#two: that's nonsense because we both know Flint would pick me.''

[just-jordie-things]

Can’t Pretend - Richie Tozier

word count: 13,840 warnings: swearing, sexual themes summary: richie and (y/n) share a dirty little secret, and it’s starting to get in the way of her relationship.  but it shouldn’t if it was just a fling, right? based on this song (a/n): about to hit 5.4k so I thought I'd celebrate by posting this ol’ thing :) I really like it I hope y'all do too :3

___

[ love... i have wounds, only you can mend // i guess that’s love… i can’t pretend ]

It was a plain saturday for the Losers.  And by plain, I mean they were chilling in Bill’s bedroom, thankful that his parents were out of town for the weekend because that meant they could raid the liquor cabinet and be a bit louder than usual.

(y/n) was leaning against the mattress, sat on the floor, a beer bottle in hand and a smile on her face.  These were the best kinds of nights, where all they did was talk, and it was all they had to do.

Eddie smacks Richie on his shoulder, but nearly hits his face in his drunken stupor.  And when (y/n) laughs, her head leans a little more into Ben’s leg, which is hanging off the side of the bed where he sat.  She’s laughing loudly into the denim of his jeans, and the material does nothing to muffle the sound.

Everyone else is laughing too, though, so it doesn’t matter.

“Alright, so is anyone aware that in four months, we won’t see each other like this anymore?” Beverly asks, a frown on her face as she takes another drink.  “I mean, what, am I supposed to make new friends?”

“Yeah, good look with that, Ringwald” Richie snorts, and Bev just flips him off, the way she always does when he calls her that.

“We won’t be that far from each other” Ben says to her with a sweet smile.

“And it’s not like we won’t write, too,” Stan chimes in.  “Except you Richie, after we graduate, never fucking talk to me again-”

“Oh, I’ll send you love letters every day sweetie pie,” Richie says before Stan can even finish.  “Don’t you worry, it’ll be like I’m right there with you”

He sticks his tongue out and snickers, while Stan grumbles about needing a break.

(y/n) can’t help but giggle at both boys.  Partially because she gets very giggly when tipsy, and partially because they’re the two funniest people she knows.  Richie grins at her when he catches her laughing, only making her laugh more.

“How are w-we gonna do it?” Bill muses, not really looking for an answer, because there really isn’t one.

“We don’t,” (y/n) shrugs.  “We avoid it until… there’s not really any other option” 

“Dark” Ben mumbled.

“It’s true,” (y/n) argued.  “If we go through this year with the mindset that this is the end, then we’ll push each other away, it’s psychology”

Eddie nods because he was in her class and is pretty sure he remembers hearing that.

“So we just live our best year” He agrees with her.

She high fives him.

“Well you’re already on your way,” Beverly said, and stood up from where she sat next to Mike so she could plop down next to her best girl.  “What, with your fancy scholarship, and your boyfriend” She singsonged the word, and (y/n) wilted with embarrassment.

“Come on Bev-”

“Are you guys gonna stay together?” Stan asks, the gears in his head turning as soon as her boyfriend was mentioned.  “I mean it’s been like… five months, right?”

“Four and a half” (y/n) mumbled, pulling her knees to her chest.

She stares down at her drink, and then takes a long swig.  She had a feeling she’d need it.

Talking about her boyfriend when everyone was around was… awkward.  It was one thing if it was just her and Beverly, but to have all the boys’ eyes on her every time his name came up made her feel hot, like she was being interrogated.

“So you’re kinda serious,” Stan shrugged.  “How many times have you done it?”

She chokes, and coughs for a long moment before catching her breath.

“Stan you don’t get to-”

“Come on, just fess up,” Beverly giggles.  “We won’t make fun! Promise!”

(y/n’s) cheeks go hot, and she knows they’re pink and that she’ll only be picked on more for it.  She locks eyes with Richie, who winks at her, and now her face must be red.

“We- uh-” Her eyes dart away before she can choke and lose her train of thought again.  “We actually um… haven’t… done… that” She says slowly, and with every reluctant word her voice gets softer.

“What?” Eddie screeches.

“No way,” Stan is laughing in disbelief.  “Come on, just give up the number.  What, ten? Fifteen? Twenty-?!”

(y/n’s) eyes are narrowed at him, silently yelling for him to fuck off.

“Really?” Beverly asks, just as shocked as the others.

Well, everyone was surprised.

“But he’s so…”

“Hot?” Eddie offers, only to get nudged in the ribs by the trashmouth next to him.

“I was going to say affectionate,” Beverly answers, staring skeptically at Richie.  “He’s always hanging all over you, how have you not hooked up?”

(y/n) shrugs her shoulders and stares down at her drink again.

“I dunno” She mumbles weakly.

“Has he tried-?”

“This is super awkward, can we be done?” She asked, voice still soft, embarrassed.

“I mean come on, don’t you want to f-”

“Can we stop fucking talking about this, before I’m forced to visualize his dick?” Richie cuts in, faking a gag.  “Oh, fuck, too late, thanks a lot you sluts”

Stan and Beverly are distracted by the comment and burst into laughter while Richie pretends to throw up.

After the conversation ends, and Ben starts talking about the colleges he’s deciding between, (y/n) glances over to her favorite glasses-wearing idiot.  He catches her gaze, and she mouths ‘thank you’.  He just smiles, before diving right back into conversation about why Ben should be an architect and not a poet.

A few beers later and they have to cut themselves off, because if they drink too much then Bill’s parents will notice and they’ll all get in trouble.  They shouldn’t be drinking anymore anyways, because everyone’s relatively tipsy, and with the general excitable mood among the group, drinking more would be a bad idea.

Everyone’s lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling and talking about nonsense.  What was once a serious conversation about their future has turned into a debate about what the most important thing to have when stranded on an island would be.

“A knife, definitely a knife” Mike argues.

“What? Fuck no, a gun” Stanley fights back, thus starting an argument about not having bullets because you can only choose one item.

“Flint? I guess? I don’t fuckin’ know” Beverly says sleepily.  She didn’t care much for this discussion when it started, and forty five minutes later, she still doesn’t.

“I’d bring an issue of Maxim, for sure.  Gotta keep busy you know-”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie grumbles.  “I’d bring an epipen.  I’m allergic to everything on an island”

“Oh fuck off, you’re not allergic to sand” Richie smacks the boy on his arm for suggesting something so idiotic.

“I’d bring  one of my grandpa’s sheep,” Mike spoke after what seemed like forever of deliberation.  “It’d save his life and I’d have a companion”

“That’s sweet,” (y/n) cooed, smiling delightedly at the idea of Mike wanting a friend more than anything else.  “I’ll take a sheep too, please”

The two break out into laughter for a few minutes, uncontrollable, belly aching laughter.

“You can’t copy Mike, come up with your own!” Eddie scolded, offended that (y/n) tried to break the rules of their made up game.

“Alright, alright, let a girl think first…” (y/n) folded her arms over her head as she squinted, to help her thought process.  “Um… a book”

“A book?” Eddie laughed almost maniacally at her answer.  “Alright, just fuckin’ take a sheep from Mike, that was even worse”

“What? No it isn’t,” (y/n) argued.  “It’ll keep me occupied and entertained, and when it’s done I can read it over again”

“Lame” Eddie muttered.

She reached over to smack him, and sadly Bill got caught in the crossfire.

“You wouldn’t bring your lover?” Stan teased, and she almost hit him too.  “You’d pick a farm animal over your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t think of it like that” She said quietly.

“I don’t get you guys,” Stan says, and she sighs because the conversation has somehow drifted to him, again.  “I mean, it’s been four and a half months, and typically couples get it on for their one month.  But you’ve had four anniversaries and still haven’t-”

“Why are you so interested in my business, Stanley?” (y/n) asked, a bit more defensive than she needed to be.

He raises his hands and pulls an innocent face.

“I’m just worried about you!” He retorts.  “You’re the one in desperate need-”

“I’m not desperate for anything” She snaps.

“Yeah, Stan, she’s not a virgin, (y/n’s) gotten some before” Beverly makes an attempt to back (y/n) up, but it only makes her feel worse.

“What? But he’s her first boyfriend- oh my god, who was it?” Stan asks, way more interested in this topic now.

“Leave me alone” She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder.

“Oh god, it must be real embarrassing,” Eddie is giddy for the gossip now, sitting up to join in better.  “Who was it?”

“Cut it out” She says a bit louder, sharp eyes meeting Eddies, a silent threat in them.

“Who was it, Bev?” Eddie asked, deciding to go the source it came from.

But she shrugs her shoulders, and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound.

“What do you m-mean you don’t kn-know?” Bill stammers out.

“She didn’t wanna tell me” Beverly answers, simple as that.

(y/n) covers her face with her hands.  She wishes she was more drunk than she was, because then maybe there was hope for recovering from this.  Or maybe even forgetting completely.

“Must be real embarrassing,” Richie teases.

She peeks at him through her fingers.

“Bowers?” He asks with a raised brow, and she barks out a laugh.

Everyone laughs then, at the mere idea of anyone hooking up with that nutcase.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell, okay?” She admits after the laughter has died and all attention is on her again.  “It’s private” She adds softer.

“Fine” Stan gives in, not wanting to make the girl anymore uncomfortable.

If they knew anything about (y/n), it was that she kept secrets and promises locked away forever.  She was the most trustworthy person any of them had ever met.  And she’d never break someone else’s trust either.

“But if you’ve done it before, why aren’t you, yaknow, still doing it?” Stan asks, and begins to giggle at his own words.  “I mean, if I had a hot girlfriend, I’d be doing it like… all the time”

“Pervert” (y/n) mumbles.

“Did you just call (y/n) hot?” Eddie asks, and everyone ooohs at his catch.

“Alright, alright! Calm down, of course I did!” Stan announces, and a blush takes over the girl’s face again.  But this time she’s not embarrassed, she’s flattered.  “It’s an observation, okay? Jesus”

She giggles, and leans over to kiss his cheek.

“You guys are so dumb,” She mumbles.  “I love you all so much”

“All I’m asking,” Stan declares, voice loud.  “Is why you’re avoiding it!”

“I’m not avoiding it” She argues, but she knows she’s failed because it’s such a blatant lie, and any sober mind would be able to see that.

Luckily, no one in this room is sober.

“Oh yeah?” Stan scoffs.  “Have you been home alone with him in the last four and a half months?”

“Yeah?” She asks, voice cracking slightly.

“And you didn’t screw him?”

“Watch it” Richie’s voice bites from where he lies a few feet away from them.  Stan pays it no mind, but Bev kicks his leg, and furrows her brow at him, wondering why he gave a fuck what Stan had to say.

The others were either asleep, or didn’t want to step in on the mini argument (y/n) and Stan were having.

Ben and Mike had passed out on the floor a few minutes ago.  And Eddie and Bill just sat and listened to the argument, wishing they could pass out.

“No, I- I didn’t,” (y/n) stammers.  “But so? I don’t want to rush it-”

“Liaaaar,” Stan singsongs.  “You don’t want to hook up with him”

“That’s not true!” She exclaims.  “We-. we’re actually hanging out at his place tuesday night,” She tells him matter of factly.  “Alone!”

“Ooh, good for you,” Stan retorts sarcastically.  “That doesn’t mean shit unless you actually take your pants off”

Her face scrunches up as her eyes narrow at him.  Now she’s angry, because he doesn’t believe her, and he’s not trying to.  So what if she’s lying through her teeth? He’s her friend and he should believe her.

“I’m tired” She announces suddenly, and forces herself to stand up.

She steals one of the few blankets on Bill’s bed that he’d prepared for everyone.  Her balance is a bit shaky as she wraps it around herself, and heads for the door.

“Goodnight” She calls, only once she’s left the room and is heading for the pullout bed in the living room sofa.

The room is silent for a few minutes after she’s left.

“Well fuck, you’re gonna have to apologize in the morning” Eddie mumbles, and San knows he’s talking to him.

“I didn’t think she’d get that pissed,” He replied guiltily.  “I was just messin’, I thought she’d just get embarrassed.  I don’t know what I did-”

“She doesn’t like talking about that stuff, dumbass,” Richie says.  “Shit makes her uncomfortable”

“Well I didn’t know that-” Stan starts to argue.

Beverly stops him before he can start any more drama tonight.

“Don’t worry about it, Stan, she’ll be alright,” She says, and then gets up to get a blanket as well.  “I’ll go talk to her to make sure she really is alright, goodnight”

The boys mumble a ‘goodnight’ back to her, and she descends the staircase to check on her friend, who’s laying facedown on the mattress.

“Oh, hon,” Bev laughs, and lays down next to her.  “Don’t be so upset with Stan, he was just being dumb-”

“I know” (y/n) mumbles into her pillow.

Beverly pulls the blanket she’s brought with her and drapes it over her back, so she won’t get cold while she’s pouting.

“Then what’s troubling you?”

Her words are a bit slurred, but the care is still there.

“I just… I don’t know.  I didn’t have to think about it before and now I can’t stop,” (y/n) admits with a sign.  “And maybe I’m upset because… he’s right.  Maybe I’m upset because he’s write and I wouldn’t admit it to myself, but I have been avoiding hooking up with him.  I mean, so much could go wrong and I just… don’t want to have a bunch of drama our senior year, yaknow? I want it to be smooth and easy.  And so far with him our relationship has been smooth and easy, but what if he’s wanted to do it this whole time and I keep dodging him and now he’s gonna break up with me?”

(y/n) lifts her head to turn to her redheaded friend for advice.

But Beverly is sound asleep, snoring softly against her pillow.

(y/n) can’t help but smile a bit, even though she really needed help sorting out her messy thoughts.  But she wasn’t going to bother Beverly by waking her up.

So she carefully crept off the squeaky pullout mattress, and went back upstairs.

Ben and Mike are still asleep on the floor, but someone’s thrown a couple blankets over them.

Stan is on Bill’s bed, facing the opposite direction as Bill, and they’ve both knocked off as well.

Maybe everyone else had more to drink than her, she thinks as she shuts the door to leave them be.  When she turns to head to the guest bedroom, she nearly runs into Eddie.

“Who are you looking for?” He asks right away.

He rubs his tired eyes, and she adores that he looks like a child when he does so.

“Um-”

“Richie’s in bed already,” Eddie says before she can answer.  “If you’re gonna prank him, you might want to wait a few minutes, so you know he’s in a deep enough sleep”

(y/n) chuckles at the unprompted advice, and nods her head.

“Alright... thanks” She says.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else as he pushes past her to go to sleep in Bill’s room.

“You aren’t gonna sleep in the guest room?” She asks with furrowed brows.

“Fuck no, Richie kicks and talks in his sleep.  I’d rather stay on the floor with those two” Eddie answers, and then gives her a small wave before shutting the bedroom door.

She takes a deep breath as she stands in front of the guest room’s door.  And then before she could stop herself, she opens the door, and shuts it quickly behind her as she steps inside.

Richie's laying in bed, arms wrapped around the pillow that his face is pressed into.  He mumbles a slurred ‘who is it?’ into the feathery cushion.  But he knows it’s her before she even answers.  Because as she sits on the side of the bed next to him, he can smell her perfume.

He squints up at her, having lost his glasses somewhere in Bill’s room, and wonders what she’s doing here.

“Surprise” She says weakly, and a slight smirk tugs on his lips.

“What’s goin’ on?” He asks, leaning his face back down into the comfort of the cool pillow.  He was already getting a headache from the four beers he had.  (He’d drank two of the three Eddie had gotten)

“Can we talk?” She asks in a voice so soft that she can only be referencing one thing.

Richie nods, and pats the space next to him with his palm.

She hesitates for just a moment, before giving in and laying down in the spot, grabbing a hold of the other pillow she mirrors Richie’s actions and hugs it under her head.

He doesn’t say anything, just lays there with his eyes closed in the dark and waits for her to go first.

“Was I….” She starts, but then bites her lip and shakes her head as she changes her mind.  “When we…”

“...hooked up?” He offers.

It’s so casual, so quiet, that her heart skips a beat, because she can’t believe he can just say it like that.  Speak their darkest, most carefully kept secret, out into the open like that.

“Yeah…” She mumbled back.  “Was I… I don’t know… good?”

He opens his eyes now, and his brows furrow as he sees her anxious expression.

They hadn’t talked about it since it had happened, which was their deal, but after her argument with Stan he figured she was going to sneak in here and talk to him.  He’s not sure why she looks so scared, though.

“Were you good?” He repeats her question, like he doesn’t understand it.

She nods her head.

“(y/n), of course you were good, you were you,” He chuckles, a genuine smile on his lips.  The compliment, if you could call it that, made her blush.  “He’ll be lucky to have you in his bed, alright?”

“Be honest with me,” She said.  “Don’t just say stuff to make me feel better”

“I’m not” Richie grumbles, laying back down again.

His head his swirling a bit, and with her laying so close to him, it wasn’t helping.

“Why haven’t you done it yet, anyways?” He asks her after it’s been silent for too long.

“I…” She tries and fails to answer the question.  But she’s her most honest self when she’s with Richie, and feels he deserves an explanation for her behavior tonight.  “... was scared” She finishes after a few minutes.

“You’re scared of sex?” He mumbles, and she shakes her head.

“No… just… with him”

“That makes no sense, (y/n/n)”

“I know” She whispers out, and her fingers draw patterns on the sheets.

“You think he’s gonna… hurt you?” Richie asks, because as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he has to ask.

“No, of course not,” She replies, and lifts up his blanket so she can shimmy under it and warm up a bit.  “Sometimes I feel like I just don’t know him” Her voice drops to a whisper again.

Her eyes are focused on his tee shirt, trying to figure out what band is advertised on it while Richie thinks.  He’s not sure what to tell her, because of course he doesn’t want to promote her hooking up with him.  But… the guy’s her boyfriend, so what’s he supposed to do?

“(y/n)....” He sighs, and subconsciously wraps an arm around her.  His hand tangles in her hair, massaging her scalp comfortingly.  “That’s not true, you’ve been together for a while now”

The logic is there, but she’s unconvinced.

“And besides,” He continues, and she looks up at him, meeting his kind eyes.  “When you’re ready, you’ll know,” He says, and he grins before poking her cheek and nose.  “But you already know that”

She giggles softly, swatting away his hand.

“I hate when you’re right, you know,” She says through a yawn.

Without thinking, she leaned her head into his chest.

“What if I don’t want to do it, though?” She asks.  “What if… what if I don’t like it?”

“You hurt my feelings when you talk like you’ve never done it before”

“No more jokes,” She whispers.  “I mean it”

“Then you tell him, and you stop,” Richie answers without missing a beat.  “That’s how it works… you know that, right?”

“S-sure,” She stammers out.  “But what if-”

“No, there’s no ‘what ifs’ about that one, (y/n/n),” He tells her seriously.  “I’m not fucking around, if you want to stop then you-”

“Don’t worry, Rich,” She hums.  “You don’t have to give me the consent talk, that’s not what I mean”

His brows furrow down at her, but she doesn’t see because her eyes are closed and her face is hidden in his shirt.  For a second he’s distracted and wonders if he should be holding her like this when she has a boyfriend.

“What… do you mean, then?”

“What if I’m not… um…” She trails off, clearly embarrassed.

“Come on, don’t hold out on me now” Richie chuckles teasingly.

“... attracted to him… sexually?” She speaks like she’s unsure of her words, and it takes everything in Richie not to laugh out loud.

“That’s not something I can fix, hon” He tells her, and she can tell he’s holding back a laugh.

She’s silent, and Richie hopes she hasn’t fallen asleep, because knows it wouldn’t be right to share a bed for the night.

“I mean you’ve… done other stuff, right?” He asks, and even that seems wrong.  He really shouldn’t even be talking to her about this, but it’s not his fault that he’s the only person she can talk to about this stuff.

(It’s maybe his fault that they slept together in the first place, but surely (y/n) can take some responsibility for that one)

“Not really” She says in a barely audible mumble.

“Not really?” He repeats, confused by the question.  “All you’ve done is-”

“We’ve made out a couple times,” She tells him before she overthinks it and starts to feel uncomfortable.  “That’s it”

“Clothes have never come off?” He asks with a chuckle he can’t contain.

(y/n) shakes her head.

“What the fuck is wrong with-”

“Richie…”

“-him?” He finished anyways, taking her by surprise that he wasn’t trying to bash on her.  “Look, (y/n/n), it’s your relationship, you do what you want to do.  But do you even see a future with him?”

She’s silent again.

And then she shuffles off the mattress, and heads for the door.

“(y/n),” Richie called with a sigh.  “It’s just a question”

She held the open door in her hand, and looked back at him.  He had a guilty but confused look on his face, and was propped up in ed, hoping she’d come back and finish talking.

“I’m tired, Richie,” She said softly.  “Goodnight”

He let out a sigh, regretting having been so forward and pushing her out of her comfort zone.  He hadn’t realized it when he’d asked, but he sure as hell could tell now.

“Goodnight” He said before she could shut the door behind her.

(y/n) was glad that Beverly was fast asleep on the pullout bed still, because all she did for the rest of the night is fuss to get comfortable, only to lay wide awake, overthinking.

Trying to figure out a future with her boyfriend in it. ___

[ oh feel our bodies grow, and our souls they play // yeah love i hope you know how much my heart depends ]

It was loud, it was so loud that the bass in the music playing was ringing in her ears, and making the liquid in her cup ripple.  But that might have just been because she was stumbling around so much, trying to find somewhere to chill out for a minute in this sea of bodies.

Richie Tozier’s hand was holding on tightly to hers, pulling her behind him, acting as a guide through the chaos.  But who was she kidding, he was the chaos.  It was his house party after all.

How he’d even invited this many people, (y/n) wasn’t sure.  It’s not like he knew everyone here, but word of mouth works fast in Derry, and a byob party that had half a dozen kegs and then some, not one student from their school missed it.

Even Stan was here… somewhere.  

It was a bit hopeless to go looking for people in this crowd.

Finally Richie had taken them outside.  There were still a couple dozen people hanging out in his backyard, but at least she could hear herself think, or take a step without bumping into someone.

“Thank god,” She huffed, pushing her hair out of her face and taking a drink.  “I thought I was gonna get trampled to death in there”

Richie chuckles, eyes shining as he watched her finally relax a bit.

“You would’ve made this party worth talking about if you had” He teases her.

“I think it already is,” She replies with a small and nervous laugh.  “The whole school’s here, Rich, I think people will be talking about it for a- who brought a kiddie pool?”

She cuts herself off as her eye catch a plastic pool, filled with eyes and the most beer she’s ever seen all at once.  They definitely hadn’t brought it, although she’s surprised that none of them had thought of it when planning for this party.

“Don’t know” Richie shrugs, and then wanders over to grab them two bottles.

They’d been drinking soda all night, not wanting to get shit faced so they could keep an eye on things.  But they were well past that, and at this point, whatever happens, happens.

She taps her glass against his in a quiet ‘clink’

“Cheers to you, Tozier” She says with a rather sweet smile, the kind that he compulsively smiles back at.

“And you” He replies, before tipping the bottle back and taking a long swig.

The thing about (y/n) was that… well, there was just this thing.  An undeniable, unspoken, electric thing.  There was something about her that drew Richie towards her like a magnet.  Even tonight, he’d shown up at her side, and just like that they’d spent the last two hours together.  She was such a lovely person, which was a rarity in this town.  

He had a feeling that she owned his heart, even though he just had a silly teenage crush on her.  But what had started as a silly crush, an admiration for her beauty, grew into an adoration of her entire being, her soul.  He was falling for her, at a speed from the atmosphere, and he was bound to crash soon.

Her hand reaches out and seizes the sleeve of his denim jacket, yanking him towards her all in one motion.  His heart’s beating out of his chest with anticipation, but as quickly as she’d grabbed him, she was shaking him out of his daze.

“You almost got knocked over,” She tells him, nodding to the pair of drunken boys with their arms slung around one another, stumbling around the backyard, trying to walk in sync.  “You alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, out of it” He answered with choppy words.

He finds the crease between her brows adorable.

“You only took one sip,” She jokes, poking at his bottle.  “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” She asks, holding four fingers in front of his face while giggling.

Richie rolls his eyes, grabbing her hand to pull it out of his face.

But he doesn’t let go.

And for the next hour, as they talk and drink a little and dance, her hand remains in his.  She didn’t say anything about it, which he’s silently thankful for.  Maybe she feels safer when attached to him, knowing she’s not going to get sucked into the crowd and lost.  Or maybe she just… wants to.

They’re dancing in the living room, to a song neither of them knew, with a hundred strangers, when she finally mentions it.

“You’re blushing!” She announces, albeit a bit tipsy.

There’s a grin on her face, and with her free hand she pokes at the pink on his cheeks.

“Cut that out- what’s with you and jabbing your fingers at me today?” He says, trying to brush it off and get her to forget about it.  It doesn’t work.

She bursts into a fit of laughter, and her body leans towards his a bit as she does.

She only lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck and spin them around excitedly.

“You never blush,” She says.  “So what’s on your mind?”

She sounds bubbly, as if his answer is amusing to her, and she’s impatient to hear it.  Richie shakes his head, and wills the heat in his face to go away, but it doesn’t.  Of course it doesn’t, she’s standing a few inches away from him and staring at him with those round and curious eyes that he loves and-

“You” He responds with a shrug.

His voice is cool and casual as ever, but he’s losing his shit on the inside.

Her lips form an ‘o’ as she processes the single word.  For a second he regretted speaking, which was kinda normal for him, but then her eyes lit up and she giggles with delightful bashfulness.

A breath of a laugh escapes his lips as he laughs nervously with her.

“You’re adorably funny” She says, and takes him by surprise when she leans up on her toes, cups her face in one hand, and presses a kiss to his other cheek.

When she lands back flat on her feet, she’s amused by the grin that she’d put on his face.

“Drinks?” She asks, and when he pulls a face, she clarifies, “Non-alcoholic drinks”

“Fine” He agrees, and when they head out of the living room, her hand reaches out and grabs his, slotting her fingers through his with ease.

He glances down to her when she does so, but she just gives him a big and innocent smile.

They find their friends in the kitchen.  Beverly and Eddie are quite… shit faced, while Bill is drinking water and trying to get them to have some as well.  From what Richie and (y/n) could tell, his efforts were useless.

“Let them be,” (y/n) says, ruffling up Eddie’s hair with her free hand, only to get swatted away.  “They’ll pay the consequences in the morning”

Bill shrugs and hums in agreement, but he tries to get them to drink something.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Bev asks, pointing at Richie and (y/n’s) conjoined hands.

Richie starts to let go, but she squeezes his hand and smiles almost proudly at her drunk friend.

“Well I don’t wanna get lost” She says confidently.

Beverly shrugs, not having the attention span to ask further questions, or really care.

“Is that- are you- is that rootbeer?” Eddie asks, and he squints at the can in (y/n’s) hand, like he can’t see.  “You’re at a- a fuckin’ party and you’re drinkin’ a soda?”

“Leave her alone Eddie Spaghetti” Richie chides, smacking the shorter boy on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti” (y/n) adds in a mocking tone, and giggles to herself at the nickname.

Eddie hates it, but he’s drunk off his ass, so there’s not much he can do about it.  He’ll try to throw hands with Richie tomorrow.

Bev starts to tell a story about a fight she saw on the front lawn.  It’s missing parts, and she’s having a hard time remembering most of it, but they listen because it’s funny and interesting.

(y/n) sat herself on the kitchen counter, drink in one hand and Richie’s hand in the other, laughing along and encouraging her to continue.  Even when she finishes her story, she’s not sure what happened, or who was even fighting, but it doesn’t matter.

“It’s l-late,” Bill says, eyeing the stove that reads 2:15.  “I think I should go”

“You’re not staying the night?” (y/n) asked.

Richie’s parents would be gone for another day, leaving plenty of time for the Losers Club to hang out, and clean up the trashed house everyone else left behind.

“No, I sh-shouldn’t,” He says.  “B-but I’ll come b-back tomorrow to help with th-the mess” He adds in a reassuring tone.

“Alright Billy,” (y/n) reaches her arms out towards him, prompting him to hug her goodbye.  She embraces him tightly for a short moment.  “See ya tomorrow”

He gives a small wave, and then offers a ride to Eddie and Bev.  They both decide to keep drinking and crash at the house.  He’s not surprised.

“I feel like dancing!” Beverly declares, and is out of the kitchen before anyone could say a word.

“Man is she fuckin’ wasted” Eddie chuckles.

Richie and (y/n) burst out laughing at the irony, but don’t tell him why it’s funny when he asks why they’re laughing their asses off.

Eddie winds up sitting on the kitchen floor, and then laying on it, cradling an empty bottle of vodka to his chest.

“You gonna sleep down there with him?” Richie asks (y/n), and gives the asmathic on the floor a gentle kick.

(y/n) giggles and shakes her head, and without thinking, reaches out to grab onto his hands again.  With a small tug, he steps closer, almost standing between her open legs.  But he doesn’t dare move that close.

“No…” She answers after a minute.  “There’s no way in hell you’re making me sleep on a floor”

“Well, if the beds are all taken-”

“Richard Tozier” She says his name firmly, “If you don’t give me a bed to sleep in like a human fucking being I swear I will-”

“You’ll what, sweetheart?”

His voice drops an octave, and his head cocks to the side a bit as he stares at her skeptically, wondering what it was she was about to say next.  When her mouth is left hanging open, he smirks a little.

“Come on (y/n/n), you’re not the threatening type,” He speaks at a normal volume again, but his closeness and the look on his face doesn’t fade.  “Besides, you got nothing on me”

“Oh, I doubt that-” She tries to argue, but he cuts her off again.

“Just try to think of something, you can’t.  My record’s squeaky clean”  

He leans a bit closer with every word, but the movement is miniscule, and she’s probably the only person in the room who could have noticed it.

As soon as he eyes wander to his lips, they dart right back up, but it’s too late, he caught the glance, and his smirk widens.

Richie quirks a brow in question, like an asshole.

She sets her soda can on the counter next to her.

“You really value me so little that you’ll make me sleep, where, on the floor? The bathtub?”

“I think the tub is still occupied, actually,” Richie says.  “And the floor, well, it’s covered in trash and…” He looks down to Eddie, who’s very close to passing out.  “... more trash”

(y/n) hits his chest with the back of her hand.

“That was for Eddie” She says, and Richie laughs.

She’s got an offended look on her face, and fuck if it wasn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen…

“I’m just saying sweetheart…” He shrugs his shoulders innocently.  “Your sleeping options aren’t looking great.  Pretty much everywhere is taken”

She’s quiet for a moment, and he can tell she’s hesitant, because she bites down on her lip, and she has a hard time keeping eye contact.  He doesn’t rush her to say whatever’s on her mind, just stands there, unmoving, and waits.

“Show me a bed, then, Tozier”

It’s soft, whispered like a secret, and unsure.

They’re both still for a beat, each waiting for the other to back out.

But neither do.

So he offers her his hand, which she gladly takes before hopping off the counter and following closely behind him.  Through the thinning crowd in the living room, and then up the stairs.

When they’re in the hall, he casts a look over his shoulder to her, and her eyes meet his instantly.

There’s something serious in them that he’s never seen in her before.  Like she was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it is.

Her free hand grabs onto the sleeve of his jacket, tethering herself to him.  There was nowhere to get lost up here, everyone was downstairs.  Except for the boy passed out in the bathtub, and Richie was fairly certain a couple passed out in his parent’s bedroom.  But right now, they were alone.

He brings her to his room, carefully peeking in to make sure no one was in there, before letting her inside.  He’s quick to shut and lock the door.

(y/n) gives him a look at the sound of the lock clicking, and his face flushes.

“I mean- it’d be weird if some frisky couple were to come in- while we’re in here” He defends his actions.

She just hums, and wanders over to his dresser, where his fish tank sat.  She smiled at his goldfish before swirling the tip of her finger in the water.

Richie just admires her while she glances over his things.  The picture frames, the trinkets and forgotten things he’s left there.  She looks so natural standing there.

It wasn’t often that she was in his room, Richie’s house isn’t somewhere that everyone hangs out at, and (y/n) and Richie rarely hang out alone.  It was kind of nice to have so much time with her tonight, just her.  And still, he wanted it all the time.

She can feel his eyes on her, and when she turns around, she isn’t surprised that she was right.

She gives him a small smile, and clasps her hands together behind her back.  It was a nervous habit she had, squeezing her hands together tightly, and Richie loved seeing her do it now.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” She says, desperately trying to fill the silence.  “Hasn’t changed much though” She added in a quieter voice.

He doesn’t say anything, and it only amps up her nerves.

And then he strides over to her, rather quickly, and her breath caught in her throat as he’s suddenly towering over her, face a mere few inches away from hers.  

She’s frozen, staring at him wide eyed and waiting for him to do something.

She’d thought he was going to kiss her, and when he didn’t, hear heart only beat harder in her chest.

“What?” She asks, wondering what he was doing if he wasn’t going to make a move.

“Nothing” He shakes his head, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing then?” She questions him again, voice a hundred times softer.

He gives her a playful smirk, and she almost frowns at him, annoyed by the teasing.

“I’m not doing anything” He hums with a shrug.

She rolls her eyes, done with the games, and steps away.  She needs a breath.  Or two.  Two very deep breaths.

But before she can, Richie’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back so rough that she collides into his chest, making them both stagger for a brief moment, until his lips crash down into hers.

She’s just gotten her balance back when he pulls away, staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell him to stop.

Her lips are parted and she’s panting softly, still in shock, and her eyes flutter open to meet his.

She doesn’t tell him to stop, instead, she leans up on the tips of her toes to kiss him again, a much longer kiss that she wished he’d begun with.

They pulled away at the same time.

“We can’t tell the others!” They both rush out the words so fast, so panicked, but it disappears as they register the other agrees.

And then all at once they’re kissing again.  His hands are gripping her hips, keeping her pressed completely against him, while hers are tangled in his hair, combing and gripping at his strands of curls.

Their lips move so feverishly, both desperate for every second to be fulfilling.  They knew this was a once in a lifetime chance, that this was their only chance, and it had to be perfect.

They part for a few seconds, so (y/n) can catch her breath.

His nose prods against hers, before he takes her cin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her head to the side so that he can trail a line of kisses along her jaw, tracing up to the sweet spot just below her ear.

He bit the soft skin, because he couldn’t help himself.  She gasped softly, and then giggled at the delightful and ticklish feeling of his mouth against the spot.  Her hands tighten a bit in his hair.

Eventually, once he’s left a decent purple mark on her neck, she tugs on his hair, pulling his lips back to hers needily.  She’s delicate as she glides over the seam of his lips with her tongue.  Richie isn’t so sweet as he gladly tangles his own tongue with hers.

When she’s the one to win the battle for dominance, she smirks against his lips.  But Richie’s quick to retaliate, turning her suddenly, and pushing her backwards until she runs into the wall.

Her lips detach from his as she grunts at the surprise contact, and her eyes shoot up to his out of annoyance.

“Jesus, fucking watch it” She mutters.

She grabs the collar of his jacket and yanks his lips back down to hers anyways, already craving more contact.

Kissing Richie Tozier is exactly as she expected, or more accurately dreamed, it would be.  Bliss.  Passionate.  Hot.

She hastily shoves his jacket down his shoulders, and then practically clawed the sleeves off of his arms.  As soon as it was discarded, his hands slammed into the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.  She loves it.

She wonders if he’s really gotten her addicted to his lips in a matter of two minutes.

After a few more kisses, she confirms that he has.

Her arms wrap around his neck and she can’t hold back a smile.

They part for a moment, and then rush to his bed.

(y/n’s) giggling as Richie crawls over her, one hand caressing her cheek while the other is pinned to the bed as not to crush her.  His thumb brushed over her cheekbone sweetly.

“You’re sure?” He asks, suddenly worried that he was rushing her.

But she nods, excitedly, and pulls his face down so she can kiss him again.

“But like-” Richie pulls away.  “You’re sure you’re sure? Like absolutely positive?”

“Richie,” She laughs, shaking her head a bit.  “Yes”

And that’s how it happened. ___

[ but i guess that’s love, i can’t pretend… i can’t pretend... ]

(y/n) had known Richie pretty much her whole life.  And they’d always gotten along, despite his big mouth and his tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.  She found it endearing that he would call her hot stuff and then his face would go bright red, knowing he’d made a mistake.

But the thing was, that changed the day after they’d hooked up.  They were still friends, they still hung out, and it wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was different.  He didn’t call her cute names anymore, not even sweetheart.  He stuck solely to his nickname for her.

She wasn’t sure if it was because of their incident, or because she was seeing someone.  It often felt like she was walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what to say or do.  It was like as soon as they’d crossed the line between friends and more than friends, she wasn’t sure how to go back to being just friends.

And she hadn’t ever thought of Richie as boyfriend material.  Even when they’d hooked up, she hadn’t considered the idea of being with him romantically.  Sure, he was attractive and funny and… charismatic, exciting, and somehow tender at the same time-”

“Babe..? Babe?”

(y/n) snapped back to reality, spinning around to see her boyfriend standing behind her.  He gave a short laugh before nodding to the dish in her hand that she must have been scrubbing for a few minutes now.

“Daydreaming?” He asks, while she bashfully set the very clean plate on the counter.

“Something like that” She replied, and went on to cleaning the next dish.

They’d had a nice dinner, one they both prepared.  She thought it would be fun to cook with him, maybe they would even listen to music and dance around the tiled floor.  But her boyfriend wasn’t that kind of guy, and this wasn’t a romantic comedy.

Richie would dance in the kitchen with me-

“So!” (y/n) spoke, a little too loud as she tried to rid her own thoughts from her head.  “Movie?”

Her boyfriend grinned, and gave her a thumbs up before leaving the kitchen and heading to the living room to pick out a good movie for them to watch.

(y/n) went back to distracting herself with doing the dishes.  But her pesky thoughts kept on getting in the way of her task.

Thinking of Richie in a romantic light made her feel dazed.  He was Richie.  Trashmouth Tozier, the boy she grew up with that was infamous for trying to ride his bike off the cliffside at the quarry.  He wasn’t someone you had a crush on, he was someone you always had a dumb story about.

But besides that, it simply wasn’t fair of her to think of him this way.  They had both agreed that what they had was a one time thing, and it didn’t mean anything to either of them.  They were just friends, and that was all either of them wanted to be.

At least, that’s what she’d always told herself.

But when she thought back on last summer, all she could remember was how badly she wanted him to kiss her that whole night.  And when he finally had… it felt like she was flying.

Drying the last dish, she left it on the counter, and forced herself to relax on the couch with her boyfriend.

Whatever movie he’d picked, she’d never heard of, and it only took seven minutes of watching it for her to realize why.  It was boring.

She was so damn near close to passing out, even though he seemed excited to share it with her.

“Hey,” She hummed after half an hour of forcing herself to stay awake.  He hummed in response, but didn’t look away from the television.  

So she took matters into her own hands, and turned his head so she could kiss him.

She poured all of the passion that she could into the kiss, hoping to convey that she wanted him, and she wanted him now.

But how could she do such a thing when it wasn’t true? She simply wasn’t convincing enough.  Not to him, or herself.

Defeated, she pulled away from him, and by the look on his face, she knew that he sensed her disappointment.  Which was ironic, because he had never been in sync with her emotions in the last four and a half months they’d been together.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

There was a deep frown on her face, and her eyes were so apologetic that he just knew what was coming next.

“I’m sorry” She mumbled out.

“(y/n)...?” He was hoping that by some miracle she wasn’t about to break up with him.

“I can’t do this anymore” She finished weakly, voice cracking a bit as her throat burned with tears.

“What do you mean?” He asked.  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She didn’t say anything, just shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep herself from crying.  It would be pathetic if she broke up with him and she was the one to cry about it.

“Whatever it is I can work on it, we can fix it-”

“No, you can’t-”

“Yes I can-”

“You can’t fix this!” She shouted, not meaning to come off as angry, but her emotions had flustered her and it was making her frustrated.  “Because there’s nothing to fix, there’s nothing here” She clarified, her hands flying between them.

“What do you mean there’s nothing here?” He asked, sounding broken.  For a moment, she felt bad for saying something so cruel.  “Is there someone else?”

And then her guilt disappeared.

“What? Of course not-”

“Well there- there has to be!”

“Well there isn’t!” She shouted back.  “Jesus Christ, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t feel anything, anything, for you! I thought with time that I could learn to love you, but I haven’t.  There’s no spark-”

He seized forward, taking her face in his hands and kissing her frantically.

But just as soon as his mouth crushed over hers, she shoved his shoulders with all the force she could muster, and leapt off of the sofa.

She was stunned to silence at first, surprised that he’d done something so dramatic and… disgusting.

“I’m done,” She said, heading for the door, and putting on her shoes and coat with lightning speed.  “Don’t fucking call me- don’t talk to me at school, I’m done”

He tried to call after her, but she slammed the door behind her as she stormed out, and ran down the sidewalk, just in case he had the idiotic idea to chase after her.

She slowed at the end of the block, mentally striking herself upside the head at the thought.  Of course he wouldn't chase after her.  It would be an act of passion for him to pursue her, and he would be in denial to think he was any more in love with her than she was with him.

It dawned on her that she’d been in denial for the past four months for thinking she could learn to love him.  You can’t learn to love anybody, it has to come naturally.  And there wasn’t one natural thing about their relationship.

She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm in the chilly december air, and walked the rest of the way home.  She’d had enough of today, and just wanted to crawl into bed, and try not to cry. ___

When the doorbell rang, Richie ignored it.  Surely his parents would get it, and he could stay in bed.

When it rang again, he shoved his pillow over his head.

It wasn’t until the third time the sound rang that he remembered his parents were at an event in Augusta tonight.

So with a groan, and the realization that whoever it was, wasn’t going to go away, he dragged himself out of bed, and down the stairs.

It was almost midnight, who the fuck was a the door? He decided if it was some freshman ding-dong ditching him, that he’d run them down and ruin their shit.

When he whipped open the door, he also opened his can of whoop ass on the unsuspecting freshman.

“Do you realize that it’s the middle of the fucking ni-”

He shut up real fast when he realized it was (y/n) standing there, who now looked incredibly taken off guard to have been greeted so harshly.

“(y/n)?”

It was only then that he realized she was crying softly.

“Oh- oh my god, I’m sorry-  I thought you were-”

“It’s fine” She said, and then sniffled quietly.

“What- what are you-”

“I’m sorry, it’s not r-right of me to show up in the middle of the night,” She whimpered a little bit, and wiped her sleeve over her cheeks to get rid of her tears.  “I should go home-”

“No,” Richie reached out, taking her wrist and tugging her inside.  “Come in, stay” He rushed the words out while shutting the door, not wanting her to leave, and especially not like this.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop her own shivering.  She didn’t even want to look at Richie while crying, but at the same time-

“So what’s going on-?”

Before he could even finish talking, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

Richie stumbled a bit from the sudden force of her hug, but wrapped his arms around her nonetheless and hugged her tightly.

It was obvious that she was trying to stop crying in front of him, but she just couldn’t help it.

“Did something happen?” He asked, but received no answer.  “Are you hurt?”

He could feel her tears seeping into the fabric of his tee shirt.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He called softly, and pulled her away to look at her.  She kept her eyes shut, which made him chuckle, but eventually she looked up at him.  “Come on, (y/n/n),” He hummed.  “Talk to me”

She took in a deep breath, and Richie mentally prepared himself for whatever was going to come next.  It must be serious if she came to him instead of Beverly, or Eddie.

“I couldn’t have sex with him” She murmured.

Richie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and confusion, and a feeling he wasn’t quite sure of.  He never would have guessed that’s what had her so distraught.

“Um…”

“I know,” (y/n) cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks again.  “It’s pathetic, I’m so pathetic!”

“(y/n),” Richie said, setting his hands on her shoulders so she would calm down.  “You’re not- where is this coming from? Why are you so upset about this?”

It took her a minute to catch her breath, and her tears hadn’t really stopped flooding, but at least she could speak again.

“I broke up with him” She admitted.

Richie’s eyes widened, and again, she’d done what he’d least expected.  Her eyes were darting between his, trying to figure out what he was thinking.  But he looked so shocked, she couldn’t tell.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” She asked in a murur, her hands resting against his chest, and her body gravitating towards his a bit more from the sensitive question.

“I…”

He was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with her, his brain moving far too fast and his train of thought going in too many different directions for him to comprehend what he even thought.

“You do, don’t you?” (y/n) asked defeatedly.  “I should’ve tried harder- maybe I could have loved him-?”

“What? (y/n), no, don’t think like that,” He scolded her gently.  “If you didn’t feel anything, then that’s it, that’s the end, it didn’t work”

She stares down at her feet.

“(y/n)...” Richie sighed, lifting her chin softly with his hand.  “Did you even like him?”

She shrugged her shoulders, which was answer enough.

“Oh, (y/n),” His thumb stroked gently against her jaw, before he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her again.  “If you didn’t like him there was never even a chance of you falling in love- that’s just not how it works sweetheart”

(y/n) grabbed the back of his shirt in her fists, just wanting to hold onto him for a few moments longer.

“How’s it work?” She mumbled into his shoulder after embracing for a few moments.

“Well first of all, you don’t learn to do it, it just happens,” He chuckles, and his hands begin to rhythmically rub her back.  “And you won’t find them boring.  That guy was a sack of fucking potatoes (y/n/n) I don’t know what you were doing with him-”

“Yeah yeah I get it,” She cut him off before he could go on.  “What else?” Her voice was so soft, so full of curiosity for where these kind words were coming from, that she just had to know what more Richie thought about the subject.

“Well…” He hummed, still rubbing her back as he thought.  “You typically enjoy their company, more than anyone else’s, even if you won’t admit it,” He was thinking out loud.  “And they’ll always be the prettiest thing in your eyes- even when they won’t stop crying all over you” He teased.

She glared up at him, and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“Come on, be real,” She said.  “He was nice, and cute, and he really liked me, why wasn’t there a spark?”

He shook his head at her.

“Like I said.  Can’t learn to love someone, and you can’t force what isn’t there,” He shrugged.  “I’m sorry though.  You’re clearly bothered by it”

She wanted to explain that she wasn’t bothered by the breakup at all.  She was bothered by the mixup in her feelings.  By what she thought to be true- but wasn’t quite sure yet.

“You want tea? Or something?” He offered after she hadn’t spoken for a few beats.

“No,” She shook her head, and then stepped back from him.  “A blanket would be nice though? I had to walk the whole way here and it’s freezing”

Richie chuckled, and nodded.

“‘I’ll get one from upstairs.  Be right back”

He headed off rather quickly, taking the steps two at a time to get a blanket from his room.

The one time she’d stayed overnight, she’d really liked one of his- and he’d know, because she hogged it, and he had to wake her up to get her to share.  So he figured that one would do fine.

At the sound of a soft knocking at his door frame, he turned to see (y/n) standing there.

Her eyes were wandering around his room, mapping it out like it was her first time here.  However, she hadn’t been here since…

He didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks when her gaze landed on his bed, the covers messed up from his attempts to sleep earlier.  And then finally, she looked at him.

“Oh,” She smiled, and walked into the room, taking the blanket from his hands.  “You remembered” She said with a small laugh as she wrapped it tightly around herself.

It was still a little bit warmed, and smelled so distinctly like Richie, it made her want to melt into it.  And she nearly did for a moment.

“Well how could I you almost made me freeze to death that night”  He muttered teasingly.

“Fuck off, I did not” She played back, but her voice was much gentler than his.

He gave her a look as if to say ‘you did though’, which she only rolled her eyes to.

Deciding it’d be best to ignore him, she walked over to his dresser to excitedly play with his fish.  It didn’t do much, but it did swim back and forth in front of her finger, which was amusing enough.

“You… want to watch a movie?” Richie asked.

He didn’t want her to leave, but he didn’t know how to offer her to stay the night either.

“Sure” She answered, and followed him downstairs.

Richie made her pick the movie, that way whatever they watched she wouldn’t lose interest in.

“What?” She’s asked when he tried to leave the room for popcorn.

“I said pick whatever you want so you actually watch it and enjoy it” Richie repeated himself, and was in the kitchen before he could see her face change expressions.

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and all she could do was stare at where he stood with his back to her.  She didn’t even bother looking at his DVD collection, and followed him into the kitchen.

“You want me to pick a movie I like?” She asked him.

Richie gave her a weird look over his shoulder as she set the timer on the microwave.

“What? Yeah” He answered.

“But you’ll hate it,” She said matter-of-factly.  “It’s a chick flick, it’s real cheesy, not even Eds would watch it with me”

“Okay?” Richie repeated.  “You setting me up to hate it?”

She stared at him skeptically, and Richie had a similar look on his face, but only because he was very confused.

“Just pick a movie, (y/n/n), anyone’s fine” He chuckled.

He pulled the bag of popcorn out of the mic when it beeped, and dumped it’s contents into a large bowl.  When he turned back around, (y/n) was still standing there.  His brows furrowed, and he popped a kernel into his mouth.

“Would you dance with me?” She asked him.

Her volume was so soft he almost didn’t catch what she’d said, but when he processed the words, he was sure he’d heard her wrong.

“What?”

“Would you dance with me?” She repeated, a bit more clearly.  “If I asked?”

“Is…. that what you want to do?” Richie spoke unsurely, trying to figure out what part of the breakup process ‘dancing’ would fall under.  He shoved more popcorn into his mouth.

“I just wanna know” She shrugged.

“I mean, sure, but then the popcorn would get cold, it’s only good when it’s-”

“Richie” She mumbled, and by some miracle he actually heard her, and stopped rambling.  He knows from the way she’s staring at him, and the sudden softness in her voice that something’s up.  He waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

“What?” He feels like he’s lost, because he really has no idea what’s going on with her tonight.  This breakup had really thrown her for a loop, he supposed

“Nothing” She shook her head, and before he could question her about her strange behavior, snatched the popcorn bowl and made a break for the living room.

When they got settled on the sofa and the movie (y/n) picked began to play.  They were sat side by side, the bowl of popcorn separating them.  She tucked her feet up underneath her in an attempt to be more comfortable, and kept on fussing with the blanket.  It was like no matter how many times she readjusted, she just couldn’t get settled.

Eventually, she sighed, and looked over at Richie.

Low and behold, he was completely wrapped up in the plot of the movie, and hadn’t noticed a thing.  (y/n) smiled at this, loving that he’d actually gotten into her lame romantic comedy.  She leaned her head back on the cushion as she admired him.  He was so serious when he was focused on something, his jaw set in place, eyes trained on the screen.  It was so cute how drawn into the movie he really was.

Something happened that made him laugh, and he turned to (y/n) to crack a joke about it, but whatever he was about to say was lost on him when he caught her eyes already locked on him.

“Would you do it again?” She asked, before he could think of anything to say.  He doesn’t have to ask her to clarify what she means, because he knows, he can tell by the way she’s studying him.  “Ever?” She adds in a mumble after he’s been quiet for just a beat too long.

“Well, that’s a trick question now isn’t it?” He chuckles, but she shakes her head.

“No,” She speaks softly, “It’s not, I’m just wondering,”

She’s looking up at him so innocently that he wonders what sparked this question.  Not that he hadn’t been thinking about it every minute of every day for the past four and a half months or so.  He just didn’t think it ever crossed her mind.  They had sworn to each other that it was a one time thing, no pesky strings or feelings attached.  And Richie had thought she’d stuck to that promise pretty well- mostly because not a week later she’d gotten asked out, and then she dated the guy for a while.  

“There’s no wrong answer, Rich,” She giggles, a nervous little sound that was the result of her heart doing backflips in her chest.  “Really”

His eyes flicker between her impatient ones, testing to see if that were really true.

“Kind of” He says.

Her brows furrowed, signaling that there apparently was a wrong answer, and he’d said it.

“Kind of-?”

“Well, there’s a lot I’d do differently” He muses with a shrug of his shoulders, before she could get upset and ask him just what the hell ‘kind of’ means.

She angles her body a bit more towards his, waiting eagerly to hear what he has to say.  But he gives her a confused look.

“What would you do differently?” She asks.  She sounds restless, and Richie chuckles to himself.  “Come on, really”

“For starters, I wouldn’t have chosen to do it at my own houseparty.  Someone busted the coffee table you know, and I blame you for that-”

“What else?” She asks abruptly.

“Alright well,” Richie huffs, deciding there was no turning back now, because she was already more than eager to hear what he was thinking.  “Also probably should’ve been a little more sober, just a little,” She laughed quietly, but didn’t speak so that he’ll keep talking.  “And I would’ve grabbed an extra blanket, had I known you were a blanket hogger”

She laughs again, and this time he laughs with her.  It’s a sweet moment, for it being so vulnerable.

“And I would’ve made sure you didn’t go in the morning” He confesses, in the midst of their laughter.  (y/n’s) laughter stops instantaneously.

“What?” She murmurs, like she’d heard him wrong, because she must have heard him wrong.

“Yeah,” He shrugs.  “I wouldn’t have let you go”

She blinks, stunned.

“You wanted me to stay?” She asks, a sweet little whisper that was bound to make everything come crashing down.

“Of course I did,” Richie chuckles.  “I’d be an idiot to let you- I was an idiot to let you go.  I hated that feeling,”

She’s silent again, her lips parted as the more he explained himself, the more surprised she was.

“It felt like- like I’d made the biggest mistake of my life- and trust me sweetheart, sleeping with you was a miracle- but if I could do it over again I wish that I could’ve...um…”

She’s waiting, hanging on to every word he spoke.  She doesn’t realize that she’s leaning closer to him, too antsy to wait for him to find his voice.

“(y/n/n) if I’m being honest then I would’ve told you how I felt- about you- that night”

“How you felt about me?” She repeats in disbelief, and then sits upright on the couch, realizing they’re only a few inches away from one another.  

Richie watches her as she takes the popcorn bowl and sets it to the side.  And then leans back in towards him again, giving him her undivided attention.

“And how did you feel about me?” She murmurs.

Her hands set on his wrists, grasping onto them softly as his hands reach out to wrap around her waist.

“How didn’t I feel- Jesus I liked you so much I lost my fucking mind when you wanted me too”

Once he’s holding her firmly, she lets go of his hands to rest her palms on his shoulders, tilting up towards him to be more at his height.  Even sat on the couch Richie practically towered over her.

“I didn’t know it was more to you than a quick fuck” She hums.  Her voice is too sweet to be saying something so filthy, and it makes him chuckle just a bit.

He couldn’t help but tug her hips forwards, small prod really, but she took the bait and swung her leg over his lap.

“There was nothing quick about it sweetheart,” He teases, and as she situates herself on his lap, he releases one of his hands from her waist to gently trail his fingers over her throat, until his hand settles against the side of her neck.  She’s blushing, but she’s smiling with anticipation.

He pulls her towards him a bit, and the tip of her nose presses against his cheek, her lips barely ghosting his.  When her eyes flickered shut, Richie smirks

“And you were never a quick fuck”

She leans in, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and never stop.  There was more electricity between them in this moment than she’d ever felt with her ex, and the realization made her feel like she was alive again.

Just as her moment of liberation is about to happen, the doorbell rings.

Richie brushes it off and cups her cheek, leaning in to kiss her anyways, but then his visitor started screaming.

“Richiieeee!” The distinct voice of Eddie Kaspbrack rings out from the other side of the door.  “Dude! Open up! I got some drama for you!”

Richie and (y/n) turn to look at each other, equally confused.

“Let’s just pretend he’s not there” Richie says, making her giggle as he finally tries to kiss her.

And then Eddie lets himself in.

“I’m coming in!” He announces, and shuts the door behind him.  “You’re not gonna believe this! (y/n) broke up with-”

It doesn’t surprise the couple on the couch when Eddie stops talking, and stares wide eyed and open mouthed.

“What the fuck is going on here!?” He’s screaming, which also isn’t a surprise, but it’s very upsetting.

(y/n) calmly slides off of Richie’s lap, and he lets go of his hold on her.

“Nothing” They say at the same time, unconvincingly.

“You were on his lap-” Eddie accuses.

“I-”

“You were kissing-!”

“No-?” Richie tries.

“You guys have been fucking this whole time!” He screeches.

“No!” Richie and (y/n) speak simultaneously again.

“Wait,” (y/n) walks over to Eddie.  “How did you know I broke up with-”

“He called me” Eddie shrugged.

“What?”

“Yeah, he was trying to call you, but you never picked up.  Clearly you weren’t home, because you were here, letting Richie get in your pants- jesus fuck (y/n) I thought you had better standards-”

“Stop it” (y/n) hissed, before frustratedly running her hands through her hair.

Richie shot up from the couch, walking over in hopes of convincing her to sit back down and relax again.  But she shrugged off his hand and continued to pace around between him and Eddie.

“Very uncool, dickwad” Richie muttered to Eddie, who gave him an exasperated look and flipped him off.

“Why’d you come here then?” (y/n) spoke up.

“Um… huh?” Eddie played stupid.

“Why’d you come here? If my ex called you looking for me, why’d you come to tell Richie the news?”

Eddie and Richie shared a look, only making the girl more confused.

“I- well I thought you’d be here, you know, for support-”

Eddie shut up when the girl narrowed her eyes in disbelief.  He was never a good liar, and (y/n) had a pretty good bullshit detector.

“This isn’t important,” Eddie shook his head.  “What’s important is that he’s heartbroken, and looking for y-”

“I don’t care,” (y/n) said with a humorless chuckle as she crossed her arms over her chest.  “I don’t fucking care! He’s the worst, and he’s insane to think that he was ever in love with me.  Had a real boring way of expressing it-”

“Uh, I’m not here to tell you to get back together with him” Eddie said before she could yell anymore.

“What are you here for, then?” (y/n) asked.

“I could ask you the same thing” Eddie shoots back, and smirks victoriously between the two.

Richie’s just standing there, knowing better than to open his mouth.  If he did, something bad would slip and he knew it, so he stared down at the ground.

(y/n) puckers her lips, casting a glance to Rich before back to Eddie.

“Well?” The asthmatic boy asks.  “What the fuck were you guys up to?”

“None of your business,” Richie says before (y/n) has the chance to say anything.  “You should go, Eds, I’ll call you tomorrow.  We’re busy”

“With what?” Eddie’s practically daring Richie to confess.

“We’re watching a movie, don’t make me fucking kick you out”

Eddie rolls his eyes, bored with the lack of drama, and then heads for the door.

As soon as he closes it, he whips it open again, pointing an accusatory finger at the pair left standing there, as if he’d caught them in the act.

“Go, Eds” They both say, with the utmost annoyance in their voices.

This time when he left, they both watched the door, as if waiting for him to jump back into the room again.  When it was clear he’d actually gone this time, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief.

She looked at Richie, and then back to the couch, where the movie, the popcorn bowl, and her blanket were left unattended.

“I should probably g-”

“You wanna stay the night?” Richie asked before she could finish her sentence, and her eyes shot up to his.

“Really?” She asked in disbelief.

Richie just nodded, and so she hesitantly nodded back.

“Okay” She agreed softly.

“I’ll find something for you to sleep in,” He told her.  “You can finish the movie if you want” And with that he headed up the stairs.

At this point, she was more confused than ever.  She had no idea where her and Richie stood now, the line between friendship and something… else… was so warped in her mind that she couldn’t tell how he felt anymore.

Richie came back down a few minutes later, finding her sat on the couch with the movie paused and the popcorn bowl in her lap.  He grinned as he handed her a long sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants that looked very soft.

After changing quickly in the bathroom, she concluded they were the coziest things she’d ever worn.  And Richie’s scent and laundry detergent lingered in them, making every inhale of breath she took be inviting.

When she came back out, Richie was on the couch, just waiting.  His back was turned to her, and she could tell he was drumming his hands on his legs, a frequently done nervous habit of his.

She stood there for a moment, too anxious to walk over and sit with him like nothing had happened in the last half hour.  Even though with everything that’s happened, her heart was beating a mile a minute with no end in sight.

Richie must’ve realized she was there, because he turned and made a face as if to ask why she was just standing there.

His expression softened though when his eyes landed on her figure.  She looked so goddamn cute in his clothes that were just a bit too big for her.  And by just a bit, I mean the sleeves kept falling over her hands and the waistband of the sweatpants had probably been rolled three times to keep the fabric from barely touching the ground.

He thought he was gonna have a stroke.

“You gonna come sit, sweetheart?” He finally spoke, “Or just stand there and look pretty all night?”

She laughs, and the tension in the room thins out a little as she makes her way over to sit with him again.  Richie plays the movie again, and just like before, gets sucked right into it.

(y/n) sort of watches it, but has little attachment to what’s going on.  Her mind is too busy processing everything, there was no capacity to keep an eye on a film as well.

The popcorn bowl is empty, so she can’t distract herself with eating.  And she’s already tapping her fingers on her knee to a made up beat in her mind.  How Richie is able to actually watch this movie right now is beyond her.

“(y/n)?” He asks, and she realizes he’s been staring at her for a while, trying to get her attention.  She hums in response.  “Do you want me to shut off the movie?”

Her eyes are wide as they meet his.

“W-why?” She stammers out.

“Because you aren’t paying attention at all,” He chuckles.  “Are you tired? It is like… one in the morning”

“Uh- yeah, I-I guess” She stumbles over her words again, and balls up the fabric of her blanket in her hands.

He gives her a dorky little smile, and then stands to turn off the tv.  She watches him grab the empty bowl before leaving the room.

She gets up to follow him into the kitchen, but he waved her off.

“You should go up to bed,” He says.  “I’ll finish up down here”

She doesn’t know what else to say, so she follows the instructions.

It dawns on her that she hasn’t told her parents that she won’t be coming home tonight, but as she gets situated in Richie’s bed with her new favorite blanket, she just can’t seem to care.  She decides a lecture when she comes home tomorrow is worth it.

She’s under all the covers, and her face is buried deep into a pillow when Richie finally comes up.  He smirks at how settled she’s already gotten.

“You sleeping already?” He asks quietly, and her eyes open to smile at him.

“No, ‘m waiting” She hums, before snuggling her face back into her pillow.

“Waiting?” He asks, and walks closer to hear her better.

“Mhm”

“For… Santa?”

“For you, dummy,” She giggles softly, and then makes a grabby hand towards him.  “Hurry up”

He laughs, and shakes his head at her, before kneeling onto the bed.

“I kinda thought I should sleep on the-”

“In here,” She whispers, hand finding his wrist and latching onto it.  “With me, please” She adds in a much softer voice, like she’s embarrassed to ask, and he knows that she is.

“Okay…” Richie hesitantly gets under the covers.  “As long as that doesn’t bother you”

“It didn’t before” She replies casually.

Her eyes are closed, but he smiles warmly at the comment.  He thinks she’s falling asleep, but he was wrong, because her hand trailed from his wrist so that her fingertips were pressed into his palm.

“Richie?” She calls quietly.

He hums.

Her eyes open, and she squirms a little closer to him, finding comfort in the heat he radiated.

Her fingers slot into the spaces between his perfectly, and she grasps his hand tight.

“You weren’t a quick fuck for me either,” She admits gently.

He can see in her eyes that she’s uncertain, that she’s nervous to say anything, so he squeezes her hand to reassure her that she can tell him anything.

“And I wanted you long before that night, I just… um…” She licks her lips anxiously before continuing.  “I didn’t think that you uh… actually wanted me, you know, like, more than…” She doesn’t finish her thought, but she doesn’t have to.

Richie gives her a smile, and then reaches his free hand out to brush his knuckles over her cheek.  She smiles back at the comforting touch.

“You’ll stay in the morning?” He whispers, and she nods, brows drawn together as her smile widens.  “Good” He breathes out in relief.

They lean in simultaneously, and their lips touch in a soft and sweet kiss.  (y/n) relishes in how her lips seemed to have his committed to memory, and she melts against him once again.

She pushes forward so that her body is flush against his, and her free hand is holding his shirt in a fist.  She’s filled with more love and lust and happiness that a girl can be, practically overflowing with it, even.

Richie pulls away too soon for her liking, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear tenderly before meeting her gaze.

“If anyone asks,” He tells her, “That was our first kiss”

(y/n) giggles, and nods her head before kissing him sweetly again.

“Okay” She agrees.

His fingers comb through her hair for a few moments, and he contemplates laying here, like this, with her, for the rest of his life.  The quiet moment is so serene, so perfect, that he can’t imagine ever being happier than he is right now.

(y/n) whispers something, but it’s so soft that he only catches her lips moving.

“What?” He muses, and instantly there’s a pink blush blooming across her cheeks.  “What?” He asks again, this time chuckling at her bashfulness.

“I love you…” She murmurs, only darkening her blush.

Richie pulls her into his chest, wrapping her up in his arms as he cradles her close for the night.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He responds with a kiss to the top of her head.  “Let’s do it right this time, okay?”

“M’kay” She hums back delightedly, already beginning to fall asleep in his arms.

It took months of agony and confusion to get here, but it couldn’t be clearer now.  This is what love was supposed to feel like.  She hadn’t learned to love before because that’s simply not how it works.  Her heart already belonged to someone else, and she hardly even knew it.  But now, it and she were all his, and he’d take good care of them.

[ i guess that’s love, i can’t pretend. ]

___

taglist: @fiantomartell​ @lemonypink @darling-egg​​

xoxo ~ jordie

#it 2017 #it 2019 #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier scenario #richie rosier fanfiction #finn wolfhard #bill hader

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXIV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m really anxious about this one -Danny

Words: 4,934

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Two: Sickness.

"You're right," Erick sat on the couch next to her. "Emily and Sirius are undeniably together."

"But they're hiding something," Mel pointed with the rubber wand she was holding. "Every time I hint I want to know more about their relationship, they panic—"

"So that's where you learned it from?" Fred smirked.

Mel slapped the back of his head and he moved away from between her knees, facing his brother from the other side of the rug instead.

Things had gone swiftly after Erick's rescue. Sirius was in a jolly mood on the daily, surrounded by good company and decorating the house with everyone's help. Mel would spend most of her days with the twins and Flint, who surprisingly seemed to have taken a liking to Fred and George, or maybe it was that Ron and Harry kept on treating him like he was Malfoy's long lost cousin.

Erick's attitude towards her did change a bit after the first night. She'd expected him to keep on teasing her and acting as if she were a little girl. However, he would follow her around the house like a very polite shadow, and he was usually eager to be of use for her.

Maybe it was his way of showing how grateful he was about being there, and Mel could tell the twins wanted to tease him, but given the recent misfortune the boy had gone through they were keeping everything to themselves.

Either way, after a few awkward mornings in which Mel had attempted to catch her mother and Sirius off guard only to get really vague answers or watch them walk away from the conversation, she decided to involve the boys. After all, if there was a group of people who were experts at finding out secrets, it was this trio.

"You know," Erick sighed as he picked up a book he'd been reading, "maybe you should tell them you're okay with it and let them do the rest of the talking if they want..."

"They already know I'm okay with it," Mel huffed. "I don't know why are they acting so weird now, it's like they think I'll murder them if I catch them snogging..."

"Maybe you should tell them you and Fred are dating," The Slytherin replied with a smirk. "See if you get a reaction out of them."

"You know what, maybe I will," Mel said resolutely. "I'll do it right now, while everyone's scattered around the house..."

"I was joking," Erick's smile evaporated and he added in a whisper. "Don't do that! You're not even dating for real!"

"Well no, but no one apart from you knows that!" She replied quietly. "It might catch them off guard..."

"I'll never understand why you take his advice right away but when it's me you refuse to listen," Fred grumbled.

"Because your advice is always to 'let things be' or 'maybe a few kisses will make you forget it'," Mel frowned. "Your advice sucks."

"You didn't think I was so terrible the other nigh—"

"I swear on my Grandad's grave," Erick warned him. "If you finish that sentence I'll leave George twinless."

"Sorry," Fred turned back to his game of exploding snap, "forgot we have to watch our mouth now that you're around, grandpa..."

Erick threw a cushion at Fred, but he was looking livelier than ever before. From time to time, he would loosen up and act like an actual teenager, which looked quite nice on him. Mel could feel him healing , and the best part was that she could feel herself healing too.

She knew everyone was keeping Harry at a proper distance from her as well, her friends had listened to their argument, but the funny thing was that if anyone would've tried to ask her about Harry now, she would've answered with no hesitation.

Telling Erick was liberating, especially after her last fight with Harry where she realized that -unfortunate, but expected- her feelings for him had diminished to the point where they were nothing but a memory.

She didn't hate him anymore, didn't resent him either. That helped both of them coexist in the same house without imploding. Harry was treating her like a real person and not a damsel he needed to save, and Mel was finally able to talk to him without being afraid of hurting his feelings. She could be honest because she didn't have anything to lose by doing so.

Mel walked through the house when she heard Sirius arguing with her mother in the kitchen. Curious to know what was the fight about, Mel sneaked in as silently as she could, and she hid behind the railing so the adults couldn't see her in the dim light.

"I'm telling you it's nothing!" Emily was saying. "It's normal, the first few months the nausea is always like that, you're losing your mind over nonsense!"

Mel's stomach dropped. Nausea?

"It's been a hard couple of weeks," Sirius replied, "I shouldn't have let you leave the house after Fred and George said they'd go get Erick, you're in no condition—"

"I will ask you," Emily said impatiently, "to stop talking about me like I'm dying. Don't be ridiculous, I've gone through it before, I know my limits!"

Her mum! It was her mum the one who was sick!

It was enough they'd hidden her uncle's sickness from her all those years ago, it was not going to happen again.

"What's wrong with my mum?"

Sirius and Emily stopped their bickering, both adults turning to see the girl with wide eyes.

"Mel..."  

"Nothing's wrong with your mum, little Em," Sirius was quick to reply. "We were just... we were..."

"Don't lie to me," Mel frowned. "I heard you, you said my mum was sick..."

"No, love, you misunderstood–"

"We were talking about your mother's morning sickness," Sirius said pointedly.

Emily hit the man's arm, but Mel didn't react.

"What's that?"

Sirius looked positively confused.

"What do you... you don't know?" He looked at the woman next to him and whispered something. Emily turned bright red.

"Of course she knows how babies are born, Sirius!"

"Then why is she—"

"Because we never went into those specific details," Emily replied. "Fine! I've avoided this conversation long enough, and you're bound to found out in the end. Sit down, Mel."

Mel obeyed.

"Well..." Her mother started. "I guess by now you're aware that Sirius and I..."

"Yes, much like everyone else in this house," Mel pushed it aside. "What does that have to do with your sickness?"

"Because my sickness," Emily's voice faltered. "My... er..."

"Morning sickness is a symptom, Mel," Sirius continued. "But it doesn't come from a disease."

Mel's frown deepened. "What is it, then?"

"I'm pregnant."

"What?" The girl blinked. "How— Are you sure?"

"Yes," Sirius scratched the back of his head. "For the last two months..."

"TWO MONTHS?" Mel stood up, her hands going up to cover her mouth. The rest of the sentence came out muffled. "You've been pregnant for two months?!"

"Don't be vexed," Emily winced. "I tried to send a letter, but it felt like such a cold way to let you know... then you came home but trouble just kept coming..."

"That's the reason you were fighting when we arrived!" Mel said in realization. "You didn't want my mum to hurt herself!"

"Which is stupid, really," Emily huffed, glaring at the man standing behind her. "I'm not that far yet, I can do stuff."

"Oh my god," Mel covered her mouth again. "The baby's yours!" She exclaimed, pointing to Sirius.

The man cackled in that barking laughter of his.

"Yeah, the baby's mine too."

Mel let out a short squeal.

"I'm going to have a sibling!"

"You're not angry?" Emily asked.

"Angry?" Mel frowned, a smile still playing on her lips. "Why would I be angry about having a family?"

"I told you she would understand, Mily," Sirius said proudly.

"I'm so happy!" Mel beamed, pulling in both adults for a hug.

"That's great," Emily chuckled nervously. "You can't tell the others though, we're waiting..."

"Waiting for what?"

"We want to give the news during Christmas," Sirius said, completely elated. "It just seems like the right moment to do it."

On Christmas morning the girl woke up to the usual pile of gifts at the foot of her bed, but for the first time, she ignored them and walked out of her room, already looking for her mother.

Fred and George stopped her at the top of the stairs and shook their heads grimly.

"Don't go in, Lady. Mum's just gotten Percy's jumper. He didn't even try to ask about dad."

"Go back to bed," George shook his head. "Trust us."

"Oh," Mel frowned. "Okay..."

She returned to her bed and grabbed the first present. It was from Lupin, a book on defense against the dark arts and another of magizoology, both with beautiful front covers and illustrations.

The second was from Hermione's, a quill that was magically fixed so its users couldn't make mistakes. Mr and Mrs Weasley gave her a new jumper -a nice cream colour with an 'M' in the middle- the first she was getting with her initial, and as she moved through the pile she realized three people were missing: Her mother, Sirius, and Harry.

The last one was not a surprise, but she wondered why her mother hadn't given her a present that year.

'Maybe the baby is my present,' she thought with excitement.

When she left her room, she ran into Erick.

"Merry Christmas!" She said happily.

"Merry Christmas," He yawned. "Hey... can you believe I got presents?"

"Well, yeah," Mel grinned. "What were you expecting?"

"Joseph and Gran were the only ones to give me things apart from my family," He said, still a bit unused to his situation. "But here I got presents from everyone and they don't even know me..."

"Did you like mine?" She looked down for a moment and gasped. "Is that... is that a Weasley sweater?"

Erick stared down at the emerald green fabric and smiled.

"Yeah, look," He pointed to the snake in the middle. "Slytherin themed and all... it was nice of them."

"That's so sweet," Mel beamed. "What else did you got?"

"A few sweets from Fred and George— don't worry, normal sweets, not their creations... a planner from Hermione, which I think will be very useful, if I'm honest... Lupin gave me a book on muggle history that looks really interesting— Oh, your Mum gave me this er... disk-man?"

"Discman," Mel laughed. "Those are for muggle music, I believe you'll like it a lot..."

"Hang on," Erick eyed her up, finally noticing her outfit. "Is that— wow— is that your sweater?"

"Yeah," She looked down. "Why?"

Erick's smiled widened.

"You'll love this..." He walked to the twins' room and looked inside. "Oi! Fred! Come here..."

He walked back to her with Fred beside him, when Mel noticed his sweater, she gasped.

"No!"

Fred's jumper was cream-coloured as well, with an F in the middle.

"What colour does George have?" Mel asked in worry.

"Blue," Fred made a face. "Oh no..."

"Did you tell your mother?" She asked hurriedly. "Frederick, did you tell your—?"

"Of course not!"

"It may have slipped from my mouth," George walked out of his room looking amused and just a little guilty. "I didn't think she would do something like this, though... I asked her not to tell..."

"Bloody brilliant," Mel groaned, flushed and embarrassed.

"Well, this surely will be a surprise for your mother," Erick said casually, walking towards the stairs. "Let's go have breakfast..."

After lunch, the kids, Moody, Mrs Weasley, Emily, and Lupin got ready to visit Mr Weasley back in St. Mungo's. Erick joined, he was eager to see what kind of things the healers had to deal with on the daily.

As they left Sirius with Tonks, Mel realized it'd been a while since she'd seen Kreacher. Actually, she hadn't seen him since the first day of their break. When she mentioned this to the girls, Ginny's expression darkened.

"We said the same to Sirius. You know how he told Kreacher 'out' when we arrived, and we didn't see him afterwards... well, Sirius doesn't mind, but we think that maybe..."

"Maybe he went out-out?" Mel glared. "I mean... he could if he wanted to..."

"That's what Harry said," Hermione sighed. "But maybe Sirius is right and Kreacher is just hidden somewhere in the house, with all the noise he's probably disoriented..."

Mel pushed away the uneasy feeling as soon as they got to the hospital. There were a few people there looking angry, apparently victims of some nasty family arguments. Erick stared at the poor witch in front of them and drowned a chuckle.

"I would love to stick a walnut up my father's—"

"You're going to love our dad, Erick!" George tackled him and pulled him in for a rough hug. Even though they were roughly the same height, Erick was thinner and easier to move around than the twins. "He's crazy about muggles!"

"I'm not crazy about muggles," Erick protested. "I just find them interesting..."

"Same thing," Fred put an arm around her shoulders. "You'll love what dad's got to say about that Discman you got..."

"Watch your hands, boy," Emily warned him as she walked past. "You better keep them where I can see..."

"Mum!"

"Don't worry,  Em, you know I'm a proper gentleman," Fred grinned, pulling Mel closer. "At least in public I am— Ouch!"

"Don't be a pig, Weasley..." Erick replied walking away so Fred couldn't hit him back.

When they arrived at Mr Weasley's room, he was looking livelier and was finally gaining colour. He was propped up on the pillow and received Erick like he'd known him for years. Mel suspected that Mrs Weasley had told him about Erick's liking for the muggle world since he was incredibly eager to start talking about it.

Once Erick's interrogation was finally over -the poor boy was extremely anxious about all the attention he was getting from the Weasleys- Mr Weasley finally addressed his wife.

"You — er — haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"No," said Mrs Weasley dubiously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing... Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry — this is absolutely wonderful —"

Harry had given the man fuse-wire and screwdrivers. When the man leaned over to shake his hand, Mrs Weasley tensed.

"Arthur— you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What? No, no — it's nothing — it's — I — Well — now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea... He's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in... um... complementary medicine... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on — on Muggle wounds —"

Mel covered her mouth to hide her smirk.

"Oh, Merlin..."

"What?" Ginny looked at her. "What are stitches?"

In the brief second that passed, Lupin managed to move away towards the werewolf's bed, who clearly wasn't having a good day. Bill got up and mumbled something about tea, the twins quickly followed, both with the same knowing grins.

"Do you mean to tell me," Mrs Weasley spoke before they had the chance to run away, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

"Not messing about, Molly, dear... It was just — just something Pye and I thought we'd try — only, most unfortunately — well, with these particular kinds of wounds — it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped —"

"Meaning?"

"Well... well, I don't know whether you know what — what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," Mrs Weasley said tensely, then let out a rough laugh, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —"

"I fancy a cup of tea too," Harry stood up abruptly.

The remaining group of teenagers all followed him, by the time they reached the door, Mrs Weasley was screaming:

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"

"Typical Dad," said Ginny. "Stitches... I ask you..."

"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something... I wonder where the tearoom is?"

"Fifth floor," said Harry.

"You mean to tell me," Erick was horrorstruck. "That muggles sew their skin back together?"

"Sometimes," Mel smiled. "Tough people those muggles, aren't they?"

"That's... that's barbaric," He winced. "Merlin..."

"Don't be so whiny," Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not a big deal, is it, guys?"

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "Muggles get stitches all the time. They don't sew the skin just like that, they give you anesthetics so you don't feel pain while they do it..."

They kept talking about muggles remedies until they reached a hall with several portraits trying to diagnose them with oddly specific diseases. They got distracted by one particular stubborn healer that kept insisting Ron had a bad case of spattergroit.

"And what's that supposed to be?" Ron asked in outrage as the healer ran through the portraits to keep up with them.

" 'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now —"

"Watch who you're calling gruesome!"

"The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes —"

Mel burst into laughter.

"I have not got spattergroit!"

"But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master —"

"They're freckles! Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"

Ron turned to look at the others, who were doing a great job keeping straight faces. Mel was failing remarkably though, she kept laughing until they reached the next floor, at this point Ron wasn't even acknowledging her existence.

"What floor's this?"

"I think it's the fifth," said Hermione.

"Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, "one more —"

He stopped, his eyes fixed on the door ahead of them. Mel looked ahead curiously, the door had a small window and a man was standing there, staring back. Hermione gasped behind her.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed.

"Oh my goodness, Professor Lockhart!" Hermione pointed out.

"Don't think he's much of a Professor now," Mel murmured with amusement.

"Well, hello there!" Lockhart walked out of the room. "I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"

Harry muttered something to Ginny that caused her to laugh, Mel was divided between annoyance at the sight of the man and slight pity. He wasn't as tall as she remembered him, but she'd grown a bit the last three years, so it was understandable.

"Er — how are you, Professor?" said Ron.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart, pulling an old peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

"Brilliant," Mel said, trying not to giggle.

"Er — we don't want any at the moment, thanks," said Ron.

"Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?" Harry questioned.

"I insist, I don't think we should call him professor," Mel said.

The man looked at Mel intently, his smiled fading a bit, then he stared at Harry.

"Haven't we met?"

"Er... yeah, we have," said Harry. "You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?"

"That was hardly teaching," Mel grumbled, but Erick nudged her side to shut her up.

"Teach?" Lockhart blinked. "Me? Did I?"

His smile came back abruptly.

"Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"

Mel opened her mouth to argue but Hermione gave her a pleading look as if saying 'give him a break', so she took pity.

"Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?" A Healer walked out of the room and realized Lockhart wasn't alone. "Oh Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"

"We're doing autographs!" The man exclaimed. "They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"

"Listen to him," said the Healer. "He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a little bit."

Mel shivered, thinking that fewer things were worse than a fully recovered Lockhart trying to scam more people.

"Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked... not that he's dangerous! But bit of a danger to himself, bless him... Doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back... It is nice of you to have come to see him —"

"Er, actually, we were just — er —" Ron gestured vaguely.

Something about Lockhart washed her over with nostalgia, he reminded her of a time when things were simpler, and she felt terribly sad at the confirmation that not even someone as silly as him had come out clean out of their mess. She felt guilty and looked imploringly at the group.

"Just for a bit?" Mel asked softly, following the healer inside.

"Five seconds ago you wanted to hit him and now you want to stay?" Erick frowned.

"I got... sentimental," She admitted. "Felt bad about him, what am I supposed to do?"

"You could've ignored him," Harry offered coldly. "You're getting quite good at that..."

"Let's not stay long," Ron interrupted before Mel could answer, pulling her into the ward.

"This is our long-term resident ward," The healer explained as the group walked in. "For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement... Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself, and we've seen a real improvement in Mr Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognize yet... Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat..."

Lockhart immediately started to sign pictures as soon as he sat down, continuing his senseless chatter.

"You can put them in envelopes, I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly... I just wish I knew why..." He paused, his hand dropping a photo on Ginny's lap absently. Then his smile came back again. "I suspect it is simply my good looks..."

"...And look, Broderick, you've been sent a potted plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month, they'll brighten things up, won't they?" said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. "And — oh, Mrs Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

[...] A formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed — Neville.

Harry locked eyes with her, both of them froze unable to find a way to distract the others, and it was too late anyway, Ron had noticed.

"Neville! It's us, Neville!" He said excitedly. "Have you seen? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Ron, stop yelling!" Mel scolded him.

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" Neville's grandmother asked calmly.

Neville was always quiet, but now he looked like he wanted to be swallowed by the earth.

"Ah, yes... Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you," She said, holding out a hand and shaking Harry's.

"Er — thanks," Harry replied.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize this boy," The old woman said, staring intently at Erick.

"Erick Flint," He said, tentatively reaching out to shake her hand. "I— er... I'm spending Christmas with the Weasleys."

"Flint, huh?" The woman said, her eyes narrowing a little. "Yes, I see that... I'm sorry about Eliot, he was a fine man."

"He was," Erick nodded, awkwardly glancing at Neville.

Neville was too embarrassed to even notice him.

"And you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs Longbottom said appreciatively. "Yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people... and you must be Hermione Granger? Yes, Neville's told me all about you..."

Her eyes landed on Mel and she smiled.

"Most delighted to meet you, Miss Dumbledore," She shook her hand firmly. "Yes, I would recognize that gaze anywhere... have you been told that before? I'm sure you have... that sharp mind of yours, I'm sure it never misses a thing."

Mel smiled tightly, not knowing how to reply.

"You and Miss Granger have helped my grandson out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy, but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say..."

"What? Is that your dad down the end, Neville?" Ron asked in shock.

"What's this?" The woman asked sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"

Neville stared up at the ceiling and shook his head a bit. Mel felt something pressing on her chest, but she still couldn't find the words. She realized that whenever she needed it the most her voice would simply vanish.

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" Mrs Longbottom exclaimed. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," said Neville quietly.

Ron was trying to look closer towards Neville's parents, but Mel pulled him down roughly.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it! My son and his wife," Mrs Longbottom turned to explain, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."

Hermione and Ginny covered their mouths in shock. Ron paled and Erick went terribly stiff next to her. Harry and Mel were doing their best to control the situation.

"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the Wizarding community," Mrs Longbottom stared at her. "Your father was a good friend of them, dear girl. Matthew was a fine man. Highly gifted, the three of them. And are you ashamed of your father, girl?"

The question took Mel by surprise.

"No, of course I'm not."

"See, Neville?" Mrs Longbottom said harshly, Mel wished she could've asked the woman not to use her against him. "I — yes, Alice dear, what is it?"

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge, and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.

"Again?" said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well — Neville, take it, whatever it is..."

But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper.

"Very nice, dear," said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.

"Thanks Mum," Neville muttered.

Mel looked down, feeling caged in the situation and desperately wanting to help her friend without being able to. When she looked up Neville had a hard stare on them as if ready to fight them in case they wanted to make any fun comments, but Mel knew none of them was thinking of such thing.

"Well, we'd better get back," Mrs Longbottom. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now..."

Neville, however, made sure to put the wrapper into his pocket. Once gone, her friends started to speak.

"I never knew," Hermione said with tears in her eyes.

"Nor did I," Ron was looking at the door still, his voice dry.

"Nor me," Ginny said weakly.

Erick said nothing, but he looked as affected as the rest. The group turned in time to Harry and Mel. They shared a grim look, but Mel couldn't speak, so Harry started.

"We did. Dumbledore told us but we promised we wouldn't mention it... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that? That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?" Hermione asked in shock.

"I think it's time we go back," said Mel, tightly holding onto Ron's arm. "The rest must be looking for us..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​ @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

[hailbop1701]

PlatonicKirkxReader

Please don't do that again...

Request from @thottiewithashotgun!

"A platonic kirk/reader, based off your Reaper/reader story, where she experiences his allergic reaction for the first time"

I really hope you like it! ❤

The planet was hot and sticky with humidity, you wrinkled your nose at it but kept silent as you and the Captain explored. You eyed your surroundings carefully as Kirk examined the native flora; you smiled at his childlike curiosity. “Careful, they might bite.” you teased and Jim looked up with a huge smile. “Nah, I’m too amazing to eat,” he said getting back to his feet brushing off the knees of his uniform pants. You rolled your eyes and looked up towards the sky; you used your hand as a sun shield. A type of alien bird chirped and squawked above you circling almost like vultures. This made you frown, looking back over to the Captain you saw that he was wandering further into the thick brush, “Jim!” you chided crossing your arms. The man in question froze and looked back at you with wide eyes, “I saw something!” he said pointing and you shook your head. “We can’t go any further unless we move the entire landing party. Spock wouldn’t be pleased,” you said in your no-nonsense tone. 

Kirk huffed grumpily but moved back to where you were standing. He stared at you for a moment longer than usual, furrowing his brow in concern, “Aren’t you hot?” he asked, gesturing at her black uniform. You gave a humorless laugh, “Of course I am but I wasn’t going to traipse through an alien jungle wearing my dress.” you said looking down at your black pants and shirt. The silver Starfleet insignia glinted in the sun. After your explanation, Kirk nodded, “Yeah I can see where the dress would be a hindrance.” he said with a light chuckle. You scowled, “Sometimes they can be ridiculous,” you muttered turning toward your bag. 

Kirk laughed as you rummaged through the little bag on your hip, “I can’t believe you still use that old thing.” he said eyeing the bag with fascination. “I can carry more with it,” you mumbled only paying half attention. The bag wasn’t that big but you still tended to lose things in its depths, you pulled out a few specimen jars and held them out to the waiting captain. “You’re like a mother with a purse,” he snickered taking the jars from your hands; that earned him gloves to the face. “Get the samples on that side. I’ll get some from the stream,” you said turning in the other direction. “Don’t get eaten and stay where I can see you!” you called at Kirks back. He waved an unconcerned hand, “Yes mom,” called back. 

Shaking your head you kept a peripheral eye on your charge while you filled specimen jars with the water from the stream. You labeled the jars before putting them away back in the little case they came in. Pulling out your tricorder you fiddled with the controls and scanned your surrounding area; it pulled data and stored it for the science nerds to play with later. Looking over your shoulder you spot the Captain squatting by a mass of purple and orange flowers; he waved his hand over them and they seemed to follow the movement intently. The sound of footsteps made you turn away from Kirk; Commander Spock by you now. Back straight and hands clasped behind him. 

You gave him a smile, “Hey Spock,” you greeted squinting against the light that glowed behind him. He inclined his head in his greeting, “I see you put the Captain to work, “ he said voice cool. Your lips twitched, you looked back over to the blonde for a moment. “Yeah I figured if I kept him busy he wouldn’t wander off,” you said with a chuckle. With a sigh, you stood up putting your tricorder away. The Vulcan in front of you held no emotion in his face but slight amusement danced in his eyes, “A logical tactic, “ he said and took the little case of vials when you offered them. “Hey, Spock did you see the flowers! I think they like me,” Kirk said jogging over to you and the Vulcan. He handed you his samples but Spock plucked them from his hand hands instead, “Captain flora hold no emotion,” the Vulcan said patiently. Jim pouted ever so slightly; he seemed to get over it rather quickly because he was smiling again, a real genuine smile. He held up a lovely teal flower, it twirled between his fingers before he put it in your hair gently, “for the best thing and only thing to come out of section 31,” he said with a wink. You gave him a small smile and ruffled his hair, “Jim, you’re the best brother I never wanted,” you said and the man clutched his heart with a grin. “(Y/N) that just warms me up inside,” 

You raised an eyebrow mirroring Spock at that moment, Kirk looked between the two of you amused. “Do they teach a class on that?” he asked lightly. He let out a cough and tried to brush it off; it almost worked too if you didn’t notice the redness creeping from his hands up past his neck. “Jim?” You asked voice filled with concern, he tried to wave you off but couldn’t pull any air. He gasped and doubled over, your hands immediately steadied him and lowered him to the lilac grass. You made sure he was on his back before checking him for bites, or punctures. You picked up his hand and examined it quickly, ‘that’s the source,’ you thought with a grimace. Blisters began to form at a rapid pace. ‘Rash, blisters, asphyxia. Allergic reaction.’ you concluded. Spock knelt on Jim’s other side tense, “Jim, I need you to relax for me. You know what’s going on. Relax sweetie,” you whispered to him gently placing a hand on his forehead. “Do we have a medical kit?” you asked the Commander seriously, “It’s with Nurse Davin, she was beamed back aboard the ship with Ensign Clark. He sustained a broken ankle,” he said and you growled in frustration. 

“Okay, call for beam up. I’m going to do something to help him breathe,” you said pulling out supplies. You pulled out the pen you were using earlier along with a flint; Kirk reached up a hand and gripped your forearm in a vice. You whispered encouragement to him as you pulled a knife from your boot. “Jim, I’m going to perform an old medic trick. It’s called a tracheotomy. It means I’m going to be cutting into your throat,” you said sparking the flint so it caught fire. The captain’s eyes widened making you frown guiltily. “I know it sounds horrible, but it will help you breathe,” you said running your knife over the fire. You looked him in his panicked blue eyes, “I need you to trust me,”  you said evenly. 

“Beaming in three minutes,” Spock said calmly from the side, you paid him little attention. Kirk choked gripping your wrist, his eyes searched yours before letting you go and doing his best to relax. You took a deep breath and moved your fingers an inch below Kirk’s Adam’s apple, you took your knife and made a small incision. You pulled your pen apart until it was just tubing and gently eased the incision open before sliding the tube in. You felt Spock at your shoulder tensed and waiting; you breathed a sigh of relief when Kirk took a shuddering breath through the tube. He opened his eyes and looked up at you, he brought a shaky hand up to grip yours. He went to speak but his voice came out as a pained squeak. 

"You'll be okay, I promise." You whispered to him and felt the distinct feeling of the transporter pulling you upward. Looking around you saw Scotty looking at you and the Captain worriedly from behind the glass partition. Medical burst into the transporter room with McCoy at the forefront. "What in the hell happened?" He asked voice raised. You told him what you had done and pulled the flower from your hair, "I think this may have been the cause," you explained. Spock took the sprig from your fingers and you watched as the medical team loaded Kirk onto a stretcher and took him away. You followed with Leonard walking briskly beside you, "You did good," he mumbled and you gave him a shaky smile. "Does that happen often?" You asked looking up at him and McCoy sighed running a hand through his hair. "More than you think," he grumbled. You both entered medbay and went your separate ways. He went to take care of Kirk while you washed your bloody hands in the nearest sink.

For a solid two hours, you sat and watched as nurses and Dr. McCoy fuss around the Captain. He was breathing regularly again; the tube is gone. You were propped up against the far wall watching people come and go, "He'll be alright," a voice gruffed from next to you. You smirked and looked up to your right; John, no Leonard leaned against the wall arms crossed. "I know," 

"Spock already put a commendation in your file." He chuckled and you rolled your eyes. "Just doing my job," you sighed and he bumped your shoulder gently. You smiled gently and pushed off the wall gliding over to Kirk's bedside. "Can I borrow a Padd?" You asked McCoy with a single glance over your shoulder. His eyes hinted green in the dimmed lights of medbay; he gave you a sweet smile before disappearing into his office. You sat down on an abandoned stool next to the biobed and settled in to watch over Kirk. Nurse Chapel strode over to your side, Padd in hand, "Doctor McCoy said that he was called to the lab and that you requested this." She said kindly. You smiled taking the device, "thanks Chris," 

The woman nodded, "oh and he also told me to tell you that he expects you to meet him for breakfast in the morning. No excuses!" She said with a laugh. You chuckled and shook your head; she took another quick glance at Jim's vitals before moving on. Crossing your legs you set the Padd on your knees, logging in you resolved in working on your mission report. 

Later when you felt a gentle tap on your leg. You looked up blinking the fogginess out of your eyes; Kirk gazed at you with his pretty blues. "Hey, kiddo" you murmured reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair. Jim groaned in protest but did move to stop you, "Hey lifesaver," he croaked. You set your borrowed Padd down on the bed to reach over to grab the cup of water Christine brought earlier. You held if for Kirk and guided the straw to his mouth; after a minute you took the water away. 

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He asked looking around with a frown. You followed his gaze and saw that medbay was now a skeleton crew. "Guess it's later than I thought," you sighed and rubbed your tired eyes. You looked back at your friend again, "You should get back to sleep," you advised picking up your Padd again. "Thank you for, you know," Jim whispered shifting, his voice rough. You took his hand giving it a soft squeeze, "no thanks are needed. Just do me a favor," you said eying him seriously. "Don't you ever do that to me again," you said with a half-hearted glare. Jim smiled lightly, "no promises but I will try." He chuckled. 

"I guess that's all I can ask for." You mumbled letting him go and fixing his blanket. Jim grinned, "I'd hate to scare the big sister I've never wanted," he said cheekily. A low laugh made you both look up to the end of the biobed. McCoy stood there, arms crossed and a smile playing on his lips. "Good to see you awake Jim," he said walking around so he stood beside you. "Bones looks like you only pulled my ass halfway out of the fire this time," Jim said with a grin. Leonard hummed in agreement, he placed a hand on your shoulder, "do you mind if I steal this one for a bit?" He asked and if Jim's smiled could grow bigger it would have. 

"Course Bones! She didn't sleep at all by the way,"  he tattled. You shot him a glare as you were pulled from your stool, "traitor," you hissed. Jim's laughter echoed behind you as you were being guided out of medbay to the officer's mess. On the way, you passed by Spock whose eyes were glued to a Padd, “Lieutenant Commander (Y/L/N), Doctor.” he greeted formally. “Hey Spock, Jim’s awake if you wanted to see him,” you greeted. The Vulcan gave a nod and moved to continue on, “Oh, and give him a nice long lecture on how he needs to wear gloves when coming in contact with foreign flora.” You called after him. Spock hesitated before nodding again; he pulled up your report and disappeared into medbay. “Rat me out again Kirk,” you dared. Leonard snickered and gave a snort, “He’s going to be hearing about this for the next couple of hours, you know that right?” he asked as you both got moving again. “Yup. Don’t hate the player and all that,” you grinned skipping ahead of him a little bit. 

#star trek aos #james t kirk #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #unedited #so many typos

[pretend-writer]

Trainwreck (Draco Malfoy x reader)

Summary: Y/N is stuck with Malfoy coaching him before a Quidditch match. 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Title Reference: Trainwreck x Demi Lovato

Word Count: 1241 words

Warning: swearing, vulgar words and gestures

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

'Malfoy and Y/N can I speak to both of you please?' Our Quidditch captain, Flint motioned is to walk with him as he ended our practice of the day.

Gripping on my broom, I headed toward Flint as I was nervous of what he might possibly say to us.

Malfoy paced from behind, catching up to me as we reached our captain.

'First I'd like to say I'm impressed with you guys' improvement. We would definitely beat Hufflepuff next week if we keep at it.'

'But?' I sighed, knowing that this was going to lead with a bad news. It was so obvious, the tone in Flint's voice gave it away.

He cleared his throat. 'Malfoy, your speed on the broom is slowing down and I thought Y/N could help you. She's one of our best chasers.'

'Wait what?' Malfoy and I said in sync. At this point, I would of much rather have him lecture me about how bad I played last game or anything. Helping Malfoy was the last thing I wanted to do.

'Are you kidding me? I have to work with her?' Malfoy eyed me with a disgusted face. 'You just said we were improving.'

'You two are but Hufflepuff isn't the problem, Gryffindor is and we're playing them in a few weeks. I need you to improve your speed to beat Potter.'

Flint wasn't wrong, I've noticed that Malfoy have recently slowed down on his speed but of course I couldn't tell him that. The only reason why I'm even okay with being on this team was because I loved Quidditch too much to quit.

'You think that Y/N can coach me on speed?' Malfoy let out a sarcastic laugh, 'She was basically the reason why we lost the last game. Remember that?'

'There were many reasons why we lost the match but we can't dwell on the past.' Flint sighed. 'If you're not willing to do this for your team, I'm going to have to find a new seeker.'

Malfoy bit his lips and flared his nose, knowing that another word would get him in trouble. Flint starred at us for a while before he walked away.

'Meet me at seven in the morning, here.' I really didn't want to do this, everyone knew that. Winning the championship meant everything to me as well as respect from my teammates. If Captain said we had to do this, I didn't have a choice.

'Whatever.' Malfoy mumbled.

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

Surprisingly, Malfoy showed up in the morning even though he was twelve minutes late. I had to say, didn't think he would show up at all.

'What do you know about teaching how to fly, eh?' He grunted.

'Good morning to you too.' I joked, 'Also, I don't. I didn't sign up for this and you know that.'

Malfoy put his stuff on the ground and grabbed his broom. 'Lets get this over with.'

‘Alright then-’ Never thought in the few years that I’ve known him, I’d be teaching him about anything at all. After giving him a few pointers, of course he rolled his eyes. He quickly got onto the broom and started flying.

A few minutes have passed and he came back down, throwing the broom across the ground. Malfoy yelled, ‘Is this a joke to you?’

Crossing my arms, I shook my head. ‘Clearly not since I had to wake up early just for you.’

‘The way you told me to fly, is much harder and I don’t feel faster at all.’ Malfoy huffed, ‘You’re trying to make me worse to make me look bad, huh?’

‘Why would I do that?!’ I shouted at him, not being able to deal with his stupid assumptions anymore. ‘Why would I risk having to lose against Hufflepuff? You’re completely stupid.’

‘Of course you would! You want to get all the fame and attention once Slytherin wins against Hufflepuff!’ Malfoy paced back and forth, still blabbing about nonsense. ‘With me on the team, everyone would focus on me once I catch the Golden Snitch.’

I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath, his reasoning was so dumb it was so hard to process why he would even think that. Was he so narcissistic that I’d go out of my way to get him off the team? Yes, yes he was. Even I was surprised.

‘You know what? Clearly, I wasted my time and sleep coming here for you.’ I picked up my Quidditch bag. ‘You can just make yourself look stupid flying like a old wizard during the match and get yourself off the team on your own. Seems like you’re doing a good job so far anyway.’

‘What did you say about me?’

‘Oh now you’re deaf?’ I laughed, walking away from the field. ‘See you never because I’m sure we’re getting a new seeker after you fuck up during practice.’

‘Don’t walk away from me!’ Malfoy yelled from behind. Something in my brain just made me tick from the way he screamed at me. It was so sudden, I couldn’t control it.

It was totally subconscious, while this was happening I wasn’t thinking at all. It was as if my body knew exactly what to do without me processing everything. I quickly turned around, tackling Malfoy onto the ground. As I sat on his stomach, I threw my fist up.

That’s when it all came back to me, my mind was back and next thing I knew I was about to punch Malfoy in his smug face. I’ve always dreamed of hitting Draco Malfoy’s spoiled self.

Knowing myself, I knew I couldn’t do it, even if I really wanted to. It wasn’t right and I couldn’t risk getting kicked off the team either. I loved Quidditch too much and I’ve worked too hard to be the starting chaser.

Malfoy knew I was deep in my thought, he grabbed me and pushed me off then sat on top of me. ‘You really thought you could just punch me in the face?’

‘The only reason why I stopped myself was because once you fail out of Hogwarts, the only thing that’s left for you is using your smug little face to get things your way.’

Trying to struggle out of his grip and his weight in general was a fail. Didn’t think Malfoy was strong enough to hold me down. ‘Did you just say I was good looking?’

‘No, how did you even get that.’

‘You said I’d get things my way with my face. You think I’m cute.’

‘I never said that.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He grabbed onto my chin and leaned down, laying his lips on mine. My mind went blank once again, not understanding what was going on at all. I was ready to beat the hell out of him and the next thing I knew, we were kissing.

Malfoy pulled away and smirked, ‘You totally liked it.’

‘No I didn’t.’ I could tell my cheeks were getting red. My face was practically heating up and I hated that. He now had the upper hand because of this fucking kiss that wouldn’t have happened if I just walked away earlier. Quickly getting on my feet, I grabbed my bag and stormed off.

‘You kissed back.’ Malfoy yelled across the field as I walked away from him. I turned around and flicked him off as I kept walking. If Malfoy starts yapping about this to people, I was screwed.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fic #harry potter fic #harry potter one shot #draco malfoy one shot #malfoy x reader #slytherin reader

[ober-affen-geil]

I did a post, by request, about forgiveness earlier based on two different character relationships we have seen with Alex. This is sort of related to that, but also about the small window into the Manes family dynamic that we are getting to see glimpses of. There will be spoilers for season 2 through 2x10 so heads up for that. (Also, you know, this is based ONLY on everything through 2x10 so I’m calling it like I see it now, no liability for future nonsense that may or may not joss me.)

We met Gregory in 2x10, another Manes brother, and an interesting parallel to Flint in 1x12 jumped out at me so I’d like to talk about it here. CW for discussion of child abuse, homophobia, victim blaming, and gaslighting.

What I want to highlight is than in both episodes, 1x12 with Flint and 2x10 with Greg, both brothers acknowledge the abuse Alex suffered under Jesse. But the way each of them does so and the way Alex receives the sentiment is wildly different, and I think it tells us a lot about the family dynamic of the Manes brothers that we are not otherwise able to see.

*A small disclaimer about my headcanons, we know in canon that Flint is older than Alex. Personally, the way I interpreted the body language in the scene with Alex and Gregory is that Gregory is younger than Alex so that’s where I’m coming from analytically. Also, given that we know Flint is being blackmailed by Jesse, it’s very likely that all the Manes boys were raised in an abusive environment. It does also appear, from remarks that both Flint and Gregory make, that Alex had it “worse”, so my headcanon is that Alex bore the brunt of the physical abuse.*

I’ll start with Flint, because we meet him first. Significantly, we meet him in a military setting. This is Jesse’s world. Also, as is implied later, Jesse’s sphere of influence. Flint has clearly bought into Jesse’s worldview in at least part (the aliens), and feels powerless enough against him to accept the rest as unchangeable.

We see this also in the way he talks to Alex, “Do you ever get tired being the black sheep of the family?” The phrasing of this is distinctly victim blaming in nature. As if Alex could stop being the “black sheep” if he wanted to. It’s not necessarily implying that Alex could choose not to be gay, we actually see nothing about Flint in canon that indicates he’s homophobic in the way Jesse is, but it is implying that if Alex stopped making trouble he could be accepted. Like the responsibility lies with Alex, not with Jesse.

In fact that seems to be Flint’s strategy of dealing with his father if Alex’s rebuttal (Do you ever get tired of following the flock?) is any indication. So Flint’s relationship with Alex falls along the lines of Jesse’s. Again, Flint seems to have swallowed part of it whole (Alex could prevent his abuse if he wanted to) and accepted some of it as something he can do nothing about (”I know it wasn’t easy for you, growing up with Dad” aka, Alex was, in fact, abused). 

There’s an interesting dynamic physically too. Discounting the moment in the corridor with the gun, since neither of them knew who the other person was at the time, there is a moment in the research room where Alex turns to leave and Flint grabs him

[ID: Inside the research and development room at the prison, season 1 episode 12. Alex is standing next to Flint (who is in uniform), arms folded close clutching the straps of his backpack. He turns to go and Flint grabs the top of his bag, yanking him back towards himself. Alex’s arms fling out slightly as he looses his balance.]

A couple things here. One, Flint is showing no regard for Alex’s personal space. He exerts control over Alex without hesitation; he doesn’t want Alex to leave and his first instinct is to prevent him from doing so physically. He puts his hands on him like they have a right to be there. Two, Flint yanks him in a way that puts Alex off balance. I don’t think it was necessarily deliberate, just the first thing he thought to do, but Flint knows Alex is missing part of his leg. Earlier in the scene Alex made reference to the fact that Flint is “able-bodied”, jerking Alex like that (towards his prosthetic side no less) shows complete disregard for the fact that Alex would have more trouble than most with keeping his feet. (He doesn’t fall but that’s not the point.)

The most telling thing though is Alex’s reaction to Flint. When he offers an, apparently genuine from his standpoint, expression of regret for Alex’s abuse (I tried my best to protect you from him) Alex rejects him out of hand (oh, spare me). To Alex, Flint’s olive branch has no meaning. Either because he feels it’s an empty gesture or because he believes it’s a false one. 

Gregory offers an opposing viewpoint. Like Flint, the setting in which we meet him is significant. Not only is it civilian, it’s on a Diné reservation where he apparently lives. We haven’t met Alex’s mother yet and we know almost nothing about her in canon so I can’t speak to exactly what it means that Gregory is choosing to center his life with his mother’s side of the family. But symbolically, from an overarching analysis standpoint (which is my playground), there are a few things.

Alex’s mother represents Jesse’s opposite in almost every way. In the physical, female versus male and Native versus White, but also ideologically. We know at some point that she left the Manes family, which represents a rejection of Jesse’s influence and beliefs. Gregory not only leaving the Navy when it was his time but also choosing to live in a place where the US Government has extremely limited legal jurisdiction represents a similar rejection. Something Alex acknowledges when he congratulates Gregory for “getting out”.

Gregory’s language also sets him apart from Flint, he repeatedly aligns himself with Alex’s standpoint over Jesse’s. “I don’t think I get to be free until you are, Alex” indicates that he feels it is his responsibility to carry the burden of abuse as long as Alex does. In fact, carry the burden of Alex’s abuse specifically, “Let me hate him for you” tells me he is not hating Jesse for his own reasons.

“I wish that I would have stood up for you more” and “I owe you that much” also places the responsibility for Alex’s abuse on Jesse (and himself, he feels guilty) and NOT on Alex. Flint seems to imply that it was something Alex could have avoided, or made less worse, if he had kept his head down and fallen in line. Gregory is placing the blame on the abuser, not the abused.

Physically, unlike Flint, Gregory respects Alex’s physical boundaries. They greet each other with a handshake, and when Gregory goes to say goodbye he offers his hand again. 

[ID: Alex and Gregory stand facing each other, their torsos and waists visible but their faces out of frame. Gregory takes his right hand out of his pocket and offers it towards Alex for a handshake. He makes no other move forward.]

Importantly, this is the only move he makes. He doesn’t move into Alex’s space and he doesn’t grab Alex’s hand. He’s following the lines set down by their previous interaction; he’s not asking or expecting anything more from Alex. He does not believe himself to have a right to Alex’s personal bubble. Alex is the one to initiate the hug, not Gregory. And again, Alex’s reaction is the most telling part in all of this. 

Aside from granting Gregory access to him physically (the hug), he also explicitly invites him to visit him in Roswell, granting access to his home and personal sphere. Alex is giving permission to Gregory to involve himself in Alex’s life, which is something we don’t see with Flint.

This kind of comes back to the forgiveness part I mentioned at the very beginning, it’s clear that Flint does not have Alex’s forgiveness or trust and that Gregory does. The thing is, neither one of them asked him for it, but the reason why dictates which one he grants it to. 

Flint didn’t ask for forgiveness because he doesn’t think he needs it from Alex. Flint is the one putting blame on Alex for how he was treated, in no way does he hold himself responsible for what happened growing up. In his own mind he did what he could and that was enough. Gregory isn’t asking for forgiveness because he doesn’t think he deserves it. It’s obvious that he is blaming himself as much as Jesse for what Alex went through, and he on some level expects Alex to do the same.

It’s a great dichotomy, and it’s a wonderful way of gaining a lot of insight into something that has only every really been off screen. I’m looking forward to finding out more of the Manes family dynamic as we go along, but picking scenes like this apart is honestly a little more fun for now.

#roswell new mexico #rnm #alex manes #flint manes #gregory manes #jesse manes #manes men #tw abuse #tw homophobia #tw victim blaming #my roswell meta #list #roswell season 2 #a riley special

[oliivverwood]

dazed

flintwood + marcus suddenly being nice for @fliintwoods 

(bonus: people get injured and its the freakiest of fridays. and it’s from changing povs!! hahaha im so tired)

doll im soooo sorry this took so long i took some stupid bitch juice and i may have twisted the concept a bit but i hope u like it 

-

When the both the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch Teams stalked off the pitch without both their captains, there was no aggressive tinge of animosity in the air, no violent urge to fight, nothing. No, now was not the time to act on their rivalry, not when this had happened. 

It went like this. 

Marcus Flint caught the ball. He began to zoom towards the goals with all the swift skill of a truly experienced player. He’s going fast. 

Oliver Wood had his hands up, eyes narrowed, following the player as he zigzagged through players, obstacles. And it’s down to the two of them, as per usual. 

A wayward bludger. Finally, they both lost control. Marcus crashed into Oliver, a nasty collision of their heads, and they were sent tumbling unconsciously to the ground in a mess of blood, broken bone, and all everyone else could do was fumble for their wands or watch, horrified. 

It’s like a car wreck. Your eyes betray the rest of your body, your eyelids pasted wide open rather than squeezed shut. And you watch. 

So no. 

The two teams couldn’t fight over this. 

Angelina Johnson placed a cautious hand onto Terence Higgs’ shoulder, an olive branch, a white flag, as they walk off the pitch silently. 

He didn’t shake it off. He’d never admit it, but perhaps he leant into it.

--

Then it’s the freakiest of Fridays. 

But they wouldn’t realise that yet. 

--

Oliver woke up cold, blinded by heavy drapes. He frowned. Normally, the sun would flood through his curtains, no matter drawn or not. 

He raised a hand to cover his mouth, yawning, then to run a hand through his hair, and yelped in shock. His hair was coarse, short and trimmed at the sides. Oliver looked at his hands.

They were big, his knuckles scarred and bruised, the blue of his veins standing out on the pale backs of his hands. They ran up his forearms, then his biceps, straining against his simple black shirt. 

These hands were not Oliver’s. 

He got up much too quickly for someone so heavily concussed, groaning as he swatted the windows open, letting the green-washed light into his room, blinking as black dots appeared in his vision. He mustered all the strength he had and staggered to the bathroom, flicking on the lights and looking in the mirror. 

Oliver threw up into the sink, heaving and retching, and when he finally looked back up into his reflection, he only saw Marcus Flint. 

--

Adrian had automatically known something was off when Marcus, pale faced and looking rather timid, said “sorry” when he knocked into Terence. 

Marcus walked straight to him, tapping him on the shoulder, and Adrian beamed. “’Lo, Flint.”

“Morning,Pucey.” Marcus’ voice was a pitch high, and his eyes were flicking around, side to side. 

Adrian frowned. He’d said good morning. 

Marcus’s knuckles were clenched so tight that they were white. “Need to talk to you. In private, please.” 

He’d said please. 

They stalked off, out of the Great Hall and into an empty classroom, and Marcus spun around, wincing from the ache in his head. 

“What is it?” Adrian asked kindly. 

“I’mnotMarcusFlintIdon’tknowwhyI’minhisbodybutIthinkhemightbeinmine.” The older boy blurted what sounded to be nonsense to Adrian’s ears. 

“Come again?” 

Marcus took a deep breath. “I’m not Marcus Flint. I’m Oliver Wood, I don’t know why I’m in his body but I think he might be in mine?” 

Adrian’s jaw all but fell to the floor. The doors of their classroom then slammed open, Marcus letting out a truly uncharacteristic squeak. A furious looking Angelina Johnson was dragging Oliver Wood in by the ear. 

“Morning, Captain.” Angelina snapped at Marcus, then shoving Oliver at him.

“Morning Angie.” Marcus said absently. Angelina looked vaguely nauseated that he was addressing her so casually from another body. 

“Bloody hell, woman.” Oliver, who was Marcus, rubbed his ear, then his temples. “My head felt like it got trampled by an erumpent and you’re grabbing me by my fucking ear!” 

Marcus, who was Oliver, scowled. “Does my accent actually sound like that?”

Angelina chose not to grace the statement with an answer, instead turning to Adrian. “How do we fix it?”

--

Pomfrey didn’t believe them at first. 

“I can’t believe you let those horrid Weasley twins get you in on a joke.” She had said crossly, and Angelina had to beg her to hear them out. 

“If you’d like me to provide some proof, I will, ma’am.” Oliver said, sounding all too grouchy to be the real Oliver. “For example, Wood’s got a tiny cock.” He began to raise his hands to demonstrate. 

Marcus gasped furiously, smacking Oliver in the shoulder. “You- you’ve seen my-”

“Would’ve looked worse if you wet yourself in class, arsehole, don’t get your knickers in a twist over it.” Oliver snapped. 

“Flint, you pervert, I do not have a tiny- speaking of knickers, why does your mum send you so many tighty-whities-” 

Pomfrey cleared her throat before Oliver lunged at Marcus, the downward curve of her mouth going much deeper than they thought was humanly possible. “I believe you. Not because of that lewd comment, Mr Flint, mind yourself please.” She directed this at Oliver. 

He grinned, looking feral. 

 “It’s a simple fix- you will need to come into see me every day for as long as I see fit after I cast the spell on you, and you two will have to spend some quality time together. Theres’s a chance you two will pick up certain traits or habits from one another- they’ll go away with time, don’t make that face, Mr Fli- Wood.” 

She pulled out her wand.

Oliver and Marcus shared a glance before quickly looking away. 

--

People looked at Marcus funny the day he held the door open for people and openly smiled at everyone, even Oliver.

Whoever made fun of the fact that Oliver’s thick Scottish brogue had suddenly become a softer Welsh got hexed into the next week by Angelina. 

-- 

Whoever poked fun at the pair sitting across from one another on a sickly-white hospital bed, scowling as Pomfrey put them through more icebreakers, got beat on by Adrian Pucey. 

When Marcus cried after winning a quidditch match and Oliver scowled and swore at his own teammates, people began to stop batting an eyelash. 

--

When people found the two snogging in the locker rooms, three months after the incident, nobody even bothered questioning it. 

#hp #flintwood #flintwoodnet #flintwoodfic #marcus flint x oliver wood #my writing #SADIE + REQUESTS #usersadie18 #oliivverwood #hprarepairnet #slytherdornet #fic #text

[paperficwriter]

Be Thou My Vision

Aziraphale and Crowley! In Paris! In 1899! And there are some homages to Moulin Rouge, which is one of my favorite films. Enjoy!

Paris, 1899, in the neighborhood of Monmartre, a steady snow fell and covered the rooftops, the cold wind carrying the sound of can-can music from the nearby red windmill. Crowley had dragged Aziraphale to the Moulin Rouge to mingle with the bohemians, but when someone passed him a bottle of absinthe, some sugar and a metal spoon, he had lost track of him.

Now, though, it was almost midnight, and on New Years, it was utterly inappropriate for Crowley to not be with his best friend (note: it was still easier to call it that - a friendship - than to label it as something different, or something that might get them too much attention from both the mortal and immortal worlds both. It seemed the popular thing to do among humans of similar presentation too, though Crowley had a feeling that would lead to some confusion later on…), especially since he was in the same city for once.

He took the steps of the apartment structure that had been built over a cafe two at a time, long legs demonically enhanced and leaving small sparks with each footfall on the landings, like struck flint. 

When he got to the loft, Aziraphale was staring out the window, a book against his chest, his chin in his hand. Crowley followed his gaze out over the city towards the Eiffel Tower, barely visible in the snow as it thickened. Although he reclined on the purple chaise lounge that Crowley had acquired for him (because he insisted that he hated sleeping, that it was unnecessary, that he would much rather stay up and read), there was a tension to his shoulders, and he pulled a thick, velvet coat around himself.

Compared to Crowley, who was bare but for suspenders and cotton slacks, he was quite overdressed.

“What’s with the coat, angel?” Crowley asked. By his internal clock, there was still about five minutes. Plenty of time.

“It’s quite stylish, I’ll have you know!” Crowley jerked back like a dog that had been admonished. Aziraphale rarely snapped at him (not counting when he deserved it), and he must have realized it too, because he quickly said, “I’m sorry, dear boy. Really, it’s not you I’m irritated with.”

“Right.” Crowley sat down beside him, plucking the book away and putting it down on the shelf next to them. “So. You’re irritated with---”

“Your friends!” Aziraphale raised his hand with a flourish and then brought it down on his knee. “Those bohemian boys of yours! I walked in just behind you and they cut me off and said I…” He trailed off, pouting into his collar. Aziraphale trailed off, pouting into his collar. Crowley had a love-hate relationship with that pout; it was so utterly adorable and yet he would sink ships and burn bridges both when someone made his angel upset.“They said I looked like some bourgeois pig, with my fancy clothes and corpulence, as they put it.”

“Your French accent really is terrible.” Crowley tugged at his sleeve.

“I know! Do you think that helped?!” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest, and the pout intensified to near-explosive lengths (Crowley would be the one doing the exploding). “I’m not an idiot,” he finally said. “I know I could change this form. I know that I could be less...of what I am, but I like this body, Crowley. And I don’t like when people make me feel like I should be ashamed of it.”

In the distance, Crowley could hear the sounds of people counting backwards in French. Champagne was being shaken, lips puckering, the cold bellringer at Notre Dame (who actually had a very fine back, but a shit liver) grabbing the rope and beginning to pull…

And Crowley threw his hands up to Hea-- well, he threw them up. And everything stopped.

Everything except Aziraphale, whose eyes focused on the snowflakes now hovering motionless in the air like stars. “Crowley, you know you are not supposed to do that! You’ll be reprimanded for sure--”

“Pah,” Crowley remarked, slouching onto the bed beside him. “If I can’t have New Years with you happy, then no one can have it.”

“That’s...a little dramatic, dear boy.” 

“It’s the turn of the century, angel! Let them wait on their little bohemian revolution.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue at him, but didn’t actually make any further remarks on the situation. The world truly was so still when everyone wasn’t making such loud to-do’s about everything. 

“I’m not going to let it start like this, with you not appreciating how beautiful you are.”

He could see the little jump in Aziraphale’s shoulders, and heard the sharp intake of breath. His round cheeks went a little rosy, and his warm hand found Crowley’s chilly one. “Crowley…” he whispered. 

It wasn’t their first kiss. But given that about forty years before, when Crowley didn’t think there would be any more kisses ever (foolish, thinking a fight would end anything -- it never did, but it always felt that way at the time), now he would take it. He would delight in it, as he always did. Soft lips. A warm nose pressed into his narrow cheekbone. The smell of books and candlelight.

“We shouldn’t,” Aziraphale murmured, fingers hopelessly tangled in red hair and a suspender strap.

“That’s never stopped us before, angel.” It took two hands to get at the topcoat’s buttons. “You don’t have to cover up in all this.”

“What if someone is watching?” Aziraphale glanced both up and down, as if it needed to be clarified that he didn’t mean some passing Parisian pervert. 

He managed it, starting on the next set, talking as he went in that rapid-fire sinister sensuality that was so very, very much his style. “No one’s watching, and I’ll file it as a divine temptation. There I was, in Paris, promoting terrible imbibing of hallucinogenic drinks, when what to my wandering serpent eyes should appear, but an angel in doubt.”

“I’m not in doubt! Don’t even joke, Crowley!” The demon kissed the center of his furrowed brows, nuzzled there with his face until he relaxed. “There’s no holy oath against a little insecurity now and then.”

“I still won’t have it, angel.” There. The last of the damnable buttons undone. Who had been in charge of the last change in fashion? His side, or Upstairs? He wasn’t sure, but something needed to be done about the next trend to come. Burying his face against Aziraphale’s chest and soft stomach, he squeezed, hissing, overcome very suddenly by how much he loved this body, loved all of his constant companion. Which was so much not like what a demon should do, and that made him all the gladder to express it.

Aziraphale squeezed his head and held him just as near in turn. “You’re being positively ridiculous. You make it sound like you found me drowning in tears like the lead in some...Sarah Bernhardt play.”

“You really think that after so many thousands of years…” Crowley gazed up at him with his golden eyes, and he wondered for a second what they looked like, the two of them, in this affectionate embrace that was only intimate when you really peered at it. What kind of painting might they resemble? Caravaggio? Lomi? Rubens? “You really think I need to see you crying to know when you’re hurt?”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything, averting his eyes to his dress shirt and tutting. “I’m ruining your good time being so…”

“Vain?” he couldn’t help joke. 

“Don’t!” This time Aziraphale smiled, and he gently slapped his cheek. It didn’t even make a sound. “Do you, though?” he asked in a whisper. “Do you really think--”

Another kiss, a kiss for ‘yes.’ A kiss for ‘of course, silly clever thing.’ A kiss for ‘forever, from the start of Day One until the End.’ That was true. He was glad to be kissing him instead of saying it, how there was always fondness back when Heaven resembled sunken gardens and nebulas and sun-warmed clouds and not Versailles. And how when he first slithered his way back after All That Unfortunate Nonsense, he saw him standing there at the Eastern Gate and thought, ‘maybe’...right up until She gave him that sword and he smiled like the sun and Crowley - Crawly - fled the scene to talk to that lady about the apple.

Could he really blame him for going doe-eyed when he said that he had just given it away?

“Show me.” Damn the angel’s endearing eyes and his pitiful smile. 

“What do you think I’m doing exactly?”

“Show me more. Please. However will I be a true believer, and how will you be a true tempter?”

Crowley smirked. He had already lost. No amount of fussing over it would change that. Not that he wanted to. But he also couldn’t just give Aziraphale the satisfaction. With the wave of his hand, the shirt, the pants, everything but his sock garters and silky, knee-length drawers remained. They were open in the back, he could tell. Such was in the style. That was his lot’s doing. “Animal!” Aziraphale scolded, but he was smiling and blushing.

“How can I appreciate you when you have to layer a hundred garments over the good parts?” Crowley slid down to his knees, chin tucked but eyes up. He lovingly kissed the softest part of his thigh. “Let us pray…”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale studied each press of lips, caress of fingers, slip of tongue, and he seemed to melt on the lounge until he was picked up in the demon’s strong arms. He leaned up to rest his forehead against Crowley’s, and it tingled a little, like lightning in the air at the top of a tower just as the stormcloud rolled in. It was where his halo would be. Where it perhaps still was.

He missed his wings, but he wouldn’t tell him that tonight. Because he would manifest them immediately and someone would notice that time had stopped, because he would have his hands in them all night. 

The bed creaked under their bodies, Aziraphale on his back and Crowley sitting between his legs. He snapped his fingers and what remained of his own clothing was tucked away. All of it would be in the dresser by the door in the morning.. “I think it’s like...when people walk out into the sun,” Crowley said, coming up to touch around his knee, to appreciate their dimples before moving back up, sliding on his belly like the serpent that he was, that he still was even after all this time. “They hate how it gets in their eyes...makes them ssssweat...turn red...but who could ever actually hate the sun? How it always glows…”

He gave a peck to each side of his chest, the dip of his neck. When his hand slipped into the folds of Aziraphale’s undergarments, he was pulled down into that body that was as giving as goose feathers. He pecked at his neck. “You’re soft, angel.”

“I know,” he said, and it might have come out dejected if not for the moan of pleasure as he found warm, hard flesh to put his hand on. 

“Don’t ever think poorly of that. Not when it’s something I love about you. One of many things. Things I could very well die for.”

“Let’s...not talk about things like that now, dearest.” Aziraphale guided him into another kiss, and when he waved a hand downward, everything was gone, leaving them both blissfully as naked as they had come into the world (though perhaps looking a bit less humanish). 

“Aw. I like the garters.”

“Really? I can bring them back.”

“No, no.” Crowley squirmed out of his arms and knelt, gazing down at his whole visage there. Without the world turning, the scrutiny of his eyes was a slow drag of a bow across a cello. “This is perfect.”

Aziraphale messily hugged the pillow beside him against his face. Now, he truly did remind him of a cherub. “I’m ready for you, love.”

He returned to lying on top of him, the kiss coming with his sharp teeth for just a second, only enough to make Aziraphale gasp in a way that amused him as much as it aroused. “One day, I’ll have you start to finish. With all the preparations that they like to do with fingers and oil and...other things, maybe…”

“And one day,” Aziraphale echoed, stroking his cheeks, “may I be granted the patience to handle the wait.”

Crowley entered the sanctity of him.

Blissful wet, and tight. Always tight. But didn’t they all love their ideology around virgins, about every touch being like the first touch? Not that Crowley was complaining. Aziraphale’s body always responded like this was a gift, like this was a union. It was never just fucking with Aziraphale. At least not now. Not yet. Maybe that would be a ‘one day’ too, when these moments weren’t years apart. Sometimes centuries.

When momentary indiscretions could be something as commonplace as tea time and duck ponds.

“Crowley...oh, my darling...my...Crowley…”

“Aziraphale…”

They could end it at any time, but they never did. They always left this part of themselves so very mortal at the end, so the natural progression could take over, so they could feel the other unraveling and know it wasn’t because of some magic trick.

Aziraphale was always ruined first. Pretty little thing, like he was starved for it, like it was a sweet treat that he had never had and might never have again. And, admittedly, then he might go back for seconds, as it were, but Crowley never pointed it out. All was the better for him.

When he spilled, it was like rising. And it only lasted a second, only ever a second, even when there were no seconds actually passing, like it was now. When he Fell, it was eternity. When he Rose, it was bobbing for just a moment and then settling back again.

But Aziraphale was always there, ready to hold him, to keep him from grieving.

“Go on,” the angel said now, his hair a mess across the pillows, curling up under the sheets like a cat. “I’m ready.”

“Oh, of course, if his Majesty is ready.” Crowley kissed his nose, closed his eyes, and the snow fell again. The music swelled, and bells began to ring out. Everyone kissed, and they did too, and just like this, so still, Crowley could swear he could actually feel the world turn. 

#my paperfics #good omens #aziraphale / crowley #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale

[siberlius-moving]

1x13 coda... of sorts

my writing of what should happen after. kylex cos they cute and someone has to appreciate alex’s fashion sense

also posted on ao3 lol

baby I can read your phases like the moon

Kyle hears about Max, then Maria and Michael, from Liz.

“Maria and Michael?” Kyle almost drops the stethoscope.

“Yea. They are into each other for awhile now,” Liz replies.

“I thought-“ Kyle stops himself. This is sensitive territory; he knows Alex, Liz and Maria are good friends, but he also knows that Alex shows parts of himself selectively to different people regardless of who they are.

She looks up and furrows her eyebrows, “You knew about Alex and Michael?”

“I work with them, especially Alex. Manes-Valenti stuff. Michael joined us for the Caulfield trip just a few days ago and I swear there was something between them - huh,” Kyle pauses, “the talk didn’t go well, I guess?”

“Mikey what have you done,” Liz groans. “Is Alex okay?”

“I haven’t met him yet. Now to think about it, he hasn’t replied my texts.”

Liz dials Alex’s number. Frowning, she calls him again. And again. And gives up. “He’s not picking up. Argh.”

“Maybe we should leave him alone for now. He hates talking about his personal life,”

“The last time he talked to me about his relationships was like ten years ago. And I didn’t even know it was about Michael until three days ago,”

“I’ll find him,” Kyle promises.

“I can come along-“

“I know you want to spend time with Max,” he interrupts gently, “and you should. Alex has changed a lot since high school, he’s not going to just open up especially about Michael.”

She sighs. “I want to be there for him,”

“It will be fine. I’ll check on him. Besides you have never lost out in a love triangle before,”

“What do you-oh,” Liz’s eyes widen, “Kyle, I-“

“It’s cool,” he says honestly, “I will always like you, Liz, but I am not in love with you anymore.”

She reaches for his hand. 

“You are right. Tell Alex I will be there for him? When he is ready,” she pleads.

Kyle squeezes her fingers. “Of course.”

    “Alex Manes drinking in a non-Wild Pony bar?” Kyle has his arms at his waist like he is talking to a patient who has made some terrible life decision like stuffing a kinder egg into their ass. He is tired from driving around. He checked the cabin first, the bunker, then begged his mum to help find Alex’s car. 

“Cheers,” Alex picks up a non-empty shot glass, toasts it, and chugs the whiskey. Kyle can smell the alcohol on him. Alex’s tipsy, and resigned enough that he doesn’t bother questioning why Kyle is here.

Kyle stares suspiciously at the drink in Alex's hand. “How many did you have?”

“Not enough.”

Kyle sits next to him. “Liz and I are worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Alex’s code for ‘I am not telling you shit’. Fair enough.

“I need to tell you something else though.”

“Shoot.”

Kyle winces. “Your dad was following me.”

At that, Alex stiffens. He straightens his back and takes a quick look around the bar.

“He isn’t following me now,” Kyle says, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “I put him in a medically induced coma.”

Alex stares at him. Just as Kyle begins to feel unsettled under the weight of the stare, Alex giggles. Then he bursts into a loud, full bodied laughter that attracts curious looks from other patrons.

Kyle tightens his grip on Alex’s shoulder and tries to get Alex to look at him again. Alex brushes him off and waves one of the bartenders over.

“Get him the most expensive drink you have. It’s on me.”

Kyle worries his lips, and asks, “Are you okay?”

Alex retorts, “Of course I am.”

The drink comes. Kyle sips it. It’s warm and rich and sweet.

“This is good!”

Alex looks over curiously. “I’ve never tried.”

Then he uses Kyle’s hand as a handle, raises it to his lips and sips from the glass. The bottom of his lip grazes against Kyle’s finger. At this distance Kyle can see his eyelashes, the red flush of his cheeks.

Heat stirs and shoots straight down to his dick. Calm down, Kyle mentally scolds himself.

Alex licks the rim of the glass. He isn’t looking at Kyle though. He’s fluttering his eyelashes at the air, but at least three different sets of eyes are staring back at him, from interest to outright lust.

“You done showing off what you can do with your mouth?” Kyle says bluntly.

Alex sits back up, covers the slight embarrassment with a performative pout and a real threat hidden in heated gaze. “Listen, Valenti, I came here to be fucked. You better not be cockblocking me. I’m not leaving until I get someone who isn’t Michael to touch my dick!”

He’s doing this on purpose, being crude to make Kyle uncomfortable and scare him away. But Kyle went to med school and med school students are so  desensitised to anatomical functions that Alex’s remarks are laughably entry-level. He placates, “Look, I completely understand the need to get laid, but do you want to talk?”

Alex narrows his eyes. “About what?”

“What happened,” Kyle presses. He is self aware enough to know that pushing for answers and not knowing when to stop is his worst trait, but in the time they spent together Alex has grown from annoyance to resignation and acceptance of Kyle’s worse habits. And egging tipsy Alex on occasionally leads to him adopting a botched valley girl accent and he gets more tactless and sarcastic than usual. It’s funny and Kyle loves that about him.

“I went to find Michael, and like I was honest. Pouring my heart out honest,”

“...Okay?”

“Then something alien came up, I guess it has to do with the weird lightning storm in Roswell. And Michael was like, okay meet me at the airstream tomorrow we’ll talk. So I went there and waited and he never showed. Next thing I know Maria and Michael are making out at the Wild Pony.”

What the hell. “I will punch him in the dick,” Kyle growls.

“Nah. It’s my fault. I was too late. And also he has mind powers so you are gonna lose. And don’t you dare report this to Liz. She shouldn’t feel like she has to take a side. Besides, they didn’t do anything wrong and I do deserve this.”

Kyle wants to convince Alex that he’s wrong. But Alex will simply shut him down and the conversation ends. Kyle makes a mental note to himself to make things difficult for Michael in small and petty ways when he sees him around.

“What happened to your phone?” Kyle asks, carefully running through a list of less tenuous topics in his head.

“Uh. Dumped it somewhere. It kept ringing and I was trying to listen to my high school mixtape.”

“It was probably the hospital about your dad, dude.”

“Well. Guess it’s not important.”

“Flint picked up so he’s at the hospital now. He probably called your other brothers.”

Alex grimaces. “Argh. The Manes family is back in town. I’m gonna lock myself in the cabin. You should too, just in case. Flint saw the two of us at Caulfield. He doesn’t think I am ballsy enough to do that to our father, so he’s gonna target you.”

“I am wearing a bulletproof vest.” 

Alex snaps out the drunk fuck-all act, looking instantly sobered. “Wait. He shot you?”

Kyle shrugs.

“Jesus christ,” Alex runs his hands down Kyle’s chest, “you okay?”

“You know, the more you do this, the lower your chances of getting laid,”

“You got shot, Kyle! I care more about your safety. You can stay at the cabin - no one knows I live there.”

“Inviting me to move in with you, Manes?”

“If you aren’t comfortable, I can find another place to stay,” Alex says seriously.

“Chill, I’m joking-” 

“This isn’t a joke! It’s important that you are safe - dad’s incapacitated but my brothers can be a threat too, even if they aren’t as difficult with dad no longer pulling their strings!” Alex’s gaze is intense. His fists are clenched and his knuckles are white. Kyle takes one of Alex’s hands and gently massages it, coaxing his fingers to relax.

“I am going to be fine. Both of us can deal with them together because we are in this together as partners. You and I aren’t defenceless,” Kyle soothes.

Alex breathes out. “We are gonna need a plan to deal with them.”

“And we can discuss it in your cabin.”

“Yea, we should.” Alex stands up. It’s almost like the past twenty minutes of conversation and drunkenness didn’t happen. Now that he is standing, it hits Kyle how good Alex looks. That leather jacket. The tight pants that shows off his thighs and ass. The v-neck shirt that tempts his collarbones.

Bite him! 

Kyle gulps the remaining of his drink before he follows Alex out.

    Kyle drives them to the cabin. 

“You switch gears really fast,” he comments, as Alex dumps his jacket on the table.

“Had to be in the army. I’m still gonna be mad at you for cockblocking once we are free from the alien nonsense.”

“You do look really good today,” Kyle blurts out. Alex doesn’t catch the flirtation at all. He drops himself at the couch and removes his prosthetic.

“Would have dressed better if I found out dear old pops is almost dead,” Alex stills, and looks at Kyle guiltily, “I’m sorry,”

Kyle joins him at the couch. “Nah it’s fine. He did fucking shoot me.”

“I won’t take it personally if you pulled the plug, though I know you won’t do it.”

Kyle looks up in surprise, “How do you?”

“Because you are a good person. And you live by a good code. I know I am safe with you because you honour that code,” Alex replies easily.

Shit. Kyle realises. He’s in love. With Alex.

“You are a good person too, you know,” Kyle says. His voice is shaky from the epiphany.

“Michael can’t look at me without seeing what my father did to him. And he isn’t wrong. I know what my father is capable of. And I am so afraid that-“ Alex covers his face with his hands.

“You aren’t your father,”

“Mimi says I have the same energy as him, what if I am corrupted like dad and I-“

“Alex, look at me,” Kyle pries Alex’s hands away, replaces them with his own, “you are never going to be father, you know why? Because you love. And people love you. You think you don’t deserve this love, but you do. And it will always be this love that will never make you your father.”

Alex’s eyes are wet. A stray tear falls and trails down his cheek. Kyle wipes it away with his thumb.

Alex kisses him, backs off as soon as he does. “Shit. I’m sorry. I just-“

“It’s ok,” Kyle says, “it’s okay if you just want to use me as a rebound,”

“Are you offering to have sex with me?”

Kyle raises an eyebrow, “Yes?”

Alex pushes him down onto the sofa and straddles him.

Just as Kyle prepares to kiss him properly, Alex whips a gun from behind the cushion and points it at him.

“Jesus!”

“Who are you and what have you done to Kyle?” Alex demands.

“I am Kyle! I swear!“

“The Kyle I know isn’t interested in guys,” Alex hisses.

In the face of a loaded gun, Kyle is calm. He knows Alex won’t hurt him, knows that this is something only he can fix. He says quietly, surely, “The Kyle you knew in high school, didn’t realise that about himself. The Kyle you knew then was a dick who wanted to be popular and he did the worst thing he could do to his best friend. The Kyle you know now has grown since and found out in college that men are really fun in bed and he has missed out because he was busy being bigoted. He is also very sorry for what he has done and he will aways try to make it up to you.”

Alex lets out the air he has been holding and shoves the gun back into the sofa. Kyle pulls him down and holds him against his chest.

“You weren’t going to shoot me. The safety was still on.”

“I fucked up,” Alex mumbles into his shirt.

“I contributed,” Kyle replies, stroking Alex’s hair, “do you really hide weapons all around the house?”

Alex nods, “I’ll show you around, where they are at.”

“Are you gonna pull out other moves?“

“I don’t want you to have sex with me because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I am upset for you. I am also very turned on because you are on top of me and you whipping the gun out did things to my dick. So. Is it a cold shower or -“

“I don’t want you to be a rebound. I actually uh -“

“Uh huh?”

“I do like you. You know? Like more than friends.”

Kyle’s heart soars.

“So do I,” Kyle readily admits, “and we are adults. Adulting means we can have sex with people we find really hot. And we can talk about what we mean to each other too.”

“Okay,” Alex braces himself over Kyle, “I think you are hot, and that you are important to me. If we are having sex it’s not because I’m using you as a rebound. It’s something more.”

Kyle says, “It’s something more for me too. And f-y-i, I wanted to jump you since I saw you at the bar.”

Alex lunges forward. The kiss is intense when both of them reciprocate. Kyle curls the hand in Alex’s hair and he gets soft moans into his mouth in return.

He wants Alex, Kyle realises. Not just when he is sad and angry and there’s alcohol in both their breaths. Not just when they are stuck together by some bizarre family legacies they didn’t choose to have. Kyle wants Alex and he wants Alex to want him back.

Alex rolls his hips down and Kyle gasps. “You are thinking too much,” he shivers when Alex whispers that in his ear, trembles when Alex gently bites the lobe, “focus on me.”

Yes, yes. They will have time to talk about it. Right now he is so turned on it hurts and he wants to make Alex scream his name. Kyle pushes himself up with one hand and guides Alex closer, so that he can sit comfortably on his lap.

“Can I get a real life performance of what you were doing to that glass in the bar?” Kyle asks breathily, after pressing kisses to Alex’s cheeks, the sides of his lips, his neck.

Alex smirks. “I am already gonna.”

#kylex #my writing #roswell new mexico #kyle valenti #alex manes

[constant-and-immovable]

Silver's real-big insecurity though re: Jim's bad life choice, is that that's all this is. She's got the chance to have a fling with the first guy she ever gave a damn about, now as an adult with no one tell her not to, and he's a living legend. He's afraid she'll get to say she her first real affair with a man she used to know, and bonus, she took Captain Flint's mutinous, murderous quartermaster for a ride.

He's the Big Idiot acting like this is just an itch they've both wanted to scratch for far too long, but he's the one terribly wants to stay. Jim would love it if she could cut him out of her crew and out of her life and move on, and actively tries to stop wanting him, but there's Silver with all his stuff, including the parrot cage, in her cabin and he's making it very hard to agree to his terms of ''nothing serious.''

#tell her u love her u idiot #they're both hyper-aware that messing around with each other is a REALLY BAD LIFE CHOICE but also neither can be bothered enough to care #they're in her bunk and he's got his hand pressed up to hers--she's grown now but her hands are still so much smaller than his #and while he knows she's not delicate she feels so vulnerable with her big eyes and little hands and he kisses her palm before holding #it to his chest. ''nothing serious'' he said like he would know what the fuck to do with his life if he's not here anyway #and jim swearing to herself she's using him but now she feels oddly protective over him #over /him/! as if he doesn't know how to look after himself #but she has nightmares of gallows and snare drums and holds him a little tighter for it #well joke's on them they can't separate because the parrot refuses to have to choose a parent to live with #and tbh i could see silver using that as an excuse #''Flint wouldnt want to leave his mum.'' #''one: 'idk how old your demon bird is but I'm absolutely not old enough to be it's mother and #two: that's nonsense because we both know Flint would pick me.''

[flipomatic]

Reason to Stay: Chapter 16

Author Note: This chapter marks the half way point of publication, wooh!

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

The first day of the trip went by slowly. Sayo kept her guard up as they rode, keeping an eye on the nearby forests for signs of trouble.

There was little conversation as they traveled. Ako tried multiple times to start one, and even succeeded in carrying one with Rinko for a while, but Yukina seemed insistent on not talking and Lisa was barely responding to the teen.

The group rode without interruption until the sun started setting ahead of them. Lisa led them off the road to look for a good place to make camp. They chose a clearing near a river, which would be a reasonably defensible position.

With the location decided, Sayo dismounted from her horse. She led it to drink at the river before tying its reins to a tree.

“Sayo, will you keep guard while we set up camp?” Lisa also tied up her horse and had turned to Sayo.

Sayo didn’t have a problem with that. “I will.” She drew her bow off her back and started checking the perimeter of the clearing. The clearing was only about ten meters across, with trees around the edges. The riverbank was clear of trees, with a clear view of the other side.

As Sayo walked the edges, she didn’t notice anything unusual. They had scared the wildlife away with their arrival and there were no footprints or signs of other people.

Once she finished checking the perimeter, Sayo picked a spot near the river to keep watch from. She stayed on her feet, since they were more likely to be attacked while the sun was still up.

The other four group members went about completing tasks to set up camp while Sayo did this. Ako hauled out a folded up tent and constructed it with Rinko’s help. They were chatting much more energetically than they had on the ride.

Lisa was building a fire pit while Yukina was gathering sticks and twigs for the fire. Unlike Rinko and Ako, they worked in silence. Soon they had enough wood and used some flint to start a small blaze. By that time the sun had descended beneath the horizon, leaving their camp lit only by the fire and the low glow of the moon.

Once that was done, Yukina walked in Sayo’s direction. Sayo assumed it was to relieve her of her guard duties.

This assumption was grossly incorrect.

“Everything’s set up.” Yukina said as she approached, stopping about a meter from Sayo. “Before we eat, do you have a minute to talk?”

Sayo wanted to say no. She had a distinct feeling that she knew exactly where this conversation was going and she wanted nothing to do with it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t that rude of a person.

“I have a minute.” Sayo stowed her bow on her back. “What’s going on?”

Yukina looked around, glancing towards the others. “Let’s move further away.” She said, walking towards the trees without waiting for a response. Sayo followed, a little nervousness bubbling in her stomach. She really hoped this wasn’t about what she thought it was. They walked just far enough that they could still see the fire behind them, but wouldn’t be heard by the others back at camp.

“Okay.” Yukina’s golden eyes gleamed in the darkness. She held her hands together, but was making eye contact with Sayo. “I want to tell you something.” She said lowly, pausing to inhale. “I won’t get in your way.” The way she said this was with such finality that it must’ve meant something serious, but Sayo didn’t know what she was talking about.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Sayo replied honestly, confused by the statement.

Yukina swallowed once. “If you want to ask Lisa out, I won’t get in your way.” Her voice was quiet, barely audible.

Oh. So it was this again, Sayo thought, grinding her teeth. There was no escape from this nonsense, was there?

There was only one way to put an end to it.

“Lisa!” Sayo called back towards camp. “Can you come here for a minute?” This was going to stop right now.

Yukina’s eyes went wide as Lisa called back that she was coming. The golden eyed knight flapped her hands in protest, but to no avail. It only took a minute for Lisa to walk up.

“Hey, what are we doing in the bushes?” She asked, directing the question at Sayo.

“We are settling this right now.” Sayo crossed her arms, looking between the two. Lisa looked surprised, but didn’t interject, while Yukina had clenched her hands into loose fists. “The two of you are seriously pissing me off.” Sayo wasn’t a yeller, instead her voice grew quiet and firm with anger. “No offense Lisa, but I don’t want to date you. Yukina, learn to mind your own business. I am sick and tired of being gossiped about. Please settle your problems and leave me alone.” Sayo breathed more heavily than normal after speaking, as if she’d just been fighting.

Lisa turned to Yukina. “You were bothering Sayo again?” She asked, raising the volume of her voice.

“I was just worried.” Yukina turned towards Lisa, expression set in a firm frown. “About you.”

“Hah.” Lisa scoffed. “And how was this supposed to help?” Her voice cracked near the end of the question.

“I…” Yukina reached one hand towards her, hesitating. Sayo started to feel like perhaps she should walk away and let them talk without her. “I wanted to make things clear.” She muttered, dropping her hand back to her side. “All I want is for you to be happy.” Sayo almost couldn’t hear her.

“Oh yeah,” Lisa crossed her arms over her chest. “And the other day you just wanted to protect me, right? That’s what you said after the match.” She must’ve been referring to the sparring match, Sayo thought. Was that why there were fighting?

“And you insisted that you didn’t need my protection. But I meant it.” Yukina nodded slowly. “She could’ve been dangerous to train with.” Golden eyes glimmered in the moonlight.

“So why didn’t you just say that before? Instead you challenged her to some asinine spar without a single word to me.” Lisa inhaled shakily. “When you don’t talk to me, when you shut me out to do things like this, that hurts more than anything else in the world.” A tear slid down her cheek, and Sayo stepped back half a step from the pair. She didn’t leave, but she felt even more out of place than before. Even though she brought them together to make up, she still felt irritated with both of them. “And I would’ve told you if I was interested in Sayo, because I care about what you think!” Lisa breathed heavily now, with both hands lifted to cover her face. Sayo wasn’t offended by the statement; she just recently said something similar.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I…” Yukina reached towards Lisa again, this time gently pulling one hand away from her face. “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m so sorry.” She looked down at that hand, cradling it. “After sparring with her, I think she’s less dangerous than I did previously.” The corner of Yukina’s lips tilted up into a half smile.

“This isn’t exactly the time for that talk.” Lisa smiled through an increased number of tears. “But it’s okay. Just, please, talk to me. That’s all I ask.”

“Absolutely.” Yukina’s voice sounded softer than Sayo had ever heard it before. She leaned forward slowly, pulling Lisa into a firm hug.

Just like that all was solved? Why hadn’t they just had this conversation earlier, instead of dragging Sayo into their mess.

Sayo took them hugging as a signal that it was time to leave. They seemed to have made up, which was great. It would not save her from the gossip when they returned to the castle, nor would it make her any less annoyed with their actions. This was so obnoxious, why couldn’t they have solved their problems without bothering her?

Lisa called after Sayo as she walked away, her voice hoarse from crying, but Sayo ignored her. She tried not to walk with such heavy footsteps as she neared where Ako and Rinko sat by the fire. They were already eating, so Sayo retrieved some food from her saddle bags and joined them.

Yukina and Lisa soon returned, with Lisa’s face noticeably splotchy. They joined the rest of the group by the fire.

Sayo didn’t so much as look their way.

Next Chapter

#flip writes #bandori #fanfiction #bandori fanfiction #bang dream fanfiction #fanfic #hikawa sayo #i'm worried about this chapter #I hope it makes sense

[owlways-and-forever]

A/N: Alright, another chapter, naturally later than I intended to post it. The good news is that the next (and final) chapter of this installment is already partially written and oh boy is it a whopper. Strap in for the feels guys, you won't want to miss this (though you might hate me for it afterward). Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! See you all next time!

*IMPORTANT: You may have noticed that the title of the story has been changed, and that’s because I’ve decided to break this story into pieces, since it’s already pretty long, and I want to avoid having one long, 100+ chapter, 1,000,000 word leviathan that takes 10 years to finish. I will absolutely be continuing the story, I’ve just decided to split it into four different “books”. And even though they’ll all be continuous parts of the larger Better Together ‘verse, they should be pretty much readable as standalone pieces too. So hooray to that! As for this particular “book”, there will 4 more chapters before I conclude and begin the next one. That’s all I’ve got to say right now! Go check out @thosemarauderboys where you can find some awesome edits that @ginnyweasiee has been making for this story!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THE BLOG FOR THIS UNIVERSE @thosemarauderboys​​. You can find fancasts of the characters (including OCs) to see what I imagine them looking like, plus fun facts about them, and I’m trying to update with like, images and stuff as well.

Read the previous chapters at the links below, on ff.net, or ao3.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11,Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25

Chapter 26: A Matter of Blood

To some surprise, the game for the Quidditch Cup ended up being between Hufflepuff, known for their technical skill and advanced moves executed flawlessly by senior players, and Slytherin, known for dirty playing and an uncanny ability to injure the star players on the opposing team. Almost everyone but the Slytherins were supporting Hufflepuff, and the stands were a sea of gold.

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter had wormed their way into the Hufflepuff section of the stands, so as to be in the thick of everything, and found themselves sitting next to some of the Hufflepuff first years. Remus was with to Georgiana Laurent, smiling and chatting quietly to each other, seemingly oblivious to the excited hordes surrounding them and paying hardly any attention at all to the game that was unfolding. Peter stood behind them with Gavin O'Neill, the two of them asking lots of questions and trying to understand what was going on, to varying degrees of success. Sirius and James found the company of Adrian Wells, who seemed to be as enthusiastic about quidditch as the two of them, despite having grown up in a muggle family. He didn't know all the nuance of the rules, but he cheered and taunted enthusiastically, and more than once reduced the other boys to fits of laughter.

It was a dirty game, as predicted, with Hufflepuff racking up the goals and Slytherin causing injuries left and right. When Caius Nott sent a bludger in the direction of Foxtrin Flint, catching him squarely in the stomach and knocking him clean off his broom, there was a roar of displeasure from the stands, and Madam Hooch blew her whistle sharply. They could practically hear her reprimanding Nott, and everyone seemed convinced he would be sent off, but it did not happen.

"Are you bloody insane?!" Adrian yelled, motioning to where Foxtrin was being helped off the pitch. "He'll have broken ribs from that wanker!"

Partha Patel put away the penalty shot with no difficulty, which only seemed to further incense the Slytherin team. Dolohov, the Keeper and Captain, called all the Slytherin players over, and seemed to encourage them to violence as he punched his fist into his hand. They were only down by 50 points, catching the snitch would win it for them, but Evan Rosier, the Seeker, seemed to be arguing with Dolohov that it couldn't be done. It earned him a slap to the head, and his cheeks darkened with rage. The huddle broke and the players soared in separate directions, ready to resume play.

The game grew increasingly filthy. Bilius Weasley was playing with a deep cut on his forehead that seemed to pour blood into his eyes, and his red hair was stained even darker crimson along his ears. Vortigurn Warwick was sent off when he tried to bite Tristan Downing, and Thracius Geary was given the same punishment when he sent a bludger hurtling towards Madam Hooch.

Rain had started to fall when Rosier suddenly began hurtling towards the Hufflepuff section of the stands. The snitch hung in the air about ten feet in front and above the stands, and for a moment it seemed as though Rosier was going to snatch a victory for Slytherin. But then Amarantha Cavendish saw his move, and had been patrolling the pitch closer to the Hufflepuff end than him, and she sped in the direction of the stands as well. It would be close, neck and neck, and the chants from all around to encourage Cavendish grew deafening. As Rosier stretched out his hand in front of him, Cavendish took advantage of his balance being thrown off, bowling into him and sending him sprawling off path. She course-corrected quickly and grabbed the snitch in her fingers, holding it up triumphantly as Madam Hooch blew the whistle. Rosier, however, had gone careening into the Hufflepuff sections, landing squarely in the midst of the students, who supported him begrudgingly. Caius Nott and Meirchion McCrae were heading toward them to collect Rosier, anger written clearly across their faces.

"Get your filthy hands off me, mudblood," Rosier sneered at Gavin, who was supporting his shoulder with some trepidation.

"What did you say?" Adrian and Sirius hissed simultaneously, pushing past Remus, Georgiana and Peter. Sirius looked like he was about to punch Rosier, and James grabbed his wrist in case he needed to be held back.

"I told the vile little creature to keep its grubby paws off of me," he spat, locking his steel grey eyes on Sirius. "And the same goes for you, blood traitor."

"I wouldn't touch you for all the gold in Gringotts," Sirius answered with a snide grin. "I wouldn't want to catch whatever disease you clearly have."

"How something as pathetic as you came from the likes of the Black Family I'll never understand," Rosier goaded. "I'm surprised mummy dearest hasn't had you disowned yet."

"You shut your mouth," Sirius snarled, his grin turning downward and his teeth bared in a look that was almost feral.

"Sirius, leave it," Remus urged quietly, placing his hand on his friend's arm.

"Good idea, listen to your little pet."

Sirius let out a growl and launched himself at Evan Rosier, wrenching his arm from James' grasp and clawing at Rosier's face. He pulled his arm back and punched the startled Rosier in the face, his fist connecting with bone with a sickening crunch. Evan recovered quickly though, and turned the tables of the fight, using his size to his advantage as he began to pummel Sirius. James and Adrian were quick to join in, but before either could land more than a few punches Meirchion McCrae and Caius Nott appeared, pulling the much smaller boys away and holding them fast. Nott was holding Adrian and twisted his arms so violently behind his back James could hear both shoulders pop as Adrian tried not to scream in pain. James thrashed and tried to kick Meirchion in the shins, but the older boy was much stronger and one quick punch to the kidneys had James doubled over.

"Excuse me!" Professor Sprout hollered, puffing out her chest as she pushed through the crowd of students watching the fight. "You will desist NOW."

The echoing command in her voice rang through James' mind and he saw Sirius and Evan pull away from each other, almost as though an invisible force were peeling them apart. Caius Nott and Meirchion McCrae dropped the two boys in the grasp simultaneously. Professor Sprout's eyes roved over all of them, taking everything in.

"Mr. Potter, please take Adrian here up to the Hospital Wing," she said, her voice softening a touch as she instructed them. James and Adrian began to walk away, but they were slow enough to hear the rest of her words. "Mr. McCrae, Mr. Nott, you will both lose ten points for your house – we do not pick on those who are smaller than us. Mr. Rosier and Mr. Black, you will both lose 50 points for your houses for fighting, and you will have a fortnight's worth of detentions. The first of which you will serve in my office, now."

"So how bad was detention?" Remus asked when Sirius pushed through the portrait hole and collapsed on the floor next to their table.

"It was just boring," he groaned, dragging his hands across his face. "She lectured us about fighting and how we should all just love each other regardless of our Houses or blood status. As if I could ever love one of those foul minded Slytherin purists," he spat.

"Sirius, he called you a blood traitor..." Remus said quietly, looking at Sirius with wide eyes.

"My family is like them, you know that, they believe in all that nonsense," Sirius answered with a wave of his hand, but his eyes closed to hide a flicker of pain.

"It's not so bad, they've been calling my family that for ages," James said, trying to make his best friend feel better.

"Yeah, but it's your whole family," Sirius whispered, almost too quietly for the other boys to hear.

It was quiet for a few moments as the four boys absorbed the words, their young minds beginning to understand just how heavily differences in blood status weighed upon the wizarding world, and how it affected each of them.

"Thank you," Peter said after a few moments, breaking the silence.

"For what?" Sirius asked, his brow furrowing.

"For fighting," Peter answered. "I'm not muggleborn, but I might as well be. My magic isn't strong, I didn't even know there was such a thing as magic until Professor Sniders came with my letter. Sometimes I think I don't belong here, or in this world. And you fought for Gavin, and Adrian, and Georgiana and maybe even a little bit for me too. You're brave, Sirius, you stand up to those people because they're wrong and you know it. You're a true Gryffindor."

"Peter that's... quite touching," Sirius said, looking sincere for a moment before the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. "Did you want a good snog as well or just pretty words?" He reached up and grabbed Peter's wrist and pulled him down to the floor.

They wrestled and James and Remus jumped on top, a pile of giggling boys with wiggling fingers reaching out to tickle each other, seeking out screeches of laughter that drew dirty looks from the other Gryffindors who were trying to study.

#hp ff #hp fic #marauders #marauders ff #marauders fic #hp #btmt #gen writes

[jadedbirch]

I have the best idea.-silverflinthamilton

Well *I* too had the best idea!  Which was the whole premise of this fic, in which we find Modern Day FlintHam inviting a young John Silver over for dinner.  They make a SilverFlintHam.

“Darling,” Thomas blazed through the door of their shared home office, arms full of grocery bags, which he hastened to drop at James’ feet.  “I have the best idea.  Help me carry this into the kitchen.”

James took off his reading glasses and pushed his pile of papers away.  His husband’s arrival was a welcome reprieve from the awful drudgery of review writing.

“I don’t think asking me to carry groceries is exactly the best idea you’ve ever had,” he pointed out, picking up the bags from the floor and following Thomas down the corridor into the kitchen.

“Don’t be daft, that’s not what I meant!  Remember your grad student, the one who left with the terminal Master’s?”

“Silver?”

“You said he was not cut out for academia.”

“The kid had the attention span of a goldfish on pot.”

“Yes, him!  Wouldn’t it be nice for us to have him over for dinner?  You know, to make sure he’s doing well?  Or do you think your responsibilities as his mentor and advisor end when he leaves your laboratory?”

“Well, technically, they do end there.  He’s no longer even enrolled at the University.  I can’t imagine what anyone would… Thomas!” James glared at his better half with the dawning of understanding.  “What have you done?”

“I invited him to dinner.  Pass me the lettuce.”

With a sigh, James did as he was told.  “What… How did you even track him down?  Please don’t tell me you stalked him.”

“No need, he stalked me.  Well, he stalked you, technically.  I just live here.”  Thomas shrugged, casually washing the vegetables.

“What?”

“I walked out this morning and found him asleep in his car, parked right outside.  He pretended not to know where he was, which I found charming.”

“You’ve always had a strange sense of what is charming,” James cringed, remembering their own first meeting.  He had apparently charmed Thomas while being the complete opposite of a charming individual.

“He’s like a lost puppy who followed you home, even after you kicked him out.  I’m simply not as heartless as you are.”

“Oh yes, there he is - Mr. Epitome of Altruism!” James smirked.  “I know there’s a lot more to this… dinner… of yours than simply the desire to feed the less fortunate.”  James reeled Thomas in and placed both his hands appreciatively over his pert ass.  “And besides, I wasn’t the one who kicked him out.  It was his own choice to take the terminal Master’s.”

“Because you were being an arse to him,” Thomas concluded, sneaking a quick kiss in before returning to making a very colorful salad.  “Probably because he was your favorite student.  And don’t even bother denying it, I married your ass and I accept that you can be an utter twat to those closest to you.”

“Come on, baby!”

“He’s coming over at seven.  Go put on a clean shirt,” Thomas waved James off, dismissively.  “You reek of other people’s science.”

“I can think of worse things to smell like!” James shouted defiantly on his way to the bedroom.

***

It hadn’t been a lie:  John Silver had been James Flint’s favorite student.  Easily the best of the current bunch of disappointments.  Which was why it had been extra disappointing when, having completed his major proposal and advanced to candidacy, Silver had indicated his desire to leave academia and the Flint lab for good.  He had a bright, inquisitive mind, and was able to pick up and follow Flint’s reasoning faster than any of his other peons.  Students.  (HR had already had a talk with him about the whole “peon” thing.) (Silver hadn’t minded being called a “peon”, Flint recalled with affection.)

A huge disappointment he may have been, but it still felt incredibly good to have him over for dinner.  Even if James didn’t trust his husband entirely in his motives.  And even if Silver had brought the really terrible wine.  He supposed that had been his own fault too, in some way, for was it not the thesis advisor’s responsibility to instill a certain sense of taste buds and decorum in his students?

“So, John, what are you doing for work these days?” Thomas asked, solicitously placing more food onto Silver’s plate.

“Working at the local Home Depot as a shift manager,” he replied.

“What the fuck?” James snapped, almost choking on his chicken.  “You have a graduate degree in Molecular Biology from a top tier university!  Is this what you meant when you said you’d lost your enthusiasm for science?”

“Wow, you’re being an incredibly judgemental dick for someone with tenure!” Silver snapped back.  “Must be a nice view from your Ivory Tower!  Well, not all of us have the luxury to dick around in a lab for eight years on a grad student stipend.  Believe it or not, Home Depot actually pays me a decent living wage, unlike you!”  Remembering himself, Silver quickly lowered his eyes and turned to Thomas.  “I’m really sorry, Thomas.  It was so kind of you to invite me to dinner.  I think I should just…” He rose to go.

“Sit down!” Flint thundered.

“I can certainly see why he was your favorite,” Thomas smirked, calmly sipping the terrible wine as if it wasn’t melting his esophagus as they spoke.

“Why did you really leave?” James asked, much more quietly, digging his nails into the palms of his hands.  “And don’t tell me it was the money.” 

“Just… my heart wasn’t in it,” Silver spoke, averting his eyes from Flint’s, but sitting back down.  “I was distracted.  Had a hard time concentrating.  Preoccupied with other things.” 

“What things?” Flint pressed.  “Plenty of people get distracted.  The whole point of grad school is to fuck around and get distracted.  You focus when you do your post-doc.  You know this, we’ve talked about this.  I didn’t care if you switched your project five times:  you were learning!”

Silver rubbed his face with his hand, evidently struggling to answer Flint’s question.  Thomas glowered at them from across the table with the look of someone about to slap them both.

“In therapy,” Thomas chimed in, “we call these moments ‘breakthroughs.’” His hand gently landed on Silver’s shoulder.  “It’s all right, John. You don’t have to answer him.  But it might feel good to unburden.  Besides, he’s not your thesis advisor anymore.”

Silver laughed, looking from Thomas to James.  “You want me to unburden?  All right.  It was you,” he spat out at Flint.  “You were the reason I was so distracted.  It got so bad, I was popping boners in the middle of our lab meetings.  And, what’s worse, I wasn’t sure that you didn’t want me back.  And I wasn’t going to be responsible for fucking up your marriage or causing some gigantic HR nightmare.  So I left.” 

Silence stretched out across the dining room table, punctuated only by the ticking of a ridiculous grandfather clock that Thomas had insisted on shipping over from Mother England. 

“You fucking idiot,” Flint finally said.  “You didn’t have to leave the program.  I could have helped you find a new thesis advisor.  You would have still been on track to graduate in two to three years.”

“Also,” Thomas added with delighted alacrity, “we have an open marriage.” 

“I… what?” Silver looked from one man to the other, his eyes wide and maddeningly blue.  “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying,” Thomas resumed first, “that if you’d like to have a go at it with James, go right ahead.  Fuck him blue!”

“And I’m saying,” Flint chimed in, “that you should go the fuck back to grad school and stop it with this Home Depot nonsense.” He sighed clenching and unclenching his silverware.  “And, of course, you’re also welcome to fuck my husband, if you like.”

At that, Silver choked and proceeded to have a coughing fit.

“By the way, this wine is fucking awful,” Flint grimaced.  “How the hell are you even drinking this, honey?”

“Unlike you, I am polite,” Thomas replied with a wicked grin.  “Our guest is possibly dying,” he pointed out, pouring Silver a glass of water.  “I’m so sorry, John.  It was certainly not my intention to invite you to a threesome when I asked you to dinner,” he stated, patting Silver on his back as he attempted to get his coughing under control.  

Liar, James mouthed at him from across the table. 

“Listen,” Silver rose from his seat again, gathering his bearings and catching his breath.  “It’s fine.  I brought lube.” 

It was James’ turn to choke just as he was taking a very poorly timed bite of his chicken.  It would not be the last time he would find himself choking that night.

#prompt fill #fic #silverflinthamilton #flinthamilton #the Ham is a huge Ham #black sails #ellelan

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

Get your Skimmons Goggles ready, people! Here’s a ficlet inspired by that scene from 4x22. You know the one...with Fitz, (LMD) Jemma and Ophelia...only my brain saw that scene and thought “what if Daisy was there? And what if Daisy didn’t know that Jemma was really an LMD?” So here we have it: what if Daisy hadn’t been privy to the plan involving robo-Jemma?

Humans are weak. It was almost enough to make her regret ever wanting to be one of them in the first place. They were weak: physically weak, weak-willed, fragile and brittle things that were so easy to break. For the first time, Ophelia understands the draw that humans feel when it comes to zoos or aquariums: the thrill that comes from watching a creature simpler than yourself, being undetected on the other side of the glass. The team would never notice her until she wanted them to, would never realize how they were the animals, trapped in a cage they didn't even see.

Ophelia can see Fitz and Jemma, weak and foolish and endlessly infuriating, working to divert more power to the Framework. When she's done here, she thinks she'll move toward that room next; she'll tear the Framework to pieces on this side too and watch even more members of the team die. She'll have to ensure that Fitz sees that too, that he bears the burden of that responsibility. After she takes care of Jemma, of course.

The door swings open and Ophelia tenses in the shadows. A figure walks in, face bathed in the glow of the laptop in her hands: Daisy.

Fitz glances toward Jemma with an expression of mild annoyance. "I thought you bolted the door."

Jemma only rolls her eyes in return. Daisy looks up from the screen, balancing the computer on her gauntlets. "Have you guys got it hooked up yet?" She asks. "We need more power to keep the Framework up and running until Yo-yo can get Mack through the door."

"Almost," Fitz replies, gesturing toward the bank of wires and monitors before them. "Just another flip of the switch and-"

And Ophelia is there suddenly, already smiling at the surprise on their faces, the expressions quickly turning to fear. Humans are right to keep tigers on the other side of the glass; they don't know how to live with them in the same space. Jemma gasps, stepping back, away from Fitz and Daisy. Away from her. Good. It's time she finally inspired fear in the wretch; Ophelia wants to put the fire out behind her eyes, wants to finally see her cower before her.

Daisy's eyes shift from Ophelia, tracking Jemma. There's already fear there, Ophelia can see. But not fear of her, which she finds intriguing.

Fitz swallows and he seems anxious, nervous. Good. Once she could have heard the beating of his heart, could have measured the rhythm and learned so much from the speed. Now she can only imagine that pounding, the adrenaline coursing through his body, the way he's having to force his mind to work, his grudging admittance that she has the upper hand.

"Aida," Daisy snarls, taking a step toward her. Fitz puts out a hand to stop her, keeping her back and Ophelia feels a thrill, small and pathetic. She doesn't need protecting but would he help her?

"Well, well," Ophelia says with a smile. "I was hoping just for her but I suppose I can kill two birds with one stone since more of the team is here." She pauses, considering. "I've never understood that expression: stones and birds. How nonsensical."

Ophelia looks over her shoulder toward Jemma, standing rigid and uncertain, hands clenched into fists. Not afraid, not truly, not yet. She can still see it in her eyes: calculating and defiant. She can work on that. "What do you think?"

"That you're mad," Jemma snaps, taking another step back. Not away but toward something: tools, resting just out of reach.

Ophelia smiles. "There's another expression I've been thinking about a lot recently," she says thoughtfully, looking back toward Fitz and Daisy. She likes this position, standing in between them and Jemma, keeping Fitz away from the person he wants to protect. "The cat and mouse game. Do you think the cat enjoys what it's doing? Or is it only instinct?"

Daisy scowls. "Remember what I said about therapy? It's something you should seriously consider. Really. It'll help you keep all those batshit things in your head."

Ophelia narrows her eyes, moving closer and Fitz holds up his hands, entreating. "Okay, okay," he says and Ophelia is growing tired from following his eyes, watching as his gaze moves from Jemma to Daisy and back again endlessly. "Let's just…you don't have to do this, Ophelia. Please, just, let's just go…I'll go with you, Ophelia, just don't hurt them."

Again, there's that thrill, tempting, pathetic, catching fire in her heart. "Her name is Aida," Jemma says shortly from over her shoulder. "Artificial Intelligent-"

Ophelia spins on her heel, advancing toward her. "How fitting for those to be your last words."

"Don't touch her." Daisy's voice is stony and hard like flint. Ophelia can still hear the fear there. She can see it on her face, plainly, when she turns back to face her. Daisy's hand is outstretched and Ophelia can feel the warning vibrations in the air molecules, the approaching storm.

"Don't," Fitz says plaintively, looking at them all, his expression twisted. He rubs his hands together, exhaling slowly. "Please. Just. Ophelia, listen to me-"

Jemma makes her move then, snatching something from the tool box and lunging for Ophelia. Her movements are pathetically human: slow and clumsy. Ophelia grabs her easily, twisting her arm away, squeezing her wrist, holding the sharpened pick out of reach. She holds Jemma to her, the pointed tip of the blade against her chest. Weak, fragile. So breakable.

Both Fitz and Daisy protest in unison, moving toward her. When Ophelia presses the metal into her skin, Jemma's whimper stops them both in their tracks. "Now, now, let's not get carried away," she grins.

"Ophelia, please, come with me," Fitz says, holding out a hand to her. "Leave Jemma alone. You don't have to hurt her."

"It's Jemma now, is it?" Ophelia grins and this feeling, this thrill, is better then the one from earlier.

Daisy's hand is up, her fingers trembling. "Don't touch her." Her tone isn't commanding, not like Fitz's had been. It's almost like an entreaty, a plea. "You might not be a robot anymore but I can still quake you to pieces."

Fitz shakes his head, his hand landing light on Daisy's gauntlet before fluttering off again. "Don't, don't," he says, exhaling through puffed out cheeks. "Don't. You'll hurt her."

It's only because of the uncertainty that Ophelia sees on Daisy's face, the way that her eyes flick toward Jemma, that she realizes that Fitz isn't talking about her. He's worried that Daisy will hurt Jemma. Always Jemma.

She holds Jemma tighter and Jemma gasps sharply and Daisy reacts, tensing, inhaling, like she can feel the pain that Jemma is experiencing.

"Don't hurt her," Daisy says softly, lowering her hand, as though the gesture might inspire some sort of sympathy in Ophelia. "Please don't hurt her."

Interesting. Ophelia looks at her face, how Daisy's eyes haven't left Jemma. She looks at Fitz, who is standing, motionless and uncertain, his hands clenched into fists. She lifts the pick aware from Jemma's chest, watching Daisy's face as she plunges it in again.

Jemma cries out and so does Daisy, gasping out her name. She moves forward but Fitz grabs her, tugging her backward. Jemma is trembling in her arms, breathing heavily. "Now then," she says, smiling. "I'm feeling better already. Why is that?"

"Because you're a crazy bitch," Daisy snarls. "Let her go. Jemma…"

Jemma exhales through gritted teeth and Ophelia can feel the heaving of her sides as she struggles to push past the pain. Pain, such an interesting concept; it's so much easier to increase it than it is to decrease it. She twists the pick and Jemma cries out again, closing her eyes. Her head falls backward against Ophelia's shoulder and it's funny how close they are now, how there's something intimate in causing someone pain like this.

"Ophelia, stop!" Fitz cries out desperately. "The Dark Hold! I can take you to the Dark Hold!"

"Why bother?" Daisy lifts her hand again, lowers it, lifts it, uncertain. "Stop trying to protect her."

Fitz shakes his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "It's not, this isn't supposed to be happening."

"Do something Fitz," Daisy snarls, gritting her teeth. "Or I swear-"

"No, no," Fitz shakes his head and he looks back toward Ophelia. "Please. Just…you want the Dark Hold, right? Coulson is reading it right now; he has it. Just come with me. I can get it for you and I'll go with you. Please-"

Ophelia presses the pick deeper into Jemma's chest, rewarded with a wheeze of breath, the faint hit of a palm against her thigh. "I don't need you to get me anything," Ophelia tells Fitz frankly. "Don't you see that? I don't need you at all."

Jemma whimpers. "I'm scared." She looks at Fitz. "Please make it stop."

The victory doesn't make Ophelia feel as good as she'd thought that it would.

"Please." Daisy is holding up her hand again but there's something different this time, an appeal, a plea, the way that Ophelia has seen humans kneel before their big wooden crosses and stain-glass windows. "Stop hurting her. Please."

There's something different in her face, different from what Ophelia can see in Fitz's expression. It makes her wonder about things and how she's seen them, about the different ways that people can care for one another. It had seemed straight forward before, obvious, when the players had only been herself and Jemma and Fitz. Daisy and the way she looks at Jemma throws everything out of balance.

"Help me," Jemma whimpers and Daisy moves forward without thinking.

Fitz grabs her by the waist, pulling her back. "Don't, no, don't." He seems almost desperate, holding her tightly. "Don't get near her."

Daisy whirls toward him and her gauntlet catches him against the side of his head, intentionally or otherwise. "Do something!" Daisy snarls and she wrenches free. "Fucking do something then!"

"Please, Ophelia," Fitz says again and Ophelia almost feels bad for him. For the both of them. Fitz hasn't learned that she doesn't need words anymore. "I'll go with you." He holds out a hand to her. "Just…please."

Ophelia wonders what Daisy's heart would sound like. It would be different from Fitz's, she realizes now; it would be breaking.

"I want you to suffer," Ophelia tells Fitz, her gaze pining him in place. "I'm going to kill you all, one by one. But first, I want you to suffer."

She releases Jemma and Daisy moves toward her, heedless of Fitz's previous words or Ophelia's closeness. But there's nothing she can do, not when Ophelia lets the electricity course through her and into Jemma. Fitz cries out but it's Daisy that she can't stop watching. She's thought about human love a great deal; in the Framework, with Fitz, it had seemed like the most powerful thing in the world, something she longed for, coveted, desired. She'd thought she'd seen it between the two of them, between Fitz and Jemma, that simple, quiet willingness to do anything for another person, to support and protect them.

But she's seeing it differently now, on Daisy's face. Love is not quiet or simple. It's loud and ugly. It's powerless anguish. And it's not strong or powerful at all. It can die, just like the person who feels it.

Jemma falls to the ground and Daisy goes with her, falling to her knees, pulling Jemma into her arms. Fitz is staring down at them, mouth agape, his eyes shining, his hands loose and useless at his side.

Ophelia smiles at him. "Suffer," she whispers. "I want you to hurt like you've hurt me."

Fitz can do nothing but stare at the scene unfolding before him, unable to figure out how things came to this. Everything had been perfectly planned, methodically organized. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

When Ophelia disappears, whooshing out of existence like she was never there at all, Fitz finally feels like he's released from his inaction, finally able to kneel down beside Daisy, to put a hand on her shoulder. "Daisy-"

She whirls on him with animal quickness and Fitz feels pain explode across his chest as she drives him back. "How could you!" Daisy snarls and she hits him again before Fitz can react. "You let her die! She killed her! I could have stopped her! I could have done something! You killed her!"

Daisy moves for him again and Fitz catches her arms, trying to hold her back, to not hurt her, to not let her hurt him. "Daisy, Daisy, stop," he grunts as she tries to twist away. "Stop! Listen! You don't understand!"

"You don't understand!" Daisy wrenches herself free, moving away from him like she can't bear to touch him again. She moves toward Jemma again but she doesn't touch her either. "How could you do this? I love her. And she's dead." She looks at Fitz. "You did this."

Fitz swallows, shaking his head. His mind feels like it's going to explode, jumbled up by all the thoughts inside. The look on Daisy's face, what he sees in her eyes, threatens to tear him apart. "That's not Jemma."

At first, Fitz sees nothing in her eyes, nothing but rage shining through the tears collected there. But slowly…slowly…he sees her start to understand. Daisy looks back toward the body between them, this fake Jemma with her eyes open and a knife buried in her chest. It looks like Jemma, of course it does. So much so that Fitz can feel his own heart breaking, a fissure spreading there at the sight of her.

"What?" Daisy's voice is soft and Fitz wonders if she's even aware that she's spoken at all. She reaches out a hand toward Jemma, her fingers brushing her forehead, pushing aside a twist of hair.

Watching her, Fitz wonders how much times she's done that before, that simple and easy gesture, a subconscious, quiet display of love.

"You weren't supposed to be here," Fitz mumbles, as though that somehow makes it okay. "We didn't…we didn't want anyone to know…didn't want Ophelia to realize-"

Daisy lifts her head, looking back at Fitz. "An LMD?" Fitz nods. He expects to see relief in Daisy's face, which leaves him totally unprepared for the last hit to the side and he grunts as the breath whooshes out of him. "Asshole. You could have told me."

Daisy gets to her feet and Fitz groans as Daisy helps him up as well. "That would have definitely tipped Ophelia off and messed with the plan."

"Her name is Aida," Daisy says flippantly and she sounds so much like Jemma that it almost makes Fitz smile.

A burst of gunfire echoes from somewhere else in the base that does make Fitz smile. "Though it seems like the plan is working anyway."

When they reach the portal, Ophelia is already gone. Coulson is standing there, himself again, and the air is heavy with the smell of fire and ash so Fitz assumes that Ghost Rider was here, that their plan worked, that Coulson was able to control him. And that Ophelia…that Ophelia is gone.

Jemma is standing amidst the rubble, a satisfied look on her face. Daisy rushes toward her, pulling Jemma into her arms, taking her by surprise. Fitz can see Daisy's palm poised just above the small of Jemma's back, can see the way that she shakes and how Jemma's eyes grow wide. "Daisy? What-"

But Daisy's expression turns to one of pure relief and she seems to collapse into her, burying her face against the crook of Jemma's neck. Jemma's arms fit around her easily in the same subconscious way that Fitz just witnessed Daisy brush aside LMD Jemma's hair. Jemma looks at him over Daisy's shoulder, uncertain and afraid. Fitz smiles faintly, shaking his head and somehow Jemma seems to understand, seems to know.

She closes her eyes, kissing Daisy's temple, holding tighter to her. "Shh," Jemma whispers against her hair. "It's okay. I'm okay."

Fitz looks away, feeling like he's intruding. Instead, he looks at the portal, still and useless now. The base is quiet aside from the sounds of Jemma and Daisy murmuring together. He hopes that it stays that way, that everything stays quiet and peaceful and still. He thinks they both deserve it.

#skimmons #bioquake #ficlet #aosficnet2 #canon typical violence #just to be clear this is fitzsimmons brotp #Daisy and Fitz won't be doing any team building exercises for a while

[sage-nebula]

Ash and Alan for the headcanons meme please!

Ash’s got really long, so could you send me Alan’s in a second one? I want to make sure I give both boys the attention they deserve. Thanks!

A.) What I think realistically:

Though it may not seem like it due to all the time he spends traveling and how little time he spends at home, Ash is actually very attached to and protective of his mother, and (though he tends to keep this buried down and doesn’t let it show) resentful of his father for walking out on them. Ash and his mother have never had very much money; they have a nice, small house in Pallet Town, but luxuries were definitely scarce and despite Delia doing her best with her restaurant*, she’s still a single parent with a single income who became a single parent when she was eighteen years old. It’s been hard on her, despite how upbeat she stays in order to make sure her son doesn’t worry, and as dense as he might seem at times, Ash did pick up on this over the years. He could tell when his mom was stressed, could tell when she was tired because she had to work a full shift plus take care of him, and while Delia always assured him that his dad was a wonderful trainer who would be so proud of him and who loved him so much, Ash couldn’t help but feel like if his dad really loved him---or either of them, really---then he would have been there, rather than off . . . wherever he is, in the world. (Of course, then Ash feels rather defiantly that they don’t need his dad anyway, that they’re doing just fine without him and he can shove off and stay wherever he is, but all the same.)

This has, in a way, informed the way he reacts to other deadbeat parents in the series. When he meets Brock’s father---or rather, when he realizes that Flint is Brock’s father---he says rather bluntly, “You mean you’re the good-for-nothing father who left home and never came back?!” (He was also clearly affected by Flint’s story of Brock’s parental abandonment, saying, “I better not listen to anymore sad stuff, or the next time I face Brock I might not have the heart to beat him” and openly questioned why Flint helped him instead of his own son.) Likewise, it takes him three whole episodes (and being directly told) that Sabrina’s father is, well, her father, as if the idea of an absent father coming back isn’t one that easily occurs to him (though he does accept Sabrina’s father coming back with happiness, perhaps because he knows that Sabrina’s father didn’t exit her life willingly). Ash isn’t against the idea of absent parents coming back, and seems to step back and let the kid in question handle the situation, but I think that if he was confronted by his own father, his feelings would be a lot more conflicting, oscillating between a desire to get to know his father, as well as a lot of anger at the man for walking out on him and his mother and leaving them to fend for themselves.

Nonetheless, back to the original point---because Delia is the one who always raised him, always took care of him, always loved him and did her best by him no matter what, Ash is quite attached to her, and rather protective of her as well. He’s a total and complete momma’s boy, and I feel that few things illustrate this as clearly as how much he went goddamn berserk when Entei kidnapped her in Spell of the Unown. As far as Ash is concerned, the Ketchum family is just the two of them (and their pokémon) and that’s fine. They’re great the way they are. And no one better mess with his mom under threat of serious harm. Of that, he swears.

(*It was mentioned in Shuudo’s novelizations, I believe, that Delia owns and operates a restaurant in Pallet Town. We never once see this in the anime itself, but I like to imagine that it’s there nonetheless, since otherwise I’m not sure where she gets any money from, given that I highly doubt Ash’s father sends child support checks.)

B.) What I think is fucking hilarious:

He sleep talks! This is actually canon, to a degree; we see him sleep talking in the very first episode, as he’s dreaming over which starter pokémon he’s going to pick. However, it delves into headcanon territory when you consider that Ash can have entire nonsensical conversations while completely asleep. That is, if you overhear him sleep talking, you can ask him a question to prod him along that sleepy train of thought and he will answer. Sometimes this means that he gives a spiel on how all the pokémon that are thought to come from space, such as clefairy, actually came up from the ocean, because the ocean has a portal to space at the very bottom that no one has ever seen because people can’t swim down that far. Or maybe he questions on the nature of pokémon like cherrim, who are clearly pokémon, but who are also fruit. Where does the fruit end and the pokémon begin? asks actually asleep Ash Ketchum. These are Very Serious™ conversations that he, while asleep, takes Very Very Seriously™, but when he wakes up in the morning he’ll have absolutely no recollection that they ever happened.

(One time Iris and Cilan recorded one such conversation just to have proof it happened. That time it was about how ditto could be anywhere at any time and you’d never know because they use Transform, and how they were all probably surrounded by ditto at all times, and probably they were even ditto and didn’t know because somehow the ditto had impersonated them so well that even they, themselves, were fooled. Listening to this at breakfast the next morning, Ash didn’t even know how to begin explaining what he was rambling on about in his sleep.)

C.) What is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

It’s not really a conscious thought, but in the back of his mind Ash rather assumes that, at some point or another, pretty much everyone will end up leaving him.

His dad was never present in his life, so that’s one thing---but although they were friends in childhood, Gary inexplicably turned on him one day and became his bully instead. Butterfree left to go start a family. He thought Pikachu wanted to leave, but thankfully that wasn’t the case (and never will be). Brock left to go stay with Professor Ivy for a while, and only came back when something happened that he refused to tell Ash about, but as soon as he came back, Tracey decided to leave, staying with Professor Oak instead. Lapras returned to her family, Pidgeot stayed in the woods outside Pallet Town, Charizard decided to stay in the Charicific Valley, only visiting occasionally . . . and the real kicker came when it was time for Misty to leave, going back home to Cerulean and leaving him to continue on by himself.

Ash knows that, in many of these cases, the circumstances are beyond his friends’ control. And it’s not like he never sees them again; they call, they write letters, they visit sometimes, they keep in touch. But that doesn’t make the goodbyes any harder, nor does it stop it from wedging a little note in the back of his mind whenever he meets a new traveling companion that this is only temporary, sooner or later they’re going to leave, better start preparing now for when that happens later. When Misty and Brock left him at the end of the OS, he broke down crying before bolting back to Pallet. After that, the successive goodbyes became easier, because although he bonds and is close with all of his new friends, there’s always a sort of subconscious bit of distance there where he knows that this is not forever, so he better not get attached like it is. (It’s also why, especially with his pokémon, he often makes the choice to leave them before they can say they’re leaving him. We see this with Pikachu, and Charizard, too. At least this way he can tell himself that it’s not really that they’re leaving him; he’s leaving them, for their own good. They’ll be happier this way. And it’s in his control, it’s in his power, he’s not being abandoned, he’s not, he’s making this choice, all on his own.) It gets to the point where, at the end of his Kalos journey, he announces he’s going back to Pallet Town before anyone else has shared their plans with him (at least, I’m pretty sure this was before Serena had decided what it was she was going to do and announced her intentions on going to Hoenn). Aside from just being rather Done™ with Kalos after everything that entire journey consisted of (not just the Flare arc danger, but all the pressure that came with being idolized all the time, et cetera), he decided to say goodbye on his own and go home since he could tell that was coming anyway. He made the decision before the others could, because again: he’s choosing to leave this way, not the other way around.

And again: Ash still loves all of his friends and pokémon, still cares for them all deeply, there’s no doubt about that. And he doesn’t consciously think about the fact that they’ll leave, but . . . that’s still there, in the back of his mind, and as such it’s something he starts preparing himself for as his journey goes on and he magnetically attracts new companions after stepping foot in a new region. Yeah, he attracts friends like static cling, but static wears off after awhile, and so does their time together. By this point, Ash has just rather resigned himself to it, even if only subconsciously.

D.) What would never work in canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

So I have two of these. One is one that I’m sure most people would agree with, and the other is one that I’m sure most people would feel really “?!?!” about.

The one that I feel most people would agree with is that I like to imagine a timeline of Ash aging, simply because although I know the reason why he stays ten, and though I know that the anime exists in a sort of time bubble where time passes but no one ages, it’s still hard for me to reconcile the fact that, from Ash’s perspective, he actually hasn’t been on this journey for years, despite everything that he has done over the course of all the sagas. The reboot of his personality in SM aside, I really feel as if he was characterized like he was 13/14 in XY(&Z), with 13 erring on the young side. He certainly acted more mature than Manon, who we know is ten because she had just started on her journey. (And note: I do not mean this as a dig at Manon, I merely mean that she acted her age whereas Ash did not act his supposed age.) And while Serena had also just started out, we know that she had no interest in journeying until she saw Ash on TV, so it would be believable that perhaps she just started late and was also about 13/14 (hence also why she’s a lot more open about her crush than previous girls---she has a few added years of extra maturity). So the fact that Serena is also more mature than Manon doesn’t discount the idea that Ash didn’t act like he was ten, but instead acted like he was older.

So the way that I look at it is like this: According to the information given in Shuudo’s novelizations, Ash would have turned eleven about a month after setting off from Pallet Town. (His birthday is May 22nd, and Shuudo’s novelizations said that kids leave on their journeys the first April after they turn ten, no doubt based on the Japanese school system.) The line about it being a year since they were last in Viridian City in “Battle of the Badge” is dub-only, but if we take it for the sake of having some sort of measurable timeline, then we can say that by the time the Kanto League takes place, Ash is newly twelve. After that, given how short the Orange Islands season is, maybe it only takes about two or three months (there was a lot of Surfing, okay), so Ash is still twelve by the time he goes to Johto.

Now, this is where things get a bit more difficult, because each of the following sagas was really, really long (far longer than either Kanto or Orange), and even if we do “one year per journey,” Ash would end up being seventeen by the time Kalos rolls around, and no matter how mature he is in XY(&Z), there’s no way that I can buy that he is seventeen. None. (And not even because of maturity, but because . . . look at him. He should be far closer to Alan’s height if he was an older teenager. Hell, he’d be older than Alan if he was seventeen, so like . . . thirteen/fourteen is believable. Seventeen is not.) So I’m really not sure how to make that work, for him to still only be, say, fourteen by the time he reaches Kalos despite how long the Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, and Unova sagas are, but at least making him fourteen by Kalos is more believable than ten, so I think that finagling can be forgiven.

As for the other, “?!?!” one . . . okay, hear me out. What if---and stay with me, guys, bear with me on this---what if . . . Ritchie was his half-brother somehow.

I mean, think about it! They look startlingly alike! They act similar, though Ritchie is more polite and far more of a gentleman. (Would be Serena’s actual dream guy tbh. Plot twist, Ash didn’t remember the summer camp because it was Ritchie she met there and not him.) Ash’s dad is not in the picture, so it’s not out of the question that he could have had another son with a different woman. The only issue is that they’re close in age, but you never know: maybe he walked out on Delia because he had an affair with someone else. It’s possible!!

Anyway, that’s just a crack theory and not a real headcanon, but it’s one I sometimes like to imagine nonetheless. :P

#four headcanons meme #feisty cinnamon roll son #decadeoldtiger