#sigh. i wish this game didn’t exist so it stopped tormenting me

[ntaras]

ik i’ve said before but it kind of (not kind of it really does) agitates me how people talk about mk12 kuai liang because it really does show that people want nothing but to baby him. like, people don’t really anything interesting to say about him besides he’s a good guy. yes he is a good guy. but is he not more? i get mk12’s story does write to be THE good guy to be bi-han’s foil, but i keep on thinking about how kuai liang was going to kill bi-han but no one really cares about discussing that as a part of kuai liang’s character in this story.

i’ve also said before that kuai liang and scorpion clash as characters and fit together well as separate characters, not as one character, but scorpion kuai liang could have been a somewhat good character and i do think that scene of him almost bashing bi-han’s head in with his chains shows potential in something interesting. kuai liang’s story is a struggle against the old lin kuei, but couldn’t it also be a struggle against himself? couldn’t it be a proper clashing of his self-control and the urge to act on only emotions?

seeing kuai liang keep a hold on himself until the reveal of their father’s death is (well not is but could’ve been) a fascinating flaw of his character. i think we should’ve actually seen a build up of his frustration towards bi-han growing over the course of the story, but keeping a cool head until he finally snapped.

but there really isn’t talk about that scene. there isn’t any care about his negative traits. there isn’t any care about him besides the want to just call him traumatized.

#don’t take any of this me actually liking mk12 scorp. if they had handled him differently i would have liked him better but i really do #despise mk12 scorp #this post is just annoyance at fandom treatment of him + what could have been done with mk12 scorp #also to add the thing that should’ve made him snapped was his brother’s betrayal ALONE and not actually cause of his involvement with their #father’s death #considering we don’t know anything about him nor enough to really care about on the same level of someone like jerrod #like of course if he was close with his father learning of how he died should effect him deeply #but it's a lame reaction with an even lamer build up to the reaction/not really showing his and bihan's relationship ruined that reaction #BUT we all already know that anyways. #it's just odd considering kuai is a very well liked and one of the most popular character that is relatively understood well by the entire #fandom for their to be such a lack of wanting to understand a new version of him by ignoring certain factors about him #like sorry to tell you but he also changed!!!! like everyone else he’s changed!!!! #sigh. i wish this game didn’t exist so it stopped tormenting me #talking; #kuai liang #not a dig at anyone specific. just an annoyance at the general fandom

[tokoyamisstuff]

Tender Ch. 1 - Loki x Mute! Reader

Summary: Even though Loki doesn’t understand why the new member of the Avengers should be kind to him of all people, he doesn’t want you to stop either.

Warnings: Loki being depressed, the Avengers being kinda mean, mentions of Torture and Death

Words: ~2100

[Story Masterlist] [All of my Works]

All eyes were on him again.

As soon as Loki would step inside, the previously lively room would fall completely silent. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t used to being the involuntary kill-joy...

Usually, the God of Mischief craved attention, may it be positive or negative - most of the time being the latter. But lately, after months of having all those distrustful and hostile glares piercing holes into him, he’d rather wish for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Umm, so...I gotta go.” Natasha was the first one to flee the unpleasant atmosphere, not even putting the energy into mutter anything else than a cheap excuse on her way out. Clint wordlessly followed her close after, but not without shooting the Odinson one last, spiteful look.

Loki on the other hand was picking on his hands, a nervous habit he had inherited from his mother. As much as he tried to avoid meeting their eyes, the tensioned aura they were emitting making him feel close to breaking down completely - but he would never give them the satisfaction to witness this, he swore to himself.

And yet: Maybe he should just leave. Disappear, forever.

Although he’d never admit, Loki had grown very tired of his life following this stirr path, unable to diverge into a new direction. Everything he did would ultimately bring death and destruction upon mankind, inflicting fear in the hearts of all people.

His whole existence was based on being condemned to fail - just for others to reach their ‘glorius purpose’.

“Great” Tony scoffed. “Now they’re gone. Well done, prince of nothing.” Steve cut his friend off, clearing his throat very exaggeratedly.

The god still hadn’t moved from the doorframe of the conference room, while all others were already sitting on the oval-shaped table. He didn’t got what all that fuss was about. If Steve didn’t insist him to attend this emergency meeting, he’d just have gone about his usual business and avoided everyone as good as he could.

“C’mon, brother” Thor sighed, well knowing that if his brother was to stay in the team, it would ultimatively drive a wedge between them. All that pressure in the air was straining for everyone, including himself. 

Tony on the other hand was pretty chill about everything, aside of being passive-aggressive. This was probably due to their similar coping styles.

Even though his near-death-experience back when he stopped the Chitauri was still eating on his mental health, he’d prefer glossing over it with stupid jokes and overly confident behaviour. “No sassy remark today, Reindeer Games?”

Stark was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as he rose an eyebrow on the god, who only muttered a hoarse “No...not today.”

Yeah, it was kind of his style to break the unsettling silence through puny comments or self-glorifying speeches, to distract from his own insecurity.

But right now, he was just so damn tired.

Of this planet and it’s people, as well as the humiliating circumstances he had to dwell in. The fact that he was a prisoner at the Stark Tower, amongst his worst enemies. Being forced by his brother to keep up this meaningless act, as if he’d ever be seen as a team member or ally - when in reality, he was but a slave to the people he once ought to reign.

Just like back on Asgard: Never one of them, never belonging. No way to break free - for his true self was something to be loathed.

However, first and foremost the one thing he was especially tired of was himself, for he couldn’t get out of his own skin. Not only could he never be considered a hero, let alone be redeemed.

After all the atrocities he had commited due to Thanos’ torture and the tesseract’s influence,  now that he woke up from that naive dream of power stilling the emptiness in his dark heart, there was nothing left for him - other than to be haunted by his crimes until the mercy of death would overcome him.

“Well” Steve began, slamming his palms on the desk to attract everyone’s attention. “As you all know, we are welcoming a new team member today.”

“They all know?” Of course they wouldn’t let him in on such sensitive information. Not that he minded either way - one Avenger more or less, it didn’t matter how many people hated him in here.

“Please, come on in.”

Loki cleared the entrance when he heared Tony’s words, turning around in anticipation of another dull creature like the Hulk to torment him - but his calm demeanour dropped completely at this unusual sight:

“Y-You?!”

That was simply not possible! The last time he had seen you was almost a year ago, and you were on the brink of death at that!

“For everyone that doesn’t know yet: Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is one of the victims HYDRA experimented on, and they succeeded in forming an artificial mutant.”

Steve went on and on explaining about your powers, but Loki’s head had already turned on autopilot, the only thing he could concentrate on being how the hell you of all people ended up here.

All these months, he was desperately trying to get any information about you, all of his hints ultimately leading him to dead ends - and in the end, tragically believing in your imminent death.

The memories were still painfully vivid in his mind: It was his first mission together with the Avengers, at a HYDRA hideout with most likely no civil survivors.

Actually, he had planned to make his escape right when the others engaged in a fight, wandering the hallways of what resembled a torture chamber rather than a laboratory.

On the walls were several instructions, about a serum that might cause a human to mutate if they were exposed to unbearable stress - pain being the most effective method, apparently.

Yet instead of finding anything useful for his personal gain, he found you: A  beautiful woman, yet emaciated and lying in a puddle of her own blood. At first he thought you to be dead just like the others - but as soon as your faint whimpers drang to his ears, he burst the cell you were trapped in open, rushing to your side immediately.

“Shh...” the god scooped you up from the cold stone floor, wrapping his cloak around your broken body. “Everything is alright now. Your savior is here.”

Loki gasped as he felt your hand stroking his cheekbone, even through all your pain and weakness wanting to bid your hero this due respect.

“Hel...you humans are such fragile creatures...” Loki muttered under his breath, cursing his own lack of talent when it came to casting healing spells. “Hang in there, look at me!”

Your eyes were teary and bloodshot, yet not less fit to bring across a message no words ever could: Incredible gratitude, and admiration.

He could tell you were close to passing out when your hand left his face, falling limp to the side. But he held you firmly in his arms, not once stopping to utter sweet words of encouragement as he made his way to the ship, leading you into safety.

“Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?”

Those were the words he once directed at Black Widow - but only now he understood her attempts.

Saving one person could never make up for all the lives he had destroyed - and yet he knew that for you, it would mean the world none the less.

In one way or another, with your life at his mercy, he began to finally grasp the preciousness of life, and doing everything in one’s might to protect it.

“Reindeer Games” Tony tapped on his shoulders, making Loki wake from his pondering. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t scare her away on the first day already.”

Oh.

Just now he was noticing his own grim expression, having towered over your much smaller form this whole time with furrowed brows.

“My apologies” was his firm response, but you only shook your head, trying to tell him it was not a big deal.

So this was what you looked like when you’re not imprisoned, he realized when he took in your physique.

Much to his pleasure, all of your wounds had seemingly healed, and you finally gained some much needed weight. Like this, you looked so much more healthier - and most definetly even more bewitching than he remembered you.

If people had let him know, would he have visited your sickbed, aiding you towards health again? Who knows...

Yet somehow, he dwelled in the thought of you being able to lead a happy life now that you were free - which made your decision to seek out the Avengers in wish for more battles even harder for him to accept.

“You are incredibly strong, Lady Y/N” Loki spoke firmly, everyone else rolling their eyes at his usual exaggeration - but you knew he meant every word. “Be sure of my eternal respect.” 

The God of Lies’ eyes widened in excitement when you directed a warm smile at him, knowing for sure that this one was genuine. It wasn’t like those fake smirks the other Avengers gave him out of politeness, or the mocking laughs when they were making fun of or excluding him.

No - that one was just pure affection. And it left him in awe.

“Thank you for saving me back then” you signed, just for Loki shooting you a puzzled look.

“What, I thought the all-tongue knows every language?” Tony yelled, as inconsiderate as always. Thor was quick to explain on his brother’s stead, him still being deeply invested with you. “Every spoken one, yes. ASL is not one of our fortes.”

Usually, Loki had always been a quick thinker. But right now he was to bewildered by your appearance that thinking straight was out of the question.  

What language were they speaking of? And why have you not been saying anything up until now? Maybe his presence was making you uncomfortable, after all? Should he leave on your behalf?

To make it easier for him to understand, you rolled down your turtleneck, revealing the unsighty scar that covered your whole throat.

There were not many people bold enough to come close to the God of Mischief without warning, yet suddenly you simply took his hand and slowly led it to your neck.

How could you be so naive and offer someone like him such a vital spot?! He’ll never get the human philosophy...

And yet, the flabbergasted god hesistantly let his hand run over the scar, while you opened your mouth to no avail - for 11 months already, no tone would leave your vocal cords.

“I’m incredibly sorry...” Loki whispered with a sorrowful tone, while the others just stared in disbelief. “If only I was able to heal this wound back then...”

What a puny god he was...and an even more pathetic wanna-be-hero at that...

He would try to take a few steps back, but you took a hold of his hand, squeezing it with both of yours, that cheerful smile not faltering in the slightest.

“Please, don’t be sad. I’m only alive thanks to you!” Bucky, whose cousin was mute as well, translated what you were signing for Loki. His tone sounded quite irritated, not fitting those meaningful words. “I only wanted to join the Avengers because I want to be just like you. You’re my idol!”

Those words touched him deeply, igniting a flame inside of him he thought long to be defunct. Was it hope?

Of course it was not nearly enough to pull him out of that deep, dark hole he felt trapped in for as long as he could remember - yet somehow, he now felt that it was not impossible to escape.

While the others were cringing at your declaration, making jokes about ‘choosing wrong idols’ or would plainly not believe Loki to have a positive effect on anyone, the two of you would just stare at each other in silent admiration.

Shyly, you signed yet another word for him - and this time, Loki would know what you mean from pure intuition. 

He smiled.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Loki was able to smile again, just thanks to your heartwarming welcome. And he was still blissfully unaware about what effect you could have on him, if he was brave enough to let you close.

One thing was sure: You literally had him wrapped around his finger from the very start.

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Friggason #Oneshot #Self Insert #Marvel #Disney #Fluff #Fem! Reader #God of Mischief #Loki / Reader

[pregnant-piggy]

I don’t wanna be your ex

James Potter x slytherin!reader

words: 6.5k

A/N: it was so weird to write this as i usually write people falling in love, but this was almost the complete opposite. Reader is a Slytherin beater and i’ve kept them gender neurtal. I hope you’ll like it!

Request: can u pls do a blurb for James Potter based on the song EX by Kiana Ledé or if thats kinda too much a headcanon of how him and a slytherin quidditch beater started dating? @artemis1orion​​

based on EX by Kiana Ledé

James drummed his fingers on the wooden table top in a non-existing beat while his eyes scanned the full Great Hall around him. Thoughts were racing through his head, leaving his mind before he had even had a chance to find their meaning. His foot was bouncing uncontrollably under the table; he couldn’t stop it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Just a week ago everything had been fine. There had been nothing to plague James’ mind, nothing that could distract him from the game today.

As his eyes glanced over the excited students around him, James wondered where it had gone wrong. Had it been off the entire time or had something changed? Was it his fault? In all honesty, he hadn’t seen it coming—to him everything had seemed perfectly fine.

James’ eyes locked on the person he had been trying to avoid and yet find. It had only been a week, but it had felt so strange. All that had grown familiar on him was suddenly ripped from his life.

You were seated at the Slytherin table in your quidditch uniform, the green and silver clashing with James’ red and golden one. In your hand was a cup with steaming hot tea. Probably green tea, James figured, the only one he didn’t like. You laughed and your nose scrunched up a little. Even from so far away James could hear your chortle, or he imagined it.

It had seemed like such an odd couple, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor. The green beater and the red chaser. Silver and gold. Never in his whole life, James had thought that he would fall for a person from the house he had sworn to be his enemy on the moment he stepped foot in Hogwarts.

But nothing had stopped him. He had fallen fast and hard, so afraid that he would hit the ground and shatter. You had brought feelings up in him that he hadn’t felt before, feelings that he was terrified of.

After a month of careful flirting and awkward situations, you kissed him. Without any warning you had pressed your lips on James’, that typical laugh of you still echoing in his ears as he answered your kiss by entangling his fingers in your hair.

Happy and merry had started in that moment and they hadn’t left James for a long time. Wherever he went, you were there supporting him; if not physical then mentally. There was an imprint of you in James’ mind. The sound of your voice was nestled in every corner of his brain and now he tried to fight it.

Because you weren’t his anymore. He wasn’t yours.

You had said that you had seen it coming from afar, like a dark cloud of thunder in the blue sky on a summer’s day. Fog had formed around the two of you, hiding one from the other. So with little words and meaningless promises an end had been put to the ‘us’.

But that end wasn’t as easy as James had thought it to be. For so long you had been there with him, that life without you seemed dull. The sun was never shining and rain always threatened to fall. However, James couldn’t ask you to come back. He didn’t even want that, that he was sure of. Time with you had been great, but you were his ex now and he had no intention to change that.

‘You nervous?’ Sirius asked as he slumped down on the wooden bench next to him, ripping James’ attention away from you.

‘Nah,’ James lied while his stomach made a turn as he tried to take a bite from his breakfast. His gaze wandered off to the Slytherin table again and he left his fork untouched on the side of his plate. Sirius seemed to notice who his friend was looking at and he sighed as he moved a little closer to James, so no one would hear them.

‘Just talk to them, if you want so bad. You don’t have to get back together or anything, but just talk,’ Sirius said, receiving a huff from James.

‘Why would I talk to them? They broke up with me,’ James said as he ripped his gaze from you and turned to Sirius.

‘Yeah, but didn’t you promise you’d still be friends?’ Sirius pointed out, as he nonchalantly played with his pumpkin juice while eyeing James.

James barked a short humourless laugh and shook his head. ‘Of course I said that—that’s what everyone says when they’re breaking up!’

‘So you’re just never gonna…?’

‘No, I really don’t see the point,’ James shrugged and he returned to his breakfast.

‘That’s too bad,’ Sirius muttered, while he waved at Remus and Peter, who just entered the Great Hall to wish James luck before the game. ‘They were neat.’

James grumbled something and his eyes found your figure back. His conversation with Sirius had made him think. He had indeed promised you to stay friends, but you sure knew that that was just something he had said to make the situation a little less uncomfortable. Surely, you didn’t actually expect him to be friends after you had broken up?

Tearing his stare from you, James focused on his friends instead. Peter was rummaging through his bag to find something and Remus was calmly trying to eat his breakfast while Sirius kept tormenting him with pleads for help on the History of Magic essay. It took five minutes and the promise that Sirius would leave him be for the rest of the day for Remus to give in and Sirius was smirking as he dramatically threw his arms around Remus’ neck and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

‘Alright, alright,’ Remus mumbled, pushing Sirius away. ‘Now bugger off and let me eat my breakfast.’

Sirius let go of Remus and turned to James, who had till thus far been watching his friends with a faint smile on his lips. Sirius asked something about the strategy James had come up with to win this game from the Slytherins and as James dove with his pre-game nerves into a rant about how his beater had to clear the way for the chasers, Sirius’ eyes shifted to a spot above James’ shoulder. By the time James had realised it was too late for him to get out of the situation and he heard your enthusiastic voice.

‘Hey guys, what’s up?’ you said as you stood behind James, who kept his face at his plate. There was an awkward second as the three others looked from you at James and back, but Remus was quick to dismiss James’ distant behaviour and he smiled at you.

‘Not much here. Nervous for the game?’

James didn’t need to see your face to know exactly how you were feeling. He had been by your side for so many games. He knew that you were in fact nervous but would never admit it to anyone. Instead you would laugh everything away and pretend you were super excited.

‘No, not really. We’ve had a lot of practice this season. And having spent so much time with James I know exactly what his team will do,’ you chuckled.

The boys laughed softly and another silence followed in which you got called by your teammates. James dared to turn his head a little to look at them and felt some sort of anger towards them, even though his logic told him that they had done nothing wrong.

‘Well, I should go,’ you said and it was silent as James felt all eyes on him. But he didn’t react and he heard a little sigh from you. ‘I’ll see you around.’

Remus and Sirius waved after you and Peter wished you good luck, while you ran after the other Slytherins out of the Great Hall. James watched as you disappeared, glancing once over your shoulder back at the boys. When your eyes met his, you raised your eyebrows at him, but he averted his eyes.

‘Well, that was rude,’ Remus said, looking past Sirius to James. ‘Why did you ignore them?’

‘Because we broke up! Do I have to explain it to everyone? They’re my ex, why should I be friends with them?’  

-- - --

The quidditch stadium filled with students, as you waited in the changing room with the rest of your team. For some reason you felt more nervous for this game than you had ever been for any other game. It felt like more was at stake than just the quidditch cup this time.

You were hurt by James’ sudden cold demeanour towards you. Hadn’t you agreed to stay friends?

The time you had been with James had been amazing, but after a while you had realised that it was going nowhere. It felt like the relationship wasn’t moving forward anymore, you were stuck in the same place and that had started to grow uncomfortable on you. If you weren’t dating to go somewhere, you were dating for heartbreak and to spare the both of you pain you had called an end to it.

You had thought that it was a mutual decision, but James had been avoiding you all week and now you were doubting. Maybe he was more hurt than you thought he was or maybe he just didn’t care for you now you weren’t dating anymore.

That last one hurt but you feared that it was the true one. James wasn’t interested in just the platonic side of you. But you wouldn’t give up that easily. You still had Sirius, Remus and Peter as friends and surely James would come around after a while.

As the sounds of the students in the stands got louder, your teammates got a little more restless. Your team captain, Lucinda Talkalot, stood up and she paced up and down in the room, silently repeating her strategy.

‘Just… make sure we win, okay?’ Lucinda said and she stopped walking to look at everyone shortly. ‘We can’t lose from Gryffindor again.’

Next to you, the other Beater of your team, Michael Bennett, hummed in agreement, undoubtedly thinking back of the last time Gryffindor played against Slytherin and your team lost with a pathetic difference of two hundred points, because Michael was just a second too late with his Bludger. No one in the team blamed him for it, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

The Slytherin quidditch team existed of two girls and four boys besides you. Captain of your team was Talkalot, a sixth year. She was the team’s Keeper. The three Chasers were Javier Flores, Nerida Cooper and Rohan Alves. Nerida was in your year; Javier and Rohan were both fourth years. You and Michael were the Beaters of the team and Kevin Fox, only a second year, was Seeker.

While other houses laughed at Lucinda’s choice for Fox as the Seeker, she believed he was exactly what the team had needed after the last team captain had graduated and left the team lost. And she had been right, so far Slytherin had won from Hufflepuff after an astonishing short game in which Fox caught the Snitch within fifteen minutes.

The stadium full of students silenced slowly and at the sound of madam Hooch’s whistle, the quidditch team left the changing room. In a line you walked onto the green grass of the quidditch stadium and stood and turned towards the Gryffindor team.

You stood in front of the Gryffindor’s Beater, Cillian Martin, a short seventh year with ash blond hair, but you looked at James who stood opposite of Talkalot. Even from far away where you were standing you could feel the determination radiate from James and you realised that this would be a difficult game.

The Gryffindor team was just as your own team very skilled. You hated to admit it, but James had done a great job putting his team together. Idris Smith, the Keeper, had been in his position since his second year and it was almost impossible to get any balls past him. His sister, Abby Smith, was Chaser along with Crawford and James himself. The two Beaters, Martin and Trevino, were actually quite pleasant guys and always in for a friendly game if you asked them—you and Michael had had some fun times practising with them. Gryffindor’s Seeker was Hana Viotto, a sweet girl who wasn’t afraid to completely demolish you on the quidditch pit.

‘Shake hands,’ Hooch said and Lucinda gave James a short handshake and a nod while he stared coldly at her.

You looked away from the two team captains and nodded politely at Martin before you swung your leg over your broom. The stadium around you was completely silent for a moment and you wiggled your eyebrows at Nerida, who giggled softly. Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the game started.

Pushing your broom off the ground you lifted in the air, your bat loosely in your hand as you looked around at the field. Immediately you recognised James’ setup, with two Chasers at the Slytherin side of the field and his Seeker high in the sky, scanning the field from above.

‘And the game is on!’ the commentator screamed through the quidditch pit. ‘The Quaffle is in hands of Slytherin, they’re off to a great start! Cooper has it in hands, throws it at Alves. Alves catches—owh, that must hurt!’

You looked over your shoulder at Alves, who was gasping for air and reaching for his stomach, dropping the Quaffle that got caught by Gryffindor’s Chaser, Smith. Behind you, you heard a snigger from Trevino and when you looked angry at him, he shrugged.

‘Captain’s orders,’ he said as he flew past you.

‘Gryffindor still has the Quaffle, but Smith’s being chased by a Bludger! Dive, girl, dive!’

You quickly flew to the other side of the field, zigzagging through the other players and turned around with your bat ready for action. Just as you had predicted a Bludger was flying your way. Throwing all your weight behind your swing, you hit the Bludger and sent it towards Smith, who still was in the possession of the ball. The Bludger didn’t hit her, but did force her to move away, giving Cooper and Flores a chance to catch up with her.

‘Nice job!’ Lucinda yelled at you from her position at the goal posts. You shot her a thumbs-up and flew to the middle of the field, trying to send as many Bludgers as you could towards your opponents.

‘Gryffindor has lost the ball! Potter makes an attempt to get the Quaffle from Flores and, well surely that must be a foul. We look at the referee and… yes, one penalty for Slytherin!’

Nerida took the ball back from James, who was starting to looked more cross with the minute, and flew to the central circle, waiting for madam Hooch’s whistle. At the high-pitched sound, Nerida stormed forwards and threw the Quaffle in the left goal, unleashing loud cheering from the Slytherins in the stands.

‘And we’re back to the game. It is a constant battle for possession. Bludgers are flying around, knocking people off their brooms. Smith saves! Crawford has the Quaffle, he gets hit by Y/L/N’s Bludger, Flores has the ball, Alves, Cooper, back to Alves, Flores again! That’s some nice team play from the Slytherins! Must be Talkalot’s new strategy. Quaffle is in the Gryffindor scoring area, Flores shoots and… he scores! It’s now twenty to zero for Slytherin, but we’ve only just started…’

The longer the game lasted, the more intense everyone got. Gryffindor made another two fouls, but so did your team. Twenty minutes and three penalties later, the score was 60 to 50 for the Slytherins, but where you were getting more tired, it seemed like the Gryffindors were gaining energy.

After half an hour of violently flying back and forth the quidditch pit, Lucinda called for a time-out. Hooch accepted and her whistle stopped the match for a minute.

‘They’re good,’ Rohan panted as you were huddled together at the goal posts.

‘They are indeed,’ Lucinda said and she shot a suspicious look towards the other team.

‘Potter must have given them a motivational speech or something,’ Nerida mumbled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. You looked at James and the angry expression on his face. Something told you that he ignoring you this morning had something to do with the way he was scanning the quidditch field right now.

‘Kevin, it is crucial that you find the Snitch,’ Lucinda said. ‘I don’t know how much longer we can hold it.’

‘I’m trying,’ Kevin sighed and his eyes glanced quickly over the pit.

Madam Hooch whistled again and the game started again. The short time-out had given you some time to catch your breath and you were filled with energy and determination as you flew back to your position in the middle of the field, ready to hit whatever was coming your way.

The next fifteen minutes were filled with bat sweeping and Quaffle and Bludgers flying closely past your head. Twice you had to dive away to not get hit and once you were nearly knocked over by Crawford, as they tried to escape the Quaffle coming their way.

‘It’s currently 90 to 80 for Gryffindor and we’re forty-five minutes into the match! Smith has the ball, she’s making her way to Talkalot, throws, but oh! Talkalot blocks it with her foot. Pure luck or good skill? The Quaffle is back in the centre in hands of Alves. Bennett sends a Bludger to keep Potter away but he misses and almost knocks his own teammate off their broom! Alves is getting closer to the goal posts, will this be 90 to 90? He shoots and… Smith can’t hold it! It’s tied again! Surely the Seekers must have caught a glimpse of the Snitch by now.’

Yet it took another ten minutes before one of the Seekers finally made a move and by that time it was 130 to 120 for Slytherin. Viotto suddenly dove to the ground and Kevin quickly went after her. The game stocked for a minute as everyone held their breath. Viotto and Fox were battling for a head position in the race after the Snitch.

You held your broom still in the sky and squeezed your eyes to look at Kevin’s little figure. Whispering encouraging words, you focused on the two Seekers, forgetting that there was another game going on around you. The Quaffle lay in Flores’ hands motionless, but the Bludgers were still flying around.

‘Y/N! Watch out!’ Michael screamed at you.

A Bludger was coming at you with incredible speed and your only chance to escape it was to throw your broom to the side, nearly colliding with James, who happened to be right in that spot. You sighed relieved at escaping the Bludger and possibly a night at the infirmary, but your relieve soon disappeared.

‘Gryffindor catches the Snitch! Gryffindor has won! With 270 points to a mere 130 from the Slytherins, the Gryffindor team has won!’

The Gryffindors on the stands erupted in loud cheering, while the Slytherins groaned collectively. You understood their disappointment; not only had Slytherin lost from Gryffindor again, they had lost with a difference of 140 points and that wouldn’t do well on the leader board.

You turned to James, who now had a big smile on his face, and wanted to congratulate him, but when he looked at you, he quickly flew away. With an open mouth you watched after him and felt the pain combined with the sadness of losing spreading through your body.

Defeated in all ways, you followed your team to the changing rooms and prepared for a night of silence in the Slytherin common room.

-- - --

Loud laughter echoed off the walls of the lavatories on the ground floor as James and Peter watched Sirius trying to climb out of the stall they had locked him in. It was almost after curfew, but Sirius had insisted they’d go past the bathroom on their way to the common room. Now wasn’t it really a problem to wander the halls after curfew, but to not do something to Sirius felt like a missed opportunity to James.

‘Just let me out, you idiots,’ Sirius whined.

‘I don’t know, should we, Wormtail?’

Peter, however, was too busy laughing to answer James. Sirius tried again to climb over the door of the stall, but his feet slipped and with a sigh he landed back on the floor.

James, out of fear that Peter would wet himself if he laughed any more, unlocked the door with a flick of his wand. ‘Alright, alright, come out then.’

Sirius’ face stood thunder as he walked out of the stall and he stared at James angrily through the mirror as he washed his hands. James stared back at him with a smirk on his face and slung his arm around his friend’s shoulder as they walked out of the restrooms. Peter followed after them, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the sleeves of his jumper.

The castle was quite silent at this time at night with most students up in the common rooms and the teachers not yet checking the halls after curfew. The windows were fogged from the cold outside and James stopped to write his name on the glass.

The three boys were turned to the window, watching James write his name and other things that definitely should not be on a harmless pane of glass. Upon hearing footsteps in the same corridor, they turned around as one.

You were walking down the corridor with your broomstick in your hand, head to toe wet and muddy. You snickered softly at the scared expressions on the three boys’ faces and nodded towards the window. ‘Do I want to know?’

Sirius grinned and shook his head, slowly reaching behind James to wipe out the texts on the window. Peter had a giddy smile on his face and he nudged James, but this one was focused on you.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, ignoring his friends.

You raised an eyebrow and looked down at your clothes. ‘Really, the broom and dirty clothes don’t say enough?’

James scowled and he felt a hint of anger coming up in his body at your sarcasm. Sirius noticed his change and nudged James lightly. ‘James—’

‘I mean what are you doing here, in this corridor? Isn’t your common room on the other side of the school?’

You shifted your weight onto your broom and nodded. ‘It is,’ you said drily. ‘And why I am here is none of your business. Especially with that attitude.’

Peter chuckled and James shot him an annoyed look, making him shut right up. James was growing more irked with the minute. He just couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone. He thought he made it very clear that he didn’t want to see you anymore.

Yet here you were again, seeking him out. Just like you did yesterday before Potions class and last weekend after the Quidditch match. James was getting tired of having to ignore you, but he knew that that was for the best. You were his ex after all.

‘Fine, I don’t care,’ James said and he turned around to leave you alone. Peter and Sirius ran after him, but not before mumbling something to you James couldn’t hear.

Sirius walked up next to James. ‘You were rude again, mate.’

‘I don’t get why they won’t leave me alone,’ James huffed and he quickened his pace so he walked ahead of his two friends.

Sirius rolled his eyes at Peter, who shrugged back, before they both followed James to the common room.

-- - --

‘Sorry I’m late.’

Remus looked up from his book and waved your excuse away lazily as he made some space for you at the table. He pushed aside his book and stacked the pieces of parchment away.

You took your edition of A History of Magic out and dropped the heavy book on the table. Scanning Remus’ book for the right page you started to browse through your own book for the same page. At the chapter on the Salem Witch Trails you stopped. It was a subject you had had in class before but, with the grade of your essay on the subject in mind, you knew that it wouldn’t hurt to revise.

‘Okay, hit me,’ you said and smiled at Remus. He cocked his eyebrow incredulous but started anyway.

‘Right, what year?’

‘1962.’

‘Where?’

‘Massachusetts.’

‘What about the judges?’

‘Mostly Puritans, but there were at least two Scourers, who were there just for personal gain.’

‘How many victims?’

‘Twenty.’

‘Do you still have feelings for James?’

‘Do I—Remus!’

You looked up from your book in shock and stared at the boy next to you, who was looking smug with the execution of his plan. He had a smirk on his face and you wished you could slap the satisfied look off his face.

‘Is that why I’m here? Just so you could interrogate me?’ you asked, leaning back in your chair and staring at Remus. ‘Remus Lupin, you little shit!’

Remus let out a laugh and shook his head, though he made sure he was out of your reach. ‘No, I really did want to study with you! But when the guys found out they wanted me to ask.’

‘You’re weak, Remus,’ you tutted and pushed him against his shoulder.

‘I know, I know,’ he said, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘But if I’m honest, I was curious myself too.’

You sighed and rubbed your hands over your face. The answer to Remus’ question was simple. No. You didn’t still have feelings for James. However, what more intrigued you was the implication behind the question. Did they think you were still in love with James? Because if so, you definitely had to set something straight.

‘Well, you can tell your friends that no, I don’t have feelings for James anymore,’ you sighed, hoping that Remus would believe you. ‘Now are you done with your cross-examination? Because I’d like to finish before dinner.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Remus chuckled, bowing over his book again. ‘Wizards’ Council, ask me.’

Quickly you searched in your history book for the chapter about the Wizards’ Council. The title sprung out on page 89 and you scanned the text shortly to come up with some questions for Remus.

‘Ready? What was the Council’s main focus?’

‘Governing the Britain wizarding society.’

‘That’s right. Name some Chiefs.’

‘Bragge and Muldoon.’

‘What can you tell me about Elfrida Clagg?’

‘She was presumably the Chieftainess in the seventeenth century. Known for trying to import the Beings versus Beasts classifications, what led to an uprising from Trolls, Jarveys and Centaurs.’

‘Right. Okay, last one—why is James avoiding me?’

Remus opened his mouth and then closed it again. He sighed and closed his eyes, before turning to you. He was searching for words and you gave him time, wanting to know the answer to the question that had been bothering you for a while now.

It was more than obvious to you that James was avoiding you. Whenever you were around he made sure to be the first one to leave, he never really answered any of your questions and most of the time he just ignored your presence. Clearly, “staying friends” had a different meaning to him than it had to you.

Not only were you losing James’ friendship, along with that you also lost the connections with Peter, Sirius and Remus. You had gone from seeing them every day to only once a week if you were lucky. You didn’t blame them, because you knew they were better friends with James than with you. Yet you knew it would not hurt him if you saw your friends a little more.

‘He’s not—’ Remus started, but you cut him off.

‘Don’t do that, Remus. I know he is avoiding me. I am not asking you to change it; I just want to know why.’

Remus rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose before he answered. ‘He is convinced that it is impossible to be friends with one’s ex.’

‘But that’s what we had agreed!’ you sputtered. ‘We didn’t work as a couple, so we decided on being friends!’

‘Well, to James that is something everyone says but never lives up to.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ you said and threw your head back, letting a cold laugh pass your lips. ‘So what? Is he just going to ignore me for the rest of his life?’

‘I don’t know,’ Remus mumbled. ‘We’ve really tried to change his mind, really. But nothing we say convinces him. He won’t listen to us.’

You shook your head and stared at your book. So this was the end of you and James? Just like that? Did you really mean that little to him? Now that you were just his friend, you were suddenly not important anymore?

You felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over your head. Your inside now twisted at the thought of James and the memories you had made with him. Some part of you felt used at your sudden unimportance to James and you wished you were curled up in bed under layers of blankets.

However, you would stay strong. If James didn’t want to be your friend you would leave him alone. But you would not allow him ripping your friends away too. You wouldn’t stop seeing Remus, Sirius and Peter just because James didn’t want to be friends.

-- - --

Dark clouds had gathered in the sky, far away rumbling with thunder. A strong breeze forced most students to stay inside for the night, but you had braved the cold and were standing at the edge of the quidditch field with your broom in your hand. The wind blew sharply against your cheeks, but you had dressed warm enough.

High up in the sky the wind howled around your ears, drowning out your thoughts. You had released one of the training-Bludgers that was soaring through the air, coming right for you. With one deep breath and full power you hit the Bludger, the flat sound of your bat against the ball echoing on the empty stands.

It was nice to not think and just train for a moment. Right now there was no one whining at your head for your answers on the Charms homework, no one asking you to play a game with you and no one inquiring after what had happened between you and James.

You hadn’t seen James in two weeks, just like he had wanted. It was weird to suddenly not be around him anymore. For so long you had shared all your free time with him and now instead you were alone in those moments. Not his laughter, not his jokes.

You would be lying if you said that you didn’t miss him. It was always fun to be around James, he had a special way to make everything positive. After all this time you still didn’t know how he did it, but he had always cheered you up when you were feeling down. Sometimes just his presence had been enough.

A tear escaped from your eye, but whether it was from the wind or your thoughts you didn’t know. You wiped it away swiftly and braced yourself to hit the Bludger again. It was flying in big circles around you, coming closer with every round it made.

Movement down on the ground caught your attention and you tore your eyes from the Bludger. Someone was standing down on the field, a broom in their hand and a mop of black hair sticking out to all sides. It was James.

For someone who had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to see you, he sure had some nerve coming to you. You felt your blood boil upon seeing him and more violent than you had first thought you slammed the Bludger away. It flew back into the stands, where it broke one of the benches.

James was still standing on the ground, not making any move to get up in the sky. As you got back the ball you looked at him from the corner of your eye. So far from above, he looked smaller than he had ever seen. He looked… lost.

Grudgingly you flew down to the ground and jumped off your broom in front of James. Now you were closer to him, he was his big self again, but he still looked a little lost.

‘There was no practice today, right?’ you asked, suddenly wondering if he was here because he wanted to train with the Gryffindor team.

‘No,’ James said and he almost attempted to say more, but shut his mouth.

‘So you’re just here to practise alone?’

‘Uhh, yeah, I guess.’

‘And it wouldn’t bother you if I’m here too?’ you asked, your tone somewhat sharper than intended.

James shook his head and headed off to the chest with balls and other gear. You mounted your broom and let the struggling Bludger free. It flew away quickly before already starting to make its way back to you.

For minutes it was silent as both you and James practised alone. You were outing all your frustration on the Bludger and it seemed that it was holding a grudge against you for the hard hits you gave it because it kept coming back harder and harder. James was stationed at the goalposts, working on some of his new tactics. You could feel his occasional glance in your way, but you ignored them.

After some time, you descended to the ground to drink some and watched as James was struggling with the Quaffle and his wand. He obviously wanted to charm them to fly towards him as he guarded the goals. You laughed to yourself as the ball once again fell to the ground lifeless, but after a few minutes you got on your broom again and flew towards James.

‘Not that it isn’t fun to watch, but would you like some help?’  you asked carefully.

James looked from the Quaffle in his hand to the goalposts and then to you. You could hear the cogs working in his brain as he thought of what to do, but eventually he gave you a single nod and threw the Quaffle at you.

Although your position in the quidditch team was Beater, you wouldn’t say that you were bad at the other positions. Maybe it was just the feel of the ball that you had and not an actual position that you were best in, though you had trained many years to become the Beater you were today.

You started to torment James with difficult throws, making him work up a sweat. At first your aims were just to make it hard for him, but gradually you actually enjoyed playing with James. And, much to your surprise, the feeling was mutual. After half an hour there was a smile on James’ face and you recognised so much of the boy you had fallen for.

After yet another difficult ball that James only barely held, instead of throwing the Quaffle back at you he flew towards you. His smile faltered a little now he was closer to you, but that didn’t stop him from asking you if you wanted to change positions.

‘Alright, but I must tell you, I’ve gotten much better,’ you warned him with a grin and flew to the goals.

‘I doubt that,’ James shouted and he threw the ball from one hand to another. ‘You suck as Keeper!’

‘Ah! I’ll make you regret saying that, Mr. Potter!’

For a while everything was how it had used to be. There was no hurt between you and James anymore. It was just two friends playing a game together, both growing more and more competitive with every throw.

Half an hour you went on playing until it had gotten too dark to throw without chance of harm. You and James stuck away the Quaffle in silence—the easiness that had been there during the game had completely vanished. Awkwardness was creeping up your skin and you longed for something to break the silence.

As James locked the Bludger in the chest, it gave one last shudder and James let out a high-pitched yell. He fell to his feet and you burst out in laughter, clasping your hand over your mouth. From his place on the floor, James scowled dramatically at you and he attempted to hit your shin.

‘Don’t laugh!’ he cried out. ‘You scared too!’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t fall to the floor,’ you chuckled, offering James your hand. He took it and pulled himself up. Cleaning his pants, he sighed and then closed the chest with quidditch balls. Another silence filled the space between you and James. However, this time you knew exactly what to say; you just weren’t sure if you wanted to say it.

A light flash lit up the dark skies for a fraction of a second and three seconds later loud thunder roared over the silent school grounds. James and you were pulled from the tension as the first raindrops started to fall. Little drops fell on the top of your head and on your shoulders, soaking through your jumper. It was now or never.

‘Why can’t we have this?’ you asked hoarsely.

‘Rain? I think it rains more than enough,’ James joked, avoiding your eyes.

‘James, you know what I mean,’ you said, stepping a little closer. ‘Why can’t we just be friends? Why can’t we have fun, no strings attached?’

When he looked up to you, you could read the pain in his eyes. Even when you were dating, James had almost never been vulnerable. He always hid behind a smile and a joke and it was rare to see him like this.

‘Because you hurt me,’ James muttered. ‘One day you decide to end it. Just like that. You stepped away from me without any warning. I loved you and suddenly you were just gone.’

‘Do you still?’ you breathed.

James cleared his throat and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. Not like I used to anymore.’

‘Isn’t it better then?’ you asked. ‘Can’t we try being friends? I miss you James. I miss being friends with you.’

‘I miss you too,’ James said and sniffed.

You cocked an eyebrow and smiled carefully. ‘Did I make the mighty James Potter cry? Did I break the unbreakable one?’

‘All I heard was that you think I’m mighty,’ James said.

You laughed and pushed him away. James bellowed a laugh and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. The rain was still pouring down and you were soaked from head to toe, but you didn’t care because you got your friend back.

- - - - - - - - 

taglist: general HP: @harry-pottery-barn​ @potters-heart​ @kingalrdy​ @missswriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @aspiringsloth20​ @awritingtree​ @bi-andready-tocry​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @ananad1​ @treestarrrrrrrr​ @your-hispanichufflepuff​ @thefandomplace​ @theeicedamericano​ @girllety​ @moonstarrnghtsky​ @swearingsolemnly​ @weasleydream​ @secretsthathauntus​ @amixedwitch​ @izzyyy-1​ @gryffindorgirl​ @kitkatkl​

marauders: @tomshollandz​ @with-love-anu​ @fific7​ @cheoco​ @classicrocketqueen​ @iamninaanna​ @lonegryffindor2005​

MASTERLIST

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter #james x reader #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter

[softomi]

butterflies

prompt: I read in a book once that blue butterflies symbolize many things but I think my favorite was that they are wish-granters. So if you see a blue butterfly, make a wish.

pairing: atsumu x reader

word count: 3.3k

general taglist: @graykageyama

Between the twins, Osamu was always your favorite and it was clear that Osamu preferred you over his brother. Atsumu was the bane of your existence ever since they moved across the street from you. Seven years old, the parents happily introducing themselves, the children staring at each other awkwardly. One held a volleyball, the other staring at you. They were supposed to be your new friends, though all of you were seven, technically you were older. You were a grade above them having just made the cutoff to enter school early, that didn’t stop Atsumu from addressing you as though you were younger than him.

“Ow.” You fell onto your butt, Atsumu had harshly pushed you, “Tsumu.” You began to whimper, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

He didn’t mean to push you so hard, he just didn’t like that your cooties were going to stain him. There’s a pretty blue butterfly pin in your pigtail braid and when he reaches out, your cries lessen. Your eyes widening, perhaps he was going to help you up. His fingers tug on one of your braids, a little too harshly that the butterfly pin falls out. You begin to wail more at how hurtful he was being.

“Tsumu!” Osamu rips Atsumu’s hand away, shoving the boy to stand between you and his brother. Osamu has dirt on his face from playing far away, he had left momentarily to dig through the ground but as soon as he heard your cries, he came running, “Don’t be mean!”

Atsumu doesn’t know what he did wrong, was it so bad that he was interested in your braids, “She’s the one being a cry baby.” He sticks his tongue out, scowling at you for ruining his fun.

The twins parents have emerged from the home, their mother helping you up and dusting off the dirt from your dress. Osamu lunges at Atsumu, they’re pulling each other’s hair, Atsumu is shoving his brother’s face with his palm, Osamu’s knee is pressing against his brother’s chest. Their father lifts Osamu off Atsumu, scolding the boys loudly for starting a fight.

“Apologize!” Atsumu’s head is forced in a bow by his father.

Atsumu’s fingers are clenched in a fist, “I’m sorry.” He’s gritting through his teeth. He has a scar on his cheek from his brother and he watches with a heavy glare at the way Osamu has his hand in yours, leading you into the home with their mom.

Atsumu plays by himself outside, his father watching him throw around the volleyball for an hour. He catches the ball and holds it still when he hears the door of the home opening. For a second he turns thinking Osamu has decided to come out and play but he scowls when you’re walking to him with your pretty blue polka dot dress.

“I brought you a cookie.” You have a plate in your hands, chocolate chip cookies looking freshly made. He reaches but his hand knocks the plate out of your hands, the cookies sadly falling onto the floor.

“Miya Atsumu!” His father’s stern voice sends a chill down his spine. Before he knows it, he’s being dragged into the home by the back of his shirt.

Atsumu thinks, it’s your fault he’s always getting in trouble.

After Osamu walks you home, Atsumu is allowed to come out of his room. He’s back outside and when he walks through the grass, something shiny attracts his attention. His fingers reach out, gripping the butterfly pin he remembers in your hair. He stuffs the pin in his pocket, running to throw around the volleyball with his brother.

As time went on, Atsumu, Osamu, and you fell into a respective trio dynamic. You were close-knit with Osamu, sharing similar interests in movies, games, and books. With Atsumu, you bickered and spat with him over every little thing; he stopped pulling your hair but that only egged him to think of other modes of torture. Osamu was always there to beat his brother up for you, someone’s got to knock him down a peg and that’s exactly what Osamu did.

By the time the twins entered junior high, Atsumu was beginning to notice he was the third wheel and the only way you’d ever look his way was when he tormented you. He’d spill his drinks on you, eat your food, purposely poke your sides to make you jump, scare you from around the corner, and even just plainly verbally hurt you.

“Did you gain weight?” Atsumu poked your stomach. You slap his hand away, trying to ignore him until Osamu arrived. You should have known better than to walk with Atsumu. He slings an arm around your shoulders, “Did you look in the mirror today when you got ready?”

His cackle is blow to your heart, you jab an elbow into his side, your palm wiping away a stray tear.

“Are you crying?” As much as Atsumu doesn’t want to laugh, because he doesn’t, he feels guilty, horrible even, but his automatic reaction is to chuckle, “Hey, I’m“ His apology is cut off when a fist forces him to step back.

Osamu blows on his fist, he looks at his brother with a grin, “Call it twin telepathy, I just knew you were being mean.”

Not much changed in high school, him a mere second year and you a third year. The only change he can think of is the fact that now you had a whole team to back you up. Kita was rather sharp in detecting Atsumu being a little prick to you, Suna took pride in tripping the blonde if he as much tried to approach you, the other’s seem to take more of an approach of just being near you. After all, you being their volleyball club manager was more important than Atsumu.

“Hey.” Atsumu’s voice stops you dead in your tracks before you can even step foot into the gymnasium to start setting up, “What’s with that on your face?”

Your hand instinctively flies to your cheeks, “What?”

His hand wildly gestures to his own face, “You trying to impress someone? Make-up won’t do you any good.”

You didn’t think anyone would notice the thin layer of foundation you put on or the minimal line of eyeliner; even your eyeshadow was so sheer, you wondered how he even saw it. You give him a cold shoulder, “Go fall off a cliff Atsumu.”

He follows you into the gym, setting his bag down onto one of the benches. He makes his way behind you, his finger dipped into your skirt, pulling at the waistband, “Oi, you have a rip in your skirt.”

“What are you doing?!” Osamu drops his bag at the entrance of the gym, he’s running, tackling his brother to the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” Atsumu is shoving his brother.

Osamu is digging his brother’s face into the floor, “You’re being a perv!”

“Fuck you!” Atsumu is on top of his brother now.

You could clear up the situation if they weren’t so engrossed in murdering each other. They continue to roll on the floor, taking turns shoving the other’s face into the ground. You use their distracted minds to pull your skirt around. He was telling the truth, it was barely noticeable but there was a tiny rip on the waistband, probably where he had been pulling.

Atsumu is biting the insides of his mouth, he had been scolded by Kita when Osamu explained what had happened, and even when you explained he had no ill intentions; Kita still lectured him on how it isn’t appropriate to touch a girl without her permission. Now he’s running laps around the gym with the rest of the team while you fiddle with the fabric of your skirt.

“Here.” You look up at him, Atsumu had disappeared for ten minutes and when he returned, he towered over you, in his hand a small sewing kit, “If you keep playing with it, you’ll end up ripping the entire skirt. No one wants to see that.”

Even when he’s being nice, he has to throw in a blow to your self-esteem.

“Thanks.” You say bitterly, “But I don’t know how to sew.” Your finger scratches against your head, “I know, I’m stupid.”

You’re not. Atsumu wants to say.

You shift uncomfortably when he suddenly takes a knee. He pulls the thread from the kit, looping it through the needle to make a small knot.

“Can I?” He’s asking permission to touch you and you merely nod.

Compared to his usual self, Atsumu’s touch is soft. You stare at how concentrated he is, stitching the ripped fabric so that it looks almost brand new. Though your uniform skirt was black, the thread he chose was vibrant red. He leans his head near your hip, he uses his teeth to sever the rest of the thread. His breath hot, you could barely feel it through the fabric of your shirt. Your cheeks tint with a blush when he briefly catches your gaze, he looks away quickly.

“What are you doing now?!” Osamu has returned from his long bathroom break; his hand pulls his brother back by the neck of his shirt.

“Samu!” You wave your hands around, “It’s alright, he was just helping me.” You point to the red thread of your skirt.

Atsumu has his hands up in mercy, Osamu eyes him, “I’m onto you.”

“What? Why?!”

Osamu throws a volleyball at his brother’s head, “Because! You’re an asshole!”

“We’re twins, so by default, you’re an asshole too.”

Atsumu starts to run, Osamu tackles him pretty quickly.

There’re girls piled at the door of Atsumu’s classroom, one by one they come in as though they’re presenting their sacrifices to the king himself. He has chocolates stacked to the ceiling, the teachers are already spreading news that they can’t yell at him since they are gifts and if he was forced to throw any away, the female student body would wreak havoc.

The second-year girls slink back when they spot you, a third year that has all the second-year boys turning heads. Some are boldly stopping you to present their own chocolates which you take sweetly. They sigh happily when you walk away.

“Please accept my confession!”

You enter as the class falls dead silent, you’ve come to the second year classroom to give your gifts to the volleyball boys but you’ve stumbled into what seems to be a public love confession to Atsumu. He leans back in his seat, balancing on the back two legs of the chair as he looks up to the girl. She’s shaking from anxiety with her chocolates out for him, the students begin to whisper the longer he takes to answer. You pity her because Atsumu is a complicated person, you just never know what he’s thinking or what he’ll do next.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t accept any more chocolates. Teacher says I have too much.” Atsumu settles himself onto the four legs of his chair, “You can try Osamu.”

Some of the students let out audible gasps at his comment. You watch her lower her head, brushing past your shoulder in a dejected fashion. The class goes back to bustling rather quickly. Suna sits straight up when he spots you at the door, he taps on Osamu’s desk, the male turning away from the window. Atsumu turns to look over his shoulder, his lips in a thin line when you walk towards the three.

“Happy Valentine’s day.” You have three bags in your hand, you settle one on Osamu’s desk, one falls into the hands of Suna and the last lingers between your fingers. Atsumu stares at it, he notices you have scribbled his name on the side.

The longer you stand without giving it to him, the more he gets irritated. His leg bounces rapidly, he notices the ugly boxes of chocolates squished between your arm and side; pathetic boxes given by pathetic guys. He could do better.

“I just came to drop these off.” Your voice is starting to fade as you notice the last bag still in your hand. You flip the bag around, Osamu and Suna stare at it, a weak glance to their setter, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Osamu got cookies and a gift card to the café he’s been dying to try out. Suna got cookies and a cute little fox plush. Atsumu got nothing but a blow to his pride. He’s sitting arms crossed, knee bouncing against his desk as he refuses to look at Osamu and Suna. Atsumu wonders what you had put in the bag for him.

He had thought long and hard about his gift, Atsumu wasn’t planning on getting you anything for Valentine’s day but the team insisted that it would be a good day to show their appreciation for their manager. When Atsumu asked Osamu what he had gotten for you, Osamu showed him the mug he bought that had a bunny on it. Apparently, the bunny changes color depending on the temperature of the drink. When Osamu asked what Atsumu had gotten, the male simply shrugged his shoulders but the butterfly pin in his pocket pokes at his skin.

The group chat with the team has signified that he’s the last one who hadn’t given his gift yet. He can’t seem to find the time to pull you aside and he can’t find the courage to waltz into your classroom looking for you.

Meet me after classes, near the garden shed.

You reread the text just to make sure that it was correct. A part of you thought maybe his text was a joke meant to leave you hanging outside in the cold but as you near, you can clearly see his tall figure. His back is to you, he’s kicking the snow on the ground, it’s freezing and you’re jogging slightly to reach him.

“Hey.”

He whips around at your voice. His nose is red, trying to hide himself in his scarf. His eyes fall to your hands, you still have the bag but you’re making sure that the side that has his name doesn’t show. His hands are dug into his pockets, he’s twirling the butterfly pin.

“Atsumu?” Your voice shakes him, your eyes wide and just waiting for him to say something, anything.

Snow begins to fall, you look up, your hand lifted to catch the snowflakes that melts immediately in your palm.

“I.” Atsumu can’t find his next words because as you look at him, his heart is pounding in his chest. His eyes are falling and he catches the faint red thread on your skirt; he was sure you had thrown the skirt out, he recalls you telling Osamu that you had ordered a new skirt, “I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” You lean in, “What?”

Atsumu’s clenching the butterfly pin. He’s remembering every moment he’s ever had with you, all the hair pulling, all the nasty words, all the dirty tricks, “I said I’m sorry.” His lips are chapped, cheeks turning red from the cold, or maybe from the way he feels his heartrate accelerating, “Okay?”

You’re confused, “Did something happen? Did you get into a fight with Osamu again?”

Osamu, Osamu, Osamu. Is that all the two of you will ever talk about? Is that the only topic of common ground that you had with him? Osamu this, Osamu that.

“No.” He presses his thumb on the hairpin, “Whatever.” He sighs, his hands are removed from his pockets, in his palm you stare at the pin, “Happy Valentine’s day loser.”

Your finger brushes against his skin and you stare with wonder at the butterfly pin you recall bawling to your parents for losing, “Where’d you find this?” You’re smiling, for the first time, you’re giving him a smile.

“It’s not really important where I found it.” It sat on his dresser for years, some days he forgot it was there, other days he stared at it when getting dressed.

You’re giggling with glee, you’re pushing the hairpin to pull back strands of your hair, it’s bright blue jewels contrast against the falling of snow. The pin rests above your ear, Atsumu stares in awe. A snowball smacks against his neck, it jolts Atsumu out of his trance and he’s alarmingly looking around.

“What are you doing?!” Osamu screams from a distance, Suna’s phone out had captured the accurate shot.

“Goddamit Samu!” Atsumu screams, the cold torturing his skin. Atsumu quickly forms a snowball, you scream when another snowball hits Atsumu’s side, it exploded and struck you as collateral.

Atsumu chucks the snowball at his brother, though he tried to run, Osamu was hit straight in the face. You let out a gasp in unison with Atsumu, Osamu is building another snowball and just as he’s about to throw, Atsumu grips you by the arms, putting you in front of him.

“Tsumu! No!” You screech.

His stomach jitters, you called him by his nickname. Osamu chucks the snowball and to protect your face, you turn in Atsumu’s hands, your fingers clinging to his jacket and you’re laughing. God, you’re laughing with him.

The snowball sends you forward, your cheek pressed against his chest, your laughter vibrates onto his skin. He’s burning, he’s hot, he’s sweating. He’s suddenly gulping, thirsty, aching to drink something. Another snowball is thrown, this time it hits him in the shoulder.

“Don’t use y/n as a shield, ya dickhead!” Osamu is approaching, this time he nears with a snowball in his hand.

You’re just realizing now that you’re exposed legs are freezing. You shiver into Atsumu briefly before pulling away from him. You escape from his grasp to skip over to Suna. You’re clinging to Suna’s arm, teeth chattering, and you watch through Suna’s phone as Osamu smacks the snowball into his brother’s face. Of course, this causes Atsumu to tackle Osamu; Suna stops the recording.

“I got like ten million videos of them rolling on the floor.”

Atsumu ruffles his hair, he’s looking in the mirror to make sure all the dirt and snow mixture is out. Osamu approaches next to him, running his hand under the water. They don’t meet gazes but as they stare into their own reflections, it was like they were looking right at each other.

“Don’t do it.” Osamu states. He’s pulled one of the paper towels, wiping his hands as he doesn’t break eye contact with his reflection, “Don’t go acting like you loved her this entire time. You treated her like shit and now suddenly you think you’re in love.”

Atsumu feels guilt build up in the pit of his stomach. Osamu leaves the bathroom, leaving Atsumu to grip onto the sink. The feeling of you pressed against his chest makes blue butterflies swirl in his abdomen. He shoves the feeling down, he tucks it into the back of his heart, he puts you on the back burner.

His cell rings, Suna’s text tells him that everyone has decided to head to the gym first. He takes the time to wipe his hands, throwing the paper towel into the trash, he spots a brown paper bag next to the door of the bathroom. His name is scribbled on the side in your handwriting.

Atsumu got cookies, a volleyball keychain with his name etched into it, and a card. He sits in the bathroom, card in between his fingers, streaks of tears down his cheek while he stuffs the cookies into his mouth.

Thank you for helping me that one day with my skirt. I was going to buy a new one but then cancelled the order since I’ll be graduating any way. I never did get to thank you so I’m doing it now.

The card continues with a different colored pen.

I love the butterfly hairpin, thank you for finding it. I hope that we can become friends.

Atsumu heavily breathes, you were so nice, for someone like him, you were incredibly nice. You were so nice his heart was clenching and somewhere in the world, blue butterflies are flapping their wings.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #hq scenarios #hq atsumu

[amethystpath-writes]

None of That

“Civilian, do you want to take the right register today?”

Volunteering at football concession stands was a pleasing activity, one that kept Civilian busy. Her mind was always racing, always thinking about things she’d rather not think about. It was an everyday habit of her brain- to torment itself, but that’s why she volunteered. Having said that, she walked on over to the window, setting out one bar of each candy they had on the counter as a representation of selection.

Civilian’s brother was supposed to be working with her- even walked in at the same time so they’d be partnered together, but it wasn’t to be. Not because they weren’t put together, but because Civilian’s brother miraculously decided he would rather watch the football game.

“No, you said you were going to do this with me. You can’t just-”

“See’ya!”

“Typical,” Civilian muttered. “Why’d I ever think he’d pull through with this?”

“Don’t worry about it, hun. We’ll find someone else to step in.”

Civilian nodded at the reassurance, but still gave a heavy sigh. She considered going ahead and taking her free food and drink items before the game even started now that she’d be stuck working with someone she probably wouldn’t even know. At least for the time being, she could just watch the football players prepare for their game- not that there was much to watch. They mostly punted balls into a net and did sprinting drills. Maybe a more enjoyable thing to watch was the fans streaming in with their oddly painted faces and-

Something touched Civilian’s neck and she jumped, turning without a moment of hesitancy. It went through her mind that it must have been a bug in the dry weather looking to soak up in her sweat. What she saw instead made her instantly shoot a foot out to dash away.

“Hey, now, you needed help, didn’t you?” The hand on Civilian’s neck tightened and she stilled, eyes squeezed shut as she took laboured breaths. If anyone noticed, they didn’t bother to help. Of course, Civilian wouldn’t make a scene to gain said help either, in fear it would upset the person who held her neck.

“You-” Civilian couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, nor her voice. “You can’t...you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I am if I volunteered.” Villain’s hand slid from Civilian’s neck and touched her shoulder. “Come on, love, face me.”

A shudder passed through her, from her arm all the way down into her hand, tingling the very tips of her fingers. She couldn’t help the whine that sounded in her throat- it was her last plea of safety. Even still, Civilian let her shoulder be pulled and her overall self be turned. Her breaths were uneven, and some breaths were even skipped. She kept her head down.

“Turning your shoulders towards me doesn’t count as facing.” His hand touched her chin, and she resisted with every amount of muscle she had. What made her head turn, eventually, was Villain’s grip on either side of her jaw. “Chin up, that’s a good girl.”

“What are you doing?” Civilian whispered.

His face was as she always remembered it before, but she wished she didn’t have to face it now. Civilian had forgotten it after so long- had forgotten that face, that hair, that voice. In the amount of time it had been since she had last seen Villain, she’d been able to forget it all, including Villain’s whole existence. Now, every amount of dread hit her like a wave having seen his face again. She closed her eyes after so long, but the damage was done, and Villain knew it. All it took for her to fall apart again was a look. This was true every time.

Villain wrapped an arm around Civilian’s waist- what a heavy snake that arm was, coiling around her, choking her, holding her hostage. “Torturing you.”

The two faced the football field, where couples strolled by, just in front of the open window which Villain and Civilian stood behind. She should ask those people for help. No. No, she shouldn’t. She knew better than to do that. Instead, she tried to sidestep out of Villain’s grasp, but he hooked her closer.

“Ah, ah. None of that. You’re going to stand here with me as if it’s what you came to do.”

There was no choice in the matter, Civilian knew, so she let the chills continue spiralling down her body as Villain held onto her. The game would start in minutes, and soon customers would come pouring in, asking for pretzels and nachos, pizzas and tacos. Maybe the rush would ease Civilian enough that she forgot about Villain’s presence.

No. No, how could she forget about his presence when she was in such close proximity with him? How could she forget his presence when he’d be brushing against her and touching her hands just to irk her? To terrify her and haunt her every conscious moment just so he could appear in her unconscious ones as well?

“Why?” Her voice broke. “Why do you do this to me?” Another shiver split Civilian’s spine as Villain’s fingers flexed against her hip. She swallowed.

“Because I want to,” he replied. “Because I can.”

#NOT A PROMPT #my evil streak continues #heroes and villains #hero and villain story #hero villain #hero x villain #hero villain story #villain x civilian #civilian x villain #but like- in a really wicked way #noncon touching #nonsexual #but nonetheless uncomfortable #it is currently very late so I will be sleeping now #Goodnight/morning/evening loves <3 #None of That #i need to remember to tag my story titles #evil villain #good hero #I considered calling Civilian Hero but couldn't decide #works eother way though #villain whumper #intimate whumper #hero whumpee #whump #whumper #whumpee

[okay-j-hannah]

All’s Fair In Love And War

The Marauders : Fic

Sirius x Reader and James x Reader!Platonic 

Word Count: 3492

Warnings: ANGST my guy... copious amounts of ANGST but with a happily ever after 😊

Request: “Dudee! May the best man win was awesome! Please give us a part two of Y/N ignoring them so hard and making them regret!” - Anon

A/N:

Part 1: May The Best Man Win

Remus tapped his quill incessantly into his desk, unable to concentrate on his exam. A few rows away he could see Peter staring at his parchment with his fidgeting hands in his lap. He had no idea where to begin with the list of questions.

Beside him was James, a sight to behold. Not wishing to be caught by McGonagall, he only snuck a few glances at his pale friend. James was disheveled, his hair unkempt as ever but with something more unnerving – as if he didn’t even care to look at it, brush it. The effort appeared to be in his school uniform, at least he managed to fold his collar despite how wrinkled the rest of his shirt was. His tie was loose, and it remained the reason Remus knew his friend was still breathing, cause he could see it rising and falling on his chest.

He was just sitting so still. He was staring into nothing. The circles under his eyes could rival Remus’ around a full moon.

And adjacent to him was an empty desk, one that should be housing Sirius. He hadn’t even shown up for their end of year exam.

Remus sighed, feeling his quill tip dull under the pressure he prodded. At least James was able to show. He had no doubt Sirius was brooding in the corner of the common room, butterbeer in hand. Or else he was sitting beside the Blake Lake, toes turning blue as he stuck his feet in the water.

Yes, at least James came to the Great Hall to take his exam, even if he wasn’t looking at the parchment. Remus knew he was staring at the pair of girls at the other end of the hall.

There was (Y/N) and her friend Mary, each scribbling along their exams as the rest of the students should be. McGonagall began walking between the desks and Remus returned his gaze to his own scroll of transfiguration questions.

It had been a few weeks since those dreaded Easter holidays and every second had been a personal hell for the marauders. James was humbled, became extremely tolerant, and had lost his first quidditch game in years. Sirius became something more irritable; he was edgy and sought the solidarity of dark corners. He rarely socialized, couldn’t even bring himself to take the mickey out on Peter.

It was a grand awakening for James, it made him regret and change. He no longer felt the need to terrorize younger students or attack Snivellus. He was kinder to those around him and even offered to help where he could. Though he did all of it with a glazed look in his eyes and a depressed smile on his face.

Sirius, in the classic fashion of being James’ complete opposite, turned in on himself. He became self-deprecating and didn’t wish to inflict that torment on anyone else. He believed in every ounce of hate he received, in the amount of guilt he harbored. He struggled to see past the bad. His life was teeming with it.

The Great Hall doors burst open, and the flittering steps of Professor Dumbledore appeared. At his side was a very reluctant Sirius.

“Ah, Professor McGonagall,” he said with lightness that did not match the person beside him. “I believe you’re missing a student.”

“Black,” McGonagall snipped, walking towards him and eyeing his ruffled clothes, “You’re thirty minutes late.”

Sirius merely shrugged his shoulders, looking anywhere but the corner of the room (Y/N) and Mary stared.

McGonagall released a heavy sigh, though her brow modeled concern. “Well, take your seat. You’ve still got around an hour to finish the exam. I suggest you use the time wisely.” She shared a look with Dumbledore as Sirius retreated.

Remus and James followed their friend with worry in their eyes, but his desk was too far for them to ask silent questions.

Sirius merely slumped in his chair and twiddled with his quill. He may have been forced to be there, but that didn’t mean he was going to comply with the test taking. Remus forced himself to return his attention to his own exam. And the rest of the hour was filled with a ticking clock and scratching quills.

By the time McGonagall waved her wand and called forth the scrolls of parchment, Remus devised another tactic to fix the wellbeing of his companions. Instead of greeting James and Peter, he chose to wait by the door until (Y/N) came by.

She had her head held high, book bag tight on her arm.

“(Y/N).”

“Not now, Remus, I’ve got to study for Charms.” Mary was nearby, leading the way outside. “I don’t want to hear some other passed along apology.”

Remus wringed his hands, falling into step beside her, “I’m not trying to speak for them. I just want to talk to you. I – I’m worried.”

There was a small pause in her steps, but she kept forward, “It’s none of my concern.”

“But they’re not getting any better,” a new curt edge in his tone, “They’re not themselves anymore.”

“I distinctly remember saying that they don’t exist anymore. I don’t care, Remus.”

“You don’t want to care.”

She finally stopped and turned to him, “I’m moving on. And I won’t be able to keep doing that if you bring this up every time I see you.” But she hesitated at the look on his face, “Remus, what’s wrong?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes full of fretting, “I know you think this was some kind of joke – and it was for a while – but I don’t think you realize how far they fell for you.”

“And that’s supposed to make what they did okay?”

“No,” he bit back, “Not at all. But what’s happening to them right now, that is proof that they regret. That they are sorry for what they did. I think they…”

(Y/N) folded her arms, clearly unimpressed, “Think they what?”

“They need a little forgiveness to get better.”

“No,” she snapped, whipping around and continuing down the entryway, “I’m glad they’re stewing in their regret. They should be.”

“For how long, (Y/N)?” Remus begged, following her steps, “I’m tired of watching them wither away.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “You were there when we had this conversation. I don’t want to see or speak to them. Ever.”

Remus felt his blood boil over, “It’s killing them, (Y/N)! And I won’t watch it anymore. I am terrified that they’re going to be like this forever. You see them, (Y/N), I know you do. You look when you think no one’s around.”

She stiffened, “What do you want me to do, Remus? I can’t forgive them – not yet at least.”

“Please, just talk to them. Make them feel less invisible.”

“I don’t know…”

Remus grabbed her shoulders and made her face him. “James keeps his snitch locked away in his trunk. Sirius gets detention and then does it without a fuss.” Her gaze was hard, but he could see it thinning. “I can’t get James to do so much as nick food from the kitchens – all he does is study like the obedient student he’s never been. I don’t think I’ve heard Sirius make a complete sentence since the holidays. He refuses to even keep company with his friends.”

She swallowed hard, “They hurt me, Remus. They hurt me bad. It’s – It’s hard for me to look past the game they played. Even if their feelings have changed.”

“Please, (Y/N), I’m begging,” he retorted. “Just talk to them, get some closure. I know you made a choice back on that train. Could you just give them some piece of mind? I’m sure it would help you too.”

She looked up at him with some remorse in her gaze, until it flitted to whatever was behind his shoulder.

He whipped around and found Sirius standing several feet away. There was a slouch in his shoulders and his hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. But there was clear pain and longing there where he stared back.

(Y/N) took an involuntary step backward, hands winding tight around her book bag. Her breathing hitched in her throat and Remus sidestepped.

Sirius took a shaky breath, his eyes purple rimmed and stinging, “(Y/N) …”

But she had already turned on her heel and darted towards her common room. The sigh that escaped Sirius had Remus at his shoulder in an instant.

~~~

There was no one else on the quidditch pitch when she sat in the stands. She sat there and waited, her heart thumping a thousand beats a second. She knew he’d be walking by any minute; he always did on the weekends.

She could hear footsteps thumping against the grass and a chill went up her spine. James came around the corner, kicking dandelions as he went. But his steps faltered, his eyes went wide.

“(Y/N)?”

The edge of fear in his voice put a familiar thump in her chest, “Hey, James.”

His breathing got heavier, his hands running up to tangle in his hair, “You… you’re not running away.”

“I wanted to talk.”

After spending so much time avoiding him, it was a shock to see the state of him. His glasses hid most of the tiredness in his eyes, but he was pale, paler than usual. His voice was raspy where he choked on the words.

“Talk?” She patted the seat next to her and watched him weigh whether or not she was joking before sitting. “Had a change of heart?”

She took a deep breath, keeping her hands tight in her lap. “I’ve… I’ve been thinking a lot about the last time we talked. What I said to you.”

“It’s all right, (Y/N). You were right – you had the right to be angry. I’m just… I’m glad we’re talking now.”

She turned to him and was met with a pained grimace, “I think you need to hear me say it.” He shut his mouth real quick. “James, what you did was horrible, terrible. I thought of it as unforgiveable. But if there’s anything that could’ve proven to me that you guys felt differently about the joke, it’s how you guys have been behaving the last few weeks.

“I think I’ve been punishing you because of my own embarrassment. But honestly – this grudge holding deal isn’t healthy for either of us.”

“You’re looking better than any of us,” James laughed, disbelief ringing in his ears.

She smiled his favorite smile, “I forgive you James.”

He sighed, leaning over and putting his head in his hands. “Thank you, (Y/N), thank you.” He turned to her with an earsplitting grin, “I know I was stupid and arrogant, and it was just some childish bet. We didn’t think about the people we would hurt.”

She started to laugh, “I know, James – that’s why you’re forgiven.” But then she caught the subtle look in his eyes, and she had to suck in her lips. “Look James…”

“It wasn’t going to be me, was it?” the understanding in his voice was remarkable.

“You’re not mad?”

He leaned back, rubbing his tired eyes beneath his glasses, “Mad? You’ve just forgiven me from one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done – of course I’m not mad.”

(Y/N) ran sweaty hands against her knees, “I think you should talk to Lily.” That made his eyebrows raise, “Ever since you’ve knocked down your ego a few notches, she’s started seeing the good in you.”

A newfound smile crept onto his face, “There might be a happy ending for us all yet. Have you told… Sirius?” The stillness of her expression gave the answer away, “You know, I think he’s been far worse than me. You’re going to want to find him quick.”

She shared a glance with him and an appreciative smile, “It’s so good to talk to you again.”

~~~

It didn’t take her long to track down Sirius, he hid out in only a few different places those days. She kept James beside her, each taking turns talking and catching the other up on all they’ve missed. They trailed down the corridor, James falling easily back into how things used to be with (Y/N).

“Let me carry your book bag.”

“James…” The edge in her voice made him laugh, even more as she raised a brow.

“I’m just being friendly, just like we used to.”

And with a comforting feeling of nostalgia, she handed her bag over, giving him a swift punch to the arm for good measure. He rubbed the spot mockingly with a dramatic whine on his lips.

“So how do you suppose I should talk to Evans?”

“You can start by calling her by her first name.”

“She likes being called Evans.”

“Since when has she liked anything you do, James?”

He shrugged half-heartedly, “Just recently, if my sources are correct.”

(Y/N) sighed with an easy smile on her face, “You made friends with me fairly quickly. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

James pondered with an animated look, “All right, you want to make a bet? How fast I’ll win Lily’s affections?”

“Too soon, Potter – way too soon.” But she was smiling, nonetheless. So much so that she didn’t notice the new visitor coming down the hall.

They were on their way towards one of the secret entrances that the Marauders discovered for their map of mischief. There was always the chance of finding one of the quartet skulking in the entryway or hiding along the passage in case Filch or Minnie was after them.

It appeared Sirius had taken such refuge, deciding to come out when he heard familiar voices. And the sight before him took what shattered glass his chest was and refine it to sand.

(Y/N) and James were walking side by side, laughing and talking as if no time had passed between the Easter holidays and now. Then deep in his gut, he knew, (Y/N) had chosen James – it was James from the beginning.

She chose to forgive James and now they were going to live happily ever after.

And Sirius was left to despair in painful silence.

(Y/N) looked up and found her sweet smile vanish instantly. James was quick to follow, readjusting the bag on his shoulder. He swallowed hard, as if the words he was just saying were suddenly lodged in his throat.

“Back at it, I see.” The hoarseness in Sirius’ voice was heart wrenching.

James flickered his eyes towards (Y/N), noticing her shock, and saying, “How are you, mate? It’s been a bit.”

“A bit.” Sirius muttered, repeating the last words with a hardened gaze. “You’ve moved on since last I saw you.”

(Y/N) couldn’t bear to hear the betrayal and anguish in his words. She knew what it looked like. Like she had chosen James and didn’t want to waste her time keeping Sirius in her life.

“Sirius.”

The way she said his name sent a flood of emotion in him that Sirius didn’t like. He didn’t like not being in control of his emotions. He didn’t like that he couldn’t hold himself together. He hated the fact that seeing her looking back at him after all this time was crumbling him as if she’d yelled at him all over again.

“I won’t bother you. Enjoy your evening.” And Sirius turned as quickly as his sleep deprived, wobbly knees would let him, and leave the corridor.

(Y/N) took one step forward and hesitated, a hand outstretched, but the words wouldn’t form from her jumbled thoughts. There was only a look of horror as she watched him leave. James was eyeing her with sympathy, his heart just as punctured by Sirius’ obvious loathing.

“Look at your face,” he feigned a smirk, “You really do care about him, don’t you?”

She finally shut her gapping mouth, biting her lip, “Now more than ever.”

James nodded, putting an arm around her shoulders and leaning down to whisper, “Then go after him.”

In an instant she was running down the corridor, turning sharp and feeling her shoes slide from her momentum. Her throat was dry, and her eyes burned, but she ran like there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

And there was Sirius about to make his way outside and to the courtyard. But she yelled for him first.

“Sirius!”

When he turned there were obvious tears in his eyes, tears that betrayed him and fell at the sound of her voice.

“Sirius, wait, please!”

He could only dare to imagine what she meant by that. But it was enough to keep him rooted to the spot. She was talking to him for the first time in weeks. She was looking at him with something other than hatred.

And the fine sand of his chest rustled with hope against his wishes.

(Y/N) ran so fast that when she collided with him, he was almost knocked off his feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him tight against her.

His breathing quickly began to rise to match hers, though he wasn’t the one who had just ran down the stretch of a few corridors. His arms remained limp at his sides, disbelief etching every part of his face.

Only to feel the doubt creep in.

She just wanted to clear the air, so it wasn’t awkward for James and her. She wanted him to be happy for her and James. She wanted them to be friends again.

The problem was that he wasn’t going to survive witnessing those two together.

“(Y/N), don’t do that.” He reluctantly reached for her arms and pulled her away, “You can’t do that.”

He was oblivious to the immediate confusion in her reddened face, “What are you talking about, Sirius? Do you not want me anymore?” Again he didn’t notice how her eyes began to fill with tears similar to his.

He dared to look at her face, to see the features he’d been dreaming about for weeks. He let his gaze linger despite the yelling in his head to spare himself from the pain that would later come. Another hot tear escaped the corner of his eye.

“How could you ever think that?”

She sighed out an exhausted breath, “You are determined to stay unhappy, aren’t you?” When his loving gaze faltered into confusion, she continued, “Sirius, what you saw back there… that was James and I being friends. I just spoke to him this morning and we made up. We decided to be friends again, and to just be friends. The only reason I spoke to him first was because… well, I was more nervous about talking to you.”

Sirius was too busy going over what he had seen earlier, analyzing the interactions between (Y/N) and James.

“Sirius, what happened between us was horrible. I was so hurt that I didn’t give any thought to how you felt. Obviously, an entire school year is a long time to spend with one person, and I’m sure pretending became real very quickly.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes itchy from the tears. But he didn’t dare speak, it was all too good to be true. He didn’t want to wake up from whatever dream this was.

“I forgive you, Sirius.”

He let out an unexpected breath, blinking fast – he was not ready for it. His hands clenched into fists as she took another step closer.

“I forgive you – and it’s been paining me to see you like this. That I did this to you.”

“I did this to myself,” he rasped, “You could never do anything so cruel. Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

Then she was holding his face in her hands, wiping away his tears. She felt her heart skip at the way his eyes closed, and he leaned into her palm. “I want to make things right.”

He reached up and placed a trembling hand over one of hers. “Friends again?”

She smiled an easy smile that heated his face. “Actually…” And she encased his lips with hers. She could feel the stutter in his breath from shock. His limp arms hesitantly rose to graze her waist, unable to will himself over completely.

She broke away, pecking his lips once – twice – more. “Does that tell you plain enough?”

He was trying his best to get his breathing under control. His lower lip was starting to quiver, “So… just friends then?” A smile broke out on those trembling lips.

“Right,” she laughed, wrapping herself around him again, hugging him tightly. And this time he returned the feeling, holding her close by the waist. “I made my choice a long time ago. It’s just taken me a while to figure out how to tell you.”

Sirius buried his face into her shoulder, feeling his chest begin to repair itself. His heart thumped excitedly.

There was no possible way he was going to let go of her any time soon.

~~~

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@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa  @andreasworlsboring101 @chiefqueef22

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[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Bruises

Prompt: DID SOMONE SAY ENEMIES TO LOVERS FRED WEASLEY SMUT??? NO??? Well here you go anyway! You and Fred have hated each other for a while, you’re constantly getting on each others nerves, and constantly bickering, it doesn’t help that you’re on the same quidditch team. One day during practice, you accidently get hurt because Fred wasn’t paying attention, which ends in a VERY sincere apology

AN: I suck at writing smut so I apologize in advance :)

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: SMUT!!!! Enemies to lovers, Fred being a jerk for a second, mentions of reader getting hurt, swearing, did I say smut?

To say you hated Fred Weasley would be an understatement. You weren't sure what it was, whether it was his obsessive need to constantly annoy you, or make you a victim or one of his pranks, or just his existence, it didn’t matter, you hated him, and he hated you. 

It was early in the morning, you had gotten up early for quidditch practice, which you unfortunately had with Fred seeing you were on the same team. You practically dragged yourself to the pitch, your uniform askew due to you only having woken a few minutes earlier, only having time to brush your teeth before you were on the field.

“Jesus Y/N what happened to you?” Fred asked sarcastically. It was too fucking early for this, so you just rolled your eyes and flipped him off, not giving him another glance as you walked by the bleachers, throwing your bag and broom down, lightly stretching before Oliver arrived.

You looked to your right to see your best friend Hermione sitting on the bleachers reading a book. It wasn’t uncommon to find her out here reading or doing homework, since its usually empty this time of day. You walked over plopping yourself next to her, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Yes Y/N?” she asked not looking up from her book.

“I’m going to kill him” You said, leaning back so your elbows were resting on the seats behind you.

“You say that every day” She said, putting her book down to give you her full attention.

“I mean it. Today is the day” You mumbled, causing her to laugh a bit.

“Why do you hate him so much again?” She asked,

“You know why, he’s annoying as hell, he’s constantly making fun of me, and I’m still picking glitter out of my clothes from his last prank. He’s the worst” You stated, causing Hermione to stifle a laugh beside you, causing you to glare.

“It was a little funny” She said

“Say you, you weren't the victim” you shot back, causing her to roll her eyes, she opened her mouth to continue her conversation, but just then Oliver walked in, signaling the start of practice.

A few hours later and you were completely awake, it was a pretty easy day, just running some chaser drills as the beaters worked with the keeper and so on, well it was supposed to be easy. It was a little hard to focus when Fred was constantly trying to bug you.

“Y/N!” Fred suddenly yelled, causing you to jump, almost dropping the quaffle you were throwing to your teammate.

“What!” You yelled back, looking over to see the tall red head smiling at you.

“Nothing, just wanted to see if I could get you to miss” He said, turning back to his own round of drills. You rolled your eyes, looking back at your team mate to see her trying not to laugh.

“Its not that funny, just throw back the-” You started but you weren't able to finish your sentence,  a blunt object hitting your shoulder with enough force to send you falling off your broom. You weren't that far off the ground, so it didn’t hurt to much when you landed, but you still had the wind knocked out of you for a second, having landed on your back.

You quickly shook out of your dazed state, taking in a few deep breaths before looking on your right to see what hit you. A quaffle ball. And of course, who do you see when you look up to find out who hit you with the bloody thing. That fucking idiot.

“Y/N are you ok! Is anything broken?” Hermione said, having watched the whole thing, running over to you. You however were already getting up.

“No I'm fine” You said, Hermione’s eyes widening at the tone of your voice, which came as a surprise, until she saw Fred fly down to meet you on the ground.

“Sorry, the ball got away from me and-” He started, getting off his broom to stand in front of you.

“You fucking asshole!” You yelled, lunging at Fred and shoving his chest. He may have been quite a bit taller than you, but you were still able to catch him by surprise and send him falling back a bit.

“What, constantly tormenting me and making me feel like a fucking idiot every day isn’t enough? Now you have to knock me off my fucking broom?” You stormed forward, going to shove him again but before you could Oliver and Hermione grabbed your arms, holding you back and causing the new pain in you back to flare up.

“Y/N, go cool off, you’re done for today” Oliver said sternly, causing you to look back at him angrily.

“I’m done for today? He hit me!” You defended.

“It was an accident Y/N jeez just relax” Fred said, and if Oliver wasn’t still holding your wrist, you were sure you would have punched him right then and there.

“Shut it Weasley you’re off too! Both of you go cool off and figure out whatever the hell is going on between you too because I can’t have two of my best players constantly trying to kill each other!” Oliver yelled, finally releasing you before storming off to the rest of the players, who had all started watching the fight.

“Here I’ll walk you back” Hermione said

“I said I’m fine” you grumbled, shaking her off your shoulder before storming off to the women's locker room to change.

“I didn’t mean to hit her” Fred said once you were out of ear shot, surprising Hermione. His voice wasn’t as confident as it usually was, but it still had a hint of sarcasm.

“You better go apologize, I mean it” Hermione said, stopping when he opened his mouth to interject, before turning and walking back to where she was originally sitting, gathering her stuff so she could go back to her room.

“She's right you know” George said, having landed behind Fred to see the incident. “You gotta stop whatever this is, the both of you” He said, before getting on his broom and flying off to the rest of the players, leaving Fred dreading the conversation he needed to have.

Meanwhile in the locker room, you had taken off your shirt, leaving you in leggings and a bra to examine you back, where a deep purple bruise was starting to bloom on your shoulder blade.

You moved your arm to get a better look, and pain shot up you shoulder, not enough to really affect you, but it was sure as hell annoying.

“Merlin that looks bad” A familiar voice suddenly said from behind you, causing you to jump out of you skin.

“Fucking... Fred this is the girls locker room get out!” You yelled, throwing the closest thing to you at his head, which happened to be your shirt, which hit his chest before falling to a heap at his feet.

“No can do Y/n, I’m here to apologize, and I am not allowed to leave unless I’m forgiven.” He said crossing his arms and leaning on the wall next to him, trying not to let his eyes wander off your face.

“Great, guess we’ll die in here” you said, going to your bag to get your shirt, back now facing Fred.

“You should probably get that looked at” Fred said, coming farther into the room to sit on one of the benches.

“Wow, fucking brilliant, I would have never thunk it!” You said sarcastically, finding your shirt, moving to put it on but as you lifted your arms that pain was shooting down your shoulder again, making you chuck it on the floor frustrated.

“I said I was sorry!” Fred said, not understanding why you were so mad.

“Actually, you haven't Fred!” You shot back causing his eyes to widen. Had he really not actually apologized.

“Well I’m sorry” Fred said, keeping up his sarcastic façade

“No you’re not!” You suddenly yelled, finally coming to your breaking point. “You weren't sorry for all the pranks you played on me, you weren't sorry for humiliating me in class, you weren't sorry for constantly teasing me, and you most certainly aren't sorry for this!” You yelled, throwing your things in your bag so you could leave.

“You’re such an idiot!” Fred said, suddenly standing and storming over to you. “You think I want to hurt your feelings? I started pranking you because it was the only way to get your attention! Before it was like interacting with a fucking wall!” He said, causing your face to heat up.

You were going to be honest. Before you two started hating each other, you may have had a teeny tiny barely there crush on the older twin. You would never admit it out loud, especially after everything that's happened, but still, there was some little piece of your heart that wished things had worked out differently between you too.

“Well gee Fred, I didn’t realize I was such a bore to be around” You said, trying to hide the hurt his words left behind.

“That's not what I meant” Fred said, his voice suddenly softer than before.

“Than what do you mean Fred? Because I’m honestly sick of playing whatever sick game you’re tying to pull me into” You shot back

“Would you just shut up and listen!” Fred said

“Or what Fred? You gonna prank me, or knock me down again or-” Your yelling was suddenly cut off when Fred closed the space between you two slamming his lips to yours. 

You were expecting a lot of things, some more yelling, a lot more swearing, pretty much anything than what just happened. But suddenly, he was pressing his lips to yours, and all you could think of was how badly you wanted to kiss him back. So you did.

The kiss was intense, lips sloppily moving against each other before you were suddenly feeling his tongue against your bottom lip, opening them to allow him to explore your mouth.

Fred suddenly bent his knees, allowing him to grab the backs of your thighs and lift you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his hips before he backed you into the wall, causing a jolt of pain to shoot through your shoulder, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was Fred. His tongue in your mouth, his red hair in between your fingers, and his now obvious hard on pressed against your core.

Your hands moved from his hair to the front of his Jersey, running your hands beneath it to feel his toned stomach, pushing up the fabric to get it off. Fred quickly broke the kiss, quickly removing his shirt before re attaching your lips, his right hand holding you up while the other went to squeeze your breast while his lips moved down your neck, marking the skin there.

“Fuck Fred, stop teasing” You said, wanting him to do something, anything to help the friction between your legs.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do it” Fred mumbled, lips barely leaving your skin. The cheeky fucker.

“Please, just fuck me already!” You practically yelled, causing Fred to stop the attack on your neck and meet your eyes, smiling wide.

“As you wish” He said, before suddenly putting you down, grabbing his wand and casting a spell to lock the door.

“Wouldn’t want to get interrupted” He said cockily, before going to work on taking off his belt, you following suit and pulling off the rest of your clothes leaving you in your panties, while Fred's pants were pulled down just enough to let his cock spring free.

“These need to come off” He said, grabbing the waist band of your panties before pulling them down roughly, allowing you to kick out of them before you were suddenly against the wall again, with Fred’s lips attaching to your neck once again.

You suddenly felt Fred's hand move down your stomach before reaching your core, dipping a finger in your entrance and causing you to throw your head back.

“So wet for me already?” Fred teased, moving to suck a mark just behind your ear. You only nodded in response, not fully trusting your voice.

Fred hiked up your left leg to wrap around his waist, pressing his cock between your folds before slowly pushing in, giving you time to adjust to his size as he filled you up completely, staying like this for a few seconds.

“You ok?” Fred asked, his soft tone throwing you a bit off guard, but you quickly moved past it, nodding your head.

“Yes just... god please move” You moaned, causing him to smirk before he slowly pulled out half way, before ramming his hips into yours, causing you to gasp.

Fred hiked up your other leg, you now fully off the ground with your legs around his waist once again before reconnecting your lips. He thrust upwards into you, knowing exactly how to hit that one spot that made you roll your head spin. You moved your hand to grip onto his back trying to find something to hold onto, leaving marks running across his back from your nails and making him groan into your mouth, moving his lips to attack your neck and collar bone. 

Fred began to pick up the pace, gripping your left thigh tightly as he used his hand and the wall to keep you up, his other hand moving between your bodies to start moving circles around your clit, almost sending you over the edge and causing you to gasp, which only made Fred move his hand faster.

“Fuck Fred... I’m gonna... fuck” you tried to say, coming close to your orgasm but your couldn’t find the words.

“Come for me, I’m right behind you” Fred said, suddenly thrusting into you harder, making the tension in your stomach to release, your orgasm washing over you and causing you to see stars.

Fred thrusted into you a few more times before he came undone himself, grunting as he emptied himself into you. You both stood like that for a moment, your head resting in the crook of his neck while he softly peppered kisses along your shoulders. 

After a moment he let you down, helping you find your footing so that you wouldn’t fall, your legs exhausted from holding onto him. A silence fell over you two as you went to put your clothes back on, wincing as you went to secure the hooks on your bra, having forgotten about the welt on your back from earlier. Fred noticed your grimace and walked over to you, gently resting his hand next to the mark.

“Let me” He said, moving his hands to gently clasp the fabric together, before moving his hand to rest near the bruise, his cool fingertips helping to ease the pain.

“I’m so sorry” Fred said, causing you to turn around, smiling up at him softly as you read the guilt on his face.

“Its ok, I know it wasn’t on purpose” You said, leaning in to hug him, which he accepted, wrapping your arms around you.

“I’m actually kind of glad it happened” you said, pulling away and digging through your bag to pull out your shirt, putting it on. “If you hadn’t knocked me on my ass this probably wouldn’t have happened” You said, causing Fred to chuckle.

“Remind me to knock you over more often” Fred joked, pulling on his shoes before standing next to you.

“Or we could just keep fucking, not in the locker room though” You said causing the both of you to laugh.

“Ok, what about... in twenty minutes when we get back to the school?” Fred asked, causing you to slap his shoulder playfully.

“You could at least by me dinner first! I’m not that easy” You joked, causing Fred to chuckle before turning to face you, putting both of your hands in his.

“I could... this weekend? Hogsmeade’s?” He asked, causing your face to heat up, before you smiled brightly.

“Its a date” You said

“Good” He said smiling back, letting go of one of your hands so you could walk out of the locker room. “I mean its the least I could do, seeing I just made you scream my name for the last twenty minute. I am a gentleman”

“Shut up” You said, but you were smiling, and you could not wait for the weekend.

BONUS:

You walked back into your dorm room, a stupid grin still plastered on your face as you went to sit on your bed. you still had a few minutes before your next class so you could shower and get a new change of clothes.

“What are you so smiley about? Oh god, did you kill him?” Hermione asked, sitting across the room on her own bed, having been reading a book before you entered.

“Hmm?” You asked, not fully paying attention “Oh no, we just... Talked” you said, trying to come up with something on the spot.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, not believing your story before her eyes landed just above the collar of your shirt. “Y/N... Is that a fucking hickey!?” She practically yelled, causing you to quickly run to the mirror on the side of the room, moving your shirt to see your neck more clearly, and sure enough, there was a purple spot right below your ear.

“That fucker” you mumbled to yourself, causing Hermione's head to practically explode.

“When I told him to apologize I didn’t mean like that!” Hermione exclaimed, causing you to laugh. The bruise on your back may not have been nice to receive, but this one, this is one on your neck you could live with getting more often.

BONUS BONUS:

Fred Weasley walked into the common room finding an empty couch before plopping down into it, laying back with a grin on his face. He barely noticed Oliver and George sitting on the couch opposite of him, having interrupted some conversation they were having.

“Hey Fred, you alright mate?” Oliver said, looking at the older Weasley who had a happily drunk look on his face.

“Never better why?” Fred asked, looking over at the two, who looked back at him with the same suspicious expression.

“Because you were supposed to apologies to Y/N almost half an hour ago and... wait” George said, suddenly putting the pieces together “Did you and y/n-” George yelled, before quickly getting cut off by Fred.

“Keep your voice down you git! I don't want all of Hogwarts knowing... well... yet” Fred said, causing George to grow a giant smile on his face, and Oliver's eyes to basically roll out of his head.

“So, are you two good now? Like I don’t have to worry about you killing each other” Oliver said after a moment, collecting his thoughts while George giggled like a school girl.

“No were not going to kill each other” Fred said, rolling his eyes at his friends dramatic reactions.

“Well its about damn time you told her, I personally would have waited for more romantic timing but still, nice effort” George teased, earning a whack to the shoulder from his brother.

“Shut it” Fred said, but he didn’t have the energy to stay angry, too excited about the events that just happened, and for the upcoming weekend.

____________________________________________________________

A/N: Heeeeey! This is my first time writing Fred Weasley smut so pls be gentle, also feel free to leave me any critiques or feed back or whatever. Hope you enjoyed!

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley headcannon #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut

[gumnut-logic]

John Tracy hated taking public transport.

He hated the cramped seats, the invasion of his personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers and the noise.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

But the astrolabs were too far from the dorm to hike it or bike it, so bus it was.

He mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds and handled it the best he could. Earphones helped and he never travelled without his tablet and a network connection.

He made do.

He made do for over a year. Every morning and every night.

The work was fascinating and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He considered getting a car, but it wasn’t practical and parking was non-existent, so he stuck with the bus.

Despite the fact he hated it.

Every trip he buried himself in his own world whether it be his work, research, a good book or even a movie. He shut the world out and more importantly anyone who sat next to him.

Sometimes this was not possible.

Because sometimes they spoke to him.

John had been brought up polite. His grandmother would have slapped his wrist if she found out he was ignoring people. So, he always replied. Often concisely, but always watching his manners.

That often opened the floodgates. Because if there was anything common between big cities it was the people who were lost in them, desperately alone in a sea of faces.

John liked being alone to a certain extent, but he was blessed with a close and large family.

Some people had no one.

So, ever so reluctantly, he found himself answering their call for help.

The first was Mrs Bucklin. She was a tiny woman, well dressed, but slightly scented with mothballs as if her clothes hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.

She sat right beside him and immediately enquired as to what he was doing.

At the time he was coding a new game and her sharp voice startled him enough for his fingers to slip and enter a chain of commands he had not intended. He would have sworn if he was alone, but the program righted itself and the new commands, instead of corrupting and crashing the function, actually appeared to improve it. He frowned and hastily input some bridging structures so the code wouldn’t fragment, idly wondering if the error would improve the game, ruin it, have him need to rewrite the whole section or be the spark that would initiate sentience.

Great, his tablet would rise up and eat him while he was distracted by a random bus passenger.

She did apologise and he did reassure her that it was all okay in the hope she would let him be.

She didn’t.

He learnt she had three cats, a niece in another country (he didn’t gather which because the woman’s pronunciation defied translation), that she had lost her son in the Global Conflict, she liked his hair (that was a first) and that he looked like an intelligent young man.

He acknowledged her quietly and politely as he eyed his code and the results of an initial compile test. How did it do that?

Her cats were named Scottie, Gordy and Allie.

He did blink at that, but didn’t comment.

Eventually, she said goodbye and got off the bus at her stop.

He would have forgotten about her, except she sat next to him the next day and the day after that.

Apparently, this was her route to work, and he was such a polite young man.

Three weeks later she admitted he made her feel safe just by being there. She had been mugged three times in her life and public transport was as much a bane for her as it was for him.

He actively kept an eye out for her after that.

Gus was a different matter.

Gus didn’t have a home and he often rode the bus just for the air conditioning and comfort.

He sat on the other side of the walkway to John. He didn’t say much and would likely have never said anything if it hadn’t been for the gang of boys who decided to throw verbal potshots at him one day.

John had had an all-nighter with exams coming up, so he was cranky. His latest project had stalled – the same game he had been tackling when Mrs Bucklin had startled him. The core of the program had become a little unpredictable and he couldn’t work out why.

So, when a group of teenagers crawled to the back of the bus and started needling a fellow passenger, it was not only a situation where the innocent man appeared to need a bit of a rescue, but it also pissed John off.

There were four of them. Teenagers flocked in groups apparently. He’d never been one for that formation himself, but he knew of them, had encountered them and Virgil had kicked a few of their asses for him.

John was in college now.

He could kick his own fair share of ass quite happily.

“Leave the man alone, or I will call the police.” He raised his voice, but not his head, transmitting all the body language of how beneath his notice they were and how he might respond if they didn’t comply.

“Mind your own business, kook!”

There was always a brave one amongst the group, usually the ringleader, the head dickhead.

At least they were only teenagers.

This time he did look up and put all that communication theory into the coldest stare possible. “Excuse me?”

All four of them froze. Hell, they couldn’t be older than fifteen, somewhere between Gordy and Alan. If either of his brothers acted like this, there were three older brothers who would quite firmly re-educate them on proper conduct.

Not that he thought either of his younger brothers would do such a thing.

In any case, all four of them stared at him wide-eyed. The eldest swore and climbed out of his seat just as the bus pulled up at the next stop. He snarled at John as he stalked past, spitting profanities. His cohorts followed and they climbed off the bus.

It was lovely and quiet after that and John went back to tackling his misbehaving program.

“Thank you, sir.”

John blinked up at the unkempt man who had been the centre of the teenagers’ torment.

A small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Was this variable being changed by the program itself? How the hell could it do that?

He didn’t fail to notice after that incident that Gus, as he introduced himself the next time they met, always sat near John on his rides, morning or evening.

John met other people. Mrs Magarey and her three young children always needed a hand with her pram. John sometimes took advantage of this and stuck the pram in the footwell of the seat next to him so no-one could sit there.

That made Mrs Bucklin sit behind him and whisper her stories in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that either.

Two other students from his faculty took the same bus as well. Ridley was in the year behind him and always had a friend on the phone. She chattered a lot and he learnt to tune her out.

Well, until the day he boarded the bus and found her crying into her tablet.

She had lost her entire thesis in a computer crash. He was polite. He enquired and she answered, staring up at him as if she had never seen him before. Which was entirely possible. John didn’t like to draw attention to himself.

He accompanied her off the bus that day and delved into her damaged computer. He dug up her thesis and she gushed all over him, even crying into his sweater.

He hugged her awkwardly and wished her all the best.

After that, she always said hello and had a smile for him.

John smiled back, but his program was still not behaving. It acted as if it had a mind of its own and it was very distracting.

Mrs Bucklin said it sounded like cat number two, Gordy. Never behaving, but always loveable.

John stared at her when she said that, and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.

The day Virgil landed in the seat beside him on the way to the labs startled him enough to drop his tablet.

“Hey, Johnny.”

He fumbled between the seats for the device. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell Virgil was anything but.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his tablet and he scrabbled for it. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a brother drop in on his brother to see how he is doing?”

John eyed him. If it was Scott sitting next to him or Gordon, he might have been suspicious of any double meaning his brother might be communicating. But this was Virgil and although the engineer had a sense of humour that could cut when necessary, this wasn’t his style.

“I guess he can. But why the bus?”

Virgil shrugged. “Didn’t catch you early enough. Barely caught the bus behind you. I thought your classes didn’t start until later.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you up so early?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Just avoiding the crowds, I guess.”

Virgil eyed him with a slightly worried frown.

“And who is this lovely young man who has taken my seat?”

Oh god.

Virgil stared up at Mrs Bucklin as she bustled in to sit behind them.

An internal sigh. “Mrs Bucklin, this is my brother Virgil.”

“Your brother?” She eyed Virgil as if inspecting him for sale. “Doesn’t look like you at all. Where’s the red hair?”

Virgil arched a dark eyebrow.

“Nevertheless, Mrs Bucklin, Virgil is my older brother.”

“Then how come we haven’t met before? You’ve been travelling this route for a year now and we haven’t seen hide or hair of him.” She continued to glare at Virgil as if he was a threat.

Virgil was shifting in his seat, his expression decidedly wary.

“Virgil has been assisting my father on a project. He’s an engineer. I’m unsure what he is doing here right now.”

“Hmph, well, in my opinion, he should have been here earlier.” She addressed Virgil directly. “Did you know your sweet little brother has been a bastion of this bus route, defending and assisting all?”

What?

John’s head shot up. “Mrs Bucklin-“

“Don’t you go all humble pie on me, young man. I saw what you did to those teenagers and how you help young Mollie every week. That girl is going to work herself into an early grave. And poor Gus, you’ve given him a new reason to try. Did you know he has enrolled himself in a course? Got himself a grant from the government and everything. Got help from that employment assistance group. Not to mention that doe-eyed young student who stares at you with love hearts floating about her head. I don’t know what you did for her, but I have no doubt she would do anything for you if you asked.” She turned back to Virgil, accusation in her eyes. “Why haven’t you been looking after your brother?”

Virgil’s wide eyes darted between John and the older woman.

John had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Mrs Bucklin’s glare was determined.

“Ah-“

“Is this man harassing you?”

John looked up to see Gus looming over Virgil.

You know, the Virgil who lifted weights that weighed more than his brothers on a daily basis.

John frowned. Gus had a new coat on and was looking much healthier than the last time he paid attention. “No, Gus. This is my older brother Virgil.”

And Virgil was subjected to another staring glare. “Doesn’t look like your brother.”

What?!

“I can assure you that he is indeed my caring older brother and he is not neglecting me in any way.”

Gus grunted, still glaring at Virgil. He nodded in John’s direction. “Make sure he eats more. He’s too skinny.”

That started Mrs Bucklin off again. “My goodness, yes. John you do not eat enough. Have you tried any of those recipes I recommended?”

Gus was still eyeing Virgil.

Virgil appeared to be regretting several recent life choices.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bucklin.” He raised his hands. “And both of you, Virgil is not responsible for my wellbeing.”

His tablet beeped. A glance and he found a text message from Ridley. You okay over there?

He looked up and found her at the other end of the bus staring back at him worriedly.

A sigh.

A flick of his fingers. I’m fine.

He turned back to Virgil who was literally cornered, only for his tablet to chime again.

 You free tonight?

Oh, for the love of-

“Guys, Virgil is my big brother. He looks after me. He cares. I’m fine. He’s here for a visit. I don’t know why yet. Stop glaring at him.”

Gus grunted again and wandered off to his seat. He didn’t stop eyeing John’s brother for a second.

Mrs Bucklin let off a slightly miffed sound before leaning back in her seat. “He better. Or I have a mind to bring Scottie with me next time. Or maybe Gordy. To teach him a lesson.”

What the hell?

“No need, Mrs Bucklin. I assure you.”

Virgil was staring at John as if he wasn’t sure what planet he was on.

John sighed.

Yeah, he hated public transport.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

His tablet pinged again. This time it was the program he was working on. It was claiming it was dawn despite the fact the sun had risen an hour ago. He let out an exasperated hiss.

Virgil was still staring at him.

Damn public transport.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #Ridley O'Bannon is in this but not in a shipping sense from John's perspective #She does have eyeballs for him though he ignores her completely pretty much

[lykaokrios]

Arena Fears - M!De Sardet x Vasco

Fandom: Greedfall

Paring: Captain Vasco x M!De Sardet

Word Count: 2,047

Description:  Vasco fears losing De Sardet in his fight with a Champion in the arena.

(Poem quote from Tyler Knott Gregson)

Warnings: Mild swearing

My AO3

“I must warn ya, he’s a killer.” “Expecting you to last less than a minute.” The words kept repeating in his mind.

While Vasco had no doubt of De Sardet’s skill, the sinking feeling in his gut after those statements from the bookie and then Candy Cane refused to go away. Followed up with the fact he wasn’t even allowed to be in the arena with him.

He’d stayed quiet as they ran around setting up for the fight, but he couldn’t understand the excitement in Petrus’ voice or the confidence in the Legate’s.

He kept telling himself to remain silent. That everything would be fine. But as he watched De Sardet finish sharpening his sword and the sound of the games master calling his name, Vasco couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He throws himself at De Sardet, causing the man to drop his sword to hold onto him. Clutching onto his armor, the Captain whispers in his ear, “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“I- Vasco it will be alright,” the Legate assures him, stroking his back and holding him close.

“And if it’s not alright?” He demands, his grip tightening. “You’re going to make me watch you die for this?”

“You know my skill, you know I can do this,” he tries to reason.

“But I don’t know the other man, neither do you. All you know is he kills his opponents, and he’s obviously been a champion this long for a reason.”

“And I won’t be one of them,” he assures Vasco, who’s trying hard to control the trembling in his body. “It’s one fight, then it’ll be over. Please believe in me.”

“One fight,” Vasco repeats, stepping back from his lover. “I- will try to be supportive.”

“You don’t have to watch if it’s going to upset you.”

“I’d rather be there than waiting for someone to tell me,” the Naut hisses at him. “Finish this quickly, and let us not speak of it again.”

De Sardet nods before pressing a kiss to Vasco’s forehead, and motioning for Petrus to take him to the audience.

“Come my child,” Petrus says as he grasps Vasco’s arm. “Let us get into place and allow him to finish preparing.”

“Ok,” Vasco responds emptily. He glances at his lover one last time before allowing Petrus to pull him away.

Once they’re in place, Vasco’s mind continues to torment him with that one statement. “He’s a killer.”

He tries to calm himself, but it seems useless. The smell of sweat, blood, and alcohol thick in the air mixing with his anxiety make him feel like he’s going to be sick.

Either his Tempest wins and they continue on their way like normal. Or he’s about to watch the love of his life be slaughtered for sport in front of a crowd of drunk nobles betting on his life.

If the man killed De Sardet, he’d kill him, Vasco had already decided. Tack, laws, rules, guilds be damned. He’d rather rot in a jail cell than live a life free without him, and with the man who killed his lover walking away.

The game master starts his introductions. At this point it just sounds like noise, not actual words.

The champion jumps down into the arena. A bigger man than his Tempest. Not that he’d not fought massive creatures. Hell Vasco had seen him take down a guardian alone the day they met. But it did little to help his anxiety.

Next De Sardet jumps into the arena, his sword already in his hand. Within seconds they’re both at one another, the sound from clashing of blades echoes through the arena as the people around them cheer.

“Yeah, cut his head off!” The noble next to Vasco screams, his bottle of whiskey sloshing on to the floor.

He grimaces at the statement, gripping the barrier tightly to keep himself from punching the spectator. Petrus gives him an apologetic smile before gesturing back at the arena.

The larger man is obviously stronger. De Sardet was playing to his strengths of agility, but the man had caught him once and thrown him halfway across the arena with a thud. Vasco’s hand immediately snapped to his gun, his finger twitching as he holds it in his grasp.

The Legate was quickly back on his feet, and right back into his typical flips and handstands to maneuver around the champion.

Each close brush of the opponents blade has Vasco flinching. Any second could be his Tempest’s last. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the battle.

After what seems like an eternity, De Sardet manages to stick the champion through his back, a gasp emanating from the crowd as Vasco finally lets out the breath he’d been holding. The Legate raises his sword in the air before heading toward the exit.

Vasco quickly races to the entrance, knowing that walk too well. He’d been hurt.

“See? Told you it would be fine,” his lover assures him, a forced smile clearly on his lips. “Hand out Vasco.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.”

Holding his hand out, De Sardet deposits a heavy bag of gold into his palm before stumbling past him to the benches.

“I- Tempest!” He responds flabbergasted. “You’re obviously wounded, and I’ve spent the last ten minutes watching you nearly die and all you have to say is you’re fine and give me gold?”

“I want you to have it,” he says simply. Grimacing as he sits down.

“I don’t need gold, I need you!” Vasco seethes at him. He hooks the bag to his belt and drops to his knees tugging at his lover’s boot. “Let me see it.”

“I’m fine,” he tries to insist, but the angry glare trained on him seems to shut him up.

Discarding the boot and sock, and rolling back his trousers, Vasco’s faced with a deep gash in his leg. “Tempest,” he breaths out quietly.

He pulls back his own coat to tear a shred from his shirt to hold against the wound, and shouts over to the Siora for her help.

As he does his best to stop the bleeding, Siora races over with magic ready. He trades places with her to give her a better view, and instead goes to sit beside him, gripping his hand in his own.

As Siora sets to healing him, De Sardet rest his head on Vasco’s shoulder, a sigh leaving the Captain’s lips as he leans his own head against his and grips his love’s hand tighter.

“When you are finished, we should go see Cornelia,” Petrus states as he walks over.

“Tomorrow,” Vasco snaps out before the Legate can respond. “He’s injured and it’s late.”

“Of course,” Petrus nods. “Do you want help getting back my child?”

“No,” he responds softly. “Siora will finish up and Vasco will make sure I make it back. You can head out.”

“As you wish,” the Bishop nods and takes his exits.

Vasco mutters under his breath, bringing a chuckle from the man beside him. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“He is,” Siora responds cleaning the rest of the blood from his leg. All that’s left is a long angry looking scar where the wound once was. “But you need rest.”

“You are a miracle worker,” De Sardet thanks her, Vasco sending her a quick nod and smile.

“Let us get back then,” the captain says, helping put his lover’s arm across his shoulders, and his own arm around the man’s back. “Don’t put pressure on it.”

“I can still-“ he tries to argue but once again stops at the glare he receives.

Siora helps the two of them out of the fighting pit and up the stairs of the basement before commenting she will hang back on their walk back. “So you two may talk.”

Vasco nods and continues on shouldering most of the weight.

“So…” De Sardet says after a few minutes of walking.

“I’m angry, anxious, stressed, upset, and fucking relieved,” Vasco interrupts. “I could have fucking lost you just so Petrus could anger a noble.”

“It should help Constantin,” the Legate insists.

“Perhaps, or it was a non-existent problem the two of you were trying to solve for him. He’s a governor, I understand he’s your cousin but you can’t intervene on everything.”

De Sardet goes quiet at that, and they continue the walk in silence. Reaching the home, Vasco helps him through the door, then up the stairs with the help of Kurt who jumped from his chair.

“I’ve got the rest handled,” Vasco tells Kurt after they’ve help De Sardet to a chair.

Kurt leaves with a nod, and Vasco starts removing the Legate’s coat and various pieces of armor. Once all his upper armor is removed, he drops to his knees to get his boots off once again.

Once he’s stripped to his underclothes, Vasco goes downstairs to retrieve the water for a bath.

When he re-enters the room, he notices De Sardet examining his leg.

“How is the pain?” He asks as he pours the water in the tub.

“Manageable,” the Legate responds softly. “Did you really believe I would not win that fight?”

“I… don’t know,” Vasco answers carefully, helping De Sardet into the tub as he speaks. “You are skilled, but it was reckless.”

“We live reckless lives Vasco,” he answers, grimacing as he moves his leg to make it comfortable in the small space.

“No, we live dangerous lives. It’s dangerous enough without reckless and nearly pointless fights that could leave you killed with little to no good reason.”

“I thought I could win.”

“That’s the problem,” Vasco snaps back, “You thought about how you felt and how Petrus felt. You didn’t think about what would happen if you didn’t win. How Constantin would feel; how Kurt, Aphra, and Siora would feel. How I would feel watching you be murdered in front of me with nothing I could do, in the name of pissing off a noble and a sack of gold.”

“It wasn’t for just that!” he insists. “If this could even slightly help Constantin isn’t it worth it?”

“De Sardet don’t you just come into my life and show me love, show me everything I could feel, give me more happiness than I’ve had in my entire fucking life then throw your life away!” He hisses at him angrily. “If you were going to so casually toss away your life, you should have never let me get close to you.”

De Sardet goes silent once again at that, and Vasco sighs, pulling the tie from his lover’s hair and beginning to wet it.

Putting the soap in his hands, he runs his fingers through the hair deftly, lathering it in the tension filled silence.

“‘When you have swam in the sea, a lake will no longer do. Everyone else was a pond, but the ocean was always you,’” Vasco recites softly.

“What?”

“I’m scared to lose you Tempest,” he admits. “Completely and utterly terrified. The idea of going back to life how it was before after having known this, having known you…”

“Shut your eyes,” he commands, starting to rinse the soap from his hair.

“I’m sorry,” De Sardet says after he’s told he can open his eyes. “I… really didn’t think. And that wasn’t fair to you. Come here.”

Vasco leans in closer, and the Legate gently cups his jaw and pulls him in to give him a gentle kiss, “I will do better.”

“I believe you’ll try. Don’t promise what you can’t do,” his gaze drifts down to the water in the tub.

“Hey, look at me,” De Sardet states, carefully tilting his lover’s face up toward him. “We’ll discuss these things before I jump into them. I won’t rush into it without listening to how you feel. Actually listening.”

“That’s all I ask,” Vasco sighs, leaning his head into De Sardet’s wet palm against his face. “I’m going down with this ship Tempest, just don’t sink it this quickly.”

“That won’t do,” he teases, his thumb running along one of Vasco’s tattoos. “This tattoo says you’ve not lost a single crew member. I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of your face.”

“Oh shut up.”

“I love you too Vasco.”

#captain vasco #vasco #de sardet x vasco #greedfall vasco #de sardet #fanfiction #fanfic #greedfall

[alonely-dreamer]

Dangerous Creatures | Chapter 35: Dangerous Opportunities

Summary: Mackenzie, Elijah and Klaus keep busy in New-Orleans...

Pairing: Elijah x OC

Words: 2856

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23: Part 1 | Chapter 23: Part 2 | Chapter 23: Part 3 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 (Part 1) | Chapter 25 (Part 2) | Chapter 25 (Part 3) | Chapter 26 (Part 1) | Chapter 26 (Part 2 & 3) | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32  | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34

I made Marcel everything that he is.

I treated him like a son.

And when my father chased me and my family from New-Orleans a hundred years ago we believed Marcel was killed.

We each mourned him in our own way.

Yet, when I returned, I found not only had he survived… he had thrived.

Instead of seeking us out, instead of sticking together as one, he made a choice, to take everything my family had built and make it his own.

Now he is living in our home.

He is sleeping in our beds.

The letter ‘M’ he stamps everywhere… it’s not for Marcel.

It’s for Mikaelson.

I want it all back.

And if I have to push him out to get it, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.

 ***

 Mackenzie’s giggles filled the room. “Stop it,” she kept repeating, but she didn’t mean it, and he knew that. They had started new games together, some even new to Elijah, as if Mackenzie was his muse inspiring him dirty little games he’d only play with her. It was innocent, at first, but soon, Mackenzie became more comfortable with him, more confident, and the stains of blood on the white bed sheets were so common now the compelled staff knew to change them almost every day. The implications of their activities only made them want each other more. Mackenzie, because she knew the effect her blood had on him, and Elijah, because he would never experience anything like this with anyone else other than her. Sure, he knew he would never love anyone the way he loved Mackenzie, but it wasn’t just about love. And that was something that made Mackenzie feel powerful. That was the reason why, sometimes, she refused to take his blood after they were done. So that she’d keep the marks. So that he knew they were there. His marks on her body. Claiming her. And she loved the way it made him feel when he saw them too.

While Mackenzie and Elijah were enjoying what both Katherine and Rebekah had called their ‘honeymoon period’, Hayley wished for death. Well, maybe not literally. But she did pretty much hate her life, and she didn’t have faith that it would get better in the next eighteen years. She was uncomfortable in every way. Not only was she pregnant with the world’s most hated supernatural creature, but her future baby’s father also was a total psychopath who didn’t see her as anything more than an incubator for his miracle baby. He had forbidden her from leaving the house where he left her to rot every day. Every day, she was left with a couple acting not unlike two hormonal teenagers around the house, in other words, alone, alone with dusty books she had no intention of reading, and a TV remote giving her access to hundreds of channels she wasn’t interested in watching at all. In other words, days passed and stayed the same, aside from the rising heat, and growing belly.

To make matters worse, when Elijah wasn’t busy eating his girlfriend (in every sense of the word), he turned into an over-protective grandpa, building the nursery from scratch, making sure she had vitamin, protein, everything a pregnant woman needs according to What To Expect When You’re Expecting, which she wouldn’t be surprised to find on his nightstand. Not only did it make her uncomfortable, and even more irritable, but it made Mackenzie self-conscious and sad, not matter how hard she was trying to hide it.

At first, Hayley thought it was jealousy. But Mackenzie was better than that. And she had no bad intentions towards Hayley, or feelings, on the contrary. After they had made sure Marcel’s secret weapon, whatever it was, could not detect Mackenzie’s powers, they had unlinked Hayley to Sophie, making the witches regret their whole plan to bring the Originals back in town, giving them enormous doubts about whether they would still go on with the plan to dethrone Marcel or not. Of course, Klaus was a threat to them now, after all they had done. Kidnapping Hayley, using his child to blackmail him… The witches were scared, and now, they had bigger problems than Marcel, and the witch community of New-Orleans was starting to turn against Sophie, who had insisted her sister’s plan would work. But Klaus didn’t attack the witches. No, Klaus was still in a suspiciously good mood. Aside from keeping Hayley locked up in the house, he was pleasant with his brother, he was pleasant with Mackenzie, and he was pleasant with Hayley, to whom his nickname little wolf had stuck. He wasn’t acting like a future father, by any means. He didn’t check on Hayley’s health, never asked how she felt or if she needed anything. He didn’t spend any time in the nursery, helping Elijah, or didn’t even talk baby names with his future baby’s mother, not that anyone had expected that from him. No. Klaus spent all his time with Marcel, and they were seemingly getting along great, greater than great, in fact, as if they were the best of friends who weren’t hiding deadly secrets from each other.

Hayley had started to worry about his behavior. What if he really enjoyed spending time with Marcel? What if he just wanted to get back at the witches? What if he didn’t care? What if… all the bad things Klaus could do, that she could think of, or even scarier, that she couldn’t even imagine. However, her worries were put to rest one day, as Klaus came back home one night with a newly made vampire named Josh.

“Josh here,” he had told them, “will be my eyes and ears. My joker, my…”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Hayley had interrupted him. “He’s your spy.”

Klaus had gotten to Josh before Marcel even had the chance to put him under vervain. The vampire was compelled thoroughly by the Original hybrid and will be the key to taking Marcel down.

Though the existence of Josh was a relief for everyone, neither his brother nor his girlfriend trusted him in any way. Not when he was in such a good mood. He was plotting something, and they had a feeling it was nothing good, for anyone.

 ***

 Mackenzie caressed Elijah’s hair, her thoughts wandering back to earlier that day, when he had taken her to one of his favorite places in New-Orleans, a once peaceful beautiful park that was now a crowded and loud playground. She sighed, moving slightly but enough for Elijah to let a drop of blood slide down on Mackenzie’s neck. It drew a red line on her slightly tanned skin and the drop came to rest down her cleavage. She ignored it, she knew he’d take care of it later. Though the maids would have to change the sheets again in the morning.

She had almost forgotten his mouth buried in her neck, his free hand moving up and down her arm, as they were lying naked in their bed, resting from their long day of exploring the city Elijah had missed so much for the past century. He drank from her, her blood, the most delicious in the entire world, like she was the Fountain of Youth herself and he was the only one who got to drink from her, the only one who had that privilege, because he was the one who had discovered her. He had been there first, explored and found her and now she was his and only his and that thought would never cease to amaze him, to make him feel like the luckiest man in the world. But right now, Mackenzie felt everything but lucky, as she was haunted by a picture that would not leave her mind. A picture of his face in that park. And the look that said it all, even though he would never say it aloud, perhaps because he didn’t know it himself. A look she knew well now as it kept coming back, every time he looked at Hayley, every time he talked about the baby, about what Klaus should be doing but wasn’t, about everything he was doing in his brother’s place. It saddened him, perhaps unknowingly, and it saddened her as she knew she could never give that to him. In truth, no one could give that to him. But as powerful as she was, she felt she should be able to do anything, and everything she could do, but that.

He was content, lying in her arms, her hand in his hair, her blood in his throat, just enjoying the moment, enjoying her. But that was not the only reason why the question took him by surprise.

“Do you want kids?”

He froze, puzzled by the question. It surprised him, not only because it seemingly came out of nowhere, but mostly because he had buried that question and that answer a long time ago deep inside of him. So deep, in fact, that it was a hidden part of him, like an obvious take away of his very existence, of every single one of his actions. So deep, that the answer was practically engraved on his bones, carved onto his heart, like an invisible dormant pain that he would never let himself feel or remember. An immortal curse that could not be enchanted away and that will torment him for the rest of his eternity. Why that question? Why here, why now?

He slowly and gently retracted his teeth from her vein, licked the blood that escaped from the wound, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it from bleeding as he moved away and looked up at her. She had asked the question so quietly, like a whisper, like a spell echoing in his head, losing itself in time, making his bones quiver like an earthquake would make a house shake. That question had been asked and answered centuries ago. That choice had been made for him centuries ago. That choice had been taken away from him centuries ago.

She was looking away but turned towards him as he sat up and pulled the duvet to cover them. Not because they were cold, but because the time for their adult activities was obviously over. Now, they had to have another kind of adult conversation.

“I can’t have children, you know that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Mackenzie…”

“Do you? Want children of your own?”

“It doesn’t matter if I do. I can’t.”

“I know you do,” she said quietly, once again looking away, staring at that spot that didn’t exist.

“Where is this coming from?”

She shrugged. “Same place your regret is coming from…”

“I have no regret,” he replied, confused.

“You regret not being able to have children.”

“That is hardly anyone’s fault but my parents, and they are dead. There is no one to blame, though blame wouldn’t lead us anywhere.”

Her hand found his arm and her fingers caressed his skin as if touching him would fix everything.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know… I just thought… it’s unfair Klaus gets to have a child and you don’t. He clearly has no interest in it. But you do.”

“My interest in Hayley’s pregnancy doesn’t go beyond anything an uncle wouldn’t do. Though, I am no ordinary uncle.”

“This is no ordinary family.”

“And that is why your question has no answer, my love.”

She looked back at him. He rarely used such words in front of other people, but when they were alone, when they were being intimate, he called her all sorts of sweet words. ‘My love’ being the sweetest. ‘My love’ was the answer. It meant ‘don’t ask’, ‘it’s okay’, ‘I get it’, ‘I love you too’.

 ***

 Klaus’ face tired of his never-ending smiling. However, he was motivated. Nothing would stop him from reaching his goal. Nothing ever could. And certainly not a stupid smile.

He couldn’t tell which was louder, the screams or the music, however, he had stopped caring. He was tired and annoyed, and he wanted to leave this wretched court of amateurs as soon as possible. Marcel called himself a King and had forged himself a throne, but he was just some tyrant wannabe, a little boy in a paper crown running around with his friends, bullying the weakest kids on the playground. Though he would never reproach Marcel from banishing the werewolves from the Quarter or stopping the witches from doing magic, everything that had allowed him to get to that point he had stolen from him, and that fact was like wood to a fireplace, it kept his immortal rage burning.

Perch on the balcony above the party, Klaus and Marcel stood like Kings in a court of horrors, watching their nobles feast on the buffet. Though Klaus was too old to enjoy such an obvious and basic vampire party, he had to give Marcel a nod of approval every once in a while, to keep things civil. He was bored out of his mind and had run out of things to talk about with his ‘friend’. Fortunately, Marcel had a surprise for his sire.

“I’m hosting a party.”

“Yes, you are,” the hybrid nodded, making the vampire laugh.

“No. I mean, I’m planning a party, in two days. It’s a charity dinner for some… I don’t know, charitable organization for the city.”

“I didn’t take you for the charitable type,” Klaus teased.

“Well, I got a reputation to uphold,” he replied with an amused smile. “It’s mostly an excuse to see Camille again, though.”

“Who? Ah, the bartender.”

“Yeah, the bartender,” he chuckled. “It’s a fancy dinner, just your brother’s type of things.”

“You’re inviting Elijah?” Klaus raised an eyebrow, surprised Marcel would want to be anywhere near his brother.

“Right, and his witch girlfriend, you know, what’s her name…”

“Mackenzie.”

“That’s right. She’s a funny little thing,” he said as he smiled at his sire accusatorily. “She’s not afraid of you.”

“Ah, she’s been through a lot.”

“Do you mean you?”

They laughed.

“I admit, I may have been less than cordial to her… more than once.”

“It’s a miracle Elijah lets you go anywhere near her.”

Klaus knew what Marcel was doing, where this was going. He had been working at it slowly, but not as subtly, for a while now. Marcel wanted Elijah gone, out of his city, no matter how, no matter what it took. He figured Klaus was his best shot, and usually he would have been correct, but not now, not anymore. If anything happened to Elijah, Mackenzie would destroy the whole city, hell, the entire state. No, Klaus had one goal, and he wasn’t going to let Marcel distract him from it.

“It’s different with her. If I kill her, he’ll stop at nothing to take me down, and I’ve tired of our little wars. The last one lasted a century and almost killed me.”

“Ah, let him have his fun. She’s mortal, they’re fleeting little things.”

Klaus chuckled, though not because he found the obvious threat funny, but the mere thought of Marcel going after Mackenzie made him want to laugh. He’d pay to see it, if only it wouldn’t result in Marcel’s certain death.

“Not this one. This one is here to stay.”

Marcel frowned and looked at the hybrid with curiosity. “You actually mean that.”

“She’s a Mikaelson, Marcel,” he nodded as he put his hand on the King’s shoulder. “You know what happens when you go after a Mikaelson.”

Marcel laughed. “Hey, I’m just talking, no harm meant, no harm meant.”

“She’d kill you before you even had a chance to see it coming.”

“See, that’s my problem,” Marcel grimaced. “Witches aren’t allowed to do magic here, and I don’t think she’s understood that.”

“What? Your secret weapon’s been shining bright recently?”

Marcel laughed as he shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s the attitude, Klaus. Elijah… he doesn’t respect my authority here. And neither does she.”

“Then why invite them, then? They’re happy enough on their own. Trust me, they’re unbearable to be around right now. They’re so… in love,” he said, disgust visible all over his face, making Marcel laugh whole-heartedly.

“You were never one for sentiment.”

“Right then,” Klaus sighed. “I’ll let them know.”

“I appreciate that, brother.”

Marcel tapped him twice on the shoulder before he moved towards the middle of the balcony, where he’d be best seen from downstairs, to make his usual speech. The words never changed. “Have fun”, “don’t kill too many of them”, and last but not least:

“And no matter what you do, no matter how good she smells or how pretty she looks, leave the barefoot blonde alone!”

That last part they all said together like a chant, like it was a joke. But when Marcel explained the meaning to Klaus the first night, he learnt he wasn’t joking in the least. He had puzzled out all the tiny bits of information Marcel could give him, and the hybrid knew it was no joke indeed.

#dangerous creatures #vampire diaries #the vampire diaries #tvd #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah x oc #klaus mikaelson #hayley marshall #marcel gerard #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #reader #oc #elijah x reader

[deathonyourtongue]

I Love You, I Missed You, I’m Sorry

Summary: Winter’s glacial tendrils begin to wrap the city, spiraling until London as a whole is shuddering. Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: HEAVY angst. A/N: You know the drill. Sorry in advance. Bring the tissues. Also, I apologize for all the dividers, but running two scenes simultaneously while writing in a 2nd person point of view is hard. The song for this one is: Fall - Editors

____________________________________

Winter’s glacial tendrils begin to wrap the city, spiraling until London as a whole is shuddering, every citizen running for warmth as soon as they step out the door. Unseasonably frigid and snowy, London crawls to a near-standstill as Christmas quickly approaches. 

Although shrinking in number as they have been each year, the party invitations begin appearing in mid-November, each one gaudier than the one before it. Why people still invite him to events is beyond him, but Henry politely declines each one, keeping only the one his mother sends in her elegant script. While he knows it will be nearly impossible to attend, Henry makes a note on the calendar to speak to Kathy about potentially playing babysitter for a few hours while he makes an appearance and leaves as quickly as he’d come. 

Life is now a shuffle. One step of progress invariably means two steps in regression, and each day, the stress takes a greater and greater toll on the man who holds his world on his shoulders.

Those who knew him from before only recognize him because his body has somewhat returned to normal. Having come dangerously close to passing out one morning, Henry began slotting in time to lift weights. His body returns with ease, albeit in a slimmer form, and while he feels the shift in his health for the better, the tremors worsen week over week. It’s now second-nature for Henry to hide his affliction from everyone including Kathy, who still comes by to take her readings and check on any progress made. There are many vices open to him, but the only one he maintains is strength training, finding it practical not only for your care, but for being able to power through another day without you. It brings cold satisfaction, but no comfort whatsoever.

Each day, there’s a glimmer of hope, but only a sliver and while Henry always starts the day with good intentions, by evening, he’s wrecked again, curling in on himself and wondering what he’s done wrong to once more have snuffed out hope’s progression into real recovery. You’re most ‘active’ in the morning, squeezing a hand here, making a noise that more closely resembles speech there, but by lunch you’re locked in once more, shut away from the world and all the pain it’s caused. Never once does Henry get the joy of seeing your eyes open, the pain of the last time he saw your gaze still a fresh, open wound. 

Two weeks before Christmas, life becomes a rollercoaster neither you nor Henry are prepared for. 

“Good morning, love,” Henry murmurs, kissing your cheek tenderly, his hand smoothing back your hair as he always does. Eyes half-closed, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his arms holding you just a bit tighter for a moment. Henry’s used to seeing your eyes closed now, and though he’d give anything to see your gaze once more, he never gets his hopes up, knowing it’s far too big an ask. This particular morning however, he startles badly when he finds, after nearly three years, your eyes open and gazing up at him in horrified confusion. 

The hours that follow nearly break him. 

“I’m sorry, son. It’s rare, but it does happen to patients who are severely emotionally traumatized. It’s called psychogenic, or dissociative amnesia. The positive is that it’s hardly ever permanent. She will remember you, it will just take time.” Kathy’s words hardly register, Henry rocking back and forth as tears stream silently down his cheeks. Forgetting to hide his tremors, he watches the cigarette he begged Kathy for, burn up in his left hand, the world far too loud and far too cold to make any sense. 

“Y-you didn’t t-tell her about t-the ba-baby, right?” He whimpers, eyes squeezing shut tightly as Kathy hugs him, Henry’s mouth frozen open in a scream that will never find the breath in his lungs. 

“No, love, I didn’t. I told her your name, reassured her you were a safe person for her, and that she’s in her own house, that’s all.” Kathy speaks softly, cradling him as she would her own son, the nurse’s eyes filled with tears of heartache for the man she’s come to know so well. 

“T-thank you.” Ever gracious, Henry allows himself to grieve just a little longer than usual, the pain in his chest reverberating throughout his body and making any type of movement difficult. Though you’ve returned in the physical, you’re still lost to him, and Henry knows that what comes next will hurt worse than the years he’s spent looking after your once-lifeless body. 

In the days that follow, life as your husband ceases to exist for Henry. He uses your naps to hide all the mementos of your life as a couple, before you’re able to get out of bed and notice them yourself. Everything is stored away in a trunk, placed in what would have been the baby’s room. Conversations are kept to light subjects such as the weather, the upcoming holidays, or what’s on TV. He does his best to always smile and appear passively happy around you, knowing it will speed your recovery. Every doctor’s appointment is kept, and he works with you on physio as though he’s your own personal trainer. He cries in the shower thinking he can’t be heard, and starts sleeping on the couch to give you space and privacy. Each day that passes, his heart breaks more, the pain sharpening like a knife on a whetstone, tearing Henry to ribbons inside. 

By week’s end, all the hard work Henry’s put in over the years starts paying off, and with all the tubing removed from your stomach thanks to a minor surgery, you’re well enough to walk to the bathroom with his help and take care of things yourself. He still helps you with showering, but keeps his back to you while you indulge in what feels like your first time under the spray. You don’t notice the slump in his shoulders, the subtle shaking of his whole frame, or how hard he has to grip the counter to keep himself upright.  By the time he turns back around to lift you off your feet and help you over the lip of the tub, he’s all smiles again, composure in place.

As you become more independently mobile, Henry’s old tricks of hiding away his emotions become harder to pull off. You catch him several times just laying on the couch, a cushion crushed against his chest as he fights to breathe properly, his face soaked with tears. Every few moments, he wipes them away in a haste, terrified that you’ll see what’s going on behind the mask. More than torment, you notice that he seems to be in actual pain, Henry’s hand always clutching at his chest, as though something beneath the skin is constricting. It worries you to the point where you bring it up to Kathy the next time she stops in. 

“I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s actually in pain, Kathy. I...I don’t know what to do to help him. He always puts on a brave front for me, but every time he thinks I’m not watching, he’s in tears. I just...I wish I knew what was wrong,” you lament, your own eyes a little blurry, having never been one to enjoy watching others suffer, even if they’re relative strangers. 

Kathy sighs deeply, her own face dropping in sorrow. She’s begged Henry to tell you the truth for days, but the fit of panic and agony it sends him into isn’t worth the good she knows it will do to help your recovery. A hundred different responses come to her mind, but in the end, she chooses the most benign and the one least likely to put her out of favor with Henry and her employer. 

“I’ll have a quick check of him, love. Make sure everything’s tickin’ away properly.” 

She accosts Henry while you sleep one afternoon and indeed checks his vitals, relieved to find no outright abnormalities with his heart rate, lung capacity, or breathing. The tremor however, doesn’t slip her gaze, and she once again pleads with Henry to be seen by a physician during one of your appointments, hoping that a ‘killing two birds with one stone’ approach will get through to him. Henry says he’ll try to remember, but politely asks for some time alone to rest. For the first time in the years she’s been working with him, Kathy goes to her car and bawls, seeing that his undoing is coming close to being irreversible. 

Her efforts put you somewhat at ease, but don’t help when it comes to Henry’s mood. Something is going on and you plan on getting to the bottom of it, once and for all. 

Henry’s reluctant to go to his family’s Christmas celebration for various reasons, not least of which is that he still doesn’t trust that you’ll be alright on your own. You have to all but push him out the door after he ensures that you’re fed, bathed, warm enough, and set with all of the ways to contact him should you need help. You watch him go and then immediately begin your hunt, knowing the truth is somewhere in the house, especially since he’s never once gone ‘home’ to another place before. Henry’s with you 24/7 and something about that doesn’t ring as home nurse, especially with Kathy popping in every few days. 

At the party, Henry hangs back from the adults, preferring to help the younger members of the family enjoy their time by keeping them distracted. He plays video games with them until it gets boring, goes out and makes a snowman with them (the first time any of them, Henry included, have had enough snow with which to do it), then brings them back in to decorate cookies. While the boys all abandon ship after a few moments, icing oozing over the sides of their cookies as they run off in glee, Henry’s niece stays with him, trying her best to decorate them in individual patterns so that everyone has a unique cookie just for them. 

“Uncle Henry, are you and aunty still together?” She asks out of the blue, catching Henry off guard. Having longer hair has its advantages and one of them is looking at his niece out of the corner of his eye without her noticing due to his shaggy curls. 

“Of course we are, sweetheart. Why do you ask?” 

“Well, because she never comes to family stuff anymore.” The tone of longing in her voice cracks what little is left of Henry’s heart, and he covers his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply through his nose before exhaling. 

“She’s been sick, sweetheart. Too sick to leave the house. But she’s getting better. You’ll see her again very soon, with any luck.”

“You don’t sound very happy that she’s getting better,” Hazel responds, her observational skills far beyond anyone her age. 

The main living areas of the small house turn up nothing. No photos, no home movies, not even a trinket with an engraving. The bedroom is similarly empty, although you do find all of Henry’s clothes, momentarily getting side-tracked by a collection of fine suits, and warm comfy sweaters. You can’t help but put one on, finding the size, softness of the fabric, and lingering scent of his cologne comforting in a familiar way. It’s clear that whoever he is, Henry’s downplaying his role in your life; you just don’t know why. 

With only one room left, you realize that you’ve never once seen the door open, never once seen Henry go inside, and it gives you pause. Whatever is in there either holds no value, or has all the answers you’re looking for. 

Turning the knob, what meets your eye is not at all what you were expecting. Instead of an office or a man-cave, you come face to face with a nursery.

Henry tries to laugh, but the sound never escapes, and instead he looks down to find his niece eyeing him intently. 

“It’s...difficult right now,” he says, thinking of dismissing the conversation, but only for a moment. His niece will either overhear it from his brother, or figure it out on her own, so he might as well be truthful. “Your aunt doesn’t remember me, or any of us, really. The illness she has makes it so she thinks I’m a stranger to her, and not her husband. So it’s been hard living under the same roof and not being able to hug or kiss the person you love because they don’t see you that way anymore.” 

“But she’ll be alright again, won’t she?” Hazel asks, her eyes wide. 

“The doctors seem to think she will be, but only time will tell.” Henry admits defeat, but does so with a smile aimed at his niece, one she sees right through.

“It’s alright to be sad, Uncle Henry. You love her lots, and you miss her,” Hazel’s words cut to the quick and her hug causes a cry to loose itself from Henry’s throat, muffled at the last second by his hand covering his mouth. Undeterred, Hazel holds onto his waist tightly, willing her uncle to feel better, or at least get the tears out, as her mum always says. 

The nursery is well-appointed, holding everything one would need to care for a newborn infant. It takes a few moments for you to find your footing and step into the room, but as your eyes roam over the framed images, stuffed animals, and blankets, you realize that the room looks untouched. The crib has never bore the weight of a baby, the rocking chair has never been sat in, and even the blanket hanging over the rails has never once been unfolded. Whatever the plans were for this room, they’ve never come to pass. It makes you heartsick, and you wonder if this isn’t the reason Henry is always so distraught. 

After the initial shock of the room wears off, the trunk is the first thing to catch your eye. Sitting in the middle of the room, the deep mahogany box seems out of place. With a shaky breath, you move to sit in front of it, eager but hesitant to see what’s inside. Although there’s a latch, you find it unlocked, and with another steadying breath, you open the heavy lid, gasping at what you see inside. 

Like her uncle, Hazel is already deft at avoiding the raucousness that is her family at holiday time, and with expertise, she leads him up the stairs to her room where they can sit and have quiet. 

“Tell me a story about aunty. One that I’ve never heard,” she asks once they’re settled, Hazel curling up in Henry’s lap as they watch the snow fall in big, powdered-sugar flakes outside. Henry’s tears still pour down his face, and though her request seems easy enough, he finds it hard to pick just one tale. 

“Your aunt used to sing--” Henry can’t finish the sentence, the realization that it’s been years since he’s heard your voice in that way, one that kicks him right in the gut. Eyes squeezed shut, his sole comfort is Hazel’s small hand patting his forearm as he holds her close, crying into her hair, agonized by all that he’d lost years ago, and how easily he’d taken those things for granted. 

Pictures line the top of the pile in the trunk, some framed, others in photobooks, while the remainder are simply stacked up, developed and left in their original form. The very first picture is one of Henry beaming at you. It’s the kind of smile that takes your breath away, and it takes you a moment to look past it to the rest of the image. Tears prick your eyes when you realize it’s a wedding photo, his adoring gaze one you’ve seen in so many other couples’ pictures, but this one is special; this one is yours. 

The next picture makes you laugh out loud as it sparks a memory. It had been your first year of college, and you’d gone on holidays with a few of your friends, deciding to cross the pond for the first time in your life. On a rowdy night out, you’d met Henry, and though the sparks were immediate, you’d tried to hold back, knowing you would leave town by week’s end. The silly picture was meant to be a trip memory, not a sign of what was to come. In the photo, Henry pretends to lick your face while you make the goofiest expression you could manage, the two of you falling into a fit of laughter shortly thereafter; laughter which then quickly turned into a kiss. 

It’s the third picture that breaks your heart. Shot in black and white, despite the clarity making it a more recent photograph, the composition is simple enough. Sitting in the same bed that you’d been confined to for what felt like an eternity, Henry hugs you from behind, his eyes gazing lovingly down at both you and your barely-round belly. You notice he’s wearing a simple wedding band in the picture, and as your brain checks its files, you realize the only jewelry you’ve ever seen on him was an identical band on his middle finger. The implication of the move is clear, and you cry openly, beginning to understand just how much he’s sacrificed for you. 

The final picture shatters you, as everything rushes back like a bullet aimed directly at your heart. You’re not sure who took the picture, but it marks the beginning of anguish for Henry. Grizzled and unkempt, the man you married so many years ago lays his head in your hand, his face one of pure distress. Although the room more closely resembles a hotel suite, the bars along the bed make it clear you’re in the hospital and that he’d come home after all, only to find that nothing would ever be the same.

Feeling around the pockets of your sweat pants, you pull out the phone you’d been given and call Henry’s number. 

Henry wipes his eyes hastily when his phone rings and, extracting his arm from Hazel’s grip momentarily, immediately takes the call when he sees the number is yours. 

“Hi love, what’s going on?” He asks, doing his best to keep his voice upbeat and calm, even though his heart is already racing and his mind is fearing the worst.  The tears he hears in your voice are enough to have him bolting up, lifting Hazel with ease before quickly setting her down on the carpet. 

Henry flies down the stairs, only stopping to put his boots on before careening out the door to his car. He barely registers the sounds of protest coming from his family, too scared that he won’t reach you in time. 

Barely remembering to put the car in park when he reaches the house, the slam of the front door opening is an afterthought as Henry races up the stairs. He finds you where he least expected to, his heart in his throat as he watches you silently for a moment, terrified that you’ll fall back into Catatonia. The secret is out, and the tears come like rivers again as he takes in your reaction to the memories. Time stills as he gazes down at you, watching more and more of your wedding photos be revealed, followed by pictures celebrating the confirmation of a new life in the family, one who would never come to pass. 

“Love, I’m h-here,” Henry whispers brokenly, able to keep steady long enough to see you look up at him with real recognition. 

Both of you let out a keen wail as he closes the distance, his body crashing into yours as he holds you tight. 

The world stops for the two of you, giving both of you time to say what’s been held in your hearts for far too long. 

I love you.

I missed you. 

I’m sorry. 

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #angst #fic

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (6/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <3)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her precious thoughts <3

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 1 - MIRRORBALL, Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING,  Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

Note: Everyone gives a lot of love to @carpedzem​ who drew this wonderful art for this fanfic :’)) 

Quick Summary: Last chapter ended on Neal finding Killian's love letter to Emma. This chapter opens on Emma, a week after Killian and Emma's kiss.

Reminder: Present time is Emma’s wedding to Neal, and that scene on the balcony during which Killian congratulates Emma on her wedding -- although he’s mostly dying inside. The words “I love you” slip out of his mouth, however he’s quick to add “as a friend” which leaves us with two very sad individuals who are both committing a grave mistake.

PART 6 - CARDIGAN

Six months before Emma’s wedding, a week after Emma and Killian’s kiss.  

Emma tosses and turns in her bed. She does not want to glance at the clock sitting on her bedside table. It’s probably joyfully, painfully displaying a horrendous number set between 1am and 5am and Emma wants nothing to do with it.

 There is not a spark of light in the room she shares with Neal, the heavy window shutters closed down.

 Emma wishes there was some kind of light. Perhaps then the weight over her chest would feel less terrifying, would feel less like the terrible, dark blue waves of a tormented sea she watches swallow her alive and spit her back onto the sand. 

 She’s battered between the waves, back and forth, back and forth, skin rocking against water, until she manages to reach the surface and breathes in deeply.

 But she’s only inhaling sea water and it fills her lungs and brings her to tears and it’s bitter, and it’s shit, and she cannot forget the taste of Killian’s lips.

 Another turn, a grunt of anger and despair.

 How dare he kiss her and let her leave him when he was in pain. How dare he.

 It was inevitable, whispers another part of her, but that part she ignores diligently. 

 Nothing is inevitable. Especially cheating on her future husband. With her friend whose feet were barely out of the surgery block.

 Well, she didn’t properly cheat if he was the one to kiss her…that would have been true, had she not furthered their kiss.

 Had she not backed him into his chair and sucked his breath away and marked his scalp with her fingers and tugged on his hair and filled his entire being with her, and her only. It was long overdue, after all.

 She turns, more aggressively this time, nearly knicks Neal out of the bed, her right foot whizzing past him. 

 She kissed him back because he was clearly seeking support and comfort and because a part of her will always love him, has always loved him and there’s nothing wrong with that.

 Horseshit.

 It is wrong. Utterly, completely, wrong.

 Nobody deserves to be cheated on. Nobody. Period.

 She’s just a piece of shit, now, is she?

 She glances on the side. Neal is still laying on his back, peacefully snoring, one arm flung across his face. She nearly hates him for it. She totally hates him for it.

 His chest raises up and down, comfortably, peacefully. What would Emma give for just an ounce of peace in her veins.

 Her breath is coming out in short puffs.

 It was inevitable, stammers once again her inner voice.

 “NO.”

 And the scream she thought only existed in her mind causes Neal to startle next to her, and this time she’s thankful it is complete darkness in their room, because he cannot see the flush on her cheeks.

 She can make out the shadow of his head lifting in the dark, and she imagines his features groggy with sleep. “You okay, Emma?”

 She turns back, grumbles. “Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just a nightmare.” And she definitely sounds like she’s blaming him for it.

 .

A long, tortuous week flies by. Emma’s under-eye circles darken with each passing day, and she is alarmly pale when Graham asks her in a weary tone: “You’re sure everything’s okay, Emma?”

 She nods and glances down at where Graham has been looking, and she realizes she’s been holding the files upside down.

 Well.

 “Shit. Yes. Sorry, Graham. I’ve been having a rough couple of days, is all.”

 And then Graham does this thing where he leans into her space, with his big brown eyes, and this kindness in his smile, and he inquires again: “Everything okay with Neal?”

 And Emma nods a bit too abruptly for it to be believable, and she knows Graham is smart enough to see it, but she nods harder, it’s the only movement her brain seems to know. “Neal? It’s never been better.” And a quick, lively chuckle to seal the deal. 

 And really had she laughed harder she would have choked on her fears.

 (Her fears have blue eyes and are missing a limb now, and she does not dare to send him a text, to ask him “How are you?” because he must be feeling like shit, and in part it is because of her, she left him, but he had no right to kiss her like this and she had no right to kiss him back.)

 .

 She has David on the phone later this week.

 “Hello, Emma. I’ve arrived in Portsmouth. I’ll be spending the week with him.”

 She hates the feeling of guilt that circles her heart, even as she sighs her biggest sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, David, it means the world. I would have come, you know, but I’m so busy with the wedding and the sheriff station and—”

 “Sure thing, Emma,” he blurts out and Emma thinks he sounds so accusative, it nearly knocks her out. She is convinced she deserves it. “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.” A few words more, and he hangs up.

 For the first time in ages, Emma feels like Killian and she are on opposite teams, and David has chosen his.

 She swallows a lump down her throat. 

 .

 Emma caves in on Saturday night. Outside, the rain is pouring heavily against her windows. The wind is also howling, curling around the walls of the house and threatening to crush it under its strength. 

Neal is out at Granny’s watching a soccer game with friends when Emma sits down on the hard wooden floor of their living room. Her legs are crossed and her heart is drumming in her ears, and she calls him. There’s a bottle of red wine in front of her, and it’s looking at her with a lot of judgement in its glassy eyes but Emma doesn’t care.

 She cannot go on like this. She needs to know that he is alright, and that this was all a grave, stupid mistake, and she needs him to say something like “I’m fine, Emma, I’ll survive this” but also “I meant to do that for years” and then it would be her cue to nod under the ceiling light, tears in her smile and she’d say some stupid shit like “Oh god, I’ve been waiting for you to say that” and then she’d drop everything to fly back to him and they’d be happy together or some shit.

 Ring, ring, ring.

 That’s a lovely dream indeed.

 Ring, ring, ring.

 And just as Emma gets impatient, not to say she gets scared, a voice answers her. It’s a groggy, foggy voice, and it does not belong to Killian.

 “Hello, what is it?” The voice echoes, chuckles, as music resonates behind it, and it is the voice of a woman.

 Emma figures they must be in some kind of pub, just like Neal is.

 “Is this Killian’s phone?” attempts Emma, fingers clutched onto the phone, and heart on her sleeves.

 “Yup...” Another giggle. Emma decides she hates the voice. “But he is currently unavailable. Do you want me to give him a message?”

 And then Emma hears his voice, emerging from a twirl of songs and other talks. “Why are you using my phone, Tink?”

 Emma thinks Killian’s voice irrupts into her empty house just as a gust of wind rattles her shutters. She flinches. And for a minute, glances above her shoulder, afraid that he might appear behind her back. 

But silence is her only companion. And this house is so impressively, distinctively silent. 

 Something clicks inside of Emma’s brain. Tink. She knows Tink. What’s her real name? Mary something. They went to high school together, and she had a disgustingly big crush on Killian, and, and –

 “I dunno, some chick.”

 And Emma barely has time to hear Killian’s “Which chick?” before she hangs up on a whim.

 She heaves, hands trembling around the phone, and something grotesque disfigures her face.  

 She was worried about him and he’s been having the time of his life with this Tink, and, and – what was she expecting?

 She stares at the floor as though she is able to distinguish the broken bits of her heart spilled there, and the bloody marks they leave, and it’s such a goddamn mess, and how could she allow herself to feel this way after all these years, after having been shown all the goddamn reasons why Killian Jones will never love her back a hundred fucking times.

 .

 Rose-Mary, of her surname Tink, tosses and turns in Killian’s bed. He is fast asleep next to her, one hand thrown across his face. He snores lightly.

 Tink has this tingling desire deep within her, this desire to grab the phone he left on his nightstand and delete Emma Swan’s call from it.

 “Give me the phone, Tink!”

 Back in the bar, she was quite lucky to find out in the shape of his raised eyebrows that Killian Jones wasn’t actually serious, that he was seriously hammered and couldn’t have cared less for his phone if he had tried. As her only answer, she had simply locked her lips to his and pressed his phone’s home button to switch it off.

 Because Tink knows Emma Swan.

 Killian Jones was already in love with her when Tink asked him out, during their senior year. She cannot forget the look on his face, as she was standing in the middle of the hallway, risking her heart. Behind her, Emma Swan was leaning against a locker with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and Killian simply, positively wouldn’t look Tink in the eyes.

 “I’m sorry, love,” he said, “but my affections lie elsewhere.” And Tink remembers thinking he surely didn’t have to sound like he escaped from one of Shakespeare’s plays, and she turned to discover the pretty blonde smiling at Killian, waving with mischief, and his arm around her shoulders as soon as he reached her.

 Some things were truly unfair.

 As luck would have it, Killian’s path crossed hers years ago – when he moved to Portsmouth to join the Navy whilst she began Nursing school. But even then, he didn’t seem interested, was dating an older woman.

 And then, finally, two days ago, their paths crossed again in a bar. He is missing a hand now, but he is still the same handsome guy she crushed on in high school. Perched on a stool, he looked disheveled, desperate, nose in his rum glass, and he welcomed her into his warm, solid arms.

 “Still in contact with Emma Swan?” she asked, and it wasn’t like she cared. She didn’t want more than he could offer. But still, she asked.

 “Emma? Who’s Emma? I only see you.”

 Although she knew that to be a lie, she still decided to kiss him back, knowing the instant Killian Jones heard Emma Swan’s name again, well then, he would find a very gentle, delicate way to make her go away.

 And that’s fine. But if she can prevent it, well –

 Tink stands up as silently as she can, and like a feather in the wind, grabs his phone. He casually gave her his pin number earlier during the night — change this bloody song Tink will you — and Tink deletes Emma’s call in the blink of an eye.

 Satisfaction sparkles in her heart. No one will bother them anymore.

 .

 As Neal and Emma go on tasting wedding cakes, Emma thinks about how Killian never called her back. Not the morning after her conversation with Tink, not the night after, not the day after, he did not call. Period. It’s the only answer he is willing to give, and she accepts it.

 He doesn’t care about her. Not like she cares, anyway.  

 “The chocolate one,” Emma mumbles, trying not to spit crumbs of cakes out of her mouth and failing, “it’s perfect.”

 Delicacy remains a skill she has yet to learn.

 But Neal doesn’t seem to mind when he chuckles and kisses her cheek. Emma grabs his face and doesn’t care that there are still chocolate chunks in her mouth and she kisses him, hard, to forget the taste of Killian Jones’ lips.

 .

 Killian stares at the picture of Emma and himself on his fridge. It’s been a month, stammers his heart. She will not call, now.

 Tink is still sleeping in his bed. He needs to call things off with her as well. She’s too attached, he’ll break her heart. That’s one too many hearts to be responsible for.

 He swallows stone, but he takes the picture off the fridge. It’s too painful to stare at what ifs.

 .

 A few minutes before Emma and Neal say “I do”.

 Taking a picture off a fridge is simple enough. Not racing towards the town hall of Storybrooke to try, one last time, and stop Emma’s wedding, isn’t nearly as easily done.

 Hope and denial are, after all, two very close kingdoms and both of them inhabit Killian’s heart.

 At least he’s got that going for him. However, Mary Margaret and David – who are also running beside him – really have nothing going for them except for their foolishness.

 How dare they show up in his home and tear him out of his cobweb of misery and self-pity. How bloody dare they.

 “There’s no use arguing, I’m not going!” he yelled, and then Mary Margaret had this very dangerous smile, and before he knew it, his ass sat on a plane between the two of them and he was wearing his most expensive tie.

 “And look sharp, Killian.” 

 Which is why, as Killian races down that street corner, and up that small hill by Granny’s, and then down again Main street, towards the town hall, Killian no longer expects Emma and Neal to come out of the building, holding hands, married. 

 But that’s exactly what happens.

 They come out as a crowd of strangers surrounds them, and they look like the sun has set all of its rays of sunshine on them, they are shining, shining, much like the waves of fear down Killian’s belly because he is too late. Of course he is. 

 And he wants to turn around and hit David in the face. 

 But what’s the use of fighting anymore? The war is lost. Lay your weapons down. Bring the soldiers home.

 And in that moment, as the sun seems to align with some divine power and its golden beams shine on Emma’s eyes, glittering green lakes, she gazes at him and he holds his breath. In spite of everything, he still thinks she is the most beautiful woman on earth. He smiles, as his heart shatters to the ground, as Neal kisses her open mouth. 

What is there else to do but smile?

 “Fuck,” exclaims Mary Margaret next to him, and Killian sure does nod.

 “Aye. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”  

 .

 Present day – Neal and Emma’s wedding reception.

 Neal watches as Emma shuts the large French windows that lead to the balcony behind her. He puts down his glass of champagne on the white table in front of him. The bubbles fizz inside, as if to mock him.

 For there’s not the shadow of a smile on his wife’s face. In fact, she looks utterly devastated. Her complexion is pale, her cheeks have lost all the colors they gathered during their dances, and there is not one sparkle of happiness left in her green eyes.

 A frown. Why does his wife look devastated at their wedding?

 He sees her glance down, seemingly lost, and she does this thing when she doesn’t know where to put her hands, so she folds them in front of her. And she plays with the bracelet around her wrist, twists the little charms, twists, twists his heart.

 And then he realizes. She’s waiting. But for what? Or rather, for whom?

 He wishes the answer didn’t come quite as soon, not quite as sharply, he wishes the room did not start spinning as Killian Jones leaves the balcony in his turn – devilishly handsome as he’d say and looking entirely like a mess.

 What a picture. They both look devastated. They look like the bride and groom, him in his white shirt and her in her white dress. Two bleeding snowflakes under a golden chandelier.

 Neal watches as Emma risks a glance back, but Killian doesn’t look up, only stares at the hard wooden floor, Neal watches as she presses her lips together and straightens her back, but still glances back at him.

 Always back at him. Of course. 

 And that’s when one realization hits Neal quite hard.

 His wife… His wife is in love with someone else. He just married someone who is irrevocably and for all of eternity in love with someone else.

 Why did he do this to himself? For the longest of times, Neal thought it didn’t matter that Emma’s gaze was filled with green, shimmering clouds of pain whenever Killian Jones’ name was mentioned in a conversation, he really thought it didn’t matter that her cheeks would always flush whenever she received a text from him, because he was the one kissing her lips and sleeping between her sheets.

 He was such a fool.

 He married a woman in love with someone else.

 Such a fool.

 Neal grabs his glass of champagne again, downs it in a few angry mouthfuls, and gathers courage and legs to stand and stride towards his wife.

 Emma might be in love with Killian, but she loves him too, surely she does, or she wouldn’t have agreed to this marriage, right?

 And there is something very scary vibrating in his chest, fear, a green and viscous fear, he’s losing her, she’s slipping between her fingers…

 “Neal,” Emma’s voice is very soft as it greets him, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

 How dare she, how dare she be in love with Killian, when Neal gave up everything for her, when he…

 From the corner of his eye, Neal can see Killian lean against the wall. He is looking at them. Perfect. Now watch, you little fucker.

 “Hello, baby,” two words, and Neal dips Emma and savagely presses his lips onto hers.

 A burst of applause rattles the crowd. 

Neal tries his best to muffle the voice inside his head that sneers that the only thing their guests are cheering at, is the end of their love.

 .

  “I’m going back to our room, I’m really tired” mumbles Emma over her empty mojito glass.

The sea whispers behind her back. Neal doesn’t look up from his piña colada. 

 On the terrace of this luxurious hotel by the French Riviera, Neal and Emma are sitting and everything sucks.

 It is the third day of their honeymoon, and for Neal, it is the last straw. There is no way in hell he can keep up this charade. They both deserve better than this.

 She’s been looking miserable since they arrived here – it isn’t for a lack of trying to conceal it. Actually, no, it’s worse than that. She’s been looking miserable since Killian Jones left their wedding without a look back at her. Should have seen her face, Eurydice left by Orpheus in the depths of hell.  

 It’s killing him to see her like this, to know there’s nothing he can do to make things better. Purely and simply because, as much as he’s tried to, Neal Cassidy will never replace Killian Jones in Emma Swan’s heart.

 And as she bends towards him to give him a quick peck on the lips, a very vicious sentence tickles his tongue and he lets it out without a second thought.

 “Bet you looked more eager to kiss Killian.”

 It is a dick move, yes, but after all he isn’t the one who cheated on her, and Neal thinks she deserves a little karma.

 The look she darts on him then would have probably killed him, had there not been empty glasses standing between the two of them to shield him.

 “What the hell are you talking about?” she spits out in a sharp, defensive tone. 

Neal is surprised she tries to deny it all.

 “Your lover sent you a letter,” he hisses back.

 Satisfaction sparkles in his heart at the sight of her face turning crimson under the moonlight.  

 He watches as she angrily gulps a last mouthful of rum, watches as her knuckles whiten around her glass and her jaw clenches. “Who are you talking about?”

“Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?” 

And then the god forsaken, sacrilegious name. “...Killian sent me a letter?”

 And from guilt to anger, there is only one, treacherous step. And she seems eager to jump it.

 “Oh yeah, he did. Said it all about your kiss and loving you, and I nearly vomited…”

 And then it is really upsetting because he wants to be mad but her face does that thing where it just freezes, mouth open wide and eyes even wider, and it would have been funny had he not been putting an end to their short-lived marriage.

 “He…he loves me?”

 She cannot possibly not know it. She can’t be that oblivious to reality.

 “I’m telling you I know you cheated on me and that’s your only reaction?” A roll of eyes, his voice coming out shriller, to mock her, mock her pain, because he wants to hurt her like she hurt him. “ “He loves me?” Of course he loves you, Emma!” he blurts out, because the entire world knows it except for her, apparently.  

 He can’t have married someone as oblivious.

 Well, you did marry her knowing she was in love with someone else.

 And she stands up, cheeks hot and burning and red, and she isn’t making any sense anymore. “What the hell are you talking about? Killian doesn’t love me, he never has.”

 And seeing her wrath, the way her body trembles and shakes, he knows she is truly convinced Killian Jones isn’t in love with her.

 But how…

 “You really don’t know, do you?”

 “Where is that letter?”

 “I got rid of it, of course!”

 “Then you have no proof! How convenient.”

 He wants to stop her then, to yell “Hey YOU cheated on me,” but he can tell that in her grand order of things, her cheating on him has nothing on Killian Jones possibly loving her.

 And then a small, mad chuckle jolts out of her mouth. “Killian would never write a letter. You made that up.”

 “But how would I know about the kiss?”

 “I don’t know, and I don’t care, and I, I—” A turn, and then she is gone, disappearing in a tornado of anger and guilt and sand.

 Neal doesn’t try to hold her back, remains very still on his seat, lets her go, much like he should have years ago. He glances down at the empty drink between his fingers.

 The waves crash against the sand, whoosh, whoosh, and Neal feels terribly lonely.

 But at peace.

 But mostly lonely.

 Damnit, she is stubborn, and she is lucky he’s in love with her. That he’ll always be, somehow, even if he is a fucking idiot who probably blew his only chance at love when he stole those watches.

 .

 Later that night, Neal finds her sitting on their king side bed and its perfectly white blankets, hands folded in front of her like he knows them to, shoulders down and head bent towards the floor, and Neal desperately wants to hug her.

 There is not an ounce of anger left in his body. Only sadness. 

 There’s not a flicker of light in their room as he sits down by her side. The rustle of the waves can be heard from their room. It’s the only reason why he chose it. He knows she loves that sound. 

(He doesn’t know she loves it because of him, but that’s fine.)

  “Hey…” he begins softly, and his shoulder gently bumps against hers. “You okay?”

 She’s twirling her wedding ring around her finger. Of course she is. She always has been. And that should have been a clue, too.

 “Are you being sincere right now?” she asks, and her voice is nothing like the voice he’s grown to love.

 Emma’s voice has always been soft, but vibrating with a very triumphant confidence as well.

 “What do you mean?” he asks, because precisely he doesn’t know what she means.

 He’s never understood her like Killian can, in spite of how much he loves her. And while he spent most of the beginning of his adulthood hating him for it, he realizes now it is simply a battle he cannot win.

 She lifts her face up, and he makes out her shimmering eyes in the darkness.

 “I cheated on you. Aren’t you mad?”

 A gigantic sigh shakes his shoulders as these past six months flash before his eyes.

 “I was angry, Emma. But it’s been too long, I’m not anymore.”

 “Too long?”

 Oh, right, that. She’ll hate him, but well, she deserves the truth. He winces, fidgets with the collar of his shirt.

 “I might have been hiding this letter from you for a good six months now…” he whispers, and forces a smile on his face as an apology. 

 “You what?”

 She doesn’t sound nearly as angry as he expected her to. In fact, she doesn’t sound angry at all. She sounds defeated, hopeless.

 “I was so scared that if I confronted you, you would just run and never marry me, and I thought I could hold on to you by not telling you…But I was wrong. There was no holding on to you.”

 And something terrible rattles her body then, as she cups her face and disappears even more in a small, scared puddle over the bed.

 “Fuck. I’m sorry Neal. I ruined everything.”

 And he shakes his head then, grabs one of her hands. “There’s no need to apologize, Emma. We both fucked up. I should have let you go a long time ago.”

 His throat is tight, but he knows this is the right thing to do.

 “What are we going to do now?” she whispers, just as one of his arms comes to wrap around her shoulders.

 She muffles a sigh in the crook of his neck while he gently brushes her hair.  

 “I don’t know. Is there some kind of three weeks wedding notice?”

 She chuckles then, but he can clearly imagine the tears rolling down her cheeks as she sniffles into his neck.

 “You’re an idiot.”

 “I am.”

 Silence. By then, it’s somehow raining in the room and his shirt is soaked.

 “I’ll always love you. You know that, right, Emma?”

 She nods in the darkness, her hand clutching onto his shoulder, and she seems to him a firefly caught between a child’s chubby hands.

 “I know, Neal.”

 “Good.”

  .

 Moving out of this house is one of the weirdest things Emma has ever had to do.

 “Emma, you’re not coming?” calls David’s voice, and Emma looks up to see his head peering from the driver’s seat of his old, orange truck.

 Safely packing all of the pieces of furniture was a collective effort. Mary Margaret, Ingrid and Ruby also came to help, and Emma is quite thankful. It’s such a blinding, sunny day of August, and if not for the fresh breeze that swirls between the tree branches, it would be unbreathable.

 Emma simply shakes her head. “No, don’t worry. I’ll join you guys later at Granny’s.” 

Her right foot nearly knocks out the small cardboard box at her feet, sending a loop down her stomach. 

This one she’ll carry herself.  

 Neal and Emma agreed to sell the house and the furniture, and Neal – well Neal decided to move to Boston, and Emma cannot quite blame him.

 This last month has been…weird, on so many levels, and Neal wasn’t the weirdest thing about it.

 “Alright. Call us if you need anything.”

 As David drives away, Emma stares back at the house. Her feet seem buried into the doormat, the door still open wide, and her fingers clutch onto the keys.

 It is a bittersweet sight, those empty walls.

 She thinks life has a funny way of coming around. She thinks she thought she’d have a family there, with Neal, she thinks she thought this was what she wanted, what she could bear to have and risk losing.

 She’s glad that Neal showed himself braver than she ever could. That he refused to settle, for both of their sakes.

 She inhales deeply.

 Exhales.

 And lets it go. All of it.  

 Click, she locks the door, and turns her back on her past.

 A summer breeze greets her face, swirls around her legs and tangles her hair, and she closes her eyes into the warm embrace. It carries childhood smells, this smell of burnt wood, and Rocky Road ice-cream, and Killian’s cologne.

 “Heard you needed help moving out?” Her eyes snap open. Her heart skips a beat.

 It’s August in Storybrooke, Maine, and anything is possible again. 

 The wind carries the first fallen leaves to her feet and his scent to her heart. Something mystical splits her face as she takes a step towards him. She nearly trips on the cardboard box at her feet, again, grunts and picks it up in a blink, and she hears it – his laughter in the wind.

 As she looks up, a flower blooms in her chest, carries blood to her heart and her face with its roots, and her lungs are soon filled to the brim with petals. 

 “Yeah.” A quivering whisper, it is hard to breathe when the sun drops golden and blue beams into his eyes. “Thank you, Killian.”

 And in a few strides he imprisons the cardboard box she held against her chest, the one containing memories of her childhood, and his eyes are so warm on her face that he steals her breath away.

 “Any baggage left?” he asks, and it is a hoarse whisper as well. 

She swallows hard.

 She shivers beside him. She’s a fallen leaf herself, caught in a whirlwind. Her eyes are open wide and she feels completely swallowed by his gaze but it is a wonderful kind of fear.

 “Not at all.”

 And he smiles then, and it is one of the most gentle smiles she’s seen on his face, and at last, he is Killian and she is Emma.

 “Good.”

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

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#cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #my stuff #love emma #thank you guys again for your support <3

[ameliasnormandy]

The sun never rises

              I touched the electric field a few times. It stung, but it made things a little more real. It made me remember that I had somehow actually gotten there. I had actually been put in their prison, and there was nothing I could do about it. It reminded me that this wasn’t a dream and that they had, in fact, finally found me. All of my hard work, gone in a flash.

I never honestly thought that they would have put me in here. I mean, I remember when… No… And I saw him and… No… It was just he stood where I was standing then, and he… No… He knew more than I even pretend to know, and still, he had more power… No… And he still… No… I wonder where…. No, I know where…. And they think that I belong there too, because of what…

I never wanted to be a danger; it didn’t matter what I did. I have never been a danger to the Society. I have lived a perfectly normal life outside of the Society for years. I never once mentioned them or my power. Speaking of my ability, it’s useless without them. I can feel who they locked up here last, and that’s just the icing on their sadistic cake.

I don’t know how long they left me alone, but when someone came in, it had to be the king of the sadists with a smile on his face. James Morrow. “This is torture. You know that, right. Locking me up in here. When he was in here last.” I ran my hands through my hair. I was trying to focus on yelling at James but had no idea if I could achieve that. I hadn’t been able to sit. I felt his energy, even more than I felt my own. I felt it coursing through my body. I felt it taunting me. I felt it tormenting me.

              “You can sense him?” James asked, sitting the food that he had brought in with him on the floor. At the time, I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

              “No matter how much I try, it won’t go away.” And trust me, I was trying. Every trick they had taught me. Every plan that was to push this all out of my head, I had tried. It just made it worse, maybe it was because… No. That still makes it worse. I can almost feel him crawling on my skin. I have showered countless times, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t help. He just stays on my skin. Pulling himself toward me, making me think of all of the times that I… No. Stop. You must stop.

              “The collar doesn’t help?” His eyes kept looking at me for a few seconds. They never landed on me for too long though. Maybe I wanted him to be sincere. I wanted him to care, even if it was all just pretend. I needed to know there was still a small part of him that cared about me.

              “No, it never did.” It was shocking his ability to forget how hard it was for me. It was shocking for me to see that he couldn’t remember anything. Maybe it wasn’t surprising, just hurtful. He got to forget the hard parts, he got to forget all of the details that haunted me, and I had to live through them all.

              “We hoped that being gone so long, you would at least have dulled your ability.”  

              “Does it look like my ability has dulled?” When has my ability ever dulled like that?

              “Well, no, but we just didn’t know and were hoping…” He looked away from me. Of course, some of it might have dulled just not the part that I wish would have dulled. It wasn’t their mental stability that was at risk if they were wrong.

              “Hopes in this place should be considered a currency.”

              “What’s that to mean?”

              I shouldn’t have let that slip from my mouth, but instead of backtracking like I should have, I continued. “That if we were willing to pay for things in hopes, I would be a wealthy, very wealthy royal.”

              “I never asked, do you still have your title.” He looked toward the door.  

              “I have no idea, Prince James. None.” It was a small stab, I know, but it couldn’t be helped.

              “You haven’t talked to your brother?” What an annoying question. Did James know me at all? I thought once that….

              “We never talked before. We weren’t exactly close.” My hands were turning white from how tightly they were held together.

              “But…”

              I decided that it was best to interrupt him before he spoke again. “We weren’t close.”

              “Whose fault was that?”

              “Are you seriously trying to blame me for the fact that my brother and I weren’t close?” He was just making things worse and worse for him and our relationship if there was ever such a thing between us. He was making sure that I couldn't care about him, ever again.

              “Who…”

               I was not going to let him ask that question again. “I was 17 years younger than him. I’m barely a spare.”

              “And you don’t know where you fit into all of this.”

              “Oh,” I said, taking a seat. This was going to be great. “and now you’re going to play that game. Great. That is exactly the game that I wanted to play.”

              “What do you want me to say?”

              “Tell me something useful.” That was all that I wanted. I didn’t want the game that he wanted to play. I tucked my feet under me. I wondered if he even noticed that I did that. “What am I doing here?”

              “What do you mean?”

              “What happened?” I asked, leaning back on my hands.

              “Nothing.”

              “Don’t lie to me.” I glared at him, but only for a moment before I turned my attention back to the ceiling.

              “I’m not.”

              “Stop lying. I just want a straight forward answer. What am I doing here?” I closed my eyes. There was nothing he would listen to, and I knew that. I stood back up and walked over to him. I looked at him in the eyes. I wanted him to lie straight to my face. He wanted to pretend that he knew what he was doing.

              “I’m not the one that should explain it.” I tapped a few times on the electric field. “Doesn’t that hurt?” It almost sounded like he actually cared.

              “A little, I guess.” I shrugged. There was a small sting in my hand, but it wasn’t bad. I had felt worse, and I knew that very clearly. It seemed to almost, almost, help me stay in the moment.

              “You guess? I feel that you should know. It is your hand, after all.”

              I sighed. “I do know, I am just not concerned about it.”

              “I’m worried about your safety.” Please, the only thing that he cared about was whether or not I could still be of any use to the Society, something I couldn’t be if I was in any way hurt. However, that theory holds a little less water when he remembered my training.

              I bit my lip hard, turning it white, I am sure. “You didn’t worry about my safety while I was away.” There were so many things that he could have done if only…

              “You think that I didn’t want to come see you. Is that what this is? You think you can be angry at me because I didn’t look for you?” His hands moving just a little more widely and I could almost see the start of a second person.

              I swallowed hard. “I think nothing important, and I think you know that.” I paused, but not for long enough for him to say anything. I wasn’t ready for him to say anything. I just wanted to yell at him for a little. “All I want to know is what is going to happen to me.”

              “I can’t explain it.”

              “You could.” I rolled my eyes. All he would have to do is tell me what is going on, but he didn’t want to, and I didn’t know why. Actually, I still don’t, other than some nonsense that he likes to spew about the Society's rules and duties. Was that it? Was it merely that he liked following the duties and the rules so much that I didn’t even exist to him?

              “You should eat something.” He bent down and picked up the try that he had placed on the ground. He pushed the food tray into the tiny slot. I allowed him to change the subject. I let him think, even for a moment that he had won, I would worry about whether he actually did win later.

              I couldn’t help but laugh. It was probably a bad reaction. “A red apple. A bit of a sick joke, isn’t it?” I asked, tossing the apple up and down a few times.

              “You don’t have to eat it,” he said quietly. He remembered something from my past, our past.

              “Long ago. Before all of this. They weren’t my favorite fruit, but I did enjoy them.”

              “There were a lot of things you cared about once.” He made it sound like I don’t care about anything now.

              “Once. Once is such a long time ago. Once is a lifetime ago.” A lifetime ago. Yes. A lifetime ago. I was something once. I was different once. Now, it’s a memory of a memory. A hopeless dream of what might have been. A life once lived. Now, I live a very different life. No, less right, but different. Very different. There are things that I miss about this life. Some things that shouldn’t be forgotten but at the same time… A life with far less adventure. A life with far less excitement and danger and responsibility. A life where no one expects me to be anything more than I am, and I don’t have to live up to any crazy standards.

              “You used to write and love doing it. Remember the time you wrote everyone’s history paper in a night, just so that we had to have a dance, but then you crashed at it…” He stopped looking at my face. “Alright, bad example, but there had to be another time when things worked out well because you wrote.” I didn’t say anything. I thought that he would know so much more, but he disappointed me every time. “Can you not think of one example?”

              He wanted to hear what I had to say. “I wrote because that was the only way I felt my voice would be heard,” I said, looking away from him. He didn’t understand.

              “You know you aren’t the only Second Born Royal that has felt that way. I have felt that feeling of loneliness, that feeling of hopelessness. All you have to do is talk to us, and you would find someone who understands you.”

              “You act like I am somehow oblivious to this fact. After all, there is a whole Society filled with them. It’s why you joined the Society after all, isn’t it?” That was probably a little harsher than I should have been, but I honestly didn’t have the fortitude to keep my mouth shut.

              “Then what are you trying to argue?”

              “You make it sound like I shouldn’t feel as badly as I do, because there are others like me.”  

              “How did this get turned around on me?”

              I laughed. “Always does.” Even when things were right, they seemed to always be able to be turned around him. I always made sure of that, before it was always just for fun.

              There was silence. He just kept looking at me. His eyes wanted to say something more, but I don’t think that he knew how to say what he wanted to say. I didn’t either, pretended that I did, but the truth was that I was like him. I was stuck in this time, this place, these words that I had lost a long time ago. “You will eat something,” he told me sharply.

              “I’m not going to eat until you or someone else tells me what is going on.”

              “You act like you’re being held as a prisoner.” Was I not?

              “Well, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck,” I said smartly.

              “That is hardly fair. You only look like a prisoner because she is terrified you will leave again. We can’t afford to search for you again.”

              “You know you would never find me again.”

              “It couldn’t be that hard. I caught you once before.”

              “I was caught off guard. I had gotten complacent. It won’t happen again. I promise you that, if you let me go, I will not make that mistake again.”

              “That hardly gives me the confidence that I require to let you out,” the leader said, walking into the room. She had her black hair pulled into a bun. She looked younger than I remembered. Maybe it was merely because I was older. I stood up and flattened my wild hair. I quickly tried to rub my clothes flat.

              “Ma’am, I was hardly expecting you.”

              “How do you always get that reaction from her,” James asked, looking at her.

              “She does respect this Society regardless of what she actually says.” Hardly, I have no respect for the Society..

              “Ma'am, will you please tell me what I have done to deserve this?” I knew that the best thing that I could do in this case was to keep my mouth shut and just ask what I needed to ask.

              “James, would you give us a minute.” She smiled, looking at him. James nodded, but dragged his feet the entire time before he got to the door. “Now that he is gone, we can have a conversation just like we did before.”

              “Ma’am, I hardly think it appropriate to speak as we once did, considering the circumstances that we are currently in. I think that it is far more appropriate to speak as though we are strangers.”

              “That is hardly necessary.”

              “Ma’am, with all due respect, I think that for this purpose, it is best to be as formal as possible.” She nodded and only nodded, so I continued. “Might I again ask what I am doing here?”

              She cleared her throat and pulled out a clipboard. “We have been searching for you for ten years. You left the organization with both your memories and your powers still intact.” Not by choice. “You could be a danger to the royal families, the Society, and the world.”

              Stop the charade was what I wanted to say, “Of course,” was what I did say. “There is only one or two things that I have a problem with there, but I am sure that you will be continuing to explain them to me.”

              She looked up from her little clipboard. “I know what you are saying, and I agree that your circumstances require a touch more observation than what we have currently been giving them.”

              “Then, may we, if you don’t mind, talk about why I am here.”

              “You know the official reason,” she said, sharply.

              “Ma’am, do you want me to pretend that is the only reason, because if that is what I must do, I shall do it? I was just hoping for a touch more candor.”

              “You would like candor?” she asked, a slight bit of annoyance in her voice. She took a step toward me.

              “If it pleases you.”

              “I would also like candor.”

              “About, ma’am?” I asked her.

              “How did you escape?” Easy?

              “Could we not start with something a little easier, ma’am?” I asked, swallowing the nothingness in my throat.

              “I didn’t know that there would be something easier,” she said, and for a moment, only a moment, I wondered if she was messing with me.  

              “You know it’s not an easy answer, and you are just mocking me, and I don’t know why.”

              “You forgot to add the ma’am.”

              “Why are you being sharp with me, ma’am?” I asked, looking at her through the force field. She seemed to want to punish me for things that I could hardly be blamed for.

              “You promised honesty.”

              “That I did, and I would keep it that way, but the question requires more information than I am allowed to have.” Allowed to have? As of there was anything that I wasn’t allowed to have. Allowed to do.

              “Explain.”

              How do I explain this? Tell her the truth without getting myself into more trouble. “I can’t explain, and if you truly are still the woman that I knew, then you would accept that fact.”

              “I could accept that fact if you were the woman that I remembered.”

              “I am still that.”

              “Are you?”

              “Who else would I be?”

              “You tell me.”

              “What is that even to mean, ma’am?” I asked her. She seemed to have an answer to something that I wasn’t asking, or maybe she had a response to something that she was asking. Either way, I just didn’t know the game she wanted to play.  

              “It means that you don’t seem like the girl I used to know.”

              “I am, though.”

              “I can’t see it.”

              I didn’t say anything for a second. “So, can you at least tell me who is presiding over my trial?”

              “No one is.”

              “How can that be, ma’am?” I asked, my mouth dropping to the floor.

              “I have taken executive action with you.”

              “What do you want with me?”

              “We need you again.”

              That’s a story that I just don’t care about. What good would I be to an organization that turned its back on me years ago? “Why?” The word dripped out of my mouth like the poison that I would rather be drinking.

              “You could train them like no one else could.”

              “James knows all the ways that I was trained. He could easily train them.”

              “It won’t be the same. You could give them an advantage; the other side would never see this coming.”

              “You think I care?”

              “You have to care the royals…”

              I interrupt her before she has a chance to finish. “The royals are always in some kind of danger; it’s why the society was created. They were in trouble before me, they’ll be in trouble after me. Nothing is going to change that.”

              “You didn’t have that view before.”

              “I didn’t need that view before. There was someone else that protected me from the world.”

              “You’ll stay in here if you don’t agree.”

              “I know. What’s your point?”

              “You’d rather live behind this force field forever than rejoin an organization that you wanted to be a part of when you were younger?”

              “Of course, I would.” I paused and let that statement sink into her brain before I continued. “Besides, we both know that if you let me in here by myself, I will escape again, and this time you will never find me.”

              “We also both know that I will make sure that you can’t escape.”

              “Let the games begin.”

#secret society of second born royals #James Morrow #oc character #fanfic

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 5

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bullying!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

There had to be a mistake.

After a terribly long and very confusing day of classes which included getting lost a handful of times in the castle and landing herself detention. Nel stood outside the office of the Head of her House after a long day of classes.

She still remembered what she had said to Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress, the night before.

"T-There has to be a mistake," she said looking horrified as she addressed the professor.

"The hat does not make mistakes Ms. Saintday," she answered curtly.

She knocked on the heavy door waiting for the professor to invite her in.

"Come in."

Snape's office was exactly what you would expect the one of a Potion's Master to be. It had a particular order in which dozens of vials, boxes, and jaws containing ingredients and other substances were scattered all over the room. On his desk was a stack of scrolls that Nel could only assumed to be student essays. He had been the only professor to assign a ten-inch parchment on the first day of school. He had also assigned her detention for not being able to answer one of the questions he shot at her during his lecture. Something that amused her peers to no end.

"Professor McGonagall has expressed to me that you have some concerns about having been sorted into my house," he said bringing both of his elbows to rest on his desk, he pressed his knotted hands against his lips looking down at the girl before him with his black eyes. "Why is that?"

He looked angry.

"You see sir," She began feeling a little small under his gaze. "I'm very brave. The hat must've made a mistake," She looked down at her green tie and robes. "I just think I'd be a better fit in another house. Maybe I'd be a better Gryffindor? I almost feel as if the Sorting Hat didn't even take my opinion into consideration."

Not to mention all of her pureblood house mates had begun tormenting her due to her blood status, or lack of one.

"You don't look very brave right now," Snape said cooly. Making her self-consciously squirm under his gaze. "Recklessness, ignorance and presumptuousness? Are these traits that you wish to associate yourself with Ms. Saintday? He spat.

"No Sir," She responded tilting her chin down feeling ashamed. "Lift your head foolish girl," the professor spoke harshly. He seemed to have been taken this personally. Hesitantly she lifted it, standing a little taller as to not to seem weak. "I will not have you floundering in someone's chair when confronted Ms. Saintday. Being in this House- being in Slytherin is an honor that should be worn like a badge of pride. This is a privilege that few get in their lives. Tell me Ms. Saintday, what are the traits of a Slytherin?"

"Ambition, cunning and resourcefulness, sir," she responded looking at him in the eye attempting to seem  tougher than she really was.

"Good, now tell me, where you not cunning and resourceful when playing that childish trick on Ms. Parkinson and the others in the train? You must've gone out of your way to ensure that your plan worked out to your convenience. Correct?"

Her eyes went wide. She was expecting Snape to scold her or to take away House Points, but he did neither. Knowing her chamber mate, Parkinson had probably come to snitch on her already.  

"And if I recall correctly you were arrogantly boasting about becoming the 'best witch in your class' back in Diagon Alley. A trait which can be most likely interpreted to be ambition."

Elowen sat in silence. There was no use in arguing with Snape. His arguments were valid. He might've been biased in his opinion regarding Gryffindor House but that was to be expected.

"Now, get out of my office and stop wasting my time with such foolish concerns. I expect a ten-inch parchment on the History of Slytherin House for your detention, and don't let me find you with your head lowered for anyone Ms. Saintday, understood?" Snape said coldly.

She groaned at the mentioning of writing yet another essay. Despite the professor’s icy tone. Showing no weakness and being tough seemed to come with the package that came with being a Slytherin.

Without another word he dismissed her.

Xxxxx

Elowen returned to the Slytherin Common room with her head hung low. The worst part of it all was that she had no way of contacting Lucy. Sure, she could've tried to send an owl to her but communication between Muggles and Wizards like that was prohibited. Not to mention the fact that there were no functional telephones in Hogwarts.

"Cottonmouth," she sighed the password to the portrait and walked through it. A scattered amount of Slytherin were in the common room either hanging out or working on their homework together. The common room was like a snake pit, underground, underwater, with dark leather, wood and fabrics of all sorts of emerald hues. The most comforting part about it were the dim green lights that illuminated the room. The little light that came in through the dark windows reflected the shadows of mysterious water creatures that inhabited the lake.

"Back so suddenly?" Pansy Parkinson turned to shoot her a nasty look. "I'd figure Professor Snape would've dealt with you the proper way."

The girls around her sniggered at her comment. Potions class had been really embarrassing today. Snape had bombarded her with questions she did not know the answer to. He really hadn't been kidding when he had said he had given her some extracurricular material for her to read.

During potions class Draco Malfoy and his friends had been making means jokes at her.  When Nel snapped back, she interrupted Snape's lesson which had her landed in detention with him. Sometimes she couldn't help but feel like the Potions Master was purposely picking on her.

Pansy Parkinson was that girl with the short black hair that Nel had tricked into drinking toad tea back in the train. She quickly learned that she was a snotty, pureblood fanatic and thought she was better than everybody because her father imported and exported wand making supplies from England to other parts of Europe and Asia. It was also very obvious that she had some type of infatuation with Malfoy. She wasted no time in bombarding Nel with questions over dinner constantly stating the fact that she was brought up in a muggle orphanage and didn't have a single galleon to her name.

Nel stopped next to the black sofa arm were Parkinson was sitting and without even giving her a second glance stretched out an arm and roughly pushed her to the floor.

"Hey!" She protested from the carpeted floor. Nel didn’t even see when Pansy's wand shot out a green flash of light at her back.

"Slugulus Eructo!" She hexed.

Nel felt… funny. Sick was probably a better word for it. Her skin took a sallow complexion and her hands reached to her upset stomach.

The Slytherins leaned in eyed peeled waiting for the spell to take effect.

The girl reeled backwards slightly. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead she gave a loud belch and a nasty green slug dripped out of her mouth and to the carpeted floor.

The common room was a laughing riot as she horribly gagged on the slime. Eyes growing watery from the horrible feeling.

Pansy was laughing so hard she was also clutching her stomach. The others followed in suit also cackling madly.

She raised her wand her only weapon and casted the only spell she knew, the one she had learned today. Lumos, but nothing happened. This only made them howl louder. Furious, sick, and completely mortified with her eyes watering she considered running out of the room. But she didn't. Pansy didn't see it coming. Before she knew it she was pinned to the ground with Nel's weight on top of her. She glued to her hands to her sides. The orphan smiled wickedly as she looked down at Pansy with vile intent.

She had brought this on herself.

"No! No! No!" Pansy cried out pleading, turning her head as far away from her as possible. Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were on the edge of their seats watching from a nearby chess game. Even Theodore Nott had lowered his book and was staring at the scene in disbelief. Other girls in the room looked disgustedly horrified. Daphne Greengrass looked like she was about to faint.

Nel smirked, she could feel a big slimy one coming. She belched several slugs on Pansy. The girl squirmed and shrieked at the slugs that landed on her. Pansy cried as a string of slimy saliva dripped on her. Elowen cackling maliciously before she felt an arm wrap around her neck in a chokehold and attempt to pull her off the girl.

Bullstrode. Millicent Bullstrode was a large girl who as far as Nel knew, her only positive quality was that she had a cute cat named Hokey. She didn't say or do much, being more of a quiet follower she tailed after Parkinson.

Pansy continued screaming as Nel barfed as many slugs as she could on her, covering her in slime and slugs from head to toe.  Millicent pulled with all of her strength until a booming voice interrupted.

"What is the meaning of this?!" One of the Slytherin prefects rushed into the room. She looked angrier than grossed out by the disgusting scene. With a flick of her wand all three girls pulled apart from each other.

The prefect wasn't patient in demanding an explanation. "You two, Snape's office with me now!" She pointed at Bullstrode and Parkinson. "And you…" Her eyes narrowed at the sick girl. "To Madame Pomfrey, now."

Nel vomited a slug and painfully moaned in disgust. Blaise and Draco were still laughing loudly at the scene.

"Malfoy you seem to be enjoying yourself. Escort Saintday to the infirmary," she barked. Her expression absolutely livid. Draco's mocking face immediately dropped. Blaise laughed at his friend and slapped his arm. "Pipe down Zabini unless you want to accompany Malfoy and Saintday for a walk down slug avenue."

The sick girl would've been lying if she said she didn't need Malfoy to ger to the Hospital Wing. Besides Malfoy's protesting and groaning the two made way to the West Lower Floor. Nel stopping to throw up her guts every couple of steps. Her complexion chalky, eyes watery. She made a mental note never to consume jello ever again in her life.

From her peripheral vision she saw Malfoy edging closer to her.

"Stay away from me," she raised a hand to keep him at a distance and glared at him. If he got any closer, she wouldn’t' have a problem projectile vomiting a slug in his direction.

"Hn," He leaned against the wall crossing his arms over his chest. "Suits you. That's what you deserve for making us drink that disgusting tea. Slugbreath."

That's it.

True to her word she turned and vomited a slug which landed on his emerald green jumper. "Ugh! Yuck!" He grimaced flicking it off his person.

She smirked in his direction. "Strange how I'm starting to feel better." She brushed past him.

Draco looked at her in disbelief. How was it possible to dislike someone so much in a day?

"Disgusting!" He exclaimed in a whiny breath.

"I know," she shot back with an unladylike groan as a slug nastily rolled down her chin.

"I don't mean the slugs," he wrinkled his nose. "I mean you," he shot back upset.

She turned to him angrily and grabbed his arms tightly pulling him close getting ready to aim a fat one straight at his face. "Get your filthy Mudblood hands off me!" "Stop calling me that!"  She said angrily still not knowing the severity of the slur he used against her.

A loud gasp made them both snap their heads away from each other’s fronts. They both turned to see a very horrified Madame Pomfrey looking at the two. "Mr. Malfoy! Ms. Saintday! What is the meaning on this?" She scolded. It seemed like she hadn't heard their conversation.

"I was asked to escort Saintday here," Draco pushed Nel's hands from his body. "And now I'm done," he scowled in her direction before stalking off to return to the Slytherin Common Room. She seethed glaring at his retreating back.

"Slugs! And on the first day…" Pomfrey sighed irritate. "Come along dear," She said placing a hand on the girl's shoulder keeping a stoic expression as she puked a couple of slugs out. "On the first day… And I don't even have any Treacle fudge for you."

Pomfrey had a terrible feeling it wouldn't be the first or last time that she found Elowen Saintday on one of her hospital beds. The Matron made the ill girl sit on a bed and gave her a basinet and some bubbly lime beverage to keep the nausea away. She said the hex should pass in a couple of  hours and advised Nel to spend the night in the room in case she still felt sick. Sometime later the Matron retreated to her private chamber leaving Nel alone in the spacious room.

She had been holding it together so well but being alone in the austere room. At night. Having no way to contact Lucy or anyone to talk to… Nel hugged the wooden basinet close to her torso more for comfort as she spat another slug out. Tears she had been holding all day slipped down her face from the nausea and mostly from the humiliation of having been spitting slugs out before her housemates. Not only that but her embarrassing faint attempt to strike Parkinson with a pathetic Lumos…

She sniffled, crying, and hiccupping through nasal breaths.

Laughter could be heard from the corridor approaching the entrance of the Hospital Ward. She gasped lightly and furiously wiped away her tears.

The door opened and she saw two figures shushing each other entering the hospital ward. The figures stepped in and they initially did not notice the girl that was sitting on the bed. They basically tiptoed in and began raiding Madame Pomfrey's cabinet taking few things, just enough so that she would not notice.

"Looks like she's out of Treacle fudge," one said to the other.

Weak sniffling filled the dark room and the two boys turned back to look at a pair of dark eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. They saw a first year Slytherin girl weakly sniffling and hugging what looked like a bucket close to her chest.

The Gryffindors looked at each other for a moment before approaching the edge of the bed.

"I didn't know Slytherins could cry," one of them spoke with particular jest. "I didn't know Slytherins had tear ducts at all." The other added.

"I-I'm not crying!" She said defensively feeling her face burning from the embarrassment before a nasty slug made its way out of her throat in a nasty belch. This was mortifying and in front of these two boys…

She looked down avoiding their prying gazes.

"Eat slugs," The one said clicking his tongue, stating the hex she was under. "Rather nasty one," the other spoke.

Looking at them, recognizing the fiery red hair she realized they looked awfully familiar. Of course! She'd seen them at King's Cross with Ron and his family. They were probably his older brothers.

"I take it those gits at Slytherin haven't been very welcoming, have they?"

She shook her head slightly, eyes still lowered in shame.

"I deserve it," she spat some slime into the bucket. "I did make them drink that toad tea."

She wasn't expecting them to react so excitedly to that statement. "That was you!" One exclaimed before laughing loudly. "You're the girl Ron told us about!" the other added. "That was bloody brilliant!" They laughed.

"Tell you what," one of the redheads said. "Everybody knows House Slytherin is filled with pompous gits, but anybody that makes Malfoy croak outta be decent." She arched an eyebrow at this. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking George?" One looked at the other with a mischievous look. "Read my mind Fred," The other said with a peculiar glint in his eye. The twins split and both took a side next to the girl. She looked back and forth between them confused.  

"Your wand?" One said. She couldn't tell which one of them was Fred and which one was George. Diving into her pocket she pulled out her wand.

"Alright, we're going to teach you a very illegal spell." One whispered wickedly draping an arm over her shoulders as if he had known her his entire life. The other did the same. "Use it wisely. Can't let those gits have the upper hand. Can we?"

"Here's a word of warning, it only works on fatheads," one of the twins sniggered.

"By the way I'm George," one said pointing a thumb at himself. "And I'm Fred," the other introduced himself. "Just kidding!" They suddenly said in unison before she could introduce herself. And they once again introduced themselves by the others name before laughing at her confused expression.

"Call me Nel."

#draco malfoy #draco x you #draco x oc #draco-fuckingmalfoy #malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #Draco Malfoy ff #Draco Malfoy fanfic #harry potter #harry potter ff #Harry Potter fanfic #Harry Potter fanfiction #Harry Potter oc #Slytherin oc #slytherin #Slytherin pride #wattpad #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #george weasley #fred weasley #Weasley twins

[paper-whales-writes]

“Finally, Took You Two Long Enough!”

Pairing: Harry Hook x Reader

Word Count: 3,172 (OOF I went overboard)

A/N: This took me a week to write and I really don’t like it! Figures, huh? Anyway, hope you guys enjoy! This imagine took up 8 PAGES in Word in size 11 font!

                                                  “”

"Again, Y/N! We're not stopping until you perfect this move!" Uma barks.  Being a part of Uma's crew means near endless training drills. No matter the weather; no matter how much your body aches. Take now for instance, the sun is beating down heavily on you and you have a weary feeling in your bones; yet you still cannot stop. Training for the day you finally leave the Isle and take down those soppy, pastel royals in Auradon.  Being the child of Hans, you have been raised wielding swords and concocting ambitious schemes - it's why you are in Uma's inner circle. But there's still more to reach for, chances to make yourself a better player in this game and so, you train. Preparing yourself to one day take over Arandelle, rule the Southern Isles and complete your father's legacy. You run through the move again, head pounding from being under the sun for so long. Although these training drills may be tedious, you cannot deny that they have helped you improve your skills. Especially as your father has little time for you these days - meaning no more sword lessons like when you were younger.  "Alright that's enough. Wrap it up guys." Uma shouts, prompting the crew to drift away to their tasks.  Soon enough, Harry is by your side. Twirling his hook in his hand, he motions for you to start on your patrol. Uma has designated you both to collect money due to the fact that you are both, according to the other residents of the Isle, terrifying. Pairing Harry's fragile emotions with your near lack of them does seem to have that effect, especially as you seem to be the opposites of each other. But you know what they say: opposites attract.  "Are you ready, lass?" Wiping you head, you nod. "Just let me grab a drink and I'll be ready." 

"" Your patrol of the Isle had been nothing more than standard. The usual low-lifes existing at the edge of your vision and Harry Hook, one of your best mates, parrotting in his usual chatter. You do feel guilty to admit it, but there is a part of you that isn't listening - your mind is too focused on your father, knowing that he is cooking some hare-brained scheme that you'll soon have to be involved in. "Are you even listening to me, Y/N?" He pipes up, looking over to you. You sigh, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "Honestly, Harry? Not really."  He stops you. Taking your wrists in his hands with a feather-light touch, he asks: "What's wrong then lass? Is there something on your mind?"  "It's nothing new, just Hans again." You avoid calling father at all costs. He doesn't like the title and neither do you. Harry nods in understanding. Not one parent of the Isle cares about their child: so parent trouble isn't a rare problem. Nearly everyone can relate.  "He's spending more time scheming, training his men... it's worrying. I mean, he has always been planning and preparing to leave the Isle but it just seems more serious this time? I don't know Harry, it's probably nothing."  You both continue walking; the pair of you frowning in thought.  "Well, you know Y/N that you're apart of our family now. You don't need him. You could come live on the ship. With me."  Turning to Harry, you see him biting his lip - unusually nervous for your suave friend.  "What do you mean Harry? There's not anymore space on the ship. What am I meant to do? Sleep in the crow's nest?" You smile tightly, wishing - hoping - that he means something else. Something that would mean more than just friendship.  "Well I didn't mean that lass, obviously." he mutters, now avoiding your gaze. Stopping outside 'Curl up and Dye', Harry turns back to you and gestures to the shop's sign. "Shall we just collect the money, Y/N? Get this chore over and done with?"  You can't help but be stung. Along with Gil and Uma, Harry is one of the only people you've ever trusted. Not even your own father is one of those. Yet, he writes off spending time together as a chore? Feeling your lips start to thin, as you wince at his words, you simply gesture for him to go ahead. "Might as well. After you, Harry." You follow him through the door, remaining slightly behind him as walks into the salon.  "Fork it over ya runt." You hear him say to young Dizzy.  But your attention isn't on the young child - it's on the figure that you haven't seen for a long while: Mal. Enemy of Uma and, by extension, yourself. While Harry taps the various knickknacks, asking for the rest of the money, you watch Mal as she calculates the situation. It's easy to see how she was once friends with Uma, they're very much alike - too alike. Taking the money with ease, Harry sarcastically thanks Dizzy and begins to leave. Stopping just in front of you as his old flame speaks up: "Still running errands for Uma? Or do you actually get to keep what you steal?"  You grit your teeth as he begins to smirk. While he spins around to face her, you glare daggers into her. It's just like Mal to come running back after being given the world; given the dream that you had always wanted. She has never known when to stop.  "Well, well, well what a surprise." Harry drawls, arms outstretched. "Look who decided to come back, Y/N." "Hello, Mal." You smirk, standing beside Harry, wiggling your fingers in a mock wave. "Hi Harry, hi Y/N." Mal monotones, chewing her gum obnoxiously.  "Just wait till Uma finds out you're back!" Harry exclaims, growing ever closer to Mal. "She's never going to give you back your old territory."  From behind him you smirk, meeting Mal's eyes. You may not like the girl, but you can respect her. It takes a cunning mind and a cold heart to rise to the top on the Isle; that you can understand. Perhaps in a different life, a different set of circumstances, you could've been friends. But for now, you're enemies and Mal is certainly one you do not want to underestimate. Not in the slightest.  "Oh, that's okay. Because I will be taking it." She says nonchalantly, causing the pair of you to smirk.  "Nothing like a good old bit of game talk." You say, licking your lips in anticipation of the struggle.  This was just what you need. A bit of fun, a struggle; some violence. Life on the Isle has gotten boring without the power struggles - sure other rival gangs try to wrestle power from Uma and her crew, but none could even come close to Mal and the other 'core' VKs.  "I could hurt you." Harry drawls, running his hook through her newly-styled hair. Slapping his hook away, she places her gum on the end of it. Causing you pinch your face in disgust. While the Isle is disgusting, that was too much for you. Harry doesn't seem overly bothered, merely placing it in his mouth. You feel your stomach turn and yourself grimace at Harry. Now that is disgusting. "Not without a permission, I bet." Mal drawls in response. Harry smiles, a strained smile knowing that Mal is right, before knocking random items off the table in thinly-veiled frustration. With a bow, he pushes his way out of the shop; leaving you with Mal and Dizzy. "Dizzy." You nod farewell to the girl, "See you around Mal."  Your smirk falls into a sneer. Then, turning on your heel, you follow Harry out the door.  "Well, things just got interesting." You say, catching up to Harry. "They sure have Y/N. They sure have." "Let's go tell Uma." You say, smirking alongside you friend. "" The ship is packed. Armed to the teeth with pirates, biding their time before Mal and the other VKs arrive; giving a chance for your leader to finally come out on top. While Harry torments King Ben, you stand beside Uma; gazing outwards to the shoreline of Auradon.  "I want to get there, Uma. I want to tear down their pretty, perfect world so bad." You spit, drumming your fingers along the ship's rail. "I know, Y/N. We're so close now." She replies, a slight smirk playing around the corners of her lips. "So close that I can taste it."  "She's not going to play fair though, Uma." You continue. "She has everything to loose and if I was her, I wouldn't put everything on the line for a boy and a bargain."  "Not even for Harry?" She raises her eyebrow at you.  Your head shoots around to face her. "What do you mean? Not even for Harry? He's a friend, not anything more."  "Oh please, Y/N he likes you! And not in the way he likes me or Gil." She places her hand on yours; smiling encouragingly. You shake your head, feeling crestfallen. "You're wrong there, Uma. Anytime he spends time with me, he labels it as a chore. I'm nothing to him."  "You don't mean that." Tensing, you start to move away. "I do. If he really likes me, he's not showing me very well. Urgh, I don't know Uma. I hate all this emotional baggage - I'm going to go sort out the crew."   She watches you walk away with a sour look on her face. Part of her isn't surprised that you're running from your feelings. You've never been that in tune with your emotions; always being head over heart. But the fact that you're even admitting to these emotions? Well, you must be head over heels.  Although Harry is her first mate, trusted above anyone else, Uma cannot stomach him upsetting you. In fact, she can't stomach anyone upsetting you. It goes beyond the fact that you're a member of her beloved crew - you've been the only true friend she has had for the entirety of her life. Before Harry, before Gil, there was you. There's always been you. So, for that reason she cannot stand anything that makes you upset.  Gritting her teeth, she stomps over to Harry and pulls him away from the captured prisoner. He says nothing, instead waiting for her to speak; with a confused look on his face.  "I can't believe you Harry." She growls, tightening her grip on his coat sleeve. "What are you talking about Uma?"  "Y/N, that's what I'm talking about." A brow raises. "Why are we talking about Y/N? Is she okay?" He immediately becomes frantic, eyes raking over the ship to find you. "She's fine. Jeez, Harry, how dense are you? The girl likes you back but the way you're acting is pushing her away."  "She... likes me back?" His eyes find your form, talking over sword play to the crew. He loves you like this, in your element and taking all the authority that fits you like a glove. "Obviously, Harry!" She slams her hand on the rail in frustration. "Jeez, you really are dense."  Seeing Harry's flabbergasted expression, Uma does what she does best: takes the reins. "After the fight, before we sack Auradon, you should tell her how you feel."  "But -"  "No excuses, Harry. You need to tell her." Uma snaps, scowling even more.  Harry drags a hand down his face, groaning. "You're right. I will Uma, I need to tell her. Just after we get the wand." "" The battle is raging. You're not surprised it broke out at all, especially after that massive build up generated by the one and only Harry Hook. While he was giving his welcomes (sarcastic as always), you hovered behind Uma; smirking all the while. The VKs had quickly noted the mirrored images between you and Harry - while Harry twirled his hook, you would twirl your dagger between your hands. It was enough to have both Evie and Carlos raising their brows. Currently, you are clashing swords with the daughter of Mulan. Layla? Lucinda? Lulu? Lonnie. That's it.  "You should stay here on the ship." You say breathlessly, blades clanging as the bounce off of each other. "Help train these pirates - I love a person who can use a sword."  "No way, my stomach couldn't handle sailing. Besides, we all know you're eyes are on someone else with a sword."  You smirk, slashing at her with a greater ferocity. "I don't know what you're talking about."  For the next few moments, neither of you speak. Merely grunting and panting as your blades collide and clash together. From the corner of your eye, you see Harry dive after his hook; landing in the water with a splash. The fact that Harry has been bested in his speciality, a sword fight, causes you to loose concentration for a moment, hoping that he is unharmed. Lonnie, to her credit, takes this momentary slip in concentration and slices at you with her sword.  "Ah, sorry!" She splatters, as the blade rakes across your face and onto your forearm that you had raised (rather unsuccessfully) to block any strike.  The pain is sharp and instantaneous; with blood dribbling out of both wounds. You attempt to turn your wince into a smirk, but it merely turns into a grimace.  "I wasn't expecting an Auradon kid to do that. I thought you have a rule against maiming." You grit out, parrying swords.  "I said I'm sorry! It was an accident!" Lonnie exclaims, whirling away from your blade. You both stand there panting, gazing each other with wary eyes. Around you, the VKs begin to flee having got what they came for. It's plain to see that the crew has lost; that all your cards have been played. In all honesty, you're not surprised the audacious scheme has failed. Back to the drawing board, one day a scheme that you and Uma cook will succeed.  You catch Lonnie trying to back away; attempting to flee with her friends. Wiping your bloody face, you lower your sword and bite out: "Go on then. Run along. This is the only chance I'll give you to run."  She nods, backing away even faster now.  "But know this, when I get to Auradon I'm going to come after you. The next time I see you, I will smash your pretty little face into smithereens. Consider that a promise."  "Until we meet again then, Y/N!" She says, turning on her heel and fleeing into the tunnel with the rest of the VKs.  You stand, watching them flee. From the corner of your eye, you can see Uma and Harry raging - neither to ever take losing well. Deciding not to join them in their display of anger, you begin to start organising the crew into shifts - an attempt to keep some form of normalcy and dignity. Just because Mal and her VKs bested the crew, doesn't mean you'll make it easier for any other rival group to try. All the while, blood from your wounds are dripping onto the wood of the ship - a stinging reminder of your own defeat.  It's then that Harry sees you. Bruised and bloody; it's enough to make his heart drop. Pushing past the crew, he makes his way over to you. Yet, instead of meeting him halfway, you turn on your heel and stalk down to the lower-levels of the ship.  "Y/N!" He calls, following you at a greater pace.  As you storm into your room, he grabs your wrist and pulls you to face him. "Why are you ignoring me, lass? Who hurt you? Are you okay?"  "Gosh, Harry stop asking me questions! It's just a cut! Nothing else!" You exclaim, wrestling your wrist out of his grasp.  "I'm just trying to see if you're okay! Jeez, why do you always have to be like this? You never accept my help!" He throws his hands into the air in frustration. "Just let me help you bandage the cuts up!"  "Sure it wouldn't be too much of a chore for you, Harry? I know that's how you feel about spending time with me."  He pauses. Then looks at you with wide eyes. "Are you actually joking? Are you blind?"  "Blind to what? What are you talking about, Harry?" You shout, stalking towards him. "I freaking love you, why can't you see this! I flirt with you and you give me nothing back! It's a chore because I never know where I stand with you! So, tell me Y/N, where do I stand with ya?"  At this point, you are standing chest to chest; breathing heavily. Gently, he brushes his thumb along the slice on your face; his eyes flicking to your lips every now and then. "I don't think you'll need stitches." He breathes. "What?"  His lips quirk into a small smile. "The cut on your face, luckily it's quite shallow. I'm not sure about your forearm though."  Licking you lips, you gaze at him. This is the first time you've seen this comforting side to Harry, who is usually brittle and cruel. In fact, it's enough to throw you. Seeing this, Harry lightly leads you to the bed and allows you to sit while he roots around in your drawers for medical supplies.  "The bandages are in the third drawer." You breathe, watching him intently. "Thanks, love."  You laugh lightly, "Love, huh. And there was me thinking you called everyone that." "No, just yourself." He smiles, chipper attitude back in place as he strides over with the medical supplies. Sharing his smile, you decide to take the plunge. "I like you too, Harry. Not just as a friend, as in l-love. We'd make an unstoppable team."  "We already do. Uma and her all-mighty wisdom pairs us together for a reason." He grins as he looks up at you. "Now would ya do me a favour and hold still while I clean this up, dearie?" He asks, causing you to nod. While he cleans your wounds, you smile at him; tracing patterns on his arms with your injured hand. This morning you wouldn't have dreamed about having a moment like this. But here you are, confessing your feelings to the heartbreaking Harry Hook. What change a day can make. "Finally! Took you two long enough!" A voice exclaims from the doorway. Both Harry and yourself spin around to face the figure in the doorway. There, smirking from ear to ear, is Uma: leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed. Pushing away from the door frame she continues: "You two, better not let this affect our plans for world domination. And keep the kissing away from the eyes of the crew, I don't want everyone thinking they can go ahead and catch feelings. Got that?"  Harry smiles over at you, before placing a kiss to each of your wounds.  "I can't promise that, Uma. I really can’t.”

#harry x reader #harry hook x reader #harry hook #harry hook imagine #harry hook oneshot #uma x reader #lonnie x reader #descendants #disney descendants #Descendants 2 #descendants 3 #disney imagine #uma descendants #harry descendants #mal descendants #ben descendants #descendants imagine #pirates #enjoy

[lovedsammy]

such sweet sorrow; [sastiel coda to 15.03]

I’m mad at Dean rn, so I wrote a vent fic. This is not very Dean friendly (following canon). Wrote this in less than an hour so….. not very well done, and probably has mistakes everywhere. I can’t bring myself to care, lol.

@casquecest @wendibird @avalonsilver

SUMMARY: Sam finds out that Dean caused Cas to leave. 15.03 coda. Some Sam and Rowena feels. Angst galore. Mostly Sastiel. :)

READ HERE on Ao3

He can still feel the grasp of the blade between his fingers, the plunge into soft flesh, see Rowena’s blood drying on his hands. He can still see her, her face wet with tears, pale from a combination of the blood loss and fear, her entire body trembling. And yet, her expression had never wavered in its softness, her smile warm and fond as she prepared for her final swan song.

Goodbye, boys.

It’s a memory on repeat in slow motion, even from behind his closed lids when Dean speaks to him.

“What you did, Rowena….”

He remembers the way her lithe body had fallen into the mouth of Hell, swallowing her hole and closing behind her like a suction hose. She’d looked beautiful in death, her red hair flowing behind her, dressed in her pink, flowy gown. She’d looked like something out of a fairytale, Sam thinks. It’s an odd association, one that is quite unlike who Rowena was, but it’s how Sam chooses to remember her.

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t. But he wishes that, more than anything, he’d had.

And beneath the loss of her, there are so many more welts festering in his heart.

Sam hurts, and hurts, and hurts.

God, when would it end? Well, maybe asking their almighty creator that question was a pointless task. God had no intention of letting this end, he knew. At least not yet. When were things ever that simple? All of his life, his and Dean’s, he’d existed as a pawn for someone else’s game, had been a toy to break and toss and throw away without a care for the breakage. His and Dean’s lives were a tale of endless torment -- sometimes physical, mostly mental. It felt like it would never be over. No matter how much God got sick of them, not even if he was gone. God took a personal enjoyment in their suffering.

You’re enjoying this.

He sighs, gathers himself, and decides to leave his room for the first time in hours to see what Cas is up to. He needs a distraction. He’s pretty sure that Cas does, too. The pain of losing Jack is still raw and heavy, and it would overwhelm almost everything else if it weren’t followed by even more of it. His mother. Jack. Rowena. Ketch. So many losses in such a short amount of time that Sam craves just a little to be able to turn himself off, to feel nothing at all. But that thought reminds him of his soulless days, and those are days that can stay far in the past. But Cas… Cas has lost just as much as he has, the boy that both of them loved but who was better suited to have Castiel as his father, in the end. Sam had lost that title when he’d agreed to lock the Nephilim up. But honestly, he thinks he’d lost it long before that.

He meets Dean in the library. 

“Hey,” Sam says, clearing his throat. 

Dean glances up and nods at him around his glass of whiskey. “Hey.” 

“Do you happen to know where Cas is?” Sam asks. “I checked his room, but he wasn’t there. Tried knocking on Jack’s too, thinking he might’ve - but…I didn’t really go in.” Sam stops himself. It was still too soon to think about Jack’s room. He fights the wave of nausea at the realization that everything of the boy’s was still there. The photo of Kelly, his clothes, his DVD’s and comic books. The box of cookie crisp tucked under his bed that he didn’t know that Sam had found but chosen not to bring up…. 

“He’s gone.” 

Sam’s world, spiraling in a haze of pain, comes to a screeching halt. “What?”

“Yeah, he left,” Dean says nonchalantly, and automatically, it gives Sam a bad feeling.

“Why? What happened?” 

Dean shrugs. “He didn’t wanna be here, and honestly? I didn’t really want him here, either. Do I need to say anything else?”

Sam’s a bit stunned by Dean’s disregard for their angelic friend. It was true that Dean and Cas had been having their problems lately (and long before that, really), but this new attitude from Dean concerning one of their last remaining allies rubs him the wrong way. 

“Wait. Don’t tell me that you’re seriously still pissed at him?” When Dean says nothing, he huffs.“Really? Our last angel friend - hell, one of our LAST friends, period, and you... what? You chase him off? You can’t really still be blaming him for Mom -”

“You damn right I’m blaming him for Mom, Sam,” Dean snaps. “Jack’s gone. He’s dead. He’s not here to answer for himself or to take responsibility for it. But Cas? He is. He played a part in that too. He didn’t tell us, he didn’t warn us that something was wrong with the kid! Cas hid that from us, just like he always does, and it ended with us paying the price! When something goes wrong with our lives, it’s usually him at the fucking forefront of it all!” 

Sam shakes his head, awed. “Tell me that you didn’t tell him that.” 

Dean snorts. “Does it matter if I did? He left, Sam. End of story. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. And we can take care of us.” 

And now Sam’s feeling ire to go along with the grief. 

“I can’t believe you. I know things are bad right now, Dean. But come on. Cas is our friend. He’s family. He’s been with us for the past eleven years and has saved both of our asses so many times. He’s been there, when no one else was. Cas had nothing to do with Mom, and it’s crap that you’re pinning that on him!” 

Dean rounds on him. “Sam, I know you’re upset about Rowena, but don’t. I’m allowed to feel how I do, all right?” 

“So am I,” Sam says defensively. “And I for one don’t blame Cas. You chasing him out of here was a choice you made, not me. I didn’t even -” He rakes a hand down his face, and then reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone. “You know what? Fine. You made Cas leave. I’m calling him back.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Do whatever the hell you want. I tell you this, if he does come back, I don’t want him anywhere near me. So make sure to tell him that.” 

“Yeah, that’s not an issue,” Sam growls, and he stalks away to his bedroom. 

He dials Cas’s number. 

It rings several times, but there’s no answer. Sam’s chest clenches in worry. He hopes that Cas is all right. A small part of him also hopes that the angel isn’t angry with him and is ignoring his calls just because of how Dean is acting. When after three attempts there is no response, Sam decides texting might be the next best approach. 

Cas, 

Hey. You left without even saying goodbye. I didn’t even know you were gone until just a couple of minutes ago. Listen, man, I’m sorry about Dean. The way he’s treating you right now is not fair at all. I made sure to let him know that. But I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you. I never have, never will. I hope I didn’t give you that impression. And I feel the need to apologize to you, Cas. I didn’t get a chance to say it before. I know I messed up with Jack, and I’m sorry. I’m going to regret what happened with him for the rest of my life. I loved him, too, and even though I was mad, I never wanted what happened to him to happen. I went to look for you because I know you’re in pain, too, and I hoped we could talk. If not about Jack, then anything. You’re my friend and I want to support you. Please, call me. Text me back. Don’t shut me out. And come home. Please. Dean’s not the only one who gets a say around here.

Sam. 

He waits for a long time, and starts to think that Cas has no intention of responding when his phone goes off. He answers before it’s even past the second ring. “Cas?”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says, and his voice sounds like he’s been crying. Or at least, close to it. Sam can’t blame him. He’s still hoarse himself. “I got your text.”

The simplicity of the statement almost makes Sam laugh, because yeah, he’d hope so. Classic Castiel. It made him even more appreciative of the times when things weren’t as complicated as they were now. “Yeah? Good. That’s good.” 

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks. 

Sam thinks about it, and just decides to be honest. “Awful,” He admits. “I feel like my chest is being crushed with everything that I’m feeling. I can’t really tune it out.” 

“You never really could,” Cas says gently. “You’ve always allowed yourself to feel, and to feel deeply. It’s always a relief to be able to see that side of you still hasn’t changed, even with all that you’ve been through.” 

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that, so he instead goes for the main reason he wanted to talk to Cas in the first place. 

“Cas,” He starts. “Come back. Please. We - I need you here. I want you here. We can just stay and hang in my room and watch Netflix, you don’t even need to see Dean -” 

“Sam, I don’t think I can do that,” Cas says despondently. “I’m sorry.”

Sam was expecting that response, but it stings nonetheless. 

“Please don’t make me lose you too,” Sam says, and God he hates how he chokes on the words, hates how his grief is still so apparent even when he’s trying to mask it. “I’ve already lost too much. Haven’t we both?” 

There’s a despairing sigh from Castiel. “Sam, you’re not losing me. Even if you don’t see me doesn’t mean that you will ever stop being my friend. That doesn’t just stop because of your brother.” 

“Exactly, so…”

“But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to subject myself to more of his animosity,” Cas says resolutely. “Listen to me. I care about you, about both of you, a great deal. And I can still do that without having to be there. You and Dean have each other. You’ll be just fine without me. You’ve done it before.”

I can’t do this alone. 

Yes, you can.

Well, I don’t want to. 

A different time, a different conversation. But Sam holds onto it, because it’s what he’s clinging to most right now. 

There had been a time that he and Dean had been entirely on their own. But that was more than a decade ago and they were different people then. They were just two young men - kids, really -  looking for their dad and trying to kill their mother’s murderer. 

“And what if I don’t want to, Cas?” Sam demands. “I’m tired of having every fucking thing decided for me. Who I talk to. Who my friends are. Who I can let live and who I have to kill myself. My entire life, my fate has been decided for me. Why can’t I decide for a change?” 

He pauses, huffing. “Look, Cas. It’s your call, okay? I want you here. I really do. But the question is, what do you want? If you really don’t want to come back, then I’ll just have to accept that.” 

Cas hesitates, mulling it over. “I’ll come back,” He promises. “Just not now. Not yet. I need time.”

“Okay,” Sam nods. He can hear the disappointment in his own voice, and remedies that. “Take all the time you need. You need to do what’s best for you.”

“Sam, I know I left in a hurry, and I should’ve talked to you before I did. I want to assure you that this has nothing to do with you,” The angel says softly. “I’m not angry with you. I was shocked that you would go along with locking up Jack, but I understand that when it comes to you and Dean, sometimes there’s an imbalance. You’re a mediator. That’s a primary part of who you are. You try to resolve problems. You felt that you’d messed up making choices when it comes to Jack, so you let Dean be the driver.” 

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he can say. Cas is more perceptive in ways than Sam can really appreciate sometimes, and he’s right. He vocalizes what Sam has not said even to himself.

“It was wrong that you did what you did. But I forgive you, Sam. I’m not harboring any negative thoughts towards you. We’re still friends, whether Dean is involved or not. You’re free to call me, or text me, whenever you wish. I’ll answer.” 

Sam closes his eyes, fighting another wave of emotion. “Yeah, me too. You be safe out there, all right? Take care of yourself? And call me if you need anything?”

“Of course.” 

“See you later, Cas.” 

“Take care, Sam.”

Sam hangs up and feels his heart shatter just a little more.   

#spn #supernatural #sastiel #spn spoilers #15.03 #ep: the rupture