Cornelia Street by Taylor! You can find Part 1 right here and read part 2 below, or the whole thing on ao3 here 

By the time they had climbed the three flights of stairs up to their apartment, Sirius dramatically pretending to gasp for air by the top, all the feelings had completely rushed back to her. Despite the time separated, and the awkwardness of their last conversation, she was quickly remembering why James was one of her favorite people in the world. She never could forget that smile, the way his lips were quirked permanently on the edge of laughter or a quick joke. Remembered how he and his friends had their own secret language and world, but made sure their other friends were never excluded. Always with a finger on her back, a wink shot her way.

Marlene and Lily went straight to the kitchen to gather beers and solo cups and some vodka for Alice. They worked as a team, efficient and quick, finding mismatched large mixing bowls to pour some slightly stale tortilla chips in with some salsa.

In the small living room, Alice had quickly put the boys to work, instructing them to scour the apartment for other seating options they could cram into the tiny living room to make a circle around the coffee table. 

Sirius and Remus made quick work of Marlene’s room, grabbing her extra throw blankets and pillows from her bed to toss about the living room floor and give someone something to sit on. Sirius found ‘the armchair’ that Marlene had found in the alley across the street and threw all of the clothes and makeup piled on top of it onto Marlene's bed. He dragged it out into the living room before throwing himself into it sideways, tossing his legs over the arm of it.

Remus, too, tossed out the beanbag chair from Mar’s room and promptly launched himself onto it, claiming it for the night. 

Lily and Mar loaded up the coffee table with their various drinks and snacks. Right as she was about to settle herself on the couch Marlene interrupted her actions, “Lily-love, could you grab a deck of playing cards from your room? Just in case we want to play Kings or something,” Marlene's smirk was met by a chorus of agreement from the boys, so Lily dragged herself into her room. Yanking off her heels as she walked down the hall, she immediately launched them into the corner of her room containing her closet without looking and planned to go right to her bedside table when a deep voice let out a “Bloody Hell Evans!”

Lily promptly shrieked and whipped around, hand over her heart, to spot James clutching one of her heels in the corner of her room, the other laying a foot to the left of him. 

“Watch where you toss these things, Lily! They’ve got spikes!” James huffed indignantly, waving the heel of the shoe at her. 

“In case you hadn’t noticed James,” Lily started, hands immediately finding on her hips, “this is my bloody room! I can throw my shoes wherever I bloody well please! What are you doing in here?” Lily tried to sound angry or annoyed but really it just sounded a bit breathless. Her heart was pounding way too fast and while she’d like to blame the fright he gave her, she figured it actually had much more to do with the boy in her room. And the bed separating them. The big bed. 

James seemed to realize how incriminating it was for him to be just standing there, in her bedroom, where she kept her underthings, clutching her shoe. His hand immediately shot to his hair, a strong blush following it up his neck. “Alice told me to come look for a chair or cushion or erm something. I got a tad distracted by your erm photos and things,” he gestured to the wall of pictures Lily had covering the wall behind her bed. She noticed him looking particularly at one photo in the bottom left corner. A picture of them, all snuggled up laughing. In the photo, Lily was looking ahead towards the camera, eyes closed as she laughed raucously. James, on the other hand, had been staring right at her. Even in the picture, you could see the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Oh of course.” Lily stepped closer to the photos, abandoning her search for the cards. “Makes me happy to see them all when I come back from work. Do you remember this one?” She pointed towards a photo in the dead center, “Right after the championship match before that wild party, right?” James laughed as he leaned closer.

She wouldn’t tell him but it was her favorite picture on the whole wall, showing Lily tightly pulled under James’ arm, smashed in between him and Sirius grinning wildly, red and gold facepaint covering her face while Marlene clung to Sirius’ back mid laugh, waving the championship trophy overhead. 

“That was a great day. Remember when Sirius broke that table trying to do a cartwheel and almost landed in the fire?”

She could have spent the whole night there, reminiscing about their stupid mates and telling new stories as James pointed to picture after picture, asking the stories. She told him all about the photo of her and dad surrounded by alpacas, about the tiny little chubby baby, who she had to assure James that it was not her illegitimate child, but rather Petunia’s new baby boy. “Dudley Dursley, isn’t it horrific? I mean give the boy a chance!” He laughed so hard that he felt his face becoming red and his cheeks hurting as she explained the one of Marlene and her on a boat in Greece, where her skin was painfully bright red because the wind had blown away her floppy hat so she had to spend the rest of the boat ride painfully sunburnt. 

 She hadn’t even noticed that as they spoke and laughed they both moved from standing to sitting on opposite sides of the bed, facing the photos. And then slowly turned to now face each other. Still on opposite sides of the bed, but closer now, much closer. Close enough that she could smell him, feel the way his laugh vibrated. She felt electric being this close to him, and if she had thought it through she undoubtedly would have jumped up and moved further away, but she couldn’t do that when it felt so undeniably natural to be sitting here laughing with him. 

He was in the middle of telling her about the time him and the boys had their own exploits in Greece, including waking up after a long night to find Sirius asleep on the balcony surrounded by 16 cats, when Alice burst into the room.

“Lily, did you get lost? What is taking so long-” Lily and James both shot off of the bed in different directions as Alice walked in and took in the scene before her. 

“Okay then. See you guys out there.” Alice nodded calmly and walked right back out of the room. 

“I guess we should-”

“Yeah, probably.” James had his hand back in his hair ruffling again and started to leave the room. Lily stared after him for a second before clearing her throat and digging through her bedside table for the card deck. Right as she was leaving, she noticed his jacket still around her. She shrugged out of it, folding it lightly but not quite ready to give it back to him. She left it on her bed.

When she reentered the living room, cards in hand, she saw that Peter had stolen her seat on the couch, leaving the only open space being on a pillow, on the ground, next to James. 

He nodded at her awkwardly and took a large gulp from his cup as she lowered herself carefully onto the pillow next to him, careful to keep all of her limbs to her regulated area. 

She reached out for a beer of her own and took a long drink. Marlene tried to catch Lily’s eye but when she only saw the underside of her cup instead, she quickly understood it would be a discussion for later instead. 

“Okay! So! The game is Kings! If you’ve never played-” 

“McKinnon, no!” Sirius interrupted, “I want to play never have I ever!” 

“Sirius, you lose Never Have I Ever every single time. You’ve done everything. Shut up and listen,” James retorted, throwing a chip at Sirius who caught it and ate it. 

“It’s because I’ll try anything once,” he said wolfishly, giving Alice an exaggerated wink. 

As the night went on, the drinks and laughs continued to flow and Lily’s strict personal space slowly shifted as she traveled into the neutral territory between them. But then at some point, James had shifted so he was lying on his stomach, with just his elbows on the pillow and his head in his hands, and Lily had shifted slightly so she was lying sideways now along her pillow and really the easiest place for her feet to rest was on James’s back. And really, when he complained that they smelled and she was infiltrating his space with disgusting feet, the only thing that made any sense to do was to leap on top of his back- “Infiltrate your space? I’ll show you infiltrated!”- and then as she lied there on top of his back, full weight on him, she realized just how poorly of an idea this was. It would have been much worse if he had been facing up because then she’d have to stare at his face, but this was also worse because now she was left with her head practically in his hair and oh my god why does it smell so good? What 20 something year old boy has hair and body that somehow smells like peppermint and cinnamon and delicious? And as if the smell of him wasn’t enough, just from pressing along his back she could feel how hard his body had become. Strong and toned. Gone was any of the former squish teenagers had. This was the body of a man and dear god that was terrifying. 

Right as she was contemplating the least awkward way to remove herself from his person Sirius FLEW on top of her as well, making both James and Lily groan, screaming “DOG-PILE”. Marlene quickly followed Sirius’ lead and soon Lily was completely and utterly trapped, smushed with her face lying straight in James’ delicious peppermint/cinnamon/something combo hair and having her person and front bits all smushed alongside his back. She wondered if he could feel her thundering heart against his back. 

“Sirius, you oaf! Get off of me before I vomit all over you all!” Lily shrieked. James grunted in agreement. 

Eventually, they all climbed off and Lily slowly was able to roll off of James, now lying alongside him, facing the sky while both her and James stretched out the kinks. “Well, that was fun,” James groaned turning his head to look at Lily, who was still staring at the ceiling.

Lily hummed in agreement, refusing to meet his eyes, knowing that they’d be warm and golden hazel and beautiful and be far too much for her to handle after being reminded what he smelled and felt like. 

“Lily?” he questioned quietly, while all the others continued to refill their drinks and settle back in, still laughing at Sirius. 

She gulped and turned her head to meet his eye, surprised at how close they still were, barely two inches between them. She could feel his warm breath on her face and the depth of emotion immediately took her breath away. Hazel eyes filled with warmth but not light, no they were quickly becoming pitch black and full of something else. Lust or passion, heat, something, but whatever it was, Lily was quite sure her eyes matched his. 

She held his gaze evenly, completely tuning out all of the other voices around them, as they lied there, breathing heavily. 

“Lily,” he whispered, voice laden with want and fear. The want part scared her the most and she tore her gaze away from his, to look back up at the ceiling. The ceiling that was now spinning. Oh god. 

She took a deep breath and pulled herself so she was sitting up, James twisting around to do the same, looking at her like he was afraid of her. Like she was a delicate bird that would fly away at the first sign of movement. 

“Lily,” he spoke again, cautiously. She looked at him for a moment, unable to make any words come out before jumping up. “Um, bathroom.” She explained to Mar when they all looked at her in alarm as she stood up. The girls nodded slowly like they understood something else was going on. 

Lily stood there for a moment, taking in the room around her. Peter was now asleep in the corner of the couch, snoring lightly with his mouth open, while Remus seemed to be making a game of trying to throw pieces of chips into his open mouth. Sirius lazed still in his armchair, drink in hand, head hanging off the opposite side of the chair. And James, sweet, good James. Sitting there, watching her desperately.

She turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction of the bathroom but instead to the small balcony off the kitchen. It was barely big enough to squeeze two little chairs but it was Marlene and Lily’s favorite part of the whole apartment. Coffee or wine on those little chairs were their favorite ways to pass any weekend. 

Now, Lily walked out and leaned up against the railing, looking down at the street below. 

“What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?” she whispered fiercely to herself, running her hands across her face, before pulling at her hair, whipping it quickly into a ponytail. 

She didn’t hear the sound of the door sliding open, but she heard it close, and instantly knew who it would be. Of course he would follow her out here. He always followed her, always knew. How could he still know her like that, after all this time? 

“James,” she whispered. 

“Hey, Lils.” He said it casually, with a kind of lightness that Lily envied. Clearly he was not as affected by her because she knew she couldn’t match that level of lowkey. 

With a deep breath, she turned around to face him and found him leaning against the door, watching her. His posture was casual and calm, but she saw something else in his eyes entirely. Some forced guard hiding the emotions he usually left in plain sight. 

“Why’d you come out here, James?” Despite any attempts at casualness, her voice came out as nothing less than desperate.

“Why did you, Lily?” He sounded like he was trying very hard to not shout the words at her. 

“I don't know,” she looked down, “I don’t know anything anymore. The room was getting hot and uncomfortable, I just needed… air I guess” 

“That’s exactly what you told me you needed that night.” he sounded less angry, more defeated. “You asked me to come get some air with you, that the party was getting too ‘hot, busy, and uncomfortable’ so I took you to the roof to look at the stars.” Now James was the one refusing to meet her eyes. Staring pointedly at something behind her left shoulder. 

“I remember,” she whispered, “James, that night. I am so sorry.” the words were pouring out of her now, desperately trying to escape and explain what she’d been trying to figure out for the past five years. 

“James, you meant so much to me. Mean so much to me. I was just… scared,” she explained pathetically, feeling vulnerable and weak. He searched her face with his eyes and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together. 

“Scared of what, Lily? Me? You know I would never hurt you. You meant everything to me. And I thought we were finally in the same place, finally in a place where we could admit that, without the pressure and expectations of school and then you just, rejected me. Rejected me without an explanation or reason or a backward glance you just… left. You left me alone up there.” There was no anger left in his voice, just hurt and pain. 

She couldn’t stand to see that pain in his eyes, knowing she had caused it. She took a step forward, reaching out an arm to his shoulder and then quickly bringing it back to her side without touching him. 

“You meant everything to me too, James, you did! You still do! I just wasn’t ready. I could handle the pressure at school, but I couldn’t handle that in the world. We were just kids! I wanted you, of course I wanted you, but I didn’t think I could start something when we were just starting out on our own,” she was speaking fast, rushing to make him understand, “I was so scared, James. We were going to be starting new lives and I knew you deserved better than me but I couldn’t take it. I was being stupid. I was stupid and scared and I blamed it on you and I am so sorry James, I would take it all back if I could. I was so stupid” she reached out for him now, gripping one of his hands between both of hers.

“What about after?” he whispered urgently, still looking at her with such intensity. “Why did it take so long and a random run in at a bar to make you tell me this?” 

“I don't know, I assumed you moved on. I thought you might not want to see me, I was just scared and embarrassed that I ever pushed you away. But James, I am so happy I ran into you. I am so happy you came into that dive bar, whatever drew you there. It was inevitable and I am so sorry I ever did anything to stop it.” She reached one of her hands around the back of his head, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck, keeping his eyes level with hers. She felt her stomach flip as some of the guardedness leaked out, leaving behind so much emotion to show. 

She knew whatever happened, whatever he said, she would never be the same. She couldn’t lose him again, she would never be able to go back to that bar. To look at his picture again. This would be the heartbreak time would never mend. 

“Lily,” he brought the hand not holding hers up to wrap around her neck, thumb caressing her cheek. “If this is going to happen, you need to know that this is for good. I am not letting you walk away again.” He stared into her eyes honestly, looking for any hesitancy. 

“There’s nowhere I’d want to go,” was all Lily could whisper before she pulled his head down and reached up to meet his lips in the middle. 

They kissed softly for half a second before it turned hungry, passionate, strong, and utterly mind robbing. James was quick to switch their positions and hold her up against the door, pressing into her with all of his weight. She pulled him down harder, loving the feel of him against her, the smell of him, the feel of his hair in between her fingers.

He groaned her name out as she pulled at his hair, which she responded to by nipping lightly at his lower lip. He reached an arm around her lower back to pull her in closer, holding her up as he began to travel, down her neck. Kisses punishing and powerful and so James. With him working on her pulse points she was left to pull at his hair and whisper his name heatedly, about to yank his mouth back to hers by his hair-

“Well, well, well,” Sirius yanked the door to the balcony open, “what do we have here?”

James yanked his head away from hers to look at their intruder, but continued to hold her up against him as he shot the finger towards Sirius. Lily hid her red face in James’s shoulder as their friend laughed obnoxiously.

“Marlene, you’ll never guess who is ruining your balcony with their depraved sinfulness,” Sirius called over his shoulder, while James groaned, pushing his nose into Lily’s hair to hide. 

“Guess we’ve run out of time,” Lily whispered into his ear.

“Nah, love,” James pulled away, grabbing his hands in hers and walking them backwards towards the balcony door Sirius had left open. “We’ve got forever.”

They walked back in to loud cheers and whistles from their friends, which quickly woke Peter up and he immediately began to cough up the few tortilla chip bits Remus had successfully thrown at him.

Lily felt embarrassed for half a second before looking up at the extremely fit bloke holding her hand. Suddenly she quite felt like cheering as well. 

[toomuchchelsea]

I NEED MORE CHRISTIAN CONTENT THIS IS AMAZING!! xx a blurb where ur a doctor and you’ve been paged and you see christian hurt lowkey badly and he’s completely ignoring his injury and flirting while you fix him up? xxx

omg I’m so so glad you like my writing, hope this one lives up to the hype x

You’d been paged to the ER, and as you walked there with your favorite nurse who had been the one to page you, she judged your side.

“You’re gonna like this one,” she promised.

“Why is that? Is the injury gnarly?”

“No, you weirdo,” the nurse rolled her eyes. “He’s cute! And plays for Chelsea!”

Now, your interest was piqued. You had been a Chelsea fan since birth and always had a small pin of the lion crest on your white coat; it was a good conversation starter with patients, whether they were Chelsea fans or football fans in general.

You walked into the ER, pulling back one of the curtains to see Christian Pulisic sitting up on the exam table, left leg stretched out and bandaged poorly.

“Hi, I’m Doctor—“ you started to say, pulling your gloves on.

“You’re the doctor of my dreams,” he flirted, absolutely mesmerized by your soft hair and your welcoming eyes.

You chuckled a bit, having heard that one too many times.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s going on with the leg?” you inquired, suspiciously eyeing the bandage as blood seeped through, turning the white cloth a scarlet color.

“You gonna let me take you out if I do?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, loving the attention from the attractive man but remaining professional as you sat down on a stool and rolled towards his leg, slowly starting to unwrap the bandage to assess the injury.

“One of my teammates accidentally scraped the bottom of his cleats against my leg,” he explained, lightly hissing as you started rubbing the bloody skin around the injury with an alcohol swab.

“If you’re going to be living in England as an American, you should know they’re called boots, not cleats,” you teased, cleaning up the area around the injury.

Christian then took notice of the lion crest on the lapel of your white coat. “You’re a Chelsea fan?” You nodded. “So, you know who I am?”

“I mean, you did walk into my ER in a Chelsea training shirt with your initials on it so that might’ve been a dead give-away... that, and maybe the accent.”

“People think my accent is sexy!” he defended.

“I never said it wasn’t,” you smirked right back, assessing the injury and sighing. “You’re gonna need stitches. I can do them right now if you want?”

He nodded his head and continued to stare at you as you put numbing cream on the area before going in with your stitching needle, your hands steady and calm.

“You’re good at that,” he complimented.

“Christian—“ You started, trying to focus on the injury which he didn’t seem to think was too bad but you definitely knew would have him on the bench for a while.

“I’d love to see what else those hands can do,” he blatantly flirted yet again.

“Christian, listen to me. This is serious,” you stated, instantly feeling bad as you saw a frown appear on his face.

“How bad?”

“You won’t be able to play for a few weeks, 4 minimum.”

“But—“

“No. No buts. I’m serious. If you put pressure on the stitches, they’ll get infected and then they’ll take longer to heal.” His head dropped at the news, letting you finish the stitches in silence.

“You’re going to be fine,” you promised with a reassuring smile. “In fact, I’d bet my money on you being a key player for my team when your injury is healed. Not before that, ok?”

He nodded, your words cheering him up a bit. “What am I supposed to do for a whole month if I can’t train?” Then, he got an idea. “Let me take you out.”

“What? No,” you laughed.

“Why not?”

“I don’t date—“

“Footballers? Handsome guys? Chelsea players?”

“Americans,” you teased.

“Now, that’s just a lie. I mean, come on. Look at these dimples.”

You had to admit, they were pretty great. “Okay.”

His eyes widened at the prospect. “Wait... seriously?”

“Yeah. You’re cute. And I like being pined after; it’s adorable.”

“I was not pining after you!” He defended as you wrote out a prescription for some painkillers for the stitches as well as your number on the bottom.

“Okay, we both know that’s not true,” you teased, handing him the slip and telling him to bring it to the nurse. As you started walking away, you shouted over your shoulder, “I’m free Friday night.”

He watched you go, completely loving the banter you two had just shared in and impatient for Friday night to arrive.

[soranihimawari]

Coke Float & Milk Bread

taglist: @kaidasen, ⛅️anon ( @tkags anon list) , @m0nstergeneration20xx @oikawalovely

Notes: Oikawa and Seiun have a snack-date. Part 2 of a mini-series where a girl meets a pretty boy in the hallway of a physical therapy session. Part 3 will be out tomorrow.

<<previous current next>> 

After the physical therapy session I went to, I was greeted outside the building by both Oikawa and another one of his classmates. Both were wearing their tracksuits from club practice I presumed since our physical therapy sessions were usually scheduled an hour after classes were over for the day. I wore jeans and a skyblue crop top. My hair was pulled back into a french braid, but I wore nothing but moisturizer that afternoon. Friends of mine from school were excited for me, but they respected my wishes on not wearing make-up due to the fact that I was going to be all sweaty from my physical therapy. 

Going back to this afternoon’s excursion: Apparently the pair of boys have been friends since childhood, which caused me to listen to their silly banter for a few city blocks. 

“Iwa-chan, of course I know that aliens built the ancient pyramids,” Oikawa said. 

“Oh my god Oikawa,” Iwazumi slapped his forehead. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to go out with him, Sei-chan.” 

“I thought he was charming,” I replied. 

I laughed when Oikawa puffed hot hair to the side. The clicks of my crutches matched with their foot steps; about another ten minutes later, we found ourselves in front of the ice cream shop. Iwazumi bid us farewell after opening the door for us mentioning he had a film studies podcast to listen to. When we were alone, I looked up at the menu for the ice cream shop. I glanced at the prices printed at the bottom for the floats, sundaes, cones, and cup sizes. I gripped my crutches since I didn’t want to overwhelm a fellow student’s wallet.

“You get to pick whatever you want, ok?” Oikawa said reassuringly. He placed an arm on my shoulder blade. “Don’t worry about cost right now.”

“If that’s the case,” I began. I caught the attention of the employee behind the ice cream freezer display. “May I get a cherry coke float?”

“And I’ll have one milk bread sundae please.” 

Oikawa removed his hand from my back to reach for his wallet. I hobbled over toward a booth by a window. I sat down on the squishy cushion and placed my crutches beside me against the window sill. Oikawa joined me a few minutes later.

“Coke float, huh?” he said. His eyes shimmered with slight amusement. 

“Milk bread? Really?” I retorted back. We exchanged a few more laughs. When our order arrived, we began to enjoy the treats. The summer sunset cascaded around OIkawa’s frame. This almost caused me to bask in his light. He was making puns and for once I forgot about my injury. When Oikawa rested his spoon in his now empty dish he asked me what happened. I took one final slurp of my cherry coke float and scowled.

“You first,” I said. 

“I asked you,” Oikawa said in a cocky tone. His gaze seemed to study my features enough so I felt like a hawk was watching me. I sighed when I pinched the bridge of my nose..

“Fine. I suppose I can tell you,” I caved first. “I was walking home a few weeks ago when I noticed one of my neighbor’s children wandered out into the street chasing after a ball. He didn’t notice a delivery truck which brakes failed and I got hit when I pushed him out of the way.”

Oikawa hung on every word I said. I recalled that day so clearly. It was a bright, blissful morning in June. I was on a break from the arts club, so I was tasked with grocery shopping for the day since I lived with my grandmother. Her neighbor’s children really took a liking to me ever since I moved in after my parents went abroad for business at the start of my third year of high school. I was often asked to babysit when I didn’t have after school (or morning) activities. However, the events of the day I told Oikawa about were true.

“My thigh and knee were almost completely shattered. It was a miracle the surgeons were able to re-fuse my bones with a lot of pins and screws. I just had an operation to remove the last bit of support screws since my bones are on the mend. Hence my brace. Every step is a struggle,” I paused for a moment to observe the lives of the people walking past the shop. Of course I was envious, but like all injuries, I needed more time to dedicate to healing. “But I’ll persevere through it.” I rested my chin on my hand when I placed my arm on the table and gave him a curt nod.

Oikawa leaned back in his chair to let out a low whistle. I cleared my throat before I returned my attention back at my physical therapy comrade.

“What about yours? You’re captain of your sports team, right?”

“Volleyball captain,” he corrected. “It occurred during a practice match we had amongst each other. I had set the ball to Iwa-chan for set point, but I landed poorly; I heard my knee pop out of place. It comes after years of playing, so I suppose it was my time to slow down a little bit.”

I pushed my glass aside and leaned forward when I folded my arms over my chest.

“I suppose so,” I acknowledged his last statement. “Do you have physical therapy tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. We were partners for one day and now you can’t get enough of me?”

“Don’t let it boost your ego. We’ve known each other off and on for a month, Oikawa. Yesterday was the first time we worked together on the parallel bars; what can I say? You’re fun to be around. Besides, you like aliens and I am a skeptic.”

“Oh is that so?” He scoffed when he heard me say the word skeptic. He clutched his chest a little bit for dramatic effect.  I knew that would grab his attention. I reread his club jacket insignia and I closed my eyes to realign my thoughts. Of course we haven’t really spoken before and our first conversational exchange was over the phone when he suggested this ice cream outing, but to say I developed an inkling of warmth from Oikawa is a false truth. At most, the boy intrigues me. He sure is handsome up close, no wonder my girl friends freaked the hell out when I sent his photo to them. Secretly though, I was hoping it was the same on his end.

“If you want more than ice cream dates with me,” my tone took over a taunting tone. “Then make a believer out of me Oikawa Tooru, captain of the Aoba Josai volleyball team.” I tapped my lips lightly. 

“Trust me sweetheart, I will,” he said, taking a hold of one of my hands. “Now do me a favor and don’t tap your lips like that unless you want me to kiss you later.”

I blinked surprised since such a simple gesture would prompt this pretty boy to react like that. About twenty or so more minutes passed while we exchanged more stories from school gossip to volleyball game stories. Oikawa was surprised to learn that I knew how to play volleyball, but I told him I learned on a sand court when my family lived abroad for a few of my formative early years.

“When I came back to Japan from Argentina, it was because my parents were offered another five year city planning contract, so living with my grandmother was a compromise once I entered my first year of high school,” I explained. 

“So, what year are you in now?” Oikawa’s calloused fingers traced over my knuckles delicately. Years of playing caused these, I know. It was the smallest gesture, yet i like to believe he wanted to treat me like glass. He already knew I was built tough, much like he was. I suppose maybe he might develop a crush on me while we continue working on feeling whole again.

“Third as of the start of this year. What about you? I’m assuming you are too?” Oikawa hummed in confirmaton. I mentioned the time, so Oikawa let go of my hand, yet I hoped he held on to me a little longer. He stood up first to assist me in standing as well. I grabbed my crutches off the window sill and propped them up. 

When we exited the shop, we began walking back toward the medical arts building where our physical therapy office was located. We walked side by side for a majority of the way back, telling each other jokes, as well as me explaining that since the accident I was attending school virtually unless I had to turn in assignments or take exams on campus. My school was located on the other side of town, meaning it was no where near his. He kind of frowned learning that piece of information.

On the flip side, I may have let it slip that I didn’t live too far from the hospital campus, so there was a silver lining. This caused his mood to shift and his demeanor took on a chipper tone. He ran his hand through his hair before asking me when I was supposed to return back to school saying the beginning of next week.

“I see,” Oikawa began when we were approaching the entrance door. “So, how does a follow up proper date sound?” 

I was reaching for the door handle when my ears perked up at his question. This model volleyball player, who could turn pro by graduation, asked me out on a real date? I looked over my shoulder at him to read his expression. Oh wow, even when serious, he was extremely good looking. Sure, couldn’t hurt to date him, maybe my pride if we break up, but now is not the time for thinking so poorly Juni! My thoughts said.

“Friday night. Six-thirty, Paper Latern Park. I hear there’s a meteor shower in the forecast. Bring coffee, ok?” I instructed before giving Oikawa a hug. I kissed his cheek.

“Thank you for the coke float. See you then!” 

I released him in time to notice the blush tinting his cheekbones. Oikawa’s surprised chocolate hue eyes watched me hobble off until I was out of sight. About an hour later, I received a text from him informing me he too had made it home in one piece. 

“He signs his messages with ‘Peace, love, aliens?’ That’s adorable,” I whispered at my phone. I sat down on my bed leaving my sketch pad on my desk. 

[yelena-bellova]

“Captain America Defeated By Spaghetti?” Steve/Natasha Fanfic

Summary: Steve comes by the compound to visit Natasha and do his laundry only to find his friend in a sad state. He decides to cook her dinner to lift her spirits, but it may not go as smoothly as he thinks it will…

Requested by @askaboutari: Can I get some Steve/Nat please?!?!? It can be romantic or brotp I love both but I need more of them 🤗🤗🤗

Warnings: Endgame spoilers if you squint really hard

Word Count: 2,057. (WOW. I did not intend to make it this long haha) Note: I was SO EXCITED to get this request 🥳 I’ve wanted to write about Steve cooking dinner for Natasha since I saw that scene in Endgame and I’ve been thinking that Steve cooking would probably go something like this haha 

This is my first imagine I’ve written so it kind of sucks, but it’s a start. Hope you enjoy it!!

Steve turned his key in the front door to the compound, taking a quick look at the surrounding area. It was desolate. Cars that had been parked five long years, the lawn overgrown and untended…it was a sad sight that sent a chill down his spine. He continued to unlock the door and stepped inside. Carrying his full bag of dirty laundry, he walked down the hall making just enough noise to alert Natasha of his presence. He didn’t hear any noise coming from any of the rooms and began to wonder where she might be. He peered into the living room, the only sign of possible life were the empty takeout containers laying across the coffee table. “Nat?” he called out. No answer. He slowly walked towards the office/study, where she could usually be found, and what he found made his heart break a little.

She was sitting in a chair, slumped over the desk table, passed out cold. Knowing her, she’d probably been checking in with Rhodey or Carol to see where they were. She was always grasping for new information, looking for some nuisance in the universe to put a stop to. Steve stared at her, noticing the fresh tear stains down her cheeks and the near empty coffee mug held loosely in her hand. He knew better than to just walk over and wake her up. Natasha was a trained assassin, she’d spring into action and have him pinned down before he could even gather himself. He set his bag down, tiptoed over to the desk and grabbed her phone. Unlocking it, he knew the song that she always set as her alarm, and hit play, As soon as the soft guitar strums began playing, Nat’s eyes fluttered open immediately. She glanced up to see Steve standing over her, a sad smile on his face. Happy to see her, saddened by how he found her… ”You know a bed might be more comfortable.” he quipped. 

“When did you get here?” she asked, lifting her head from the table and rubbing her eyes. “Just now. Thought I’d multitask; see a friend and do my laundry.” 

She gave him a small smile as she leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach. “I can’t promise there’s detergent, but have at it.” she said, gesturing to the nearby laundry room.

Steve slung his bag over his shoulder and walked over, starting his load set for an hour and exited back out. Nat was still sitting at her table, staring blankly at the wall. She looked underweight, sleep deprived and downright miserable. The fire that used to be so visible in her had died down to a wisp of a flame and the light gone from her eyes. He leaned up against the doorframe, “Nat…” 

“Hmm?” Her eyes didn’t move from the wall, but she was at least reachable. 

“When was the last time you did anything other than sit at that desk?” She finally turned to face him, more recent tear stains down her face, but she made sure to put a smirk on her face. 

“If you mean when was the last time I got out of here, you’re not gonna like the answer…”

“No, I mean when was the last time you got a good nights sleep? When was the last time you had a meal that didn’t come in a Chinese takeout container?” he asked.

She chuckled, “Half of humanity is still gone and you’re worried about the last time I made myself a sandwich? I hate to tell you this, Rogers, but I think your priorities are a little screwed up.” 

Steve gave her a disapproving look that she had long ago dubbed the “Captain Dad” face. 

“Nat…I’m serious.”

Natasha looked away to her lap, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from him being able to see right through her poorly constructed facade. Truth was, she hadn’t been grocery shopping in a month. Her “home cooked meals” were microwaved meals she usually only ate half of. She cried herself to sleep each night, and the few hours of sleep she managed to get were plagued with nightmares of the family she’d lost. And she knew she didn’t have to tell Steve any of that, he knew her well enough to know how hard she was still taking their defeat.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” she mumbled.

Seeing his friend like this killed Steve inside, and while he knew he couldn’t fix her, he was going to try his hardest to help in whatever way he could. Starting with getting some food in her… “Come on…” he said as he walked towards the kitchen. She slowly got up and followed him, knowing the judgement she’d face from him once he saw the contents of the fridge and pantry. 

Steve opened the door to the pantry and found nearly bare shelves. A few canned goods, cereal boxes, bottled sports drinks, crackers, a loaf of bread, and a bag of chocolate chips. He worriedly looked over to Natasha who was leaning against the counter, “Don’t give me that look, there’s no need to keep it stocked all the time when I’m the only one here.” she said defensively. Unfortunately, she was right. With her being the only one living at the compound regularly, she only had herself to feed. He went to examine the fridge next finding more takeout containers, a dozen eggs, milk, an open jar of peanut butter and a block of cheese. Steve glanced over at her again as she shot him an almost apologetic look. “Well, this is a far cry away from Tony’s private chef…But I think I can make it work.” he said proudly, walking over to the pantry. 

“You know you don’t have to do this.” she said. “I can ta-“ “If that were true, you wouldn’t be living off of coffee and egg rolls.” Steve remarked as he dug through the pantry to find a box of pasta and a jar of marinara sauce hidden behind cereal boxes. Natasha smirked, she knew he was right. She hadn’t been taking care of herself. Steve turned to face her, “Now go sit down, put a movie on, and let your friend do something nice for you.”

She jokingly gave him a salute and disappeared into the living room. Steve wasn’t a chef by any means, but he knew the basics. He hadn’t made pasta in a long time, but was confident in his ability to boil noodles.

He had never been more wrong in his 100+ years…

Twenty minutes later, his third attempt at spaghetti were stuck to the bottom of the pot, he had burned himself from the steam twice and there were still two empty plates. Natasha stood in the doorway, trying not to laugh at her friend, waiting to jump in and help him. “I thought you were the one who was supposed to be taking care of me.” she quipped. Looking up from the disappointing pot, “I thought if the box said “Easy to cook” that it would actually be easy to cook.” he remarked. 

“Captain America defeated by a box of spaghetti? Oh, how the mighty have fallen…”

Steve chuckled, if his embarrassing attempt to cook gave Natasha some much needed joy, it was worth it to him. “I’m sorry about this…And I’m clearly in dire need of help.” 

“I was just waiting for you to say that…” Steve cleared away the burnt pot of noodles and cleaned up his area as Natasha began grabbing eggs, milk and bread. She put a pan on the stove and turned on the burner, pouring some oil on it too. “Grab me a whisk and a spatula.” she directed.

“Yes, ma’m.” Steve replied, mimicking the salute she gave him earlier. Twenty minutes later, they had made a huge stack of french toast and were dishing up their plates. Natasha had found syrup stashed away in the spice cabinet and poured a hefty amount of it on her pieces. Steve’s plate of course had a super soldier sized portion of their meal…They retired to the living room where Natasha had a movie ready to go, it played quietly in the background as the two friends caught up with each other. “How’s your support group going?” she asked him.

He didn’t look up from his plate as he answered, “As good as it can go, I guess. We share, we grieve…Some make progress, some don’t…”

“What category would you put yourself in?” Steve set his fork down and gathered his thoughts for a moment.

“Sometimes I think I’m moving on, when I’m just going about day to day life…Shopping, reading, watching TV, going for drives…Things almost feel somewhat normal. But when all of that stops and everything’s quiet, I realize I’m no closer than I was five years ago.” 

Natasha watched him struggle to not say what she knew was on his mind. She could see through him just as well as he could see through her. And if he couldn’t work up the courage to say what he really wanted to say, she would help him along… “You miss her, don’t you?” 

Steve still hadn’t looked up from his plate, but as soon as Natasha spoke, his eyes made their way to meet hers joined by a sad smile.

“Every day.” Natasha nodded, knowing that no matter how many losses they faced, one of Steve’s greatest losses would be losing Peggy Carter. She had lost count of how many girls she had tried to set him up with, only for him to shoot down every suggestion. She’d given up eventually, knowing that he was just as stubborn as she was, if not more. Steve continued, “I sit there in that group each week listening to people talk about going out on dates, moving on from their partners and I support it. I congratulate them and encourage them and tell them they’re doing the right thing. But every time I think of myself moving on, not just from Peggy, but from all of this,” he gestures to the room as if the whole team is in it, “it just feels wrong.”

What Steve was feeling in the moment was a feeling Natasha knew all too well. She knew that if Clint were here, he’d be telling her to move on with her life best she could. But anytime she even considered stopping her search for him or her attempts to stop whatever trouble was being made in the universe, she felt paralyzed. She felt like she was disrespecting her dead teammates by taking care of herself and moving on. She and Steve were in the same boat, he was just able to function slightly better than she was. She cut off another bite of french toast and chewed it slowly, savoring the first true home cooked meal she’d had in months.

“Maybe moving on looks different for people like us.” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “We’ve seen things that the general population has only heard stories about. We weren’t only here for the aftermath but we were there for the loss itself. Maybe you’ll never be able to move on like somebody off the street, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” 

One side of Steve’s mouth curved into a knowing smile, “Maybe the same goes for you.” 

Natasha’s lip’s curved into the same smile, “You first.” The rest of the night was spent polishing off all the french toast, laughing at the movie, Natasha telling Steve about the report Carol had given her, and more free flowing conversations between the two best friends. Eventually, Natasha fell asleep on the couch using Steve’s bicep as a pillow. He looked down at her and smiled, for the first time in a long time she looked at ease. Her stomach was full, she’d had a few laughs, and she was getting much needed rest. Steve reached over and grabbed a blanket, draping it across her small frame. He closed his eyes as well, slowly drifting off to sleep. His last thought was of the forgotten load of laundry still in the washer, but that was fine…His true mission of the night had been accomplished; Seeing his friend happy for the first time in a long time.

[butterpanic]

Know What You Signed Up For

Prompt: Written for Chocolate Box 2019 

Pairing: Theron Shan/Female Smuggler

Rating: M

Tags: Trapped In Elevator, Elevator Sex, Post-Nathema, Angst

Read at [AO3]

"Wait! Hold the-"

A hand shoves its way through the disappearing crack in the elevator doors, followed by an arm and then by the wedging body of the woman Theron Shan simultaneously wants to see most and least in the entire galaxy. The Commander seems to feel the same, judging by the way her mouth forms and abandons options before settling on a terse, "Theron," and a fixed gaze on the opposite wall.

Well, at least they can share an elevator again. That's progress.

No eye contact. No small talk. There's a caf in her hand that someone else put there, and he knows that by now it's gone cold with exactly a quarter left in the bottom of the cup. Don't need a chrono when Cats is around, just read the rings inside the rim. Old mug, new mug; she gets through the day with the reflex of an open palm and a nod of thanks to the supplier.

Not him, anymore. A year ago it would have been, now he knows he'll be running into her refueling team on the other side of the elevator doors. Corso or Risha if they're on base. Lana if they aren't. Theron watched Gault do it once last week.

That one hurt a little, if he's being honest.

He did the right thing. Theron wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been sure and he's still sure of that. Cats must agree, on some level, because he spent enough time with her file before Korriban to know what happens when someone double-crosses her. She'd offered him the open palm, not the blaster to the nuts. Alliance pardon. His old quarters, even, not a demotion down to the barracks.

No eye contact, though. No inappropriate flirting during briefings. No even-more-inappropriate smacks on the ass after briefings. He hasn't tried bringing her caf in the morning but he doesn't need to try his access code to the Majestic Princess to know that it won't work anymore. Theron's got just enough of a routine reestablished now to see exactly how many holes she's left in it.

The elevator grinds to a halt and Cats nearly plows into the doors, too focused on escape to realize they've failed to open. She turns on him, eyes closed.

"You shouldn't have sliced the elevator."

He hadn't sliced the elevator. Not since he came back. Before, sure; even though it earned him an entirely deserved lecture about professionalism from Lana every time. She's absolutely right - it's bad optics for the Commander of the Eternal Alliance to have poorly-concealed public sex and it's inconvenient for everyone who's forced to take the emergency stairs while the elevator is out of commission.

(What Lana never seemed to consider in her arguments was that the Commander of the Eternal Alliance really, really liked getting off in places that were inconvenient for everyone. And that she had fantastic breasts. Theron was smart enough not to bring this particular counterargument to the table.)

Seeing as they're not even on "friendly smile in the hallway" terms right now, though, slicing the elevator for some unprofessional behavior with his ex hadn't been on the schedule for the day any more than sharing an elevator with her.

"Not me."

He jams the panel a few times, just to confirm that that definitely isn't going to do anything useful. Starts considering the interference of the shaft and various Alliance communications routing times - is he still in Lana's priority queue? Theron is busy calculating how likely it is that he can climb up the shaft without his infiltration kit, both with and without Cats, when he gets an override message. Loud and clear, from the woman herself, who is suddenly much closer than before and looking down at him with his own confusion.

"I want to kiss you," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Can I... is that...?"

Theron gets it. He really does. It was a question he asked on Nathema, on Copero, on Umbara. After every time they pass in the hallway, at every briefing and four hours after the doors of his empty quarters close behind him every night. Thing is, it isn't a question he's managed to tease out the answer to, and if she's asking, it's probably best just to put her tongue in his mouth.

Yeah, he thinks, as his lips tilt up to press against hers, probably for the best.

"You're an idiot," someone says, and he's not sure which of them says it or who it's for. Either of them. Both of them, probably, and he doesn't care because all he can taste is her. Every gray day lighting up, every lonely fantasy dissolving into the way she grinds against him.

She's right, or he's right. About anything. About everything. They are idiots and they are unprofessional and they are broken and they are wearing too many clothes. Her hands are already fumbling at his belt, the familiarity of years of their least appropriate hobby filling the gap sense leaves. That can't- well, if she gets those hands where she wants them this is going to be over too soon, and the last confused scraps of his mind he hasn't tasked to getting her out of her shirt kick in long enough to shift them to his shoulders.

"You first," he says, running his fingers under the shirt, over the soft skin of her stomach as it tightens in his wake. His lips find her jaw, her neck, kissing his way down as nervous hands fumble at each button and clasp.

She has fantastic breasts.

It's selfish but he takes a moment here. Rests his face between them to feel her heartbeat against the warmth of her skin, the softness in that gap, the way she smells of sweat and life and everything home. No regrets. If her heart is still beating, he did the right thing, no matter what it means for him now.

Cats squirms under his nose and he shifts a hand up to cup a breast before she gets impatient enough to move it there herself. Noses against her nipple playfully, because he knows it annoys her, but doesn't hesitate to draw it into his mouth. Sweat, salt, sweet as he circles his tongue. Slow, like he wants, like he's missed. She moans, bends, and he takes advantage of the moment to reverse their positions, press her up against the metal of the elevator wall. To gaze up at her, past the gentle swell of her breast, as she meets his eyes and her lips part invitingly once again.

"Theron," she says, and he groans appreciatively against her in response, sucking her deeper. "Theron."

This time her hands tug at his hair, insistent against his arousal. Blinking, he pulls back.

"They're going to repair the elevator." She drops each word slowly, like she's explaining a foreign concept. Of course they'll repair the elevator, three quarters of the base is underground. They'd never get anything done if they didn't.

"Okay."

"We need to be done before they finish."

Oh. Right.

His hands make quick work of his belt and even quicker work of hers; his lips placed just so in the crease of her hip elicits the same gasping laugh it always does. The kisses he plants along her inner thighs while he unlaces her boots are just as awkward but in only a moment they stand chest to chest, his erection brushing the loose ends of her shirt, her sex warm and slick as he cups it in his hand. Lets her grind against him, just how she likes, no rhythm but that rhythm that's just her.

"Please," she says, "Please, please. Please." She repeats it, eyes searching his, and he's idiot enough to hope that she's asking for everything he wants to give, not just this. Not just the smooth slide inside her, the way her hips tilt to meet his own. The way she moans when his hand moves between her thighs, right there, using everything he's ever learned about her to drive her desperately over the edge.

Her lips close around the skin at the base of his throat and pull. He wouldn't have left a mark on her now, wouldn't have dared, but she does and that's when he loses control. Stars. He comes apart.

No eye contact, no pillow talk. She turns away to tug her jacket back over her shoulders. His belt is straightened and every hair back in place when the doors give their warning creak.

One, two, three. Like clockwork, Lana's flat glare appearing between parted doors.

"And there they are," she says, motioning towards the nearby engineers. "No worse for wear. That's a Code Besh resolved."

"Good work, troops," Cats salutes with a wave of her caf. Another mug is presented and exchanged on the downswing. Looks like Risha's on rotation this morning, and she wrinkles her nose as Cats brushes by her on their way to the exit.

"Really?" Theron murmurs, as soon as Cats is out of earshot. "Non-Emergency Maintenance Code Besh? The elevator was actually broken, Lana, we could have been-"

"Don't play the fool, Theron, it doesn't suit you," she snaps. "Your algorithm hasn't changed. You didn't even bother to switch encryptions." Her glare softens, slightly, into something like a smile. "For what it's worth... I'm happy for you."

Theron woke up alone last month and last week and this morning and he hasn't understood a single thing that's happened in the past thirty minutes. Kriff it. With a chipper wave in Lana's direction, he heads to the cantina for lunch.

It's enough for now.

"What is this?" Risha gingerly fishes the sodden spike out of a mug of cold caf.

"Oh, is that where that was?" Cats is flippant, but her hand closes around it with a quickness that belies her tone. Crushes it with the very same quickness, and shoves the unrecognizable remains into a pocket.

"No idea. Must've found it somewhere."

[bevioletskies]

bring it on home to me [2/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don’t let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke. Warning for mentions of blood and unnamed character deaths.

word count: 2.8k | ao3 | tag

Mantis woke to a dull throbbing in her forehead, a thu-thump that sounded more like an irregular heartbeat than the usual background noise of the Benatar’s engine’s rumbles and groans. It was an unfortunate common occurrence for her, the faint sounds of other people’s worries and fears radiating off them like a siren, calling out for someone to listen. Now, living in close quarters with teammates who constantly fretted and kept it all to themselves, the sirens were more like full-on klaxons blaring in her brain.

When she was growing up under the too-watchful eye of Peter’s father, it hadn’t been so terrible in that respect - he was a man of single-minded purpose, his arrogance so excessive that his narcissism far outweighed his doubt. His feelings, his emotions, had come second to all the things he’d demanded of her, and it was far easier to shut out one person than another five. Mantis had never understood the full spectrum of the emotional experience until meeting the other Guardians.

She tiptoed gingerly out of her bunk and into the tiny kitchenette, pouring herself a glass of water and sitting down at the table. Peter and Nebula had laid out scraps of reports and blurry photos all over its surface, still attempting to work together after the last half-dozen temper tantrums they’d had (Peter moreso than Nebula, not that anyone was counting). “We’re gettin’ closer,” Peter would say every morning during their team discussions, having long abandoned other jobs in favor of this one. Rocket would then quip that they weren’t, Drax would have some sort of blunt response, and Nebula would roll her eyes while Groot adamantly continued staring at his game console screen, trying and failing to not get his hopes up. Mantis would be sitting further away, observing, feeling completely and utterly useless.

“You’re not useless, Mantis.” It was three months after Mantis had joined the Guardians, and they had returned to their ship after a semi-successful job where their worst injury was Rocket’s singed whiskers and Peter’s bruised ego. She had sat down beside Mantis, who was sulking quietly by the vantage window. The softness in her voice always betrayed the sharpness of her expression. “I don’t need your powers to tell that that’s how you feel right now.”

“I wish I was more like you,” Mantis had sighed. “Brave...and strong. But I do not know if I want to fight.”

“Then don’t,” she had said simply. “Your life is yours now. Your purpose is your choice.”

“I suppose when you put it like that...I have never felt so free.” Mantis had hummed, some song that Peter had played once that had been stuck in her head ever since, drowning out the noise that had otherwise taken permanent residence in her head.

Her face had softened. “Neither have I. Though I’ll spend the rest of my life burdened with knowing what I’ve done when I was with Thanos. What I didn’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t stop him, I didn’t escape him until it was almost too late. I didn’t realize the extent of what he’d been doing to my sister until the damage to our relationship, to Nebula herself, was beyond repair.” She had shuddered, her hand moving to a specific pocket on her utility belt, drawing out a switchblade embedded with some sort of red jewels. Slowly, she had begun to spin it, flipping it deftly like she’d clearly done so many times before. “I imagine you felt similarly about Ego.”

“I do not know how I feel about anything sometimes,” Mantis had admitted. “But I do know that I wish I had met all of you earlier.”

“I don’t think you would’ve liked us earlier,” she had replied, her tone dry. Then, her head had dipped downward, eyes fixated on her lap. The switchblade came to a stop. “I know I didn’t.”

Mantis had watched her, pensive. “Do you like yourself now?”

Gamora had let out a low chuckle; the sound had haunted Mantis then, and it spoke to her now. “I hope that someday, I will.”

Mantis was drawn out of her memory by the sound of an awkward, distinctive cough behind her. She turned to see Drax stood by the freezer unit, a half-eaten rations packet poorly hidden behind his back. “Drax?”

“I was hungry,” he said, defending himself against absolutely nothing of consequence. “Why are you awake?”

“Sleep escapes me sometimes,” she replied, gesturing for him to join her at the table. He sat across from her, reluctantly putting the rations packet on its surface, knowing he was going to get an earful from Peter about it in the morning (“Food is expensive, Drax! You wanna see our bank account again, or do you wanna maybe not get the late-night munchies for once?”). “Everyone gets louder and louder the closer we get to...wherever Peter thinks she is.”

“We have been having discussions at the same volume the whole time,” Drax protested.

“I mean in here.” Mantis tapped a finger against her temples, right below the base of her antennae. “Nebula is angrier than ever. Peter has never felt so sad. They are very desperate. We are all very desperate.”

Drax elected not to respond right away, instead peeling back the packet so he could dig to the bottom, popping another bite or two into his mouth and chewing slowly without really tasting anything. He knew the others thought more highly of him than anyone but his family had ever done before, but still, he knew they also mostly saw him as oblivious, simple-minded Drax - the one they could count on in a battle, but not in a war. He was a warrior, not a tactician, a body, not a brain. His grief wasn’t always as obvious to the others, either; it wasn’t like Nebula’s scowls or Peter’s tears, Rocket’s drooping whiskers or Groot’s trembling mouth. It was quieter, far quieter than his combative cries during a fight or his harsh tones during an argument. It was almost silent. Most times, Mantis was the only one who could hear him.

“So desperate that we hang onto the mere existence of a woman who is not the one we know,” Drax said hollowly, setting the packet back down. “I have made peace with the death of my wife and daughter. I think it’s time for Quill and Nebula to make peace with hers.”

“How could you say that?” Mantis leapt to her feet, knocking over her water glass in the process; her eyes barely glanced over as it went splashing everywhere, dripping all over the floor. “We have encountered her three times since she ran away, and she has let us get closer each time. Maybe she is not the one we know, but she wants to trust us. I know that. I can feel that. We cannot just...give up!”

“We are working ourselves into a sickness, a disease. She would not want us to mourn her forever,” he insisted. “It is not the warrior way.”

“But she was not just a warrior, and neither are you,” she retorted, her lip curling in a childish manner. “She only died a few months ago. How long have you had to mourn your wife and daughter?”

“Too long.” Mantis froze, her eyes widening in horror in realization of what she’d said, of how easy it had been for him to answer her. She was hardly one to get angry at the others, but somehow, Drax was always the one who got to her more than anyone else. Whether it was a sign of their closeness or their wildly different temperaments, she couldn’t be sure.

She exhaled. “We deserve more time to look for her than you might think. Maybe someday, she will want to stay with us, and she can get to know everyone all over again. I think Peter and Nebula really, really need it. We all do.”

Drax got to his feet, moving to dispose of the empty packet, pointedly keeping his back to her. “Sleep well, Mantis.” He left before she had time to reply, weaving his way through the Benatar’s damp corridor and back to his bed, where he knew he wouldn’t be able to take his own advice.

Another two days passed before they were remotely close to where they were trying to be, a location that Peter refused to disclose to the others for reasons unknown. He and Nebula had reached the acceptance stage in their relationship, as in they accepted each other’s presence reluctantly and begrudgingly. Seeing them successfully coordinate their efforts was strangely disturbing to everyone else.

“I still don’t trust her,” Drax murmured to Peter after their usual morning discussion, watching Nebula reluctantly follow Mantis through to the back of the ship for lack of something else to do. “She has tried to kill us on multiple occasions.”

“Hey, look, Nebula’s not my favorite person either, but she’s different now,” Peter protested, furrowing his brow. “She only sometimes threatens to maim me these days. Plus, after all that stuff she did to help save the universe, we gotta cut her some slack. She’s not the bad guy anymore. She’s one of us.”

“I suppose she has become more agreeable, yes,” Drax relented, nodding. “But do not mistake her presence for her allegiance, Quill. She is merely here for her sister, and when she realizes that that woman isn’t her - ”

“Don’t - ” Peter’s finger was on the trigger of his quad blaster before Drax could get his next word out, though he didn’t draw his weapon. His breath was ragged between his teeth. “Don’t you dare, alright? Don’t you say nothin’ like that.”

“Then I have nothing more to say,” Drax said quietly, promptly turning and walking away.

On the other side of the ship, Mantis and Nebula were sat by the window, Groot’s favorite spot to sit and watch the stars go by when he was younger. The two of them had an odd relationship, knowing the absolute least about each other of all the Guardians, and yet always feeling a vague sense of apprehension in the other’s presence. They both knew what the other was capable of, the physical and psychological damage they could inflict upon one another, and that was all it took for them to maintain their distance. Still, between the loudness of everyone else’s personalities, they were somehow the quietest of them all, and sometimes, silence was exactly what they needed.

“What happened when you were with your past self?” Silence was not a particularly long-term commitment for Mantis. Nebula turned to shoot her a dirty look, but Mantis returned it with a steely gaze of her own.

Sighing, Nebula brought one knee up to her chest so she could rest her arm. “If you think I’m going to tell you what it was like to look into my own eyes from nine years ago, you’ve sorely misinterpreted our relationship.”

Mantis looked away. “After you left to kill Thanos...sometimes, she would find it very hard to talk about you. But other times, she would tell me stories about how you grew up together.”

“Is that what she called it?” Nebula said, her voice even raspier than usual. “Growing up together? As if we lived in a house and went to school and lived a perfectly ordinary life?”

“She said she always wanted to understand you,” Mantis mused. “But she did not know where to start.”

Nebula scoffed. “Understand me? My sister seems to have spent far more time getting to know you than she ever did with me. It was only in the end that she...that we…” She trailed off, unusually uncertain of what to say.

“Once she started to trust me, she was very helpful in making me feel like I belonged.” Mantis smiled bemusedly, her eyes glazing over, lost in her own memories. “Before becoming a Guardian, I did not think I belonged anywhere but on Ego, serving my master for the rest of my life. She made me see that I could be more, and that we had more in common than we thought.” Her gaze went back to Nebula’s face; it startled Nebula then how similar their dark, inky eyes looked in a certain light. “That includes you, too.”

“What could we possibly have in common?”

Mantis brightened, much to Nebula’s dismay. “Oh, many things! We were all taken as children by a powerful man who wanted us to be servants instead of companions. We felt isolated and controlled and alone. We - ”

“Do stop talking.” Nebula clapped her hand down firmly on top of Mantis’s, pinning it to Mantis’s leg. Mantis jumped but didn’t dare move otherwise. “I can only listen to your voice for so long.”

Mantis held her breath for a moment, then slowly, carefully, turned her hand over, gently prying Nebula’s fingers open so she could interlace them with her own. Nebula flinched. Then, she sighed, her shoulders dropping, and they both turned their gaze to the stars.

Back in the bunks, Drax was laid on his back on his comically small bed, staring up at the ceiling, bits of it eroded away from leak damage and other mishaps that Peter claimed gave the Benatar “character”. In the water stain, he could almost see the silhouette of a face, some vague side profile of a person who, if he squinted enough, reminded him of the slope of his wife’s nose, the strength of her chin, the curve of her jawline.

“Do you think of them?” It had been a mission like any other, some trafficking situation gone wrong that the Guardians had been called to, and the two of them were entrusted with dealing with the enemies on the ground, being the most skilled in close combat. The fight was over now, and they were the only ones left standing. Drax had been bent over at the waist while trying to catch his breath; she had kneeled on the ground beside a pile of bodies she’d created, staring at them in a near trance.

Drax had turned to look at her; she hadn’t looked back. “Of who?”

“Your wife and daughter.”

His answer had been immediate. “Always.”

She had smiled sadly, drawing a cloth from her utility belt to wipe away the blood on her sword. Her back had still remained to him. “Peter tells me stories about his mother almost every night before we go to bed. Yet I...I forget my parents’ names sometimes. I forget their laughs, their smiles.”

“This is an odd time and place to be having this conversation,” Drax had pointed out, though not unkindly.

“It makes sense to me.” She had drawn to her full height, storing away both the cloth and her sword, finally turning to face him. There was a splatter of blood across her torso and face, the silver in her cheekbones glinting through it like it was just another layer of warpaint. “Every time I look at all the death I’ve left behind, I think of them. I wonder what they would think of me if they saw who I was, what I’ve become. Do you not do the same?”

“I come from a race of fighters,” he had said, though his answer hadn’t been so quick this time. “War is our norm.”

She had hummed in response, gesturing for him to follow her back to the ship, where the others were waiting. “I’ve been responsible for more deaths than the ones committed by my own hand.”

He had fallen silent, unsure of what to say, thinking back to the very first time they had come face-to-face, her blade to his throat, then his hand wrapped around hers. “You are not the one to blame for my family’s deaths. That was Ronan and Thanos, but it was not you. Never you.” When she didn’t respond, he had grabbed her by the wrist, pulling firmly so she would turn and meet his eyes. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, though still sparked with the defiance that every last person in the galaxy had come to know so well. Then, he had said, quite simply, “As I’ve said before - you are not my enemy, Gamora. You are my friend.”

The sound of the Benatar’s unceremoniously messy landing - more like crashing - pulled Drax out of his dreamlike state. He got to his feet and ran out to join the others in the cockpit, pausing when he saw everyone frozen in their seats, staring out the front window. Only Peter remained emotionally unmoved, his jaw clenched. After all, he was the only one who had known their destination.

The Guardians found themselves looking at the hollowed-out husk of a place that never had glory days, a place still struggling to rebuild after its destruction five years ago, smoke curling around its borders like it was threatening to swallow it whole. Peter cleared his throat. “Well, this was the last place she was spotted. Welcome back to Knowhere.”

a/n: First of all, sorry about this being late! I left on vacation for a week the day after posting the first part and thought I would only need a week to write and edit this part, but I was sick on my flight home and had a bunch of other stuff to catch up on. I hope you enjoyed regardless!

Secondly, this part was a little bit harder for me to write, as I usually explore Drax's character and relationships with others the least, but it was a fun little exercise in exploring these characters I adore so much! And wishful thinking, but I really want Mantis and Gamora to (somehow) have a good friendship going on in Vol. 3.

The next part will be posted next Friday - I'm halfway-ish through writing it so far. Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

[alexjosten]

Peppermint Toads

Gift fic for @scattered-shadows who requested a Neil & Andrew Hogwarts AU as part of the 2017 Winter @aftgexchange. I was really thankful when I got this prompt, because I’m a huge Potterhead so this was an absolute pleasure to research and write. Enjoy!

Rating: T Words: 2586

(P.S. I plan on continuing this at some point, so feel free to drop headcanons in my inbox!)

—

Breaking into the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts wasn’t particularly difficult for Andrew, considering the passwords had historically always been the names of various magical sweets. After seven years of visiting Honeydukes (only four of which were permitted), Andrew had sampled and memorised the entire store’s catalogue, so reeling off names until he landed on ‘Peppermint Toads’ was more a test of his patience rather than his cleverness.

He ignored the suspicious glances and whispered words from the portraits of the previous headmasters as he rifled through the contents of Headmistress McGonagall’s desk. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: the register of students who were staying at Hogwarts over the winter holidays.

He scanned through the Ravenclaws, looking to see if Aaron or Katelyn had been added to the list. His twin had boldly proclaimed he was going home for the holidays with him and Nicky, but Andrew hadn’t believed it for a second after Aaron had conspired to stay unsupervised in the castle with Katelyn last year. Andrew had only discovered his brother’s betrayal after he was already stuck in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express going home. He wouldn’t be tricked twice.

It seemed that this year, however, Aaron was telling the truth. Andrew was about to toss the list back to McGonagall’s desk when a name under a different house caught his eye. It was a name that he recognised from the list of Death Eaters that were still at large after breaking out of Azkaban during the Second Wizarding War: Wesninski.

It didn’t surprise him to find the name was under Slytherin. What concerned him was that Kevin hadn’t told him someone from an infamous Death Eater family was in his house- which meant that Kevin didn’t know. And if Kevin, as paranoid as he was after his history, wasn’t aware… that meant this particular student was keeping his identity a secret.

Andrew didn’t like secrets. Especially ones that threatened his things.

He picked up a quill and scratched his own name onto the list.

*

Hogwarts felt larger after the majority of the student body packed their trunks and went home. The Great Hall tried to compensate by boasting Christmas trees so gigantic that their tips brushed against the snowy skies of the Enchanted Ceiling. The woven garlands of holly, mistletoe and tinsel in every doorway were so ostentatiously bulky that students had to squeeze together to get through the narrow space that was left. Even the warm, dry snow fluttering down from above seemed determined to collect upon the books and homework of the remaining students to distract them with festive cheer, however Andrew was more focused than ever.

After sifting through the lies of the Daily Prophet and the utter nonsense of the Quibbler from the back catalogue in the library, Andrew pieced together a working theory: Nathan Wesninski had been a werewolf serving under Fenrir Greyback during the Second Wizarding War, sentenced to life in Azkaban but broken out shortly before the Battle of Hogwarts. Further research revealed that he had a son, Nathaniel Wesninski, born in January 1987- which would have placed him in the same school year as both Andrew and Kevin.

Since the other Slytherin seventh years had gone home for the holidays, this narrowed Andrew’s hunt down to the one remaining student: Neil Josten, starting Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Andrew knew him, of course. Over their seven years at Hogwarts they had shared various classes together. Neil stood out- not only for the auburn hair that made him the butt of every Weasley joke, but also for the deep gashes that scored the skin on one side of his face. Wounds like that weren’t uncommon after the war, even on the younger students, but now combined with Andrew’s theory about who Neil actually was, he couldn’t help but think those scars looked awfully like claw marks.

Considering Kevin was close to Neil as a fellow Chaser and Captain of the Slytherin team, and would be sharing a dorm with him when he returned to school in a week, Andrew felt the need to act quickly.

Neil was minding his own business eating his Christmas dinner when Andrew dropped a four inch thick tome on the table in front of him with a resounding slam.

“Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don’t Deserve to Live, by Professor Emerett Picardy. Fascinating read,” Andrew drawled as he took the bench opposite his new nemesis.

Neil flicked him an annoyed glance and then went back to slicing through a rare cut of roast beef, “Go away, Minyard. The werewolf jokes got old in third year.”

“I know what you are. Or should I say who? Interesting how you managed to get all of the professors to play along and call you by your new name in class.”

That got Neil’s attention. His chin snapped up and he held his head high as he stared Andrew down. His lips contracted in a snarl, “Are you really so bored without Kevin around that you’ve resorted to making up fantasies? Leave me alone.”

Andrew drummed his fingers across the book’s cover, underlining the subtitle, “How about I present you a deal. If you can score on me, I’ll leave you alone and your secret stays safe. If I block all your shots, I let the Prophet find out that Hogwarts is knowingly housing a class five beast, you pack your bags and get the fuck out of my school.”

Neil ignored the threat and focused on the challenge instead, “Quidditch? I’ve never seen you play.”

“Exactly. So it should be easy for you, no?”

Neil looked bewildered, “You did hear that I got an offer to play for the Montrose Magpies when I graduate?”

Of course he had. Kevin hadn’t shut up about it when he had gotten his matching offer letter the same day. Andrew rolled his eyes, “I don’t care. Is it a deal? Yes or no.”

“Fine. Deal.”

*

Visibility was poor when they stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch. The beginnings of a blizzard had picked up as dusk fell, swirling around and slicing mercilessly at every sliver of exposed skin. Dark snow clouds loomed above, casting a grey shadow over everything that dared to step foot outside of the safety of the castle. Neil had tried to convince him to play on another night, but Andrew had chosen that night for a reason: in a matter of a few hours, it was going to be a full moon.

Choosing to spend time alone with a potential werewolf who was about to turn was reckless to say the least. Doing so while balancing being a hundred feet in the air with his crippling fear of heights made it downright suicidal. It was a wonder how Andrew had survived this long when he made a regular habit of making self destructive decisions in order to get what he wanted.

Andrew’s gloved fingers already felt numb as he tightened his grip around his broomstick, but not from the cold. Rather, it was from the way his stomach had bottomed out and his head span when he kicked off the ground and took to the sky. Neil had briefly attempted to delay their challenge again, even going as far as claiming to feel poorly- which only added to Andrew’s conviction that he was, in fact, a werewolf. However all complaints stopped once he had a Quaffle in his hands.

Andrew had seen Neil play before; Kevin had begged Andrew to supervise enough of his games, terrified of another jinx cursing his broom and leading to an even worse accident. But Andrew had never seen Neil play up close before. If Andrew hadn’t been so focused on determining if Neil was a threat, he would have lingered a bit longer on the thought of how the wind swept his hair back and brought colour to his cheeks . The boyish, competitive grin on his lips pulled Andrew’s attention away long enough that he nearly missed blocking the first shot.

Neil zipped away on his broom to collect the rebounded Quaffle and returned to hover a few feet away from Andrew, concentration and concern now knitted into his features. Having his shot blocked by some nobody was most likely alarming for a rising star like him, and Andrew took great pleasure in the distress he had caused. When Andrew continued to whip around and effortlessly block each subsequent shot, Neil started to get angry.

“What the hell, Minyard? I thought you didn’t play!”

“I don’t,” he replied coolly. His gaze drifted to the horizon and his heart dropped into his gut when he remembered how high up he was, and he continued in order to distract himself from his unease, “I’ve been practicing in private with Kevin since first year. We have a deal.”

Neil was astonished, “Why don’t you play for Ravenclaw? You could go pro. None of the other Keepers at school can block my shots like that.”

Andrew simply shrugged one shoulder, the movement jostling him on his broom and making his vision swim. He didn’t need to tell Neil about his fear of heights. He already felt dangerously close to the edge of tumbling loose from his perch - verbalising it would be the final push.

“Are we going to talk or are we going to play?” he snipped back.

Neil didn’t need to be told twice. He tucked the Quaffle under his arm and darted out of sight, disappearing into the snowstorm in a matter of seconds. Andrew squinted into the dusk, trying to spot where he would be approaching from. With each passing moment, the nausea gurgled in his stomach forebodingly. His temples pounded and threatened to collapse the dark edges of his vision inwards. He couldn’t tell if the ringing in his ears was from the wind whistling by or if it was all in his head.

He finally spotted Neil hurtling towards him from below. Andrew jerked his broom to the side to block his shot, but swayed into the motion too hard, taking his balance with him. His grip slipped. He tilted too far. And then, he fell.

*

Andrew came to in a dark place, the only light dimly provided by the moon pouring in through the frost-speckled windows. He sat up and the deep green Quidditch robe that had been keeping him warm slipped down to pool in his lap. He was in the Slytherin changing rooms, and he wasn’t alone.

Sat further down on the bench that he had been laying on was Neil. He was hunched over with his head in his hands, and he jolted upwards when he heard Andrew move.

“Thank Merlin. Are you okay? Did you break anything?”

Andrew frowned, but peeled off his gloves to flex his fingers, and then patted himself down to check for injuries. He didn’t remember hitting the ground, but he must have. His clothes had been nearly soaked from flying in the snow earlier, yet now they were magically dry, most likely due to a hot air charm.

“I know I should have taken you to Madame Pomfrey, but if they found out we were flying in this weather and you got hurt, I could get banned from playing for the rest of the season, and my offer from the Magpies depends on-”

Andrew cut him off, “Did you score?”

“What?”

“Before I passed out. Did you score, Wesninski?”

Neil flinched and fell quiet. Andrew became acutely aware of the moonlight painting pale strips across Neil’s scarred face. Andrew stood and pointed his wand at him.

“I’m not a werewolf,” Neil declared confidently, however his voice wavered as he continued, “But since you know that name, you know who my father is.”

His hands were trembling as he gestured to his cheek, “This wasn’t from the war. It was from him. He tried to turn me before he was sent to Azkaban.”

Andrew slowly lowered his wand, “But he escaped.”

“Yes,” Neil shuddered, and lowered his head back into his hands. Andrew recognised the resignation in his body as something all too familiar he had once felt himself.

“He’s coming for you, isn’t he?”

Neil nodded.

“Hogwarts can only protect you for so long,” Andrew pointed out coldly, “What are you going to do when you and Kevin graduate? Once a werewolf shows up at a match and your real name gets out, your career will be ruined. Kevin’s too, most likely. No team will want to be associated with a Death Eater family.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Neil snapped and ripped his hands away from his face, “You don’t think I obsess over this every fucking day?” He stood up, getting in Andrew’s space as his blood boiled. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to dispel the rumours after we studied werewolves in third year? I’d get so anxious on the nights of a full moon that he was coming for me that I couldn’t get out of bed. People noticed. And there’s only so long you can live in a dorm with four other guys before someone finds out you have bite marks on your body. I know my days are numbered, and I don’t need someone like you telling me.”

Andrew pushed two fingers into Neil’s chest to get him to back off. Something about the touch deflated him, and he crumpled back down onto the bench.

“You are a mess,” Andrew declared, “And you are creating problems for me.”

“This doesn’t involve you,” Neil hissed.

“Yes it does. I told you I have a deal with Kevin, didn’t I? I agreed to protect him. You are making that complicated by putting a target on his back.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Neil retorted petulantly.

“Tell the Magpies you won’t accept their offer.”

“What?” Neil looked like he had been sucker punched.

“If you don’t play for them, Kevin won’t get caught in the crossfire,” Andrew explained dispassionately.

Neil stared at him in disbelief, “You’re insane. They’re the best team in the UK. I can’t turn them down. That would end my career even faster.”

“I don’t care about your career.”

“Well, I don’t care about your stupid deal you made with Kevin.”

They were at an impasse. Neither were willing to back down.

“I could expose you,” Andrew threatened.

“And risk dragging Kevin’s reputation down with me? We’ve been inseparable on the pitch since first year.” Neil reminded him. Andrew wanted to wipe that cocky smirk off his face.

“You are impossible,” Andrew sighed, and the last of his resistance left his body in one breath, “Unfortunately, as long as my deal with Kevin is in place, you are inextricably part of it.”

Neil narrowed his eyes at him, “What do you mean?”

“After we graduate, I will watch your back for one year. During that time, I will prevent your reputation, and thus Kevin’s, from being dragged through the dirt. Additionally, I will protect you from your father.”

Andrew didn’t miss the flicker of hope that widened Neil’s eyes, before they narrowed back in distrust, “What’s in it for you?”

“Starting from now, you will detangle yourself from Kevin’s life. So when our deal ends, if you go down, you will not take him with you.”

Neil fell silent as he considered the terms. Then, he stood and held out his hand. Andrew appraised it before carefully slotting his own into it.

“Deal.”

[cadopan]

How did Birmingham out play Arsenal 🤨🤨🤨 I thought this match was like the reading one for Chelsea where the other team got a early goal n then parked the bus 😐😐😐 Chelsea n Arsenal doing there best to give city a chance for a comeback I guess 🤷‍♀️

Actually, hate to break it to you but ours was nothing like Chelsea v Reading. I watched that game and yup Chelsea gave up the lead early but the tone of the game was different after that. Chelsea were camped in Reading's third and kept knocking on their door until the final minute. (Chelsea generated good chances that, if put away better would've gotten them an equaliser, but Reading's defence was just really resolute)

As for us, it barely looked like we would turn the tables and struggled to create much even in the second half where we should've absolutely come out guns blazing with a fight. We were playing end-to-end football in an open game with Birmingham (bottom of the league for Christ sake!) when we should've been pinning them in their half and dominating like we did throughout the first half of the season. 🤦‍♀️

About City, I don't think they'll get anywhere higher than 3rd (which would already be an achievement since they started so poorly) no matter how amazing a run they have in the following weeks. The issue is that with Bronze, Houghton and Roebuck returning, they surely won't make it easy for either Chelsea or Arsenal in the return fixtures so they could very well play a significant role in determining the outcome of the title race. Luck is on City's side too, since they'll play both us and Chelsea soon where significant players will be away at the Asian Cup. (We'll miss Mana & the Aussies while Chelsea won't have Sam Kerr and Ji)

[selenelavellan]

Wildlife Rehab AU: hurt/comfort with a side of fluff?

HWRC Redux AU

One Two  Three  Four

Really more of a sickfic, but there’s plenty of fluff. Mostly just silly cuddling shenanigans. I skipped right over all the plot angst to get here

Dirthamen (mentioned), Fear, and Deceit are @feynites

It starts with a sneeze.

“Ugh,” Des drawls, dressed only ina very loosely tied robe embroidered with what Selene is pretty sure areactual golden flower petals as he greets her by their entrance to the crossroads. “Didthe germ monsters get to you again?”

“They’re just kids,” Selene sniffs,wiping at her nose with a fresh tissue from her bag. “I had akindergarten class this morning. It’s probably just something goingaround,”

“Why are you still substituting?”Des sighs, leaning dramatically against her for a brief moment beforeshe knocks against him with her shoulder. “Your partners have givenyou a literal castle of magic. Whaton Earth could you want besides that?”

“Myown source of income for financial dependence for one,” Selene saysas they move through the grounds and towards the castle itself. “Onefoot still in the real world, for another. I still can’t believe youquit.”

“Welive in a magical castle that doesn’t even need dusting,Selene. There’s always food, and Dirthamen gave me an entire teamof personal tailors -side note, I may have accidentally introducedcrop tops to the culture so look out for that- why would I evervoluntarily go back to the life where I had bills and debts andresponsibilities?”

Seleneopens her mouth to argue, but ends up going into a coughing fitinstead, quickly covering her mouth with a fist. Fear steps out fromsome shadowy corner and takes Selenes face in their hand.

“Whatis wrong with you?” They ask.

Seleneblinks and shakes her head out of their grip. “Nothing. Probablyjust allergies. Maybe I’m allergic to the pollen of one of thehundreds of plants youhave here that I’ve never encountered before.”

Dessnickers, but Fear just stares at her as though she has grown anotherhead.  

Orsomething else that might be considered strange and unusual to them.

“Ido not understand,” They say flatly.

“She’ssick,” Des snorts.

“Youwere poisoned?” They frown, hair-like feathers on their head risingin alarm. “Do you know what kind? What did it taste like? We shouldhave an antidote somewhere, follow me-”

“Iwasn’t poisoned,” Selene assures them. “I had a class of youngkids today, and occasionally one of the hazards of my job is germacquisition. It’s just the sniffles. I’ll take a hot shower and befine by morning.”

Fearlooks at her as though they do not quite believe her, and wouldrather whisk her off to visit their healers all the same; itcertainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Thisis….normal?” Fear asks Des dubiously.

“Yeah,”Des shrugs. “You’ve been around for millenia, you’ve never seensomeone get sick?”

“Wedo not have these sorts of illness,” Fear frowns. “Isthere….how do you expunge it from your system?”

“Time,”Selene says with a small sniff. “There’s medicines, but mostly theyjust hide the symptoms. Besides, it could still be nothing. Iwouldn’t worry about it.”

Feardoes not push the subject.

Theyregret it by morning.

Selenestumbles out of her overly extravagant bed, furs and blankets wrappedtightly around her form as her feet make contact with the harsh coldof the floor.

“Uggh….”She groans, fumbling around the room until she finds her phone in herbag, slowly searching for her works number. “Moira…?Yeah….yeah, again, m'sorry….yeah….yeah….ok, thanks…youtoo.”

Shehas just managed to fall back into her bed when there is a loud knockon her door.

Grumblingall the way, still wrapped up in blankets and resenting that no onehere seems to make socks, shefinally opens the door.

“Plaguebearer,” Des accuses from the entry way, wrapped in his ownblanket. “I’m in a land where people can shapeshift and haveimmortal endurance, and you’ve gone and turned me into a mucusfactory. The man who draws mybaths screamed when hesaw me this morning, and not in our usual fun sort of way, but thatsort of ‘oh no im going to die’ sort of way.”

Selenecoughs and moves out of the way as he enters her room. “Well youknow me; becoming a walking symbol of pestilence is just my overlycomplicated way of flipping off my father.”

“Couldn’tyou have taken a more stereotypical approach to your daddy issues?”

“I’mgoing to sneeze directly on you, and you are going to deserveit.”

Theybicker all the way back into her bed, and Selenes head has finallyhit her pillow when there is yet another round of knocks.

“I’mnot getting up again,” she declares before yelling for the personto let themselves in.

It isFear.

Featherhair thin, eyes somehow more sunken in than usual, and the bottomhalf of their body still talon-like and looking like a ratherpoorly-fed harpy.

“Ido not like these germs; please take them back.”

Desbreaks out into a fit of laughter, broken up by thick, wet coughs.“There’s a bird flu joke in here somewhere, wait, wait, let me findit…”

Selenesighs and pats at the space beside her on the bed.

“Timeis the only cure I’m afraid. Cuddling and affection can help though.And naps. Lots of naps.”

“Andliquids,” Des adds.

“Doyou have orange juice here?”

“Iwill have Deceit fetch us some,” Fear grumbles, settling againstSelenes side. Their usual lower body temperature is still present,and it feels wonderful against her skin, so she opens up her blanketcocoon and pulls them directly against her.

Theystiffen, and she hums against their head. “You are very cool,” Sheadmits. “It feels really nice. Do you mind?”

Thereis a beat of silence before they relax against her. “If it helps,it is fine.”

Thethree of them drift off back to sleep easily, fatigue already caughtup to them for the day.

Seleneisn’t sure exactly how long it’s been when she feels Deceit crawlagainst her back.

“You’regoing to get sick,” She warns them quietly.

“Sickdoesn’t seem so bad,” They muse, face nuzzled into the crook of herneck. Their own body temperature has changed to match Fears, so shedoesn’t argue the point, allowing them to make a barrier between theunusually high temperature she and Des were already radiating.

“Wecan not both be sick,” Fear gripes from their own space.

“Thenit is my turn,” Deceit argues.

“TheGreat Aspect will be too distracted-”

“Youhave been cuddling her for hours,it is my turn-”

“Iam incapacitated andvulnerable, it ishardly a vacation-”

“Youare relaxed for the first time in centuries, are you really trying tofool me-”

“Ohmy gods you two really are just like birds arguing outside a windowat too-fuckin’-early o'clock, you know that?” Des interrupts,apparently unhappy at being pulled out of his own slumber. “Did youbring me juice?”

“Itis on the table,” Deceit says sheepishly.

Desrises from the bed with a yawn, blowing his nose out into a tissueand tossing it into a nearby trash bin with a disgusted face. Hedoesn’t bother pulling on his robe or taking his blankets, insteadtelling Selene it’s 'just too hot for clothes’ while practicallychugging down his orange juice.

“I’mmarried now, I’m not giving you pity sex,” She grumbles back, stillhalf dazed.

Fearmurmurs something into her chest she can’t quite make out, buttightens their own hold on her. Long bony fingers press against theskin of her back, and she gives them a reassuring kiss on the head inreturn.

Deceitfeels positively put out (and adjusting to aura’s has been a wholeother adventure she regrets now, the buzz of magic in the roomonly adding to her disorientation) and ends up nudging Selene to situp so that she can drink her own glass of juice.

Shethanks them, sitting up and nudging Fear to do the same while Deceitslings themselves over her back.

“Isthis what you normally do when you are 'sick’?” they ask her.

“Mostly,”She admits “This and watch TV. Cooking shows or movies orsomething. It’s soothing, somehow.”

“Doyou want me to get you a TV?” They ask.

Seleneblinks, looking at their surroundings, mind still in a bit of a fog.

“Wouldwe…how would you power it?”

“I’llfigure that part out,” They say dismissively. “But you would feelbetter with your television?”

“Isure would,” Des chimes in.

Deceitlooks at them un-impressively (still bitter about the door incident,she thinks), and turns back to Selene expectantly.

“Iwouldn’t mind it,” She tells them.

Deceitnods, and dashes off.

Shefalls back into bed with Fear curled into her chest and Des at herback, dozing back to sleep again.

Thesun is very high in the sky when she wakes again, Deceit radiatingpride as they gesture to the television.

Thatis not her television,by any means.

Shetells them as much.

“Thisone is better,” They tell her. “It is bigger, and the picturequality is much more impressive.”

“Didyou pay for it?” sheasks pointedly.

Deceitfrowns. “…Yes.”

Shepurses her lips, squinting at them slightly.

“Youshouldn’t worry about it so much,” They finally say, scooting backonto the bed as it turns on. There is a remote in their hands, andthe familiar opening of The Princess Bride starts playing on thescreen in front of them.

Selenesnorts, and Des lets out a grumbling groan about needing to showDeceit that Other Movies Exist before he scoots his head into theirlap all the same.

Deceitlooks about ready to push him back out until Selene adjusts to leanagainst their shoulder, Fear safely settled and dozing in her ownlap, legs tangled up beneath the sheets they had nearly kicked off intheir sleep.

“Youstill might get sick,” She warns Deceit as their arm settles overher shoulder.

“That’salright,” They hum. “Next time you can get me the juice.”