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#there are a lot of little things i could gripe about in today's class but i will spare you from them
mintpin · 3 months
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I just need to get something off my chest.
So there’s this girl in my English class and I thought we were becoming friends because we had so much fun at the musical little shop of horrors ( school trip to see it ). But now she’s always got some sort of gripe with me, like today she said that she was frustrated and it wasn’t my fault but then is rude to me but not my friend. Before that we were just talk about dresses and I said that I got new black pants enthusiast on the new because I have a lot of black pants, I then pointed to my black jeans I was wearing but before I could finish talking she put her hand in my face to tell my to be quiet. Like wtf I was just talking.
Another time she told me I don’t let other people talk when I’m talking and I responded ya I know I’m trying to make sure I can get my point across without getting interrupted, and a few days later she dose the exact same thing, like weren’t you just saying that it’s rude and that I should stop doing it but you get to.
I feel left out when she’s around because she’s constantly telling me I can’t talk or just straight up ignoring me. It makes me feel unimportant like I don’t matter or have anything to add to the conversation.
Does anyone else think she’s a hypocritical bitch
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randomoutsiders · 3 years
Note
HELLO DARLING please can i request an absolutely sinful sirius black blurb where he fucks the reader in somewhere that they could be potentially caught because he’s so hard? and the little shit would probably be dirty talking too wouldn’t he. thank you my darling! i love youuuu -🦎
hi baby!!! here you go, beautiful. you deserve the world and more. thank you so much for all your support <3
warnings/content: exhibitionism, penetrative sex, swearing, dom!sirius, dom!sirius x sub!reader, degradation, use of the word whore, mentions of being caught, dirty talk, etc.
"Right here, turn into this room," Sirius advises, his palm a steady presence against the base of your spine as he lulls you into the raven cavern of an abandoned closet in which holds cobwebbed brooms and dustpans.
"Are you sure-"
"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up and give me your fucking knickers." Comes the angry sneer, an echoing thud of the perturbed slamming of the door quickly following his.
"Why are you being so mean?" You inquire of the male, lips turning downward despite the warmth that pools in the delicate fabric of your panties, tainting the lace of it with your slick.
"Y'see this? Y'see how fucking hard I am right now?"
"S'not that bad." You drawl, pulling your shoulders up in a nonchalant shrug, yet obliging with his request and reaching down, tugging the undergarment from your trembling thighs and dropping it into his awaiting hand.
"Y'wanna fucking test that theory? Y'wanna feel much this fucking hurts?"
"I hurt f'you too, y'know. All the time - but you just call me needy." You simper, lips downturning with irritation as you press your back to the back of the door, aiding in your boyfriend's endeavor to find a comfortable position by slotting your calf up and over his hip bone.
"What have I said about shutting the fuck up?" This time the retort carries a lot more malice, the jangle of his belt buckle finding your eardrums with rapidity.
"Be nice." You gripe, slipping the fabric of your pleated skirt over your hips while the brunet puts more effort into freeing his weeping prick, which is quite literally sending twinges of affliction spiraling to his spinal cord.
"Don't tell me what t'fucking do."
"Sorry." Although there's a lack of sincerity in your words, Sirius accepts it, finally freeing his throbbing cock and shifting forward.
"Y'gonna be quiet or are y'gonna get us caught, hmm? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Someone walking in on me fucking my stupid whore."
"Not a whore." You argue with bleary frustration, allowing your head to loll back against the splintering wood with a soft thud as the swollen head of his cock slips through your sopping folds, lubricating the shaft of it.
"Says the lass letting me take her in the middle of an abandoned broom closet in between classes."
"Says the boy who needed to drag me in here in the first place."
"What the fuck is with your mouth today?" His fingers are suddenly curling around the distinct curvature of your mandible, the pads of such digging into the flesh of your cheeks and forcing a pout onto your lips.
"You're being mean."
"If I was being mean, my cock would be down your fucking throat rather than your cunt. Keep your lips closed, alright? I'm not going to ask again - otherwise, I'll be opening them again and words won't be coming out."
"Alright!"
"That's what I thought. Now watch your tone before I watch it for you." Comes his last warning, and he's suddenly shifting forward, sheathing himself inside you and filling the warm cavern of your cunt.
Every disgruntled argument is cascading from the muddled mush of your mind as your lips part in enraptured bliss, your vocal cords twinging with a low, drawn-out whine.
"Good girl, hmm? You're so tight f'me, aren't you, y'prissy little thing." Although tainted with obscenity, your lips are quirking upward with the excitement of exhibitionism, of being caught.
"Y-Yeah, daddy. Make me feel so good." You mewl, your back rutting against the wooden door as Sirius fucks up into you, each individual ridge of his member creating friction against your ribbed walls in the most delectable way.
"You'd love t'be caught, wouldn't you? Dirty little thing. Dirty little whore f'my cock."
Your teeth are sinking into the cushion of your tongue as you refrain from snapping back, arguing with the lewd insults he's throwing your way.
"Want it. Want it so bad." You're choking back overstimulated hiccups as he ruts into you like he's a bitch in heat, his pelvic bone melding bruises into your own the force of it.
"I'm giving it t'you, y'little minx. Mind your tongue." Sirius trills, rocking his upwards in deep, staccato thrusts, filling you up in such a way that you can feel the spongy head of his cock press dainty little kisses against your cervix.
You're so suddenly aware of how unnecessary it is to keep your mouth shut, for the sheer force of his thrusts is knocking the door back against its frame with each rough movement.
All you can hear now is the echoing thud as it knocks back into its home as you're fucked with half-assed rhythm by the disheveled Gryffindor with his slacks and boxers bundled in a disheveled heap around his ankles.
"We really couldn't wait until we got back to the dormitories?" You seethe through clenched teeth (trying best to ignore the rapture that has overtaken your very body, mind you) as flashes of potential professors finding you flit through your mind.
"Do you feel how fucking hard you made me?"
Now that you're able to focus your attention on it, you can feel the prominent curvature that he's speaking of, the way his prick careens off to the right in the slightest way that allows him to prod at your g-spot as if it's but a simple button to press.
Your optics are rolling back into your skull as your flesh sheens with perspiration, low mewls still spilling from your lips. "Hurts so good."
"Hurts so good?" Sirius spits through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the way his balls are already tightening with the warning of his forthcoming release.
"Shut up." You bite back, fingers undoing the buttons of your dress shirt to reveal the pert buttons of your nipples which are hidden behind the mesh material of your brassiere.
"How many fucking times do I need to tell you to mind your tongue?" There comes the rough swat against your flushed cheek, one that you've been expecting, but alas you're still surprised by the pain that bleeds across the afflicted flesh.
"Sorry." This time there's a little less sarcasm dripping off the words as your boyfriend slows down his deep thrusts, opting to rut into you with long, driven rolls of his hips.
"You're doing so good hiding those pretty noises though, aren't you? Your little moans, puppy? Y'like it when I make you scream?"
Your chin dips down a bashful nod as you affirm his statement, your fluttering walls spasming around his erection as you hold back impending tears.
"Why are you cryin', baby?" The inquiry comes out as a sputtered chuckle as his lips smooth their voyage across the mountain range of your cheekbone, its wake a sloppy, wet one.
When your sniff is all to be heard, followed by the capture of his lips with your own, his question is answered.
"Just love you, s'all." You whisper, electing for this sweet moment of bliss amongst the brash nature of your ministrations.
"Yeah? Y'love me, puppy?"
"S-So much." You simper, your leg trembling with the strenuous effort of maintaining your weight, especially with the tidal wave of euphoria that seems to barreling its way towards you.
"Yeah, well, I fucking love you too."
Taglist:
@rileyloves5 @tedbundyisannoying @lillsthoughts @itsnottilly @siriuslystfu @irlpadfoot @maraudersandco @everythingunderthestarss @lana-isabelle @mais-e @cecile-sucks @lillsthoughts @greenlyblue @hellomyweirdos @onlystarrydreams @highonfi1m @advictedtohim @siriuslystfu @pretty-pop-princess-hs @fleurdeslunes @zzzfour @reggieluna @mysterioustruffle @thesteral1960 @ultradangerouspie @bibbleeb @peppermint-toads @weasleysbitch2 @anywherebuthere @mistress-riddle @lilytheally @gryffindorgirl @gxtitobxby @debbiedarlingg @gaycatlord-stuff @myalupinblack @siriuslyshewrote @slutforsalvatore @padfootswife @alicelongbxttom @padfootswife @kermiemoon @maeve-7 @dlmmdl @livvysnaps @jamespotterscumslut @onyourgoddamnleft @beatricemiruna @msmb @roonilwazlibswhore @simpforferrets @adrianscumslut @siriusmydeer @aayaissaa @moonyinthelight @gianna1516 @voidaliix @certainaesthetic @wh0reforthemarauders @sgchamberlain @jamiebridger @marauderssmuttyhoe @slytherin-aesthetic2406 @needylun @kaqua @v4l3nt1n44 @herbatkazmiloscia @marauders-love @riddikulusweasleys @dagirlintheback @cedricisnotdead @thatsusbitch @voidaliix @dracosafety
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marauderundercover · 3 years
Text
This Side of Normal Ch. 8
AO3
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Marinette was seriously considering murder. She was pretty sure Jason would be able to help her hide the body, he was a lot stronger than her. But murder was seriously on the table. Why has she decided to break that one golden rule, you might ask? Lila Rossi. The bane of her existence. The very reason they were spending two fucking weeks in the crime capital of the world instead of their original destinations. But no, Lila just had to convince Mme. Bustier to take them to Gotham. And then, as if making Marinette plan a million things last minute wasn’t bad enough, Lila decided to talk. Nonstop. Throughout the entire first half of their tour of Wayne Enterprises. The only thing keeping her from strangling the girl right now was the promise of coffee in the cafeteria. She didn’t need food, she needed coffee. And then she’d go right back to plotting murder. Would anyone look in the river for her body? 
“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure you shouldn’t do it.” Adrien says, pulling her out of her murder plot. She glares at him. 
“I’m planning a murder, and I don’t appreciate you interrupting me.” She deadpans. 
“Murder’s bad, Mari. We don’t murder people.” Adrien sighs, throwing an arm over her shoulders. 
“Maybe you don’t murder people. I’m thinking about branching out.” She hums, getting in the line for coffee. Adrien huffs and grabs her arm, tugging her behind him. She immediately starts whining, reaching out towards the coffee booth. 
“Mari, you need actual food. You can have coffee after you eat something. I know for a fact you didn’t eat breakfast.” He says, staring her down. She huffs, crossing her arms. 
“You’re not my dad.” She mumbles, turning away from him. 
“Why the hell are you all pouty?” Jason asks, walking up to the two. Marinette smiles briefly, then drops her face back into a scowl. 
“Someone is keeping me from my coffee.” She says. 
“Good job kid!” Jason says, high fiving Adrien. Marinette’s jaw drops at the betrayal. 
“Honestly rude. Guess I’m not gonna ask you to help me anymore.” She says, sighing dramatically. 
“Help with what?” He asks, frowning. 
“Murder. She wants to commit a murder.” Adrien says, rolling his eyes. 
“Who’re we killing?” Jason asks. This time it’s Adrien’s turn to drop his jaw, Marinette laughing loudly. 
“Ha! I told you Jay would help me!” She cheers, shooting Adrien a smug smile. 
“Marinette! Lila needs your help carrying her tray.” Mme. Bustier instructs, walking over to the trio. Marinette immediately frowns, looking over at Lila who was carrying a tray. Just fine. 
“Uh, looks like she’s got it.” She says, nodding towards the liar. 
“Well, she got it okay, but she needs someone to carry it to her table for her.” Mme. Bustier says, frowning. 
“And one of her friends can do it. I’m not getting out of line for my own lunch just to carry Lila’s tray Mme. Bustier.” Marinette argues, crossing her arms. 
“Marinette-” She starts, then stops when she realizes Jason isn’t one of the students. “Very well. But we’re going to talk about this later.” She adds before walking away. Marinette rolls her eyes. 
“Is she the one we’re murdering?” Jason asks, leaning down a little so he could whisper. 
“Nope. The one whose tray I was supposed to carry is the one on my list.” Mari says, nodding towards the girl who was now fake crying. 
“Jesus. How does anyone put up with her?” He asks, face curling in disgust. Marinette shrugs. 
“At first I thought she was Meta. Now I think my classmates are just idiots.” She says simply. Jason snorts. 
“I believe that. I’m gonna go grab you a coffee. As much as I’d love to help you commit a murder, pretty sure the boss would be pissed.” He says, ruffling her hair before walking away. Marinette turns to Adrien and gives him a smug smile. 
“Ha, bitch.” She says, snorting as he starts spluttering. 
“You can’t just say that, Bug!” He whines, before turning to order his food. Marinette snorts. 
“Sure I can.” She says in English, before quickly switching to Mandarin and lowering her voice. “I’m a seventeen year old ex-superhero, I’m allowed to say bitch.” Adrien just snorts, thanking the lady and grabbing his food so that Marinette can order. Once she has her food, she follows Adrien to an almost empty table in the corner farthest away from their classmates. She smiles at the person at the other end of the table, Dick Grayson. He was their tour guide and had dealt with their annoying ass class surprisingly well. She was tempted to make him a certificate if he lasted til the end of the day without losing his sanity. Plopping down in her seat, she starts eating her food slowly, watching Jason across the room at the coffee booth. 
“Mari, he said he would get you coffee. He’s gonna get you coffee.” Adrien says, nudging her side to try and get her to actually eat. 
“You don’t think he’d get me decaf, do you?” She asks, remembering the time he’d brought coffee to one of their late night training sessions. It was decaf then, he claimed that she needed to be able to sleep after training. She argued that she needed to stay awake and do homework and commissions and some lameass decaf coffee was not going to help her do that. She just hoped he would take pity on her and get her actual coffee this time. 
“I think I’d get you decaf,” Adrien starts, dodging her attempt to whack him. “But, I think Jay’s a little nicer than me today. Probably since he hasn’t seen us in awhile.” He muses. Marinette stops trying to attack him, nodding in agreement. He’d be more likely to give her decaf tomorrow than today. So it was still safe to trust her coffee order to him. For now. 
“I’m sorry, did you say Jay?” Mr. Grayson asks, catching her attention. She glances at Adrien who just shrugs. She knew the two had talked earlier, but she really didn’t want to accidentally get Jay in trouble. 
“Uh, yes?” She says, wincing at the awkwardness. 
“You know Jason.” He says, and she nods, frowning. 
“Yeah, we got to know him last year when he was on a business trip in Paris.” She explains, dodging around the whole ‘he trained us as heroes and then found out our identities and helped us take down a supervillain’ part of it. “We ended up getting close and we’ve kept in contact over the last year.” Mari adds, confused as to why Mr. Grayson looks so lost. 
“Really?” He finally asks. 
“Yeah. He’s basically like our big brother.” Adrien adds, obviously sensing that Marinette was getting uncomfortable. 
“Hey Dick, long time no see.” Jason snarks, putting Mari’s coffee in front of her and plopping down in the seat next to Adrien. 
“Jason. So you have two new siblings?” He asks, gesturing to Mari and Adrien. Jason nods. 
“Yup. And they’re loads better than you lot. Pixie Pop here even said I could help her with her first murder.” Jason teases. Marinette’s face instantly heats up, as she turns her glare to Jason. 
“Jason!” She hisses. He’s lucky he’s on the other side of Adrien. 
“Wait, you two are brothers?” Adrien asks, and Marinette blinks. Oh, yeah. Wait, what. 
“You didn’t know?” Dick asks. Adrien looks at Mari who shrugs. She definitely hadn’t known. She’d assumed Dick was one of Jason’s bosses. 
“Yeah, unfortunately this dipshit is my older brother. Adopted, of course.” Jason says. 
“We also have two other brothers and a sister. And some unofficial siblings.” Dick adds, making Mari raise an eyebrow. 
“All adopted?” She asks. Adoption was no joke. It was crazy expensive in the US. 
“All but one. B kinda adopts every dark haired, blue eyed kid with trauma that he meets.” Jason says, smirking at Marinette’s face. 
“I’m feeling attacked right now. Are you attacking me? If anyone has enough trauma to be adopted by a serial adopter, it’s Adrien. Not me.” She says with a pout. 
“Hey!” Adrien objects. Marinette looks pointedly at his arm. 
“Your arm was cut off by your supervillain father who was an emotional terrorist for over three years. That’s a shit ton of trauma.” She says as he pouts. 
“Yeah, but if I get adopted in the US, I’d never see you anymore.” He points out. 
“But you’d see me all the time.” Jason teases. Adrien grins. 
“That’s right! Okay, sorry M, I’m gonna get adopted here.” He says with a wide grin. 
“Traitors, the both of you. Mr. Grayson, how’d you like a new little sister? I’m officially disowning both of these losers.” Marinette says, ignoring the indignant squawks from Adrien. Dick snorts, a wide grin stretching across his face. 
“Sure kid. And call me Dick. Do you happen to know any acrobatics?” He asks with a teasing grin. Mari smirks. 
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She says. Dick freezes before a huge smile makes its way onto his face, his whole body shaking in excitement. 
“Wait, really? You’re serious?” He asks. She nods. “That’s awesome! Sorry Jay, I’m stealing this one.” He says. Jason scowls. 
“I don’t think so. I’ve known Pixie Pop longer, therefore, she’s my sister.” He says. Adrien clears his throat. “Our sister.” Jason amends, nodding to Adrien. 
“But she’s an acrobat! You know I’ve been looking for someone to teach trapeze to!” Dick whines. Mari’s eyes light up and she starts bouncing in her seat. 
“Wait, trapeze? Seriously? Where? Oh my god, that would be so much fun!” She squeals, suddenly actually excited about being in Gotham. 
“We have one at our house, you guys have to come over! I could show you the basics.” Dick suggests, still grinning. Marinette turns to Jason, waiting to see what he’d say. If Dick didn’t know Jason, she’d never consider going over and learning trapeze. But since he’s Jason’s brother…..
“Ugh, fine. But if B ends up trying to adopt both of you, you can’t blame me. I wanted to keep you away from him. You’re the one who got suckered in by the damn trapeze.” Jason gripes, leaning back in his seat. Marinette just grins at him before turning back to Dick to figure out the specifics. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be that bad.
Next
Tag list (open): @toodaloo-kangaroo @laurcad123 @kittenmywaythrulife @lost-in-the-world-of-maribat @queenz-z
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minshookie · 3 years
Text
Petting Zoo.
Pairing | Stalker!Jungkook x reader
Genre | yandere,angst
Summary | “your secret admirer turned close friend wants to be more than just that, and he always gets his way.”
!warnings! | 18+ mature language, stalking , mentioned sexual acts, violence, sick pets, pet death...
| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)
Requested [closed for request] words: 2k.
A/N: another request done! I love taking a finishing request I just get so nervous in the end. Also trying something new. Any type of interaction is greatly appreciated! Edited, but please excuse errors. {should petting zoo be my first series?}
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He knew you’d love it, you’ve always had a tender heart. The bunny coo’ed as he gently placed her into the plush box. He knew you were lonely, your roommate recently left you for her boyfriend, he knew fully that you were struggling. He’d push his ear against the wall to hear you two bicker in the deep hours of the night. He didn’t mind, he’d save you...but only if you let him.
Knowing your financial struggles, Jungkook went all out to make sure your bunny had the best even providing a months supply of food. He fully planned on this being the light of your month, you’d never stop thinking of him. He secured the new pet under one arm and the equipment under the other, he pushed his door open checking if the hall was clear. Of course, nice and clear just how he needed it, he slipped through the door with stealth leaving the gift in front of your door. With care he pulled the note card from his pocket perching it on top of the punctured box. Heavily he knocked before slipping inside his rightful apartment.
Leaning against the wall he listened for you to open your door. Finally when you did, it felt like his heart was attempting escape. Expertly he creeped to his door looking through it cracked ajar, he heard you read.
“I’m hopping mad for you, take me in as a friend, from your lover.” Fearfully you opened the whining box. In awe you gladly took in his gift, without a second thought. His heart fluttered he felt like floating in love, like in the cartoons hearts in his doe eyes.
Shutting the door he skipped to bed, exhausted his mind finally at ease, he finally has a shot with you! His heart was racing. He rolls onto his bead, head full of sweet thoughts of you, the plans he had for you. Closing his eyes he knew, this is only the beginning.
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Overtime you’d grown fond of your new furry friend, inviting people over to meet your mysterious new fur ball of joy. With this new happiness and motivation, you started leaving your apartment more often. As a result Jungkook started seeing you a lot more and he loved it. He loved it so much that for some reason his schedule now aligned with yours almost perfectly.
You have a class? Oh so does he....would you like a ride? Time to head to work? How funny,him as well.....hop in!
Jungkook planned to be just what you needed, in a foreign place like this all you really needed was a honest friend. And he planned to be that and more. It isn’t hard to notice Jungkook loves it when you depend on him, you need him, your life would be in shambles without him. He knows it deep inside he believes it, but he knows you don’t. No worries for him though, you’ll see the truth soon...
Like any other day, like clockwork, Jungkook waited for you in front of your door like a royal guard. Today though he had plans for you, for days Jungkook perfected today’s schedule...big plans to tell you his feelings. Plans to pour his heart out to you, and to get yours poured to him, but something wasn’t sitting right.
you didn’t come on time, checking his watch like a mad man he paced in front of your door in anticipation. Your prolonged time inside threw off the agenda severely. Beside the settle irritation, he was worried something happened to you he was going insane. What if you left him? What if you died...what if someone kidnapped you?
Two seconds from ramming his fist against your door...Finally, while on the edge of his sanity your door creaked open. “Hey, running late today huh?” He looked your figure up and down. You weren’t dressed for the day, pajamas and Nikes weren’t your usual fashion choices.
“Oh, Kook it’s Bella she’s sick.” The whining animal sat curled into a ball inside of the pink carrier. Your voice floated to his ears, soft and worrisome. He crouched, looking into the dark cage. “Sick? Sick how?” He prodded his limber finger inside rubbing the frail animals head. “I-I don’t know she hasn’t been eating,her breathing is strange.” He could hear you on the verge of tears as he got up, slightly annoyed though he tried to hide it. “We’re late to class y/n maybe you should just leave her, she’ll be better later.” The way you batted your lashes told Jungkook he’d said something wrong. You griped the carrier locking your apartment door before begging to leave towards the elevator. “Wait Y/n where are you going?” You Kept walking carful not to rock the poor bunny too hard. “Kook, Bella is half dead and you want me to leave her? I’m taking her to the vet.”
He groaned coming closer as you waited for the aged elevator to reach you. “Yeah? Okay well wait for me I’ll take you.” The elevator stoped with a horrifying screech, you stepped in Jungkook was kicking your last nerve this morning. “I already had it planned for today.” He got closer barley missing the door, “Jin offered to take me.” The door closes quickly and you descend.
Jin? Did you say Jin? Like a angered child he almost stomped back to his apartment door. he threw his bag against it, crouching to search for his key inside. “If I knew she was going to bitch over the thing-” he cut himself off opening the door,kicking his bag inside. “ I bought the fucking bunny, who is he to take care of our bunny.”
He threw himself down onto his couch, unmotivated to go to class now, or do anything for that matter he decided to miss today, and maybe even tomorrow. He mentally facepalmed, of course Jungkook noticed you and the new older man downstairs getting closer. He didn’t think anything of it, until he saw him walking into your job when he came to pick you up. Handing you his cheap flowers and gifts whenever he’d see you around the building. Jungkook thought you were smarter than that, it made him fiery with anger thinking about him manipulating you. The only person that loved you was Him. How could you blow him off for some guy downstairs, some guy you didn’t even need.
He let his mind jump from one angering topic to another. Oh! And that fucking rabbit. Bella had been getting a lot of love from you recently, he didn’t mind he saw that pet as a connection between you two. But to suddenly you kick him to the side because the rodent refused to eat? From Bella to Jin, his head spun. He could feel his face heat up at the thought of Jin getting close to you in the car, touching you, playing with your hair. It made him sick, he could almost feel the bile in his throat. If it wasn’t for that walking ball of fur, you’d be in his car, getting touched and loved by him.
He sat up with a groan. “I’ll wait until she gets home.” He stood going to the kitchen grabbing a drink. “And I’ll talk to her, I’m sure she can explain, she’ll tell me the whole story.”
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It seemed like decades before your laughter was heard coming into the hall. He’d been sitting facing his door, waiting for you, his hair disheveled his mind distraught. “Thanks Jin, talk to you later.” Your voice so sweet to him he felt himself physically react, oh how he missed you today. He heard the creak and slam of your door. What am I to say? Maybe I should ask about Bella? He got up fixing his appearance before leaving and turning to your door.
He cleared his throat before letting his knuckles beat against the hardwood. “Coming hold on!” He took a step back painfully waiting. Thankfully you arrived quicker than expected. “Hey Kookie.” You answer in hushed tones. “Hey, going to work today?” You shook your head “no, I called out on emergency.” He nodded hands in his pockets. “How’s Bella?” You looked behind yourself quickly, “Uhm, she’s a bit better just weak would you like to come see her actually?”
He nodded enthusiastically following you in, “sit down if you’d like.” You left him to go retrieve the sickly pet. He stood admiring the room, everything from the pictures to the decorative items resembled you, not only did it look like you but it smelt like you. Jungkook could swim in this scent all day.
“Here she is, a sleepy little one.” The soft hum coming from her sleeping figure earned endearment from you. Jungkook came closer rubbing her back softly. “So, why didn’t you ask me to take you this morning ?” You looked up from Bella. “I thought that you were gonna to be in class.” Your head tilted adorably. “Mm no, I’ll always wait for you.” He took Bella from your motherly arms. “Oh how sweet of you.”
“Hm So, since when have you been taking to Jin?” He looked at you inquisitively. “Jin? Eh Jin is... We’re...complicated, I’ve known him since I moved here he’s helped me quite a bit.” You answered keeping a loving gaze on Bella.
Jungkook felt himself grip the rabbit tighter he looked at you with furrowed brows. “Huh?” “I met him in a bar with my ex roommate, we’ve been talking since then.” You explained lightly trying to not hurt his feelings, of course you knew how Jungkook felt, and it wasn’t mutual.
You plopped onto the couch patting the cushions inviting him to sit. “He moved downstairs to be closer, he’s making a good effort but I’m not sure how I feel right now.” Sighing you toyed with your fingers, unaware of the grimace on Jungkook’s features.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he felt that he’d been lied to and he didn’t a appreciate that. “What do you think Koo, what should I do?” You asked, getting anxious at his sudden silence. He was upset and he was doing his best to hide it, with a sigh he sat next to you. “Don’t let him fuck up your mind y/n.” Confused you looked up to him, “we both know what you want.” You crossed your arms, curious. “What’s that?” Already being aggravated, he sighed deeply,letting the now awake rabbit escape onto the floor. “Me.” You were visibly taken aback by his unusual boldness.
“Uhm Jungkook.” Anxiously you rubbed the nape of your neck. “Y/n don’t pretend for Jin’s sake, I can hear you through the walls talking to friends about me.” Without noticing he started leaning towards you. “I’ve heard you in here being lewd with yourself, who was on your mind.” He could read the fear in your eyes, you grew uncomfortable at the personal information he was throwing at you. “Jungkook please wait-” “who was it?” You pushed a firm palm into his chest in attempts to get him away from you, the sweet dorky neighbor you’d befriended now lurking over you like a beast. “Who do you love y/n, c’mon?” “Kook-” “before you answer, know that I’ve always loved you it’ll never be complicated with me y/n you want better I can give you much be-” you pushed his muscular chest roughly to shut him up, your back now touching the arm of the couch. “I’m with Jin, Jungkook please leave I’m afraid.” A statement you thought would save you, turned to bite you right in the ass.
You could visibly see the anger play along his features, grimly he chuckled. “I’m not going any-fucking-where until you come to your senses.” He gripped the hand you had up against him. “Jungkook that hurts please I’m scared!” “You should be, how dare you use me, fucking whore I loved you!” He ran a finger over his lips, his emotions clashing harshly with each other. “I love you...but you probably let Jin fuck you silly, disgusting...but don’t worry you’ll learn.”
He proclaims pushing you to the floor, he rushes to slam and lock your apartment door. He turned and saw you clutching the coffee brown rabbit,sobbing. “Y-you fucking stepped on her Kook!” the whining of the pained animal began to creep onto his nerves. If that rodent wasn’t here you would’ve been going out with Jungkook today, and Jin wouldn’t stand a chance. He bent down pulling Bella from your clutch, with little to no struggle.
“You get what you want, and you run with it, you get what you want and you go snuggling under some other asshole huh?” He held the injured animal in a primal grip. Uncontrollable he’d held in his anger, his love,and his thoughts for far too long. “Kookie please...please...please no, l- I love you!” You desperately pleaded for your pets fragile life. “Never have I met a bitch that lies as much as you.” Coldly he responded, not appreciating your falsehood, he gripped Bella’s neck harshly putting the disturbed animal to death. “Jungkook!” You let out a shrill scream. “I bought her I can kick her to fucking curb if I want, go ask Jin for one, or did he lie and say he bought her.”
Silently all you could do is whimper and sob, the thud of Bella’s body made your throat constrict. His heavy steps near your quivering figure sending chills through you. “Say it like you mean it.” With no mental strength to look up, you collected yourself enough to speak. “I lo-ve you j-Jungkook.” He groaned. “Suck it up it was a fifty dollar animal, you’re pissing me off.” You’ve never heard him in this tone. “I love you so much, Kookie.” He gripped your chin forcing you to look at him. He pulled up his other hand slowly touching your face causing you to flinch. “Ah Ah don’t run.” He cleaned your glistening face.
“Now, tell me who we hate.” He looked into your eyes darkly. “J-Jin.” His once adorable smile, now made you want to vomit. “Good, and I’ll snap his puny neck if he gets in our way.” He brushed more tears from your features. Giving into his temptation he gripped the back of your neck, bringing his lips to yours before pulling back to whisper. “Now tell me, who were you thinking about during those lonely nights?” You shook swallowing thickly “and you better not lie.” Closing your eyes in defeat, warm tears spilled from you like a fountain. “You Jungkook.” Pleased he kissed you warmly, while you resisted the urge to react. “Keep being such a good girl, and I’ll get you a whole petting zoo of bunnies baby...would you like that?”
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Not my image
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thcweasley · 3 years
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Yours
PAIRING : George Weasley X Y/N
SUMMARY : George getting jealous of his twin brother for being closer to you .
WARNINGS : none? Make out? implying things? hehe
WORDS : 1.7k
A/N: lol this hits too close to home, growing up i was shadowed by heather sister :(  I was going to turn this into smut but im not sure.. cos i never wrote a smut before lol.
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“Focus on your work Weasley” Snape smacked George Weasley’s head with the book he was holding, causing the whole class to look at his direction.
George was already an easily distracted person to begin with. but today especially, he got his mind somewhere else.
He was looking at you and his twin brother Fred, giggling while trying to figure out snape’s task. All of his life he never thought that he would feel this much jealously towards the older twin. Sure, sometimes it bothers him a bit that people pay more attention to him, or the fact that people always refers them as “Fred & George”, not “George & Fred”. But he knew it’s a silly thing to be bothered about so he always managed to brush it off.
But not today, Fred had been assigned with you. The girl George met on his last solo trip to honeydukes. It shocked him how he never saw you around before, despite being in the same house and grade. But hes glad that he met you. George didn’t like to be cheesy, but he was so sure that you were made for him. Whenever youre around, he just felt so happy. You’re funny, kind, and on top of all you’re prettiest thing he ever seen. Sadly, for him, other people seems to think that way about you.
He introduced you 2 weeks ago to his brother and friends. You seem to get along great with everyone. He liked that, his brother and friends is everything for him. But he cant help it but feeling a little bit jealous. He didn’t wanna admit it but this jealously is most probably because he was insecure about his feeling for you. Before everything he was sure that you fancy him the same way he fancies you. But now, hes not sure. And he hated it, youre supposed to be his girl.
The class that felt so long was finally over. George quickly stood up, walking towards the common room. he just want to burry his face onto his bed now. He felt an arm linking his. “Hey you” it was you. He let out a big sigh, not knowing how to feel right now.
“Hey, did you have a good time today?” He hated how catty he sounded. Knowing you, he knew you wouldn’t able to tell.
“Yeah it was fun. Your brother is hilarious you know that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling his face getting hot.
“Well yeah hes a clown” George answered shortly. Wanting you both could just drop this conversation. He didn’t like this, being jealous of his twin brother.
“ahah yeah true, youre also funny too you know” You leaned your head onto Georges arm. At this point it was hard for him to not just pulls you into a big hug. “Whats your plan for the rest of the day?” You asked looking up on him.
“Im not sure, probably just sleep” George answered looking down to you. You looked so cute leaning on to him.
“Wanna have a study date? Snape’s test tomorrow right?” George’s ears perked up at the word date.
A smile creeps on his face. “Yeah sure”
“Brilliant! I’ll see you in 2 hours then!” You gave his arm a squeeze before you go. Leaving George all smiley by himself.
2 hours later, George found himself getting ready for his study date. He finally going to make a move on you. Its obvious that you fancy him now right? At least you were the one who refers their study session as a study date.
He tried to look around for Fred but he was nowhere to be found. He feels weird do anything without asking for the older brother’s advice. But it was time to go to meet you at the Library and he didn’t want to make you wait, so he just decided to cross his fingers and hope for the best.
“Hey” George greeted you, big smile on his face. You look up at him from the book you were reading, smiling back at him. “You got a lot of stuff here” He sat down beside you, looking at paper and pens in front of him.
“Oh its not mine” You answered. “So, do you have anything you’re particularly struggling with?”
Whilst you tried your best to explain the things that he was struggling with. George was doing his best to stay focus on what youre saying instead of you. He cant help but admire your face, your cheeks, your lips. He wonders how would it feel like you press his lips against yours.
“Are you listening to me George?” You asked, knowing the answer pretty well.
“Uh yeah, im sorry I got distracted” he blinked.
You brought your hand on to his head, messing with his red hair. “you’ve been a bit distracted these days. didn’t you got smacked on your head earlier today by Snape?” you chuckled a bit running your fingers on the back of his head. “Did it hurt?” You tilted her head closer to him, rubbing the back of his head.
He couldn’t seem to think straight at this point. The fact that youre so close to him right now, he could smell your scent. He took a deep breath trying to be brave and make a move. He put his hand on top of yours, pulling it away from his head. “Y/N..” He started, linking his fingers with yours. “I think I like you”
“Yeah?” You chuckled feeling. your cheeks starting to get warm. “Whats going on George? Why are you suddenly so serious?”
“Well, Im not sure how you feel about me. But I got nothing to lose so here I am. I like you” Surprised by his words, you didn’t say anything. So he thought he could just make a move then. He leaned in closer to you getting you lips closer to each other. Not knowing what to do you just close your eyes. He smiled, taking this as a greenlight to proceed his act. Until all of the sudden-
“Your tea is here!!” Fred walked in, causing them to pull away from each other. “Hey that’s my seat George, do you not see the stuffs on the table?” He said as he sat down filling the gap between You and George.
“Fred what are you doing here?” George asked, clearly  frustrated with the situation.
“That’s not how you greet people, my dear brother” He said handing you the tea he was talking about. “Besides, youre not the only one who got invited to this study group. Right Y/N?” You just nod at him feeling flustered, thinking about what could’ve happened if Fred didn’t just walk in.
The next day, George has been avoiding you since last night. He thought you guys shared the same feeling. But yesterday proved him wrong. He was just another friend to you
Snape’s exam was a group work, being Fred’s partner obviously made you work with him for the exam. You looked so happy, George wishes it was him working with you instead of his twin brother. He hated this so much, it’s ridiculous how jealous he felt towards his twin brother right now.
The exam’s finally over, George saw you coming up to him from the corner of his eyes. “Hey” you greeted him. “Wanna go to Three Broomstick later? I haven’t really seen you all week”
“Who’s coming?” He asked, hoping this time its just the two of you. And everything that he thought about last night wasn’t true.
“Uh everyone. Fred, Lee, Angelina and others im not sure” George snickered. How stupid of him to think that you wanna be alone with him. How stupid of him to think he got a chance with you.
“I think im gonna pass on that” he took a deep breath. “Im tired. Ill see you around” He left you dumb folded, walking away towards his room.
The night comes around. The common room feels empty, his friends had left him for Three Broomstick. George just chilling alone on his bed when he heard someone opened the door.
“George?” You walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed “Hey, im just.. I just wanna make sure everything is okay”
“Why you here” George answered bitterly. “Arent you suppose to be out with your friends, with my brother?”
“Well yeah but I wanna check up on you. And talk about last night..”
“What do you wanna talk about Y/N?” He took a deep breath. “I already get it, you see me as a friend. If anything, you like Fred more than me. I get it don’t worry. Everyone always picks him over me, im used to it”
“George…” you scotched in closer too him, trying to stop him from rambling all these nonsenses.
“Im not even sure why I thought you like me, he is the better twin. Im just me. I just thought I have a chance with you. Throughout my life, ive always get hands down from my siblings, share with my siblings.” He realised how ridiculous he sounded but it didn’t stop him. “I love how you get along with my friends. But, i just thought, I thought youre my person. Finally someone I can proudly say mine. I thought you feel the same way as I do…” Georges voice was getting quitter when he felt your hand grabbing his. “I like you a lot and I get that you don’t feel the same way. So if youre coming here to explain that i-“
His words were cut off by your lips crashing to his. “You never let me speak Georgie”  You murmured against his lips “I don’t know how you got it all wrong” you kissed his cheek lightly. “I didn’t know you felt that way. George. I like you, im your person. Ive always been“
With a big smile he pulled in for another kiss. He held on to your waist pulling you closer to him, positioning you onto his lap. You threw your and around his neck, deepening the kiss whilst his hands lazily griped your waist.
You can feel something poking between the inner part of your legs. With a slight smile you press your legs more on to him, grinding it against him. Earning a low groan from him.
He held your hips down on him, so both of you can feel more of the friction. His lips travelled to your jaw and to the back of your neck. You could feel his hot breath, sending shivers down your spine as he moved his lips closer to your ears. “Prove it” OKAY SO Let me know if you want a part 2 smut off of this HAHAH.
hehe part 2
this was quite hard to write cos i feel bad for him ahaha. this is loosely based on a true story. but i never got my Y/N :’)
MY OTHER WORKS follow me / send request / talk to me! im lonely (if u send me anonymously maybe click here) my collaborative ford anglia playlist Christmas with the Weasley playlist
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wordynerdygurl · 3 years
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Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.
This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!
As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl
In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story
Author’s Note:  This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series.  This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!
Pairing:  Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary:  You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings:  SMUT ahead.  General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required.  There’s a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!
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“Mr. Giles?” “Just a moment!”  You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you weren’t surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table.  The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close.  You found their kinship adorable and couldn’t help smiling at the group as you drew closer. “Hello to some of my best students!  And of course, to you Mr. Harris.  How is everyone today?”
Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, “Pretty good.  I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper… but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.” Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, “It’s ok, Will.  You’ll get those cells next time!” “Tune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on ‘As Sunnydale Turns’!” Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, “As always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.” “Come on Giles!  You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!” Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, “I am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.” “Please, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.”  That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!  Thanks for that, Cordy.” Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, “You’re welcome.” “Uh, Mr. Giles, if I may?”  You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. “Yes, of course, how can I help?” Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, “I asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help.  You see, I’m looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.” “Oh!  Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards?  I love working on mine, only… It’s not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.” “Well, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.” “I hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.”  Xander retorted. “Ah, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.” “Hey!  The Simpsons are fine art, ok?  Just because they don’t live in a museum doesn’t mean they aren’t culture.” Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, “Xander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.” You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, “Don’t mind Giles.  If it doesn’t come out of some dirty, dusty old book it can’t be culture.” “It’s pop culture!  The entertainment of my generation!” It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, “Actually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point.  Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art.  No matter what your tomes might tell you.” Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, “Be that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.” Raising his hands in defense, Xander’s head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, “Give it up, Xander.  You know you’ll never win and besides, I’m pretty sure that animation and art are different.  Wait.  They are, aren’t they?” “When I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that they’ve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum.  It only goes to prove that times change but people don’t.” “Cordy’s right!  About the art, not the dishy Italian.  And they didn’t paint it, they carved it.”  Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.   “Wouldn’t paint be easier?  I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?” “Oh!  Oh!  I know this!  The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadn’t been invented yet!”  Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. “Yes, Willow, that is correct.  In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude.  Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves.  I’m sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if you’ll all just-” And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. “Ew.  Pass.” “I’m with Buffy here, Giles.  Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.” “I’ll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.” “Yes, well.  It’s not Grecian at all, is it?  It’s Roman-” Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, “Giles is right.  The Greeks were more into orgies!” “Buffy!”  Willow’s shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. “-Of course, cites are rare.  Very difficult to find documentation.”  Giles, typically, hadn’t given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh.  Gym class for me.  Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough.  And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles!  Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so.  I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me.  I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." “But, I… I could help find the Agrippa?  Or… some other old Roman book?” Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordelia’s open hand, “But why do that when nothing calls?” "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that we’re alone… Could I talk you into helping me out?" “Of course, of course.”  Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, “What are we looking for?” Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, “I was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.” Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, “Interesting.  Anything in particular?” “Yes, actually.”  Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, “I’m researching fertility icons.” Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit.  He recovered from the shock rather quickly, “Oh… I… I see.  Well yes, I’m sure we can find… something.  If you’ll follow me, please.” “I’m right behind you.”  Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself.  Right behind Mr. Giles?  What a place to be.  Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him.  He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship.  True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid.  Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense.  Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not.  As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true!  You should see what some of them turn in and call art.  It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks.  You liked it.  It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting.  You couldn’t help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?"  Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir.  "Hmm... Oh, yes.  I was able to study in Mexico for a semester.  Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent.  Carefully made.  Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back.  You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water.  Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.” Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, “That’s… that’s quite alright.  In fact, we’re here.” Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space.  Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge.  When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Giles’ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs.  Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt.  Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, “Close quarters around here.” Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties.  Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away.  He was so close now.  Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it.  Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat.  Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too.  And why shouldn’t he?  “Giles?”  Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. “Uh… yes?” “I’m stuck.” Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, “You’re stuck?” Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, “My… My skirt.  It’s… uh, caught.  Caught on something behind me.” “Good heavens!  I’m so sorry, let me help you.”  Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary.  He was still in your space.  Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks.  All you managed to do was force your sweater covered décolletage into Giles’ chest.  Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, “Allow me?” The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent.  It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you.  “Yea, yes.  Please!” Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch.  Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldn’t help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer.  Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals.  Not that you hadn’t considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. “I… I think we’re almost there.  If you’ll just, maybe to the right?” “Um, sure.”  Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles.  All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldn’t do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in.  The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollier’s Gothic Almanac collection with you.  A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, “Rupert?  Are you alright?” From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, “Yes quite… you?” was heard.  It was then that you realized exactly where you were.  Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. “Oh my!  I’m so-” “No, No.  Please, don’t apologize.  I’ve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems I’ve got no choice.” “You’ve got a bump.  Right here…”  Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. “Then it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.” “Poor Giles!  All of this injury in the name of research!” “No one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.” His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles.  Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, “I’m not the only one with a war wound, it appears.” “Oh?”  Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw.  Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, “Hush now, I think you’ll live.”  And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you.  Something about it was so… sinful.  So dark.  So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely.  Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair.  Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, “Oh, oh Rupert!” “Call me Ripper.”  Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top.  Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern.  Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra.  “Giles… Uh, Ripper!  Please, go easy?”  With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, “If you wanted easy you shouldn’t have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher.  And if this particular article of clothing-” He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, “-is dear to you, take it off.” Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you.  Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, “Fine… Ripper.  Should I be worried for my virtue?” “Absolutely.”  Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, “You have nothing to hide, you know?  You are-” “Just shut up and kiss me, Ripper.”  And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers.  Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you.  For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. “Oh, dear!  Poor thing been kissed senseless?”  He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, “Yes… let me touch you!” “Tsk… you didn’t say ‘please’.” “Please!  Please, Ripper!  Oh god, please let me!” Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, “Go ahead then.  Unzip my pants.” “What?” Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, “You heard me, I think.” Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Giles’ belt.  Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from it’s buckle.  When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, “Yes.  Keep going.” Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, “What now, Ripper?” “Take me out.  I want you to feel what you do to me.” “I can do that.”  You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you.  They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.   Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need.  Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm.  That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way… Ripper."  And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core.  Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center.  With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected.  Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.   In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain.  He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear.  "I want you to cum for me.  Do you understand?  Tell me you understand." "Yes!  Yes!  I'm so close, Ripper!  So close!" "Good.  That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide.  You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised.  His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it.  The moment your body and his melded together was forceful.  It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained.  Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good?  In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in.  It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh… yes.  Ripper.  My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime… Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm… promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasn’t my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did.  Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair.  Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary.  After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia.  Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely.  Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about.  Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks.  Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library.  I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged.  Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That.  That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um… are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye?  I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back.  We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf!  Oh no… which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollier’s… and most of Crentist." "On it.  Come on Xander.  You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee.  That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner?  My place?  You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight?  Um…" "He'd love to!  Say 9 o'clock?  And, he'll bring the wine."
Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great!  Awesome!  I will see you then."
As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles.  You can't wear that outfit to dinner!  You need to look nice.  Nicer than you do now.  Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didn’t hear it over your big yawn.  You had a lot to do between now and 9 o’clock.  Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.
------ Fin ------- I’m tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story.  I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the “Hot Characters” banner though!   Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​ @jenjen8675309​​ @that-one-person​​ @roguewraith​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​
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crackinwise · 3 years
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Mondo having a thing about coating Taka with hickeys and Taka having a thing about very much enjoying the process is a good headcanon I've seen used several times, in both fic and art.
I see it causing an issue for them at least once.
Kiyotaka has the syllabus and upcoming events memorized before he and Mondo have a "session" so he won't be caught broadcasting his love life unwelcomed. Besides, he always fears he'll be accused of being hedonistic and immoral just for using some free time to feel wanted by the man he loves.
Meanwhile, Mondo knows to keep it below the uniform collar, but that's a lot of fair game there. After one night where they get carried away, Taka's torso from the base of the neck down looks like a leopard. Taka looks like he lost a fight with an octopus. But it's fine because a)Taka wanted it, and b)he can still look presentable in public with them covered.
But, the next day at gym, the class is told the schedule had to be rearranged and everyone is to head up to the pool. Taka instantly panics.
As everyone starts walking, he grabs Mondo's arm and pulls him to the back of the group.
"Mondo," he hisses, "I can't go to the pool!"
"Why?"
Taka fully despairs for a brief second. "If I take off my uniform, everyone will see the marks you've made!"
The caveman part of Mondo's brain makes his chest want to swell with a mixture of pride and possession, but it plummets down to become a lead ball in his stomach the instant he notices the unshed tears and fear in Taka's large eyes.
"It's okay. S'okay, I'll figure somethin out. Let's just get goin," Mondo promises him.
He can't let Taka feel humiliated. He mostly trusts his classmates by now--Taka would never have another middle school experience--but this wasn't a couple hickeys to get teased over and laugh off. Their peers' first reaction might be to get Taka a bodyguard and Mondo a muzzle. The teacher might investigate; Taka's dad might be called. Mondo shakes away the mental image of a mortified Taka and tries to actually problem solve.
He couldn't picture Taka sitting the period out on the bleachers and risk being a bad class leader. Taka could lie about feeling sick or needing somewhere else to be to work on his Talent, but he wouldn't. Taka wouldn't forgive him for pulling the fire alarm either. He didn't know of any clubs Taka could help at this hour. Would anything at the pool hide him when they got there?
Mondo's head snaps up with an idea and he walks faster to catch up with the classmate who made swimming pools her domain. "Asahina!"
Hina stops hopping around excitedly next to Sakura and turns to address him. "Mondo? What's up?"
He starts to whisper while also glaring at any classmates daring to curiously rubberneck. "I need a favor. Do ya have one of them, like, swim shirts? Y'know, surfers and shit wear 'em?"
"A rash guard?"
"Sure."
Hina frowns, apologetic. "No, I never thought to bring one here since the pool is indoors." She gives him a once-over. "And I'm not sure we'd be the same size."
"It's not...for me." Mondo rubs the back of his neck anxiously. He makes sure to keep his voice low. "It's for Taka."
"Since when does Ishimaru prefer a rash guard while swimming?" Kyoko asks, suddenly appearing on Mondo's other side, startling him.
"Holy fuck! Who who asked you?!" he yelps.
"You're not as quiet as you think you are," she helpfully warns them. "Here, let's walk to the side a bit."
The three step to the outside of the pack of students to continue talking a bit more covertly.
"Now, Oowada, what's this about?" Kyoko asks, eyes sharp.
Yeah!" Hina loudly whispers back. "Is Taka all right? Him asking for cover is concerning, ya know!"
Mondo's defensive annoyance threatens to flare up. "He's fine, but he can't go in the pool today. I can't tell ya why, so don't ask."
Maybe if another teacher needed help, but Mondo didn't know of any and unless one walked down the hall, he couldn't beg them. Or the headmaster!
"Oi!" Mondo's outburst causes Hina to jump. He lowers his voice once again, "Kirigiri! I need ya to ask yer dad if he has anythin he can call for Taka to work on. Like, now, for the whole period."
Kyoko's cool eyes narrow at him. He knows she's still trying to suss out his motives.
"If it were just for you, I'd demand more of an explanation, but this is for Ishimaru, right?" Even as she asks, she has her phone out, texting the headmaster. Mondo catches a glimpse of her text starting with "URGENT" and feels a wave of appreciation.
Finished, she looks from her phone back to Taka, still uncharacteristically silent and walking yards behind everyone else. She notes how he's hugging himself and darting his unfocused eyes around.
"Hmm." Her hand is up to her chin in thought. "Well, all we can do is wait for my father to answer me or make an announcement on his own. I could always just lie and say my father requested him."
"Y'know damn well he'd hate that and give us both detention when he found out," Mondo gripes. He understands why Taka refuses a little dishonest help, but it's still frustrating as hell sometimes.
"Yes," she agrees, her voice was as level and confident as always, "but that depends on how much he'd rather be tricked than show off your love bites."
"Right? Damn."
Hina, still close by and listening, covered her mouth to muffle a giggle.
Then Mondo's steps faltered. "HEY!"
His shout echoed around the hall, causing a few students to eyeball them. Makoto was clutching his chest, about ready to imitate a fainting goat.
Kyoko didn't so much as blink though. "It's as if you forget who I am. But don't worry, I'll take all the blame for lying to Ishimaru if it comes to that."
"Thanks," Mondo sighs out. "If you two didn't help, I was gonna pay Hiro to predict a pool disaster big enough to stall."
That causes Hina and Kyoko to realize the severity of the situation might be more than simple awkwardness.
"You know Hiro would try to charge you, like, hundreds of dollars for that," Hina says, worried. "Maybe thousands. Is Taka really that embarrassed by a hickey?"
Mondo swallows thickly but doesn't answer. He feels incredibly guilty. He feels like a danger to Taka's reputation for a new reason than the usual ones that sometimes haunt him. He knows hormones and his lack of self-control are a bad mix, but add in Taka enthusiastically praising his mouth, and he has zero hope of restraint.
They arrive at the changing rooms for everyone to switch into their swimsuits before going to the pool. The other students file inside while Mondo, Hina, Kyoko, and the trailing Taka hang back.
When Taka stops in front of them, his wide eyes finally focus on Mondo. He glances at the girls then says, hopefully, "Any, um, ideas?"
Mondo worries Taka is going to have a panic attack with the way he's breathing and clutching his blazer closed. As if the marks were magically visible through his uniform shirt too.
Kyoko brings her phone screen up to her face to check for a reply, then shakes her head at Mondo. Hina wrings her hands.
Deciding he's just going to kidnap Taka for the rest of the day and risk his boyfriend never speaking to him again, Mondo starts to grab Taka's arm.
The P.A. system squeaks on. "ISHIMARU, YOUR ASSISTANCE IS NEEDED IN THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE, PLEASE!"
All four friends sag with relief. Hina does a little cheer, gives them a thumbs up and skips into the girl's changing room. Kyoko nods at Mondo's thankful expression and follows her inside.
Taka runs his fingers thru his hair, laughs bubbling out of him. He has no idea what had happened to save him, but he wasn't going to question it just now. He squeezes Mondo's wrist once with his left hand and smiles to convey he was never upset with his partner about the situation. Then he proceeds to speed-walk to the office.
Mondo's frayed nerves want him to break the rules and embrace Taka, but his impulsive actions have caused enough problems today. He turns to go get changed for the pool, his caveman pride starting to return after helping to protect his Kiyotaka.
Following this, Taka didn't let them have another "session" for a month, and when he did he made contingency plans to be nowhere near the pool for a full week.
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slythergirlimagines · 4 years
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I Suppose That Would Be Alright- Draco x Reader
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Request: Hello!! May I request prompt 4 with Draco Malfoy where the reader saw Draco cheating on her and they broke up? & He tries everything he could to get her back but she doesn’t give in easily. This could be a little angsty. xD
Summary: Reader catches Draco cheating and breaks up with him. He desperately wants her back. Angsty with a little fluff at the end! (gif not mine!) masterlist 
Words:   3,681                      Requested: Yes
******PLEASE GO TO THIS POST AFTER YOU READ THIS STORY, I REALLY WANT YOUR FEEDBACK ON A CONCEPT I HAVE*********
For reference, L/n refers to “your last name”
          I Suppose That Would Be Alright
 Draco meant everything to you. You had been dating for almost two years now, and you were happier than you had ever been.
 There was a different side to Draco that you got to see. To the world he may be tough and snarky, but to you he was sweet and caring. He was also overly indulgent, and you knew he would do literally anything for you. He always told you how much you meant to him, and you had always believed him. Until this very second.
  Draco stands in front of you in the corridor, being snogged within an inch of his life by Pansy Parkinson. You stand there, frozen in shock as time grinds to a halt. The other students in the hallway dart their eyes between you and Draco, and start whispering. You whirl around as quickly as you can, unable to take anymore of their pitying looks or Draco’s snogging session.
    As you run, you hear Draco calling your name, but continue to push through the throng of students. You tell yourself that you just have to get away. As you run, memories swirl through your mind.
       The words swim in front of your eyes, blurring into nonsense. How were you ever going to succeed in potions, when absolutely nothing made sense? Tears gather on your lashes, further obscuring what little you could make out. With a sigh, you let your head slam onto the heavy potions book.
   “L/N? What are you on about?” A snide voice rings out in the quiet of the library.
   You whip your head up, and blink back the moisture in your eyes. In front of you stands a scowling Draco Malfoy. His silver eyes penetrate yours, and it makes you uncomfortable. You know what he’s like, and he so obviously is going to use this against you somehow.  
   “Shove off Malfoy.” You mutter angrily, swiping at your eyes with vigor.
   Draco eyes you for a second, then takes the seat opposite of you. He reaches out a pale hand and slides the book out from under you, turning it to examine its contents.
  “Potions, huh?” He says. He looks back at you, and some how his face is a little softer than before.
  “I’m pretty good at potions, if I do say so myself.” He brags. “I bet I could whip you into shape L/N.”
  “Why would you help me?” You question. His actions go against everything you’ve ever heard about him, and everything you’ve ever seen him do.
   Draco shrugs, and juts his pointy chin.
   “Beats having to help Crabbe and Goyle. At least you can read.” He says.
    You catch yourself laughing, and it surprises you. Draco Malfoy is funny?
   “Y/N.” You say, extending your hand across the table. Draco considers it for a moment, and then takes your hand in his cool one.
   “Draco.”
   The tears stream down your face, as the memories keep hitting you full force.
 “Y/n?” Draco asks, sprawled out in the grass. “Would you call us friends?”
    You look up from the book you’re reading and mark the page. You’ve been Draco’s friend for several years now, and you know his moods like the back of your hand. If you don’t give him your undivided attention he’ll pout for the next week.
   “I certainly hope so. I don’t spend this much time with just anyone you know.” You say gently.
   You always try to be gentle around Draco. He’s been horribly belittled and mistreated by his father, and though he will never willingly admit it, he craves the support he didn’t have growing up. You never want to treat him the way his father does.
   Draco sighs, and then locks his eyes on yours. He scoots his head into your lap, and then sets his gaze on the tepid lake. It’s a cozy afternoon, and the soft light makes Draco’s blonde hair look even lighter.
  “But friends can take each other to dances and things right?” He says. His voice is uncharacteristically timid, and it makes you smile. Draco is always softer around you than he is with others, but he is still usually cocky and confident. Now he is nervous, and it makes your stomach flutter.
   “What do you mean?” You ask, smirking. Of course you understand what he’s getting at, but you’ll take any opportunity to mess with him.
   He looks up at you then, grey eyes narrowing when he catches the expression on your face. Draco sits himself up and turns to face you. He’s much closer than you anticipated, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks.
   “You’re messing with me.” He says, voice low.
   “Maybe.” You agree. You aren’t quite successful at keeping the breathiness out of your voice.
   “Go to the ball with me?” He asks. You pretend to think about it for a minute.
   “I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. “Poor Goyle, though. I think he already had his dress picked out.”
   Draco rolls his eyes, but smiles back at you anyways. You can’t keep the blush off of your face the rest of the day.
     The most important memory hits you last.
         “That was so much fun, Draco.” You say as he walks you through the abandoned corridors to your dormitory. If you listen closely enough, you can still hear the faint sounds of the music. The night has a dreamy haze to it, and you practically feel like you’re floating.
    “It was, wasn’t it? Doesn’t help that you had the greatest date.” He adds.
   You laugh, happy and carefree.
   “Y/n.” Draco says, catching your hand and stopping you.
   “Yes, Draco?” You ask, blinking at him. The moonlight filters in through the hallway, and Draco’s hair and eyes are gleaming. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.
   “I don’t want to be friends anymore.” He says.
   Your face falls as you take in his words, and then he’s kissing you in the moonlight.
   “I love you.” He says when he pulls away. It’s all too easy for you to stand on your tip toes, and press another hungry kiss to his mouth.
   “I love you too.”
    How could he do this to you? You loved him, and until now you had never doubted that he’d loved you just as much. You had been so blind.
   Draco catches you before you can get away from him.
  “Y/n, wait!” He says, griping your elbow to pull you back to him.
  “Don’t touch me!” You shout, venom dripping from every word.
  “It’s not what you think!” He starts.
  “Not what I think? What I think is that you and Parkinson were just having a nice song. Don’t let me interrupt!” You snarl. You itch to whip out your wand and curse him.
  “Y/n...” he says, giving you the wounded puppy eyes. They usually work, but not this time.
  “I’m done!” You snap. “There are a lot of people in your life that let you toy with them, Draco. They let you move them around like chess pieces, but guess what? I’m not one of those people.”
  “I know you aren’t!” Draco defends.
  “I won’t let you treat me like one any longer. I loved you!” You say, tears streaming freely down your face. “I loved you for years and you were just using me.”
   “No I wasn’t! That’s not true.” Draco pleads. “Y/n, I’m telling you nothing happened!”
   “If that’s nothing then I’d hate to see your definition of something!” You wrench your arm out of his grasp and move away.
   “Y/n, please...”
   “I’m done, Draco. I’m done.” You say, and walk away. Even though you want to, you don’t turn around once. You know your worth, and you deserve more than to be treated like rubbish.
    The next few days are incredibly hard. The entire school learns about your breakup, and there’s a flood of sympathetic faces wherever you go. People whisper when you walk into a room, and grow quiet when you come near. It’s humiliating and annoying, and all you want is some damn privacy to mourn.
   It doesn’t help that Draco refuses to take the hint and leave you alone. He’s already tried to approach you a few times, and it’s getting harder and harder to avoid him.
   Today you all share a class, ironically potions, and you usually share a table. You know that it will be impossible to get any learning done with him next to you. Maybe you could find someone to switch with you. Draco was still astoundingly good at potions, and there had to be someone who would want to reap the benefits of being his partner.
   Finding that someone, however, was proving to be impossible. You weren’t really that close with anyone in your class, and after the second no, you were starting to get the feeling that everyone wanted to see the drama play out. You decide that if you had to sit next to Draco, then the best thing to do would be to get there last and leave first.
   You walk into potions with your head held high, seconds before class begins. Professor Snape narrows his dark eyes as you walk in, but doesn’t say anything to you about it. Draco is in his usual seat, sitting stiff as a board.
  He is paler than usual, you note as you take your seat. Dark purple rings his eyes, and betrays his lack of sleep. Your heart stutters being this close to him, but you are strong and you will ignore all of this.
   Snape begins his lecture, and you hang onto every word. You’ve never been so focused on a lecture in your life. You’re busy noting every word that Snape says, when a note pops up on your parchment.
  “I really need to talk to you.” It reads. It’s in Draco’s neat and proper handwriting, and you have the violent urge to destroy the loops with your quill.
  You lock your jaw, and then continue taking notes as if you’ve never seen Draco’s message.
  “Y/n, please. I’d just like to explain.” Another note says.
   Again you ignore it, and you can feel the tension in Draco increase as he scribbles another hasty note.
  “Y/n, please..” the words start.
   “Enough!” You snap at Draco, loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the class.
   “L/n, I didn’t know that you were so educated about Acromantula Venom that you didn’t need my lecture.” Snape says in his slow drawl. “Please enlighten the rest of the class with your expansive knowledge.”
   “I-I’m sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” You say. Snape looks more sour than ever as he turns his attention back to the lecture.
   You feel the familiar pressure of tears behind your eyes. This time, they are angry tears. Draco couldn’t settle for humiliating you in front of everyone in the corridor, he had to also humiliate you in class too.
   The second Snape dismisses you, you are running from the class. You give Draco no time to catch up with you, as you hastily make your way back to your dormitory. Maybe you’ll just have to hide out here forever.
  Draco tries again during dinner. You knew you should have just had one of your housemates bring you a plate, but you hate feeling like a coward. You’re not going to starve to death because Draco couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth. You refuse to let him have that much power over you.
   You’re in the middle of forced conversation with your housemates when Draco makes his way over and sits down. Instantly, you feel a multitude of prying eyes on you, and you again have the urge to run.
  “Y/n.” Draco says firmly. “I need to talk to you.”
  “Leave me alone, Malfoy.” You say coldly. Draco flinches at your use of his last name. You’ve never called him Malfoy, not since the day you became friends.
  “Y/n, nothing happened with Pansy. I love you!” He says as quietly as he can. It irks you that he’s being so quiet about it. If he really loved you, why was he acting like it was such a shameful secret.
  “Right.” You say. “I’ll believe that when I see it Draco.”
   You didn’t mean it as a challenge. Draco’s actions had already proven to you what he felt. However, his face brightens at your words and warmth blooms in your chest. You quickly stamp it out, and ignore the feelings. You’ll get over that soon enough.
  “I’ll prove it to you! I swear I will.” He says, and then he swings his legs over the bench and walks out of the Great Hall. You have the sinking feeling that disaster is looming.
   Draco’s first attempt to win you back involves flowers. Somehow, he manages to jinx a vase in your room to procure a new flower for you every morning. Of course, they are your favorite kind of flower, and the vase magically expands to include them all.
   The flowers anger you because they are a sweet gesture and an impressive bit of magic. Why couldn’t his attempts be weak and pathetic so you didn’t consider taking him back? Draco was too good at wooing and schmoozing. You have to remind yourself multiple times a day that you caught him kissing Pansy.
    To his credit, Draco leaves you alone for a while. He doesn’t try to contact you or force you to talk to him. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel his eyes on you all the time, and that potions isn’t the most intense class you have. But at least it’s something.
  You have five flowers when Draco makes another attempt. Your favorite candy from Honeydukes now appears underneath the flowers. You carefully unwrap the package, and put the delicacy in your mouth. It’s delicious, as always, but it makes you sad too. You miss Draco more than anything, but your trust has been broken. Some chocolate and flowers won’t fix that by themselves.
  You miss him, and you really should stop hiding from him and just talk. He was trying, and that’s at least enough reason to let him speak. You didn’t have to forgive him.
  You go down to the Great Hall with determination. You’re going to get this resolved today, regardless of the outcome.
   You walk into the hall, eyes searching for blonde hair and silver eyes. You find Draco at his normal table, and then your heart sinks. Next to him sits Pansy, who is staring at him with obvious heart eyes. Your anger reaches its boiling point as you stomp over.
  “Draco.” You say, tone stormy. “We need to talk.”
  Draco looks eager as he jumps from the table and follows you outside.
  “What are you doing?” You hiss. “You can’t send me flowers and candy every morning and then still be hanging around Pansy whenever I see you! It doesn’t work that way.”
   “Oh I’m sorry.” He says, voice haughty. He sounds like the Draco everyone else knows. “I’m just a little confused because I try everything to reach out to you, and you ignore me and all my effort and then get mad when someone else acts interested in me!”
   “I’m not allowed to be mad that you’re with the person you cheated on me with?!” You snap.
    Draco’s grey eyes narrow dangerously, and his body shakes with anger.
   “You never listen to what I say.” He snaps.
   “You know what? I was coming down here this morning to talk to you. I was hoping we could talk about everything, get it resolved, but I can see that I have my answer!” You cross your arms, and lock your jaw. You desperately try to stop your tears, but they spill over your lashes anyways. You collect yourself for a minute.
     “If you’re going to be with Pansy, Draco, just let me move on.” You say quietly, voice watery.
     Draco doesn’t say anything to you as you leave. As soon as you make it to your dorm, you smash the vase of flowers to pieces.
   Weeks go by, and you are more miserable then you have ever been. You spend all your free time in the library, avoiding crowds and Draco. You don’t want to see him any more than you can help. Every time you have to sit next to him in potions it hurts. You don’t even go to Quidditch matches anymore to avoid seeing him. If he’s with Pansy then you’d rather not know.
  One particularly rainy afternoon finds you in the library, potions book on your lap. You aren’t doing much studying, instead your eyes trace raindrops as they roll down the window. Your melancholy is broken by someone stomping up to you.
   “I’m not with Draco.” A nasally voice says. Pansy stands in front of you, one hand on her hip.
   “Ok.” Is all you say. You don’t want to so much as look at Pansy. All you see is Draco’s lips on hers when you do.
   “Ok, so stop moping and just make up!” She says annoyingly. Even this doesn’t spark your anger like it should. You just feel numb and empty.
  You don’t give her a response. Instead, you shift your potions book from your lap, and tuck your knees under your chin. Once settled, you turn your attention back to the rainy window, and ignore Pansy.
  “Fine.” She says, storming off. “Keep being miserable.”
    It’s only when she’s gone that you let yourself become a reflection of the window.
   Draco tries again for a final time when he catches you in the library. Today, you are actually trying to study. Ever since you and Draco broke up, you had lost not only a boyfriend but your potions tutor. Now you were desperately trying to teach yourself, and it just wasn’t working out.
  Draco finds you in much the same position that you were when you first became friends. You’re all but banging your head against the table when he speaks.
   “Y/n.” You look up and find he looks as miserable as you do.
   “Draco.” You say. Your heart still thunders when he’s near. You hate that he still has any effect on you.
   “Listen. Just let me say this once and I’ll never bother you again.” He says, his grey eyes imploring you to hear him out.
   You sit silently, waiting for him to proceed.
   “I never kissed Pansy. She kissed me. I admit, I let it go on for too long. I should’ve pushed her off the moment she touched me, but I was so shocked and I froze. Then when I finally realized I pushed her away and you were already leaving. I never had feelings for her, nor did I ever want to cheat on you. You’re the only one I want.” He says.
  “I know I hurt you, and that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I would never hurt you like that. I love you and it’s killing me to be apart from you like this, to think that you hate me. You’re the best part of my life, y/n, the only good part.” Draco takes a deep breath and continues.
  “After this, if you still don’t want to be with me, then I’ll back off. I just wanted you to know the truth. I love you, and it’s only ever been you for me, never anyone else.”
   You are in shock as he finishes his speech. Draco watches you process his confession with patience, and it takes you a few minutes to really understand what he’s saying.
  You feel stupid when tears well up in your eyes again. You’re so sick of crying and feeling pathetic.
   “It really didn’t mean anything?” You find yourself asking. “She kissed you?”
   “Yes!” He exclaims. “It was 100% one-sided on her part.”
    You sniff, thinking about it for a minute.
   “Ok.” You finally say. “I believe you.”
   Draco eases his tense posture and death grip on the chair he’s leaning on. He looks at you warily, trying to decipher where he stands with you now.
   You look down at the table and your useless potions book. How funny that your relationship would come full circle. You know how you feel about him, how you‘be always felt. Even when you were broken up you still loved him.
  “I’m sorry.” You say. “You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen.”
   “Its not your fault!” Draco assures you. “It was me, I was being a right git.”
    You shake your head, but for the first time in weeks you smile. When you look back up, Draco is smiling too.
   “So, could I have a second chance?” He pleads.
   You pretend to think about it for a minute.
   “I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. Draco gives you a glowing look and matches your grin.
    “On one condition.” You tell him, suddenly serious.
   “Anything.” He tells you with sincerity. He walks over to your side of the table, and crouches down in front of you.
   “I really need help with Potions.” Draco laughs and pulls you in for a bruising kiss.
   It’s needy and passionate, and you let your mouth express to him everything you can’t yet put into words.
  When he pulls away, Draco lets his forehead rest against yours. You relish this closeness with him in a way you never have before.
  “I suppose that would be alright.” He whispers with a smirk.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed:) I am currently working on part 2 of “Don’t Call Me Princess” and that will hopefully be up in the next few days! Please don’t hesitate to request something, I write for several fandoms. I’m lowkey desperate for someone to request something Marvel. 
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thisismynerdyself · 3 years
Text
At Least For Now
Draco Malfoy x reader
requested: yes (it was a long request, but this is a summary: reader suffers from depression and anxiety and hides it from Draco, but once he figures it out, he takes care of her)
Warnings: depression, anxiety, little bit of fluff
(I don’t think it’s too graphic, but if reading these themes are harmful to you or triggering in any way, please take care of yourself - I love you and want you to keep your mind and heart safe)
WC: 2.8k
Author’s Note: this was difficult to write due to the emotional nature of the theme, however, I did my best to represent these illnesses in a mature, respectable way through what I know and have learned of/through similar experiences. if you find anything here that you find offense in/anything that doesn’t sound right, please tell me and I will do my best to fix it - this includes adding other warnings.
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*****
Cloudy days. Even with the sun shining brightly outside, inside your brain was a cloudy day. As you sat across from Draco Malfoy in the Great Hall, your insides were in knots, your mind was a mess, but your outsides conveyed comfort and calm. A secret you harbored from your best friend that tore you apart to hide, but would tear you apart even more to share.
There were good days, sure. You would smile and laugh, sometimes even inspiring a smile from the boy who so infrequently shared his emotions. But there were other days, much like today, where you could simultaneously feel each and every word and thought and feeling in your mind and heart, and yet couldn’t feel all the same.
“Did you hear what I said, Y/N?” Draco asked as you had been staring blankly over his shoulder for a few minutes. Refocusing your eyes on the blond boy’s face, you poured all of your energy into remaining present with him.
“Sorry, I spaced out for a moment. What were you saying?” You responded sweetly, covering up any hint of discomfort or distress that boiled within.
Draco droned on about his unbelievable day, finding one thing or another to gripe about. While your mind was split between his voice and the tumbleweed of thoughts rolling around your head, his mind was slowly picking up on your disinterest in the conversation.
Not even knowing how you had made the transition, you became suddenly aware that Draco was standing to leave the hall, so you followed suit. Once you made it to the courtyard, you found your special spot - a bench tucked away in the corner, slightly hidden by a nearby overgrown bush. Sitting down, as was routine, you shared about your own day. And as was routine, you tended to gloss over the deeper and more troubling details that plagued your mind. You plastered on a subtle fake smile, not too expressive but enough to hide what was really inside.
Draco had a tendency to look around a lot while someone else was speaking. You never minded, as he usually would prove later that he had in fact been listening. But today, the storm raging inside you was too much for his inattentiveness. “You know, Draco, I think I’m just going to head back and take a rest. I’m feeling a bit drained today.” His attention now fully on you again, you stood up and walked away before he could respond.
*
Once you made it to your dormitory, it took all of your strength to make it to the bed before collapsing on top of your blankets. You curled yourself into a ball, holding your knees tightly to your chest. An effort at feeling something. Anything. The tears slipped easily from your eyes as though they were used to it. Because they were.
Reaching out with one hand, you pulled at a light fleece blanket you kept draped over the foot of your bed. A gift from Draco last Christmas. When you had no one to console you during these times, you clutched at the blanket as your lifeline. Warmth. Your tears had soaked through the material many times before, but it never mattered since you were the only one to ever see it.
You sucked in a few labored breaths, your lungs struggling to connect with your brain telling you to breathe. In. Out. Your body was as exhausted as your mind. You wished to slip into a peaceful slumber to escape the madness that lived in your head. And soon, that wish came true.
However, waking up the next morning brought no relief to your condition. The tiredness from the day before only grew stronger. There was a bone-deep ache and a restless fatigue plaguing your entire being. Ignoring the pain, you attempted to utilize your brain to remember what day it was. Friday. Classes. Groaning, you rolled back over and smothered your face in your pillow. Sleep, come back to me.
Awakening once more, you slowly opened your eyes, thankful that you chose to keep the curtains permanently closed. These days were becoming more and more frequent. You knew that you should talk to someone, talk to Draco. He was your best friend, after all. But he had his own issues to deal with. He avoided emotions like the plague, so you couldn’t possibly find it in yourself to bother him. To burden him.
And that’s why you always chose to remain wrapped in your bedsheets, clinging to the shreds of comfort available to you from the inanimate items surrounding your bed.
But this was a particularly terrible round. You remained in bed for two whole days. You missed a full day of classes and couldn’t find the strength to move more than to the bathroom which was thankfully located across the hall. Your single dorm room was a blessing and a curse. No one to disturb you. But then there was no one to check on you, either. And you were spiralling. Fast.
*
Friday morning, Draco looked around the Great Hall for his best friend, but found nothing. He waited for you outside your classes, but you never emerged. He asked others in your house if they had seen you. They hadn’t.
He wasn’t normally one to worry about someone disappearing for a few days. Everyone had those days where they just needed to get away. Him included. But something didn’t sit right with him. Something about his previous encounter with you, at dinner and out on the courtyard bench, it stirred something within him. Concern.
By the end of Friday, Draco was beginning to wonder if he had done something wrong. Were you avoiding him? But his aversion to the more emotional conversations, the ones where he would have to let down at least one of his many walls that he had spent so many years building up to keep others out, it kept him from doing what he knew in his heart to be the right thing. To find you and see if you were okay. But he reasoned that you would come around. You always did.
Except this time, you didn’t. By the time Saturday rolled around, and you had missed breakfast and lunch for a second day, Draco knew that something wasn’t right. And for once, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling of guilt that led him to where he was now. Positioned right outside your dormitory door. Hand raised and poised in position to knock. Just knock. So he did.
When no answer came, his deep-set frown deepened further yet. So he knocked again. And again he was met with silence.
Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Draco reached down, wrapped his hand around the door handle, and opened the door just enough to peek inside to see if you were there. And you were. His eyes widened at the state you were in, already glossing over at what he just recently discovered to be one of his greatest fears.
There you were, lying on your side, still clothed in your outfit from Thursday. His gaze softened even more at the sight of the blanket he had given you, tucked tightly against your body. He slowly ghosted his way across the room until he was mere feet from you.
At the sound of a creaking floorboard, your eyes shot open and you found yourself staring at your best friend, his hands running anxiously through his blond hair. At the realization that he was here, in your room, and you were in this condition, you scooted yourself toward the head of the bed, slowly and with great effort. The tears which had fallen freely over the past two days were now dried, so you rubbed away the stiffness around your eyes as you just stared at the boy who still watched you, speechless.
“What are you doing here?” Your voice could barely be considered a whisper. Hoarse from crying and lack of food or water, it was more of a croak than anything. You dropped your gaze to stare at your hands, which still firmly grasped your blanket.
Shaken from his own thoughts, Draco realized that you had spoken, but confusion graced his face as he attempted to make sense of your words. “What the hell do you mean ‘why am I here’? You haven’t shown your face in two days, Y/N. You think I wasn’t bloody worried about you? And now I come here and find you- well I don’t really know what it is I’m looking at.” His voice dropped into a low mumble with his last few words. He had never seen you in such a state. It broke him.
Draco approached the side of your bed and sat down next to your blanketed form. “What’s happened to you?” He reached out and covered your shaking hands with his own. Warmth.
You closed your eyes, not sure how to explain it. “D,” you began, eyes still closed, unable to look him in the eyes yet, “this is just me dealing with something right now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you aren’t exactly comfortable with these types of things.” You hated having to tell him this.
“What does that mean? Did I do something?” He sounded panicked, afraid that this was his fault.
“No, no. I was afraid you might think that. This is just… my mind and my body deciding that I don’t deserve a chance at a good day, is all.” You paused, Draco’s questioning gaze searing into your own. He knew you still weren’t giving him everything. “You don’t want to know what’s inside my mind right now. I don’t even want to know.”
“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? I do want to know. Not knowing for these past few days has been torture for me. And from what I’m seeing here, it’s been torture for you, too.” It was all he could do to refrain from allowing the tears that had been slowly building up to flow down his face. He reigned them in, needing to stay grounded for you.
“I can’t explain any of it, and I’m sorry.” It was all you could do not to scream at the pain it caused you to know that nothing you could do or say would fully reveal just what was inside of you. “You should go.”
Draco hated that you wanted him to leave, but he would hate himself more if he denied you the space you claimed you needed. So he stood from the bed, squeezed your hand, and made his way back toward the door, looking over his shoulder one last time as he entered the hallway.
*
A few hours later, you were still curled up at the head of your bed, a firm pillow supporting most of your weight. The thoughts were swirling around your head again. You knew that keeping your issues to yourself only escalated the problems. Your anxiety over every little thing was put on blast when you thought about going about it on your own. But you couldn’t bring yourself to burden another person with your problems.
On the verge of falling asleep once again, you heard a faint knocking from your door. You ignored it, but this time Draco didn’t wait to knock a second time before lightly nudging the door open so he could waltz inside. “I know you wanted some space, but I needed to make sure you had these things before I could sleep tonight.” As his hands were full, he used his hip to latch the door again. He strode across the room with a large tray in his hands.
“What is all this, D?” His heart dropped at the shallow sound of your voice and the sad look in your eyes. Like you couldn’t believe he had come back.
Setting the tray down on the bedside table, he lifted the first item, a thick gray sweater. “This is mine, so that even when I’m not here, I’m here. It’s one of my favorites, just like you are.” He smiled gently, this was new territory for the both of you. “Although I’m here right now, so I guess you won’t need this just yet.” He set it to the side and reached for the second item on the tray. A tall glass filled with a clear liquid.
“I want you to drink this. It’s just water, no tricks. And I have one for myself, too, so we can drink together.” He picked up the second glass once he placed the first one in your hand. Slowly, you brought the glass to your lips and let the cool liquid slip down your throat. Refreshing. Draco watched as you drank, making sure you were getting the much-needed drink into your system. Once both of you had consumed about half of the water in each of your glasses, Draco retrieved the glass from your grasp and placed them both back on the side table for later.
Next, he held up a large slice of pumpkin bread. “And now it’s time to eat. Just a little something that I know you love.” And you did. Pumpkin bread was one of your favorite treats. He removed the plate from the tray and placed it between you. One by one, you each tore small bites from the slice and consumed the delicacy. Fulfilling. You hadn’t had such sweet tasting bread in a very long time.
When the plate was empty - you hadn’t realized just how hungry you had become until that very moment - Draco placed it carefully back onto the tray. “There’s another plate here with a few other food items if you’re still hungry and want more.” Then he lifted the final item that he had brought with him into your room. A small bit of parchment, folded neatly within an envelope. “Finally, this right here is a letter detailing all the reasons why you matter to me. All the reasons why you’re my best and closest friend. All the reasons why you don’t ever have to pretend to be okay around me. Because these are-” he stopped himself. Taking a deep breath, he took your hands into his and looked you in the eyes, so deeply you felt he might truly be able to see your soul. “These are the reasons why I love you.”
The air in the room became thick with emotion, yet so light that you felt like you could breathe comfortably. For the first time in a few days, you felt like maybe things would be okay. At least for now. Once the letter was in your hand, you knew you couldn’t even read it right now. So you laid it aside and reached your arms out, inviting Draco to join you on the bed. He obliged.
He reclined himself on the bed next to you, leaning his back against the headboard, much as you were doing. He draped his arm around you, pulling you in until your head rested gracefully on his shoulder, your face sinking into his neck. You breathed him in, feeling grounded. He held you tight, tight enough for you to feel it, to know that he was there. Draco dipped his head down and laid the gentlest of feather kisses to the top of your head. “I’m here, darling.”
At his words, you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed. “Thank you for coming back for me.”
“I never really left. And now I really won’t be going anywhere.” He smiled down at you, although you couldn’t see it. “I wish you would tell me next time you feel like this. Instead of waiting for me to figure it out myself.”
With your face pressed into his shoulder, your muffled voice was hard to decipher, “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
This broke his heart. “A burden? I’m so sorry you thought I would see you that way. But I don’t, I want nothing more than to be right here, with you. And I’ll be here every time this comes back. You can count on that.” Pulling the blanket up to cover your bodies, he whispered down to you, “how about we take a rest? I know I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe.”
Already halfway there, you nodded against his arm, “yes, please.” And in no time at all, you found yourself drifting off to sleep. Draco’s arm holding you close, you felt safer and more comfortable than ever before. You knew that you could make it with something like this to keep you afloat. At least for now. His touch, his presence. Relief. Warmth. Love.
*****
my friends, i love you all dearly and if you ever need someone to talk to, my dms are always always open 💕
tags: @hemmingsness @no-trespassing-mtz @queenofthepouges @theweasleyslut @loony-loopy-lupinn @alyssamalfoy @rudyypankow @gcdric 
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aenxiome · 3 years
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Chapter 3: Suck it up Fenton
The rest of the day ended up being lackluster.
In the beginning, things were going well, seating assignments had been changed, and more teachers roamed the halls during and between classes. Unfortunately, the changes aren't going to last. While teachers were punishing students for bad behavior, it wasn't always the ones who did the deed that got punished. It is almost like the trouble makers started rapidly evolving. Many of the A-List target students got detention, with their reflective bully doing a whole 180 when a teacher showed up. Thankfully I managed not to get detention for a second day and a row, but that may be from Dash getting in trouble earlier today.
I may be giving my classmates more credit than they are worth, though. Before today, none of the teachers ever monitored the events in the hallways—giving everyone free rein to do what they wished without any consequences. This isn't anyone evolving. This is their way of getting around the new, hopefully, standards that they are trying to implement. If things continue to go this way, the A-Lists and others are just going to become less subtle in their actions. Not that I expect them to be able to pull it off in the end, but the new arrangement might cause even more issues.
'Great going Fenton, you just screwed everyone, I tell myself. Not everyone can handle themselves as well as you can. This is going to mean so much trouble. But, I try to look on the bright side, thinking about Astronomy. I got some papers back today, full credit on my star chart, though that's pretty much expected of me at this point. So not too surprising. Hopefully, other classes will improve with the seating arrangements being changed, but there is no way of telling if they truly will.
Once classes were over and done with, I met up Sam and Tucker at the Nasty Burger. The restaurant is just starting to get busy with the constant incoming groups of students coming through the door. Thankfully we can claim our regular booth and put in an order for food. " So, how did your guys' day go?" Tucker asks, fiddling with one of his newer PDAs. He goes through PDAs as Dad goes through fudge, a lot of them and all the time. Sam and I just shrug in response and continue the conversation going through some random small talk.
In the middle of our conversation, Tucker suddenly goes still and stares at the PDA. He shoves the device in front of Sam's face making her read whatever has grabbed his attention. Once she is done looking at whatever it is, she and Tucker make eye contact conveying something to each other that I am unable to make out. Sam starts to say something but is interrupted by our food arriving.
"Danny," Tucker says as I shove fries into my mouth, " what happened last night?" I give him a questioning look. Sam slides over the PDA it is showing a local news article. The headline, "MORE DESTRUCTION IN AMITY," is plastered at the top. Below it shows a picture of a destroyed abandoned lot, the same lot from the fight with Skulker earlier this morning.
MORE DESTRUCTION IN AMITY
by Charisma Lynn
This morning residents of this local neighborhood woke up to the remains of another ghost fight. All around the grounds, traces of the battle can be found. Burn marks cover the ground in many areas showing the intensity of the fight. When officials first got on the scene, they found a couple of abnormalities not commonly seen. In a couple of different places, shattered pieces of ghostly green energy can be found. At first appearance, the pieces look like stained glass, but after the first contact turns into a gooey substance. Residents are being told not to worry as the substance is completely harmless but to still take caution. Along with the glass-like substance is a frozen piece of the ground. Even in the sunlight, the spot has shown no difference and is as hard as a rock. Out of the earth is a broken piece of ice. So far, we are unable to tell where the ice has come from, but our best guess is from some kind of ghostly interference. Many residents of the neighborhood have to ask where Phantom was? Was he part of the destruction, or is there a new ghost in town? Find out more tonight at 6 on APC.
I look up from the article to see Sam and Tucker staring at me. I shove more unsalted fries into my mouth. Did you know salt is a natural ghost repellent I, unfortunately, learned that the hard way. Never again. I finish chewing before reassuring them, " Guys, it's fine it was just a typical ghost fight." Tucker starts on his food apparently satisfied with my answer while Sam looks like she is getting ready to argue, but I interject before she gets the chance.
" It was just Skulker, it wasn't anything too bad" the mixture of "too bad" and Skulker grabs Tucker's attention once again. With him too now giving me a critiquing look over. " Are you sure dude? You aren't hurt anywhere are you?" His voice started to become a little bit frantic as he says, "Because Im not going to the hospital. Sorry but that's where I draw the line."
" Okay, but that doesn't explain what's up with the ice spot and glassy thingy," Sam says, bringing us back to the point of the conversation. " Not now," I tell them. I glance around the crowded room before looking back to them, "not here."
They look as if they are preparing to argue as I whisper, " in private." I get a couple of questioning looks as I continue, " Theres' too many people that could overhear" With the promise to talk about it later, our meal went back to everyday small talk and griping about whatever else is bothering us.
Thankfully they let it go. For now, at least.
We finish up our meal and leave the restaurant, then start on down the road. "So," Sam asks, looking in my direction, " where exactly are we going? Your place?" I start to agree but get cut off by Tucker, " We should go to the lot." I give him a questioning glance. He continues his thought, saying, " The picture in the article doesn't show much, and you never know the media could be over-exaggerating again."
"Why not," Sam says with the tone of excitement in her voice, " sounds like fun." I stop walking as I think it over. Before I can say anything, the two of them rush off ahead in the direction of the lot while a feeling of dread overtakes me. "Guys," I call out to them, trying to catch back up, " I don't think this is a good idea." I tell them in a rush, "I will tell you about it when we get to my place. We don't need to go there." Sam narrows her eyes at me before saying, "you're hiding something."
" No, that's not it," I wring my hands in my shirt, unsure of how to proceed. She doesn't let up with her glare at my words. Sam sighs and comes towards me, grabs my arm, and pulls me along with her. I try to pull myself away without hurting her, but I just can't seem to do it. Finally, I become resigned and hesitantly follow without protest.
Didn't they read the same article that I did? It says authorities looked at the lot. They would have had to call ghost experts. Who is to say that they still aren't there? What are we going to say if the Guys In White stuck around? Or even worse, my parents.
When we arrive, the lot is empty, only showing past signs of anyone having been here. The three of us cautiously walk towards the destruction. Next to me, I hear Tucker gasp before saying, "Oh my…" he stops himself before saying anything else. Sam isn't much better putting her hand around my arm in a vice grip.
Before them stands the evidence of one of my fights. In the daylight, the damage looks worse than it did under the moon, making me feel even worse about our actions than I already do. The ground doesn't look so much burned but scorched. As if a fire had burned away its beauty and left a hot steaming pile of muck in its place.
The few trees that line the property have missing limbs that have either splintered or lie on the ground. Shards of ectoplasm are scattered around in the grass, waiting for an unsuspecting human to fall victim to its goo or a ghost to impale its self on its sharp edges. In the middle of it, all is the spikey ice collum surrounded by the frozen frosty ground.
" So they under exaggerated this time," Tucker said, trying to bring humor to the situation, " who would have guessed." I look away from them, ashamed. " It didn't look this bad at night," I say softly, " It didn't" Unable to meet their eyes, I walk forward towards the Ice. Sam and Tucker tell me not to touch anything that I don't know where it comes from As I get near it. I ignore them and put my hand on the side of the spike. Even in human form, I am still unable to feel any of its coldness. It feels just as warm as the air around us, a little moist but not cold.
Sam and Tucker, at some point, walk towards the spike and join me at my side while I inspect the spike. " What does it feel like to you?" I ask. " Dude, it's Ice, it's cold. What else is it supposed to feel like?" I continue to glide my hand over the ice while telling them to humor me. I watch as they put their hands onto the ice, and as soon as they touch it, their hands go flying away from it. They both hold their hand as if something is attacking them. "Danny, how can you touch that!" Sam exclaims, " that stuff is freezing!"
" It feels warm to me," I tell them nonchalantly as if this is an everyday occurrence. " Danny, this isn't normal," Sam says in a worried tone. I don't say anything in response, knowing that this isn't normal for human beings, not at all. Instead, I stare at the ice, trying to figure out how to fix it, when suddenly, an idea comes to my head. I look towards them and hum to catch their attention, "Hey, do you think you can back up for a second? I have something I want to try."
As soon as they are far away enough, I check and double-check that no one is around. Before going forward on my idea, I yell to Tucker, " Tuck, can you check for cameras and stuff first?" He pulls out his PDA and tells me, " No problem with 'Simone' I'll know if anything is there in a jiffy." I wait a second until I hear him give the okay and start my attempt.
My eyes start to glow an icy ethereal blue as I stand before the spike and tap into my ice core. I can feel the cold rushing through me and out to my surroundings. In my presence, the spike starts to repair itself as I let my core come to the surface. In the middle of the spike, I can feel a connection to myself, its ectoplasmic connection to myself. Instead of pushing the ice out, I pull it in, and before my eyes, the ice starts to melt. Instead of shattering like before, it slowly becomes raw energy becoming a blue-white blob.
I gather as much energy as I can from the earth, defrosting it and adding it to the rest of the blob. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding when all of the ice finished melting. I look around the lot for the scorched places, instinctively knowing what to do. I melt the icy ectoplasmic blob even more into water and send it around to saturate the ruined earth. When the ecto-water hits the ground, the earth lets out a satisfying hiss. The ground looks as if it has partially recovered, making it look like months have gone by instead of only a few hours since the initial conflict. Slowly I let go of my core, letting my eyes go back to their normal human hue. A smile comes to my face at my accomplishment, and I look over at Sam and Tucker. They are both staring at me with huge eyes with different emotions flashing through them: amazement, surprise, and wonder.
I go to take a step towards them when the world starts to spin. I feel myself stumble forward. " Danny!" I hear my name called out in fear and a rushing of feet coming to me. A wave of nausea hits me hard, and I lose my balance falling forward. Luckily Sam is just close enough for me to fall onto. "Danny," I hear my name called out again, " oh my gosh, are you okay?" Feeling too weak to answer, all I can do is groan.
" What are we going to do?" I hear Tucker ask Sam frantically, " we can make it to his place from here, and both of our houses are on the other side of town." The two of them keep coming up with ideas that won't work to get us out of the lot. I try to interject but just moving my mouth causes me pain.
Finally, I manage to groan out a name, "Jazz," but they don't seem to hear me. I try again, a bit louder this time, "Jazz," Sam stops talking, and when Tucker doesn't, I listen to her hit him in the back of the head. "Hey, what was that for" he complains, "Shush, Danny said something." With the raging quiet for the last time, I groan, "Jazz."
A quick vague phone call later and give or take a few minutes, Jazzs' car pulls up, and they give a sigh of relief. I hear a door slam and a worried Jazz making her way over. When she gets to us, I try to look up at her and grab her attention, but I am unable to reach her eyes. " What happened" She interrogated as she crouches down to take hold of me. I feel fatigued and start to lose track of the conversation. The next thing I know, someone has picked me up, and I'm in the car. I feel at ease with the motion of the car as we race home. It doesn't take long for me to close my eyes and fall asleep.
When I come to, I'm staring at the old stick-on stars that are attached to my bedroom ceiling. I cautiously sit up, feeling the strain of an invisible muscle, my core, in my chest. My sister and friends are spread out in the room, passed out exhausted. I glance at the clock next to my bed and read the time 3:18 AM. I try to get up from the bed, but I tumble down onto the floor. The sound wakes up Jazz, making her spring into action, helping me back up. "Hey," she whispers, "don't move too fast. You are still recovering."
I wince a little at the movement. Once she gets me steady, I whisper, "Can you help me get to the bathroom." She nods and carefully helps me to the bathroom. Once everything is situated, Jazz brings me back to my room and helps me onto the bed. I scoot over, making enough room for her to join me, which she quickly accepts.
"They told me what happened at the lot," she says, motioning towards my friends, " What were you thinking trying something like that?" She admonishes. I snuggle into her, getting comfortable before starting my defense, " I was just trying to clean up the mess we make," With a look, I explain further, " Skulker and I fought there last night. It went a little longer than expected. I didn't realize that we made such a mess."
"What about the ice," she inquires. I give half a shrug, " It was unexpected; I don't know how it happened." I tell her truthfully, " I plan to go visit Frostbite this weekend and see if he knows anything." She starts raking her hand through my hair then continues the conversation, " They said you got rid of the ice and fixed part of the ground? They didn't explain it too well. Care to elaborate?"
"It's weird. I just kind of knew how to do it. It was like…." I trail off, not liking the word I need to use. Jazz, unfortunately, knew where to pick up at, "Instinct?" She questions, with my silence being the only acknowledgment she needs. She sighs before saying, "It's okay, you know, to admit it." We lay there for a while before I decide to respond, " I can't." I react in denial, " If I acknowledge it, then it makes it true." Jazz lets out a breathy laugh at that, " So, what if you don't talk about it? It's going to go away?"
" I wish," I mumble, "It's just if I talk about it, then it becomes more real. I can pretend to be normal." She scoffs at my response, " Normal is overrated anyway." I let out a yawn and looked over at the time 4:03 AM. " Can we talk about this later? It's late." She lets out a yawn of her own, having caught mine before saying accusingly, " You just don't want to talk about it." I don't deny her accusation but put some more distance between the two of us and painfully turn over.
What does she want me to tell her? That I feel drawn to go to Ghost Zone? That I like laying around in my ghost form? I can get away with feeling like me under the stars and use insomnia as an excuse, but there is no way to explain anything else. If I told her some of these things, it would just be more of a confirmation of what I already know: I'm a freak.
" Good night, Jazz."
"Good night, little brother."
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givemeweasley · 3 years
Text
First Things First pt. 2
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Fred Weasley x Reader
Word Count:8.8k
Warnings: hella fluff, and ooey gooey romance, and then some angst (I couldn’t resist)
A/N: here's part two! Hope you enjoy!
First Things First pt. 1, First Things First pt. 3
-----
You remembered the first time you told your friends back in the States about him.
After about a million rounds of hugs the lot of you had settled down around your bedroom. You and Louisa were sitting on your bed, Danny sitting reverse in your desk chair, Thomas claimed the bean bag chair as soon as he walked in the room, and classic Iris who had opted to sit on the floor and lean against the wall. The familiarity of it all felt wonderful. Yet, almost new. You hadn’t seen them in a year, things had changed.
Once everyone was settled, the questions shot out at the pace of rockets. You could barely hear who they were coming from.
“What’s Quidditch?”
“How’s England?”
“What’s Hogwarts like?”
“Are there really prisoners running loose?”
“Did you see a dementor?”
“Did you almost die?”
“What are their houses?”
“Can you understand anything they say?”
“Are the boys cute?”
At that everyone shut up, glaring at Thomas.
He lifted his hands in defense and shrugged. “What?! Don’t act like we weren’t all thinking it!”
Like that instantly reminded them all of something, they shared a look before they all glanced at Iris.
She raised a brow. “I’m not surprised you bunch of cowards. I thought you were Wampus’?” She rolled her eyes before looking directly at you and smirking. “So who’s Fred Weasley?”
Your jaw dropped. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the room as all your friends stared back at you. Clearing your throat you answered, “He’s a friend of mine.”
Danny chuckled. “A friend? Is that what you ‘em in England?”
You crossed your arms, but Louisa nudged your sides. “Come on, Y/N! Tell us everything!!”
Whatever reserve you had had about saying anything, much less admitting it to yourself, dissolved with Louisa’s urging. You pulled your sleeves down until they curled around your palms. “Well, you already know his name.”
Louisa squealed, clutching your arm excitedly. She immediately got hushed by everyone else in the room.
“Um.” You furrowed your brows looking between all our friends. “I don’t really know what to say, honestly.”
“How about you start with how you two met, kid?” Danny smiled softly crossing his arms over the top of the chair. You huffed a laugh.
“Yeah. I suppose that’s a good place to start. Well, we met on the train to Hogwarts. It’s called the Hogwarts Express-”
“They get a train?!” Thomas shouted from the beanbag. A quick glance told you your other friends shared your sentiments. You had forgotten the stresses of using a portkey to get to school. A shiver went down your spine before you continued.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice too. They come by with a food cart around noon that has all sorts of treats-”
“Fred?” Iris raised a brow.
“Right. Well I found an empty car and sat down. He and his brother, George, and their friend, Lee, found me and wondered if they could join me since the other train cars were full.” Louisa awed from beside you. “Well at first I was so stuck in my head that I didn’t say anything so they almost left, but then I remembered I had working vocal chords and responded. That’s when they realized I was American.” You found yourself fondly rolling your eyes at the memory. “They then proceeded to pelt me with questions for the next several hours. Hm. Almost reminds me of some other people I know.” Giving a very pointed look at the four friends around you. But instead of guilty looks, they were all smiling, besides Iris who looked vaguely amused.
“What then?” Danny urged.
“Well, then I got sorted into the same house he was in. And no, Louisa,  it was not love at first sight.” You said, noticing her hopeless romantic look. “He’s an identical twin, remember? I could barely tell him apart from his twin.”
“What houses do they have?” Iris interrupted. That was just the sort of thing she would interrupt for.
“Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.” Iris raised another brow, hinting that you should continue. “Gryffindor is the brave, Ravenclaw the wise, Hufflepuff the kind, and Slytherin the ambitious. That’s the best I can sum it up.”
“Hm.” She nodded. “Continue.”
“Right. Well. I got sorted into Gryffindor, which was his house. Then he and George called me over to sit with them and I did. Honestly, it was kind of history from there. They call me ‘Merica.” A small smile crept up on your face almost without your knowledge. “But there were lots of things we did. We had detention together.” You glanced up at Danny seeing his head thrown back in laughter. “We ate breakfast together every morning, had classes everyday, went to Hogsmeade-”
“Hogsmeade?” Louisa spoke up again.
“Oh- uh- it’s a little wizarding town outside of Hogwarts. We get to go there a couple times a semester.” Louisa nodded. “Anyway, there were lots of little things I think that we did together. Although a lot of the time we did them with George, Lee, and Angelina.”
“When did you know?” Thomas said grabbing the bean bag and dropping it a few feet closer to the bed before plopping down in it again.
“Know what?”
“You know, like, know.” Thomas winked dramatically.
“Oh-oh. Um.” You leaned back against your headboard. Was there a specific moment? “Well, I think I first started to-” You cleared your throat, “like him when I first got your letters at Hogwarts. It was probably a month or two into school and I was opening them before our Hogsmeade trip. I was- sad. I read Danny’s letter first and it reminded me how much I missed you guys. Fred sat down across from me and instead of saying any bullshit like it’s okay or I’m sure they miss you just as much or you have new friends now, he said well then, it’s a good thing we’re going to Hogsmeade today so we can buy them a couple of souvenirs to send back. I don’t know.” You looked down at your comforter and traced the pattern in the cloth. “It was just exactly what I needed to hear.”
“You can tell Fred I loved those Dungbombs.” Danny smirked.
“Tell him yourself. You have paper and quills.” You smirked back. “But-” Turning back to face Thomas, “I think I knew when I had to leave for the end of the year. Something about not being around him all the time made me realize holy shit I want to be around this buffoon all the time!”
With that you looked over to Louisa who was dabbing at imaginary tears, Thomas had his hand clenched over his heart, Danny was just shaking his head with a smile, and Iris was actually smiling.
Iris looked over to Danny. “Kids in love.”
You grabbed a pillow from behind her and chucked it at her. “Am not!”
“Sure. Sure. Whatever you say, kid.” Iris laughed as she caught the pillow and tucked it under her arm.
“Last question.” Louisa placed her head on your shoulder. “What does he look like?”
Hm. Good question. Your mind took you miles away and weeks ago as you waved goodbye to him on the Hogwarts Express platform. “Bright red hair that brushes his broad shoulders. He’s really tall too. Soft brown eyes. Muscular arms and a really warm smile.”
The room had quieted once again. You hadn’t realized you were staring off into space blushing until Danny spoke up breaking the silence looking at Iris.
“She’s in love.”
You flopped back onto the pillows and threw your arm over your eyes.
“Guys!”
But their laughter and teases had already overtaken your voice as the rest of them piled onto the bed on top of you.
You couldn’t help but smile underneath the weight of them and the thought that they were probably right.
-----
You remembered the first time you stayed at the Burrow.
Your mom had driven you to the Burrow early in the morning and parked around a hundred feet away from the front gate. You both walked to the front door, your suitcases in your hands, your football (and one extra for Lee) under your mothers arms. You set your suitcases down and knocked on the door.
If it had been quiet before that, all hell broke loose at the sound of your knock. You heard vague sounds of griping and fighting, before the door was wrenched open by who you assumed was Mrs. Weasley. Your first thought was she looks like the kindest woman I’ve ever met. It made you wonder what Fred and George and even Ron whined so much about.
“Oh! You must be Y/N and you must be Mrs. Y/L/N! Come in, come in!” She waved you both into what was the most out of order, magnificent, mismatched house you’d ever been in. And you couldn’t wait to stay. Mrs. Weasley hurried you both over to the chairs at the table before flicking her wand. You and your mom sat down before two cups of hot tea came flying (not spilling a drip) and landed on the table before you.
It was right at that moment that two boys came crashing down the stairs. Your head twisted to see Fred and George laying on top of each other in a weird pretzel at the base of the staircase. They both scrambled to get up and make their way over to you.
“Boys, be gentlemen and take Y/N’s stuff up to Ginny's room.” The boys looked at each other and then back to their mom.
“But mum-”
“Ginnys!” She raised her voice the slightest bit and gave them a smile you recognized seeing on your own mother several times before. The one that garnered zero arguments. Hearing them sighing, you placed your tea back down on the table and stood.
“I’ll go help them, if that’s alright?” Your hands were clasped tightly together. You didn't want to offend Mrs. Weasley your first night here. You could hear the twins grabbing your suitcases from behind you.
“Of course, dear. It’ll give me a minute to talk with your mum.” She gave you a kind smile which alleviated some of your nerves as you pulled the footballs from your mothers grasp and followed Fred and George upstairs.
As soon as you hit the second floor, Fred grabbed your arm and pulled you into a room. They both dropped your suitcases and threw their arms around you. The footballs fell onto the floor as you wrapped your arms around the both of them.
“Missed you, ‘Merica.” George mumbled.
“Things have been boring around here.” Fred smiled pulling back. You tried your best to conceal the blush that threatened to make itself more known than it already was.
After they both let go, it gave you a chance to see their room. You knew it was their room the minute you saw the mess. Papers of what you assumed were plans for joke shop products were scattered everywhere but mostly concentrated on the desk. Their beds were littered with a few of those test products that you had been on the receiving end of a few times. Your eyes lifted back to the boys.
“I’ve missed you guys too.” You bent down to grab your suitcases, but Freds hands snatched them out of your grip. “But your mom is going to hate me unless you take me to Ginny’s room.”
“No she’s not.” George rolled his eyes but squeezed past you and into the hall. You followed him, leaving the footballs in their room. “We’ve told her too much about you and how you’ve tried to get us to stop doing pranks-”
“That’s not true-”
“She doesn’t need to know that.” Fred whispered in your ear from behind you, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. His head appeared next to your shoulder as he followed close behind and winked.
“Stop that!” You swatted at him, but he had already moved laughing as you missed.
“And here we are.” George led you into Ginny’s room and Fred followed before placing your suitcases on the floor.
“Where’s Ginny?” You asked, turning to the twins.
“Down at the lake with Ron. We were gonna go join them but then Fred here remembered you were coming today, so we decided to wait.”
“How sweet.”
“Well get dressed so we can go join them!” Fred called as he and his brother left the room, shutting the door behind them.
As soon as you heard the click you plopped down on the nearest bed. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat itself right out of your chest. You could practically hear it. For a moment you wondered if Fred could.
And then you realized you were being paranoid. You shook your head trying to get your mind off the way Fred’s arms felt around you. Strong. Comforting. Warm.
Those could’ve been George’s arms.
With that, you stood up and quickly got changed into your swimsuit and grabbed a towel. Holding it over your body, a little self conscious, you poked your head out the door. Seeing Fred leaning against the wall in nothing but swim trunks almost made you fall flat on your face, but luckily you caught yourself on the door frame.
You cleared your throat as you walked out and closed Ginny’s door behind you. Fred looked up. You couldn't have been lying to yourself as you saw a faint flush light up his cheeks as his hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. The tension only seemed to build as neither of you spoke.
Finally you managed to choke out, “so where’s George?”
A light seemed to go off behind Fred’s eyes as he straightened and shook his head. “Oh- um- George. Right. He- uh- he already left to go to the- uh the lake. Said he got tired of waiting.”
You nodded. “So are you ready?” You asked taking a step closer to Fred. He choked and stumbled backward grabbing onto the wall.
“Yeah- uh yeah!” Abruptly, he turned around and made his way down the stairs. You stood there for a second thinking about what just happened before shrugging and following him down.
“Oh there you are sweetie!” Your mom smiled standing by the door. “I was waiting for you to come down so I could say bye.”
You strolled to the door and hugged your mom tightly. “Love you, mom.” She kissed you on the head.
“Love you, too. Have fun and treat Mrs. Weasley with just as much respect as you would your father and I.”
“Yes ma’am.” Giving her one last hug, she walked out the door and to her car. You watched her at the door as she drove away.
“I’m really excited to have you here Y/N! Your mum is a kind woman.” Mrs. Weasley said from behind you.
You turned and smiled at her, nodding. “She really is.”
“Anyway!” Fred interrupted, grabbing your hand. “We’ve got a lake to go swim in! Bye mum!” Fred pulled you out the door and past the gate before you even had time to wave.
“Be careful!” Mrs.Weasley called out at the door.
Once you two were far enough from the house, you figured Fred would let go. But, he didn’t. You allowed your heart to expand just a little. He slowed his pace to a casual walk instead of the frantic run he’d started with.
The problem was he wouldn’t look at you. Actually, he seemed quite interested in anything that wasn’t you.
You stopped, half expecting his hand to leave yours as he continued walking. Instead, he jerked to a stop too once he realized your hand was tugging on his. You tried not to think about the fact that he was still holding your hand rather than continuing to walk on without it.
However, he still didn’t look at you. He only tilted his head in your direction, still facing forward.
“Are you mad at me?” You whispered laying it on thick, hoping it would do the charm. It did.
Fred’s eyes snapped to yours worriedly. “Mad? Bloody hell no. Why would you think that?” He asked, taking a step closer to you.
“Well you weren’t looking at me or talking to me, so…”
Fred ran his free hand through his hair and closed his eyes sighing. “I haven’t looked at you, because you’re killing me here.”
You took a step closer.
“How so?” You tilted your head innocently as you gazed up at his still closed eyes. At feeling your body heat, Fred’s eyes snapped open. He took a step back. This felt like a dance you only vaguely knew the steps to.
He visibly took a deep breath before shaking his head. “Forget it, let’s go before they start having all the fun without us.”
You let him pull you this time. A small hope blossoming in your heart and a secret smile forming on your lips.
-----
You remembered the first time you almost admitted how you felt.
Turns out Fred’s surprise was an invite to the Quidditch World Cup. Something he insisted was the very height of all world sports. You didn’t tell him you still thought Quadpot was better. You were appreciative either way.
The day leading up to the match was quite eventful. From the portkey that instantly took you back to America and Ilvermorny, to watching as Fred and George gambled away their entire savings on the game you were sure the game couldn’t possibly be as entertaining as everything around it. Especially not when Fred and George painted their faces in Irish colors.
“So you enjoying yourself?” George asked from beside you in the stands. Fred was on your other side not paying you a bit of attention as he took in every aspect of the general splendor.
Your eyes shifted to look at George who still had his eyes on the pitch.
“Yeah, I guess. Honestly, I’m just happy to be here with everyone.”
“How were The States? I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to ask, with that one-” he nodded at Fred, “hogging all your attention.”
That sent a blush straight to your cheeks. It almost made you sick how often that was beginning to happen.
“I-”
“Don’t even try to deny it, Y/N. We all see it.” He nudged your shoulder with his. “Mum supports it wholeheartedly if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your jaw dropped at that. You quickly glanced to see if Fred was paying any attention, but his focus was still on the ads flashing before him.
“George- I-” You sat back and huffed. “How’d you know?”
He scoffed. “As if everyone couldn’t tell. You two are constantly making googly eyes at each other.” George leaned in close. “Fred wouldn’t shut up about you the first night after we met you. Kept raving like a madman about how pretty you were and how he wanted to hear about football and a million other American things.”
You had to keep from looking behind you at the boy who was the focal point of your conversation.
“What you are lot talking about?” Speaking of the devil, his head appeared over your shoulder.
You frantically looked at George hoping he would come up with some sort of-
“We were talking about how her trip back to The States was.” George replied leaning back in his seat. “Now focus, the game’s about to start.” You nodded way too energetically, and you almost thought Fred was going to say something about it. But he seemed to hold his tongue after meeting George’s eyes and turned back to the game.
“The Irish are gonna win. I’m sure of it.” He mumbled.
“You better be. You bet all your savings on it.” You whispered back a slight smirk on your face. Fred shook his head and opened his mouth to respond.
“Well if it isn’t another dirty mudblood in the stands.” A low voice hissed in your ear. Your head whipped around only to see Draco Malfoy sitting behind you, an evil little smirk on his beady face. You felt both the boys tense beside you as they both prepared to presumably respond. You immediately turned around and grabbed both of their arms firmly.
“We’re just gonna pretend he’s not here.” You whispered quietly enough you knew the twins would hear, but hopefully not loud enough Draco-
“I almost forgot-”
You muttered under your breath.
“How beautiful and kind hearted you are.” The shriek of indignation was a clear sign of it’s effectiveness. You smiled broadly as Fred and George both turned to you as Draco continued to mumble niceties.
“The hell did you do?” George laughed.
You shrugged. “Wandless magic. I call it the Sweetheart Charm.”
Both boys' jaws dropped. “You know wandless magic?!” Fred leaned in.
“Not strong magic, but it’s kind of an elective at Ilvermorny. A useful one apparently.” You giggled still half listening to Draco talk about how much he admired Harry Potter.
Fred huffed. “You could’ve told me that before I borrowed George’s wand to scourgify Snape’s classroom last year.”
You turned and nudged his shoulder with your own. “A good magician never reveals her tricks.”
With that, the game kicked off. Quite literally. The players took flight and from your mid-pitch seat you were able to see everything well enough. The excitement in the stadium was tangible. Both sides were rowdy and exuberant and became even more so as the game went on. Especially when the Veela and Leprechauns began to fight on the pitch.
Quadpot would never.
Finally, Victor Krum caught the Snitch meaning the game was over. And the Irish had won the World Cup. Fred and George jumped up throwing their hands in the air before Fred hauled you up with him and pulled you into his arms.
“We won!!” He shouted, smiling broadly. “We won!! That means we won our bet!!” Now that was something you could cheer for.
You screamed, throwing your arms around his neck as he picked you up. With your face pressed into his neck, you breathed in. He smelled like face paint, sweat, and a tiny hint of firework ash. You dug your face deeper never wanting to forget it.
Eventually he set you down, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around you. For a moment, just a moment, you contemplated leaning up barely a fraction of an inch to join your lips to his. You could feel his breath on your skin. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you began to rise to your toes.
“Fred! George! You won!” Ron shouted from below you. You two jumped apart as if you’d been shocked. You heard Fred clear his throat while you stood next to him trying to remember how to breathe.
“Yeah, Ron. We did!” He smiled but it looked more like a grimace. You should’ve known he was being weird when he didn’t immediately find something to tease Ron about.
After that, Mr. Weasley led you out of the stands and back down to your tent. For a while, you all stay out and celebrate. Shouting and screaming and laughing and just having fun. But there came a point where even you got tired and had to retreat into your tent. You practically collapsed on your bed after changing into sleep shorts and a random No-Maj band t-shirt. Sleep was instantaneous.
“Wake up! Girls get up!” You awoke to someone shaking your shoulders. Blinking rapidly, you focused on Mr. Weasley standing above you with a panicked look. “Get up!” He moved on from you seeing you were awake, to wake up Hermione or Ginny. You didn’t know. But the fear in his eyes made you roll out of bed and grab your wand.
Hermione and Ginny were both waking up looking just as frightened, shivering in their nightdresses as Mr. Weasley ushered you all out of the tent. All you managed to piece together in your terrified state was Mr. Weasley saying the woods and stay there. You barely registered as Fred grabbed onto Ginny and George grabbed onto you, as they whisked you into the forest.
Your bare feet tripped over souvenirs and sticks. You tried to ignore how it stung and how the bitter English cold bit through your thin t-shirt and shorts.
I am way out of my depth.
Fear trickled into every inch of your body as George kept tugging you into the forest. But you tripped. George lost his grip and in seconds you lost sight of him.
“Get up!” Someone yelled as they grabbed your arm and yanked you into a standing position. It took a second to see it was George who had come back for you. Relief flooded your system. Finally you both broke through the trees, but you had lost Fred and Ginny in the process.
George didn’t let up, he kept pulling you in whatever direction was away from the campsite. Your feet were definitely going to be cut up. You tried not to think about it even as tears poured down your cheeks.
After what felt equally like hours and no time at all, you both came to a halt. George pulled you into a sitting position behind a tree, you settled between his legs and his arms around you. Your heart was pounding. Your muscles were aching. You had never felt more ill equipped than you did at that moment. Even with being a witch.
“George, I’m scared.” You whispered so quiet you could barely hear it. It felt odd that the forest was so quiet. You could barely hear the screams and shouts coming from the campsite, whether that was a good thing or a bad thing you weren’t sure.
“Y/N,” You knew that voice. “It’s Fred.” His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear. His head resting on your shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Trust me.”
You leaned your head against his and closed your eyes. “Okay.” You tucked your knees into your chest and just waited. You could feel Fred’s chest heaving from behind you. It countered your own labored breathing. That one solitary fact provided the smallest bit of comfort. That he was breathing in while you breathed out. That he breathed out while you breathed in. It felt safe. You couldn’t describe it any other way.
Briefly, you thought back to what George said in the box earlier that day. You turned your head ever so slightly towards Fred. You licked your lips as if giving yourself just a second more before gaining the courage.
If the fear of death wasn’t motivation enough, you didn’t know what would be.
“Fred?” You breathily whispered.
“Yeah?” He whispered back.
“I have to tell you something.”
He let out a small laugh but it sounded so devoid of any humor. “Then tell me, love.”
“For awhile now, I’ve been-”
Green light flashed like lightning above you. You scrambled to your feet, Fred following, to see what it was that lit up the entire forest in an eerie green glow.
A snake coming through a skull.
The Dark Mark.
You stumbled back into Fred who caught your arm before you fell.
“Let’s go.” He mumbled before fiercely tugging you in the opposite direction of the mark in the sky. Fear rattled through your bones then.
Even as Fred tugged you through the forest, your eyes were on that Dark Mark in the sky. You didn’t know if you wished your parents had never brought you here or if you were glad they did.
-----
You remembered your first kiss.
The Triwizard tournament held more excitement for you than for most. It wasn’t because you could enter under the name of Ilvermorny (although you did consider it but you were a year too young). Nor was it because the prospect of spectating the tournament held a special excitement. It was because for the first time in your Hogwarts life, you were not the only foreigner.
French and Russian wizards and witches were now at Hogwarts which meant, for the first time, no one cared that you were the only American in a British Wizarding school. Your friends still called you ‘Merica, but that had never bothered you to begin with.
Everyone was instead focusing on the fact that Quidditch World Cup player Viktor Krum was in attendance at their school.
You, however, were using the time everyone was focused on stalking him to find some peace and quiet. The start of classes had been even more stressful than last year. You had gotten your OWLs back and had gotten ten total. Considering your aspirations to be a healer, you had no choice.
You had stopped studying in the library as Viktor had decided, for whatever reason, to make it his personal haunt. Meaning that there were always a gaggle of girls following close behind, trying and also failing at being quiet. Also meaning that you had to find a new study hole.
Instead of picking the obvious choice, the Gryffindor Common Room which always seemed to be bursting at the seams with signs and people chanting Harry’s name, you went with something a little more hidden.
The kitchens.
The house elves were friendly and welcomed you everytime you came in carrying your books and papers. They’d been kind enough to help you set up a little armchair in the corner of the room with a small side table next to it to lay your work on. It had been a life saver. It gave you an escape from everything and an opportunity to make new friends. Although the thought of slaves enjoying slavery sent a chill up your spine, but if you knew anything about Hermiones attempts at SPEW, it was better to leave the subject alone.
You’d been spending more and more time alone since returning to Hogwarts from the Burrow. Especially after Defense of the Dark Arts with Moody. The thought of that specific class made you want to hurl. Your boggart had been nearly unbearable.
The sight of your mother dead on the floor of the classroom had been nightmare material for the past month. You didn’t tell anyone, not even Fred you were having them. You just pulled back figuring that once everything stopped feeling so fresh and raw, you could talk about it.
“More coffee ma’am?” One of the house elves you’d come to know as Jippy held out a cup of pitch black liquid.
You reached forward taking the cup from his hands, breathing in the welcoming aroma.
“Thanks, Jips.” A broad smile overtook his big eyed face before he nodded and went back to work.
You continued to work through your Potions homework with the utmost concentration. The NEWTs class was indeed harder, and took up most of your studying time.
“There you are.” A voice called from across the room. Your eyes lifted, seeing none other than George Weasley strolling towards you with his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Who’s we?” You asked sitting up from your slouched position in the chair as George grabbed a nearby stool to sit on next to you.
“Who do you think?”
“Well is he wearing an Invisible Cloak?” You replied just as sarcastically.
George let out a small laugh. “No, we split up to cover more ground. He went to check the upper levels. If only we still had the Marauders Map.” He shook his head wistfully.
“What if I didn’t want to be found?” You lifted the corner of your mouth in an attempt at a smile, but he saw right through it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and gazed sharply at you.
“Then I’d have to ask you why.”
You looked away unable to hold his stare. “George. I don’t wanna talk about it.” You hesitated. “I’m not ready to yet.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw George nod sadly. But he understood, you could tell. “Alright, Y/N.” He stood and pushed the stool back to its original position. “But you’ll find us whenever you’re ready to talk?”
You met his eyes and smiled softly. “Of course.” With that he nodded and began to make his way to the back of the portrait. “Wait!” You stretched your arm out as if you could reach him.
“Yeah?” He asked, glancing back at you.
“Don’t tell Fred about-” You waved your hands around you. “I wanna still be alone here.”
George nodded. “No problem.” And with that he stepped through the portrait and was gone.
You slumped on the chair, lifting the hot coffee to your mouth. All you could do was think. Think about nothing and somehow everything as the coffee stung its way down your throat.
It was past midnight a few nights later when you snuck out of the Gryffindor tower. The hood of your cloak was pulled over your head after you checked that the coast was clear. Quietly you made your way down to the Trophy Room on the third floor. It was the only place you could think that would have what you needed. The halls were dark and the only sound was your light footsteps on the stone. The light from the candles flickered as if they were minutes from going out. But you reached the room in enough time.
You closed the door quietly behind you once you reached the room and began to look around. The trophy room was almost always empty. Plenty of dark nooks and crannies within the cases and trophies themselves. The trophies themselves seem to stare at you from behind the glass of their cases, following you through the room, knowing what you were seeking. You slowly made your way around the room listening for any creaks or sharp noises.
“Lumos.” You whispered walking steadily through the room. The light from your wand caused shadows to stretch up to the ceiling. They leaned over you and stared down causing a sliver of fear to creep it’s way into your heart.
Finally, closer to the back of the room than you would’ve liked, you heard it. One of the bottom drawers in what looked like a dresser filled with cleaning supplies was rattling. You lifted your wand higher and whispered.
“Alohomora!”
The drawer snapped open as the boggart flew at you, almost causing you to drop your wand. You stumbled back into a trophy case before catching yourself. But that moment was all the boggart needed to shift before your eyes.
Your mother was clutching her bleeding throat, blood pouring down the front of her dress. Her eyes were desperate, until they focused on you. They shifted to burning rage as she stumbled forward choking out a few words as she stumbled towards you.
“You...disappoint...me. You’re no…daughter...of mine.” She choked out as you fell backwards onto your hands.
“Rid-R-Riddikulus!” You pointed your wand at your mother. But the boggart shifted into your father. Clutching his abdomen as blood poured out onto the ground.
“You did this.” He spat at you.
“No. No, Dad- I-” It shifted again into Danny.
“You abandoned me. Abandoned our school. Our friends. Our life. Don’t ever come back.” He lifted his hand which held a wand with a frightening look on his face as he shifted into Iris.
“I never liked you. You were always weak, too weak to be a Wampus. Too weak to even be called a witch, you mudblood.” She spat at you.
And then her face shifted into one much taller with flame red hair. The gentle brown eyes you’d come to love looked at you with utter loathing. You shook your head desperately wanting it to stop.
“You think I would ever love you? As if you’d ever be worthy of my time much less my affection. It’s hilarious to think I would ever want a vile creature like you.” You crawled backwards, scrambling to get away. Bumping into trophies and trophy cases as the boggart gained on you. Every shadow that had once seemed lifeless, seemed to peel off the walls before you, multiplying your fear tenfold.
This wasn’t real, you tried to remind yourself.
It’s not real. He’s not real.
“Not real, am I?” Tears spilled down your cheeks obscuring your view of Fred. But you could see the disdain on his face clear enough. “I’m flesh and blood, Y/N.” He took another step closer, you felt the sound of that footstep in your chest. “You have no future.” Another step closer.
“You will die alone.”
Another step.
“No one to love you.”
“Riddi-Riddi-Riddiku-”
“No one to mourn you.”
Another step.
“Bury your body.”
“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head frantically.
“You are nothing.”
“R-Riddikulus!” You shouted again with tears in your eyes. “Please!”
But Fred kept gaining on you, until his hand wrapped around the front of your cloak and hauled you close to his face. His brows were furrowed deeply, the lines around his mouth almost made it look like he was snarling. His eyes looked at you like he couldn’t even stand to touch you or even look at you. “I hate you.”
“Riddikulus!” A voice shouted from behind you. You fell to the floor as the boggart shifted into a firework before disappearing altogether. Sobs wracked your body as you laid crumpled in a heap. You heard footsteps gaining on you but couldn’t even bear to see who it was. Despite knowing the answer.
“Y/N?” A hand gently laid on your back. The flinch that followed couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry.” He immediately whispered, lifting his hand. You heard a soft sigh before you felt hands softly grasping your chin.
Fred was kneeling in front of you with the gentlest expression you’d seen on him to date. And yet, you saw the deep pain in his eyes. One hand swept your hair back then moved to wipe the tears still falling from your eyes with his thumb.
“C’mere.” He opened his arms. He made no move to force you into his arms. For a moment, you hesitated. His words- the boggarts words- were still reverberating around your skull. But you needed him. Fred. Not- not- the Fred of your nightmares. So you crawled into his arms, still shaking.
His arms came around you immediately, rocking you both back and forth on the floor. He shushed you softly while running his fingers through your hair. Fred pressed a kiss into your hair before tucking your head under his cheek. But he remained silent. As did you.
Slowly but surely your breathing slowed. You leaned further into Fred’s embrace as if that was possible, relaxing your muscles a fraction.
He seemed to take that as a sign that you were ready. “Y/N, what happened?” His voice was soft in your ear. You lifted your hand and placed it on his chest. You felt the steady thrum of his heart, and it gave you just enough peace to answer.
“I’ve-” Your voice broke off, hoarse from trying to scream a spell that wasn’t working. “I’ve been having nightmares.” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “Ever since Defense Against the Dark Arts. I saw my mom.” At that it seemed like everything came spilling out.
“I’m so scared, Fred. That Dark Mark-” Fred’s grip tightened. “My grandfather died in the First War against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I didn’t know him, but my grandmother talks about it sometimes. It’s why we moved to America.”
“I didn’t know.” He whispered in your hair.
“How could you? I never told you.” You sucked in another breath. “I’ve been having nightmares about death. My parents dying, my friends dying, you dying. I can’t get it out of my head, and it just keeps playing on repeat like some horror film that only shows one scene. Maybe it’s the stress of NEWT classes, maybe it’s because I’m weak, I don’t know.”
Fred gripped your chin in his hand, turning you to meet his eyes. The softness was still there but it was buried underneath determination. “Y/N, listen to me very closely. No one is dying. We’re all here. We’re all safe. Okay?”
You nodded.
You desperately wanted to look away as you asked the next question, but Fred’s grip was firm. “How much did you see?”
His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I walked in the room when he said ‘not flesh and blood, am I?’ but it took me a minute to figure out how to get over to you.” There was real pain in his eyes as he spoke to you this time. “Y/N, I would never never say those things to you. They are simply not true.” Fred released your chin to tuck you under his own as he brushed back your hair. You wondered if it was more for you or him. “When you die, a long time from now, it will be surrounded by those whom you love and who love you in return. You will be missed for as long as the sky is blue and your children's children’s children will get to say they are a part of your family.” He pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of your head. “You are important. You are magnificent. Breathtakingly beautiful. And I-” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know how to live without you anymore.” The warmth that bloomed in your chest dissolved every shadow in your soul that carried those fears. They were pressed and suffocated by the light that Fred was.
You leaned back to look him in the eyes. Your faces inches apart. Your hand reached up to brush his hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear. Instead of pulling it back, you slid it behind his neck. It wasn’t you pulling him or him pulling you, it was a tacit movement from both ends. And your lips met.
It felt like falling. The sky before you in shades orange to pink to yellow to blue. Like a sunrise on a beach. Morning dew in a quiet wood. Cold rain after a drought. All the best things the Earth had to offer were experienced in one moment. One person.
Your fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck while one of his arms lifted to cradle your shoulders trying to pull you closer. As if somehow the two of you could become one and never separate.
His lips were soft and warm. Everything you knew him to be. They moved over yours gently, like he was afraid to break you.
Just as naturally as you two eclipsed, you pulled back. Your hand still wound in his hair, his still tightly clutching your shoulder and waist. The world could’ve been falling apart around you and neither of you would’ve noticed.
You began winding a piece of his hair around your finger. “How’d you know where I was?” It came out breathier than you anticipated.
“I left my sweater in the common room and saw the portrait shut behind you. I had a feeling I’d need my wand so I ran back up to my dorm to grab it before coming back. I knew Harry still had the Marauders map so I snuck up to his dorm to grab it before coming to get you.” He twisted a bit as his arm left your shoulders. He pulled out the map from his pocket and opened it, showing the two of your footsteps in the Trophy Room. You stared at the spot you two were intertwined on the map way too long to be considered normal, before looking back up at Fred.
“Thank you.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Always, ‘Merica.” He whispered back, clutching you to his chest. “Always.”
-----
You remembered the first time you fought with him.
It had been several months since that night in the Trophy Room. But whatever you’d been hoping for when you left that room was not quite what happened when you actually did.
Everything went back to relatively normal. Forgetting the unspoken tension between you and Fred whenever you were next to each other or even remotely close. It took only a glance now for your heart to start pounding out of your chest as you were reminded of the feeling of his lips on yours.
You turned your head back to Professor Sprout who was going over the many uses of Moly.
“It’s most common uses are as a counteragent against a range of enchantments…” She went on as you scribbled the notes down. This was probably a plant you used in multiple antidotes if you wanted to work at St. Mungos.
You desperately tried to focus, but it was difficult when you could feel his eyes on you every five seconds. You quietly slammed your quill down before looking at him.
“What?!” You whisper-shouted.
Fred’s already wide smile broadened. “Nothing.” Then he turned to look back at Professor Sprout.
He was doing shit like this all the time. It was driving you up the wall. You couldn’t decide if it was because you were upset at the fact that nothing had happened between you, if he really was just being annoying, or maybe because he hadn’t asked you to be his date to the stupid Yule Ball. You supposed you should at least be glad your life had gone back to semi-normal. You’d stop shutting yourself in the kitchens (although you still made time to visit Jips). George, Lee, and Angelina practically cheered the next time you joined them in the library to study. Fred smiled secretly from his chair, that day, as you tried to avoid eye contact.
Shaking your head, you got back to taking notes. This was an important class that you needed to do well in if you wanted to get the job you dreamed of. Rolling your shoulders, you studied the Moly in front of you.
You tapped it with your quill before continuing to write.
“Taking enough notes, ‘Merica?” Fred whispered right into the shell of your ear. The shiver it sent through your body caused your quill to jerk across your page right through your notes. Your jaw dropped. Your notes were...legible at least.
You snapped your head to him. “Fred! What the hell!” You punched his arm.
He had the decency to look guilty. “Sorry, love. Didn’t think you’d react that way.” He scratched the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you’d come to realize. You hated how it stretched the muscle on his arm making it much more noticeable. Your eyes flicked back up to his. He was smirking, the prick. He knew what he was doing.
You huffed before turning back to Professor Sprout. “It’s fine.”
“You’re the best.”
“I know.”
You’d been walking back to the common room with Fred and George after dinner with Adrian Pucey grabbed your arm. You jerked to a stop as you turned to face him.
“Oi mate!” Fred shouted and stepped forward with a heated look in his eyes. “Bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Let her go.” George seconded.
Adrian wasn’t looking at either of them though. He rolled his eyes before focusing back on you. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Can it not wait? I kinda need to study for-”
“It can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Did you not hear him? He said let her go.” Fred growled, stepping forward between you two. You laid a hand on his arm pushing him away gently.
“It’s fine. I’ll meet you two in the common room okay?” You smiled and he seemed to deflate as he furrowed his eyebrows. Nonetheless, he and George walked away (not without Fred huffing the entire way to the staircase).
You turned back to Adrian. “So?”
“Wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?”
Huh?
You glanced around for a moment, half expecting Draco or Pansy to jump out with a sign that says ‘Surprise! You thought a Slytherin would ask you??’ But no one jumped out. In fact the hall was pretty quiet.
“Y/N?” Adrian shuffled.
“Oh, um.” You paused. “I can’t. I’m going with-” with who? Fred? The guy who hadn’t asked you yet despite kissing you in the Trophy room months ago? “You.”
The words were out of your mouth before you could take them back. You looked up at Adrian expecting to see his face break out into a cruel laugh, but it didn’t. He just smiled.
“Cool, I guess I’ll uh come get you from Gryffindor Tower at like 7:45?”
You nodded mindlessly, still not believing you’d said yes. “Uh- yeah that works.” You lifted your hand, stumbling backwards towards the staircase Fred and George had disappeared up. “Alright- bye.” You spun on your heel and practically catapulted yourself up the steps.
You said yes. To Adrian Pucey. Because Fred hadn’t asked you yet. Despite the ball being only a few weeks away.
What did I do? You shook your head and almost turned back to tell Adrian you made a mistake, despite being at Gryffindor Tower. But bumping into a solid frame prevented you from walking in either direction.
Two strong hands grabbed you by your forearms steadying you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“What did Pucey want?” Fred spat his name out like it was poison. You tried hard not to look guilty as you looked up into his eyes.
“He wanted to talk about the Yule ball.”
Freds grip tightened on your arms. “What about it?”
You sucked in a deep breath. “He asked me to go with him.”
“You said no.”
“No.”
Fred jerked back as if you’d stung him with nettle. “No you said yes, or no you said no.”
You pulled yourself out of Fred's grip, taking a step back. “I told him I would go with him, Fred.”
Fred had the nerve to look affronted. Anger swept over his features. For a brief moment, you were reminded of the face of the boggart. Yet even in Fred’s obvious anger, it could never compare to the deep loathing set in the face of his mimic.
“Why.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Are you serious?”
“Obviously.”
“Because no one else has asked me, Fred.” You said his name with the same venom he addressed Adrian with. “The Yule balls only a few weeks away and I don’t want to go alone.”
Fred’s eyes softened as he stepped closer to you. “I would’ve-”
You pushed his shoulders as hard as you could, causing him to stumble back a few feet. “Then why didn’t you?! I was waiting! There was no reason to say no to Adrian, who has only ever been nice to me, when there was no guarantee that the guy I wanted to go with would even ask me if he hadn’t already.” Tears unwillingly built up in your eyes.
“Will you go to the Yule ball with me?” Fred asked, reaching out for you. You couldn’t believe your ears. The question you’d been waiting for for weeks and here he was asking you only minutes after you’d been asked by someone else.
You let out a loud humorless laugh, gripping your stomach as you doubled over. Nothing was actually funny, you were just in such a state of shock that it bubbled out of you in the form of laughter.
“We kiss. Never bring it up. Never do it again. Never say so much as the word kiss around each other.” Every word you took the smallest step towards him until you were standing a foot away. Yet somehow it still felt like miles. “And suddenly when someone else shows interest, you want to too.”
Whatever you said seemed to anger Fred even more than hearing you’d said yes to Adrian. His eyes narrowed into slits as he glared down at you. “You could’ve brought up that kiss just as easily as I could’ve, Y/N! Hell, you could’ve asked someone to the Yule ball instead of waiting for him to ask you!”
A part of you hated how right he was, but the other part just wanted to win the fight. “Well one guy decided I was worth the risk of rejection, while the other was apparently waiting for me to build up the courage to ask even though I’d practically handed my heart to him on a silver platter.” You pushed past him to whisper the password to the Fat Lady.
The portrait swung open, the Fat Lady doing her best to not meet either of your eyes. Your hand still gripping the frame you turned back to Fred. Tears slipping down your cheeks in waves now.
“You know, for a Gryffindor you sure are a coward.”
The portrait fell shut quietly behind you.
127 notes · View notes
maybedefinitely404 · 4 years
Text
Day 2: Roceit
@tsshipmonth2020
Day 2: There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate
Content warning: vague neglectful/bad home life mentions, liquor store mention (no drinking), implied past parental death.
Word count: 2.6k
When they first met, they didn’t like each other. Would they go so far as to say they hated each other? Probably not. But it was no secret that Roman and Janus didn’t get along, even if they traveled in a mutual friend group. If the two interacted at all, it was in snide remarks and gripes that had everyone else in the group groaning in annoyance. They just wanted five minutes of peace, that’s all. Just five minutes.
Roman was too preppy, Janus said. He was loud and abrasive and presumptuous and arrogant, an annoying theatre boy with too much energy. Other’s feelings came second to his dramatic and overplayed grievances. 
Janus was too self centered, Roman retorted. He was untrustworthy and creepy and a compulsive liar, a loner with a mysterious backstory. Everything about him was kept hidden under a mask of indifference.
These things were true to some extent, but the group still loved them both too much to reject either one. So they both stayed, bothered by the other’s presence and unwilling to admit that maybe they disliked the other because they were so similar. They were both extravagant and theatrical and burdened with concealed insecurities, points that all of the rest of the group brought up regularly and they both vehemently denied. 
It all changed one morning during school, on a regular Wednesday with average weather after an uneventful English class, when Roman got overly excited at the cast list for the newest show being put up and dropped his art bag. Without a second of hesitation, Janus crouched to help him collect the supplies that had flown across the hallway. That was when Roman’s sleeve slid up, as he was reaching for a paint pen that had rolled up against a locker, and Janus nearly choked.
00:00
He blurted out his accusation before he could stop himself.
“You said you haven’t met your soulmate! And you call me secretive?”
Roman snarled almost animalistically, covering his completed timer back up and grabbing the now full bag off the ground.
“If you must know, my timer’s always been like that. I don’t know when it ran out; too young to remember. I don’t even know if it was ever counting down in the first place. Defective.” He flicked the numbers on his wrist.
“Does anyone else know?”
Roman narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic sympathy in Janus’ voice. “Just Remus.”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
“Why all the questions, Fibber on the Roof? Since when do you care about anything I do?”
Janus was quiet, breathing out a frustrated breath before folding down the bottom of his gloves, the same gloves that Roman taunted daily for making him look like every single Disney villain, the same gloves that made Roman turn to the rest of the group and insist that the guy was hiding something. Turns out he was right.
“My timer’s out too. I was too young to remember as well.”
Roman wasn’t able to respond, and Janus was surprisingly relieved. The silent solidarity in the other’s eyes was enough of an olive branch, just another thing they had in common. It was a pain the others didn’t understand, a frustration that couldn’t be fixed. So if from that point on, the bickering lessened and they finally allowed their shared interests to overlap, they surely wouldn’t be the ones to bring it up.  
That’s how they found themselves, almost half a year later, sitting on the swings of a musty playground near Janus’ house, watching the sunset in an unspoken agreement to put off going back until absolutely necessary. It was just another thing they had in common; shitty home life. They didn’t talk about it much, because they knew how much it sucked to discuss, so they let the facts stand at the forefront and the nitty gritty emotions and smaller mental repercussions stay healthily buried. What did it matter? Their parents were awful, ‘nuff said. 
“I just think it’s ridiculous, the amount of time he spent writing it.”
“He wrote and composed an entire play single handedly, J! Not a single word of it is dialogue, and it all rhymes! You try doing that in seven years.”
“I’m just saying, doesn’t it come to the point where you have to admit it’s too much work? Did he even know for a fact it would be successful?”
“He made it work, didn’t he? That’s what faith is for.”
“I wouldn’t have done it.”
“That’s what makes Lin Manuel Miranda a god, and you, a worm.” 
Janus gasped and raised a mock hand to his chest, drawing a loud laugh from Roman. While the shorter of the two still wore his gloves daily, the other had slowly gained the confidence to wear short sleeves and display his empty timer, though god help the fool who asked him anything about it. The conversation with the group had gone well, though Jan hadn’t admitted that his situation was the same. They hadn’t known him as long, and they both agreed that it was a sensitive topic. Roman didn’t push him. 
“The sun’s setting.”
“I had no idea,” Janus smirked, although the implications of the fast approaching darkness made a pit settle in his stomach.
“We don’t have to leave yet. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I don’t really get in trouble that often,” The shorter murmured, kicking his feet in the dust under him, “She’s more just... forgetful. Ignorant. I’m not even sure she fully knows I exist all the time.”
Roman raised an eyebrow at the first bit of information he’d learned about Janus’ home life, besides knowing it was just ‘bad’. He was debating between quietly prodding him to continue or to just let it sit when Janus made the choice for him.
“The other day she asked me to go to the liquor store for her and literally didn’t believe me when I said I’m only eighteen. Then again, she’s forgotten my birthday for the last, what, ten years? So I guess she just lost track, got ahead of herself. I don’t know.”
“When’s your birthday?” It was the only response Roman could think of. 
“August seventh,” He whispered, almost like it was a dark secret he was scared to admit.
“Wait, actually?”
Janus turned to him, eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah?”
“You’re joking. This is a joke, right?”
“I can probably find my birth certificate if you need proof. Why are you losing your shit?”
“That’s my birthday too!” 
Janus matched Roman’s face splitting grin with one of his own, his worries slipping away. They’d all been irrational anyways, so good riddance. He quickly settled his face into a more neutral one, the unusual expression hurting his cheeks. A calm air settled between them as their eyes locked, almost in a trance, before Janus snapped out of it and turned his attention to the pink hues of the dimming sky.
“What are the chances?”
There was a lot Roman didn’t know about the newest member of the friend group, he realized after dropping Janus off at home and starting the walk back to his. Usually he’d pop in his earbuds, taking the longest back roads and detours to put off arriving even more, but today his head was lost in his thoughts. What else didn’t he know about the blond boy he was so infatuated with?
Two weeks later, Janus edged the front door of his house open, calling out a tentative “Mom?” before pushing it open all the way and pulling Roman in. There was no answer through the empty halls so he yanked the taller boy upstairs, praying that his mom wasn’t home instead of just ignoring his call. It wasn’t until he shut his bedroom door and leaned heavily against it did he remember to breathe, meeting Roman’s eyes shakily.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I get it. Parent’s are…”
“Yeah. It’s better if she doesn’t know you’re here.”
Roman nodded, finally looking around the room. One wall was completely adorned with old records, some cracked in places or missing pieces entirely. He found himself drawn to it, running a finger down the closest one to him as Janus collapsed on his bed, ruffling the yellow blanket beneath him. He took a moment to pull off his gloves, revealing his soulmark, a secret that only Roman had the honor of seeing. An old jukebox stood proudly in the corner, covered in a fine layer of dust.
“You definitely have an aesthetic,” Roman hummed, taking notes on the implications of the dust and not approaching the old machine. If Janus didn’t touch it, neither should he. Instead he sat down at the other’s desk, spinning himself lazily in the chair.
“It was all my dad’s old stuff. He loved music and antiques a lot. The record player was his, too.” 
He followed Janus’ gaze and nodded, overly tempted to take one of the records from the wall and trying to play it, but knowing that would only end badly. The record player was covered in the same thin sheet of dust. 
“Holy Hera, is that a baby picture of you?” His mind, apparently unable to stay on one topic for more than ten seconds, had decided to focus on the framed picture on the bedside table. He crossed the room and sat next to Janus on the bed, leaning closer to the photo but not daring to touch it. He inspected the woman, who could only be Janus’ mother, holding the tiny bundle and smiling weakly at the camera, her eyes tired and hair tied in a messy bun.
“Yeah,” Janus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “That’s the only picture I have with her. She hates cameras, always said she was self conscious and shit. It sucks that the only one I have, I don’t even remember taking.”
Roman knew he should respond to the surprisingly vulnerable statement, but his eyes had zeroed onto the still slightly slimy, wrinkly baby in the photo. Its little fists were tucked against his face, eyes closed peacefully, a moment of bliss that time forgot. That’s not what caught his attention, though. He squinted, edging just that much closer to the photo.
“You were born at Jacob Banks Memorial Hospital? I thought you lived in Chicago before you moved out here.” The tiny golden embroidery in the edge of the blanket was just focused enough to make out, as if he didn’t have an identical blanket at home, stashed under his bed in a box of other memories that were too special to throw away. He’d run his finger over the stitching a hundred times, reread the words and committed the blanket to memory, just for that high of simple childhood. And now, here was Janus as a baby, swaddled in the same blanket.
From the same hospital.
From the same day.
“Yeah. My parents were visiting relatives in town when my mom went into early labor. We didn’t end up actually moving here until a couple years ago.” Janus didn’t seem to notice the gears turning in Roman’s head as he reached forward, plucking the picture off the table and bringing it closer to his face. He tapped the glass, just above baby Janus’ arms.
“Right there, my timer. It’s just a few minutes left. I met my soulmate as a baby and no one cared enough to check who it was.”
“Janus.”
“I called the hospital as soon as I was old enough to comprehend, but they said they couldn’t help me. Didn’t have a record of anything to do with soulmates. Some help, huh.”
“Janus!”
“What? I’m trying to be melodramatic, Roman.”
“That’s the same hospital I was born in.”
“Okay? It’s the only one in town, I’m not overly surprised-” The lightbulb went off, and his head jerked up. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’.”
They both were quiet for a moment, like the whole house was holding it’s breath, before Janus finally spoke, his voice a choked whisper. “Imagine with me, if you will,” he murmured, taking the picture and inspecting it closely. Not so much for sake of searching for details he wouldn’t have missed the hundreds of hours he spent inspecting the photo, more so just to avoid looking at the person beside him. “Two babies, born in the same place on the same day, put into the same small hospital nursery. They see each other, and click, their timers are out. Except both their parents don’t give a flying rat’s ass-”
“And so they never realize they met, and live their entire lives shrouded in mystery,” Roman finished quietly, suddenly terrified of the new ice they were walking on. 
“Hypothetically, of course.”
His head snapped up and the spell was broken, meeting Janus’ pale eyes and jumping to his feet, flapping his hands to dispel his nervous energy. “Okay. Okay! That could… that could make sense! All signs point that way, right?” He began to pace the length of Janus’ room, head tilted towards the ceiling, “And I mean, god, I’ve liked you for how long now? So I’m definitely not upset!”
“You’ve what?”
“Alright, so we can call the hospital, or go there, or something! I’m sure they can tell us how many babies were born that day, that doesn’t seem like confidential information, right? And if it was just us three, you, me, and Remus, then that’ll settle it!”
“Wait, no, Roman, stop!”
Janus launched himself at Roman before he could click the call button on the Google search of the hospital, already dedicated to his plan. He ripped the phone from his grasp and tossed it onto the bed after pressing the power button, grabbing Roman’s hands tightly.
“Jan, what the hell? That’s the only way we’re going to know for sure if we’re-”
“But what if we’re not?!”
The two settled into silence after the outburst, searching each other’s faces intently. They both shared scared expressions, eyes wide with excitement and nervousness, the possibility of years worth of questions finally being answered. The promise that their two soulmarks weren’t dysfunctional, weren’t broken, and fate that had led them together one way or another. 
But what if they weren’t?
“What if it’s a coincidence? What if you find out that your mom checked out before mine even got there, or our paths never could have crossed, or there were twenty babies born that day and there’s no sure way to know that we are each other’s soulmates? What if you find out that your soulmark said two years and mine ran out with someone else completely?”
“You’re starting to sound like Virgil,” Roman said quietly, almost fondly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
“Roman, if you’re my soulmate, I’d be elated,” Janus’ hushed tone matched his, “But I don’t know what I’ll do if I build my hope and then find out it’s not true.” They were quiet again, and Janus was suddenly hyper aware that he was still holding Roman’s hands, a furious blush rising to his cheeks. He fought the urge to look away, look anywhere other than Roman’s bright eyes, because this was the closest they’d ever been and he was scared one flinch might break the charm they were in. 
“We don’t have to check,” the taller whispered, “If you are, I’m content just… believing it.”
“You always were a cheesy romantic.” The phrase was meant to be cutting, but the uncontainable grin across his face greatly lessened its impact.
“I’m a Disney lover, what can I say?”
Janus snorted, dropping his head on to Roman’s shoulder, his heart nearly stopping altogether when the taller boy wrapped his arms around him and pulled them a step closer together. “So we’re agreeing on this? That we’re soulmates?” His voice was muffled against Roman’s shirt.
“As far as I’m concerned, yes. Fuck the system, right?”
“Overthrow the government. Commit arson in the name of anarchy. Society is a prison.”
“Dramatic, and that’s coming from me,” Roman drawled, rocking them back and forth slowly, dancing to unheard music, “Hey, Janus?”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” 
188 notes · View notes
angrylizardjacket · 3 years
Text
dirtbags // 2: Lola
Summary: High school AU, 1984, Winter. It’s hard to make friends when you’re the new kid starting halfway through Junior year, but slowly Lola seems to be making a few. It’s much easier to have a rumour started about you, especially when you tend to make questionable choices at parties, but that’s much less fun.
A/N: 8173 words. Lola’s dad is the MVP, trust me. i meant to put this out a week ago whoops!! also im allowed to reference my own Queen oc as a treat. @bluehourmotel, @misscharlottelee and again, interludes are A Softer World quotes.
[ m a s t e r p o s t ]
the best revenge is living well. the second best revenge is fire ants.
The fact that after being in town for a total of two weeks, Lola’s closest friend is the gas station attendant a full fifteen minute drive away from her house is kind of sad. Not that she’s disappointed to be Mick’s friend, he’s got a dry sense of humor but a good heart and he’s refreshing honesty, but she’s been at this new school for about a week and a half, has already made out with at least one person, has possibly convinced said-person’s cousin that she’s trying to corrupt him, and started to make a name for herself - whether it’s good or bad is yet to be seen -, and yet Mick Mars, nineteen-year-old gas station attendant, apprentice electrician, and aspiring guitar player is her closest friend. 
But she’s always been kind of terrible at making friends her own age.
“You have lost all respect from me,” Mick told her on Monday morning after the party, over the counter of the gas station as he’s ringing her up for her smokes and iced coffee before she went to school, “you could have picked anyone to mack on at that party, and you chose Tommy fuckin’ Lee?”
“He was nice to me, what was I meant to do?” Lola declared, realizing too late that that statement revealed absolutely too much about herself to a near stranger. Mick, however, just gives her a flat look.
“You need higher standards.” He doesn’t seem too phased by her. Lola takes this in stride, and nods, agreeing with a sigh. 
“What time do you finish work?” She asks, changing the subjects quickly as she’s pulling out a bill from her back pocket, “dad said he’s happy to let you have a look at that weird light switch that doesn’t do anything that I was telling you about.” 
“I finish at ten tonight, I’m working a double,” he groans at the very thought of it. Lola gives him a sympathetic look, and tells him to only come around if he’s up to it, otherwise leaving it for another day.
That’s the day that Lola realises the whole school knows about her and Tommy at the party, that she has Art with Charlotte before lunch, and also that Charlotte can’t look her in the eye.
Tuesday the school realises that she’s not just Lola Who Gives It Up For Free At Parties, but that she’s Lola The New Girl and that they don’t know anything about her beyond that. There’s a guy in her wood working class with long black hair and a dangerous smile that winks at her; she flips him off, knowing all he cared about was knowing if the rumours were true. She’s got AP French last period with that ginger from the party who wouldn’t stop laughing, Eileen; she’s a lot more serious, sober. The cheerleader, Heather, won’t stop giving her these weird, calculating looks.
Wednesday there’s a new rumour, that she was expelled from her last school. The population of the school hasn’t decided what exactly they think she was expelled for yet. Turns out she has English with that guy from her woodworking class, he just hadn’t turned up for their lesson on Monday; he sits at the back like Lola, in the other corner, and the teacher calls him Nikki in a tone like she’s already disappointed. Lola can see why, he fell asleep at his desk. Art last period with Charlotte; she still barely looks at Lola. 
Thursday. Heather asks in AP French if Lola’s heard what everyone’s saying about her; her tone is sweet and dangerous in equal measure and Lola doesn’t trust what’s about to come out of her mouth. The new rumour is that Lola was expelled for sleeping with a teacher; something about the glint in Heather’s eye is cruel, and Lola asks her sweetly if she’s more jealous of Lola or the teacher. That shuts Heather up fast, and Eileen’s cough behind them sounds more like she’s trying to hide a laugh. But it still gets to her; Lola focuses so hard on ignoring the girls gossiping loudly about her at their station behind her in Home Economics that she burns the apple danishes she was attempting, and she throws the burnt pastries, and the tray they’d been cooking on, into the bin until she realises her mistake and sulkily fishes the tray out again. Thankfully, the teacher didn’t notice.
Friday, and Lola hasn’t paid much attention to Vince, whose house she’s been to but who she hadn’t properly met until their classes had P.E at the same time; he’s in the year below her, but still manages to sidle up to her while they’re both waiting for their teachers to prepare the field for whatever torture they’re masquerading as physical exercise today. She tells him to fuck off; there’s something about the way he conducts himself that she doesn’t like, like he’s putting on a show of being shallow and vain and the life of the party. Instead, Vince’s voice goes quiet and he tells her that Tommy’s a good kid with a good heart -
“You give this speech to everyone you caught making out at your parties, or just me, ‘cos you think I’m a bitch and I’m gonna hurt one of ‘your bros’?” She snapped, lip curling, and Vince’s brow creases into a frown, “I’m not his fucking girlfriend, we made out a little, you don’t have to act like I’m going to break his heart, so piss off.”
A moment passes, and he appears to don his shallow, playboy mask when he asks her slyly if the rumours are true. She shoves him hard enough that he skitters back a few feet, and Lola earns her first after school detention.
The thing is, she and Tommy are already on the same page about this, it was a what happens while drunk at a party stays at that party. Or at least, it’s meant to. Either way, Charlotte’s protectiveness, and Vince’s... attempt at protectiveness was unwarranted. Maybe it’s because Tommy, for whatever reason, has started hanging around Lola at lunch.
She doesn’t sit in the cafeteria like the rest of them, or even on that little section of the roof the intimidating pack of punks, rockers, and smokers have found a way to get to. Lola sits against the fence near the science building, close to the carpark that’s always open for some stupid reason, as though she’s contemplating bolting.
“Don’t you have friends?” Lola’s tone is kind of hard, and perhaps her words are on the nose, and a little cruel, but it’s Wednesday, and this is the third day in a row he’s found her and spent the entirety of lunch with her. They don’t speak much, Lola smokes and picks apart whatever her dad’s latest cooking experiment is before she eats it, and Tommy practices twirling his drumsticks. 
“I have friends, do you?” Tommy responds, more than a little defensive, rubbing at his brow where he’d just managed to hit himself mid-drumstick-twirl, taken aback by her question. Lola gives him a flat look. “Someone told me you were expelled from your last school,” Tommy’s gaze shifts to the carpark, to the last car and it’s telltale rocking and fogged up windows.
“They say why?”
“Nah,” Tommy shakes his head, scowl softening as he gets back to practicing, “it true?” Lola’s picking out and eating the apple chunks from the slice of pie her father had packed for the day, still watching the car with the mildest of interest. She shakes her head. Tommy hums noncommittally. They spend the rest of lunch in silence.
“He keeps hanging out with me!” The following afternoon, Lola gripes to Mick on his smoke break after she gets out of school for the afternoon.
“You keep hanging out with me,” Mick points out, peeling the label off of a bottle of soda.
“And?”
“I don’t tell you to fuck off.”
“Yeah? So?”
“Because,” and Mick heaves a heavy sigh, like it pains him to admit, “we’re friends, Lola,” but he pauses and amends, “God knows why.”
“Fuck you, I’m a delight,” Lola huffs, and pulls her oversized denim jacket tighter around herself to ward off the chill of the afternoon breeze. If this were pretty much any other state, they’d be knee-deep in snow; thank God for LA, snow’s pretty for five minutes before it’s a pain.
“Do you tell him to fuck off?” Mick asks pointedly, as if exhausted that he has to spell it out for her. Lola’s quiet, but her answer’s clear. Mick clears his throat with a cough. Lola’s scowl deepens. 
She brings it up to her father that night. 
“Do you reckon Tommy’s trying to be my friend?” She asked, gaze intense as she focuses on slicing apples into little cubes. Leo, her father, who was kneeding a blend of spices into a ball of dough that would end up being a pie crust, paused.
“The kid who has been hanging out with you at lunch?” He thought for a moment, “the one from the party?”
“I told him it was nothing serious-” Lola tried, exasperatedly cutting the apples a little rougher, but her father’s warm, gentle laugh cut her off.
“Yes, I think he’s trying to be your friend,” he told her, which Lola hadn’t exactly wanted to hear, but the information was easier to digest coming from him than it was coming from Mick, “he obviously likes you -”
“But I told him -”
“I know, you told him it wasn’t serious, but dear, that doesn’t mean he likes you less as a person - you’re a very cool cat, I can see why he’d want to be your friend,” he gives her finger guns, and Lola can’t help but laugh softly at his attempt to be hip. 
“Christ, dad,” Lola huffs, smiling fondly, but he’d managed to cheer her spirits considerably. 
“I burnt my danishes today,” Lola’s voice goes quiet as she goes back to focusing on her task, and her dad makes a noise of intrigue, “got distracted and crisped the whole tray.”
“You’ll get ‘em next time; just fifteen minutes, remember?”
“Fifteen minutes, no distractions,” Lola agreed, almost by rote, thankful that he doesn’t ask about what had distracted her. She can still hear the whispered gossip and giggles that had come from the cooking station behind her in Home Economics.
Her dad knows that her peers think she was expelled from her last school, but she keeps her mouth shut about the fact that today they’d decided it was because she had relations with a teacher; he knows almost everything about her, but he didn’t need to know about a whole school calling her a slut. He’d blow it out of proportion, and it isn’t getting to her since she knew for a fact it wasn’t true. 
They finish the apple pie with it’s rosemary and lemongrass crust in good spirits. The flavours don’t go together as well as Leo had hoped, but it’s another step closer to the perfect apple pie he’d been trying for. Leo packs her two of the leftover slices for lunch, as a not-so-subtle hint. 
On Friday, Lola hands Tommy a plastic container with a piece of apple pie, with a rosemary and lemongrass crust in it.
“Is it poison?” He asks. Lola doesn’t look at him, picking the individual apple pieces out and eating them one at a time.
“The crust tastes weird if you eat it with the filling,” Lola’s voice is flat as she explains instead of answering, “but the apples are sweet.” She eats another cube of apple, then breaks off a corner of the golden, perfectly cooked crust, now cold and stiff from spending the night in the refrigerator. 
“Why are you giving me this?” 
“Eat it or don’t, I don’t care,” Lola tells him, hunching further in on herself; like this, she can’t see the way Tommy’s expression has broken out into a smile.
“Thanks Lola,” but the smile is evident in his voice, confirming all of her suspicions at once. Tommy took her at her word when she said the rumours weren’t true, even if the rest of the school believed them, so Lola supposes she’s actually okay with the fact that her second ever friend in the entirety of California is the marching band geek in the year below her who she made out with at a party once. 
Also maybe she’s just kind of terrible at making friends.
you and me baby! we are the future! and the future is bleak.
“Wait, you’ve never met Nikki Sixx?” Tommy asked, sitting patiently with his back against the fence, his hand resting on her knee as she fills in the the nails of his left hand with black sharpie, “didn’t you go to his gig the other week?”
“I didn’t know anyone,” Lola pointed out, and Tommy makes a thoughtful noise.
“You’d love him, he’s so fucking cool,” he assured her, which made Lola give pause; Tommy also thinks Vince is fucking cool, and she wants to throw Vince out a window, “he was the one on bass.” 
“The one in the leather pants?” Lola couldn’t help but smile at the memory; she’d appreciated it at the time, and could appreciate it now. Tommy, however, rolled his eyes.
“The girls love the leather pants,” he gave a quiet sigh, before adding, almost to himself, “wish I had leather pants.” 
“Leather pants would look good on you,” Lola pinches at his thigh for a moment, and goes back to filling in his nails. missing Tommy’s pleased, flustered little smile. 
“You know Freddie paints his nails like this,” Tommy says instead, changing the topic of conversation.
“Freddie?”
“Mercury. From Queen; you know Queen, right?” And he sounds kind of skeptical, like if she doesn’t know them, they can’t be friends anymore. Lola pauses again, her hand soft on Tommy’s where she’s filling in around his ring finger’s cuticle.
“I wanna climb John Deacon like a fucking tree,” she mutters, which startles a laugh out of Tommy, his hand jerking up to cover his mouth, making Lola leave a black line against his knee, through the rip in his jeans. When she looks up at him, however, her eyes are shining with mirth, “come on, man, you must have seen the video of them performing in Montreal last year!” And she licks her lips, watching Tommy’s blush grow steadily darker. After a beat, Lola bursts out laughing, shattering the tension and shifting to sit beside him, idly doodling on her own hand with the marker as Tommy shakes his head with amusement.
Lola starts humming Back Chat to herself, and Tommy leans his head back against the wire of the fence, listening for a moment.
“You and Charlie would get along great too,” he considers, and Lola doesn’t stop humming, nor does she look to him, “she likes Roger, but probably just because she thinks he’s pretty.” Lola can hear his eyeroll without even seeing it, and she’s not sure why, but she files that information away in the back of her mind; she’d never gotten an especially shallow vibe from Charlotte, but there was a uncertain undeniable appeal to Roger Taylor’s pretty-boy charm.
“Didn’t his girlfriend leave him for Bowie?” Lola asks mildly, barely pausing to speak between humming notes.
“Rocket Mercury?”
“Her name’s Rocket?” Lola snorts, finally looking at him, and Tommy’s lips twisted into an amused grin. 
“Her name’s Ash, but everyone calls her Rocket,” he says, like he’s in the know, and Lola stays quiet, nodding and trying not to laugh, “and yeah, I think so, she’s been with a few people since him I think; Bowie, this girl from this English band Hawkwind, Elton John maybe? Or someone around him I think.” Tommy nods, and Lola’s kind of intrigued as to why he knows so much about Queen’s drummer’s partner, but something else has caught her attention.
“A girl from Hawkwind?” Tommy doesn’t seem to notice the way Lola’s voice has softened, or how her expression has dropped to something carefully neutral. She’s drawing a little flower on the knuckle of her thumb.
“One of their dancers, Stacy, maybe?” Tommy’s own tone is light, like he doesn’t even realise Lola’s hanging onto his every word regarding this one little detail about a woman she doesn’t even know, “was kind of a scandal, but it was years ago; she’s Freddie’s sister after all, maybe it’s genetic.”
“Genetic?”
“Liking girls and guys, you know?” And he pauses. Lola’s frozen beside him, the marker pressed hard against her skin, breath caught in her throat. He throws it out so casually, so easily. Her hands are shaking. The words so kind when he says them, so unlike what she’s used to hearing. Tommy’s already moved on to the next thought. “actually, I’m not sure if Freddie’s like, legit her brother, but anyways, she and Roger are back together; I’m glad.” As if a sixteen-year-old’s opinion on a rock legend’s love life mattered, “he seems happier with her, all his best live shows were when they were together.”
“I’d kill to play half as well as him,” it’s almost wistful when Tommy says it, interrupting Lola’s thoughts, his gaze trained on the sky, as if imagining he’s on stage himself. Lola lets out a long, quiet breath, recentering herself as she looks to him.
“You wanna play drums?” 
“I can play drums,” Tommy tells her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but not nearly as good as Roger Fucking Taylor, can you imagine?” But Lola’s more focused on the -
“I thought you just played in the marching band, can you play, like, full -” and she sits forward, gesturing like she’s tapping on a full drumkit, eyes shinning. Suddenly, in the face of her rare, unrestrained smile, Tommy feels himself growing nervous, like he’ll let her down if he’s not actually as good as he thinks he is.
“I’ve got a kit in my garage,” he admits, and Lola pauses, letting her excitement simmer, as though realising it had gotten the best of her, breaking her cool and aloof facade.
“That’s cool as hell,” she does add, however, and Tommy beams.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, all flustered at even the slightest praise, “man, you’d really like Charlie, I know she looks all fancy and intimidating, but she’s a real softie inside.”
“You are really pushing hard for me to be friends with your cousin,” Lola notes, giving him a sidelong glance, and Tommy’s nose scrunches up, caught out.
“She thinks you’re trying to corrupt me,” he grumbles, “but if you guys met she’d know you’re not.”
“I am corrupting you,” Lola smirks, “next week I plan on peer pressuring you into smoking.”
“I’ve smoked before!” Tommy’s up in arms, like the implication that he hasn’t done something as low-level cool as smoking offends him.
“Dude I was kidding, I gave you half my cigarette yesterday,” Lola reminds him, and the bell rings.
While Lola was more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie, it appeared that Charlotte was not, and less than two days after her conversation with Tommy, Lola finds herself sitting by Charlotte’s side in their shared art class.
It’s the last class of the day, and Charlotte’s the one who sits by Lola. There’s no preamble, barely acknowledging the decision, just opening her notebook and focusing on the theory the teacher had already started to jot down on the whiteboard.
When they’re given free time, however, to work on personal projects, Charlotte opens her sketchbook and sharpens her pencil, and without looking at Lola, begins speaking quietly.
“Tommy thinks we’d get along,” Charlotte sounds completely innocent and perfectly harmless, but Lola remember how Charlotte had looked at her, part deer-in-the-headlights startled at the realisation, and knee-jerk protective fury, at Vince’s party when she realised who Lola had been kissing. 
“So I’ve heard,” Lola doesn’t look up, but Charlotte’s pencil stills on her paper. After a beat, Lola turns to see Charlotte giving her a curious look. Propping her head up on her hand, Lola gives a thin, amused smile, “he also thinks I’d be good friends with Nikki Sixx; was he the one you yelled at, at the gig?”
Instead of being flustered or going red at the mention of the moment, Charlotte’s expression lights up, as if the idea somehow delights her, and slowly she’s nodding. All her earlier reservations and hostility was quickly leaving her.
“Yeah, actually I told Nikki you reminded me of him, actually -”
“I remind you of Nikki?” Lola’s grin widened, and she shifted to face Charlotte further. 
“He’s kind of a tool -” Charlotte blurted after a moment of contemplation, and Lola’s eyebrows raised in amused surprise. Charlotte’s quick to backtrack, “I mean, I’m not saying you are- well, I don’t know you, but I mean, Tommy -” Charlotte frowns at that, expression falling as she considered quietly, “actually, I mean, I love him, but he’s not the greatest judge of character; he thinks Nikki hangs the stars, despite never really speaking to him,” she pauses and heaves a sigh of realisation, “that probably why he thinks so highly of him -”
“I thought they were friends,” Lola’s genuinely surprised, given how kindly Tommy had spoken of him.
“Half the school is terrified of Nikki, half seems to be in love with him; Tommy’s in the second half.”
“And which half are you?”
“I’m the only person who seems to think he’s just kind of a pest,” Charlotte’s response is surprisingly mild, as if she doesn’t quite believe what she’s saying.
“He’s talented, though,” Lola offers, and Charlotte looks back to her, as if brought from her own thoughts. There’s a pause, a lull. Lola puts down her pen, and turns more fully to Charlotte, stretching her arm out over the desk, and resting her head fully on it, like a particularly smug cat stretching out in the sun. Charlotte is slower to put down her pencil, but does so after another moment, pristine fingernails drumming against her sketchbook for a moment. 
“He was talented,” Charlotte agreed, thought it sounds like she doesn’t quite want to, “my ex actually got me into his kind of music, he was a fan of Nikki’s too; I’d tell Nikki I enjoy his music but it’d go straight to his ego,” and she casts Lola a sidelong look, lips stretched into a smirk, which Lola returns. 
“I am a little bit of a tool,” Lola finally admits with a self deprecating grin, and Charlotte shakes her head.
“You’d fucking love him,” Charlotte tells her, with a strained, sort of resigned huff of laughter, like the concept of them meeting was a little bit horrifying, and already exhausting.
“You like his kind of music,” Lola circled back around to quickly, “never pictured you as a hard rocker, you’re very...” and she trails down, looking at Charlotte’s pristine cheerleading uniform, and thick, black tights, the only thing protecting her legs from the Winter air. The blonde shifts a little uncomfortably under the scrutiny, brow furrowing.
“I know,” Charlotte says flatly, crossing her ankles, far too self aware in the moment, “you expect me to just be listening to nothing but Abba and Madonna all day?” She sneers, suddenly haughty again, and Lola licks her lips, intrigued; she can tell she’s pushed a button, and debates for a moment if she wants to press it further. 
“Not all the time,” Lola said, sitting back up slowly, “but I mean, I’m kind of partial to Does Your Mother Know, there’s no shame in loving Abba,” she shrugs, and Charlotte lets herself visibly relax. 
“Never pictured you as an Abba fan,” Charlotte actually grins.
There’s a distinct lack of hostility in the air between the two girls by the time the class ends, after spending the entire class gushing over various bands across a surprising range of genres, and Lola quickly finds she appreciates how wrong her initial impression of Charlotte had been.
As they’re leaving for the day, or well, Lola’s leaving, and Charlotte’s heading to cheer practice, the conversation lulls as Charlotte grows thoughtful.
“Hey, just... Tommy’s kind of a hopeless romantic,” and even as she speaks, she knows Lola’s growing irate at Charlotte’s hesitant tone, “and honestly, the girls he goes for usually don’t... they don’t usually give him the time of day, and he obviously thinks the world of you, I just don’t want you to -”
“I’ve told him that I don’t want to date him; he’s the one who keeps hanging around me,” Lola’s own tone appears to surprise Charlotte, now that she understands the root of the other girl’s protectiveness, “we’re...” and the word catches in Lola’s throat for a moment, knowing that speaking it makes it true, “friends.” 
Lola glances at Charlotte out the corner of her eye, and sees the way Charlotte’s lips twist into a pleased little smirk.
“I was just making sure.”
love is stupid. happiness is admitting we aren’t better than stupid.
Leo Fields, thirty-nine years old, owner of soon-to-be-named Leo Diner’s in suburban LA, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, who worked in the luxurious Parker House restaurant in Boston and quit after ten years there, including three years as Sous Chef and one year as Head Chef, only to open his own 50s style diner a mere ten minutes away in Salem, has and will always claim his favourite food is Easy Cheese.
Once, a long time ago, Lola had asked him why.
She’s asked him a lot of things, why he’d left his high-end restaurant to essentially flip burgers, why he kept his hair long, what his tattoos meant -
Lola’s eight, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs while Leo was crushing garlic to add to their dinner, his hair tied back into a large bun atop his head.
“People will try and tell you that just because something is expensive, fancy, or higher class,” Leo had rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at that, putting on a voice to make his daughter laugh, “that it’s better; they are wrong. If something brings you joy, it is better than all things that do not bring you joy, no matter how fancy the things you don’t like are,” he’d told her very seriously, “better is not real, better is what you believe; better for you means healthier, and that’s real, but when people use better to mean good, they mean that it’s good in their mind, and maybe you agree, but maybe you won’t.” And he scrapes the garlic into the pan and oil cooking on low as he then began dicing onions.
“I use all my fancy training and knowledge to make foods I think are better, but now I get to also serve them with a smile, and I get to talk to the people I’m giving the food to, get to know them, let them know they’re welcome here,” he tries to smile while his eyes are watering from the onions, almost finished cutting them. “People in my old fancy restaurant didn’t want that, they wanted you to think they were better than you, and if you thought their food wasn’t good, that’s because you’re not fancy enough, and you’re not welcome here.” 
“But that’s wrong,” Lola said with a slight frown, looking to her father for confirmation, and after he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, he beamed.
“Exactly,” he nodded and scraped the diced onions into the pan too, moving easily about the kitchen to pull mince from the refrigerator, “people liking something different to you is actually great; if everyone in the world liked Easy Cheese, we’d never be able to buy it!” And Lola laughed at that, the example making it easy for her to understand his point, “but making them feel bad for liking those things, that’s bad; that’s why I have my hair long, why I have my tattoos, they’re part of who I am, they’re part of my family’s history and where I come from, and I like them. If someone else is rude to me because of them, then I know right away that’s not someone I want in my life. People like to think they’re better than other people for stupid reasons sometimes.”
“Like if they’re fancy or not?” Lola asks, and Leo gives her a fond smile and nod.
“Like if they’re fancy or not.”
Leo’s not sure if Lola even remembers this, but he does. So when Lola, seventeen years old, standing in the kitchen, eating a ham and Easy Cheese sandwich after school, tells him that Charlotte, the girl in her art class, Tommy-from-the-party’s cousin, complimented her jacket, the pin-and-patch-covered, black, denim, proto-crust-punk, heirloom he’d loaned to her since she’d asked to wear it when starting a new school, and had barely gone a day without it, he can read into her smile even when it’s hidden behind her sandwich.
“Sounds like she has good taste,” Leo leans his hip against the counter top, legs feeling the warmth of the oven where he’s got a loaf of herb and garlic bread baking away. 
Lola spends a full twenty minutes enthusing about Charlotte’s taste in music, eyes bright and tone animated. He only interrupts her to hand her a packet of prosciutto and a bundle of asparagus, so she could help him prepare for dinner, but it doesn’t slow her down, hands working quickly, while Leo boiled potatoes and simmered some garlic in butter on a low heat. 
Both Lola and Leo know why Lola’s been so hesitant to make friends since moving, and she knows he’d never push her into friendship, but Lola also knows it hurts him to see her lonely.
“Hey dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lola says after a long pause, finally taking a breath after she’s finished recounting her day to him, “you know Queen, right?”
“Do I know Queen?” Leo jokingly scoffed, “Lola, I’m the one who introduced you to Queen.” He reminded, and Lola gave a small smile, but her heart wasn’t in it; she wasn’t usually nervous, but talking about this sort of thing still made her heart race a little. Seeing her hesitant expression, Leo’s own softens, and he turns down the potatoes to turn his full attention to her, “what about Queen?”
“I didn’t know Freddie’s sister was with the drummer,” Lola starts, fiddling with the final piece of asparagus. She’s quick to follow it up before she can chicken out, “and I didn’t know... she’s like Bowie, and Fred, and... and me, you know?” Lola finally wraps up the final vegetable and places it on the glass baking tray with the rest, before she looks to her father who was watching her pensively, hoping he understands what she’s trying to say.
“That’s little Rocket Mercury you’re talking about, isn’t it?” He asked as a smile stretched across his lips, “I heard that about her, I always thought she was so cool, she worked on Spinal Tap, you remember I took you to see Spinal Tap a few months ago?” 
Lola’s heart eases in her chest at his words, his warmth, the way he seems to reflect positively on the news. While Lola knew she didn’t have anything to worry about, since the whole reason Leo had taken her and moved across the country was her mother’s less-than-kind reaction to the news of Lola dating a girl, the memory of it all still made her nervous.
Leo’s entire face lights up, and he makes a loud exclamation, like suddenly remembering some vital information, snapping Lola out of her dwelling.
“How have I never played you any Dusty Springfield?” He announces, picking up the glass tray from the table and placing it to the side, “I’ve got some of her records in my collection,” the oven timer goes off and he asks Lola to watch the potatoes so they don’t overboil while he takes out the bread and puts the asparagus in, “Dusty’s like you too; she’s a pop-star from the sixties, lovely voice, told the Evening Standard she liked girls and boys all the way back in nineteen-seventy.” He says as he sets the timer for the asparagus, and Lola wraps her arms around him from behind, if only to hide how wide she’s smiling.
“She pretty?” Lola asked, grinning against his soft, woolen sweater. Leo gently pet her hands where they were wrapped around his middle, giving a warm laugh.
“Very; it’s no wonder girls and boys liked her too.”
Lola had never seen her father flinch in the face of change, and for that she would always be grateful for him. The only time she’d ever seen him lose his cool was when he’d come to her defense against her mother’s bigotted views; apart from that, she’d never known anyone more willing to go with the flow.
Take last week, for instance, Mick had taken Saturday off from the gas station to go look at the fixture Lola had mentioned not seemingly connected to anything. Leo had finally had the red and white, checkered floor installed earlier that week, and the booths had been reupholstered over Thursday and Friday in a shiny, inviting, deep peach, to compliment the warm aesthetic completed by the pleasantly sunny walls. 
One of the many things about Lola is that she know when people look at her father, they never expect him to be the embodiment of sunshine; six-foot-something, built like a tank from doing a majority of the manual labor around his diners on his own. His traditional, Hawaiian tattoos were on full display today, across his chest, arms, and legs, wearing a singlet and shorts despite it being the middle of winter, after spending all morning hauling an industrial freezer into the kitchen, with what little help Lola could offer. He wears his long, wavy black hair in a ponytail down his back; the only thing that ever betrayed the warmth of his personality was the crows feet by his eyes, the laugh lines around his mouth, and the kindness in his eyes themselves.
Leo Fields, teddy-bear in the body of a GI Joe, took one look at Mick Mars, the weary, rather scrawny teenager with barely any face visible for his long, shaggy, dyed black hair, and gave him a bright smile, ushering him inside. He introduces himself, and immediate asks what kind of music Mick listened to.
“I fucking hate Kiss,” Mick had said immediately, knee-jerk hostility, the way he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other being the only giveaway to how intimidated he felt.
“They can be a lot some times,” Leo had shrugged, gesturing to the jukebox, “I’ve already put a few of my favourites in, you wanna see if anything catches your eye?” Mick moves quietly, as if afraid to make a noise, even stepping in combat boots he barely makes a sound, and Leo makes mention that he’s going to freshen up, and that Lola knows what switch needs to be looked at. 
“Hendrix?” Mick says with a hint of pleased surprise, right before Leo leaves, and Lola’s father gives a nod.
“Put it on, man, turn it up loud; it’s Electric Ladyland in there, right?” And at Leo’s question, Mick nods. Leo gives a delighted thumbs up, and heads upstairs to the flat above the diner.
“That’s your dad?” Mick asks, voice low after Leo’s disappeared, hitting play on the Jimi Hendrix record. Lola’s sitting on the counter, swinging her legs; she knows looks like him, same face, same long, dark hair, same copper complexion, it’s usually the staggering difference in their respective physicalities that seemed to trip people up, so his confusion wasn’t a surprise.
“That’s my dad,” Lola agrees, with a slight nod, looking around the warm and inviting diner that still smelled like new vinyl from the seats. She’d light a candle or two later. 
Lola knows the rumours going around town about the diner, about how it’s owner was a chef, about how it’s hopefully going to serve better food than the last owners, but also how everyone knew very little about the new owner beyond that. It made her giddy, like she had a secret, to know that her father was capable of blowing their expectations out of the water with his food alone. Back in Salem, Leo’s was known for restaurant-quality food at, well, diner prices. All the fries were hand cut, there was always home made pie or slice or cookies on sale, the beef patties were made with real mince and mixed with Leo’s special blend of herbs and spices, and fish was delivered fresh, daily. 
Lola knew her father knew what it was like to be discriminated against based on his looks, and how hard he’d fought to prove his skills as a chef, so in turn, he hired based on attitude and experience, and trying to give those who may not have had a fair shot an opportunity. Leo had always paid well, treated his workers with kindness, and tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. The diner had only ever made a modest profit, despite it’s popularity, but it had never been about the money for her father.
Back at Lola’s old high school, if you were popular, you looked for a job at the mall, but if you were an outcast, a loner, or a stoner, you applied for Leo’s; her dad had the ability to bring out the best in people, no-one wanted to disappoint Leo.
Her dad would never go anything as gauche as brag, but he has always prided himself on the quality of his diner and his food, glad to be putting his years of training and experience to use for people who’s appreciate it. 
Mick clears his throat, snapping Lola out of her thoughts.
“Light switch?”
Mick thinks the switch probably connected to an exhaust fan the previous owner had removed, which baffled both Lola and Leo, seeing as how they’d had several exhaust fans installed, and the idea that this place had it’s one removed is unthinkable; how had they ever gotten the smell out?
After, Leo invites Mick up to have a look through his record collection, to recommend some for the jukebox, while he attempted a maple and walnut soufflé. 
The moment Mick mentions he wants to join a band, Leo lights up, peppers him with questions, what type of music he likes to play, his influences, what type of band he’d like to form. Seemingly unused to the overwhelming interest and positivity regarding his aspirations, Mick is almost startled into being forthcoming, and quickly warms to Lola’s dad.
While the soufflé’s in the oven, the three of them sit on the roof and smoke, while Leo reminisces about seeing Cream live, a few months after Lola was born, and how he’d swaddled her in his concert shirt, only for her to take a liking to it, and had used it as a blanket up until she started daycare. At hearing this, Lola ducks her head to hide her smile, knowing she still had that shirt, though it was more hole than shirt at this point, hanging in her cupboard. 
Occasionally, when she looks to him, Lola sees Mick regarding her with confusion, and okay, maybe she can understand why; he knows her to be reserved and dry, but with Leo, she’s outgoing and talkative and smiles so wide he can see her teeth. There’s barely a hint of her aloof façade around her father, and as Mick spends more time with him, it’s clear he can see why.
“Mick’s cool,” Leo announces with a grin when Mick himself has left, putting foil over the leftover soufflé for later, while Lola washes the few dishes and is more than happy to agree with him.
They spend Sunday decorating the diner, making it look less sparse with photos and hanging and various bits of music and pop culture memorabilia, while the jukebox blared rock and roll. A few people pass by in time to see Lola and Leo in an air guitar competition, but neither of them really care. Leo’s looks more like home by the time the sun goes down. 
there will always be someone better than you. but on the bright side, who cares?
Eileen sits next to her in AP French during the entire last week of school for the semester. Everything she does seems so perfectly calculated, this change in seating included, but she refuses to acknowledge it. Heather clicks her tongue, clearly annoyed that Eileen had taken the seat she had previously vacated the day Lola staked her own next to it, and judging by Eileen’s innocent little smile, that alone made it worth it.
Lola tries not to pay too much attention to Heather, pretty, mean, and popular, almost the exact stereotype Lola had assumed Charlotte to be before she’d actually befriended her. They only have French together, but Heather keeps watching her, Lola sees it out of the corner of her eye, but her glare has become more speculative, more thoughtful as the weeks have passed, and Lola’s not quite sure what to make of it. Whatever scathing personal attack Heather’s probably working on is her business, she doesn’t know shit about Lola, so Lola tries not to care.
Once Eileen sits next to Lola, the glare comes back in full force anyhow.
On Thursday, the last AP French lesson for the semester, Eileen offers Lola a stick of spearmint gum, and it feels kind of like a test. Lola takes the gum anyways, and Eileen smiles at her, surprisingly genuine. 
“You’re Charlotte’s friend,” Lola says, and Eileen’s smile widens.
“You’re the girl who kissed her cousin,” she says. Lola’s whole expression falls, mouth flattening into a thin, unamused line, ready to go on the defensive. 
“And?”
Eileen shrugs, says nothing more on the subject, instead, glancing at Lola’s hands.
“My mom would kill me for wearing black nail polish, but it looks so cool on you,” She says, and Lola bites back a jaded response about her own mother, looking to her own hands, and the fresh and shiny coat of polished she’d applied the night before. 
“Your mom kind of sounds like an asshole, if black nail polish is enough to get her riled up,” Lola says, without even thinking about how harsh the words sounded, but once the words are out, she adds, “and I know from asshole moms,” for good measure. Internally, she’s berating herself; if she talks about her mom, she’s terrified that she’s eventually going to answer questions about her mom, like where she was, and why Lola hates her.
“She’s just a perfectionist, and I don’t think black would suit me anyhow, so it’s not really an issue,” Eileen responds, as if she barely cares that Lola implied her mother was an asshole, and Lola lets herself relax a little, “I’m partial to a french tip,” Eileen holds out her hands to show her own manicure, the pale pink and white practically gleaming, obviously salon done. 
“I coloured Tommy’s nails with sharpie,” Lola says while looking at Eileen’s elegant fingers, and Eileen actually huffs a laugh at that.
“I saw; he’s very proud of them.” 
Something in Lola’s chest tightens at that; Charlotte seemed to be a good enough judge of character, and she liked Eileen well enough, so that, for now, was good enough for Lola.
Perhaps that’s why Lola had taken so long to actually speak to Nikki Sixx, despite both Charlotte and Tommy being adamant they’d get along, Charlotte’s proclamation that Nikki was kind of a tool held her back.
It’s not that she doesn’t know who he is; she’s figured out the guy who sleeps through her English classes, is trying to make an acoustic guitar in shop, and who is part of her music classes - once she’d decided to show up to those - is the same person she’d seen on stage in leather pants back at the pub. The guy who Charlotte had yelled at. A tool. Apart from the week the rumours had started circulating about her, he never paid her much attention, so she never felt the need to introduce herself. If he was a tool, she could leave him well enough alone.
Until the first day of the Winter break, apparently. Though for the record, he was the one who spoke to her.
There were technically two music shops in the local mall, a ten minute walk from Lola’s flat above the diner; she’s glad to be close to the CBD, but it also means she can’t justify asking her dad for a ride when it would take her less time to walk than it would for him to find parking. 
But Monday, December 27th, was absolutely fucking freezing. 
The mall itself is teeming with people looking to spend the money they’d gotten over the holiday period, and the workers had already taken down the gaudy Christmas Tree that had sat in the middle of the food court. 
Lola was there at her father’s behest, sticking up and handing out flyers announcing New Year’s Day as Leo’s grand opening, and that they were hiring. She gives everyone at the food court a flyer, sticks up several in various locations, and thinks about heading back to the food court for a second round, to catch any newcomers, or anyone she may have missed, when she spots the music shops.
Bass and Treble were owned by the same people, however Treble seemed to be geared towards more classical music, with pianos and violins and flutes and all manor of orchestra-esque instruments available, while Bass seemed to be committed to rock and roll. 
Nikki Sixx finds Lola crouched in front of the display of sheet music on sale in Bass. 
“Lola, right?”
Lola stands so fast at his voice that her head spins, but she tries not to let it show. She’s on alert when she looks at him, tense, already scowling, which only deepens when she sees who it is.
“Nikki Sixx,” his name is not a question when it leaves her lips, but he seems pleased rather than concerned, that his reputation apparently preceded him. He nods, and looks over at what she’d been examining. 
“Anything good?” He asked, and Lola looks over her shoulder at the display. She’d been seriously considering a book of Elton John’s hits for piano before he’d come along. 
“Still deciding; why?”
“No reason,” he shrugged, taking his time to look nonchalantly at the various amps nearby, “you look like you’d be into this sort of thing,” he notes, acting all smug and coy and weird; Lola rolled her eyes, but didn’t answer.
“You were at my gig, we’re you? Hanging out with that guy from the gas station, right? Mick?” Something about his tone had Lola on edge and defensive.
“You guys were okay,” she says flatly, making it clear as she can that that’s barely a compliment; Nikki, however, smile widely.
“Glowing review, I’ll add it to our poster,” he smirks, before he finally looks her over, gaze zeroing in on the flyers in her hands, “speaking of -” and he snatches one, not that she’s protesting, that’s another one she doesn’t have to get rid of. Nikki’s reading the flyer and frowning, while Lola lets her attention wander to the various keyboards they have on display.
“Where’s this?” Nikki pipes up, sounding genuinely interested, while Lola’s idly playing scales with one hand on the closest, off keyboard.
“A few blocks away,” Lola still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the town’s geography, “across the road from The Kings Hotel, where I saw you play -”
“The old MacCready place?”
“It’s Leo’s now,” Lola says, arms crossed, sitting low in her hips as she regards Nikki, and the way he’s going over every little detail of the poster, “Charlotte says you’re a tool.”
“Charlotte just hates that she likes me so much,” Nikki doesn’t even miss a beat before answering, and when he looks up to catch Lola’s reaction, his grin is all teeth. Lola can’t help the slight smile she wears as she takes in his response.
“I can see why,” Lola’s not quite sure what she’s going for with her own response, but it comes out more teasing than cutting, and there’s something in Nikki’s eye, or in his smile, or maybe it’s in his easy laughter, that has her heart beating weird in her chest.
A moment passes between them, a shift in the tone, the energy of the interaction as Lola drops her immediate hostility; she’s been doing that a lot lately, but she tries not to dwell on it. It’s now she gets a proper look at him, at his ripped jeans and all black, leather jacket, hair sprayed to high heavens like he’s about to join Poison; he looks unkempt and mean, and Lola’s kind of really into it.
They’re checking each other out, sizing each other up, and they both seem to find something in the other they like, because Nikki’s grinning at Lola when gaze meets hers again, and she’s smirking right back.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she tells him, hip cocked for a moment before she saunters past him, knocking into him with her shoulder purposefully. When Nikki stumbles back, he huffs a laugh, and Lola calls over her shoulder, “Leo’s is hiring by the way, Leo himself would probably love a fucker like you.”
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straynstay · 4 years
Text
Minho - Hybrid AU! (part II)
Happy Easter, everyone! 🐰♥️
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part I
for the first time in years you skipped class 
all because of your conflicting feelings for Minho
you are still too fragile to see him and Chaewon at school, especially after what happened at the parking lot
seeing them together and so intimate with cute pet names made you realize there’s no room for you anymore
Minho is growing up and becoming an adult, and so are you, and soon society will pressure you both to find a mate
and you know a prey won’t choose a predator to spend the rest of their lives with
so it’s better to end things with Minho now
that’s why you avoided him when he showed up at your house to check up on you after school
you heard him ringing the bell and calling your name, which only made you cry harder, but you remained in bed
he came back when your parents were home, and even with your mom asking you to at least see what he wanted, you fiercely denied
Minho left his class notes with your mom, and at night you cried with the papers pressed onto your chest
you woke up feeling a little better in the morning, despite your eyebags and swollen eyes ruining your face
you placed a cool towel over your eyes 10 minutes before leaving to school and you hoped that would help somehow
walking to school without Minho was weird, but you said to yourself you’d soon get used to it
from today on, Minho would become like any other prey to you
it’s time to remove him completely from your life and you’re ready to do it
-♡-
school days were dreadful
but ignoring Minho was easier than you had imagined though
after he noticed you were being cold and distancing yourself from him, he took the hint and left you alone right away
and it hurt
a lot
because without you around, Chaewon was even more glued to his side
and even though you tried to avoid certain places you knew they’d be at, you still saw them sometimes
walking around together, holding hands, eating vegetables and feeding each other at the cafeteria, laughing at stupid things, being the damn perfect couple you wish you’d be
but since your pain is your own, you never opened your mouth to complain about it to anyone
you just tried to shrug it off and move on, washing away all the pent up anger on the field
and everyone at school was really impressed at how good you were playing lacrosse lately, making them hope for the victory this year
and before you could dwell even more on your self pity, saturday arrived
the big day
the revenge match
you were nervous, excited, worried, angry, and heartbroken
but you were decided to play like your life depend on it
maybe you could become your school’s star player and get a nice scholarship afterwards if you give your best at the game tonight
so you set your mind to focus only on the game and make your team and school proud of you
since the match would be held at the rival school, you had a small gathering at your own school with your P.E. teacher and teammates
Minho was there with the cheerleaders rehearsing the choreography and chants for tonight’s game
you ignored him like you had been doing since tuesday
you even sat beside your coach on the school bus during the small trip to the rival school
the cheerleaders were too excited for your liking, but you didn’t say a thing, letting their chit chat numb your ears
as soon as you arrived, the team went straight to the designated locker room and got ready for the match
you were doing things automatically, barely paying attention to your surroundings
you put on your equipment, helped some of your teammates with theirs, and were ready to play
you waited with your team to be called to the field and when you got there, you were impressed by the amount of people on the bleachers cheering for your school
and then your eyes captured the place beside the field where the cheerleaders were
Minho looked really good with his tight uniform, and you were sure Chaewon had complimented him lots
you rolled your eyes realizing you were thinking about them again and went to your position
as soon as the judge blew the whistle, it was game on
-♡-
you were scoring like there’s no tomorrow, fighting hard to turn the game around
pretty much half of your team’s goals were yours
and everyone was going crazy chanting your name
but the one person your eyes quickly looked for was happily hugging someone else
Minho was spinning Chaewon’s small body around as if she was the one who was making the team win
and you couldn’t stand it
you really couldn’t
you wanted to rip them apart, growl as angrily as you could at Chaewon while showing your huge fangs to scare the shit out of her
but you just clenched your fists, letting your claws almost pierce through the thick fabric of your gloves
if it wasn’t for your mouthpiece, you’d probably let out a loud hiss
you shook your head, griped the stick harder, and decided to solely focus on the game
rage was freely flowing through your veins, boiling your blood and blinding your common sense
you’re gonna destroy anyone who stands in your way now
and you’re gonna take that damn trophy home
-♡-
it felt like waking up from a deep trance being lifted up by your teammates while the crowd chanted your name
it took you awhile to understand what had happened
but when you saw the scoreboard, realization hit you
you won!
you really won!!
it felt amazing raising the trophy up high while all the audience screamed for you
you felt like a celebrity after taking so many pics
a lot of people from your school came to congratulate and thank you for the victory
and it was all too good while it lasted
your heart was roaring inside your chest
you can actually get used to this feeling of being praised for being fierce and untammed
after it all ended, you and your teammates went to the locker room to shower and get changed
you were still being the main topic of their conversation
you heard everything they said you did on the last minutes of the match, but you don’t really remember doing it
you were so blinded by anger that you can’t even recall the rest of the game
but it’s okay cause you won
and that’s all that matters, right?
once you slowly started removing your equipment, you realised how sore you were
your arms felt like jelly, your legs were ugly bruised, your shoulders hurt from all the impact
your ears were ringing from all the screaming and your eyes were sensitive due to the huge spotlights on the field
you just wanted to throw yourself in bed and sleep for three days straight
you put away your equipment in your bag and took your body wash to the shower
it was a quick shower since you couldn't make most of the movements now
so you just washed away the sweat, dried yourself the best your arms allowed you, and started to put on new clothes to go home
“we’re already going to the bus, want us to take your bag?” the captain asked and you agreed
you checked if your equipment was complete in your huge bag, and handed it to your teammates
“I’m finishing, I’ll be out in a sec” you said and heard them telling you to take your time and that they’ll wait for the star of the team to carry the trophy to school
you just laughed at their comments and continued to get dressed
you tried brushing your hair, but your shoulders said no
so you just used water to fix them a little bit
you were so focused on your own pain that you didn’t notice Minho was inside the lockers room staring at you
but once you did, all the emotions you were suppressing came back like a tsunami
and it felt like drowning
“preys aren’t allowed here, go away” you let out an angry growl at him
“you don’t scare me, but nice try” Minho gave you two thumbs up
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” you screamed, tired of having wrong feelings for him
“what happened to you? why are you like this?” Minho took a step closer, but you raised your voice again
“you happened to me, Minho! this is all your fault!”
“what?!” he snared “what did I do?” he crossed his arms staring intensely at you 
you got defeated while looking back at him
four days being apart and nothing changed, it only made you miss him like crazy
he was really clueless, wasn’t he?
“what did you do?” you asked tiredly
“you talked to me, Minho, you became my lab partner” you gave him a bitter smile remembering that fateful day
“why couldn't you just be afraid like everyone else?” you inquired through your tears 
“I know it's my fault falling in love, but please leave me alone until I get over these feelings for you… please” you never sobbed before in your life, but because of Minho now you did
“no” his answer was firm
“Minho, go” you said again using your intimidating tone
any prey would have ran away for dear life, but Minho didn’t even budge
he did, in fact, approached you slowly, but before he was too close, you backed out
Chaewon was coming, you could smell her sweet scent from the distance 
“Minho?” she was calling for him outside the lockers room and she was distressed, you could sense it
“she’s worried about you” you warned, turning your back to him and pretending to still fix your hair
“she has nothing to worry about” Minho replied
“you’re a bunny, I’m an angry lynx, it makes sense to me”
“you're a lynx, yeah, but you're also my best friend and I'm the one who's worried here”
you tried muffling a mewl, but hearing Minho calling you best friend hurt like hell
Chaewon called him louder this time
“go” you closed your eyes, forcing some tears to roll down to your chin
your chest was aching like there was a fire rapidly consuming your heart
and then you heard his footsteps moving away from you
Minho did what you asked him to and left you alone
you sighed loudly, but quickly closed your lips together to avoid sobbing
you were feverish, enraged, sad, disheartened, shaking, ready to lose control
this was all new to you, never in your life your emotions were so over the top
but this is Minho’s effect on you
you just want this feelings to leave you alone, to go away
you rest your head on your locker a little too forcefully, producing a loud bang that echoed through the room
you did it again, hitting your forehead a little bit stronger this time
and again
and again
every time the bang was louder and louder
“you’re gonna get bruised”
“Minho....” you whined hearing him talking to you
he was back, you couldn’t believe it
you turned your head to look at him and tell him to go away again
“I’m not leaving you, don’t even try” he warned reading your intentions in your desperate eyes
“I’m really angry” you said
“I’m not worried about it, I know you’re not gonna hurt me because I trust you and because I know you love me too much to even consider causing me pain”
his words made you cry harder
he was right
Minho noticed you wouldn’t reply, so he got one step closer
he sighed
“but you know... I love you too and I’m hating seeing you like this, so if your pain is because of Chaewon and I, you shouldn’t be suffering”
you scoffed
how dare he say this after all you’ve seen and heard?
“hear me out, ok? I like her, but I don’t like her” Minho quickly explained
“I like her as a bunny, but I don’t like her like romantically even though she’s a bunny and my natural choice of a partner, but who cares about natural selection? we’re made in a lab, there’s nothing natural about it” he shrugged
“I feel like she’s part of my litter. I never met a Mini Lop before, so it’s nice to be around one of my own” he took another step closer
“but not as nice and thrilling like being around you” Minho gave you side smile
“I like living life dangerously, and you keep me high on adrenaline all the time like... will you eat me for breakfast? will you marinate me for dinner instead? should I run now or wait a minute more?” he teased
“shut up” you rolled your eyes
“make me” Minho provoked you, and you moved in the blink of an eye
your lips collided with his in a strong, angry kiss
you felt your entire body buzzing with adrenaline for tasting him after waiting for so long
you pulled him closer and grabbed his neck to deepen the kiss
Minho didn’t fight back and for the first time he actually behaved like a prey with you
you felt yourself getting too excited about it all: his submissive scent, his addicting taste, his soft lips, his hands gripping your hips, his hot body against yours...
and in the heat of the moment you ended up with his lower lip between your sharp teeth 
Minho hissed and you broke the kiss, running your thumb across his lip to see if you had hurt him too much
“sorry” you said “I got carried away”
“I don’t mind some love bites here and there” he winked seductively at you
“Chaewon will try to stab me if I hurt you somehow, she likes you waaay too much” you rolled your eyes smiling a bit, feeling somehow a lot more calmer and at ease than before while caressing his long fluffy ears
“she may like me, but I like you and that’s the only thing that matters” Minho stated
“will you give me a cute nickname now?” you asked
“yeah, mine” he smiled brightly “how does that sound?”
“oddly perfect”
603 notes · View notes
blossom-hwa · 4 years
Text
Attach - MARK |Swing!|
I wrote 50k words in 10 days I think my brain is going to shut down
THANK YOU @deathbykpopboys​ FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA TO CONTINUE THIS FROM THE ORIGINAL DRABBLE (here). I LITERALLY OWE YOU MY LIFE. THIS STORY WOULDN’T EXIST WITHOUT YOU I SWEAR. THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME USE YOUR IDEAS, YOU DESERVE THE W O R L D
One more thing: a long time ago I promised @zhengtongue​ (fari love u) that all further Mark stories I wrote would be dedicated to her :) :) here’s the first Mark story I’ve written since then :) :) dedicated to you and @deathbykpopboys​ :D
Pairing: Mark x fem!reader
Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au
Triggers: a lot of cursing, mild violence, some descriptions of sex (as in like. sex ed. no one actually does it), PANIC ATTACKS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)
Word Count: 9.2k
A disastrous field trip to OsCorp leaves you and Mark with two spider bites and a decision to make.
Attach >> Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } 
NCT Masterlist | Swing! 
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You wake up with a misplaced sense of excitement that makes you even grumpier than normal. It’s six in the fucking morning, finals and AP exams are in a month and a half, so what the hell is there to be excited about?
Then you open your eyes enough to see the permission slip sticking out the top of your bag and it clicks.
The field trip to OsCorp is today!
A grudging smile comes over your face. It might be six a.m., but you’re about to go on a field trip to one of the biggest biotech corporations in the world – you have a right to feel excited. You may be in high school, and some may say that getting excited over field trips is for little kids, but it’s OsCorp. Not Stark Industries, but still pretty damn close.
Quickly, you shower and dress, careful not to wake up your older brother. As you pass by his room, you feel a stab of guilt. Johnny worked another late shift last night, and he’ll probably have another one tomorrow. And here you are, taking a field trip.
Mood slightly dampened, you head out the door, locking it behind you with a quiet snick. In the lobby, you wait a few minutes for Mark to arrive. Exactly three minutes later, you hear his feet pounding down the stairs.
Any guilt you felt washes away at the sight of your best friend smiling behind his round glasses. Mark is what people might call a typical nerd – you’re a little too confrontational for that label – but you’ve known him for over ten years.
He’s so much more than that.
“Ready for OsCorp?” Mark pushes up his glasses, grinning widely.
You smile back just as eagerly. “Fuck yeah.”
The smiles stay throughout the train ride to school. Mark’s gets slightly smaller when Flash rolls through Midtown High’s gates and gives him that stupid smirk, but you distract him with talk about the labs you guys will get to see. The bus ride passes without fanfare – though Mark gets into a spat with your friend, Haechan, about the merits of computer science versus physics, fucking nerds – and soon enough, you’re is pulling into the huge parking lot at OsCorp.
Even Flash, who was griping about not getting to see Stark Industries and having to “settle for” OsCorp, is stunned by how immense the building actually is from the inside.
It’s fucking amazing. Pristine walls surround your classmates, while people in lab coats and business suits mill around beyond the huge lobby. Conference rooms with walls of glass let you see people giving presentations with complicated diagrams you’re itching to see.
Beside you, Mark catches his breath in delight. When you turn to him, he grins with so much excitement in his face that your heart melts for a moment.
He deserves a break. He deserves this excitement. With that, you link arms with him as a cheery intern starts the tour.
. . . . .
There’s nothing Mark would trade for being at OsCorp today. Even though he can’t go everywhere, the tour guide, Joy, makes the most of the places she has access to. With each new lab Mark enters, his wonder only heightens.
If this is OsCorp, he thinks, how cool is Stark Industries?
The tour ends with a video about what you all could do as future scientists and world leaders, and then Ms. Wilson herds the class back into the lobby to wait for the bus.
Mark has to use the bathroom. Though Wilson clearly isn’t happy about it, she lets him go with a stern warning to hurry.
He finds the bathroom quickly and starts to head back. But at some point, he takes a wrong turn or something because he’s now in a stark-white hallway that he hasn’t seen before.
Oh, come on. He doesn’t need Wilson to hate him any more than she already does. Confused, he looks around for someone to ask for directions, but there’s no one in the hall. In his frustration, he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling.
He barely suppresses a scream at the dangerous looking blue and red spider sitting up above him.
Normally, Mark just leaves spiders alone unless they get too close. He doesn’t have much love for insects or arachnids, but he doesn’t enjoy killing them. They just want to mind their own business, like he does.
This one, though, just oozes malicious intent.
Other spiders just want to do spin webs and eat bugs and stuff. Not this one.
Before he has time to yell, this one fucking leaps, silk tracing behind it, lands on his arm, and bites him.
A sharp sting races up his arm and the spot where the stupid arachnid bit him starts to throb. Belatedly, he starts shaking his arm to get rid of the thing, but it’s already climbing back up the wall and onto the ceiling.
For a moment, Mark just stares at the spider, clutching his arm.
“Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of his daze. Relief floods his veins, but terror and worry soon replace it. He opens his mouth to tell you to get away, but he can’t fucking speak. Then you turn down the hall.
Too late.
“Dude!” You jog forward, ignoring or misinterpreting Mark’s outstretched arm trying to push you away. “The bus is here! We need to –” You stop talking, finally realizing something’s wrong. Your eyes go to his arm, which is now bright red. “Mark? What’s –”
His vocal cords take that moment to start working. “Look up,” he whispers.
The spider leaps without warning, barely after a second after your eyes have even registered it. It settles on your arm quickly and you yelp.
It must have bitten you too.
Thankfully, you have more of a destructive instinct than Mark does. Your arm smashes against the wall with a resounding thud and the crushed spider drops to the ground. A spatter of liquid stains the white paint. You wipe your arm against the wall.
For a moment, you and Mark just stare at the spider’s corpse. Mark can feel the blood draining from his face.
“It bit you too?” you finally ask.
Mark nods tightly. “Yeah.”
You take a glance at your arm and blanch. Mark winces, seeing your skin already darkening with inflammation. With trembling fingers, you untie your jacket from around your waist. “Hide it,” you tell him when he looks at you questioningly. He numbly pushes the sleeves of his hoodie down.
Ms. Wilson yells at him a lot when he gets back, which he takes with a bowed head and many apologies. He barely hears it, though. The throbbing in his arm is almost overwhelming, and his mind is racing too fast to comprehend much of anything. When you all finally board the bus, you drag him to the back where the two of you sit, silent and scared.
That spider wasn’t from any lab he visited today, which means it was probably from some classified, secure experiment. Well, one that was supposed to be secure.
It was bright red and blue. It attacked without provocation.
Clearly, it wasn’t meant to have gotten loose.
Why was OsCorp even making these things?
Mark sneaks a glance at his throbbing arm. He doesn’t dare look under the hoodie sleeve for fear that someone else will see, but it hurts.
What effects will that bite have?
Can I even treat it?
Dread pools heavy in his stomach. Some spiders are extremely venomous.
Am I going to die?
Mark’s hand reaches over and grasps yours tightly. You try to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but your hand is clammy and cold with anxiousness.
Any residual excitement from visiting OsCorp is gone. Only terror floods his veins.
. . . . .
The spider bite doesn’t go away for seven days, and with every hour that passes, the stupid thing only looks like it’s getting worse.
You try to ignore it at first. After all, you can’t exactly call in sick for a bug (or arachnid, whatever) bite. If you did, that would a) sound stupid and b) make your brother worry, which he really doesn’t need. So for the first three days, you grit your teeth, cover the bite with long sleeves even as the days begin to warm uncomfortably, and trudge to class.
The only thing that keeps you going is that you’re not alone. If anything, Mark is panicking a lot more than you. With every day that passes, he grows more and more outwardly concerned with the spread of red inflammation and the aches all over his body.
At least at first, you’d like to think that you hide your concern better than Mark. But by the third day, the inflamed part of your skin is about the size of your hand and hot to the touch, and you’re sure you don’t look much better than your best friend.
Mark comes over after school that day because Johnny’s working late and the two of you want to talk, alone. But at first, you don’t even speak – just lie on your bed and stare at the angry red spots on your arms.
“Are we going to die?” Mark finally mumbles, somehow sounding both panicked and resigned.
You want to reply with a ‘no, definitely not, stop overreacting,’ but the aches feel horrible and you have the strong urge to vomit. Neither of you have looked up your symptoms because the spider was clearly unnatural and WebMD will only make you feel worse, but you don’t need to be a genius to know that something is very wrong.
Nothing gets done that night, and it’s with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you hug Mark tightly before he walks up the several floors to his own apartment. Not wanting to eat for fear of it just coming back up, you messily scribble some answers to your homework and pass out.
You wake up the next morning and vomit all over the floor.
Johnny wakes up to the sound of crying and retching and immediately calls in sick for both of you when he opens the door to you trying to drag yourself to the bathroom, studiously avoiding the pool of sick on your floor.
Bleary-eyed and lightheaded, you text Mark and tell him you’re not going to school. He doesn’t reply until several hours later. He went to school but got picked up early after he threw up in class.
By day five, you have a high fever and Johnny has to take another day off. Luckily, it’s Saturday. You don’t have school. You hope you feel better by Monday.
But on day six, Sunday, you’re shivering and aching all over and the fear of death breaks you down. Tears stream down your face as you toss and turn in bed, intermittently yelling and muttering gibberish that Johnny can’t understand. At one point, you become aware of him sitting on the side of your bed, silently crying. With the last of your energy, you touch his fingers and squeeze lightly, tears still running down your cheeks.
You hope desperately that Mark feels better than you do.
On day seven, you feel slightly less disgusting. You stop vomiting sometime in the afternoon, and the redness of the spider bite has started to fade. The aches are still there, but they’ve concentrated in your stomach, back, and legs, so you don’t hurt everywhere anymore.
You wake up the next morning, already resigned to missing another day of school. But something immediately feels very, very wrong.
You don’t hurt. At all.
This makes you panic even more than when every part of you was in pain.
You roll out of bed with a frantic thud and practically rip off the blanket to check your arm. No redness. No heat. No sign of inflammation.
Your back doesn’t ache. Neither does your core. But wait, what the fuck - are you taller?
Everything’s clear, you realize. No blurriness from your near-sighted left eye, even without your glasses. You can see every leaf on the scraggly tree just outside your bedroom window.
You might have stopped vomiting, but this all still makes you feel like dry heaving. A hand goes to your stomach and you freeze.
Peeling up your shirt slowly, you look down and almost scream.
You have abs.
Abs.
With shaking fingers, you pull out your phone and dial Mark’s number. You know he’s fine enough to pick up – you and him were texting sporadically yesterday. He answers with a groggy, “Y/N, what the fuck.”
“Mark.” You try to breathe. “Do you hurt at all?”
Dead silence on his end.
“... No.”
“Is the bite still there?”
“... No.”
“Do you have fucking abs?”
“No – what the – Y/N, what the fuck is going on, what the fuck?”
He might be hyperventilating at this point. You can’t blame him. You think you’re about to vomit your guts out again.
“Meet me outside,” you snap, hastily changing your clothes. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but those spiders at OsCorp were... they weren’t fucking normal.”
That’s an understatement.
It takes ten minutes to convince Johnny you’re fine, you really are, you swear, you’re not vomiting and you can’t miss your French quiz today, you’ve already missed a week of school, yes you promise you’ll call him if you throw up again. When he finally lets you go, you race down the stairs faster than you’ve ever gone before.
Mark’s already there. For a minute, you two just stand outside the ratty apartment building with similar looks of shock and panic on your faces. Quickly, you tell Mark about what’s happened to you. He confirms it all.
“Are we like. Fucking. I don’t know.” You pull on your hair out of frustration. “Superhuman? Spider-people?”
On any other occasion, Mark, lovely logical intelligent Mark, would laugh and ask you if you were feeling all right. But now?
He shrugs, but you can tell he’s at least considering your words. “Maybe?” he replies in a very small voice, and then you realize he’s shaking.
The overwhelming need to protect your best friend rises up in you, but you can’t protect him from the spider venom in your veins. Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you clench your fist, but one look at the lost look on his face drains the panic from your body and you just envelop Mark in a hug that he immediately returns. “We’ll figure it out, Mark,” you mumble in his ear. “We’ll be fine. No matter what. Okay?”
“Okay,” he whispers in your ear.
“Good.”
Then you find that you can’t fucking detach yourself from him.
It’s not that you don’t want to. You literally can’t. Your fingers are somehow stuck to the back of his shirt and you have a feeling that if you yank hard enough to pull yourself away, a patch of cloth is going to come off with your hand.
“Mark? Try to let go of me.”
It turns out he can’t either.
“Mark, we have ten minutes before the next train leaves.”
Long story short, you miss the train. And as the two of you sheepishly walk in late to homeroom, you have a terrible feeling that you’re going to be missing many more trains in the future, too.
. . . . .
That first hug, sadly, does not bring an end to the adventures of Mark and Y/N sticking (literally) together.
Mark tries to be careful, he really does. He knows you’re trying too. But you’re both so used to linking arms, hugging, and holding hands that it’s difficult to remember that touching literally anything could result in a whole stupid fiasco.
You two are late to homeroom every. Single. Fucking. Day. Of. That. Week. Because neither of you can remember to keep your stupid hands to your stupid selves.
On Tuesday, it’s the hug.
On Wednesday, he grabs your arm to avoid a group of rushing passerby.
On Thursday, you playfully shove him.
On Friday, Mark wakes up praying for one day of peace, just one fucking day before he can bury his head in his pillow for two days straight and dream that this never happened.
And it would’ve been perfectly fine if you hadn’t fallen asleep on the train.
It’s not your fault, not at all. The night before, you were up so late trying to fix a bug in your computer science assignment that you almost fell asleep waiting for the train. Almost as soon as you board, you’re passed out.
Mark is stupid.
Normally when one of you falls asleep, the other will hold their hand or arm to keep them from slumping over completely. It’s basically instinct now, so when your head lolls onto his shoulder, Mark quickly grabs your hand and nudges you upright.
Then he realizes his mistake.
Fuck.
His slight jolt of realization shakes you awake. Mark’s heart sinks as your tired eyes open and immediately zero in on their linked hands.
You’re wide awake now.
You try to tug away. It doesn’t work.
“Fuck,” you say eloquently.
Mark winces. “Sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to, it’s just…” He winces again. “Habit?”
Honestly, after a week of this, Mark would have thought the two of you would get better at detaching from each other. But every morning, without fail, it’s been exactly like this – flailing limbs, anxious yanking, clothes threatening to rip.
The two of you stumble into the train station still stuck together. With his free hand, Mark checks his phone and groans.
“We have five minutes.”
Unsticking takes fifteen.
Mark is normally a pretty mild person. He can take a lot more of Flash’s shit than you can without batting an eye, and his teachers usually like him for his calm demeanor. But as he slips into his seat, face hot and ears undoubtedly bright red, he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.
Four late days in a row. Four fucking days.
He stifles a groan. If you two don’t figure out this sticking situation soon…
The bell for first period rings literally minutes after he sits down. With a sigh, he reaches down to pick up his bag, praying that he won’t stick to it, when Mr. Thomas, his homeroom teacher, calls for you and him to stay behind.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Flash sneers as he passes by.
Mark wants nothing more than to punch him in the face.
Thomas is a cool teacher, as far as Mark has known. He’s chill, likes to make jokes, and has two kids of his own – he knows and cares for his students. This knowledge just makes Mark feel so much worse, and as the two of you walk up to his teacher’s desk, he readies himself to make an apology.
“So, I’m sure you two know why I wanted to talk to you today.” Mr. Thomas’s mild voice contains a hint of reproach, and Mark winces. Next to him, he sees you do the same. He opens his mouth to apologize.
“I understand.”
Both of your heads snap up. How does he know?
“First love can be very overwhelming, especially at your age.”
Mark blinks. Then he blinks again.
His teacher just smiles benevolently. “Believe me, I would know. I met my wife when I was in high school, and we had some crazy memories. First love is a beautiful thing.”
Mark doesn’t want to hear anymore. He can already feel the redness creeping up his cheeks.
Please, Earth, just open up and swallow me whole.
“But let me give you some advice.” Mr. Thomas leans forward slightly, looking the two of you in your unwilling eyes. “Romantic rendezvous in the morning shouldn’t be more important than getting to school on time.”
A sort of strangled eep comes out of his throat just as you sputter, “Romantic rendezvous?!”
“You both are very intelligent and hardworking students, two of the best this school has ever seen, and I do think you two are a good fit for each other,” Mr. Thomas continues as if he hasn’t heard anything. “However, it’d be a shame for such good students to give up on your schooling for a boyfriend or girlfriend.”
“We’re – we’re not dating,” Mark protests. “Mr. Thomas, seriously –”
His teacher holds up a hand. “Mark, Y/N, if you two can’t control your… urges, you should at least be safe. I trust that you two both know that.”
There’s a stapler next to Mr. Thomas’s computer. Maybe he can staple his hand and go to the clinic. Or he could bash his head against the edge of the desk and knock himself out. Maybe grab those scissors in that cup of pens and just slit his throat right then and there.
Some sort of croaking noise leaves your throat. Mark doesn’t need to look at you to know how you’re feeling.
Mr. Thomas sighs. “But beyond that, school really should be your first priority.” He flashes a smile that Mark can’t find the presence of mind to return. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll give you two passes for next period. What do you have next?”
Passes in hand, the two of you stumble into the now-empty hall. Mr. Thomas’s parting words – “Remember my advice!” – rattle around in Mark’s mind.
That didn’t actually happen. There’s no way Mark’s homeroom teacher just gave the sex talk to him and his best friend who happens to be of the opposite gender. This is all just a really, really long nightmare, and Mark will wake up in a few minutes, wrapped in warm blankets.
He pinches himself. It hurts a lot.
Not a nightmare.
“That has to be illegal,” Mark mutters. “Fucking… what the fuck even was that?”
“I want to die,” you mumble.
There’s a bit of silence.
“Well…” You swallow hard, resolutely looking anywhere but Mark’s eyes. “I’ll be… going to class?”
He nods dumbly, then watches you disappear down the hall. The closing of the door jerks him out of his daze and he turns around, heading to his own class.
Head down, he hands the pass to his teacher and takes his seat, ignoring Flash’s smirk and Haechan’s look of worry. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to wake himself up from this real-life nightmare.
Could this day get any worse?
. . . . .
You honestly think, after leaving homeroom, that nothing could make this day even worse.
By third period, you’re cursing your naivete.
It’s like the stickiness is on tenfold today. Your fingers glue themselves to everything – textbook pages, the disgusting desks, pens, even a whiteboard marker from when you go up to solve a problem in calculus.
It takes a five-minute tugging match for Mr. Garcia to finally peel the marker off of your skin. The giggles of your classmates join the vestiges of Mr. Thomas’s “advice” in bouncing around your brain like a million vicious ping pong balls.
After that, you avoid raising your hand to answer questions at all.
By the time you meet back up with Mark, you two have come to a silent agreement to not touch each other whatsoever. You studiously ignore each other all throughout English, and at lunch, you sit across the table, not next to each other like normal. At the same table, your friends look like they want to remark on the situation, but they wisely keep their mouths shut.
When you get up to throw your trash away, Diana, a girl you know but don’t really talk to, walks up as well. “Hey, Y/N,” she greets.
“Hey.” You try to smile.
“Um, I just wanted to ask.” She bites her lip, looking sympathetic. “Did… did you and Mark break up?”
You can almost hear the Windows shutting-down noise as your brain short-circuits.
How could you have broken up if you were never dating in the first place.
With an effort, you turn to her and swallow. “We were never dating,” you enunciate carefully. “So we never broke up.”
Diana immediately flushes bright red. “Oh, fuck, sorry. It’s just, Flash told everyone the two of you were together? And you guys seemed super close and all so it really looked like you were. I really did think you guys were dating, you looked super sweet together. But you didn’t talk much today, and you two looked pretty worked up this morning, so people thought…”
You’re going to kill Flash. You’re going to beat him up behind the school and slit his throat with your own nails.
“Well, we’re not.” You smile as best as you can. “Um, yeah.”
It just doesn’t stop. Until now, you never realized this many people actually paid attention to your personal life. Five more people have come up to ask if you and Mark are okay by the time chemistry rolls around, and as you take your place behind the cramped lab table with the boy everyone thinks you’re dating, you can practically feel the steam billowing out of your ears. Mark doesn’t look nearly as angry as you, but he looks a lot more confused and annoyed.
You brush fingers a few times as Mark pours out the acid and you try to set up the buret for today’s titration. Thankfully, you don’t really stick this time.
But then Mark gets his hand stuck to the Erlenmeyer flask and you have to spend ten precious minutes trying to tug it off, causing you to almost not finish the lab and earning both of you another black mark in Ms. Wilson’s mental book.
You ignore anyone who tries to ask you or Mark anything as you all but run out of school, only relaxing once you’ve thrown yourself onto a seat on the train. Mark slides down next to you and puts his head in his hands.
“Tell me this is all a nightmare,” he mumbles.
You don’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
By the time you’ve walked up the stairs to your apartment, you think you’re going to pass out. It’s been a long day. You don’t care if you have homework or if Mark’s staying over for a bit – you just want to lie in your bed and sleep away the horrors of today.
Then Johnny opens the door before you even have the chance to unlock it and you just know from the glint in his eye that everything is about to get ten times worse.
“Y/N, Mark. What a lovely surprise!” Your older brother is all welcoming words and terrifying smiles. “I got a very interesting call today from a certain Mr. Thomas. Mei did too –” and at this, poor Mark looks like he’s going to faint right then and there – “but she couldn’t leave work, so she asked if I could come home early and give you both a talk.”
You think you’re going to vomit.
“Johnny, whatever Mr. Thomas told you, it isn’t true,” you plead. “I swear on my life –”
“So you two haven’t been late to school every day this week?” Johnny raises an eyebrow.
You think you’re going to die. “Well, yes, but –”
“Have a seat.” Johnny gestures grandly at the small kitchen table, where he’s pulled out two chairs. To your horror, it looks like he’s enjoying this. “Mei and I think it’s time we gave you The Talk.”
If your day was bad before, Johnny gleefully takes it straight to hell.
“So boys have appendages that are called penises,” he begins sagely, “and girls have vaginas. You may know these by more colloquial terms, but those are a bit crass for my household.”
Bullshit. Johnny calls his co-workers dicks and Ten an ass every other night.
“Both of these are integral to the process of sex, and thus, baby-making,” Johnny continues. “During sex, the male – or whatever they identify as – will put the penis inside their partner’s vagina. Of course, that’s traditional. Other forms of sex include oral and anal…”
You’re five seconds away from putting your hands over your ears and just screaming bloody murder. Mark is looking down, fists screwed into his shirt, and his face is so red that he looks like he might implode.
Meanwhile, your evil older brother is grinning like the Joker. It’s infuriating and terrifying. You really, really want to reach out and punch him and just brawl like when you were younger, but your feet feel rooted to the floor.
Johnny’s spiel pauses for a second as he takes a dramatic breath. Immediately, you’re on guard. Whenever Johnny wants to be dramatic, it’s never a good thing.
“So in anal sex,” Johnny starts, “the appendage goes in the –”
Oh my god.
“We’re not fucking!” you finally explode.
Mark breathes a sigh – you think it’s one of relief, but you can’t be sure – while your brother just blinks. “Pardon?”
Your face burns hot, but you grit your teeth and stare Johnny in the eye. “Mark and I are not fucking,” you repeat carefully.
“Who said anything about you and Mark?” Johnny raises one perfect eyebrow.
Oh, you want to punch him so badly.
“But thank you for bringing that up!” Johnny smiles benevolently like a teacher rewarding you for doing something good in class.
You groan, knowing you’ve just made things so much worse.
“You two are hormonal teenagers, so you’ve undoubtedly already started to feel those urges.” Johnny keeps smiling pleasantly, even as you’re having war flashbacks to this morning in homeroom. “That’s perfectly normal. So – and I’m not saying you’re fucking –” he gives you that look that means uh huh, I totally do not believe you, but I’ll drop it for now until you prove yourself wrong – “but if you do become sexually active, you should always get tested for STDs and STIs first, and take preventative measures such as using condoms and birth control.”
That’s it. You’re just going to die. Slit your own throat with, you don’t fucking know, the pencil lying by Johnny’s arm. Maybe you’ll just grab that piece of paper over there and cover yourself in tiny papercuts and bleed to death. That couldn’t possibly hurt as much as hearing Johnny talk right now.
“Now back to anal sex!” Johnny smiles.
Mark lets out a small groan and buries his face in his hands. If anything, Johnny’s smile grows wider. “Anal sex is when –”
“Jesus Christ, Johnny!” You grab the pencil you wanted to slit your throat with and hurl it at your brother. The blunt point pokes him harmlessly in the chest and falls to the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck Mr. Thomas told you, but I – we –” you gesture helplessly between you and Mark – “we’re not doing anything! And I know all of this, dude, I go to high school!”
Even after that excellent point, Johnny still goes on for another ten minutes before he allows you to drag Mark to your room and slam the door shut.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumble into your pillow.
Mark just makes a little pained noise in his throat.
The two of you do end up passing out for the best part of an hour before spending the rest of the afternoon finishing homework. Mark can barely look Johnny in the eye when he says goodbye, and as soon as the door shuts, you round on your older brother.
“What the fuck did Mr. Thomas say on the phone?” you snap.
Johnny raises his hands in a gesture of surrender as he stirs pasta in a pot. “He just said you and Mark have been late to homeroom every day this entire week, and he was sure it wasn’t much because you are both stellar students, but he worried that the two of you were becoming distracted because this wasn’t normal behavior.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “He might’ve mentioned… romantic rendezvous?”
You sink to the floor with a groan.
“I was just messing with you earlier.” Johnny’s words make you open your eyes to catch his teasing smile. “Seriously. I think I know you and Mark well enough to trust you not to do anything stupid.”
Suddenly, you become very aware of the spot on your arm where the spider bit you, the stupid thing that caused this whole mess in the first place. “Uh huh.”
“But I do want you to be careful.” Johnny’s eyes turn serious. “Mark is still a teenage boy, and you’re still a teenage girl. I do trust you, but things can still happen, even if they’re unexpected.”
Internally, you gag. Outwardly, you just nod. “I know.”
“Good.” Johnny turns back to the pasta, then quickly looks back at you. “Doesn’t it look like Mark filled out a little?”
Your heart literally leaps into your throat. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but the spider venom has caused you both to pack on some muscle overnight.
Sure, part of you is worried that Johnny is catching on to something weird. But something else is also making you sweat.
A memory of your linked hands from the morning flashes through your mind. In it, you realize, Mark’s arms are bulkier. A lot more than before.
Heat rises in your cheeks. You want to fling yourself into the void. “Y-yeah,” you squeak.
“Y/N, dating your best friend isn’t anything embarrassing –”
“We’re not dating!” you protest.
Johnny just gives you The Look again as he pours the water out of the pasta. “Okay.”
For the umpteenth time that day, you will whatever god is listening to just smite you down right then and there.
. . . . .
There are a lot of things that come with being a sort of spider-person that neither you nor Mark realized would happen, but in hindsight, they kind of (not really) make sense.
. . .
One: the sticking thing. It does make sense. Spiders walk on walls and other vertical surfaces by sticking to them with the little setules on their legs. Mark hypothesizes that maybe there’s some sort of electrostatic force between your skin and objects around you that makes you stick. After a moment of thought, you agree.
Doesn’t matter. Mark never wants to go through that ordeal of the first week over again.
He used to idolize Johnny. Johnny was something between another parent and the older brother he never had, embarrassing but cool and kind and so, so strong. Even after your parents died and he had to drop out of university to take care of you, he always stayed strong.
But now? After that disastrous Friday, Mark knows what you mean when you complain about Johnny being a menace to your health and well-being.
And of course, that’s not the end of it. Aunt Mei just has to get her hands into it too. The literal day after The Talk, you walk up to his apartment to work on a research paper together for the lab you two volunteer in. When he takes your laptop to read something, the device somehow gets stuck to his skin.
Mei comes home early that evening and walks in on you practically straddling him, trying to yank your laptop away.
Even Mark knows that it definitely doesn’t look that way from her perspective.
But all she does is say, “Use protection,” and close the door behind her.
(You leave early that evening, rushing out of the apartment with a face hot with embarrassment and lowered eyes. Mark slinks out of his room at some point to get something to eat, and Mei just gives him a smirk.)
Thankfully, after a couple more weeks, the two of you more or less figure out how to stop sticking to every goddamn thing you touch. It’s more of a thing that happens when either of you are nervous or stressed, so as long as you two keep calm and purposely remind yourselves not to stick to stuff, you’re fine.
Mr. Thomas still gives you a few looks, but now that you’re coming in on time to homeroom, he doesn’t say anything.
Thank fucking God for that.
. . .
Two: both you and him somehow buffed up overnight. Well, probably during the time that you two were sick. That explains the aching muscles in his stomach and his back – he has abs, and he’s definitely taller. So are you.
Spiders are strong. Relatively. So the new muscles kind of makes sense, even though it’s hard for Mark to get used to at first.
What doesn’t make sense is how much strength these muscles actually contain.
The first casualty is Mark’s apartment doorknob. You go to open it one day after visiting the lab and it just… fucking… twists all the way around. Mark finds himself staring at a doorknob in your hand and an open door with a hole in it.
You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh heavily. Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Mei is going to kill me,” he groans.
The two of you spend five panicked hours fixing the doorknob instead of working on the research paper and Wilson’s lab report. When Mei comes home, she doesn’t notice anything (which really is a miracle), but from that day on, whenever the doorknob squeaks or stalls or does anything weird in his vicinity, Mark freezes.
A trail of broken things starts littering your paths. A stapler he pushed down too hard. His locker door, which now has a dent in it. One of your bedroom floorboards, though you hide the crack in the wood under a pile of clothes. Someone’s old MP3 player on the sidewalk literally shatters beneath his feet. Pens, pencils, and highlighters break in your hands. No one wants to lend either of you supplies anymore, so he becomes more vigilant about his own.
Oh, you also “accidentally” step on Flash’s calculus binder, flattening the metal rings and breaking the covers. But you don’t regret that.
It’s like he’s a toddler again, hiding broken toys or messily fixing them with scotch tape and glue. The only difference is now, he uses duct tape and superglue and is somehow even worse at hiding things than before.
Mark starts putting away all of his and Mei’s valuables into high-up cabinets with the excuse of keeping them safe from his clumsiness. He advises you to do the same. Eventually, you two learn to control your strength and the number of things you break slowly dwindles to zero.
Of course, there are accidents. One time in PE, you run the mile a little too fast (which is an understatement – you beat everyone else in your group, which has never happened before), and now Coach wants you to join the track team. Then Mark squeezes a glass buret a little too hard in chemistry one day and the thing just fucking shatters onto the table. While he hastily grabs the broom and starts sweeping up the pieces, you tell Ms. Wilson he accidentally dropped it while Flash keeps insisting that he saw Mark snap it with his bare hands.
Ms. Wilson might vehemently dislike you and Mark, but she now thinks Flash is insane. The one spot of joy Mark now finds in chemistry comes from Ms. Wilson narrowing her eyes at Flash whenever he says something remotely stupid, like she’s thinking of sending him to the school psychologist.
After all, who would accuse spindly, nerdy Mark of having the strength to shatter a reinforced glass tube in his palm?
He’s never particularly liked the stereotype people placed him in, but now he’s pretty thankful for it.
. . .
Three: he has reflexes sharper than he’s ever had before.
It’s not the same as, say, having his senses enhanced. They are enhanced – both of you can see clearly without glasses, he can hear things he’s never been able to before, and his nose wrinkles at smells no one else can detect. Sometimes it’s overwhelming and he has to duck into a quiet shop to escape the bustling noise of New York City.
But this new sixth sense reflex thing? It’s different.
It isn’t fake. Like, Mark could say he’s developed a sixth sense for when Flash wants to be a little shit, meaning he hears when Flash snorts or shuffles around in the back and knows to duck his head.
But this?
Mark first realizes it a few weeks after the spider bite. He’s minding his own business, talking with his friends before class, when Flash decides to be stupid and throw an apple at his head.
Mark doesn’t see Flash. He doesn’t see the apple. He doesn’t hear any swoosh of wind or feel anything in the air. But something in his head screams DANGER DANGER DANGER and he whips himself away from the apple, which smacks into his locker.
The hall falls awkwardly silent as Mark tries to process what just happened.
He didn’t even notice Flash’s arm or the apple. He didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, didn’t feel it. But somehow, he knew something was wrong. He knew to duck away.
You recover a few seconds later. “What the fuck, Flash?” Then you pick up the apple, throw it back with far more force, and the hall descends into its normal levels of chaos. You all go to class, but in his peripheral vision, Mark can see you raising an eyebrow at him.
“What was that with Flash?” you ask later, when you two have boarded the train home. “I know you didn’t see that apple coming. Your back aas completely to him.”
Mark shrugs. “I just felt… I don’t know, really. I didn’t see him or hear anything. Just, something in my brain screamed danger and I just kind of moved.”
You look around, making sure nobody is paying attention. “Spider thing again?” you whisper.
“Maybe?”
For the next week or so, nothing happens that would trigger whatever the hell that was again. Mark makes sure to keep everyone he talks in sight, not allowing anyone to get behind him or to surprise him. He only ducked away that first time, but is surprised again, he has a feeling that his reactions could be a lot worse the next time. Like more violent.
The two of you are walking home from the lab when you hear scuffling in a nearby alley. Common sense tells Mark to keep walking, but as you two pass by, he can’t help but look. You stop walking too.
It’s a mugging, but the muggers clearly don’t have a lot of experience. Sure, they’re in a mostly-empty place, but the sun’s barely gone down and they’re trying to get money from a teenage girl who probably doesn’t have much on her. But one of the two has a gun.
He should just walk past and ignore it. Things like this happen all the time. Cops would just escalate the situation, and he’s too weak to help much.
The realization hits him with a jolt. But he isn’t weak anymore.
Mark feels your gaze on him and he turns to meet it. You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head slightly toward the alley. He nods.
He’s always been light on his feet, but the spider bite seems to have made him almost soundless as he steps into the alley. The muggers don’t notice either of you at first, they’re too focused on their crying victim.
It happens quickly. You dart behind the unarmed man and pull him into a chokehold. His partner has fast reflexes though and immediately aims the gun at Mark.
DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER –
Mark drops to the ground seconds before the bullet sinks into the wall behind him.
Together, you subdue the men, leaving them groaning by the side of the street. Under the blanket of darkness that’s now fallen, Mark crushes the gun with his shoe, hoping nobody is paying attention to the dark object under his feet or the cracking noises. The girl thanks you effusively and runs off, and the two of you head on home.
This is what gets him thinking. You two are strong now, sticky, and have a sort of sixth sense for imminent danger.
It terrifies him to think of it, but the more he does, the more it makes sense.
You guys could keep doing this. Patrol the city, help people get around safely. Everyone knows the NYPD and the justice system aren’t shit. They couldn’t charge the drunk kid with a rich daddy who killed your parents. They couldn’t find the thief who shot his uncle. People will keep committing crimes, and the NYPD won’t be able to stop them.
But maybe, just maybe, Mark thinks, you could.
. . . . .
Mark is the one who brings up using your newfound skills – you refuse to call them powers, that’s just a step too far – for the good of the neighborhood.
“Think about it,” he says, looking at his hands. His face is pale, but he keeps going. “We have these, uh, enhanced abilities. Remember how we helped that girl get away from the muggers? What if we could do that for more people?”
You’re usually the brash one in most situations, but here, you take a step back. “There’s a lot of things to think about if we want to do that, Mark.” You chew your lips, thinking. “We can’t get caught, or else we could get arrested too. We need to be able to get away quickly and without injury, or Johnny or Mei will find out. We can’t afford a lot of hospital bills, either. We would need to move fast. Really fast.”
Mark nods. “I know. It’s just…” He looks at his hands again. His fingers are just as slim and graceful as they used to be, but both of you know the strength that now lies within them. “I don’t feel right, being able to help people but not doing it. You know.” He looks at you, and though his face is pale and his voice a little shaky, he’s resolute. “You and I have always tried to help people whenever we could.”
There’s bitterness there and you echo it, remembering the inept, corrupt legal system that couldn’t even bring justice to your family. The same law enforcement that couldn’t bring justice to Mark’s.
You could help prevent that. You could prevent the crimes in the first place, find the criminals and tie them up for the police to put away. Help make sure no one else has to deal with what you and Mark went through.
“Okay.” You rest your chin on your fist. “All right. Let’s say we hypothetically do this. We need to be able to mask ourselves as much as possible, keep our DNA away from the scene. This can only happen when Johnny and Mei are doing late shifts, so they don’t catch on.”
“First aid,” Mark adds. “We’ll probably get into scrapes and things. But we’ll also need to be able to immobilize the criminals and get away fast…”
Silence falls as you start thinking. Ropes are bulky and get heavy. Chains are even worse. Carrying them around would slow you down, so there’s no point. What you need is something lightweight and sticky, but strong.
An idea begins to form in your mind. You and Mark volunteer in labs at a nearby university. Professor Wang in the organic chemistry lab is really chill and lets you perform experiments with polymers and stuff he doesn’t need anymore. Mark works in mechanical engineering with Professor Tuan, who lets him build things out of scrap plastic and metal.
Spider bites.
Spider webs.
You could create synthetic webs, while Mark could make something that lets you shoot them out. There’ll be a lot of test trials and you’ll need to find an empty space for that, but if it works?
It’ll be so worth it.
Your mind races with possibilities. You could immobilize criminals, stick them to walls or the ground. You could stopper guns, or at least slow bullets down. You could trip people up with webs on their legs, keep them from punching or shooting with some on their arms.
And you could swing from buildings, which solves the travel problem.
“I have an idea,” you say. Mark raises an eyebrow.
A smirk grows on your face. “But we’re going to need to work on your fear of heights first.”
. . . . .
Mark thinks he’s going to have a heart attack, and he’s not even the one jumping first.
The two of you have taken a day off to go to Central Park – not for fun or anything (well, you insist it’ll be fun. Mark has other opinions), but to test out the strength of your web fluid. You’ve already done some trial runs with inanimate objects and you think it’s strong enough to hold both yours and Mark’s body weights, but you need to check.
Mark wants to argue that you have the rest of summer break to check, but you insist on doing it as early as possible. “We need time to fix mistakes,” you point out. “Plus, the earlier we finish this, the earlier we can... start doing stuff.”
He can’t exactly argue with that.
The web shooters are working well, Mark is finally thankful to say. Every single time he remembers the first test trial, he wants the earth to just open up and accept him into the void.
(He didn’t realize just how strongly the shooter would actually eject your “webs.” He also didn’t know how to aim very well. Long story short, you got a glob of polymers right to the face and Mark consequently wanted to die right then and there. The ensuing purple bruise on the side of your face made you the subject of several kinky jokes on Flash’s end.
They stopped when you picked up his new calculus binder and hit him over the head with it.
At least you found out the webs were indeed sticky enough.)
“I’m going!” you yell, startling Mark from his thoughts. You’re at least twelve feet up in a tree in Central Park, looking determinedly at a sturdy branch poking out from another trunk around ten feet away. Mark’s heart flips when he sees how high up you are.
Jesus Christ. Twelve feet, and he already feels like he’s going to start screaming.
What’s going to happen when he possibly has to swing off a building?
With shaking hands, Mark holds up his phone, fingers poised over the record button on the camera app. For whatever reason, you’d insisted on recording each “trial” like it was an actual laboratory test. Mark just goes along with it.
“Ready?” he yells.
“Yeah!”
He presses the record button.
For a second, you stand on your branch, staring steadily ahead. Then you raise your right arm, shoot a line of webbing to the next tree trunk, and leap.
Mark’s breath catches.
A screeching yelp tears itself from your throat as you swing through the air, using your momentum to rise back up and land neatly on the tree branch. Mark holds his breath as you wobble back and forth slightly, then drop into a steadier crouch. He sighs in relief and stops the video.
“Holy shit!” You climb down the tree and run over. “Holy shit! That was so fucking cool, Mark!”
“I’m sure,” he replies in a faint voice, looking at the tree you leapt from.
Twelve feet. It’s just twelve fucking feet, not like the monstrosity that is Trump Tower. It’s not even as high as his apartment building.
And yet he still wants to die.
Fucking acrophobia. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take a breath.
Your hand goes to rest on his shoulder. “Hey, Mark.”
He looks at you.
“If you’re really not ready today, it’s fine.” The excitement in your eyes is gone, replaced by calm concern. “We can do this another day. Or we can figure out another option closer to the ground.”
God, what did Mark even do to deserve a friend like you? Even after all the work you put in to making the synthetic webs – a stroke of genius, by the way – you’re willing to put it all aside for him. Just for him.
He steels himself. “I’m good. I’m fine.” He flashes you something resembling a smile and starts hauling himself into the tree. “I can do this,” he mumbles once he’s on the branch.
Then he looks down and almost throws up.
Placing a hand on the tree trunk, he looks away and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He trusts in his web shooter to be accurate. He trusts in your webs to be strong enough.
He trusts that even if he falls, you won’t let him get far. He trusts that you’ll keep him safe.
“Ready?” you yell. Mark looks down again to nod, but the world isn’t spinning anymore. He locks his eyes onto the tree you jumped into and aims his web shooter.
“Ready!” he yells back. Faintly, he hears the beeping noise that signals the start of the recording.
Thwip. Web fluid shoots out and latches onto the branch. Before he can lose his nerve, he jumps.
A yell rips from his throat as he hurtles to the ground. Air rushes past his face as he swings his body up, up, until the branch is in view and he can plant his feet against it, using the last of his momentum to pull himself up. He wobbles a bit, then plants his arm against the tree trunk to steady himself.
He gasps shakily. The ground still looks so small from here, but the drop feels a fraction less frightening than it used to be. He takes one more deep breath, then starts to slowly climb down the tree.
As soon as he reaches the ground, you race over and engulf him in a strong hug. “You did it, Mark!” you all but yell into his ear. “You did it!”
Despite himself, Mark lets out a trembling bout of laughter, hugging you as close as he can. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, drinking in the steadiness that you bring to him. “Holy fuck.”
The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the secluded spot, leaping from the tallest trees you can find for longer and longer distances. You take notes as Mark pulls the sticky but mostly solidified web fluid from the branches, analyzing how some of them seem to have solidified and cracked a little under stress. “They need a little more flexibility,” you tell him as the two of you pile the web fluid into a bag. You think you can recycle it to make more. “With the adjustments you make on the shooters, I think they’ll be even better next time.”
“Yeah.” It’s all Mark can say. As he sits down next to you on the subway, he suddenly feels so drained and tired that he automatically slumps and places his head on your shoulder.
A small, surprised laugh sounds next to his ear, and he feels your hand go up to pat his head. “You did great today,” you murmur.
He smiles. In that moment, while your hand continues stroking his hair, he feels like he could do anything.
Anything for the world.
Anything for you.
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