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wlntrsldler · 3 years

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treacherous (j.p one shot)

PROMPT: based on treacherous by taylor swift. slight enemies to lovers? James Potter and Y/N can’t stand each other until they get to know each other.

A/N: does not follow the timeline at all. the events are not accurate but let’s pretend for the sake of the fic lol.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, a bit of wolfstar, and some sexual tension (brief)

WC: 5.6K+ (this is my longest fic yet omg)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

treacherous (j.p one shot)

“You’re so goddamn reckless.” James hissed, slamming his fists down on the kitchen table. “You need to wait for my command. This wasn’t a solo mission, Y/N/N. We work as a fucking team around here.”

“If I waited for your command, Prongs,” you replied, rising from your seat. You acknowledged his nickname with a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew you had to listen to James because everyone listens to James but you knew your plan would work. “We wouldn’t have gotten the mission done.”

“You went rogue!”

“But we got it done, right?” you seethed, eye drilling holes in Prongs’ skull. You felt Sirius offer a comforting hand, placing his on top of yours. Your eyes flickered to look at your best friend, features visibly softening. You sighed, slowly feeling yourself come down from your anger. “That’s the important thing, Prongs. I’m done talking about this.”

“Yeah we got it finished but at what cost?” James pushed, not backing down from his dominant exterior. “You could’ve died, Y/N. We don’t trade lives around here.”

“You don’t have to act like you care about my well-being, Potter,” you spat, starting to limp away from the briefing. You sustained some minor injuries because of your decision but you knew you’d do it again if it came down to it. “We all know you just don’t want another person’s blood on your hands.”

It was a low blow. Everyone in the house knew that James was feeling guiltier and guiltier everyday because of the events that happened over the past few months. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, his fight with some Order members— all of it was finally taking a toll on James. Maybe it always did take a toll on him and he just never showed that it did. Nobody really knew what the last straw was but now it was obvious— James Potter was tired, worn out, almost defeated in nature.

Yeah, what you said was a low blow.

James gulped, demeanor changing after your words rattled the room. Remus looked at James apologetically, not really knowing what to say. He didn’t expect that from you, nobody did. Lily cleared her throat, fixing the scattered parchment on her side of the table. Sirius stood up and patted James on the back, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Right, uhm..” he started, blinking back the effect of your words. “We can revisit this some other time. Great job today.”

James left the room without another word, your voice taunting him as he walked further and further away from the team. Is that what you really think of him? A leader, if that, who only cared about not being the person responsible for another death? Did you think that he didn’t care about you? That you were just a number to him?

Obviously you didn’t. You knew James Potter was a good man, deep down. You could see it in the way he put everyone’s needs before his. He wakes up every morning and gets everything done so the rest of you wouldn’t be burdened with such mundane things. James Potter cooked meals, cleaned the house you all shared, and bought groceries on the weekends because he thinks that you all fighting with him is something he can never repay you for. James Potter thinks that your trust as a team— as a family— is the most important thing in the universe and he’s so thankful that he has you all by his side, even if the whole world disagrees with your cause. James Potter is a good man.

You had a loud mouth. You found yourself, more times than you’d like to admit, scolding yourself after you let your mouth run amuck. This was one of those times. You let your anger get the best of you. The only reason why you even got angry with James in the first place was his lack of trust in you. Did he not think you could complete the task successfully?

“Y/N?” A voice from outside of your room called. You tried to get up from your bed, cursing as the pain shot through your right leg. “Hey, you in there?”

“Yeah,” you yelled out, realizing that it would be better for them to let themselves in rather than you try to open it for them. “Come in.”

Sirius entered, chuckling at your pained expression as you sat up in your bed. You glared at him, propping your injured leg on top of a pillow. “You good there, sweetheart?”

“Just dandy.”

He sat next to you, careful not to touch your leg. He smiled at you, sadly, and you knew what was coming next. A lecture as to why you should apologize to James or at the very least take his point of view under consideration. This was almost normal, and it was definitely expected. You and Sirius grew close, attached to the hip at times, and he was the one who would typically talk some sense into you. You knew that he and James were the blueprint of what an everlasting friendship should look like so you listened to him. Rarely were you ever the first one to apologize, though, but you knew this time was going to be one of those times.

“What you said to James..” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “I think he kinda took it to heart, Y/N.”

“I know,” you sighed, acknowledging your mistake. “I don’t know why I even said that.”

“You don’t like to use your brain when you’re angry.” Sirius responds, laughing slightly. You push his shoulder playfully. “Just apologize to him, Y/N. You know he means well.”

“I know he does.”

“So I’ll leave you to it then,” he announced, getting up to leave your room. “He’s in his room, locked himself in there since the meeting.”

Ouch. You felt the guilt start to eat you up. Sirius shot you a warm smile before shutting the door behind him. Groaning, you lifted yourself up, trying to ignore the swelling in your leg. Was it the smartest idea to walk on an injured leg? No, but you were never one to have smart ideas anyway and today’s events made that clear.

You started to make your way down to James’ room but stopped when you saw him exiting the bathroom. You began to walk towards him, gasping in pain when your foot landed the wrong way.

“Goddamnit, James!” you shuffled towards him, gaining some speed. He stopped to see who was calling him. His face paled when he realized it was you and continued to walk towards his room. “Will you wait for me?”

James stopped in his tracks, feeling bad that you were chasing him with a bad leg. He waited patiently as you limped towards him, an annoyed look on his face. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You blinked, not expecting the harsh tone he was using. No matter how many times you and James argued and were at each other’s throats, his harsh tone always surprised you. He raised his voice, yeah, sure, but this— this was different. You tried to ignore it, knowing that you probably deserved this. “I just wanted to say sorry for what I said earlier.”

He froze up, looking down at his feet. He glanced over at your leg, red with bruises littered over your skin. God you were lucky you didn’t die, he thought. James shrugged, “I don’t care, Y/N. Is that all?”

“Well, blimey,” you snorted, already putting up your harsh exterior, “I was trying to be nice. Get that stick out your ass.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

That was it.

James walked away and entered his room before you even moved. You were left to crawl your way back to your room, quite literally. Half way through, the pain in your leg traveled to your hip and you gave up on walking. Remus found you dragging your body across the carpet and took it upon himself to carry you back to your bedroom. You thanked him, half-heartedly, not being able to forget James’ hurt expression from your sorry-excuse of an apology.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were all supposed to win the fight. You were supposed to reconcile and have a drink at the house, continuing to dance the night away. You weren’t supposed to lose.

Half of the people you knew were gone. Poof. Like they never existed.

You, Lily, and James stayed in the Potters’ home, resting after a long day of fighting. Dumbledore left to check on the Order, or what was left of them. Molly and Arthur joined him. Peter was— Merlin knows where. Sirius left to check on Remus. The world seemed so quiet. Empty.

“It’s not the end,” Lily tried to say, looking between you and James. She paced the floor, unsure if she even believed her own words.

There hasn’t been much spoken between the ones who survived. You started to wonder if you were one of the lucky one who survived or if this fate was more unlucky given the circumstances. You lost people you called your family. You all did.

This was a battle none of you expected. It was a surprise attack on the Order during a time when you all had your guards down. One minute, you were all in the backyard, excited as the Weasley’s announced another addition to their already large family. People were dancing, cheering, drinking, and for a moment it seemed normal.

And then they came. They slaughtered everyone that they could. You were lucky enough to get out before it got too crazy. You ushered the young kids into the room, casting protective charms as you held onto Percy Weasley with your other hand. You watched people fall. You heard people scream in terror as they were being tortured. You shielded the kids from looking out the window, afraid that if they were to see something so traumatizing, they would never recover. You were sure it would take years before you would.

“I’m gonna help Euphemia out,” Lily announced, getting up from her seat. You knew there wasn’t much that Euphemia needed help with, Lily just felt restless and she wanted to do something that she could control.

James nodded silently, staring at his shaking hands. There have only been a handful of moments where you’ve seen James Potter— confident, self-assured, James Potter— doubt himself or be nervous.

The first time was when he put on the Sorting Hat in your first year and he pleaded the tattered hat to place him in Gryffindor, though the hat knew better than to place him anywhere else. Then, second year came around and you four found out that Remus was a werewolf. You accidentally overheard their conversation, and it confirmed the suspicions you’ve had for a year. The third time was in fifth year when Sirius made the stupidest mistake of his life and told Snape about the Whomping Willow. He was afraid he’d lose his second family because of it, and he knew that Remus’ anger was justified. And the last time, before today, that you’ve ever seen James Potter nervous was in seventh year. It was the day after his date with Lily— a date that took him years to convince her to go on— and he realized that they were not compatible at all. Poor bloke was afraid to hurt Lily’s feelings and when he finally told her, she laughed and said, “I know, Potter. I’m glad you see it now.”

Now, you were alone with a terrified James Potter and you didn’t know what to do. You stared at him from across the room, unsure of your next step. You cleared your throat, “Do you need me to do anything, Potter?”

“Huh?” he looked up, eyes weary and mind jumbled. He registered your question and he shook his head, “No, I’m alright. Um, are you going to be staying here tonight?”

You gulped, “Yeah, if that’s alright. I-I don’t really have a place to stay, but if you want me to leave I’m sure I can stay with Remus and Sirius.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine,” James replied, quickly, getting up from his seat, “I’m sure mum and dad won’t mind. Please, make yourself at home.”

“I appreciate that,” you sent him a tight-lipped smile and rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes, ignoring the pain that shot up your leg with every move.

“I’m gonna help mum.”

“Okay.”

He left you in the room, rushing to help his mother, but you had a feeling it was to save the both of you from the awkwardness of the situation. Sighing, you began to make your way to your room upstairs. You were half way out the room when suddenly, the room was filled with your friends. Some of the remaining members of the Order popped in, stopping you from completing your plans.

“Well, welcome back everyone,” you remarked, sitting on the couch. “Nice to see you.”

James, Lily, and Euphemia all entered once they heard the commotion. James stayed by the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched Dumbledore take center. Lily and Euphemia sat beside you, on opposite sides. Euphemia gave your leg a light squeeze and a kiss on your temple.

“As you all know, today’s attack caused mass casualty,” your old professor started, eyes flickering to empty spots in the room that the old members used to occupy. “To prevent such things, we will assign teams to designated areas. We can no longer put all our eggs in one basket. We need to prepare.”

Dumbledore continued, “Euphemia, you and Fleamont stay with Mad-Eye. He needs your expertise. Remus and Sirius, your flat is near the Black family home, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, “Wanted to be close, just in case.”

Regulus. Sirius wanted to be close to look after Regulus.

The old wizard nodded, “Very well. You two stay there and make note of any movement. We suspect they’re having meetings there. Lily, Dorcas, and Peter, you three will be taking care of Hogwarts students who live in the muggle world. They’re in Hogwarts for sanctuary, but since Minerva and myself are going to be preoccupied, we need you to make sure they’re safe.”

“What a reunion, aye gang?” Dorcas chuckled, though her laugh was empty. Lily snorted, shoving her lightly as a move of endearment.

“James and Y/N, we need you two here. This will be our headquarters.”

Sirius scoffed, “Professor, are you sure you’d want to pair Prongs and Y/N/N? We’ve already lost a lot of Order members and I’m afraid that if you pair them, we’ll lose one more. One of them will end up killing the other.”

“Shut it, Pads,” you glared, scrunching your nose, “I’m sure Potter and I can be civil.”

“I can be,” James added, side-eyeing you.

“What does that mean?” you questioned, squinting your eyes at the boy by the door. You began to get up but Euphemia stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“James,” she said, warningly.

“Alright,” Dumbledore clapped his hands, calling the attention back to him, “I expect you all to be at your posts by tonight. Stay safe, everyone. Our numbers are dwindling by the hour.”

By 11PM, the house was empty. It was only you and James left. You locked yourself in the comfort of your room, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. The house was unusually quiet. There was no loud laughter coming from the living room— four boys who had to grow up too fast. You sighed, swinging your legs down the side of your bed, wincing as you forgot about your injuries.

“Fuck me,” you muttered, closing your eyes for a moment until the pain subsided. Once it became bearable, you slipped on your house shoes and made your way down the stairs. You tried to tiptoe down the stairs, not wanting to wake James and go through another awkward encounter. However, once you got to the entrance of the kitchen, you realized your efforts made no sense as James leaned against the cold counter, a cup of tea in hand, and his glasses fogged by the steam from his drink.

His eyes flickered over to where you stood, suddenly making you feel self-conscious. You were wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a large t-shirt that you were sure once belonged to Sirius. James raised his cup a bit as a sign of acknowledgement.

You smiled awkwardly and poured yourself a glass of water, “What are you doing up?”

“I reckon for the same reason you are,” he replied, taking a sip from his tea. James snickered, “Nice shirt.”

“It’s Padfoot’s,” you chuckled, “Don’t tell him I still have it.”

“Actually,” James started, placing his drink down. He faced you, “It’s mine. I let him borrow it and I asked for it a few times now. He keeps telling me he’ll give it to me later but I had a feeling he was stalling because he lost it. Mystery solved.”

You blushed, “Sorry, did you want it back?”

“No, it’s alright. Looks good on you,” he coughed, ducking his head to hide the slight blush on his cheeks, “Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

James nodded, “Yeah, me either. You can sit with me for a bit, if you want.”

You pondered it for a moment until you finally decided that a conversation with James Potter was better than staring at an empty ceiling for the rest of the night. You limped to the seat in front of him, clutching your glass of water like a lifeline.

“Are you still hurt?” James questioned, getting up to help you to your seat. He held your arm as you sat on the chair. Once you were situated, he knelt beside you, inspecting your leg, “You are still hurt. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment. “We all had bigger things to worry about.”

“Why didn't you just cast a spell on it?”

“I’m not the best healer around,” you admitted, looking down at him.

If it was any other circumstance, you would not have admitted your shortcomings to anyone— especially not James Potter. But perhaps it was the toll that the war had put upon you or the tiredness in your system… Or perhaps it was the way he was staring at you from his position on the floor, eyes wide with worry with the candlelight reflecting off his glasses and the look of absolute beauty on his face, that made you become so brutally honest.

“And why didn’t you ask one of us to help you?”

You scoffed, “Well, none of you are licensed healers, either. I figured I’d just live with it until it healed the muggle way.”

“Always so prideful, you are,” he chuckled, pulling out his wand. He muttered a simple incantation and then studied your once injured limb. “There. Better?”

You looked down at it, pleasantly surprised that it was indeed better. You nodded, a skeptical look on your face. James dusted off his pajama pants and made his way over to the seat he occupied before. You tilted your head, “Where did you learn that?”

“I learned for Remus,” James said, “After his transformations, sometimes he would still be in pain from turning so I learned a few things to help him. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t but Remus always says that just the thought that I wanted to help him helped with his recovery. Load of rubbish, I say but who am I to decide that, right?”

“Wow.”

James laughed at your reaction, drinking from his tea once more. A playful smile appeared on his lips, “I do have a heart, you know. I’m sure everyone else can see that but you.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know you have a heart, Potter. That’s not why I can’t stand you.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Well, Godric, where do I start?” you hummed, a laugh escaping your throat. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, smirking at your answer. You bit your lip, “Let’s see… you’re arrogant, cocky, obnoxiously loud. You act like you know everything, all the time.”

His eyebrows shot up. James’ tongue poked out to dampen his cracked lips, “Don’t hold back, I guess.”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, “Your turn. Why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me.”

“Come off it,” you stared at him, shaking your head. “Why do you really hate me?”

“Seriously, that’s it. I only act like I don’t like you because you don’t like me. I don’t actually hate you, you know.”

You were in shock. Your voice came out as a whisper, “Really?”

“Really yeah,” he shrugged, as if his confession was nothing, “You love Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and all our friends like they’re family to you. I can tell you’re a genuinely good person with how you treat the most important people in my life. I can’t hate a good person.”

You pursed your lips, “Well, I only dislike you because you act like I’m not a good witch.”

“What?”

“Come on, James,” you gestured with your hands. “You act like I’m a bloody awful witch and an even worse person. Always have since we were in Hogwarts. I just always assumed you thought I wasn’t good enough.”

James was baffled, “Are you being serious right now?”

“I mean, yeah,” you began to explain, thinking back to the many moments in the past where he made you feel that way. “I remember when we first all found out about Remus. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone but you still followed me for two months to make sure I didn’t say anything because you didn’t trust me. Or whenever Sirius would tell you to ask me for help on a prank that required some advanced charms, you would refuse to let me participate like I couldn’t possibly be any help to you. Or more recently, when we had that task to do and you blew up on me for not following the intended plan. You don’t think I’m capable.”

“Y/N, I never thought I made you feel that way,” James frowned. “I was just really scared for Remus. Even as a second year, I knew that he was going to be my best friend for life and I just wanted to protect him. I didn’t let Sirius drag you into our pranks because I knew you were aiming for a spotless record at Hogwarts. I didn’t wanna get you in trouble because honestly, a prank that didn’t end with at least one of us in detention was a failed prank.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, “I didn’t know that was where your mind was.”

“Yeah,” James continued, “A-and as for the last task, I just didn’t want you hurt. We’ve lost enough people already. I’d hate to lose you, too.”

“Careful, Prongs,” you teased, swirling the water around in your glass, “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.”

“I do, yeah,” he admitted, “I’m quite fond of you.”

The both of you stayed silent after those words left his lips. It wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. It was the first time you two had a proper conversation and you learned things about each other that you never imagined. James continued to sip on his tea and you stared at each other from across the counter. You smiled at him, admiring the redness of his cheeks.

“Well,” you finally said, standing up. You placed the empty glass in the sink and made your way to the stairs, “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

James smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Prongs,” you returned his smile, turning your back on him. Before you reached the first step, you turned back around, “James?”

“Mhm?”

“I think I can grow quite fond of you too.”

James’ eyes flickered from his tea to your face, his cheeks completely flushed pink by now. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, trying to suppress his smile. He chuckled, shaking his head, making his curls bounce around. You willed yourself to remember that image because it was the first time that you truly saw James Potter for who he was.

Over the next few weeks, you and James began to grow closer. Your late night conversations almost became mandatory. He began to leave a cup of tea for you across from him where you sat the first night. It took him precisely three nights to finally make your cup the way you liked it without being told. He started to light the fireplace in the living room after seeing goosebumps rise on your skin a week and a half after the first night. Then by the third week of your traditions, he began to walk you up to your bedroom door to wish you a goodnight there.

Sirius and Remus didn’t come to check in until a month later. Sirius, as always, made himself feel at home by raiding the kitchen and eating the food that you and James made earlier. Remus laughed from the living room, muttering about how Sirius acts like he doesn’t feed him.

Sirius sat beside James, peering over the pile of parchment on the side of his desk. He nudged his best friend’s shoulder, “Surprised you and Y/N haven’t killed each other yet.”

James blushed, “She’s not so bad, Pads.”

“Oh, I know that,” he hummed, taking a bite out of the biscuit in his hand, “Glad you know it now, too.”

“I never thought she was bad,” James frowned, placing his quill down to properly talk to Sirius, “Why does everyone think that I do?”

“Prongsie, darling, you would always shut up whenever she’d walk in. You’d avoid her like the plague.”

“I just knew she didn’t like me, that’s all. Figured that if I shut up, she’ll see that I’m not so bad.”

“Huh… Why did you want her to like you so bad anyway?” Sirius asked, sitting on the desk now, disregarding the work that James had done. He waited patiently for James to answer, but the answer never came. Instead, James’ cheeks flushed pink and the boy tried to hide his flustered expression by pretending to massage his temples. Sirius’ eyes widened and he jumped off the desk with excitement plastered over his face, “You fancy her! Merlin, how did I not see it before?! You fancy Y/N/N!”

“Will you—” James shushed Sirius, pulling him down by the fabric of his shirt. He was starting to draw attention to himself. James saw Remus stare at the two boys, puzzled as to why Sirius was running around like a dog. James wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into Padfoot just to swing his tail around. “Will you calm down?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, his lips still twisted in a large grin, “You fancy Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, I do,” James was embarrassed now. He didn’t expect to come clean to Sirius like this— not in the middle of a war. “I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, you know, even back in Hogwarts! I just never did anything about it because she hated me. I mean, really, genuinely, hated me. Then we got to know each other over this time and— I don’t know, Pads. She’s great.”

Sirius smiled so hard, James thought his lips would tear apart, “Yeah, she bloody is. Are you gonna tell her?”

His eyes widened at his best friend’s words as he frantically shook his head, “Merlin, no! Of course not! We’re in the middle of a war, Pads, and I’m sure she barely tolerates me. I doubt she’ll like me.”

Before Sirius could reply, you appeared behind the two boys, an eyebrow raised, “What are we talking about gentlemen?”

“Nothing!” James exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck in fear, “Sirius was just saying how he needed to get home. Right now.”

“Is this how you talk to your best friend that you haven’t seen in a month, Prongs?”

Remus entered as well, laughing as he spoke, “Come on, Sirius. We do have to head home now. Nice to see you both.”

“Always a pleasure, Moony,” you smiled, hugging them both before they apparated out of the house. You poked James’ cheek, “So what were you really talking about?”

“Guy stuff,” he lied, returning his focus back to the parchment that Sirius messed up.

“Guy stuff?” you snorted, grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. James visibly gulped, all the color draining from his face. You cocked your head, not letting go of his face, “We’re lying to each other now, Potter? Shame.”

“‘M not lying,” he said, voice shaky. You were so close to him. He could smell the strawberry chapstick you dabbed on your lips. Godric, your lips looked so kissable.

“Yes you are,” you tutted, your palm now cupping his jaw. You didn’t even realize how intimate this move was, too busy looking into his eyes to notice your movements, “I can tell.”

“How?”

“You can’t look me in the eye,” you stated, eyes flickering to the different features on his face. You never noticed the small freckle on the bridge of his nose or the small, fading scar on the left side of his lips. “Whenever a good man is lying, he can never look at someone in the eye. So tell me, James, what were you guys talking about?”

James still refused to look at you in the eye. He couldn’t bring himself to because he knew you were right. The minute his eyes met yours, he would crack like an egg. Instead, he focused it on your parted lips, feeling your breath tickle the tip of his nose as you spoke. He mumbled, “I can’t tell you that.”

You didn’t know what came over you but when you spoke again, your voice came out as a sultry tone— breathy and slowly dragging your words, “Please.”

James’ eyes immediately jumped to look at yours once he heard the tone of your voice. He’d never heard you use that tone before and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him weak in the knees. And for the sixth time in your life, you saw the nervous James Potter again. In a moment of weakness, he spoke, “You. We were talking about you.”

“Me?” you asked, shocked by his revelation. Your hand that was once cupping his face was now hanging off his shoulder. You twirled a curl on the nape of his neck around your index finger, slightly tugging it. It took all of James’ willpower not to groan at the pressure. “What could you have possibly been saying about me?”

“How utterly insufferable you are,” James nudged his nose with yours, tilting his head the slightest bit. His tongue poked out of his lips, licking them in both nervousness and excitement.

“I’m only insufferable because you make me this way,” you tilted your head the opposite direction. Your lips were moving towards each other with every breath you took.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes. You let your lips ghost over his, before pulling away. You opened your eyes to taunt him, a mischievous smirk on your face. You pulled away from him, untangling his hair from your finger.

“See, you’re proving my point. You’re insufferable,” James said.

And with that, he pulled you by your waist, a surprised squeal left your mouth. He placed you on his lap before he kissed you. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His lips melted with yours, tongues shying away from each other until he finally had the courage to caress yours with his. James squeezed your hips, pushing you down his lap. A soft moan escaped your throat and that brought James back to reality.

Before things could escalate, he pulled away— lips bruised and completely out of breath. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip. He returned the favor, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want to continue without telling you,” James confessed, “I like you. A lot, actually. I don’t want you to think this means nothing to me because it does. I-I hope it means something to you, too. If it doesn’t, let me know because I don’t want to do this if I’m just setting myself up for failure here.”

Your features softened at his words. You cupped his face in your hands, once again, and kissed the tip of his nose, then each cheek, then his forehead, and finally, his lips. It was an innocent one, less steamy and passionate than the first, but lovely regardless. You intertwined your fingers with his, “This means something to me, too, Potter. You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

“Really?” he asked, now grinning widely. He connected his forehead with yours, chuckling, “Who would’ve thought we’d get here?”

“Not me,” you giggled, “However, don’t think I won’t bicker with you now that I know you’re an incredible kisser.”

“I didn’t expect you to go easy on me,” James laughed, wrapping his arms around you. “But now, I can just kiss you to shut you up.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment with a fond smile, “Hmm.. I suppose that’ll work.”

James pulled you closer to his body, looking up at you as you sat on his lap. He murmured into the skin of your neck, “See? Insufferable.”

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

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Chapter 55

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

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“I want to see A-Yuan.”

WangJi suppresses a sigh, and makes no response.

Jiang WanYin, who has likely never suppressed a single thing in his life, bristles like a cat, “Are you deaf, as well as stupid? The Lan Sect Leader has ordered that you rest. Granny Wen has ordered that you rest. You are not going.”

Slumped against the pillows, Wei Ying does appear feeble and weak, his body motionless in a way that suggests an exhaustion too deep for needless activity. It had taken a long time to remove all the trappings of rank necessary for the audience he had held. It had not taken nearly as long as the initial preparation, but long enough where even Lady Jiang had looked worn down by the process. WangJi’s task during this time had involved standing on the other side of the screen, listening to the faint mutters, and being handed layers upon layers of silk. The disrobing process had resulted in a succession of whispering, slithering sounds, both of silk against silk, and silk against Wei Ying’s skin, sounds that will doubtlessly haunt him in his dreams.

He is not precisely tired, but he is beginning to feel brittle in an unfamiliar way. The day had been long and stressful, allowing no time for contemplation and reflection. There will be consequences to the assistance the Lan Sect had provided to the Emperor. There will be consequences to such a blatant attack on the Divine Ruler, and these consequences may range anywhere from a set of executions, to an outright war. There will be consequences to Wei Ying’s actions today, the audience he had held, his defense of Wen RuoHan, his order for the immediate release of the Wen Sect from the Imperial dungeons.

Only days ago, WangJi would have disregarded the majority of these events as issues beyond his scope of understanding and responsibility, but today, he cannot. Soon enough, this will be his world as well. The Second Young Master of a disgraced Sect need only obey. The Emperor Consort must understand the complexities of ruling an Empire, the consequences of each decision made, the hierarchy governing the sect relations, and the full scope of the delicate balancing act that keeps the Empire peaceful and prosperous.

This is the cost of marrying Wei Ying, a price that WangJi is more than willing to pay. But it is a cost made no less overwhelming by his willingness.

Wei Ying’s expression turns stubborn, “He is alone among strangers, thinking I am on my death bed. I want to see him.”

“Wei WuXian,” Jiang WanYin says tightly, “if you can get up right now and walk out of this palace on your own two feet, you can go see A-Yuan, or go straight to hell for all I care.”

Lady Jiang may have acquiesced to his request, but she had taken her leave. The Imperial guards could have been ordered to carry Wei Ying anywhere he desires to go, but this would defeat the purpose of keeping the child hidden.

Wei Ying had been ordered to sleep.

WangJi thinks, if he could only be persuaded to close his eyes and stop speaking for a moment, the exhaustion he is trying so hard to ignore would accomplish the rest.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, turning his head, his eyes large and shining, “I want to see A-Yuan.”

Wisps of hair are stuck to his cheek, curving around the line of his jaw. His face is pale, but his lips are no longer bloodless, hovering just on the verge of a pout. WangJi knows that this is an expression Wei Ying has used before; he has seen it turned on Lady Jiang, and he has seen it throughly shatter her resolve. He remembers thinking Lady Jiang too easily swayed by such obvious tactics. He remembers thinking that he, himself, would never fold so easily by a mere hint of a pout.

WangJi is a fool. Love must permanently remove the most essential parts of one’s brain, because he can say absolutely nothing in response to Wei Ying’s plea.

Instead, his mind unhelpfully provides the memory of Wei Ying’s braid coiled in his lap. Wei Ying’s temple pressed to the side of his neck. The rich scent of ripe pears. The curve of Wei Ying’s waist through the heavy silk of the Imperial dragon robes.

Underneath these memories, his mind is hopelessly sifting through possible solutions to the issue. Wei Ying most certainly can not walk out of the palace on his own two feet. He can not cross his own chambers without being supported, and would likely need to be carried any longer distances. A-Yuan cannot be brought to him, as the situation at court is still dangerously tense, and the child must remain hidden.

“If you attempt this,” WangJi says carefully, “you will fall ill before you reach him. It will scare the child, to see you so weak. But if you must go see him, I will carry you.”

Jiang WanYin splutters.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen.

The expression on his face, the baffled disbelief slowly melting into a familiar softness, is so open, so transparent, that WangJi feels his own face heat in response. He is suddenly finding the embroidery on Wei Ying’s bed curtains extremely fascinating.

“You are both right,” Wei Ying says after a few moments, “I should not go tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“Ugh,” Jiang WanYin says, “Now I feel ill too. Just go to sleep.”

“You leave first,” Wei Ying says, “I want to speak to Lan Zhan.”

Jiang WanYin makes a noise. It is a wordless one, but it still manages to perfectly express a hefty dose of disgust. He leaves quickly, as if afraid that Wei Ying will begin to speak to Lan Zhan before he has managed to make his exit.

Wei Ying reaches out, but seems to do so unthinkingly, the motion immediately interrupted by a hiss of pain. Perhaps the wrist injury is not the most serious one he had suffered, but WangJi has noticed him forget that particular pain often enough, where each resurgence catches him by surprise. In two steps, he finds himself by the bed, but once there, he is forced to stop and practice some self-restraint.

“You promised to be more careful,” he says, “The Head Healer should have strapped that arm to your chest.”

He means it as an admonishment, but his voice does a poor job conveying anything other than worry.

“It does not hurt,” Wei Ying lies with a smile, “Come sit next to me. That way, I do not need to move much.”

Only moments ago he had insisted that he is well enough to visit A-Yuan. Now, he is too weak to move on his own, and must have WangJi sit by his side.

WangJi wonders why these brazen tactics, which would be abhorrent in anyone else, are so irresistibly appealing when employed by Wei Ying. He wonders if there is anything about Wei Ying that will ever be unappealing. He is, again, forced to consider the possibility that love makes one unbearably stupid, and that this is precisely why he has already moved to sit down by Wei Ying, without giving the consequences of such action any further thought.

Wei Ying reaches for him again, the moment he has settled on the side of the bed, and WangJi takes his hand carefully, supporting the splinted wrist with his palm.

“You said you would not move.”

“I forgot,” Wei Ying says shamelessly, his fingers warm against WangJi’s pulse.

“You should sleep,” WangJi admonishes.

“I will,” Wei Ying says quickly, “but I have not-- had the chance to speak to you. After-- the Gifting Ceremony.”

His gaze lowers to their joined hands, fingers restless against WangJi skin, despite the fact that even this small movement must pain him.

“A great deal has happened,” he goes on, the words rushed, “There is so much I was not aware of before. About YanLing DaoRen, and his use of resentful energy, and this-- apparent affinity for demonic cultivation present in his descendants. The Lan Sect takes pride in the purity of their cultivation techniques. Over the centuries, they alone have remained unblemished by unorthodox practices.”

He falls silent then, letting WangJi try and make sense of the words on his own. This feels much akin to Wei Ying’s proposal, where WangJi must separate the words, then place them in a different order, just to discern the meaning behind them.

Once he does, however, he feels frustration and fondness flood him in equal measures.

“I still want to marry you, Wei Ying.”

“You--“ Wei Ying shifts, “Are you not worried? This affinity does not bother you?”

“Will you begin practicing demonic cultivation?” WangJi counters.

“What? Of course not!”

“Then it does not matter,” WangJi says firmly.

“How can it not matter?” Wei Ying says, agitated, “YanLing DaoRen nearly destroyed the Empire. He slaughtered thousands. How can you be sure that his madness will not become my own?”

WangJi, prepared to call his assertion utter nonsense that it is, pauses before speaking. It had not occurred to him that Wei Ying would be so throughly rattled by Nie HuaiSang’s revelation.

In retrospect, it seems obvious that this had to have been the purpose of Xue ChengMei’s story. To sow doubts and fears, not just in Wei Ying, but in all those closest to the Emperor. A filthy tactic, meant to cause chaos and uncertainty. It is no wonder that Song ZiChen had demanded no one speak to the boy.

“Wei Ying,” WangJi says carefully, “You are not YanLing DaoRen. I am not Lan ZhongYi. We exist under the shadow of those who came before us, and bear the burdens they have placed on our shoulders. But we are not them.”

Wei Ying’s breath stutters, his fingers pressing against WangJi’s wrist.

“But--“

“We spoke of Lan ZhongYi, and the reasons behind his actions. Do you remember what I said to you?”

“My mother did not kill Xu XiaoYun,” Wei Ying says softly.

“And I did not kill the Empress,” WangJi responds.

The words feel much lighter than he had imagined they could be, if ever spoken out loud.

Wei Ying falls silent, a rare enough occurrence where WangJi allows it to happen. There are now dark shadows under his eyes, and it takes a great deal of restraint not to issue another reminder about the necessity for rest, and long, uninterrupted sleep. Perhaps Wei Ying’s stubbornness requires a different type of approach. WangJi is starting to believe that any firm insistence on a specific course of action is more likely to propel Wei Ying in a completely opposite direction. This is something that will require further thought.

“You still want to marry me?” Wei Ying says, the corner of his mouth now slightly lifted, an expression that is not quite serious, but not quite teasing either.

“Yes,” WangJi says, “I still want to marry you.”

Wei Ying grins, shifting a little closer, “Will you allow me to make the announcement? Before the Lan Sect departs?”

WangJi is certain that the events of the last few days have already reached Cloud Recesses. The delay to consult with the Elders seems pointless now, as the rumors of the betrothal have been running rampant since the last Sect Leader meeting. Uncle’s actions, during and after the Gifting Ceremony, must have only served to reinforce these rumors.

It is difficult to decide which course of action will result in greater impropriety. An immediate announcement, or a lengthy delay, during which the entire court will ruthlessly judge his every interaction with the Emperor. The Emperor who is wholly unashamed of expressing his affection, and insists on behaving as if they are already betrothed.

WangJi sighs, “You must obtain uncle’s approval for the announcement.”

“Will you come and visit A-Yuan with me tomorrow?”

WangJi nods. It is a small enough request, and he is fond enough of the child where a visit would not be a chore.

“Will you spend the night?”

“Wei Ying!”

It is unbearable, the sheer number of times Wei Ying can make his face heat in a single day. How can an Emperor be so utterly shameless?

“Ahh, Lan Zhan, do not be angry. I only meant that you should stay in the Imperial chambers. What if I were to fall ill during the night and need assistance?”

Carefully, WangJi places his hand back down, and rises from the bed, “If this is the case, we should summon the Head Healer right now, and request that she spend the night in the Imperial chambers.”

Wei Ying splutters, “Wait-- that--“

“I would not want to take the chance of you falling ill during the night.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, “Why are you so cruel? Can I not ask my future husband to spend the night with me?”

“No, you may not.”

“What if I were to find myself unable to sleep, and in need of company?”

“Summon the Royal Companion. I am sure he will be equal to the task.”

“But--“

WangJi bows deeply, “Good night, Your Majesty. I will take my leave now.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice follows him out into the hall, “Hey, Lan Zhan! Wait!”

WangJi closes the door behind him, and turns to the nearest guard, “His Majesty requires the presence of the Royal Companion. And the Head Healer.”

The guard does not question the order.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #wangxian #wei wuxian is whiny #lan wangji is mortified #jiang cheng hates them both #we're gonna check on xue yang next #then find out what nie mingjue has planned #at least one person will die by the last chapter #but they will have deserved it #thank you for all the nice comments guys #ily chickens

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rvmmm21 · 4 years

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. keep it down .

summary : judgemental is the last thing joohyun is, but when seungwan can seem to keep it to herself, you can bet she’ll have something to say about it.

small note : this sat in my head, and then in my drafts, and now it's sitting here, obnoxious as seungwan. and if there’s anything i struggle with more than my inner fight between yandere!violence and yandere!smut, it’s writing two characters doing the consensual nasties. even worse, if it’s a group endeavour. thankfully irene’s not about to let that happen. idk but there’s like a tinge of humiliation somewhere, but not enough for me to want to trigger warn you about.

[irene x wendy]

...

There are only so many ‘sounds’ her ears can take before she blows her top. Especially when they surface every damned day of the week.

She gets it, she understands. It isn’t like there’s very much else to do what there’s a virus plaguing the nation and quarantine restrictions don’t seem to be lifting anytime soon. Plus, Red Velvet had already been laying low for the past few weeks prior, so everyone was getting a little restless. Even she’s found her own fingers wandering past her waistband more often than she’d care to put a number to… so it’s not like she’s about to judge her for it.

Except, she can, because could she be any louder? Like seriously, it’s damaging. The frequency of those moans could shatter the windows on a fucking rocket if they weren’t contained within the four walls of her room, goddamnit! She’s been out here all morning trying to get in some quality tv time – just some peace and quiet with National Geographic on for Christ’s sake, and Son bloody Seungwan is obnoxiously denying her that right.

Joohyun angrily nibbles on the edge of a biscuit, equally close to stuffing her ears with cotton-wool and breaking that door down and giving her self-serving member an earful. This is… what, the third? Fourth time today? All in what? The span of a few hours? God, she thinks, rolling her eyes as she glances at the clock, she’s really going for the Guinness Book of World Records, isn’t she?

It’s not even noon.

With an exasperated grunt, she pushes herself off the sofa and marches to the door. She had originally planned to just barge in and start yelling, but something stops her right before she has her fingers around the handle, and she finds herself slowly pressing an ear to the cool, thin wood, listening. Yep, she’s going at it again. Joohyun’s breath unconsciously catches in her throat when she hears the heavy sigh from the other side – if she listens really closely, it’s like she’s sighing right into her ear. And if she listens closer still, she can just about hear the sound of fingers against wetness.

Since Seulgi has taken Yerim out to the coffee shop, and Sooyoung’s all huddled up in her own room, headphones on and re-watching that one episode of Itaewon Class (she assumes), this could mean she gets some quality time to talk to Seungwan about her ‘problem’.

For a moment there, Joohyun thinks about Seungwan’s behaviour when they’re all out and promoting. Seungwan is bubbly, lively and full of charisma – she’s about to be full of something else, but she’ll save that image for later. She’s so soft, so even-tempered, so well-adjusted to idol life, Joohyun had often wondered how she managed it despite their constantly hectic schedules and rising levels of stress… and, well, she knows now. Her precious dongsaeng; who hasn’t a single nasty bone in her body – aside from all this self-gratification, but that doesn’t count.

Ahh, anyway, Seungwan’s in trouble. She’s definitely in trouble. And she’s going to hear all about it. Because it isn’t so much the fact that Joohyun’s been interrupted out of sleep days in a row now, or the fact that Yerim has come knocking on her door in the middle of the night because ‘Seungwan unnie’s watching weird goat videos in her room’ and she can’t go back to sleep. Hell, it isn’t even because she can’t watch the nature channel without those animalistic mating noises Seungwan so considerately contributes to, oh no.

It’s because every time Joohyun hears them, it curls that flame in her belly even tighter than the last. And while Seungwan seems to be satisfied, Joohyun absolutely cannot stomach the thought of getting her own panties wet and having the decency to carry on about her day without locking herself in her room and building the muscle in her right bicep.

So she’s done listening, and she doesn’t knock.

She has to swallow a laugh when she hears a shrill yelp and a frantic blur of blankets as Seungwan scrambles to cover herself in her sheets, as if the room isn’t already drenched in that very telling scent.

“Unnie!” she screams, twisting the material flush against her body, “oh my gosh, can’t you knock? I was, you – you can’t just come in like that!”

Joohyun just smiles. “Hi Seungwan.”

Seungwan feels the heat move to her cheeks and she looks down with a mumbled ‘hi unnie’. Joohyun steps through the doorway and shuts it behind her, causing the younger girl to shoot up from where she was staring at the floor.

It can’t be any more obvious, really. She’s doing a terrible job at hiding the breathlessness in her tone, the sheets are a mess, and her clothes are in a heap on the chair in the corner. Can… can Joohyun tell she’s naked under this? She should, from the way she’s pulling the sheet up to her neck. Oh and of course, Joohyun doesn’t clear a space on the chair so she can sit. She just sets herself down… on the edge of the bed, right next to her. That smile she’s wearing makes Seungwan think she’s either being blatantly genuine or that she’s got a million things up her sleeve.

“Are you alright? Have you been having nightmares again?”

Well, that was… unexpected. Since when did Joohyun know about the nightmares? Oh, right… that time. Gosh, she’d be lying if she says half her self-service episodes aren’t spurred on from that memory alone. But, no? She doesn’t take naps during the day… and she’s sure the other girl knows it too.

She cocks her head to the side. “Um, no unnie? I’m okay, really. Th-thanks for checking on me, though. You can, uh…” But she can’t find it in her to tell her to leave.

Unfortunately, Joohyun insists on playing dumb. “Are you sure, Seungwan-ah?” She reaches up to brush a strand of hair from Seungwan’s face. “I thought I heard crying or… or something. Even Yerimie tells me she thinks you must be having bad dreams. You wake her up sometimes, you know? With your crying.”

Okay, so ‘crying’ is definitely a euphemism.

No, no, no. There’s no way.

Has she been that loud? Surely she hasn’t tainted poor, darling Yerimie’s innocent ears with all her immorality, has she? Wait, what has everybody been hearing?

Joohyun cuts through her thoughts, leaning in over her and holding her down with her gaze. Seungwan can’t help the shiver that rattles through her when she sees what’s in those eyes, all too aware of the dryness in her lips and the cool air against her heated skin.

Before she has time to react, Joohyun is bringing Seungwan’s fingers – you know, the ones that had been between her thighs not ten minutes ago, still slightly damp from activities – up under her nose and… that fucking smile stretches all the way to her ears when she confirms something she’s known all along.

“Nightmares, maybe not…” Joohyun sounds far too nonchalant for someone who’s just found out her member has been touching herself non-stop. “… well, not for you, anyway.”

Seungwan suddenly can’t remember how to breathe when cinnamon eyes stare right through hers.

“And not for me, either.”

The instant Joohyun’s words register in her brain, Seungwan is pulling her wrist out of the death grip around it and trying to kick away from her. She would’ve succeeded, too, if it weren’t for the fact that Joohyun had already seen this coming. She doesn’t wait for Seungwan to react, and she doesn’t loosen her grip. She tugs her in by the arm, pins it to the bed, and she’s on top of her before Seungwan can even think to catch her breath.

“Get – get the fuck off me!” The reaction is impulsive, unthinking. Seungwan stills when she realises her mistake and instantly corrects herself (which Joohyun thinks is absolutely adorable). “I mean! I-I mean please get off, u-unnie…”

“You know, Seungwannie,” Joohyun continues, ignoring the uncomfortable shift beneath her, “I wouldn’t have minded… except. I’m sure you’re aware that the walls in here aren’t the thickest. And I can only imagine you think you’re being subtle with all those pretty noises you make. Sometimes I just want to watch tv and not have to turn the subtitles on.”

Joohyun watches in amusement as she tries to flinch away, to hide her deafening embarrassment, but there’s really nowhere to go.

P-pretty noises? Subtitles?! Pretty noises!

“Unnie, I… I don’t – I’m…” she stutters, trying unsuccessfully to kick the sheets so she isn’t trapped under them, too.

There’s a definite switch in Joohyun’s voice, which the younger picks up instantly. No more fake concern, no more pretending not to know. It’s still gentle as ever, but there’s something else… and it’s not good news for her.

“Aw, is Wannie feeling shy now?” She taunts, tightening her grip on her wrist just enough to make her squirm. “You certainly don’t seem shy when you’re making me listen to all your moaning… your whimpering…”

Seungwan bites her lip and shakes her head, wanting nothing more than to perish on sight. She’s given up struggling for the moment, because she can barely move with Joohyun’s knee snugly wedged between her legs, putting an unholy amount of pressure on her still-sore clit.

“It’s – it’s not what you think!”

This time Joohyun pulls her hand up to her lips, and oh so slowly takes them into her mouth, a finger at a time, until Seungwan feels them both coated in her own slick and warm saliva. She gulps, and Joohyun grins, sucking her fingers clean. “Oh really? That tasted like exactly what I think it is.” She chuckles at the sheer horror plastered on her dongsaeng’s red face. “You really think you’re quiet, don’t you? I can hear everything, Wannie.”

“Wha – what?”

Joohyun looks down at her. The girl probably doesn’t realise how vulnerable, how lovely she looks, because if she did, she’d know exactly what it was doing to Joohyun’s waning restraint, and she’d definitely try to stop. God, that deep rose tint in her cheeks, the thin sheets she’s barely wrapped in anymore just falling off her shoulders, beckoning her to uncover more.

And not to mention the taste of her arousal now sitting on her tongue.

“I wonder what everyone else would say, hm? If I told them. What would manager unnie say if I tell her the real reason you were late for our VLive yesterday? Huh? Do you think she’d like to know that our tiniest, sweetest member spends all her free time fucking herself like this?”

Seungwan can only listen and cringe at the prospect of having her innocent façade shattered in front of everyone she’s ever known. “No, please don’t!” She’s quick to interrupt Joohyun’s sadistic musings, thinking she might actually die if she hears any more. And she doesn’t want to resort to looking even more pathetic than she already does, but – “Please, unnie, please don’t tell! I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll be quiet next time, promise!”

It’s so funny how Seungwan thinks she can get out of this with a few ‘sorry unnie’s’ and ‘pleases’. Joohyun responds with a firm upper thrust of her knee between her legs, and Seungwan can’t choke back the whimper fast enough. She smirks when the girl’s eyes go wide and she clamps her hands over her own mouth.

Joohyun will compromise later, but for now, she’s intent on hearing more of those sounds Seungwan seems to suddenly not want her to hear.

“What… what are you…” She tries to scoot back, but Joohyun’s hand is already sneaking down to rub her over the paper-thin cotton sheet. Seungwan almost groans out loud at how wet she is. The fabric slides so smoothly over her folds and Joohyun finds her clit without breaking eye contact for a second, pulling a throaty whine from her when she thumbs it gently. Seungwan’s leaking so much she’s soaked through the barrier of cotton.

The older girl somewhat assesses her reaction. Very, very sensitive, but she can take one more.

Probably.

Seungwan spreads herself open as much as her restrictions will allow, shuddering violently when she feels the heat in her cheeks migrate back down to that spot between her thighs. She can’t help it, though. When Joohyun barged in on her, she’d been so close. Now she just wants her to finish off what she’d disturbed.

Joohyun relents her grip on her wrist to rub a thumb over a nipple, making Seungwan squeak like a baby mouse. God, she really is soft all over.

“Ungh… u-unnie…” Seungwan shields her eyes with an arm, terribly shy. “Please…”

“Mm?” Joohyun dips her head down to flick her tongue over the nipple before lightly biting down. “What was that? Were you close? Did I ruin it?” Although from the moisture on her thumb, she needn’t have asked.

“Don’t worry, unnie will take care of that for you.” Joohyun reassures, bringing her fingers up to tap against Seungwan’s lips, demanding access. “But you need to be quiet, okay? You can use my fingers if it helps.”

The offer is mortifying but at the same time, she doesn’t trust herself to be able to hold back. So she opens, sucking on the fingers filling her mouth and turning anything she was trying to say into a muffled grunt, to which Joohyun smiles encouragingly.

“Does my poor little Wannie need to feel good, hm? She’s just frustrated, isn’t she?”

The only response is a gagged whimper around the digits between her lips. Joohyun slowly increases the pressure against the painful ache at her core, and Seungwan just keens. She can’t vocalise it now, but the way her hips are canting up against the pad of her thumb shows just how desperate she is for more stimulation, and Joohyun almost coos.

Poor Seungwan. Her poor sensitive, edged little Seungwan.

Too bad it’s so much fun to tease her. Especially when she’s so clearly on the brink. But she knows she’s not going to last much longer, not when she’s already twitching like she’s going to cum for the fifth time today. Joohyun is just glad she’s the one making her, this time. She continues to roll her thumb right against Seungwan’s clit, swollen from overstimulation but burning for Joohyun to make it cum again.

Seungwan tries to tell her that she’ll lose it if she keeps this up, but her makeshift gag stops the words from ever leaving her mouth. She doesn’t see Joohyun move, nor does she hear it. All she feels is a slight ruffle in the bedsheets and then the zips of electricity that run down the length of her spine when Joohyun’s lips latch around her nub and suck. Oh gosh, she’s… she’s sucking on her clit. She’s sucking on it through – through the fabric and it feels even better. She tries to shift away a little, wanting to stay like this for as long as possible, but Joohyun’s anchored and she’s helpless to resist it. It quickly becomes too much for her to hold out for a second longer. She’s going to – god, she can’t take anymore, she’s going to cum.

Seungwan falls apart with Joohyun eating her out and four fingers stuffed into her mouth, shivering and whining as best she can while she rides out the most intense orgasm she’s had today, or ever. And Joohyun doesn’t stop, either. She’s still licking – slower, at least, but she isn’t letting up till she feels Seungwan shake at the feeling, oversensitive and exhausted.

Joohyun licks her lips, watching Seungwan struggle to keep her eyes open. So the limit is five, she mentally adds for future reference.

“Did you like that, Wannie? It really sounded like you did. Sooyoung probably heard you from her room.”

Brows furrow in disbelief and Joohyun only shakes her head as she removes her hand, creating a long string of saliva as it leaves her mouth.

She grins as she holds up her spit-coated fingers for Seungwan to blush at. “Really. You have no idea, huh. These definitely aren’t enough to shut you up. I’m going to have to get creative next time.”

Seungwan groans and buries her face in her pillow, mumbling something incoherent about ‘never opening her mouth again’. It’s enough to keep her hands away from her crotch for the rest of her life. That, and the fact that Joohyun is still fully clothed while she’s lying here completely naked, nothing but a soaked bedsheet to preserve any modesty she can scrape together after… whatever’s just happened.

She isn’t sure what she thought was going to happen next, but Joohyun slotting herself comfortably between her and the wall wasn’t on her list of expectations. The next thing that registers in her cloudy mind is that she’s being… cuddled. She didn’t even have to squeeze her bolster like she so often did, thinking about a certain someone after she’d finished ‘fantasising’ or even as she retired for the night. No, this is the real thing! There’s an arm draped around her waist and a warm body snuggled into her side. She wants to pinch herself, half expecting to wake up in another dimension – one where cockroaches run for presidency and everyone’s favourite food is Twinkies (the chocolate kind) – but when she wriggles, the arm tightens around her and she turns to look at the face she wants to wake up to for as long as she lives.

“Unnie?” For someone so usually vocal, she’s at a loss for words. “… I… uh, sorry… about… the noise, I…”

Joohyun shushes her with the gentlest kiss to her cheek and laces their fingers together. “Relax, Wan-ah… I understand. I wasn’t angry with you like that, you know.”

A tiny spark of energy races through the younger girl at those words, and she jolts forward, confused. “Huh? You weren’t angry I was so noisy? The subtitles? Your tv time?”

Assuming she’d have her dongsaeng fall asleep in her arms, the sudden curiosity takes Joohyun by surprise too, but she gradually pushes herself up so she’s resting on her elbows. “Well, not really… you weren’t really disturbing me, that much. I didn’t mean it like that, anyway.”

“W-What do you mean, unnie?”

And Joohyun has to laugh at her sincerity.

With their fingers still intertwined, she brings them up to her lips and kisses the back of Seungwan’s hand.

“You really want to know?”

#red velvet #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #wenrene #wendy #irene #smut #kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios #red velvet smut

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stanbillyhargrove · 3 years

Text

Demons - The Rewrite

Chapter 24: Beauty In Death

TW: SUICIDE

Billy’s POV

Cat woke up sick the next morning. Her body just couldn't handle being out in the cold for as long as she had been. Steve, Max and I spent our time nursing her back to health. Bringing her tea and medicine. Tried to get her to eat some soup but everytime she did, she'd end up in the bathroom puking.

She got a fever on the third day. Woke up soaked in sweat and shivering. I skipped school for the morning to stay with her while she drifted in and out of sleep. Switched with Steve at lunch so we didn't fall too far behind on our classes.

We had to call Julie that night. Steve was helping Cat stand up and she had passed out. Just crumpled like a rag doll. Luckily, Steve caught her before she hit the floor or the table.

Julie brought some antibiotics home on her break and thanked us for taking care of Cat before leaving again.

She lasted a few more weeks with Steve and I trying our hardest to never leave her alone. She tried as best as she could to put on a happy front and pretend everything was okay. Max hung around her a lot, keeping that little spark of hope alive. We tried splitting up the nights with her so only one of us would be with Cat every night in hope that the other would be able to relax but both Steve and I had been restless on nights we were alone so we both ended up spending every night at Cat’s. The three of us would pass out sprawled against one another on the couch or Steve would take the couch while Cat and I slept in her room. There were a few times where Steve would drift off behind Cat, holding her so gently, and I would have to leave. I’d go outside to smoke and push down the spark of jealousy in my chest that set me on edge.

But I found myself thinking of Steve almost like a brother and I knew he loved Cat too. And I had to let them have that, let her have all the good in her life that she could.

We drove her to and from school and spent every possible second with her. But it had been exhausting, draining and we were starting to feel run down. Steve had been having a hard time staying awake during class, during basketball practice he had no energy and had been benched the past few days. I knew I was hitting that point of exhaustion too, my brain felt foggy and I was having a hard time focusing on anything.

And now there was a big game this week against a rival team. Coach had pulled Steve and I aside. Told us to get our shit together for the game or don't bother coming back to the team. Told us not to embarrass him.

Then the day of the game came and we were ready. We'd spent the last few nights trying to get as much sleep as we could. Cat seemed to be doing a little better so it made it easier to sleep.

"You're coming to the game, right?" Steve asked Cat.

We were in the parking lot after school. The game didn't start for a couple hours.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she smiled, "I just need to get this assignment done. Mom will drive me back later."

Steve pulled her in for a hug, "see you later."

Cat gave Steve a quick smile, “love you, Stevie,” and squeezed his shoulder before getting in the front seat of the Camaro.

I pulled up to her house and noticed the driveway was empty except for Cat's broken down car, “your mom isn't home. Should I stay?"

Cat smiled, squeezed my hand lightly, “she'll be here soon, go get ready for your game," she leaned over to press her lips against mine, "love you, B."

I got home and scarfed down a sandwich that Susan made me before getting ready for the game. I was almost ready when Max appeared in my door.

"Is Cat coming to watch the game too?"

"Yeah, her mom's bringing her. You gunna save her a seat?"

She nodded, "I gotta tell her we finally beat the high score on that game at the arcade."

"Wow, good job, Max. She'll be proud," I said, grabbing my bag from the floor, "you ready?"

Jump.

Score.

The whistle blew.

Half time.

Our team crowded together to cheer for our last second point. Hands clapped my back. People in the stands cheered.

But when Steve and I looked out to the stands, we didn't see her.

I caught Max's eye and mouthed, "Cat?"

She shrugged and shook her head and disappointment settled heavy in my gut.

Steve and I were pulled into the locker room with the rest of the team.

He leaned in to whisper, "where is she?"

I shrugged, "don't know," I whispered back as our coach came in.

My mind was racing while our coach spoke. Is she okay? Is her mom with her? Why isn't she here? She was supposed to be here.

The rest of the game went by in a blur. The final whistle blew and we were swept up in the cheering of our celebrating team.

"We should check on her," Steve said quietly when our team started to disperse into the locker room.

"She did say her mom would be home tonight, maybe they're spending time together."

Steve didn't look convinced.

"I'll drop Max off, you pick up something to eat and we'll meet there. She's okay."

She has to be.

When I pulled up to the house, Steve had just pulled up and was getting out of his car.

Julie's car still wasn't there.

We hurried up to the door and let ourselves in.

"Cat?" I called.

We waited a second, slipping off our shoes. Steve walked in and set a box of pizza down on the kitchen counter.

"Cat?" He yelled, worry growing.

There was a note taped to the fridge, "Be back in a couple weeks. Be good, mom."

It dawned on me, "she wasn't coming home today.."

Steve took off running, grabbing Cat's bedroom doorframe to stop himself before ducking in.

"Cat?"

My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest.

“Cat?” I called, my voice ringing through the house, "Hello?"

Steve was panicking, shaking like a fucking leaf and cursing under his breath. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pushed forward to the bathroom. Wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and twisted.

Click.

Locked.

Steve came forward to knock on the door, "Cat?

Silence.

I rattled the handle, "Cat? Can you answer me?"

We waited a second, holding our breath.

Nothing.

Steve stepped back a bit, shaking his head.

His voice hitched, "Cat, please?"

I pounced my fist against the door, "Cat, open the door!"

"Cat!" Steve yelled, losing his composure as he slammed his hand against the wood.

I pounded on the door harder, rattled the door know again, "Cat! Come on!"

Steve slammed his shoulder against the door and choked on tears.

"Back up," I said as I stepped away from the door.

I threw myself into the door as hard as I could. Wood cracked loudly under my shoulder, but not enough.

Steve had his hands in his hair, fingers clenched tight in his locks. His whole body tense.

I ran across the hall and threw my weight into the door again.

Wood splintered and gave way. The door flung open, swinging into the wall behind it.

I felt my knees give out when I saw what waited inside.

Cause while Steve had dealt with this before, had lived through this before, I wasn’t prepared for this.

Suddenly I was thrown into a memory of the first time Neil gave me a bloody nose when I was young and I couldn’t stop staring at the blood running down my face.

While I sunk to the ground, Steve leaped over me, a string of curses spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, fucking call someone! Jesus,” Steve ordered, hands shaking as he whipped around to grab towels.

I didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him past the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I felt like my lungs had filled with cement and I couldn’t gulp in enough air to fill them anymore.

Steve looked at me and scrambled over to grab at my arms, “jesus, Hargrove. Fucking, get over here,” he pulled me across the floor and wrapped my hands around Cat’s arms, “squeeze tight."

His hands left bloody prints up my arms. Her blood.

“But…you..last time..she's okay, right?"

“This is worse, we need help," he squeezed my hands around her arms, "tight. Don’t let go.”

My jaw worked with words that wouldn’t find their way past my tongue as Steve released me to run out of the room.

Worse? I couldn’t imagine how there could be a better or worse to this.

“Hello? I need an ambulance,” Steve’s watery voice echoed through the house, “my friend, she slit her wrists…”

I stopped listening, my only focus the metallic tang that hung thick in the air, coating the inside of my nose until I felt nauseous.

“Cat?” I croaked, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Baby. Please, please come back, just look at me, okay? Please? Just open your eyes, Baby,” I begged, trying to keep an iron grip on her arms but wanting so desperately to shake her until she woke up.

Steve came hurrying back into the bathroom, a red mark smeared across his cheek where he’d wiped at his face, “they’ll be here soon.”

He crowded beside me and grabbed at Cat’s face, leaving a matching smear, “hey, come on. Wake up, we’re here. We got you, okay? You gotta stay with us.”

She didn’t move when Steve shook her, and she was so pale. It crossed my mind that maybe we were too late.

My eyes burned as tears spilled down my cheeks, my arms shook and my knuckles were turning stark white against the red towels.

“Steve,” I choked, “I.. I don’t, what…why..?”

Steve chewed his lip, worried at it so much I thought he’d break skin, “fuck. I don’t know, I don’t know what to do. We just gotta try to keep her from bleeding out until the ambulance gets here,” he tried to shake her again and got no response, “mother fucker! Come on, asshole! Open your fucking eyes!”

My jaw ticked as anger spiked in my chest, “don’t swear at her!"

Steve whipped his head around to glare at me through dewy eyes, “really? You think me swearing is going to make this any worse?”

“I don’t know, Steve! Is it going to make it any fucking better?” I spat.

Steve opened his mouth to start yelling at me when he heard sirens coming closer and instead stood up with a huff, “stay here.”

“The fuck else do you think I’m gunna go?” I growled under my breath as he left.

“Please,” I pleaded, barely keeping myself from sobbing, “please, Cat. You can’t..you can’t fucking leave me like this. You just need to hold on, okay? Just stay with me, please. It'll be okay, everything will be okay. Just hold on."

I didn’t have to wait long before Steve hurried back with a couple paramedics holding a stretcher. They crowded into the bathroom, one man gently moving me out of the way to grab at Cat, fingers moving everywhere to test for a pulse and lift her eyelids.

Steve and I could only hear snippets of what they were saying to each other.

“Unconscious…non responsive….we’re gonna need an IV…I’ve got a heartbeat, barely."

They moved to lift her onto the stretcher and hurried back out to the ambulance with Steve and I following behind.

"Is she okay?" I asked, following behind.

They didn't answer, just hurried to load her into the ambulance. One of the men climbed into the back with her and went to close the door but was stopped by me grabbing the door.

"Sir, I need you to let go."

"I'm coming," I said, trying to climb into the ambulance.

He held up a hand, stopping me, “I’m sorry, immediate family only in the ambulance. You guys will have to follow us, call her parents.”

I looked at the man’s stupid freckled face, his stupid kind eyes and had to stop myself from tackling the man to the ground.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you see parents? We’re all she has! We have to go with her! I need to know she’s okay!” I shouted.

“Sir! You need to calm down,” the man replied sternly, “can’t let you in. Rules."

Steve grabbed my bicep and pulled gently, “Billy, let them go. They need to go,” he urged.

I tensed, my face going stony and backed away from the ambulance doors as Steve pulled at me with a shaking hand.

Steve was shaking violently as the ambulance drove away, sirens blaring. He never let go of my arm, he held tight like he thought I might bolt or he might collapse if he were to let go.

When the ambulance was out of sight, I turned and pulled my keys out of my pocket, “let’s go.”

Steve shook his head, “no, I need to, we gotta..we can’t leave that mess.”

I glared at him, I didn’t want to have to face that again, but followed Steve inside anyway. I followed Steve back to the bathroom where he dutifully handed me a couple towels and started filling the tub with hot water. We started wiping up the blood silently, neither of us ready to break the silence as we turned the bath water red from rinsing out the towels. It was eery, seeing the outline of where Cat had been slumped on the floor, clean and empty against the pool of dark red. I stuck my hand in the middle of the clean spot and felt my chin begin to waver. It was too much, seeing the blood pooled on the floor and sprayed up onto the cabinet, the smeared hand print on the edge of the tub next to shining metal.

“Steve,” I choked out.

He looked up at me with big, glassy eyes, there was a steady stream running down his cheeks that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. With a huff I threw down the towel I had been cleaning with and stalked out of the house into the front yard. I fumbled to pull a cigarette out of my jacket and light it, my hands shaking and leaving red prints everywhere. Steve didn’t follow me, I was by myself with the weight of the world on my chest.

What am I gunna do if she…?

If she’s gone…forever?

I smoked through my last three cigarettes quickly, relishing in the acrid burn of my lungs until I went to grab another and found my pack empty. I screamed out a curse and threw the empty carton across the lawn and collapsed to the ground, holding my head in my hands and sobbing violently.

I should’ve fucking been here, she shouldn’t have been alone.

I knew, deep down, that she wasn't getting better. I had just been stupid enough to hope. To hope that she'd turn a corner, that her mom would be here to make sure she was okay.

But she wasn’t here, nobody was. And Cat was alone.

And that's my fault.

I sat there, wallowing in my anger and despair until my chest stopped heaving and my breath started to come normally again.

Briefly, I wondered if she left a note, something explaining why I wasn’t enough. Why we weren't enough to keep her alive.

I set my jaw, wiped at my cheeks and slowly got back to my feet to go back inside. I could hear Steve’s heart wrenching sobs as soon as I walked inside and followed them to find him curled up on the floor in Cat’s room, his head buried in his bloody knees. I gently knelt down next to him, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

“Don’t got any cigarettes to offer you,” I muttered, my voice scratchy and rough.

Steve sniffed and took a shuddering breath, “she didn’t call or anything...I tried s-so fucking hard.”

“I know,” I placed a hand on his back gently, “I know you did. We did all we could, Steve.”

“We should go..” he whispered.

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed, standing back up and extending a hand to him.

He puffed out another long breath before taking my hand to pull himself off the floor. Before I could think, Steve had collapsed into my shoulder, his arms gripping at my back in a crushing embrace as he choked out another sob.

“I should have been here, we shouldn’t have left her alone. This is my fucking fault,” he cried.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders firmly and grit my teeth before trying to talk past the knot in my throat, “Steve. Come on, it’s not your fault.”

@charmed-asylum

#billy hargrove #stranger things #fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #billy hargrove fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #billy hargrove fanfic #fanfiction

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

Text

Pipsqueak Holmes: Breaking, Entering, & Emotional Conversations || Ariana, Blanche, & Sammy (Ace)

TIMING: Tonight PARTIES: @harlowhaunted, @letsbenditlikebennett, & @inspirationdivine‘s ghost human SUMMARY: After Ariana ghosts everyone, Blanche breaks into her apartment to discover an actual ghost. Emotional talks ensue CONTENT: Domestic abuse, emotional abuse

All things considered, maybe Blanche was overreacting. She wasn’t exactly known for keeping a cool head when she was worried about someone. Actually, Blanche was pretty sure she wasn’t known for keeping a cool head at all. And considering how she had been toeing the line of a mental breakdown for the past two weeks, again, Blanche thought that maybe this was justified. If… picking the lock of her neighbor and friends apartment door could be considered justified. It was among the many skills she was learning in Mercy’s office… Except, well, she wasn’t necessarily good at it yet. Blanche was taking a while, and she wished Ariana - who she was 99% sure was in there - would just open the door. The only reason she had gotten to this point was because banging on the door hadn’t worked. “I’m picking the lock!” Blanche yelled again, before muttering an expletive under her breath as she worked with the tools. “And I’m eventually going to get in there, you hear me! I am worried. I just need one more…. One more click…” Blanche twisted the tools in her hand, listening for that little click. “And then we can - oh! I got it! Ha!” She reached up and twisted the door handle. It was open.

The apartment was dark with the shades drawn and lights off which suited how Ariana was feeling these past few days. Every one had felt impossibly long as she dwelled on what her actions had caused. She’d been stupid, everyone had warned her against. Had even provided better ideas though the idea of giving Lydia another human still made her skin crawl, but at least he’d be alive. In darker moments, she wondered if she should have just let Athena kill Lydia then all of this would be a nonissue, but she hadn’t. So she laid on the floor cocooned today in one of the blankets Athena had given her. The one from Nell had started to smell bad and she couldn’t find the energy to bother washing it. They were a small comfort, one she probably didn’t deserve, but she didn’t have it in her to do much else. She could hear Blanche outside her door, messing with the lock, and part of her wanted to open it. The part that wanted to stay cemented to the floor won out and she sat there still, careful to not make a sound though Luna was already whining at the door. There was no way Blanche’s lock picking would actually work and Blanche would be able to go about her day without seeing the depressing state of both her apartment and life. At least, that was what she thought until the door clicked open. She looked up from the floor wordlessly, head barely peeking out of the blanket and looking like a deer in the headlights as she saw Blanche come in. “Hi,” she choked out feeling as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

Sammy sat on the couch. Well, as much as a see through ghost could sit on anything. Really, he had rearranged himself to fit around the couch as naturally as possible. He could sit through the couch, if he wanted, or through the floor. This whole death thing? Not too bad. Especially considering how badly the last time he’d been spotted had gone…. Being invisible was comforting, safe as a blanket. No more promises, either, no more magic brainwashing, no more making clay until he fell asleep at the tool. This part, though? This part sucked. Watching Ariana crumble under the weight of her inescapable guilt, where he couldn’t hug or talk or even touch her sucked. He couldn’t even tell anyone else. When the door began to rattle, Sammy jumped upright, staring at it. But a burglar wouldn’t yell that they were breaking in? Ari didn’t seem alarmed either, but, uh, Sammy wasn’t sure that she was in the right brain space to care if it was a bad thing. All the same, what was he going to do? Walk right through the intruder? So he stayed frozen, hovering over Ariana as someone came in. Ari seemed pretty chill about her, though, so Sammy relaxed. A teeny, tiny bit, anyway.

“Ariana?!” Blanche balked at the sight of the girl curled up on the floor under a mess of blankets. Blanche had been there, but she hadn’t expected her to be... well , there. Actually, Blanche wasn’t quite sure what she expected when Ariana had started to ignore all her messages. She took one step forward, before she realized that the feeling of a spirit wasn’t just because she took down all the wards in the apartment building. She had been expecting that, spirits now able to wander in and out of the walls. Blanche did it for Nadia, and besides… this was inevitable. It wasn’t like she could keep checking wards like she had been before in an effort to feel safe. Nowhere in this town was safe. Still, she didn’t expect to see a boy with a gunshot wound in the head. Blanche shrieked in surprise, staring at him, jaw dropping. Who the hell was he? Some sort of peeping tom ghost creep. “Who the hell are you?!” Blanche demanded. “You can’t just -” Go bursting into someone's home uninvited, was what she was going to say, before she looked down at the lock picking tools in her hand. “... Who are you?”

The guilt stewing in Ariana had only deepened when it became apparent just how much she had worried Blanche. That had never been her intention, but she couldn’t bring herself to go about with everyday conversation when everything felt so impossible. This was her mistake to live with and Blanche surely didn’t need anymore on her already very full plate. She sunk further into her blankets as she still kept an eye on Blanche. Her brows halfway furrowed in as much confusion as she could muster. “What do you mean,” she asked as it didn’t quite register anyone else could be here. “It’s me. Ariana. I know I look like shit, but still me.” She shrugged those it just looked like a shuffle of blankets and leaned back into the bottom of the couch. Blanche seemed concerned so she managed to look around. Still just her and Luna then it hit her. Her eyes widened and she looked around more frantically this time. “Sammy?” She barely managed to choke the words out and could feel the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at peace. He deserved that after everything he’d been through. God, she hoped he wasn’t sticking around because he was mad at her and Lydia. The thought alone made her stomach flip and she clutched her blankets more tightly.

Sammy, with all the grace of a baby penguin, also shrieked, jumping in the air. “You can see me?? You’re looking at me??” She was looking right at him, like he had sauce on his face. Sammy raised his hand to check before remembering that he couldn’t have sauce on his face and he definitely couldn’t wipe it off. “Wait-” He frowned. “Who are you to lecture me about the whole breaking in thing? I didn’t -” His tongue turned to lead inside his mouth, looking back at Ari as she said his name. Without even noticing, he was drifting closer and closer to Blanche, like she was a whirlpool and he was caught in the vortex. Ariana had said his name, she was looking around for him, but unlike the mystery intruder, her eyes never focused on him. How could have he have a lump in his throat if there wasn’t even a throat to have a lump in? His eyes were prickling with nonexistent tears, which really wasn’t fair. “Ari- You can see me? Why can you see me? Are you also dead?” He looked back at Blanche. “Can you look after her? She’s not okay. Like, at all.”

“Yes, I can see you, you -” Nimrod. But Blanche didn’t get to finish her sentence as she caught a full look at Ariana. Oh hell. What the hell was going on here. Ariana said the name Sammy in a voice that reminded her of Ariana showing up at her apartment way early in the morning mid-panic attack asking desperately if she could see her friend. Her friend who was in trouble and in an abusive situation. Blanche’s heart sank and she swallowed hard, before going to go kneel down in front of Ariana. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she said softly. She sat back, before glancing over at Sammy. “I’m a medium,” she said. “Seeing dead people is sort of my thing.” She turned glanced between the two of them for a second, before realizing that this wasn’t like the Winn situation. Ariana couldn’t see this ghost. “How about…” Blanche said. “I get you some water, Ari?” Water wouldn’t fix anything, but at least it would keep her hydrated. “And why don’t you -” Blanche looked over at Sammy, her brows furrowing. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this. “- tell me your name and why you’re here.”

Already, Ariana could feel her head beginning to throb. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually gotten up to do anything besides feed Luna or take her out. In a fit of absolute restlessness, she’d made something to drop off for Grace at the hospital but found she could only stomach a few bites herself. This was already overwhelming and she had too many questions if Sammy was here though she wasn’t sure she was prepared for the answers. “What’s going on,” she asked Blanche. She stood up a little taller on the ground as she tried to piece together the other side of the conversation, but found it only furthered the lingering headache she had. “There’s a ghost… it’s him, isn’t it,” she said and was thankful her blanket hid her shaking hands, “You shouldn’t-- It’s my-- I’m fine you don’t have to do anything, okay?” Was that last part entirely true? Not really, but she could already see Blanche going into over caring friend mode and bringing her water when she should be the one taking care of herself. The thought of him being here just wanted to make her sink further into the floor. How could he stand to look at her after what she’d done? Or maybe he was haunting her, not that she could blame him. The thought of it made goosebumps rise on her arm.

“Okay, okay, don’t say it like it’s obvious! I’m kinda new to the whole ectoplasm business,” Sammy said, rising his hands defensively. Like Blanche, though, he kept looking back to Ariana, in her pile of blankets and the dog next to her. Unlike the medium, he couldn’t even offer her a glass of water. “Ohhhh. Do you do seances?... Not the priority, I know.” He swallowed, slowly sitting down cross legged on the ground, although he misjudged where the ground was, so his legs were kinda floating an inch under the floor. “Yeah, it’s me. Uh, Sammy, or Ace, that’s what she called me. Which I told her was way way cooler than my real name.” He laughed, but it was awkward, forced and short. Too aware that he was performing for a stranger rather than talking to his friend. “I don’t know why I’m here. Like, existentially, I mean. I’m here here because I followed her, but then I couldn’t get into the building until like maybe Sunday. But I guess you want to know the existential part. What’s, uh, what’s your name?”

“Um -” Blanche was going to get a headache, and fast. Sammy was inquisitive, and wanted to talk, and Ariana… well, she clearly had questions. Blanche pushed herself up to her feet and went to go get a glass of water, silently listening to what they both had to say. Once she returned with Ariana’s water, she plopped back down on the floor. “The ghost that’s here is Sammy,” Blanche said, as calm as she could manage. “Or… Ace.” She glanced over at Sammy, raising an eyebrow in question. Where had Ace come from? Not the point. “He followed you in here, and came into the building when I took the wards off the building Sunday night for …” Blanche grimaced. That wasn’t the point. She didn’t want to think about why she had taken the wards down. She glanced over at Sammy again, or more appropriately to the bullet wound in his head, before crossing her legs to almost mirror Sammy’s posture. “I don’t do seances, I don’t know how.” She had never been receptive to Granny trying to teach her, either. “And my name is Blanche. Blanche Harlow.” Blanche looked between the two of them trying to decide what to do. “Ari… If you… want to talk to him, I can help you. And if you don’t want to do that right now, that’s okay too. We can leave. Or I can leave, okay?”

If Ariana was able to sink further into the ground, she would, but for now, hugging the blanket tighter would have to suffice. With confirmation that Sammy was here, she felt her heart pounding harder in her chest. There had been so much she wanted to say to him before, but now she seemed to be blanking as tears pooled in her eyes. This was too much and she could already feel that familiar frog in her throat forming. What was she even supposed to say? Sorry would never be enough. She promised she would save him and all she had managed to do was speed up the timeline on his death. “Sammy’s here,” she said quietly, still trying to process all of this. “Is he--” She wanted to ask if he was angry. He should be, but she wasn’t sure she could handle the answer to that. She watched Blanche as she interacted with Ace and looked somewhat puzzled at the mention of seances. It was easy to imagine he was being his normal, rambling self, but maybe she was just being easy on herself with that mental image. She knew the ghost stuff was rough for Blanche too and she felt bad she’d ended up here in this situation. “You don’t-- I know it’s,” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought before she finally said, “Can you just tell him I’m sorry?” Her voice cracked as she spoke and crying was unavoidable now.

Sammy felt more self-conscious the more Blanche looked at him. Because it was kinda like she wasn’t looking at him, but above him. “Uh, is there something in my hair?” He asked, and completely unthinkingly, offered his hand to shake. He stared at his own hand for a long moment, before flushing and shoving it back in his nonexistent pocket. “Nice to meet you, Blanche,” he said roughly, turning back to Ariana. He tried to put his hand on her knee, around her shoulders, any way of comforting her as her voice cracked. Sammy jumped to his feet in frustration. “That’s bullshit,” Sammy said sharply - he didn’t need Blanche to pass on Ariana’s messages. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. She lied. She lied about all of it. That’s what she does. She gaslights people. She twists their words, their intents. Can’t believe I had to be dead to see it, but hey-ho. She said I would resent Ariana, and she’s wrong. Not ever, okay? Even if I’m still a ghost in fifty years, there’s only one person I blame.” Sammy frowned, looking back over at Blanche. “Uh, sorry, I don’t mean to use you as like, a telephone. Are you okay?”

Blanche ripped her eyes from the gunshot wound and down at the hand, raising an eyebrow at him. Yeah, no thanks. She hated the feeling of ghosts passing their limbs through her. She fought back a shudder, before looking back at Ariana, eyes full of concern. She was slowly piecing together the information from Sammy. Words like she lied, she gaslights… This had to be the friend Ariana was talking about. He had to have died recently, and this had to be why Ariana had shut herself out… She pressed her lips together into a thin line, pulling her legs up to her chest. “He says you have nothing to be sorry for,” Blanche said. “And that she - She lies. And gaslights. And that… she was wrong. That he’ll never, ever resent you because she’s the only one to blame.” Unlike the Winn situation, this was truly her first time having to pass on messages in person with a ghost here with her. She had to be careful with what she said, and to not put words in Sammy’s mouth. It sort of made her anxious, and her stomach twisted over itself. “He can hear you, though. So you can talk directly to him. And I’ll help you, and tell you what he says.” Blanche looked over at Sammy. “I’m sort of like a telephone, it’s okay.” Though there was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she ran her hands anxiously along the legs of her jeans. Why did she feel like this? Stop that. You have a responsibility to Ari and Sammy. Her internal chiding sounded remarkably like her Granny. She swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “Shall we continue?”

It was hard to believe what was being said to her and if she had more energy, she would have shaken her head in protest. There was no way he couldn’t blame her. Ariana should have thought this through. Should have gotten more help. She should have done just about everything differently, but that wasn’t the case. How could he have said there was nothing to be sorry for? Was Blanche just trying to spare her feelings? She clenched the blanket in her fists and tried to steady her breathing. “I’m still-- He can’t mean that. It was a stupid idea that was meant to save him and all it did was get him killed faster.” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, but she wouldn’t let either of them try to erase the blame she so rightly deserved. Lydia was at fault, but she should have known better. She’d been naive and it was plain to see now. All she wanted was a way to save him where no one else died and it was stupid. The world simply didn’t work like that and she should have known as much. “He should. I just, I wish I had come up with a smarter plan.” It was all she could think to say before she finally added, “I really wanted to save you, Ace… Or Sammy, I guess. You didn’t deserve any of this.” Her throat felt impossibly dry so she finally drank the water Blanche had brought over for her. She nodded as Blanche explained she was sort of like a telephone. “I think I get it,” she said softly, “And yes.” It had always been so easy to talk to Ace before, but now guilt seemed to overpower anything else on her mind. She wanted to apologize again, but instead she whispered, “I miss you.”

“I meant it,” Sammy reiterated. “I was the one who thought no way would she kill a werewolf. I mean honestly, I think she panicked, she didn’t me-” Sammy paused. If he’d still been alive, he might have become more pale, but as a ghost, he had frozen in alarm, before trying to shake it off. “There I go again, trying to defend her.” He smiled until he meant the smile, and rubbed his face like he might be able to stop some nonexistent tears. “It’s not about deserving. It’s not… You can’t think like that.” He still didn’t mean the smile, but boy was he trying to be more chipper, especially as Blanche talked. “But you’re also like extremely not just a telephone, right? You broke in here to check on her before you knew I was here. Feels kinda shitty to hijack you checking in on her.” But Blanche turned from him all the same, asking Ariana if they would continue. “Ace works. I uh, couldn’t tell her anything identifying about me for like…. The entire time we’ve known each other. Six months? So she had to come up with a name for me,” He explained to Blanche. Explaining to Blanche didn’t make his throat catch the way listening to Ariana. That he had to say it all through a complete stranger… sucked, so much. “I miss you too. I really wanted to wolf with you. But hey, bright side? I feel like maybe I won an award for most species changes in a week, you know?”

“It’s not hijacking unless you possess me. Which… don’t. And I didn’t break in… Well, okay, maybe I did but... I’m not - well, I’m not - er…” she looked at Ariana and then back at Sammy, and then down at the lockpicking tools she was clutching in her hands…. And then she gave a sheepish shrug. Whatever, semantics. Blanche had never really considered herself lucky. Considering how much trouble she got in on an almost weekly (sometimes daily) basis, but it was almost heartbreaking to do this: To watch Ariana have to accept communicating with Sammy through her. It made Blanche want to do better, and to make it so not only Sammy could reach peace, but so Ariana could be happy… That was impossible though. Granny would berate her, saying that she of all people should know by now that erasing grief was impossible. Not really, anyway. She was quiet for a moment, in her thoughts as she listened to Sammy’s next message, continuing to click puzzle pieces into place. Stupid idea that didn’t work and I really wanted to wolf with you. “You turned him?” Blanche concluded, looking at Ariana curiously. She supposed that could have worked, it would have made Sammy much stronger than he was in his human form. But she shook her head, “Sorry. Not the point.” Her cheeks flushed slightly as she tried to sort through Sammy’s words. This was harder than her Granny had said. Shit. “He misses you too, he really wanted to - er - wolf out with you. And -” Blanche finally registered his joke and she swiveled around to look at him witheringly. “He wants a trophy for having the most species changes in a week,” she deadpanned. “Very funny, Ace.”

“You definitely broke in,” Ariana said with about as much of a joking tone as she could muster. It truthfully came across pretty weak and made her feel out of place. Normally, having Blanche here and joking with her would feel natural. They did this enough nights that the motions shouldn’t have made her skin feel like it was crawling, but here she was, wishing she could just sink further and further into her couch until neither of them could see her. She wasn’t who either of them thought she was, not anymore. Not since she’d gotten him killed. No matter how much he tried to assure her through Blanche that this was Lydia’s fault, she couldn’t accept. Especially knowing the promise she had to fulfill come the next full moon. Then Blanche mentioned that she turned him and all she wanted was to disappear from this spot. “Yes,” she said, looking down at her hands that were fumbling around the edges of the blanket. Hearing the secondhand rambling and overall light Ace had always brought to difficult situations almost helped. Remembering why things had to be like this kept her somber. “I don’t think they make trophies for that,” she said weakly. How could he talk about all of this so easily? Maybe it wasn’t, it’s not like she could see him, but still, even in his death he was trying to find ways to bring a smile to her face. “It’s good you can still…. I don’t know, it sounds like he’s still very much himself.”

“Hey! I got shot in a torture bunker, I think I’m allowed some gallows humor!” Sammy defended himself, but his heart wasn’t entirely in it, when Ariana was even less enthusiastic than Blanche about the whole thing. “I’m still me. I’m more me than I’ve been all year,” he agreed softly. He looked down at his hands, which trembled, even though he had no muscles to tremble. All psychological, like he was still trying to trick himself that he had a body. “God, there’s so much stuff I want to tell you. But I don’t want to put either of you in more danger.” Sammy looked pointedly at Blanche. “You - neither of you - can go around just telling people stuff. She’ll blame y- Ariana. She put a bounty on my family. She could go after people you care about, do more bad things, you have to be careful. She’s hunting. She’s-” Sammy swallowed, shaking his head.

Sammy stared helplessly between the two of them, at the shell that made up Ariana, wrapped in so many blankets. Her eyes were puffy, the bags under her eyes thick and heavy. Defeated, hopeless. Chloe would have better adjectives, ones with rhythm and rhyme, but Sammy just saw a wasted lump of clay. God, he just wanted to hug her, more than anything. Suddenly, he smacked his forehead soundlessly. “Oh! There’s something you need to know, Ariana. Promises can be broken. It’s hard as fuck, and it’s dangerous, there are big consequences, but they can be broken.” He thought about how often Lydia talked about the vermin levels of hunters in town, squeezed his eyes shut, imagining her in the Common next month.

“Torture bunker?!” Her voice rose a full octave as Blanche stared at Sammy in alarm, looking back at Ariana with wide eyes. What the hell was he talking about?? It didn’t get better from there - He was traumatized by whatever woman that had apparently shot him in a torture bunker. Blanche looked back at Ari, fighting the urge to reach for her. Blanche didn’t like it when people touched her when she was upset, and she wasn’t about to force herself onto Ariana if that wasn’t what she needed right now. Blanche leaned forward on her knees, listening to Sammy some more… Wait a second - “Promises?” Blanche asked warily. “What do you mean promises can be broken? Of course they can, unless they’re by a f- oh.” Her eyes widened. “Fae. What - He says that promises can be broken. It’s hard, and dangerous, and there are consequences, but…. They can be broken.” Blanche looked over at Ariana, suddenly more concerned than she had been a moment ago. “What is he talking about, Ari?”

The words torture bunker caused her eyes to widen. Ariana knew it was bad, but not torture bunker bad. She felt like she was going to be sick, but she supposed that would require literally anything being in her stomach. God, she wished she’d just ripped into Lydia before she ever had a chance to make her fulfill any sort of stupid promise. “Shit, I didn’t realize it was that bad,” she said weakly. It became more and more apparent she should have gotten Athena involved the moment she found out she was a warden. The word promises made her stomach sink. God, she didn’t think about what damage she was bound to cause next month. If she’d be able to live with herself after the fact. It was her own damn fault for showing up at Lydia’s the way she did. Hope piqued in her at the mention they could be broken. She looked up to Blanche incredulously. “They can? I don’t have to--” The sharp pain in her leg indicated it was time for her to shut the fuck up. Blanche looked even more concerned as she asked about what Ariana did and she wanted to hide completely under the blanket. What she’d done was be the dumbest person on the planet. “I’m an idiot, but I’ll figure it out, okay? You don’t need to worry about it.” She just hoped Blanche was nowhere near the Common on the full moon.

Sammy’s eyes widened as they freaked out at the mention of a torture basement, which in hindsight? Was totally understandable. “Uh, like, maybe that’s overstating it. There were no like thumb screws or anything like that! It just, uh-“ Was where Lydia had tortured that kid the one time by making himself hurt himself over and over. Was where she’d punished him and Chloe by making them work in the dark until their bodies gave out. “ANYWAY.” Sammy cringed at himself. “I’m just making things worse. I don’t…” know why I’m here. Because there was nowhere else to go, really, but shit, Ariana looked so bleak and broken, Sammy couldn’t help but feel like he’d let her down. He listened to Blanche passing on the message, shrinking in on himself a little. There was so much he wanted to say, and she was filtering all of it down. He talked too much for a ghost, apparently. At least now there was hope in Ariana’s eyes. “I- I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”

Blanche had relayed Sammy’s message and Ariana simply sighed. This was all still overwhelming to her. Even if she could get out of this promise, Ace was still dead and she arguably played a role in that even if he only wanted to blame Lydia. “Thank you,” she looked to Blanche more seriously this time, “I appreciate this. You too, Ace.” Even if it was hard to feel like their comfort was warranted they were here now and there was potentially an out for the next full moon. If she was being honest, she didn’t want Blanche to leave even if she felt bad for pulling her friend into this mess when it was clear she didn’t love the ghost stuff. It hadn’t been intentional, she tried to keep her out of it, but now that she was here, she was distracted from her pain to a certain degree. “I can actually turn the TV on or something, if you want. I’ll order a pizza for us.” Remembering that her phone was dead, she looked back to Blanche, “I’ll use your phone though, not sure where mine is but it’s definitely super dead.” With confirmation from Blanche that pizza and movies were good, she put the order in. She didn’t feel better, she doubted she ever would, but there was something to be said for how much better she felt with someone knowing what happened without her having to explain. Not that she could explain. She took her seat back down by Blanche and wondered where Sammy was sitting. This was hardly what she hoped for them, but it was the most normal hang out she and Ace had ever had. For right now, that would have to be enough.

#wickedswriting #pipsqueak holmes: breaking entering & emotional conversations #pipsqueak holmes series #abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

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thisbrokenmask · 4 years

Text

00:00

Title: 00:00

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: N/A.

Word Count: 2.2k

Song inspiration: 00:00 (Zero O’Clock)

A/N: It’s been a long time since I’ve written fanfiction, and this is the first time I’ve ever posted any of my writing on tumblr, but I hope people enjoy this and anything else I might post. I wanted to take part in ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event as I used to write a lot of my old fanfiction in accordance with songs, so this is right up my street in terms of how I write. I also wanted to get back into writing again during the lockdown, and this gives me something to work to. I have my list at the ready, so we’ll see how many I can get through!

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get comfortable.

Your blanket felt too restrictive, curling around your ankles and clinging to the skin of your feet, yet a phantom breeze seemed to ghost over them when you tried dangling them over the edge of the bed. The pillows propped up between your back and your headboard seemed to vengefully slouch every time you got them just right, causing you to try and blindly rearrange them before you eventually let out a huff, turning around to push them back into place. The warm white light coming from the lamp on your side of the bed struggled to reach the pages of the book rested on your raised knees, but sitting even an inch closer made the printed ink glisten to the point of almost disappearing.

You knew you were tired. Your eyes were acting up even with your glasses on, refusing to focus on the words you were reading or pass them onto your brain, forcing you to reread the same sentences over and over to get them to register.

Your tiredness was just the latest addition to a long list of emotions that you could feel coursing through your body. The significance of today had been having more of an affect on you with each day that it had grown closer, and now that it was here it was hard to comprehend just how you were feeling. You were excited but nervous, relaxed that it was finally here but tense that something, somehow, might go wrong in some way. You had felt it all day in the way that a dull ache had slowly spread through your back and your jaw had gotten tighter with each passing hour that you’d been at work that day.

You glanced over the empty side of the bed next to you to check the clock that sat on the bedside table, trying to push down the clench in your heart at the sight of the undisturbed comforter and undented pillows.

23:09

Not long now, you think to yourself.

At some point in the next hour, Taehyung would be walking in through the front door and would make his way up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom in which you now sat, and there he would fall back into your arms. After three months of video calls and texts that came through at all hours of the day, a consequence of his constantly changing time zone, it was safe to say you were both looking forward to seeing each other.

If you could stay awake, that was.

You shook yourself awake when you felt your eyelids start to close. Sitting up and stretching your arms above your head in a bid to give yourself that extra boost of energy you so desperately craved, you let your mind wander to consider what might happen in that moment that you saw each other again.

You knew there was a very good chance you would cry. As much as you’d assured him you were fine while he was away, you knew you’d been miserable more often than you’d admitted to Taehyung. Sure, you’d told him about the bad days at work and that time you’d forgotten your umbrella two days in a row and gotten caught in a downpour on both occasions.

But you’d kept from him the days when you’d just been sad. You knew it would break his heart to know you were sad and he wasn’t there to comfort you, to cheer you up any way he could, so you’d constantly assured him that you were fine; missing him, but fine. You could manage with the video calls and the selfies he sent you and you had plenty of pictures of the two of you together to look back on when you just really needed to see his face. Pixels were better than nothing, especially when he couldn’t just come home.

He’d worried enough already before the tour had even been mentioned that his career was too much for you, that he wasn’t able to give you the relationship he thought you wanted due to how time-consuming his job could be. He had grown so scared of losing you that he’d almost begun avoiding you, somehow believing that every time he saw you would be the time you’d call it quits. It had taken the rest of the members to get him to see sense, Jin firmly but lovingly telling him that he was pushing you away even more by trying to protect himself. You’d been together then, both of you in Seoul and seeing each other regularly, so there was no way you’d let him doubt your relationship when he was on the other side of the world.

You knew he must have known anyway, but the two of you seemed to have an unspoken agreement that you wouldn’t talk about it for fear of opening floodgates that couldn’t be closed again. You didn’t tell him about the day during his third week away when your manager called you into his office because even your colleagues had noticed the change in you. You’d been so sure that your ability to pull off a believable fake smile had almost been perfected by that point that you were surprised to hear the genuine concern in your manager’s voice. Of course, they didn’t know who your boyfriend was - if they had, it might have made much more sense to them - and so you’d tried to explain as truthfully as you could while still being vague enough to not give anything important away.

A quiet rattling of keys from the other side of the apartment broke your reverie, your book tumbling off your lap and down to the floor, immediately forgotten. The muscles in your legs twitched as you heard the door close again, debating whether or not you should run out and meet him when you heard the gentle shuffles of him putting his bag down and taking off his shoes as quietly as he could.

He probably thought you’d fallen asleep, you mused, 23:49 blinking back at you when you glanced back at the clock. You hadn’t realised you’d been lost in your thoughts for so long, but the building excitement in you made it easy to forget you had even been restless less than an hour ago.

A shiver ran up your spine and danced across your shoulders as you picked up on the sound of padded footsteps approaching. You couldn’t move your eyes away from the bedroom door if you tried, your mouth slowly curling up into a smile when you heard him hesitate outside the door.

He definitely thought you were asleep.

You saw his hair first, or at least the bright red cap that sat backwards over it and the tufts of blond that poked out from underneath as he slowly peeked his head around the door. That alone nearly brought a squeal into your throat, the reality of him actually being here hitting you full force, but it was silenced the moment his eyes met yours.

As soon as he realised you were not only awake but sat up and looking at him, he straightened up and pushed the door open wider to bring his body into the room, his face immediately breaking into a grin. You felt like you were shaking with the giddiness that was running through your veins, your mind so clouded with the thrill of him being here in front of you that you weren’t able to think about what you should do or say.

As if Taehyung even gave you a second to do anything anyway.

Pure joy bloomed in your chest when you heard his giggle as he threw himself onto the bed, his hands immediately finding your waist and pulling you into him. His face was buried in the crook of your neck before you’d properly wrapped your own arms around his shoulders, your legs immediately folding around his back to pull him in even closer to you. You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes despite the way your cheeks were already hurting from the size of your smile, your fingers desperately roaming to feel as much of him as possible, to prove this was real.

It was the first press of his lips against your neck that made the first tears fall as you looked up at the ceiling, one hand pushing the hat from his head and sinking into his hair and the other clinging to the back of his shirt. Your legs were already tangled up with his, all four limbs unable to keep still in their urge to feel as much of each other as possible.

Your shuddering breath caused Taehyung to pull his face away from your neck to finally look at you in close quarters, and when the lamplight hit him you could see how brightly his eyes were shining.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered, a small smile on his lips as he withdrew a hand from underneath you to gently wipe away a tear before slipping down to cradle your neck.

“Hey,” you managed back, laughing slightly as you wiped the right side of your face to catch the tears there.

“I missed you.” His eyes searched yours and a small crack threatened your heart when you realised he was nervous that this tour had been too much, too long for you to stay wanting him.

“I missed you, too,” you assured him, bringing your hand from the back of his shirt up and over his shoulder to gently cup his face, his eyes closing as he leant into the sensation with a sigh of relief. You took a moment to simply take in his appearance, noting how his jaw seemed a little bit sharper, the skin under his eyes a little bit darker. He’d been working so hard and you could feel an inexplicable swell of pride in your chest as you held his face in your hands at the knowledge that he did it all out of a love for his fans and his members.

“I love you,” his lips brushed against your hand as he spoke, his voice barely more than a breath as his eyes opened ever so slightly to gaze down at you.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back without hesitation, your right hand ghosting through the hair at his temples while the other came to rest at the nape of his neck. You noticed the tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he seemed to desperately take in every single millimeter of your face, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was finally back with you in the same bed, so you gently pulled his face towards yours to place a gentle kiss to his lips.

No matter how many times you’d thought about this moment over the last three months, even your strongest moments in your imagination could never mimic the feeling of absolute peace that washed over you when your lips met with his. It was as if you’d been holding your breath for the last three months, from the moment he’d last placed a kiss to your forehead in the airport up until now, and now you could finally breathe again.

“You okay?” The concern in Taehyung’s voice caused your eyes to drift open again, the immediate blur of light and hair alerting you to the fact that you were crying, just as you’d known you would. You let out a short laugh at yourself, feeling ridiculous as you tried to wipe your tears away. At the same time, Taehyung started peppering butterfly kisses over your face with a low chuckle, knowing that you were as overwhelmed as he was that the two of you were finally reunited. “I love you so much,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck in the way he knew tickled you, grinning proudly when you started giggling through your tears instead.

You desperately tried to escape his grasp as he started to tickle your sides, rolling away and into the side of the bed that had been untouched for so long, but Taehyung followed you unforgivingly, his own laugh growing louder the more you helplessly tried to wriggle away from his hands.

It wasn’t until a quiet ‘please’ escaped between your laughs that he relented, a smug grin on his face that he could still beat you in a tickle fight so easily, and he settled back into your arms with his head against your chest. You relaxed into each other, your breath recovering from your giggles and calming down into an easy rhythm that caused Taehyung’s head to gently rise and fall with your chest.

“I’m so glad I finally get to start a new day with you,” he murmured against your tummy and you couldn’t help the slight tip of your head as you looked down at him, confused, but he was looking away from you. You followed his gaze to look at the clock just as it ticked over to 00:00 and smiled, looking down at your boyfriend once more as your hands found his hair again.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

#fwlbingo #00:00 #zero o'clock #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #bts #bts fic #fluff #taehyung x y/n #ficswithluv

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elysianrey · 5 years

Text

tell me things you’ve never said out loud

[part 3 of it’s a slow cinnamon summer. read part 1. read part 2]

(a/n: okay...here it is. the final installment of this little series. thanks for joining me on this crazy ride these past few days! i’m not sure when i’ll get another chance to write for fun, but hopefully i will be nipped by the plot bunnies again soon. Anne and Gil finally get a resolution to this tension. And Gilbert is shirtless again... Enjoy!! xoxo Content T+)

Almost a week passed before Anne saw him again.

It was not so much by choice, at least not to Anne, but rather they were needed for other responsibilities around their respective households. Matthew had caught a late summer cold, which led to Anne tending to his needs, while Marilla cared for little Delphine at the Blythe-Lacroix farm. When Anne wasn’t checking in on Matthew, she was out in the fields with Jerry and his brothers, who offered their aid upon catching word of Matthew’s sickness. The hard labor of weeding out the bad crops or nasty pests allowed Anne to direct her mind onto something other than the single topic it would revolve back to as she laid in her bed each night. Even the exhaustion from the day’s activities was not enough to weary her brain into a dreamless state of sleep which she desperately craved.

For her dreams were where she slipped back into that sweet moment in the garden, or worse, entered new fantasies so vivid and lifelike, Anne would suddenly awake with a gasp, sweat beading on her forehead and along fair skin. She dared not tell a single soul about any of those dreams.

His lingering presence had intertwined itself so deeply into her being that she knew it was fruitless to try an escape it’s captive grip. Otherwise, she would be denying an integral piece of herself, as terrifying as the thought was to her.

Marilla woke her before dawn on Saturday morning with the news that she would be baking and cooking most of the day for the church picnic tomorrow. She was quite beside herself because with watching over Delphine the whole week, she had completely forgotten the important event.

“No worries, Marilla. I will take care of precious Delly today,” Anne reassured her comfortingly, her heart twinging anxiously at the prospect of the boy she was going to inevitably see. She needed to clear the air between them and make things right.

Marilla let out a grateful sigh, “Oh bless you, Anne. For all that you have done the past days,” she replied, her arms drawing the girl into a hug. “Now off you go to get dressed. Bash mentioned that he and Gilbert were going to be up early to start pruning some of the apple trees in the orchard.”

Anne nodded, a suppressed smile on her lips as she turned on her heel to dress herself, which did not go unnoticed by Marilla.

“Make sure Gilbert does not to overwork himself,” she called from the kitchen below as Anne hurriedly traipsed up the stairs.

“Will do!”

+++++

Anne gave the door of the Blythe-Lacroix home a gentle knock and waited patiently for an answer, rather hoping it would be a sleepy-eyed, dark-haired boy. Instead she was received by a groggy-looking Bash, who held a cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand and a fussy baby in the other.

“Good morning, Anne,” he greeted, motioning for her to enter, and pushing the door shut behind them with his shoulder. “It’s nice of you to come.” His attention turned toward the squirming bundle in the crook of his arm. “Shhhhh--there, there Delly. Papa will be back for you soon. Your auntie Anne is here to spend some time with you now,” he cooed, rocking her softly and taking a sip of his coffee.

The redhead couldn’t contain the fond smile that broke over face at the endearing title Bash had dubbed after the countless days she had spent with them upon Mary’s passing and the consuming grief that latched on to Sebastian’s being. Although he was not quite the person she remembered before his beloved returned to her heavenly home in the sky, he was beginning to finally settle into a different type of normal.

Anne stretched out her arms to take the baby, and Bash handed her off. “It is always a treat to spend time with this princess of yours,” she remarked lovingly, looking at Delphine with a sense of delight.

She followed Bash into the kitchen, holding the infant on her hip, and observing him as he set his cup down carefully. “Blythe is out in the orchard already, crazy fool,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. Anne tried her best to keep her face of coolness upon the comment.

“I’ll tell you Anne, the boy has been working himself to the bone lately. Can��t help but think something’s troubling him, but he dodges giving me a proper answer anytime I ask him about it. You wouldn’t happen to know what’s gotten him quieter than a church mouse, would you?”

A fresh wave of guilt overcame her as she bit down on her lip. “Uhhh...no...no clue,” she stuttered quickly, cursing herself for the unconvincing reply. She turned to begin making a warm bottle for Delphine as she searched for something more believable to add. “Maybe he’s worried about Queen’s?” she offered, picking up a glass bottle with one hand and setting it on the table. “I know I am.” This was true. It was a matter of weeks before Marilla and Matthew would be dropping her off at the school in Charlottetown and the remembrance of this fact made her heart ache in melancholy.

Several beats of silence passed between them before she glanced over at him. “Hmm…’suppose you could have a point,” was all he said, his eyes wearing an expression of curiosity and his tone full of doubt. Anne had a feeling he could see straight through her deceit. “Well I best be going out to the orchard. We’ll be coming in later for some lunch. See you my Delly Welly!”

“Say ‘Bye Papa’,” she replied with a grin, holding up Delphine’s hand in a waving motion. Bash returned the wave with one of his own and then turned around to exit through the back door, Anne’s nerves rattling almost as loudly as the darn thing when he shut it closed.

She sighed a breath of relief, turning back to finish her job with the baby’s bottle. His words had not been of a comfort to her in the slightest. The fault for Gilbert’s reserved behavior was entirely her doing, and to think, it could have been avoided altogether if she was not such a dunce when romantic feelings were involved. For an individual who spent a majority of her lifetime envisioning love and devising hundreds of stories filled with romantic dialogue and gestures, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s naivety toward navigating it in real-life was mystifying.

The redhead spent the rest of the morning, reading stories, singing songs, and watching Delphine crawl around the house, constantly having to keep an eye on her since the little girl had a tendency to put everything she found in her mouth. By the time the afternoon rolled around, the baby seemed to have worn herself out, and Anne sighed in contentment when she fell fast asleep in her basket.

Anne leaned her head on the wooden bench next to the baby’s basket and closed her eyes, intending only to keep them shut for a brief moment. Working in the field the day before and waking up early that morning had taken a toll on her. Not to mention the restless fits of sleep she experienced every night since Josie’s party. She would only rest for a few minutes longer…

+++++

When she awoke, the first thing she noticed was Delphine was gone. Anne jolted upright, her eyes scanning the floor around her, assuming she must have crawled right out of her basket. How long had she slept for? Muttering curses at herself under her breath, she pulled herself off the ground, smoothing down her dress as she went, and startled in a surprise at the person who sat before her.

“Gilbert,” Anne breathed in greeting, her heart quickening its pace, then dropping down to her stomach when she fully took in his appearance. His muscular, tanned, and very sweaty, exposed chest was on display for her to gawk at from where she stood. He glanced up from where he was eating, and she averted her gaze down to her hands, which she was wringing together desperately in an attempt to regain her composure.

“Anne,” she heard him say in acknowledgement, the sound of his voice like a cold glass of water on a dry day to her parched ears.

She risked a glance back at him, his eyes still very much glued to her. “Delphine--I was looking for--” Anne started, suddenly recalling the missing infant.

Gilbert cut in before she could finish. “Bash took her out for a walk in the orchard. He told me he thought that you could use the break.”

“Oh well that was kind of him, but hardly necessary,” she stammered, her face surely an unattractive shade of dark red. Gilbert took another bite of his food, leaving her to continue standing awkwardly across from him.

Did he have no sense of decency? Of course it was boiling hot outside, but surely that did not mean he could not put his shirt back on when inside of the house. Especially with her being in the same room as him.

“Anne, you’ve been asleep for at least an hour. Bash and I needed the break. It’s hot enough to cause a heat stroke if you’re out there for too long today,” he informed her indifferently, going back to his food again and finally looking away from her.

The girl chewed restlessly on her lower lip, the words that had been building up since the night of Josie’s party threatening to burst out of her at any second. “Gilbert I wanted---” she tried helplessly, her thought catching in her throat. His dark brown eyes lifted from his plate, a guarded expression to them. She had enough.

“I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to leave you without saying a thing about what happened that night. You have every right to be mad and hurt at me. In fact, I almost wish you would yell at me right now because I truly deserve it. You are a good person who is worthy of someone far more sophisticated and beautiful and coherent than me. I am no more than an intoxicated fool who assumed she had some right to kiss you and touch you,” Anne’s voice trembling with unabashed honesty for once, laying herself bare for him to see. “I miss you. Your companionship and wisdom. Your kindness and patience. For I know I can be as stubborn as a mule and hot-headed with my temper and brash with my words--”

“Anne,” Gilbert broke in before she could finish her lament of her worst features, which slightly annoyed her since she wasn’t done listing all of the reasons why he should be cross with her. He rose from his seat and walked toward her, leaning back against the edge of the table so they were only feet apart. Waiting nervously for him to speak, she chanced a glance down at the freckle on his chest, directly beneath his collarbone.

“I was hurt,” he admitted quietly. “You drive me mad sometimes, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.” His tone raised slightly and the copper-headed girl braced herself for his assault. This is what she deserved and she would take every insult he threw with acceptance.

“But you Anne--you are the most sophisticated, beautiful, and coherent person that I know.” She could have sworn her heart stopped beating in her chest when she heard him utter those words instead. “You have been all of those things, and so much more, since the first day I met you,” he confessed reverently.

His fingers reached out to rest cautiously on her chin and she lifted her head to look at him once more. This time, daring herself to hope again. She could see the softness returning to his face as she lost herself in the affectionate glow of his eyes. Her flesh erupted in goosebumps as his knuckles trailed up and down her cheek in a gentle rhythm, just like they had after she kissed him.

“I--I think I’m desperately in love with you Gil,” Anne gushed so openly that she almost smacked her hand over her mouth in shock. Perhaps he would run for the hills now after hearing such a bold declaration.

To her dismay, a low chuckle bellowed from Gilbert’s chest, then he was laughing to the point of hysterics, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes and running down his cheeks. Anne didn’t know whether to feel offended or content that this is how he chose to respond to her admission of love. “Are you sure you’re not the one who is drunk this time?” she mirthfully questioned, swatting him lightly on the arm.

He regained his composure, pulling her into a close embrace as he grinned down at her, his cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling in happiness. “Anne-girl, there has been no one for me, but you. The moment you broke that slate across my head, I was a gone man. Never would I have dreamed that you would ever--”

Anne pressed her lips against his, silencing him, for she had heard everything that she already knew to be true deep down. Kissing him in his kitchen, the sun beating down heavily through the window, his hands steadying her, his heartbeat echoing her own, was everything she had ever wanted. She brought her fingers up into his unruly hair, this time feeling damp from sweat, but she could hardly care. His lips broke from hers and started trailing along her cheek then jaw then neck, leaving a searing mark on each inch of skin as he went.

“Gilbert,” she sighed, her brain a blur of euphoria. She could feel his smile in the crook of her neck as he pressed another kiss to a freckle he was quite intent on appreciating.

“Oi Blythe! Shirley!” The teenagers broke apart so rapidly Gilbert nearly toppled over the table. “What are you thinking, setting an example like this, in front of your poor niece,” Bash exclaimed loudly, bouncing the baby in his arms. “Don’t worry Delly, your papa will protect you from these two heathens,” he teased mercilessly, covering Delphine’s eyes.

Anne and Gilbert both released laughs of pent up awkwardness from the unexpected guest and gave each other timid looks.

“Next time, put a shirt on Blythe,” Bash declared, tossing him the one long forgotten from on the table. Gilbert accepted the item and pulled it over his head as Bash left the room, shaking his own head and smirking to himself.

+++++

Gilbert took the opportunity to walk her back to Green Gables after dinner, her hand fitting securely into the crook of his arm. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder. The pair chatted amiably about the events that had unfolded during the week. She recited a new poem she had learned for Matthew, and Gilbert gave her a sidelong look of wonder like he couldn’t quite believe that she was real.

When they got to the gate in front of Green Gables, Anne was mournful to depart from him, despite knowing that they would be reunited tomorrow at the church picnic.

“So---that tragical romance you mentioned back at Mary and Bash’s wedding...,” Gilbert started unexpectedly, his gaze intent on her from across the fence.

“No longer remains to be seen,” Anne finished, reaching to stroke his cheek comfortingly.

Gilbert let out a sigh of relief and ducked to steal another kiss from her before Marilla called out from the front door. “Anne! Is that you?”

They both laughed quietly at the older woman’s outburst. “I guess that’s my cue,” the girl lamented, taking his hand in hers, not quite accepting the events that conspired today were real.

“Goodnight my Anne-girl.” Gilbert gave her hand a squeeze, and let her go, backing up slowly, his eyes remaining on her as he went. Anne watched him blissfully until she heard Marilla call her name again.

She spun around merrily and skipped to the house, her heart soaring with the knowledge that she was loved very dearly by Gilbert Blythe.

tagging: @hecksinki, @blarkeshirbert, @autummn-leaves, @ewolfwitchwisegirl, @leadingmehome, @melanneniel, @youcalledusremember, @neliel-deathberry, @blackxones BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST <3 <3

#anne with an e #awae #shirbert #shirbert ff #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert #anne with an e season 3 #no spoilers here though #final installment #here's to episode 5 my friends!#WE'RE ALMOST THERE #ellie writes

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Thank You for the Apples

Pairings: Morinozuka Takashi x Reader

Genre/Ratings: Sick!Reader, comfort fluff

Words: 1200

Summary: You’ve got a migraine. But you’ve also got Mori.

Inspired by literally my exact situation right now. Except I had to cut up my own apples because sadly I have no Mori.

A knock on the door stirs you from a hazy, drug-induced sleep. To your dismay, the pounding in your head intensifies the moment your eyes flutter open. Ice, heat, tens units, acupuncture mats, all the prescriptions at your disposal- literally nothing is touching your migraine. The second you woke this morning you knew from the ache in your skull it was going to be a bad day, so you hunkered down with anything you could find that might help ease the oncoming storm and braced yourself for the pain to come.

Oh, did it come.

Despite your room being completely dark and silent, the only thing moving being a fan lazily circulating stale air, everything is too bright and too loud. You’re hot and cold all at once, your capacity for thought is wavering in and out, and the lingering unpleasantness of nausea is still low in the pit of your stomach.

Another knock. Whoever they are, they’re not going away.

A pitiful groan escapes from you as you sit up. Blood rushes to your head, and you grip your sheets as you blink away spots. As you feel around for your glasses on the bedside table, your clumsy hand brushes them onto the floor. The clatter of the metal frames against wood makes you wince. There’s no way in hell you’re going to lean over and get them- they wouldn’t make much difference anyways, what with the migraine making your vision blurry. Shaky, you stand and pull your robe tighter around you, then keep one hand on the wall as you shuffle to open the door. Christ, you can’t even walk straight. Thank god you had the foresight to stay home from school today.

You can’t exactly see the person standing on your welcome mat, but based on their height it can only be one person. “Mori. Hi.”

“Y/N. Are you okay? You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I had it-” you wave a hand vaguely behind you, trying to find the words. “It’s… off.” God, this is taking to much energy already. You can physically feel your neck crumbling from trying to hold up the weight of your head. “Sorry.”

“Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, you move aside to let him into your apartment, which also pitch black. Even the little on/off lights of your electronics and the clock on the microwave are covered in post-it notes to dim the glow. Thank god Mori knows how to walk lightly- the sound of his footsteps don’t send nails through your skull as they echo on the floor. You close the door as quietly as you can, even though a sudden tremor running through your arm makes you slam it the last few inches.

For a moment, Mori just stands there, taking in your muted apartment and frail frame. You don’t even say anything, too zoned out from pain and medicine and restless sleep. You just kind of stand there, holding yourself, trying not to fall apart until you can get yourself back to bed. When Mori pads over and puts a finger under your chin, raising your face so he can inspect your glassy eyes with a concerned look, you try (and fail miserably) at giving him a smile.

“Migraine?” You make a small noise of confirmation. “What have you taken.”

“Uh…” you try to think back to this morning. Or was it a few hours ago? What time is it? “Everything?”

He sighs slowly before putting a strong hand on your shoulder and guiding you gently back to your room. You let him, not thinking about anything else but letting yourself collapse back onto your mattress. Which you do, but that only results in pins and needles shooting through your whole body, and that hurts. Ever so carefully, you wiggle yourself into a position that will have to pass as comfortable and close your eyes again.

Dimly, you can hear pills rattling- he’s checking to see what you took, going through the bottles sprawled on the bedside table and making a mental note so you can write it down later and keep track of everything. Mori’s good like that. He knows you can’t remember jack squat when you’re like this. When he’s done more firmly tucking your blackout curtains into the crevices of your window, banishing even the smallest pinprick of light, he delicately sits down on the edge of your bed. “How bad is it?”

You huff. “Prob’ly should go to the hospital.” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. “I really don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

“I can call Kyoya-”

“Noooooooooooo!” Your whine is pitiful. “I’ve still got too many bruises from the last visit.” You wave the arm that has splotchy purple patches and tape burn on the inside of your elbow in the air listlessly to prove your point, then let it flop back down. “I just need…” there’s a pause as the gears in your brain try to turn. “I dunno.”

Gently, you feel a few steady fingers run themselves through your hair, pushing back the strands that have escaped your bun off of your forehead. “Would you like me to stay?”

Oh god yes please please please please. Sitting in the dark all day gets really lonely. “Noooo, I know you’ve gotta host stuff and kendo and… stuff. ‘S fine, I’m fine.”

Apparently he doesn’t hear your mental pleading, because he gets up and tucks a blanket around your shoulders before leaving the bedroom. Damn it. You sigh helplessly, resigning yourself to a long night of horribleness, when you hear some rummaging in your kitchen- a drawer shutting, the fridge opening. What’s he doing?

A few minutes later Mori returns with a plate in one hand. The tie and jacket from his uniform have been discarded, and his sleeves rolled up. He motions for you to scoot over and you do so, leaving him room to lay down next to you with the plate of something in between you.

You squint at the unidentifiable objects. They smell slightly sweet. “What’re you doin’?”

“You need to eat something.” His voice is calm and leaves room for no arguments.

You wrinkle your nose anyways. “Mmmmmmmmmmmno.”

“Yes. I know you haven’t eaten anything today.” I mean, he’s right, but it’s kind of hard to eat when you feel like you’re about to throw up every two minutes. “Open.”

Obediently, you open your mouth, and an apple slice appears by your face. Crunch. It hurts to chew, but the coolness of the fruit also takes a little bit of the pain away. A little bit. The two of you sit like this for a while; Mori patiently feeding you bits of apple while you float between eating and dozing.

Eventually, the food gets put aside and you curl up next to him, letting your head rest on his chest and listening to his heartbeat thump away. One of his arms is wrapped around you, and he traces small patterns on the skin between your sweatshirt and pajama shorts because he knows it helps you sleep. “Bes’ boyfriend ever.”

You’re rewarded with a kiss on the forehead, soft and lingering, and a rumble of thanks before you fall back off to sleep.

#ohshc mori #mori x reader #ohshc fic #ouran host club #ouran hshc #ouran fic #reader insert #sick fic #yay migraines

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hillnerd · 5 years

Text

The Wonderful Won Won - ch 5

ff.net A03 tumblr Chapter word count- 11524 [PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[start at the beginning]

BIG, GIANT, HUMONGOUS THANKS TO @diva-gonzo- for being so kind and being my beta/editor for this! It was a GIANT chapter to go through!!! Go and check out their work!!! Diva is an amazing writer!

Trigger warnings: cursing, hospital, medical injuries (brain damage, memory issues, agraphia), negative thoughts about one’s own disabilities

====================================================

CHAPTER 5- Bedpans and Broomsticks

The first few days awake in the hospital wing were bleary ones. Ron had difficulty remembering all the various daily moments without consulting an ever-growing stack of parchments with reminders. Any lapse in memory was fine though, as he had Hermione there to remind him of anything he forgot. He forgot quite a bit, considering how much Hermione had to remind him.

Ron felt exhilarated to see his friends on a weekday. It was excruciating being remanded to the hospital wing, waiting for people to come to him, and with very little to do. He loathed sitting still for too long. Sure he loved to laze about, but it’d be with the knowledge he could do anything he liked later. At home having the freedom to read comics, eat some ice mice, play chess or go for a fly made even a lazy day where he did nothing but sleep and do chores pleasant.

Having nothing to do in a hospital wing was a different thing altogether. Enforced laziness wasn’t fun. Harry had brought him his chess set, and a couple of chocolate frogs. Ginny brought him some Quidditch magazines. Hermione brought him loads of homework and her highly detailed notes from their shared classes. He couldn’t do the work, though. Not that he didn’t try. The moment he’d start reading an assignment by the end of a paragraph he’d have forgotten most of what he’d read.

He tried taking notes, but holding a quill and controlling it enough to even ink the quill made his whole arm spasm within five minutes, and the concentration it took to process words and spell them made him rage with frustration. He wasn’t a genius like Hermione but he’d always been bright enough that school wasn’t that hard for him and he could float by without much effort. Now it took all his willpower to write his name legibly and he even struggled to spell it. Pomfrey called it Agraphia, or the inability to process words to write them, and assured him that this would all come back, that it was all temporary. It was of little reassurance when experiencing the strange fear and crazed feeling of being unable to spell and write your name, a task he’d been able to do easily since he was four years old.

His family had all written to him, sans Percy, with Mum sending a few follow ups when he hadn’t replied. They sat unanswered. There was no way for him to reply. He could barely sign a letter, much less write one. He kept trying to will his way through them, but all it lead to headaches and fatigue.

Despite spending all his days in bed, the hospital wing thoroughly exhausted him. No matter what activities his friends brought him he was unable to enjoy them, and it wasn’t relaxing in a hospital. He was in pain or at least uncomfortable all day and night. Pain potions didn’t help much and when they did, he slept. Every night he was awoken a few times as Pomfrey came to administer spells and potions, or just check the room. What sleep he got was light and restless, plagued by nightmares of choking to death or being unable to control his body. The fear would jerk him awake and it would take hours to fall asleep again.

“How did you sleep?” Pomfrey asked, as she did her early morning round, waking him a good hour earlier than he ever woke on his own.

“Fine,” Ron lied, sitting up fully in bed as she spelled the bed to support him. “I think I can manage class today. I’m feeling good, now.”

She looked at him with a hint of agitation. Maybe he gave it away by not looking at her directly. She knew he was exaggerating, but Ron couldn’t help but hope she’d let him out of his prison, even if for an hour or two. He saw a hint of a smile on her face before she squared up in front of him.

“Oh? You’re ‘feeling good?’ Well let’s test you just to make sure. Please raise both your arms straight in front of you.”

Ron quickly complied. That was easy enough. They almost immediately began to ache as he held them aloft. He was so weak he could feel them imperceptibly begin to shake.

“I am going to press down on them, and I need you to push back to keep your arms in the same position.”

Ron nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on keeping his face neutral, and his arms firm and unshaking.

She gently pushed down on his arms. He forced himself into keeping his arms aloft, but his head began to swim, and they were quickly pushed down to his lap by the Matron.

“I’m sorry, Mr Weasley. You haven’t regained the strength and stamina needed to attend your classes. Just getting to one of them right now would be too much for your body.”

Ron nearly cursed and wanted to throw something, but he was too exhausted to do it. He hated being weak like this. It wanted to bash his brains in, feeling so useless. He always felt a bit useless, which he hated, but at least he could combat it by just being there for people. He might not be the smartest, the most talented, good looking, or even useful but he had grit, and he was good at just being consistently present. At least, he tried to be that. Maybe he wasn’t even any good at that. He’d had a pretty bad track record of being there for Hermione, and his falling out with Harry their fourth year. And now he was sitting in the hospital wing unable to help them with anything at all.

He hated to admit it, and flat out refused to tell Madam Pomphrey, but he was utterly spent. Blimey! He’d toss Harry off the top of a tower to get a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Not sleeping wasn’t helping his memory issues get any better.

He swore if he had one more friend say they’d said something to him already he’d scream!

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and Ron feigned sleep, just in case it was Lavender. He knew the moment he paid her a lick of attention the newfound peace he’d found with Hermione would vanish, and Ron really didn’t know if his heart could take losing Hermione again. He would surely mess it up all on his own eventually, but he’d be damned if he’d let her slip away today. The footsteps sounded like the fast little rhythm of Hermione’s, but he didn’t dare open his eyes until he heard her laugh.

“Ron, I know you’re not asleep!” she said with a bit of a giggle that made him smile in turn as he opened his eyes. He’d never take her smile for granted ever again.

“How’d you know?” He sat up slightly in the bed.

“Because you snore every time you’re asleep for more than a minute or so.”

“What? Naw, I don’t. Not all the time.”

“Believe me, you do,” she said with a smile. “Harry’s mentioned it too, and he gets far more of an earful than anyone else, I imagine.”

“Is it loud? I don’t sound like a dragon rattling the timbers or anything, do I?”

“No, I'd say your snoring is something akin to the sound a bear makes.”

Ron flinched in embarrassment.

“A smallish bear,” she added with a small smile. “Well, now at least. You’ll probably have it get worse as you get older. I don’t envy anyone sleeping with you by then.”

Ron’s mind flew to a vision of he and Hermione settling into bed, an old married couple, her poking him in his back as he snored. It was the most domestic, and least sexy thing he’d ever imagined about Hermione in his life, yet somehow his cheeks began to burn what was surely a deep red.

“Oh don’t worry,” she said, eyeing his red face and taking a seat on his bed as she had for the past two mornings. “I’m sure there are lots of solutions for it; silencing spells or something. At least you don’t have sleep apnea.”

“I’ve no clue what that is.”

“It’s a condition where you stop breathing in your sleep for a moment or two. Mum and Dad have a fair few patients with it and the Muggle devices for it are ridiculous. They put a breathing apparatus with long tubes on your face, and you have to do it every night. It’s quite mad, really.”

“Where do the tubes go?” he asked, horrified.

“It’s a face mask that sits around the nose, and sometimes mouth area.”

“Sounds thoroughly miserable. I’m picturing it like the pipes in the bathroom going up the nose.”

“No no, it’s plastic bendy tubes. More looks like a jellyfish sitting on your face than a metal pipe.”

The two of them smiled as he budged over a bit more so she should sit with her back supported by the inclined bed.

“Are you able to come to class today?” she asked.

“I wish. And it’s Herbology then Potions today, right?” He asked looking to her to confirm. She nodded and he let out a relieved sigh. His memory was slowly improving, though not fast enough for his liking. He’d never been a Hermione, able to memorize books of information, but he’d always been pretty good at recall. The poisoning had left him struggling to remember innocuous details, and was easily distracted as he lost sight of what he was doing. He’d almost lost in chess a few times.

“I thought I could maybe do class today, but Pomfrey did a test on me, and I’m still… Well I’m still pretty useless right now.”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said, holding his hand. His hands at least had gotten well enough that he could hold her hand almost normally again. “You’ll be better soon, and then you’ll be back to outstripping us all with your long legs, coming to class and playing Quidditch.”

“Yeah…” Ron said with a sigh. “I’m hoping they want me back for Quidditch. I dunno if I’ll be cleared to play again. I hope so. McLaggen’s replacing me while I’m out, and he’s a really good Quidditch player so— ”

“He’s not as good as you.”

“I dunno.... He seems pretty damned confident about his skills and did really well at tryouts.”

“But he didn’t beat you, did he?” Hermione interjected. “Plus he has the personality of a skrewt. Trust me, no one will want to keep him around.”

“You were able to keep him around for Slughorn’s party,” Ron said before her could stop himself.

“Well… That was only one night. And it was rather awful, if I’m honest. That’s why I left the party early as I did.”

“It was? You didn’t ‘finish the evening’ another time?”

“Definitely not.”

Ron felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“You really think he’s a berk?”

“Yes.”

“And you… You didn’t go out on another date with him?”

“No.”

Ron was positively beaming. She wasn’t involved with McLaggen. He had a slight worry about the team preferring that arse, but the one person whose preference most mattered didn’t like McLaggen at all. Instead she was sitting in a hospital wing, on Ron’s bed, holding his hand. He found his other hand coming round to draw circles on her hand.

“Would you like to play some chess?” Hermione asked, a little flush working its way across her cheeks.

“Naw, I’m fine doin’ this,” he replied, unable to catch her eye as he was content to stroke her tiny cold hand. Her hands were always so cold, like little ice packs, but it felt wonderful when she’d take one and put it against his overheated face. He’d never appreciated fever fudge more than when it got Hermione to check his temperature fall of fifth year. He’d blushed almost purple between her touching him, and the effects of the sweet.

“I wish you could come to class,” Hermione said quietly.

“I’d be more useless than usual at them,” Ron said with a snort. He hadn’t told Hermione how he couldn’t really write. He was fine with her thinking he was procrastinating, because at least he’d have a semblance of pride. “Plus, me being gone isn’t that big of a change for you, is it? We weren’t exactly spending that much time together in class the past few months.”

“No we weren’t,” she said, worrying her bottom lip. They hadn’t spoken about their months long rift, and Ron didn’t feel capable of truly broaching the subject with her, even if part of him wanted to. “But still, you were there.”

She clutched firmly at his hand.

“You’re always there, even if things aren’t going well, and I don’t like looking over to find you’re not there. Plus Harry looks so lonely without you next to him.”

“He gets on fine without me, I’m sure.” His ears gave away his lie.

“No he doesn’t,” Hermione argued back. He wished she’d said she couldn’t get on without him either, but it wasn’t in Hermione’s nature to lie. She might not like Ron missing or whatever, but she certainly didn’t need him. No one really did, not even Harry.

Harry was awkward with other people, but he could get on without him in the picture. This year, at least, half the school were drooling to get a piece of Harry, so it’d be easy enough for him to find plenty of new friends. Much of the time it felt like a matter of time until Harry would move on to better friends than him. Sometimes he thought the only reason Harry kept him about was to have an in with the Weasley clan, and have the loving family he’d always deserved.

He didn’t resent it most of the time. He was happy to give his family to Harry. They might all be perfectly mad, and more than half of them annoying, but they were a brilliant family most of the time. They preferred Harry to him anyways, and after everything Harry had done and been through, he had little inclination to become territorial over them. He didn’t have much he could share with his best friend, but he sure had an overabundance of family.

Dad loved to corner Harry to learn about Muggle things, Mum would go out of her way to fatten up Harry and croon over his newest accomplishment, Charlie and Bill had immense respect for him, the Twins shared all sorts of secrets with Harry and even gave him free merchandise and Ginny seemed to have grown rather close with him too the last few years. The only Weasley who didn’t seem to prefer Harry over Ron was Percy, but that was only because of the Ministry. Ron was certain it was only a matter of time until Percy joined in too. It did hurt at times knowing his family liked and admired his friend more than they ever did him, but there was no use in mourning it. It was just one of those things he had to accept, like being poor, maroon sweaters, or corned beef sandwiches. Hermione seemed to like and admire Harry more too. He couldn’t blame her on that. Ron knew how grumpy and argumentative he could be, and how Harry excelled at everything and was ‘fanciable.’ Well…

“You alright?” Hermione asked, drawing him from his ponderings.

“Yeah,” he said, removing his hand from hers and giving a stretch. It wasn’t all that rare for him to get lost in thought, but since the poisoning it was a lot easier. “Might be up for that chess game after all.”

“Oh! I can fetch it for you.”

She hopped down from the bed and the lovely sensation of her pressed to his side was gone.

They began to set the chess pieces up on his wheeled overbed table. Ron’s hand spasmed as he put a knight in place, sending the pieces spilling and clacking across the table.

“Bleeding fuck! Sod it!” Ron snarled pushing the table away and covering his face in frustration. A few of the pieces cursed back as they picked themselves upright.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“Don’t bother, I doubt I can even play properly! I can’t do anything anymore!” he lamented, looking to the ceiling.

“You’re getting better every day! You can even feed yourself now, and—”

“Oh there’s a big achievement,” he cheeked. “Ron Weasley can finally feed himself. How bloody spectacular! Next we can have people line up to watch Ron wipe his own arse. A real treat, that! What a useless sod I am...”

“You know what?” Hermione admonished. “Since you’re feeling useless, why don’t you reply to your letters or do your homework? They’re really piling up and— ”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, honestly! I know it’s not fun, but you need to see to your responsibilities, and it will give you something to pass the time. Here, I’ll get your textbooks and papers. Professor Snape’s Defense essay is quite grueling really, and it will take some time to do it. I spent hours just picking the books to use for my research, and I don’t think he’ll give you an extension, even with being poisoned. I’ll just fetch them, and we can make a rough outline of what research we want to use.”

“I’m not doing it now, so don’t bother. You really don’t need to!” Ron protested, hoping she wouldn’t open his satchel and see the sad attempts he’d made at the essay already. He’d been able to hide the child-like ink scribblings for days, despite her being drawn to his parchment and books like Dobby was drawn to socks. She pushed ahead though and started rifling through his bedside table. The idea of her seeing what an imbecile he’d become made him reel in panic.

“Really, don’t!” Ron said, scrambling out of the bed. He got one leg to the floor before it shook and gave out, pitching his whole body onto the side table with a loud crash as the lamp and all the other contents fell to the floor. Hermione narrowly avoided his shoulder crashing into her face by leaping out the way, and he struggled to hold himself from falling to the ground as the table precariously clacked against the flagstone floor.

“Mr Weasley! What are you doing?” Pomfrey cried out at the calamitous sound. She bustled over and got him back in the bed. “You aren’t supposed to leave the bed without help, and you know it! What were you thinking? If you had smacked your head in its unstable state you could have seriously inhibited your recovery!”

“Sorry,” he miserably gritted out between his panting hard breaths.

“Attempt it again and I’ll tie you to the bed, young man.”

“I won’t! I won’t!” That was the last blow to his dignity he could take. He huffed as Pomfrey and Hermione silently gathered everything that had fallen to the ground, and willed himself not to throw anything or cry in front of them. He couldn’t even stand. Pathetic. His whole body was trembling like he’d been running through the Department of Mysteries. With Hermione looking at him with concern, he turned his body away and it automatically collapsed in on itself like a quivering fold-away cot.

“I’ll have some breakfast for you soon,” said Madame Pomfrey rather quietly, before leaving his side.

He errantly nodded in response, unable to speak. He could hear Hermione shuffling the papers together behind him. If she had papers in her hand, she was reading them. She’d see the childish scrawl, the holes his quill had pressed through the paper, and multiple attempts to write his own name.

“Where would you like me to put these?”

Ron gave a weary sigh.

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere. Burn em. Useless, aren’t they?”

“We don’t have to do any homework now. You’re tired. I will go.”

“You don’t have to go,” Ron muttered into his pillow before slowly turning towards her.

Hermione carefully perched upon his bed before holding up his papers.

“Were you going to tell me you’re having trouble writing??” she asked with affected calmness. He could tell by the hunch of her shoulders, the tension of her neck, and the small scrunch of her brows she was anything but calm.

Ron shook his head and she sighed in return.

“I wouldn’t have pushed you if I knew!”

“You also wouldn’t know I’m currently an illiterate halfwit!”

“Only currently?” Hermione teased.

“Yes, hex me when I’m disarmed. Real nice, that,” Ron groused and she made an effort to suppress her smile.

“You’ll find a way to cope. This is all tempor— ”

“Temporary? It’s bloody humiliating, is what it is! Knowing it’s temporary doesn’t suddenly make it a treat, Hermione. Mum and the whole lot keep poking me to write back, and all this work is piling up- meanwhile I’m— I’m…”

Ron swallowed roughly.

“YOU try not being able to spell your own fucking name. Let’s see how you’d ‘cope’ if anyone knew. And you wonder why I didn’t tell you... It’s cause who wants to tell the smartest girl in the world they can’t write or spell because their brain is broken. I wasn’t going to tell you that, and if you weren’t so bloody nosy, I could have a shred of dignity left for myself, but I guess that’s off the fucking table isn’t it?”

Without a word, Hermione primly rose from the bed, and walked away, her quick little strides making a beeline for the door. Ron swore under his breath. He knew he’d ruin things with her as he always did, but he thought he might get a bit more time than a few days.

“Wait, please don’t go! I’m sorry!” Ron yelled after her as best as he could. Her strides didn’t slow down at all, but instead of going through the doors she made a detour for the supply closet. He could hear her rattling about in the cupboard, and a series of metal clanks, before she strode over to him with a bedpan in hand.

“Er, I don’t have to…” Ron began, looking at her with incredulity. Surely she didn’t expect him to use the loo in front of her!

“Put the parchment in it,” she said, a bit cooly.

“What?” he croaked.

She rolled her eyes, and thrust the bedpan at him.

“Put the parchment in the bedpan.”

He did as she commanded, warily eyeing her, unsure of what her game was. She wasn’t going to conjure up birds to peck at him again, he was mostly certain.

“You can set fire to it either with a wand or matches. Which would you prefer?”

“What?”

“You said you wanted me to ‘burn them.’ So we’re doing just that. Now, wand or matches?”

“Pomfrey will freak if I use my wand.”

“She doesn’t have to know. It’s your choice, either way,” Hermione said, her eyes fervently boring a hole into him. She could set fire the parchment with just that look.

“I’ll… I’ll stick with matches… Haven’t tried any wandwork yet. Don’t want to set fire to the bed ‘cause I can’t do the movement right...”

“I’m sure you would do fine either way, but I agree it’s safer to do matches,” Hermione nodded. She shifted through her book bag for a while and found an old quill. She snapped it into a few pieces then transfigured them into matches and a striking surface.

“There! Ready when you are,” she said with satisfaction, before throwing a hint of a smile his way. “Are there any more papers to burn?”

“Got a few stuffed in my potions book. Feel free to burn the book at the same time, if you like.”

He knew it’d prickle her to hear him speaking of burning any book, and was rewarded with her familiar foreboding glare.

“If it was Harry’s potions book I would add it to the pyre,” Hermione sniffed. She gathered all the offending parchments and jammed them into the white bedpan. Ron grinned at her, still incredulous at her sudden bout of pyromania.

“You do the honors,” she smiled again, handing him the matches.

He had trouble grasping them, and fumbled the first two matches so poorly the tips turned black without producing any fire. The final match he managed to strike in a straight line, and it burst into a small glowing flame. He and Hermione shared a smile, the kind of private breathless smile they had enjoyed after she lied to McGonagall in first year, or after she had slapped Malfoy, or after she had kissed his cheek last year. The flames were almost to his fingertips, but he dared the flames to stay back a moment longer, just so he could continue to look at her warm brown eyes and the flicker of fire in them.

“Don’t burn yourself,” she whispered to him, before glancing down at the match.

He licked his lips then let go of the match, smiling with satisfaction as the parchment slowly lit up. They sat and watched the flames flicker before growing a deep orange that ate away at the papers, eviscerating all evidence of Ron’s struggles.

Hermione cuddled up beside him, her small hand working its way into his pale freckled one for the second time that morning.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered.

“About the writing, or you being a pyro?” he said, trying to keep a tender look off his face.

She gave him a nudge in the ribs then put her head on his shoulder. Her bushy hair tickled his nose a bit, but he’d gladly have a whole handful of her hair choking him if it meant he had even one more moment of her to himself like this. He’d never thought a bedpan could be entrancing, but Hermione could make anything entrancing really.

The flames grew too high to stay safe so Hermione finally moved from his side to extinguish them.

She had to leave, eventually, to make it to class, but in her absence, his pleasant fiery morning with Hermione kept a smile on his face for hours.

She'd promised she'd being Pig later and would help him compose some letters. "We'll just say you can't do small motor movements yet," she'd assured him when he opened his mouth to protest.

Hours later, while everyone was at class, Ron contentedly napped on and off, thinking of Hermione and the shine of her eyes as she helped him set his parchment aflame.

However, he still had his problem. Each time the doors made a noise he’d open an eye to see who it was. Harry came by before lunch, mood looking foul.

He marched into the hospital wing, a prodigious frown on his face. The air around Harry seemed to frizzle with fractious energy when he was angry, and today was no exception. His green glare pierced its way across the hospital wing, and Ron cautiously sat up, wondering how he could help Harry calm down a bit.

Ron tried to school himself into a nice neutral mood for Harry, but it was difficult to hide his own light mood as his friend stomped over.

“What’s got you in such high spirits?” Harry irritably inquired. Ron knew not to take it personally. He might have been in a snit, but it was rare Harry could see through his own mood to ask Ron about his. Being an invalid had its perks, he guessed. Harry flopped onto the foot of Ron’s bed, throwing his book back to the ground with a great thump. “Feeling any better?”

“A bit, yeah,” said Ron, biting back a grin as he eyed the charred bedpan in the corner.

“Good! You’d better recover quickly. I can’t take another moment of McLaggen!”

“Oh yeah? How’s he shaping up?” Ron asked, nervous to hear the answer.

“He’s a complete disaster. His Keeping is fine when he stays in position and minds his business, but fat chance of that.”

“Oh?” Ron sat up taller. “What’s the bellend done now?”

“What hasn’t he done? Harangues me nonstop about Quidditch strategy wherever I go. It’s this constant stream of terrible advice! But he’s even worse at practice. He keeps interfering with everybody and trying to direct the way the practice runs and tell people how to play their position.Makes for absolute chaos on the field. I could barely Captain and he barely let anyone else play their positions either. If he’s not grabbing Coote’s beater bat, he’s vying for the snitch, or he’s hogging the ball as if he’s a Chaser to hold demonstrations on how to play.”

“Oh I bet Ginny doesn’t like that!” Ron said with barely contained glee.

“No she doesn’t.” Harry had fond look on his face. “Had to stop her from hexing him about five times. Finally missed her once practice was over.”

“Did you actually miss, or did you let her do the dirty work for you?”

“As Captain I would never condone someone hexing another team member,” Harry said with mock solemnity, but his wry smile was showing through. “I told her which specific spells I didn’t want to see any team members inflict on one another. How was I to know she’d use one of those very spells on him not minutes later?”

“Oh yeah, no one could have predicted that! What’s a Captain to do?” Ron laughed along with his friend. “What spell did she use?”

“Waddiwassi. Shoved the snitch right up his nose. He’ll probably drag himself in here soon enough since I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to remove it for him, the prat.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that,” Ron beamed.

“Maybe they’ll shut the school down and then I won’t have to deal with this shit anymore,” said Harry, laying back on the bed to glare at the ceiling.

“Why would they want to shut it down?”

“Oh Hagrid was going off about what’ll happen if students keep getting attacked.”

“Well either you me or Hermione has nearly died every year and I’ve not gotten so much as one holiday for it, so I think that notion is a load of bollocks,” said Ron, wobbly putting his arms behind his head. “Even if Dumbledore himself got chucked, there’d be old McGongall and the rest of the staff to keep it together well enough. Even Snape wouldn’t want Hogwarts to shut down. Then he’d have to spend all his time with the Order, who he hates. That or face being a full-time Death Eater.”

“Maybe he already is one,” said Harry darkly, not giving any more information. Ron gave him an expectant look, and finally Harry relented. “Hagrid told us he heard Dumbledore and Snape having an argument the other day. A bad one. Snape was saying he ‘didn’t want to do something anymore,’ and Dumbledore said Snape had ‘promised to.’ He was really ticked at Snape, it seems.”

“Cor! I’ve always wondered if Dumbledore thought he was as big a prick as we did. What do you suppose Snape’s trying to avoid?”

“Investigating the Slytherins properly. He’s protecting Draco somehow.”

And they were at that again.

“Look, I know Draco wants me as dead as anyone,” Ron began, “but he wouldn’t have been after me—”

“There was no way he could have targeted you with the mead, I know that. All of this is tied together though, and Draco’s been up to something. And after what we heard between Snape and Draco this holiday… Snape’s trying to help Draco. Perhaps he’s trying to cover up Draco’s involvement?”

“Hmm…” Ron answered vaguely, looking to Hermione’s charred bed pan again. As interesting as it was to hear about the happenings of Dumbledore and Snape, he wasn’t sure how good it was for Harry to be obsessing the way he was.

Harry had a tenacious mind. While Ron quite admired him for it, and would always back him up, he knew Harry needed time to be a kid and do stupid shit. Ron couldn’t tell him that though. If he did his friend would probably explode on him. No, it was best to humor him, but bring the conversation to a close. “Well next lesson with Dumbledore see if you can wheedle something out of him. If you have a moment alone he might have some correspondence on his desk or something you can read and get a clue from?”

“Good idea,” Harry said stoutly, as he rose from the bed to gather his book bag. “For now I’ve time to watch the map a bit while I get lunch. Maybe I’ll see if Draco or Snape are doing something different than usual.”

“Or you could get food and come back to play chess with your invalid friend,” Ron said with a smile.

Harry paused before he looked Ron in the eye for a moment.

“You’re pretty bored in here aren’t you?” he said, looking a bit shame faced.

“I mean, I have the marvelous views of bedpans and Madame Pomphrey,” Ron said with a shrug. “And Hermione was in this morning, so that was nice.”

Harry nodded contemplatively.

“Well, I have Potions after lunch, so I’ve not a lot of time to get to the Great Hall and the East Tower…”

“Don’t sweat it, mate,” Ron said immediately. He was trying to distract Harry from Draco, not make him guilty. Harry had enough guilt and suffering on his plate for a lifetime, and Ron wasn’t about to pile on.

“Maybe if I skip lunch—”

“You’re scrawny enough! You’re not missing meals on my account,” Ron insisted.

“I’ll see if I can come after dinner then? But I have practice… Well maybe after Charms, if he lets us out early. I could skip dinner then go by the kitchens on the way to practice.”

“If you manage to come by you’re welcome company, but seriously don’t even think of skipping a meal for me.”

“Fine fine, no skipped meals!” Harry relented. “Sorry I haven’t had much time to stay with you, though.”

“If it were reversed I’d never visit you. It’s boring as hell in here.”

“You’ve always managed to visit me loads when I’m in here,” Harry said with a knowing smile.

“Well that’s because I’m a better friend than you,” Ron teased. He feebly tossed a pillow at Harry, who didn’t need to bother blocking it. It barely made it to the foot of the bed. Harry’s mouth became a firm line as they stared at the pillow.

“You’ll be well soon enough, and then it won’t matter.”

Harry was pathetic at bolstering spirits and this was no exception. Ron understood, though, because of those bloody Muggles. The wooden smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the stiff way he held his body, and his inability to fake enthusiasm were a perfect combination to thoroughly depress a person.

“Yeah…” Ron replied tightly. He knew he was supposed to be well soon, but of all the times he’d nearly died, this one felt the most real, and the consequences were much more frightening. He wasn’t sure how many more close calls he could take. “Well, get on out of here, you skinny git. If you pass out at practice from lack of nutrition Ginny’ll have my head.”

“When I have you back on the field I’ll make you pay for all the jokes about my size today!” Harry laughed as he left the hospital wing. Just as Harry reached the door Ron heard Lavender greet his friend. Ron quickly slammed his eyes shut and feigned sleep. In moments her footfalls, along with someone else’s, were next to his bed.

“He’s asleep Lav. Let’s get going. Firenze is still considering doing a workshop, and I really think I can convince him if he sees we’re interested!”

“Oh, Parvati, I can’t! I’ve not visited Ron since yesterday!”

“But he’s asleep! He won’t know the difference.”

“He will, I just know it,” Lavender said stoutly before approaching the bed. He could feel the bed give as she sat on it and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

“Hello Won Won,” she whispered. He didn’t know why she thought she had to be quiet now, when she’d been at a normal volume not two feet away from him moments ago. “I don’t want to wake you of course, but I’m sorely tempted. I’ve got some new robes I want to show you again. I was wearing them on your birthday but you were on that horrid love potion then, so I don’t know if you properly saw them. I’m sure you’ll like them!”

Ron knew he should open his eyes and compliment her— make her feel wanted and admired, especially after he’d rejected her to find Romilda the other day— but he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye and lead her on. It was a whisker width to outright lying.

Ron was a lot of things— poor, jealous, freckled, a right grumpy git— but he wasn’t a liar.

“Ok, Lav, you’ve been staring at him for like two minutes. He’s not waking up. Let’s go,” Parvati said, with much more patience than Ron would have in the same ridiculous situation.

“I suppose…” Lavender mumbled, a wobble to her voice. She slid off the bed and made her way to the door. “I can’t believe how much he’s sleeping! She must have him on an awful lot of potions!”

The door closed behind her, and Ron gave a great sigh of relief.

“Mr Weasley.”

“GAH!”

He bolted straight up, hearing Madam Pomphrey’s voice so close to him. His head felt woozy at the quick change in position, and little spots swam in front of his eyes.

“I have your lunch,” she said, setting the tray down on his table. Ron looked towards the clock.

“A bit later than usual,” Ron mused.

“Well seeing as you were working so very hard to feign sleep, I thought I’d not give you a reason to wake in front of her.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, flushing in embarrassment.

“Hmm…” she said, giving him a beady look, put out his usual potions on his over-the-bed table, and whisked herself from the room. She normally hung about a little to inquire about his health, but he supposed she didn’t want to associate with such a cowardly arse.

Before he’d been poisoned, Lavender’s company was like a warm salve after the burning pangs of jealousy he felt over Hermione. Her touch, smiles, and comforting supporting were so easy and able to fill part of the void he’d felt in Hermione’s absence. He felt wanted and whole at times with her. The way she looked him… like he was the one person who made her heart lighter. He’d never in his wildest dreams be able to look back at Lavender that way. He wished he could. He’d tried his damnedest to get over Hermione, but he couldn’t hack it no matter how he tried.

It was time he resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting over Hermione Granger. Not any time soon at least. Until his infatuation had blown over, he really couldn’t date another girl. He’d have to wait, and surely eventually he would stop fancying her. That or he’d fancy her until he died and ended up alone and bitter and turn into a sad bugger like Snape.

Well, he’d never be able to stop being her friend, so he wouldn’t be completely alone. There was the errant hope that maybe she could fancy him back, but that was too much in the realm of unreality to fathom.

Even if she never fancied him back, he needed her in his life, even if it was only as friends. Maybe he could end up better off than Snape and turn into a Dumbledore sort. He’d never be great or powerful, but maybe he could be a weirdo obsessed with sweets and grow his beard far too long. Yeah, that was doable.

That evening Hermione brought Pig down to him so he could write his parents, and get to spend a bit of time with his silly pet. As ridiculous as his owl was, he cared about the little blighter something fierce. He might be pathetic, but he was all his.

Hermione sat beside him on the bed, and she patiently wrote out his letters as he dictated them, stroking Pig’s little wings. He wished he could always have her write his letters. It wasn’t just for the convenience of it— though he had to admit, it was nice to avoid ink stains and hand cramps— but it was because he was at complete leisure to watch her writing as he’d never dared to before. It was better than when she fed him the other day, because now she wasn’t aware of it. He could stare at her eyelashes as they fluttered down, the way her brow would give a tiny quirk when she finished a sentence, the way she’d bury her face behind a curtain of hair and she’d get a cute little double chin for a moment. Everything about her really was worth staring at.

He knew he shouldn’t think about her like this and his gut squirmed in guilt. It was all kinds of wrong being entranced with one girl all the while avoiding his girlfriend for days. He was rotten and didn’t deserve either of them in his life. Inexplicably they still kept visiting him. He’d perk up and feel downright merry when Hermione would visit, and he’d pretend to be comatose whenever Lavender visited.

Madam Pomfrey still had him on loads of potions, but had added in some little exercises for him to do in bed. They’d be simple tasks like ‘straighten your leg and tense the quad muscle here and hold for ten seconds’ or ‘take your hand and bend it back and hold it.’ They all seemed ludicrously easy and silly as she went through them with him, and they were easy the first few times he did it. He’d be shaking and sweating by the time he’d done all the little reps though.

The rest of the week dragged on, but by Saturday he was almost feeling himself. He was still sluggish and not back to full form composing papers, but he felt markedly more whole. He could get out of bed and walk to the loo unassisted and his memory was pretty spot on at this point, as long as he wasn’t too anxious or tired.

He had finished putting on some clothes when Madam Pomfrey walked into the wing and gave a loud exclamation.

“What are you doing, Mr Weasley!”

“I wanted to go watch the Quidditch match.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t make that long of a journey, plus the overexcitement of the game alone could cause a serious backslide for you.”

“What? How?” Ron angrily asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stood head and shoulders above the Healer but she stood her ground.

“Let me put it this way— remember when you injured your leg two years ago? You wouldn’t want to force yourself to walk on it when it was that badly broken.”

“I did walk on it,” Ron interrupted.

“Oh yes! I quite remember,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I normally can heal a broken leg in a trice, but you made it much worse it by walking on it, compounding your fracture, creating some real messy issues with your muscles and tendons— that’s why you were here much longer than a broken leg would take.”

“But I won’t be doing anything at the game! I’ll just be sitting there!”

“To an injured brain, almost anything beyond sleep is stressful and taxing on it. A Quidditch game to a boy like yourself? That’s like running a marathon for a brain. It’s simply too over-exciting.”

“This is completely mad! I’m fine! Catching up on studies is a hell of a lot more ‘stressful’ and ‘over-exciting’ than any match could be.”

He knew he was acting out of line, but there was no stopping his protests.

“We’ve already pushed your brain through enough stress as it is. I’m not about to let you go to today’s match and hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself?” Ron scoffed. “It’s walking to tht pitch and back.”

“When you’re stressed or excited you have more frequent headaches, your memory deteriorates and your motor skills decrease. Imagine tripping coming back and hitting your head. You might be in St. Mungo’s for good if that happened.”

“It’s not that bad…” he weakley protested.

“Do you remember when you could barely speak? Do you want to backslide to that?” she asked, arms akimbo.

His breath caught in his throat. He vividly remembered it. He still had nightmares about it. Low blow, Pomfrey… but effective.

He gave a moody shrug and sat back down on his bed.

“I’m sorry to have to be so harsh, Mr Weasley,” she said, sounding more kindly than usual, “but that’s the reality of this situation. I know you’re frustrated.”

He nodded, before toeing off his trainers and pushing himself back onto the bed.

He was mulishly staring at the wall when Harry came to visit, firebolt broom over his shoulder, dressed in his Quidditch uniform and looking far more at ease than Ron ever had before a game. Part of Ron was relieved he didn’t have to play, but after he’d done so well last game he thought he might be able to handle the pre-game jitters better this time.

“All right?” Harry asked as he sat on Ron’s bed.

“No,” Ron bit back. Harry raised his eyebrows, prompting Ron to try to control his temper. “Pomfrey won’t let me go to the match.”

“What, why?”

“Says it might ‘overexcite me’ or something…”

He understood it was a bigger deal than that, but there was no way he would reveal how bad things were to Harry. Harry had been rather oblivious to Ron’s worse symptoms, and Ron was happy to keep his friend in the dark.

“Bollocks, you’d only be sitting there!”

“That’s what I said!” he complained, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I hate being an invalid… How’s McLaggen shaping up?”

Would the bastard take his place on the team?

“Still a complete knob head.”

“Good— I mean, I want you to do well at the game of course. And that Smith character will be playing, so I’m hoping you kick his arse round the field a few times.”

“We’d perform a lot better with you there,” said Harry. It was a complete lie, of course, as Ron knew he was a shit player more often than not, but it was a rather nice lie. “I can’t keep losing my star players, though. If it weren’t for Ginny and Demelza our team would be complete shit today.”

“You’re alright too,” Ron said with a small punch to Harry’s arm.

“Thanks,” he replied, giving a dismissive shrug. “Won’t count for much if we’re getting scored on every ten seconds.”

“Oh? McLaggen not shaping up too well?”

“No…” Harry said, eyeing Ron. “You sure you’re doing alright?”

“M’fine. Should be out of here soon. No blood spewing, can walk about and everything. Definitely capable of watching a match,” he huffed. It was bad enough being endlessly trapped in the hospital wing and not getting to play— but it was downright miserable having his place filled by McLaggen. Hermione had said there was nothing between them… Then again she said that about Krum too… She never badmouthed Krum, so at least there was that. Perhaps if McLaggen did poorly at the match it would cement her disdain for the troll permanently. She might talk loftily about how little she cared for Quidditch, but she had a track record of dating really good players. She’d said as much back in December before her date with McLaggen. The thought made him wring his hands.

“So how’s McLaggen shaping up?” he asked, nervously fidgeting with his duvet cover. Harry made a grim face.

“I’ve told you,” said Harry, a bit slowly. Bugger. He’d forgotten he asked. Perhaps he was a bit anxious… Maybe skipping the match today wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“He could be world-class and I wouldn’t want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play every position better than the rest of us. I can’t wait to be shot of him. And speaking of getting shot of people,” Harry added, rising from the bed to shoulder his broom, “will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She’s driving me mad as well.”

“Oh,” said Ron, looking away. He hadn’t realized anyone knew he was feigning sleep beyond Pomfrey and Hermione that one time. “Yeah. All right.”

“If you don’t want to go out with her anymore, just tell her.”

“Yeah ... well ... it’s not that easy, is it?” said Ron.

Ron boggled at what awful advice that was. Harry hadn’t ever had to properly break up with a girl. Hell, he’d barely dated anyone. Cho and Harry’s relationship, if you could even call it that, consisted of one horrible date and one kiss under some mistletoe. They never spent time with one another, and he was reasonably sure Cho had never really looked at Harry the way Lavender looked at him. If anything, it was the opposite. Cho was still hung up on another person… he never thought he’d sympathize with Cho Chang, but perhaps Hermione hadn’t been too off when she was overanalyzing the girl last year.

He was so confused, fancying Hermione, but genuinely caring for Lavender. He didn’t fancy her, but he liked her. And there was a sense of safety knowing he could turn around and have a girl cheering him on, no questions asked. Then there was that horrible guilt he couldn’t escape that kept gnawing at him. He felt so much he thought he might explode. He wished he could sit down and have Hermione help overanalyze himself a bit. There was no way to have her help him since she was one of his main concerns, but he couldn’t help wishing it. He hadn’t seen her this morning at all, and he was feeling a bit wobbly for it.

“Hermione going to look in before the match?” He couched this very smoothly, he thought. Just the right sort of casualness that Harry wouldn’t be able to catch on how much longed to see Hermione.

“No, she’s already gone down to the pitch with Ginny.”

“Oh,” said Ron. This was a right shit day. “Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag — I mean, Smith.”

“I’ll try,” said Harry, shouldering his broom. “See you after the match.” With that Harry was racing out of the ward and Ron was left, once again, stuck by himself in the hospital wing with no company.

The window was open, and if he strained his ears he might be able to make out what the commentator was saying. He waited in equal parts anticipation and dread for the game to begin. He paced a bit, but found it too tiring to keep up.

He laid back in bed wondering what to do with himself when Madam Pomfrey brought a small box that looked like an ancient wizarding wireless and put it beside his bed. It was wooden with little brass knobs and speaker.

“Now, if you promise to stay relatively calm, I’ll leave this here for the entirety of the game.”

She waved a wand over it and he heard Luna Lovegood come onto the wireless.

“The sun has been shining through the clouds so very prettily. I saw one cloud that very much looked like a Horned Hodag today, and I think we all know what that portends for a Quidditch match.”

Ron hadn’t the foggiest what it could mean to see something like that in the clouds, but he gave a hearty laugh, the first good guffaw he’d had in weeks.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!” he enthused, settling deeper into his covers. She gave him a warm smile before leaving to do whatever it was she got up to in her office.

What barking lunatic had thought to give Luna a microphone and a platform to speak from? Oh this was going to be glorious.

“The Hufflepuff team are all in their uniforms of yellow and black. I think they look more like bumblebees than they want to. Especially the big one. Yes he looks very much like an angry bumblebee, especially now that he’s glaring at me like that.”

“The other team is Gryffindor, of course. I like them a lot. Hufflepuff are known for being friendly, but the Gryffindors have all been a lot more friendly to me. There’s a big player standing in for Ron Weasley today, but he doesn’t look as friendly or red-haired. I think it’s Tarmac Blaggins?”

“Cormac McLaggen!” McGongall corrected, sounding very unamused. Ron beamed, wishing he could see the two of them interacting.

“Oh no, there’s no remembering that. I’m just going to call him the Gryffindor Keeper… He was very loud at the Christmas party I went to, and is not very funny.”

The game began, and from what he could tell from Luna’s wandering commentary, McLaggen was as useless as a bag of bludgers dropped in a bathtub. Ron knew he shouldn’t root for his replacement to fail, but he was only human. His cheeks began to hurt from smiling.

“Zacharias Smith is not very good at holding the quaffle for long. Perhaps he just isn’t good at holding things in general? Or it could be a case of — oh wait, he has the ball perhaps— oh dear, dropped it again. Yes, I’m quite certain that he has contracted a very bad case of Loser’s Lurgy…”

“Oh look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats. I don’t think that’s very usual for this game. And— oh dear!”

Ron could hear the whole audience at the pitch give a terrible sound of alarm, and even McGongall gave a great yell he could hear over the wireless.

“The Gryffindor Keeper Porkluck McFloodle hit a bludger right into Harry Potter’s head! My, he fell off his broom from very high up. The Gryffindor Beaters have caught him though. There is an awful lot of blood… What a strange strategy to employ at this point in the game.”

Ron heard a sound from Pomfrey’s office, and a moment later she bustled into the ward a determined look on her face.

“Ginny looks so upset. The Gryffindor Beaters Ceakes and Poot are busy moving Harry, but the team hasn’t called a time-out. The Gryffindor Keeper let the quaffle through. Oh no! Without a captain they can’t call a time-out can they… The Hufflepuffs are scoring quite a lot of points now. Even Smith has managed to hold the quaffle a bit, despite his Loser’s Lurgy.”

Demelza and Dean managed only one goal each, while Hufflepuff trounced them soundly and the match ended with Hufflepuff mercifully catching the snitch..

Harry was brought into the ward on a stretcher not long after the team lost. Ginny, Hermione, and McGongall were marching behind it looking rather stricken. Harry did look a mess, all pale and lifeless— but Ron figured it was no big deal compared to some of the other things he’d faced, right? Ginny looked rather close to tears as Harry was spelled off the stretcher and onto the bed.

Pomfrey waved her wand and diagnostic spells hummed around his head and neck, lighting his pale face before she closed the curtains around Harry.

“Oh Merlin,” Ginny moaned, moving over to Ron’s bed. He put an arm round his sister.

“He’s got a hard head,” Ron offered with a smile.

His smile fell as Hermione stayed beside Harry’s bed, biting her lip and watching with worry. A fleeting terrible thought of Hermione fancying Harry darted through him. He’d entertained the thought before, and like always he quickly swatted it away.

“That stupid McLaggen. I want to hex him into oblivion,” Ginny growled, wiping at her eyes. “The whole game was a complete shitshow. Ron, if you aren’t back on the team next week, I might quit.”

“He’s that bad?” Ron tried to say with sympathy, but he knew he was failing miserably given the punch he received.

“Oi! How am I supposed to be back on the team if you attack me when I’m healing!” he said, rubbing at his arm.

“I ought to hex you for making us get stuck with him in the first place.”

“Ah yeah, sorry about that. I’ll try really hard not to get randomly poisoned next week. That do?”

“I suppose it must,” she said with dramatic flair, before sitting in Hermione’s usual place at his side. For a moment he wanted to kick her out so he could entice Hermione to cozy up with him, but he could sense his sister was a bit rattled and needed some support.

Hermione finally left Harry’s side to join them.

“Pomfrey said it’s a cracked skull, but she can heal it easily and he’ll be fine by Monday. He’ll be staying here at least overnight,” she informed them.

“There, see?” Ron said to his sister. “It wouldn’t be a proper school year if Harry wasn’t hospitalized unconscious at least once.”

“Well I am quite tired of the two of you getting injured all the time,” Hermione fretted.

“Here here!” Ginny agreed.

“You’ve been hospitalized a good bit too, Hermione,” he reminded her. She’d had plenty of short stints, but there were three long ones she’d endured that he would never forget.

The first had been when she had the accident with Polyjuice potion and had turned into a human-cat hybrid. She’d been trapped in the ward for almost a month. That hadn’t been so bad. He missed her during the day, but it was nice to spend time with her alone, helping her to catch up on her studies. He’d ever had better notes before or since.

The second time she’d been petrified by the basilisk. That had been pure torture seeing her usual expressive face frozen in shock. He visited her quite often, despite the lack of interaction, and talked to her about all sorts of things. It was like talking to an imaginary friend. He knew how she would have reacted, and could see it quite clearly in his mind. He’d always wondered if she could hear what all he’d said, but never had the guts to ask her. It had been bad, but there was a cure on the way, and somehow death just didn’t seem like a possibility for them. He used the news that she was ok to power some of his earliest patronuses.

The third time was the worst. The fight inside the Department of Mysteries had been the closest to death he had ever been. He was covered in the ugly scars of it and still haunted by nightmares. When he finally woke up in the hospital wing Hermione was beside him and she looked so pale and still that he was convinced she was dead. He kept checking her pulse, and was reassured by the medi-witch she wasn’t dead— but it had been too close a call for him to feel comforted. She’d nearly died! They’d all cheated death, a bunch of kids against full-grown Death Eaters. It almost felt like death himself would swoop in to chastise them like the Three Brothers in the old fairy tale. Death felt tangible and real. He supposed it had already felt that way for Harry since Cedric died, but it really sank in for him how very mortal they all were.

Ron chose to put his life on the line a fair number of times and figured that would be his role in it all. He would be a shield for the real heroes, like Harry and Hermione. And he was fine with that. It’s not like he wanted to die or anything, but he wasn’t particularly surprised when he’d had another close call. That was just part of it. He had to do his duty and keep Harry and everyone else safe.

It shook him to have others going out there doing the same thing. When he’d been running through the department of mysteries he had lagged behind his sister and Luna, doing everything he could to shield them from the onslaught of spells. Hermione wasn’t supposed to be a shield or wand-fodder like he was. She was supposed to go on to do great things, like Harry. He couldn’t fathom a world without her, and wished he had a way to convince her to stay safe in a library somewhere instead of following him and Harry into danger all the time. A world without Hermione was unthinkable. He didn’t want to live in a world without Hermione.

“Yes, we all spend too much time here,” Hermione said with a sniff. “I’m quite tired. I think I’ll go take a nap. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ron.”

With that she practically fled from the hospital room. Ron looked to Ginny for answers, and she gave a shrug.

“It’s been a tough week. First you, now Harry… It’s enough to make anyone feel overwhelmed.”

He had a feeling Ginny wasn’t just speaking for Hermione.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be out of the hospital wing and driving you mad in no time.”

“You manage quite well even from the hospital bed,” she said with a grin.

“Tell me about the game, then. Luna’s version, while spectacular, was a bit hard to follow.”

Ginny went into all the details of the game, doing a great impression of McLaggen that left him in stitches, and nearly got her kicked out by Pomfrey.

“He gave a terrible speech before the game like he was captain when Harry was running late.”

“Late? Harry left here with plenty of time to get there.”

“I don’t know. He barely made it for the kick off, though.”

Ron would have to poke Harry about that later. Ginny gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head before climbing off the bed.

“I’m off to shower the stench of losing off me before it sets in. Don’t want to get Loser’s Lurgy!” she smiled.

“Check in on Hermione, will you? She’ll be lonely without Harry.”

“Or you.”

“Well…” he began, but Ginny gave him a hard knowing look. “You’ll check on her?”

“Of course. We are friends you know. I might not be in your little ‘secret trio club’, but I do talk with her.”

“Secret trio club?” Ron asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’ve not the patience to get into that today. Break the news of our loss to Harry easy.”

“Will do,” he said with a salute to his sister.

He was glad to spend time with her like this. As children they’d been joined at the hip, being the youngest. He didn’t necessarily want her company at times, as the Twins gave him so much grief for it— but it had been such an easy companionship. He wished they could have that easy of a time now. She was just so prickly with him. He missed how sweet she’d been when they were knee high to gnomes and climbing over the cobbled walls together. Now there was always so much attitude towards him, as if he was a stand-in for everyone who had ever annoyed her. He didn’t mind it most of the time, but it would be nice to not have her teenage rebellion aimed at him every time they talked.

As much as he had enjoyed their short time together, he was still a bit miffed she’d made him miss out on his time with Hermione. He was hoping Hermione would have stayed with him as she’d been doing every day. He looked to the corner and saw that the bedpan Hermione had burned his papers in was still sitting in the corner, charred as ever.

How had the meticulous Pomfrey not noticed it?

He glanced over at her and saw she was still wrapping Harry’s head in about a million meters of tape.

As inconspicuously as he could, Ron slipped from the bed and went to the corner to inspect the bed pan. He poked it, and it stayed firmly in place,most likely held by a sticking charm. There seemed to be a subtle shimmer to it as he looked— whatever the spell it kept Pomfrey, or anyone other than Ron, from noticing it. It was like a little monument to them.

Ron felt warmth course through him all over at the thought.

In moments like those he could pretend she was his girl, and not just his very good friend.

He caught himself daydreaming that often enough. Whenever she’d sit close to him in his bed he’d been quite unable to escape the thought, with their legs touching, her elbow resting a bit on his stomach as they crammed together on the bed. If she were his girl he’d be able to put his hands in her hair, and lean in with his face right against hers. He could nibble on those little ears he’d never touched before. He’d be able to toss the letters to the side and kiss her until his head was swimming from lack of oxygen. He’d be able to laugh and hold her hand any time he liked. He’d lean in and whisper in her ear how much he fancied her and she’d tell him how much she loved him back, saying - “

“Oh no!” Ron let out, jerking himself upright from the bedpan.

Shit! He loved her. He didn’t fancy her. He loved her!

His stomach lurched and he thought he was going to be sick from nerves.

“Are you quite well Mr Weasley?” he heard Madam Pomfrey ask from Harry’s bedside, looking up at him with concern.

“Spiffing! Just had a small cramp. I’m fine!” he lied, letting out a slightly hysterical sound that might have resembled a laugh. He wasn’t sure.

He loved Hermione!

Maybe it was the clarity that came from having almost died, but he now knew with certainty— this wasn’t just a crush he had on Hermione. It was that real deal, want to throw yourself from the astronomy tower, write poxy poetry, bolts of lightning, do anything for them kind of love.

This was too much! He wasn’t supposed to love her! He wasn’t even supposed to fancy her!

She’d barely shown a sign she might welcome any sort of advance from him, let alone allow him to love her. He was so crap, and she was so great. How did one keep a secret like this? It felt a bit like when he’d been love potioned. He wanted to tell everyone. He wanted to tell her!

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell a soul. God, if he didn’t watch it, he might blurt it out accidentally. That was a horrifying thought.

It was the absolute shittiest thing that could ever happen in the history of wizardom. And why? Why did he have to realize it now? He had no right to it! None at all. He had a girlfriend. A really nice, if a bit silly, girlfriend. And Hermione? She had no interest in him like that at all.

This was the most mental thing that had ever happened. And there was nothing he could do about it at all. Well… fuck. It was a hopeless situation.

He thought back to Harry’s advice to just end things with Lavender. That would be easy enough, wouldn’t it? But then again… the thought of making her cry made him ill. He couldn’t very well tell her ‘I have an unrequited love for Hermione, so kindly eff off? But I hope we can still be friends!’

He’d tried earlier that year to pull away from her a bit and let her just naturally lose interest. Perhaps he could just drop a hint here or there and let his actions speak for him. He knew for a fact he didn’t have the words.

He’d have to carry on as usual, even though he felt a bit like doing the conga and offing himself all at once. At least he had a few moments to himself to process it. It’d be hours before Harry was awake, most likely, and Pomfrey would be holed up in her office soon enough.

Resigned, he lay back in his bed, turning himself away from the little charred bedpan in the corner.

==========================================================================================================================

Author’s note: Sorry this took so long to get out- hope you found it was worth the wait!

If you liked it, please give it a reblog and/or comment! :)

They give me such motivation to write more! :D

#the wonderful won won #writing #fan fic #ron weasley #romione #hermione granger #harry james potter #harry potter

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soysaucevictim · 4 years

Text

First week of new stuff.

(And having a hard time for different reasons...)

June 27

Somehow managed to get up before 11AM.

Played Gemcraft for a few hours before making today’s HF Dinner. Steak with mushroom cream sauce. Dad enjoyed it and I liked it well enough. Pretty happy with that and getting the dishes taken care of afterwards.

After a bit of time to digest my food, I went into today’s exercise.

First, today’s DD. 40 reverse angels with EC. Took a bit of mindfulness to negotiate floor space. Hand clipped against desk and chair leg once each... but oh well. Kept the arms above floor. Just about doable.

Second, Day 1 of the 1′ Cardio Challenge. I think this would be a good bit of cardio and warm-up for my program work. Today was 1′ jumping jacks. Managed it in one go, with 69 reps by the end. Will endeavor to track my performance like that for the whole thing~

Last, Day 1 of the Xpress Tone Program. This is a weight-training program. Grabbed my brother’s dumbbells, couldn’t find the 3 lbs plates so I just went for 2x5 for each hand. Wasn’t sure if I should do it circuits or straight sets, but the way the page is formatted made me settle on former (IRONBORN did explicit straight sets.) I also endeavored to record my “to fatigue“ numbers here.

Alternating bicep curls: 30-26-20-16-12

Tricep extensions (I liked that we could brace the elbow for this one, these are always a bit hard on ‘em): 10+10, 8+8, 6+6, 4+4, 4+4

Spent some time chatting and wound up pulling an allnighter playing KH.

June 28

I spent a few hours this morning to finish playing some KH. And cleaning up after Dad made a mess with some food. Sleep deprivation probably didn’t help with my headspace, was irritable and anxious about Dad’s decline from lapsing on his meds...

I then took a couple hour nap, before exercising.

First, today’s DD. 1′ raised arm circles with EC. I counted 118 reps by the end. Very close to 2/sec. But still a relatively breezy one.

Second, Day 2 of the 1′CC. 1′ butt kicks. One go, 140 reps. I was happy I managed to stay over 2/sec with this one. That was a pretty brisk pace to go at!

Last, Day 2 of the XTP. Leg day, particularly aerobic on top of the challenge.

Forward lunges (I chose to alternate sides): 30-24-20-16-14

Goblet squats (wound up with the same numbers): 30-24-20-16-14

Because of the hour we started and my headspace (was rattled by bro yelling at dad), we didn’t do a double feature tonight. Just watched a documentary about the Fyre Festival... it was fun to just be entertained by that travesty.

Spent sometime on YouTube before sleeping. Red zone... but before 3AM was a modest accomplishment, by recent standards..

June 29

I somehow woke up a bit after noon.

I spent most of my day BSing with Gemcraft because I’ve been having pretty bad brain days thanks to mistake the VA made with Dad’s meds a bit over a week ago. He’s been so restless and unfocused - he couldn’t play cards, today. (I didn’t really want to, and I had I feeling it would be futile as a distraction for him... but I felt I should try, it was Grandma’s idea.)

Took some willpower to get on with my exercise, given that...

First, today’s DD. 40 reverse plank kicks with EC (20/20). Fairly breezy.

Second, Day 3 of the 1′CC. 1′ march twists. One go, 77 reps. Manageable one to do non-stop, but it can be difficult to go too fast at risk of slamming the knees against elbows. :P

Last, Day 3 of the XTP. This kicked my ass, in particular, the weighted knee-to-elbows were awkward. My numbers were:

Upright rows: 15-10-8-8-6

Bilateral bicep curls: 8-5-4-4-3

Did poke an outline for a potential future fic before getting to bed. Later than yesterday.

June 30

I woke up after 11AM.

As far as exercise went, all I managed to get done was today’s DD. 50 squat step ups with EC (20/20). Just about manageable.

Most of the rest of my day was spent chatting and gaming. Got to bed a little earlier than yesterday, but still in the red zone.

July 1

I woke up a bit before noon, today. Somehow.

After a couple hours of circular emotionally taxing conversation with dad... I didn’t think I could rightly muster enthusiasm/attention for anything.

But chatting with a friend and taking the dog for a short walk was nice to break things a bit so I could do my exercise today.

First, Day 4 of the 1′CC. 1′ split jacks. One go, 72 reps this time. Pretty intense pace, happy I managed >1/sec.

Second, Day 4 of the XTP. I suppose it was a rest day, manageable tendon work this time around. Strictly bodyweight stuff but it definitely took a bit of willpower to get through the leg extensions part, swings/hold was a nice relative step-down in intensity though.

Last, today’s DD. 3′ half jacks with EC. I managed to lock in a pace of 1/sec and wound up with a little more than 180 reps.

I decided to spend the next couple hours to distract myself productively by giving the bathroom a deep clean. Exhausting and got to sweating buckets. Though it needed to get done, I kind of regret not going with my bro when he took Dad to the hospital.

Between COVID visitor policies and HIPPA and the circumstances of his admittance - the fucking hospital system has been giving us a fucking headache wrt information. =_=

After the hospital, spent rest of my night chatting and gaming. Got to bed earlier than yesterday, red again, but whatever.

July 2

I think I woke up around 10AM. Was half expecting to go with Grandma to check on what the hell is going on with Dad.

Still fucking stonewalled.

Was too fucking angry and exhausted to do much more than game and watch YouTube.

I went to bed in the green zone because I was way too fucking depressed at that point to be able to make myself stay up. Exercise be damned.

July 3

I woke up after 11AM.

Did some gaming before making today’s HF dinner. Chicken sausage, couscous, and kale soup. We liked this one well enough, I liked it’s taste but especially it’s simplicity. Given my spoons situation.

After a bit more games and dishes, I caught up on some of my exercise.

First, yesterday’s DD. 1′ squat hold with EC. Slow steady breaths is always key. Took a good amount of willpower to get through it, but happy I could.

First, today’s DD. 1′ chest squeeze with EC. Same note about the breathing. Arms definitely got to trembling in the later half.

Second, Day 5 of the 1′CC. 1′ seal jacks. One go, 68 reps. Having “Rhythm Redux“ play made me find a nice groove.

Second, Day 6 of the 1′CC. 1′ high knees. One go, 150 reps. I’m glad that I could stay over 2/sec today.

Last, Day 5 of the XTP. Arm stuff. I’m going to endeavor to try to continue improving my PBs for this program and did more of the following than from Day 1).

Tricep extensions: 10+10, 10+10, 8+8, 6+6, 6+6

Alternating bicep curls: 34-30-24-20-16

Last, Day 6 of the XTP. Leg day. I’m probably going to question doubling up today... because stacking this on top kicked my ass. :P

Forward lunges (alternating): 34-26-22-18-16

Goblet squats: 32-26-22-18-16

I spent the rest of my time playing KH Re:CoM. Stayed up pretty late doing that.

#adventures with fitness #adventures with hello fresh #sharon play kingdom hearts #family shit/

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bladesoflightandshadow · 5 years

Text

indefinitely [lucas/mc]

note: hi! hello! i wrote another thing! finally! this one was actually supposed to be part of a series of ficlets based on a prompt list which i abandoned, but i think it holds its own well enough to post. i know the ‘character has bad dreams and has their partner comfort them’ trope is way overdone when it comes to the it lives series but like.....i love these two too much not to try

pairing: lucas x mc (everett walker)

word count: 1,947

warnings: discussions of trauma & anxiety, though nothing you haven’t already seen if you’ve read ilitw.

tagged: @teja-desai

summary: a late night talk with lucas has everett re-evaluating his feelings.

. . . . .

Everett learned quickly at the start of his and Lucas’s relationship that they’re both restless sleepers.

For Lucas, it’s always been like this—worrying about what he has to do in the day ahead or the day after tomorrow or what he did the day before and what went wrong and what could go wrong all keep him up—so sometimes he doesn’t bother with sleep at all, and it’s only made worse by the events of homecoming their senior year.

For Everett, it started in the weeks leading up to the homecoming incident. Despite numerous sleeping aids and therapy and God knows what else, sleep often feels like a trap he needs to outsmart, with memories of that night and of what Noah did and what he did always just in his periphery, waiting for the right time to strike.

Not to say that what happened didn’t affect their group of friends too, if seeing another one of them have a breakdown about it every week after the incident was any indication. But Everett never could shake the roiling guilt of feeling responsible for what happened to them—to his friends, to Jane, to Noah.

And it’s these thoughts that plague him while he’s lying awake in bed tonight, staring up at the ceiling.

When it becomes hard to breathe, he kicks his sheets away and paces the room, hugging himself as a sudden chill crawls up his spine. Everett contemplates going for a walk to clear his mind, but one look at the woods outside and just the thought of being anywhere near them makes him physically sick. He grabs his phone from his nightstand and sees that it’s 3 A.M. Knowing Lucas, he’s probably awake at this time too. Everett considers texting him to see if he’s awake, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard, worried that if Lucas is asleep, the sound might wake him up.

Before he can decide, though, a text appears on his phone screen, the sound startling him into dropping his phone. When he picks it up—unbroken, thank God, he can’t afford to ask for a new one—he sees that it’s from Lucas, seemingly having just read his mind.

Can’t sleep. Thinking about you.

He feels himself smile, almost involuntarily, as he types out a reply. When are you not thinking about me?

Ha. Then, after a beat: Rarely, to be fair.

Everett steps towards his bed and falls back onto it. I am a pretty good distraction, aren’t I?

Only the best. Everett sighs, momentarily forgetting why he was unable to sleep in the first place.

Lucas sends him another text. Can I call you? I miss your voice.

You spoke to me in person earlier today.

And what about it?

He closes the messaging app and finds Lucas’s number in his recent call history, the name in his contacts plastered with heart emotes. Lucas picks up almost immediately.

“Hey,” Everett says, quietly so as to not rouse his parents in the next room.

“Hey,” Lucas responds. “Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

Everett lifts his arm to cover his face, sighing slightly. “Nah, I was already awake. I was thinking of calling you too.”

Lucas hums in response. There’s a near-imperceptible edge to his voice, and he’s clearly agitated—more than usual, anyway. Everett asks him what’s wrong.

“Nothing?” A pause, in which Everett hopes to communicate the sentiment of, I know you too well. Don’t lie to me. “…Yeah, okay. Something’s wrong. It’s… it’s stupid.”

“Everything about our lives these past few months has been stupid,” Everett says, shifting around on the bed so that he’s under his duvet again. “Nothing you say can surprise me.”

Lucas lets out a half-hearted chuckle. “I suppose not.” He hesitates, then sighs. “It’s just… It’s the first time I’ve been home alone in a while. My dad’s away on some business trip and my mom is staying with family for the night, so I’m the only person in the house, which makes overthinking every sound I hear or every shadow I see a lot easier.” He sighs again. “It’s…childish, I know.”

“No, it’s not. Trust me. I… I get it.” Everett bites his lip, unsure of how else to reassure him when he’s not feeling any braver himself.

At his lack of response, Lucas asks, “What about you? Why are you awake?”

A pause. Everett closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Oh, you know, the usual. Just trying to stave away the feeling of overwhelming guilt and fear over letting my childhood friends get hurt at the hands of a powerful supernatural being, two of which are now dead, while said supernatural being is probably still out there somewhere.”

There’s a silence that stretches on a beat too long. Everett starts chewing on his lower lip. “Sorry. That was too much.”

“No,” Lucas tells him. “No, you’re allowed to express how you’re feeling, even if it is through really morbid jokes.”

“Who says I was joking?”

He falls quiet again, and Everett’s worried he went too far this time, until he speaks again. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

Everett breathes in, slowly, shakily. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. Everyone keeps telling me. I know. But I also can’t fucking convince myself to believe it. So I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Hey.” There’s rustling on Lucas’s end. It sounds like he’s getting out of bed, or sitting up. “Do you want us to talk about something else?”

“Yes, please.” Everett thinks for a moment, rattling his brain for conversation topics. “Where’s your dog?”

“Tolkien?” More rustling on the other line as Lucas presumably moves to look for the terrier. “He’s sleeping on the floor next to me.”

“So you’re not really home alone after all.”

“I suppose. But Tolkien’s an old man. I don’t think he can do much to protect me.”

“I still can’t believe your parents let you name him that.”

He lets out a snort. “In all fairness, I was nine.”

Everett takes reprieve in the conversation shift, letting himself retreat into their usual banter. “You must’ve thought you were such a smartass, naming him after a writer that was way above everyone else’s reading level at the time.”

“You joke, but that was probably my exact thought process,” Lucas says, a smile in his voice. “Also, this is rich coming from the guy who named his cat Cattywampus.”

“Wampus is a business professional and she does not take well to your mockery.” Lucas laughs, the sound soft but genuine, and Everett allows himself to ease into the warmth of it.

Slowly, the fear that had kept them both awake fades into an afterthought, as they let the conversation carry them through to the early hours of the morning. When Everett wakes up, he’s relieved to find that one of them had, wittingly or not, ended the call before they fell asleep. His phone reads 11:36 A.M., and his heart jumps to his throat for a moment before he realises it’s a Saturday.

Almost without thinking, he taps Lucas’s name on his phone to call him again.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he answers, almost annoyingly chipper. Even when he’s barely gotten any sleep, Lucas can never bring himself to wake up later than 9 A.M., something Everett’s had to learn the hard way.

“Mornin’,” Everett murmurs through a yawn. “God, how are you such a morning person?”

He can hear the clattering of pots and pans from Lucas’s end. “Hmm, I guess it’s hard not to be one when I get to hear your voice first thing in the morning,” he says.

Everett roll his eyes, but even the tiredness can’t fend off his smile. “You didn’t even know I was gonna call you.”

“Wishful thinking?” More clattering. “I’m making breakfast. Or brunch, I guess. Do you want to come over?”

Groaning, Everett pulls the covers over his head to block the sunlight streaming directly onto his face. “Give me, like, an hour to feel alive again and then I’ll be there.”

“Alright. Let me know when you’re near.”

“I will. I love you.”

It goes quiet on Lucas’s line. Everett half expects him to have hung up, but one glance at his phone tells him he’s still there. There’s a long, long pause as Lucas takes in what he just said, and as Everett wakes up enough to realise what he just said.

“Oh,” he stutters. “Oh—shit, I’m sorry, that was…I know you said you wanted to take things slow, and I—agh, I’m sorry, Lucas—”

“Stop,” Lucas says, and his tone is gentle, but Everett’s heart still freezes in place. “Did you mean it?”

It takes him a few moments to collect his thoughts. Even in his morning bleariness, Everett knows the answer with clarity. Who else does he know that makes him feel this safe—this calm? Who else would Everett, without even thinking, want to call first thing in the morning, when he knows he sounds like absolute hell? Who else does he trust this much?

He breathes in, letting the feeling wash over him, and he wills his heart to calm down just long enough for him to speak.

“Yeah,” Everett exhales, and something like relief floods out of him. “Yeah. I did mean it.”

In all honesty, part of him had known for a while, yet there was always something, some nagging feeling putting him off from admitting it. They’d talked before about how they wanted to take things slow after everything that happened—to handle this relationship with the care it deserved, at least until they got to a point where things weren’t so fraught.

Yet, despite the anxiety that had kept him tossing and turning last night, Everett feels calmer than he’s been in weeks. Like Lucas’s mere presence through the phone were enough of a remedy for his nerves. His pulse is still hammering, but there’s no fear.

“Good. Because I love you too,” Lucas says, and he sounds… like he’s in awe of the fact. “I’ve known for a while. I just… I didn’t want to say it too soon, especially after I told you I wanted to take things slow…”

Everett is suddenly wide awake, unable to shake the giddy smile from his face. They both take a few moments to just bask in the revelation, the quiet between them profound and full of warmth. Love. They love each other. No holding back.

“You jerk,” Everett says suddenly. “You were waiting for me to say it first so you wouldn’t feel weird about it.”

On the other end, Lucas laughs, brightly, a sound Everett doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Uhh, hold it over your head for the rest of our lives?” He’s smiling so much his face aches. “Face it, Thomas, you weren’t man enough to say it first.”

“Pfft, you only said it on accident.”

“I at least demand a consolation prize!”

There’s movement on Lucas’s end, the scraping of a chair as he sits down. “Fine. Whatever you want, name it.”

Everett bites the inside of his cheek, lifting his free hand up to cover his face like it might stop the unadulterated joy from spilling out. His head is spinning. Is this what love is?

“Just keep saying it. That you love me.”

“That’s it?” There’s a smile in Lucas’s voice, too, like he can’t stop himself either. “Just keep telling you I love you, indefinitely?”

“Indefinitely. Yeah.” Everett laughs. “For as long as you can.”

And he does.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfic #it lives in the woods #lucas thomas #lucas thomas x mc #lucas x mc #i never know what to tag these how do u get attention for ur writing in this godforsaken fandom #anyway yeah it's 5am but i'm just gonna yeet this out there before i overthink myself out of existence bye !#my writing #long post #mc: everett walker #if i squint i think i can say im proud of this one

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fortheheavenssake · 5 years

Text

MM Anon 3

Oct. 1

MM ANON … 🎼” back to black”🎼…… uncomfortably reunion …… “ AND THE CROWDS WENT…… home”… “blend in with the POC”🤣🤣🤣🤣…… Pressed for time. …… PR with blinkers… don’t Sue the messenger …… Harry on camping…… background colour …… “ bloody African Queen ‘ don’t think so”…… “ returning after their triumphant tour “…… OMG’ it’s definitely her

——————

Oct. 2

MM ANON, This vacuous tart is in need of serious therapy ‘ she’s trying to intimidate the British press who employ Rottweilers as journalists and have brought down whole governments. They string antagonists up by their Gonads and bury pieces of flotsam like nutmeg alive. Not only is this virus on a hiding to nothing,she has underestimated the established reading matter of middle England ‘THE DAILY MAIL. ………… ‘popcorn darlings ‘ popcorn !!!!!!!!!!!

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MM Anon - HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

Oct. 2

MM ANON …… Dear Darlings ‘ today is my birthday 🎼 happy birthday to me🎼…………🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂 2nd Oct. 1944. ……… “ a day that live in ignominy” 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

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Oct. 2

MM ANON …… Thank you dear Skippy and all your faithful helpers ………… your blog is a joy and a privilege to post on …… GBTQAOGC👑👑👑👑👑 🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

You are so welcome! We are honoured to have you join us! You are loved!🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oct. 2

MM ANON …… A TM visit?…… a pitiful cry for help …… “tears of a Crown”…… “ Philip’ stop swearing!!”…… ink block carnage … a scathing edi-TORY-al……”A Sunday surprise “…… “well,well,well’ fe-MAIL- empowerment”…… Fleet St. circling the wagons …… 🎼 “ Homeward bound, I guess ………” 🎼j…… … ace card archificial …… “SA’ well that was a dud Megs”…… leap-Frog to Calipornia 🤫🤫🤫

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Oct. 3

MM ANON …… rogue withdrawal …… a petulant rattle slays fleet st. …… royal analysis paralysis ……… “ settlement now!!!! ……TM lawyers up…… tabloid utopia …… “ This is a bloody tape diversion old thing “…………“A spitting Halloween 🎃 “……… “ remember ‘remember, the 5th of Nov.” …… “ Philip ‘ this year you give the Queen speech”…… 🎆🎇😱🇬🇧💩⚖️⚖️⚖️…… GBTQ.

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Oct. 3

MM ANON , UNDER THE RADAR!!!!!!!! The Queen probably has information and physical evidence appertaining to “It” regarding her “ lost” years. During the summer PW spent a week at MI6 at Vauxhall. ( being briefed?) what on? Suddenly this week there’s a story of a certain acquisition of a “tape” the next day , via H. she sues the MOS regarding a letter. (Smoke And Mirrors) The hinges are falling off that locked door on her past ………………………!!!!!!!! Allegedly.

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Oct. 4

MM ANON …… Meanwhile at CH…… A Family meeting’ o dear!!…… “ One is apoplectic with disappointment “… (two red faces)…… “ this isn’t a game of happy f%#@k families!!!”…… an atmospheric cut…… legs and tails …… They Aga successful …… in the brown Windsor soup……a green beret chum…… nutmeg begs…… happy Harry …… SS documentary’s doom.

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Oct. 4

MM ANON …… Smoke and Mirrors divert us from the elephant in the doom!!!, nothing to do with nutmegs bawling in the bathroom over being picked on by those nasty hacks 🤣🤣🤣 or hacked phones (it’s a daily mine field for the high profiled) abysmal failure on behalf of their security. It’s the tape darlings ‘ murkmegs very sore-did past. Popcorn’POPCORN 🍿 🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿

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Oct. 5

MM ANON …… chocolate sundae …… don’t give up your day job …… single exit west …… a SMALL diversion … “ is he mine?” …… home alone ………… “ I fear for them Philip” …… Duty calls …… 🎼” you wore out your welcome with random precision “🎼……… “ we must talk Harry”……… jack and Jill went up the hill ……… “ it’s all on This memory stick.

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Oct. 5

Does this mean PiersM is a friend of Her Majesty (👑) or a friend of MM?

So many players, so much darkness in this schtick. My brain is fried. Thank you Skippy🐼

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Oct. 6

MM ANON … the Queen …… “ one can’t choose ones family “…… “ Philip loves me doing Melania” …… “I rather liked Donald “ …… “ l frightening Vlad…… “ on our day together she never stopped yapping “ … “Harry ‘ we all make mistakes “… “ the little one, she’s a fireball “ …… “Camilla says she’s illiterate “ … “ what sort of name was that!!!!!”…” What!! Christmas ‘she’ll be lucky “ … “LG ‘ that’s why it’s called the Queens speech ‘ so f#@ck them!!”

————-

Oct. 7

MM ANON …… “MORGAN ‘ a suitable case for treatment” …… sue- da - nam?

————-

Oct. 7

MM ANON … Calapornia Dreem-in…… “ To be ‘ or Not to be…” …… “ I made a bit of a boob”……… “ the real Mc- COY darlings “…… “ artistic lie- sense …… “ not my best work”

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Oct. 7

MM ANON …… This is only my opinion on the validity of the alleged article. AN OPINION!! like skippy suggested in all posts , re disclaimer ……… what would be verified in this situation is “ face recognition tech.” ANYBODY?????? 👃🏾👁👄👂

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Oct. 7

MM ANON … lets move on!!!!…… fab unfore-tunate…… pre tour panic… …a fleet-ing vengeance …… “ don’t take this personally”…… “ you have TWO choices”…… “ get your bloody head out the sand”…… “it’s crumbling around your feet”……… “ baby ‘ what baby?”…… “we’re gonna need a bigger Bank”…… 🎼” if I was a rich man”🎼

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Oct. 8

MM ANON … ABANDON YOURSELF TO GOD AS YOU UNDERSTAND GOD ,GIVE OF YOURSELF SELFLESSLY AND JOIN US ,WE SHALL BE WITH YOU IN THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE SPIRIT AND YOU WILL SURELY MEET SOME OF US AS YOU TRUDGE THE PATH OF HAPPY DESTINY ‘ MAY GOD BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU UNTIL THEN. thanks to all contributors. MM anon.

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Oct. 8

MM ANON … fab two ‘ future Queen……future king …… also rans …… three weddings and a refusal …… Archie-bargy …… a dog with no name …… silent screaming past…… 🎼” there may be trouble ahead “🎼…… “ if I tell you ‘ I’d have to…… “…… everyone is scarfing …… (another private flight)…… Branson island … Mail on payday… … “ please boo the buggers”

Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oct. 8

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Oct. 9

MM ANON …… “ sorry, not today thank you “…… never EVER explain …… “what happens in house, stays in-house”. ……a special briefing …… another cover-up?…… … glowing anticipation …… special forces …… “unprecedented care”…… a very tired PR …… public appearance nerves …… “we’ll pay you handsomely”…… “she’ll do it or suffer the consequences”

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Oct. 10

MM ANON ……corespondents under the radar …… “MA to MM”…… 🎼” gimme a ticket for an aeroplane”🎼…… “ my baby wrote me a letter” “ I’ve seen the contents of several”…… ‘ thank you LG.”…… “were in need of another f#@ing hole”…… Sheeran a common problem ……” drag her along ‘ your joking”… not seen’ not heard, GOOD!!!!…… Christmas 🧣 scarfs …… 🎼Back in the USA”🎼…… “friends thou hast and their adoption tried ”…(very trying!!!)

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Oct. 10

MM ANON, for Mr Skippy, “ take away my difficulties that victory over them may bear wittiness of thy love ,thy power and thy way of life “ …… GOD BLESS YOU BOTH. 💜💜💜💜🧡🧡🧡🧡

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Oct. 11

MM ANON … aggressive tabloid PR…… desperate image…… manipulate a student …… public fear…… ((loving wife and mother))…… 🎼” Money, get away”🎼…… a fence for Harry …… “ how do I milk this”…… most dangerous tour…… “ I guess I never got the memo”…… the natives are getting restless …… nutmegs public anticipation …… Scrambled eggs!!

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Oct. 12

MM ANON … Sunday sensation??……… LG will give the word…… lots of dirty dirt…… 🎼” love me or leave me”🎼…… when the going gets tough ……”…… “ not another chicken dinner”…… “ is She nice”…… “ I think you should know something”. …… “ Fair is foul,and foul is fair”…… WOW!! ace down the line!!…… “advantage MOS”… location,location vexation.

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Oct. 13

MM ANON … “ THE MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK …… 🎼”Sparkles spangles, see how they shine, sing-a-linga “🎼…… Tom the Bomb… “A woman of sub-stance🤣”…… maybe ‘ sex lies and video tape … 🎼” when you come to the end of a lollipop”🎼… ……” A kid for two farthings” …… “ you know how to whistle don’t you Harry”…… “an obvious cuckold…… “…… home to roost”

————-

Oct. 13

MM ANON, Tom Bowers , Britain’s most feared biographer is going to write a “TELL ALL” Tome on the evasive one , will we expect 🎼sparkles spangles, your heart will sing , jing-jing-a-ling a 🎼…… OMG, the anticipation for this one is EPIC , 🎼 yachting, hotting, see how she lays ,toss-a-lotta🎼 This author flays his victims alive ‘ WE WAIT IN APOPLECTIC SUSPENSE 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣PLEASE TOM DO TELL “EVERYTHING!, emails,sexts And video tapes. 🎼”Sparkles spangles and deeds”🎼

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Pakistan Tour 14-18

Oct. 14

MM ANON …… Pakistani perfection ……”will anything ever happen?” …… “ she’s a disease” …… HMTQ is feeling the strain ……… oh’ oh , the green eyed monster …… “MA has all the answers” …… ( and the evidence)………” if I had a penny ……… “…………” she got to show, to much gossip!!” ……… “ Harry, Dear heart, pull your head out of the sand” …… “it’s Kismet old thing,kismet!! “

————

Oct. 15

MM ANON ……A sense of humour ‘ tuk tuk …… 🎼nobody does it better 🎼……… REAL ROYALTY …… ‘after the Lord Mayor show came the dustcart …… Charlotte the “NEW”future people’s Princess 👸 …… Little Louie people’s Prince 🤴 ……… “, it’s nutmeg crumble for desert marm,…… “ that’s the bloody way to do it!!!”…… “ what’s that other silly tart doing?”…… “it’s a mystery Philip”

————

Oct. 16

MM ANON …… On the banks of Huntspill River …… a pretty Sum-erset …… O dear ‘ how not to be princely …… 🎼” everybody’s doing the loco- emotion”🎼……… In the real steps of his mother…… “Protocol, dignity and humour “…… Their successes drove her apoplectic …… LIZARDS 🦎 ……” please George ‘ don’t do that”🦎🦎🦎…… … Nanny doesn’t like🦎🦎🦎…… “I miss the children”…… ROYAL AIR FORCE ONE. …… MI6 and the visit??…… “ de visit was spectacular ‘ de-brief was better”. ……” Thanks M.”

————

Oct. 16

MM ANON… nutmegs agenda ‘ write his nauseating tome, push in front, psychologically undermine him , feed his anger and resentment for W&K! , Don’t get near the public ( fears of rejection), continue emotional blackmail, put pressure and endorse his lack of self esteem ,psychotropic drugs?, cry and keep asking him why people hate you ‘, convince him the BRF are against both of them …… question his grasp on reality. This is her agenda ‘ allegedly. Speculation of course.

——————

Oct. 16

MM ANON … after one year of marriage the boys a total wreck , mounting the Dias in Africa all disoriented ,and blubbering at child works , he’s in a psychotic purgatory that she continues to perpetuate. How does Harry dump the faux bump and find true happiness????? Britain is waiting for the inevitable divorce and the English rose Harry will one day meet. It’s Kismet LG ,pure Kismet!! “ Cry God for Harry’………… “.

—————

Oct. 16

MM ANON …Harry’s split second mishap…… A choreographed comforter. …… 🎼” 19th nervous breakdown” 🎼…… a plethora of past lovers … 🎼” we have no secrets”🎼🤣🤣…… The announcement,an unstable Stable. …… 🎼” I’m not in love, so don’t forget it” 🎼……… fixan a vixen. ……… nutmeg on Toast……… MA” is he mine? Yup!! ……” accolades on the return”.

—————

Oct. 17

MM ANON …… Thank you for the wonderful and ingenious humour LH. 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

—————-

Oct. 18

MM ANON …… “Festering,yes”💸💸💸💸”it’s a struggle” 💸💸💸💸……… comment section ‘ #@&*#¥……… “ I was flying “…… 🎼” Never cried when granny died 🎼”……soon,wonderful weekend with the children …… FaceTime mummy’🦎🦎🦎🦎……… “ Kate , ones so proud”…… “ you’re a stalwart William “ …… “ you’re very pretty dressed as a Unicorn 🦄 “…… $h!t !! She’s gone nuclear!, …… well’ that Doc was a load of boll***.…… “shhhh’ I heard that too!!”… gossip darlings ‘ gossip!!… “ all that glitters,”

—————

Oct. 18

MM ANON, OMG , Harry’s festering, nutmegs struggling, Archificial is having an identity problem. ( “ I wanna know who’s my dad’) ……… “ is it mine”, nutmeg gazing towards a distant horizon, someone with a all knowing smirk gazing back from distant horizon ‘. And there both going to try and flog this p!$$poor Documentary to the savvy Brits. Are they both off their f#@ing trolly , who TF wants to see them whining about how they struggle on 20 million a year , not those trying to pay a mortgage.

—————-

Oct. 18

MM ANON , “ not many people asked if I was alright”, well I wasn’t alright…… , Ahhhhhh , what a shame nutmeg,perhaps if you didn’t fake your pregnancy people would have warmed to you ‘ ( NO , DONT THINK SO ). So nutmeg plays the poor me card , poor me, poor me pour me a drink. ………… I wonder what the RPO conversation is when she’s not being obnoxiously present. , she apparently treats everyone like 💩💩💩💩. I have news nutmeg, Britain doesn’t give a $h!t.

——————-

October. 19

MM ANON …… “ O no , not another f%#ing beautiful Sunday “…… All together, a ROYAL reunion 🦄🦎👸🤴… “ she’s not invited, again🧣“……” O Philip, do lets watch this documentary 🤣🤣“ …… “Really, old thing, really ?”…… “ bloody hell , Charlottes a better actress “……… “ Mummy!! I’ve lost my 🦎” ……” What next LG , the Caribbean and North America with the children?”…… “ Mmmm , Marm that would work ,next year’ someone will be jealous!!” …… “ “what’s that ol’ thing , I’m reading skippy Philip”.

—————-

Oct 19

MM ANON , “THEY DON’T MAKE IT EASY”, I’M OKAY, can’t wait for the trawling that the whiner is going to be subjected to. The comments section of the DE&DM and MOS is 95% negative, and aggressively anti Megain. The Mocumentary will only draw more humiliation and subtle sarcasm from the tabloids. Juxtaposition this with the shining success W&K received on their return from Pakistan and you have the pulse of National opinion. The big takeaway is “Nutmeg is hated”.

——————-

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Seventy: Total Silence ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, death, blood ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

How long has he wallowed in total silence?

On and on he wanders, never finding what he seeks. In his wake, no birds call. No branches snap. No breezes rustle the leaves of the trees.

It’s almost maddening…!

No longer does he count how many years he’s traveled, seeking his vengeance. Part of him wonders if he will ever find it...or if he’s simply doomed to walk a ghost along the plane of the mortals for the rest of time.

Even now, he still wears his armor, dons his swords. Were any to see him, they’d be taken back to the time of the samurai. A time not yet forgotten, and yet fading further and further into the past.

Because of his grizzly death, Uchiha Sasuke remains. A ghost, a goryō: a spirit seeking revenge for his slow, agonizing death. Of course...by now, it’s unlikely his aggressors still live. He may have no direct path to his vengeance.

...but there are always other ways. If he can find their lands, he can still ravage them. Bring a plague, start fires, beget war...he can take water away for a drought, or drown them in a flood. The all-consuming need for revenge burns in him like a flame, only able to extinguish once it has burned all that wronged him. Only once those who took everything from him suffer a similar fate can he be allowed to rest.

So, until then...he lingers, a restless spirit full of malice, anger, and hate.

And still he goes in silence.

Following a path overgrown - forgotten and unused - he halts. In the distance, he can see lights amidst the dark of night. A village…? No...a compound of some kind. Likely a clan...perhaps of samurai, like himself?

...could it be they who battled him so long ago…?

Form flaring at the possibility, he keeps on, a hand resting along the hilt of his blade. He may yet be close…!

Descending from the woods he roams, he walks among fields toward the largest structure, clearly a manor of some kind. Pale in the moonlight, he simply shifts through obstacles: the outer wall, and that of the garden.

But just as he steps through, something holds him in his tracks.

...a sound.

So startled is he after so long in silence, Sasuke’s eyes widen in shock, completely still. The first true sound he’s heard in...far too long. And not just any sound: the pluck of a koto string.

His ghostly gaze scans the yard...and then finds the source. Though the hour is late, a young woman sits along the engawa, the instrument laid before her. Picks along her thumb, index, and middle fingers, she hovers her hands over the strings.

He stares, unseen.

She’s a classic beauty: long, dark hair, straight as a blade and cut over her brows. A lilac kimono rests over a pale, womanly form. And even from this distance, it’s hard to miss the pale shine of her eyes in the moonlight.

...none of his enemies had eyes like those.

Then, slowly...she starts to play. It’s a melancholy song, legato and smooth. It’s almost...reminiscent, in a way. But he’s certain he’s never heard it before. Yet it reminds him of a time long gone: of his own clan’s compound, the musicians there, the dancers...how they would revel in their victories over their enemies.

...he wonders if any of his kin remain. If the Uchiha banner is no more, or if somewhere, one of his bloodline still walks.

Though he arrived determined to scour the place for his enemies...Sasuke finds he can’t bring himself to move: trapped like a beast lulled by a maiden’s song. Slowly - ever so slowly - he finds himself...calming. Soothing. Cooling. Until, eventually, he carefully shifts his position to sit along the grass, utterly silent despite the visual rustling and settling of his armor.

On the concert goes for uncounted minutes. All the while, the woman hangs her head forlornly over her instrument. Almost like she’s mourning something...or perhaps someone. It begets a kind of curiosity in the ghost. Who she is. What weighs upon her so. As noted, she’s beautiful - exactly the kind of woman - in life - he would have considered for a bride.

...a life stolen from him…

But before the fires can grow again within him, silence falls again. It seems she’s finished her song. Leaning back, she sits in the quiet, gaze caught out over the moonlit garden.

He, in turn, watches her.

After a time, she moves to stand...and something stirs in him. In a blink, his ethereal form appears before her instrument.

Gasping, she leans from him...but Sasuke doesn’t notice. Instead, he looks over the wood and strings. A spectral hand ghosts over the silk, but earns no sound.

“...how I’ve missed the lull of music…”

Staring in shock, barely daring to breathe, she watches him, unblinking.

“...I thank you, my lady, for your serenade. It brings me a calm I’ve lacked. Though vengeance burns within me...this settles that beast somehow.”

She can give no reply, too wary.

“...would you play again? Perhaps...I can find respite in your song.”

With that, he flickers again, settling back atop the grass at her fore, a hand braced atop a folded knee.

For a moment longer she stares...and then slowly moves to acquiesce. Picks still in place, she seems to rattle her brain for a tune before playing.

That same melancholy calm washes over him. Eyes closed, Sasuke lets his head crane back. In truth...he’s tired. So tired. Over and over he’s walked the same circles. If only he could rest...he only wants to rest…

Before him, the maiden keeps up her song, eyes flickering to him. All know of the battles that once soaked the land with blood. But never has she seen a ghost of those lost lives...this must be one of them. Doomed to wander in purgatory, too consumed by anger to rest. But...maybe…

Concentrating, she decides to try to play his soul to rest. Opening her mouth, she begins to croon soft words alongside the strings’ notes.

Sasuke’s eyes slowly open, watching.

Under the moonlight they sit: performer and audience. She laments in her lyrics, trying to capture a feeling of somber peace: urging him to release his clutched ties.

But the song cannot last forever...and she lets it fade into silence.

Sasuke, for a moment, remains idle. “...a beautiful tune. It reminds me...that there are still beautiful things in this world. Even if I must leave them behind...at least I can find solace in that.”

Around him, his pale blue aura begins to fragment, drifting like embers from a dying fire.

“...thank you, my lady. Perhaps I will find my rest at last.”

A pause, and then, “...I am Hyūga Hinata, my lord. I am happy to be of service.”

He bows his head. “...Uchiha Sasuke. Thank you...for breaking the silence one last time.” With a shimmer, he dissipates into a shower of spectral sparks.

Still unsure if such visions were real, Hinata stares at the now-empty garden.

“...sayonara…”

.oOo.

Guh, late, as usual...which also means this isn't as fleshed out as I wanted Dx I had the concept earlier today, but life got in the way and then I was low on time without knowing what creature I wanted Sasuke to be. Settled on the revenge ghost, because...of course xD I didn't have much time to look into the ghost concept much, so I'm not sure this makes 100% sense or is completely accurate, but...I just didn't have the time to research too much. As per usual. But! Hopefully it was enjoyable nonetheless~ For now tho, it's veeery late, and I need sleep! Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #death //#blood //#river runs deep [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 6

So much happens in all of these chapters, like, oh my god guys, I’m so stoked about this

Also, @thisisnotberk drew the most beautiful fanart today and it’s my favorite thing and PERFECTLY timed because this chapter is all about Hiccup and Snotlout and you should see how beautiful they are because they’re beautiful. Thank you again!!!!

AO3

Hiccup doesn’t realize his arm is still around Astrid’s shoulders until the front door of her apartment building is securely shut behind them, the hallway quiet except for his heart pounding in his ears and the echo of a scream rattling around his brain.

“Sorry,” he lets go of her arm, hand hanging awkwardly at his side, “I didn’t, um—”

“What do you think that was?” Astrid looks back over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs, keys jingling in her hand. “Should we report it?”

“What like call the cops and say someone screamed downtown?” He follows her, too addled to feel uninvited and too warm from walking back so quickly. He unzips his jacket as she unlocks her front door and leaves it open behind her. “Last time I checked, screaming isn’t illegal.”

“Have you seen the noise violation laws?” She kicks her boots off and starts pacing back and forth in her living room. The walls are bare aside from a single frame that holds what looks like a diploma and the only furniture is a chair and a beat-up coffee table. It looks less like the crime scene photos with Astrid living in it, vibrant and not as scared as she probably should be. Gearing up for a fight more than running from one.

“Have you?”

“Yes, the new ones are extensive,” she pauses to stare at him, blinking a couple of times to herself, “right, Tuffnut’s dossier.”

“Whose what?”

“My friend, Tuffnut,” she hands him the binder from a stool by the door serving as another tiny table, “that’s what he calls his dumb Grimborn theory binder.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.” He tucks it under his arm and looks down at the toes of his shoes butted up against the threshold to her apartment. “So umm…that wasn’t quite how I wanted to end that tour, but are you ready to subscribe to my daily Grimborn text service? It’s free for the first week.”

Astrid has an uncanny way of catching his eye even when he’s trying to avoid hers. More than that, he doesn’t feel his usual urge to shut her out when she sees through him too easily, past whatever front he put up to keep her back. Maybe his fronts aren’t up to their usual standard though, because he kind of likes feeling like something she’s trying to figure out.

He’s used to being the one with the clues, but when she treats him like a curious piece of a puzzle she’s trying to put together, it makes him interested in the final product.

“How did you want to end it?”

“I don’t know, my usual lecture about how safe Berk is now,” he tucks his hand in his pocket, “like the buildings themselves learned from the blood and I don’t know, it probably wouldn’t have worked on you.”

“That’s really corny,” she rests her hand on the doorknob, “I still think we should tell someone what we heard.”

“Tell you what, I’ll check it out on my way home, it’s right on the way.”

Astrid’s frown is impossibly familiar even if it’s not directed at him this time, more through him, and his heart stutters when he realizes it’s protective.

“You’re walking home?” She tucks her hair behind an ear that sticks out adorably far, “shouldn’t you get an Uber or something? Or ask your cousin for a ride?”

“Right, like Snotlout would give me a ride,” he scoffs. Snotlout would, of course, but it’d be more painful than it’s worth.

Plus, Hiccup has been exploring those alleys for five years now and he’s never heard anything like that. Sure, he’s been mugged once or twice, but those people were just desperate and once he started helping with Gobber’s shelter and gaining some notoriety, people just started asking him for help instead of taking what they thought they could.

Astrid’s frown deepens and it scares him when her eyes flick to her lonely chair, like she feels like she has to invite him inside. It’s not that he doesn’t want to stay longer and maybe level out the playing field a bit, given he told her about his dad and he hardly gave her a chance to talk, but well, echoing screams in Berk alleys have forced him on her enough.

“Are you worried about me?” He teases, flinching when she smacks his upper arm hard enough that he almost drops the binder. Or no, the dossier.

“That’s for taking me on a really creepy tour at a really creepy time.”

“That’s…fair—” He guesses it’s about time for something about this tour to be normal, and a stinging arm traded for Berk to go back to the generally safe place he knows doesn’t seem like too much of a trade.

Then she kisses him on the cheek, quickly like she’s hoping he’ll miss it, like that’s a possibility in any reality. When she pulls back her face is red, bright against blooming circles under her eyes as she steps back, leaning on the doorknob.

“That’s for everything else.” Astrid mutters something that sounds like an amalgamation of ‘goodnight’ and ‘good morning’ and ‘goodbye’ and shuts the door, once again leaving him with a click and his own awkward hands and pounding heartbeat.

It’s still dark outside, the buildings blocking even the idea of dawn on the horizon, and if it weren’t for the heavy binder under Hiccup’s arm, he might believe that none of that just happened. From Astrid saying she’d go on a tour in the first place to asking about him instead of Viggo and mostly, to the scream they heard that cut everything short. He offered to check it out mostly hoping that Astrid would drop it and not inform the police where they were, since they were technically trespassing on condo conglomerate territory, but now he’s curious. Curious and way too restless to go home and try and sleep before his next set of tours.

They were almost to the fourth site when they heard the scream, so he takes a shortcut, skirting through a torn section of six-foot chain link behind a new construction site and ducking under a semi full of lumber that’s blocking a wide, modern alley. He can hear the broken ‘Closed’ sign in the Ripped Tavern’s back window shorting from the rain, flashes of red light pulsing along with a blooming feeling of dread in Hiccup’s chest as he turns the corner and freezes, staring at the shadow under the street lamp.

Blood looks black in yellow light. Hiccup remembers the stain on the pavement after his father was taken to the hospital, brick red then chalky like a blackboard under the halogen buzz. This blood is fresh though, steaming on the cold concrete as it draws a stark line to the drain.

“Hello?” He calls out, stepping hesitantly forward then running when he thinks he sees movement. He’s on his knees beside the body before he realizes it was a trick of the light, his brain shielding him from something he doesn’t want to make sense of.

Unlike some worse-adjusted Grimborn enthusiasts out there, Hiccup has seen a dead body. Once, when he was twenty and shaky, a splotch on pavement engraved into the insides of his eyelids, and it wasn’t an experience he ever wanted to repeat.

This isn’t a repetition, it’s an expansion.

An anatomy lesson he didn’t sign up for, glittering with high budget HBO special effects instead of the sepia tone of a century between the camera’s snap and his own understanding. He jumps to his feet and staggers backwards, dropping everything in his hands and leaning against the nearest wall. It makes more sense from here, Mary Johnson, Grimborn’s last confirmed victim, sprawled out and cut open. Dispersed.

But it’s not Mary Johnson. The longer Hiccup looks, the clearer he can think, and the bolt of recognition jabs him again.

It’s the homeless woman he escorted to the shelter last week. What was her name? She was going through a divorce, she was…Jennifer. That’s it. Jennifer something, did she give him a last name? He doesn’t remember.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fumbles for it, seeing Snotlout’s name on the caller ID and picking up with a shaking hand.

“So am I interrupting you and Astrid having—”

“There’s a body,” Hiccup’s own calm voice shocks him. He doesn’t feel calm, or maybe he does, maybe the shock is fading into something analytical.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I was on my way home and earlier we heard something funny, so I came to see what it was and there’s a body.”

“What? Like a dead body?” Snotlout pauses whatever he was doing in the background of the call and suddenly, Hiccup can make out the sound of tires on the salted road ahead and feet on the sidewalk. Splashes of red and blue light swirling on the walls. “Did you call the cops or just get straight to studying it, fucking hell, Hiccup—”

“Looks like they’re already here.”

“Fuck, I’m on my way,” Snotlout hangs up and Hiccup barely has time to get his phone back in his pocket before an officer is rounding the corner, flashlight flicking between the woman on the ground and Hiccup’s face.

Hiccup puts his hands up slowly and calls out, “I don’t suppose it would do anything for me if I told you I could explain, would it?”

One time when he was fifteen and deep into his Houdini phase, Hiccup handcuffed himself and tossed the key out the window. His dad was furious, it was one of the few times Hiccup thought that the offer to let him try and Houdini himself out of an actual jail cell was legitimate. Instead, he had to spend his allowance on a metal detector to scan the street for the key and ultimately found it in a storm drain and had to spend more money on a magnet powerful enough to pull it out. It was an expensive enough hassle that he considers it an unintended consequence that followed being handcuffed, and since faux fur lined handcuffs don’t incur unintended consequences, he would say that this is technically the second time he’s been in cuffs.

It’s less stressful than his second time seeing a dead body. He didn’t do anything wrong besides some mild trespassing and they give him coffee at the station, which he knows to be a gesture of good faith from all the times his dad made him deliver coffee as a gesture of good faith.

Snotlout makes his best case for uncuffing him, but gets shut down and sent to his desk, so Hiccup spends the next hour stuck to a table in an interrogation room, nursing cold coffee and trying his best to remember what he saw for a witness statement. They have his phone, so he doesn’t know what time it is when a detective finally enters, but the man’s expression leads Hiccup to believe it’s still uncomfortably early in the morning.

Early. Astrid. Crap, he didn’t get a chance to tell her, she’s going to hear about this on the news. She’s probably going to hear about him on the news.

“Detective Eretson,” he introduces himself, shaking Hiccup’s cuffed right hand and sitting down across the table with a manila folder. “You told your arresting officer that you had an explanation—”

“I do, I was just on my way home—”

“At four forty-five in the morning?”

“I, uh, well it wasn’t a date but—”

“I’m not here to ask you about your social life, Mr. Haddock, I’m here to ask how you came to be standing above this woman so soon after she was murdered that she was still warm.” Detective Eretson slides a crime scene photo across the table, the flash illuminating what Hiccup could only guess at in the dark. “Do you have an explanation for how you got to the crime scene so quickly?”

“I wasn’t that far away,” he tries to gesture but the cuffs catch a couple inches above the table, “I was going from 324 Harbor street to the north side of East street, just past the park, I took a shortcut and well, you know the rest.”

Detective Eretson nods, unconvinced, and there’s a knock at the door a split second before it opens and Snotlout sticks his head in.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee,” the detective barks without looking up.

“Ok, I was talking to the witness, but you could say please.”

“Two coffees, Snotl—Officer Jorgenson.” Hiccup glares at his cousin, “please.”

“How do you know Officer Jorgenson?” The detective asks as soon as the door is shut again and Hiccup folds his hands together.

“Is that pertinent to this investigation?” He clears his throat, “sir.”

Detective Eretson would be intimidating in any circumstance, but the combination of his chin tattoo and intensely unamused gaze in particular makes the chill around Hiccup’s wrists sink in deeper, reminding him there’s no way out of this but through. And the noodle arms thing is still unfortunately true, not that Snotlout’s gym time would make him any better at busting out of here right now.

Thinking of Snotlout makes him appear, sloshing coffee down his arm as he wrestles the door open and walks inside. He sets the half empty cup in front of Detective Eretson and stands arms crossed at the side of the table, making no move to leave as the door shuts itself.

“Can I help you with something?” Eretson asks without looking and Snotlout huffs.

“I don’t know, can you?” He grumbles before standing up straighter, on tip toes if Hiccup isn’t mistaken. “I was on the phone with the witness at the time he discovered the body, I requested to assist in the interrogation—Interview. The interview”

Great, it’s an interrogation, that’s excellent news.

“I thought you weren’t on duty today,” Eretson sounds like he prefers that concept and Hiccup tries to get Snotlout to leave with an important look at the door.

“I’m not, and I’m not asking for overtime, it’s called over-achieving, look it up.”

“If we could just get on with this interview,” Hiccup hedges and Eretson stares at him for a second before turning back to his folder.

“What’s this?” He pulls out another photo of a non-descript gray binder and Hiccup’s face goes pale.

“It’s a dossier.” His voice cracks, “detailing a friend of a friend’s theory about Viggo Grimborn, it’s a joke.”

Snotlout’s glare bores into the side of Hiccup’s head and he tries to scratch his temple, only to have his wrists catch on the cuffs again.

“Viggo Grimborn?” Eretson frowns and Snotlout leans back against the wall, obviously on tip toes now, arms crossed tight as he refuses to even make eye contact with Hiccup.

“Oh, you don’t know who Viggo Grimborn is? That’s not one of the many infinite things that you know?”

“He was a serial killer in the late eighteen hundreds, I know the alleys so well because I am a Viggo Grimborn tour guide who does an informational tour about him, that’s how I knew about the short cut. Snotlout is my cousin and roommate and he called to ask when I was coming home, that snapped me out of my…utter and complete shock at what I’d found and then an officer came around the corner—”

“We had a tip of a disturbance in the area,” Detective Eretson looks levelly at Hiccup for a second, “while you were taking your shortcut, did you see anyone else?”

“No, I didn’t. I mean, except for Jennifer’s body—“

“You watched that without me?” Snotlout hisses and Eretson slams his hand on the table.

“Jorgenson, out!”

“You are not my commanding officer, actually—“

“And you can thank your lucky stars for that,” Eretson stands up and opens the door, looking pointedly at Snotlout until he goes reluctantly flat-footed. “You’re interrupting my investigation with a suspect that you know, is that something I should tell your commanding officer about?”

“No,” Snotlout deflates, looking at Hiccup one more time before trudging out of the room.

“Sorry about him,” Hiccup tries when Eretson closes the door, but there’s no sign that the detective hears him as he crosses the room again and slams his hand down, next to Hiccup’s cuffed ones. His looming should be intimidating or even frightening, but Hiccup feels disconnected from it, like he’s watching it instead of living it. Like he’s still back in that alley, seeing the future play out.

“You recognized the victim?” His voice is low and serious, toeing the line too carefully to be deadly.

“Yes—“

“So I’m supposed to take it on faith that you know the alleys because you do a serial killer informational tour and on your way home at odd hours, you stumbled across the body of someone you happen to know?”

“Know is an overstatement,” Hiccup tries to gesture again, the chain catching and clanging against the table, “I walked her to the shelter the other night, she was arguing with one of those Neighborhood Watch Force wannabes about crossing the center of town while they were trying to say curfew. Gobber, the guy who runs the shelter, can vouch for me. That’s the only time I’ve ever met her—“

“But you recognized the body—“

“Yeah, apparently I have a photographic memory when I’m in shock,” he laughs, feeling frantic and suddenly needing to escape, “every day you learn something new.”

“Well,” Eretson pulls a key ring from the pocket of his slacks and flicks past a couple of near identical keys to find an all too familiar one. Hiccup rubs his wrists when the cuffs fall away, because he’s seen people in movies do it, and maybe it’ll help with the bands of bone deep chill or the soreness from accidentally flexing against metal one too many times. “I’ll be looking into your alibi.”

“But I’m free to go?” Hiccup stands up, stumbling on his numb right foot and catching himself on the table. He has to pee, but he’ll go in a bush outside and risk a second arrest for public nudity before he stays inside the station a second longer than he has to.

“For now,” Eretson opens the door but stands in the way, looking Hiccup up and down like there’s a clue stuck to him that just hasn’t been spotted yet. “Don’t leave town.”

“I’ll cancel my knitting retreat then,” the last shred of Hiccup’s patience evaporates as he slips around the detective, running his hand through his hair and stalking towards the front door of the station. Someone at the front desk stops him and gets his information, like they don’t have that already. They give him his phone back too, but the case is on upside down, like someone tried to unlock it a little too diligently.

Snotlout is outside talking to a coworker Hiccup doesn’t recognize, but he immediately jogs over when he sees Hiccup heading for home.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Hiccup laughs, slamming his hand against the crosswalk button with a little too much force. “Detective Eretson will be checking into my alibi.”

“Right, which is no, you weren’t murdering anyone, you were giving some girl a tour of places someone else murdered people,” Snotlout throws his arms up, “fantastic!”

“Astrid,” Hiccup stops short, patting his sides like he somehow stashed the binder in a pocket he forgot about until now, “the binder—“

“Is evidence because it’s a creepy handmade book found at a murder scene,” Snotlout catches Hiccup’s shoulder when he tries to turn into a familiar alley, “where are you going?”

“Home,” He gestures, wincing at the dull pain in his wrist, “it’s quicker this way.”

“Yeah and the last time you took a sketchy shortcut, you got arrested—“

“It’s not sketchy, it’s just cutting around the stupid condos that I hate to look at,” Hiccup sighs when Snotlout steps into the mouth of the alley and crosses his arms. “You know, no one notices that you’re shorter than them until you start with the tiptoes thing.”

“Yeah, and no one notices that you’re weird until you show up at a crime scene with a book about murders.” He snorts, “oh wait, they already knew you were weird, never mind.” He only crosses his arms tighter when Hiccup bends his knees, threatening to dodge around him. “Just walk the long way past the stupid condos.”

Hiccup stands back up straight and runs his hand through his hair, tugging and lamenting how much longer it’s going to take to get home and rinse the interrogation room and murder alley scum off.

“Detective Eretson is really under your skin, huh?” He starts walking again and Snotlout almost doesn’t follow. “Oh come on, are you going to take the shortcut?

“Maybe.”

“You know you always get lost back there.” Hiccup points up at the condo roofline, “If you’re making me walk past those monstrosities, at least come with me.”

“Fine,” Snotlout gets all of two steps down the sidewalk before he’s ranting, “and I don’t know who Eretson thinks he is, he’s been here all of five minutes, he doesn’t even know who Virgo Grimdeath—“

“Viggo Grimborn, he’s not an astrology card—“

“Whatever, he doesn’t even know who he is and he thinks he owns the place. And he’s got the stupid accent and the muscles and he’s like eighty feet tall—”

“Do you hate him or have a crush on him?”

“Shut up, Hiccup,” Snotlout narrows his eyes, “you’re a little tall yourself to be messing with me right now. Toeing the line between normal and too tall,” he snorts, “well, toeing halfway.”

“Was that really necessary?” Hiccup shakes his head, looking out at the bay to avoid glaring up at the condo façade. A seagull is eating some leavings from a gutted fish and it makes him think of what he saw in the alley and he glares at Snotlout to avoid gagging.

“We’re even.” Snotlout flexes his arm, “and it’s not all bad, I’ve been going to the gym a lot more lately because Eretson was acting like he owned the place—“

“No one thought you were a stripper, Snotlout, I don’t buy it.”

“Yeah, and you got a date with a hot girl who called you a hair fetishist, crazier things have happened.”

Hiccup doesn’t have an answer to that right away and they walk the next few blocks in silence. The earliest commuter traffic is starting to pile up on the road and the sun feels a little too bright, scalding through Hiccup’s retinas and reminding him how long he’s been awake.

“It wasn’t a date,” Hiccup stands back to let Snotlout unlock the front door of the apartment, following him in and immediately losing the mental battle not to flop into his dad’s old leather chair. He’ll clean the murder gunk off of it later. Maybe. He should have peed before sitting down but the night is catching up all at once. “She did kiss me though.”

“What?” Snotlout sets his holster on the table by the door. “And you don’t believe that one person thought I was a stripper? But I’m supposed to believe that a girl as hot as Astrid kissed you?”

“On the cheek,” Hiccup reaches up to touch his face, the static of the dry brush of Astrid’s lips lingering even though the rest of the morning, warm where the rest of him is cold, like the handcuffs chilled more than just his wrists.

“Wait, like your cheek or your actual cheek?” Snotlout raises an eyebrow and gestures at his own ass, “like am I impressed or did the middle school dance go really well?”

“My cheek on my face,” Hiccup pulls his right shoe off and lobs it at Snotlout, missing by a few inches. It leaves mud on the wall and out of the corner of his eye it looks like blood.

“Oh, so it’s lame—“

“I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Because if you don’t talk you explode?” Snotlout snickers, finally setting his badge on top of his other uniform accessories and walking towards the bathroom. Dammit. “I’m going to bed, dude.”

“Sounds good.”

He pauses and looks back, “you’re good about, you know, seeing the dead person, right? Because you know after I had to respond to that thing with the train I was all kinds of freaked out,” he finishes the thought with a shudder. And as annoying and overbearing and nosy, and oh, disgusting, as Snotlout can be, Hiccup feels the genuine warmth of his concern.

“Nah, I’m good, I see pictures all the time, right?”

“It’s not the same.”

“No. It’s not.”

He must fall asleep at some point because he wakes up to his phone buzzing in his pocket, a string of texts coming through all at once.

Astrid (12:00pm): Murder? Astrid (12:02pm): we heard a murder?

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #blood mention #i kept away from the gore though

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