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bellshells · 3 years

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Nobody Can Know Part Four

It’s here! The finale of Nobody Can Know! This was actually really emotional for me, 52, 540 words later and this fic has come to an end. I have had the absolute best time writing this and I must send a massive shout out to @hinagiku0 for requesting this in the first place. I do have a bonus chapter in the works set in between parts two and three, but no time frame as to when that will be finished. Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me, and thank you to everybody who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to send me your kind words. You’ve made this aspiring writer very happy indeed. Thank you.

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Language, Angst, Blood, Smoking, Alcohol, Smut Summary: Christmas has come faster than anyone could have anticipated, but with everything so up in the air; it’s impossible to celebrate. The promise of a break away may give everyone the clarity they need. Word Count: 17.4k+

“No, you can’t. That’s- no. I won’t let you.”

George looked at you with a look of utter desperation, it made you ache. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract from the pain in your heart, it didn’t work. He shook his head and wiped at his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m sorry, George. I just need to think.” You whispered, you longed to reach for him, to comfort him; but your mind was made up. “I need some time away.”

“Why? Love listen, please just talk to me. Tell me what to do.” George begged, he grasped your hand across the table and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do anything.”

You smiled sadly; you knew he would; he would do anything in that moment to keep you there. But was that enough?

“I know George, I just feel…honestly I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I just need to get away from everything so I can sort myself out.” “From me?” “From you, from the shop, everything!” You answered tersely, you didn’t mean to be blunt with him, you were uncomfortable seeing George distressed. But he needed to understand that you wouldn’t be swayed. “Do you still love me?” He asked, his face twisted in agony as you pulled your hand away and placed it in your lap. “That’s never in question.” You stood and walked around the table to where George sat, he looked at you expectantly as you bent down. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll send you an owl when I’m settled, so you know how to reach me if anything happens.” “Where will you go?” “A friends.”

************

Cokeworth was probably the most depressing place you had ever set foot in. The industrial town was still dirty from the smoke that the chimney of the old mill had puffed out. While in recent years it had ceased in its emission, the last century’s worth of grime had remained strong. It was a bleak, often sad reminder of the proletariat forefathers of the current upper working-class families who had purchased the many two-bed terraced houses for good rail links to Birmingham and Wolverhampton. You could never have imagined that Professor Snape lived somewhere like that, but really, you couldn’t imagine Professor Snape living anywhere other than Hogwarts. You had seen his office on many occasions, it was to be expected really; full of dusty books and rolled up pieces of parchment. It always smelled distinctly of cedarwood and myrrh, a scent you had almost absolutely convinced yourself that it was Professor Snape himself who smelled of such. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell much on the last few days, instead you would take this time for yourself. You wanted to be kind to yourself for once, to just be you. You weren’t looking forward to the quiet though, your life had never been quiet.

You walked for what felt like miles, all the streets looked the same, each house identical. It was disorientating, the numbers screwed on to each door seemed to ascend and descend in whichever way they liked. You were about to give up and go back the way you came until a little white sign on the side of a house on the corner of the street caught your eye; it had an arrow pointing in the opposite direction with SPINNERS END written across it. You breathed a sigh of relief and started off in the direction dictated by the sign. 69, 67, 65- it was 65 wasn’t it? You pulled the crumpled bit of paper Professor Snape left you from your pocket and looked from the words there, to the grey wooden door in front of you.

If you are in need, you need only knock

You knocked once on the door, you heard a click of a lock from the inside and it swung open slowly. There it was again, that smell. It was almost overpowering as you took a hesitant step into the house. From what you could see, it was immaculately clean. You dropped your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and removed your heavy cloak from around your shoulders, hanging it over the bannister. The walls of the hallway were a dark green, but this didn’t surprise you. You would have been incredibly shocked it you had entered Professor Snape’s house and the walls had been painted magenta and mustard. You smirked at the idea and followed the hallway round to a room on the right, it looked like it should be a lounge. The walls were lined with books, every surface was littered with them too. There was a well-worn leather armchair in one corner with a drink’s cabinet close by. A table sat in the middle of the room and on the opposite side, a two-seat sofa. The leather of the sofa looked intact, like not a soul had ever sat on it. Whilst you knew that was near impossible, your heart ached for the lonely man who owned this house. Nobody should lead as solitary a life as this.

You looked for a moment, long the lines and lines of books. Some looked to be incredibly old indeed, some without a dent in the hard spines. There were books in languages you didn’t know and some you recognised as classics in the muggle world. You ran your finger across the spines and sighed, you could imagine clearly that Professor Snape had read each and every one of them. You could see him in his chair, one leg crossed over the other- book in one hand and cigarette in the other. You smiled at the image you had created, you hoped he was happy here. You made your way out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway, the stairs had a cupboard underneath them, the door painted the same green as the walls. You noticed a glimpse of the kitchen through a door which sat ajar, you pushed it open and stepped through. There were more books, many sat on the small dining table that sat in the corner. It was old, it reminded you pews at Hogwarts in its shape. The kitchen itself was cramped, although it had all the amenities one might expect, the claustrophobic closeness of the cupboards did nothing but remind you of the tiny kitchen in your flat. You walked over to the cupboards and opened them one by one, mugs and glasses, plates and bowls (four of each) and then one full of non-perishables. You laughed slightly at the tins of baked beans and scotch broth, a tin of rice pudding sat further forward on the shelf, as if picked out and then placed back.

You opened up a low cupboard next to the fridge and exhaled in relief at the sight of instant coffee, you pulled it out and unscrewed the lid. Giving the coffee a big sniff, you decided it was good enough to drink and sought to put the kettle on. After you had found the sugar and cutlery, you poured the contents of a tin of tomato soup into a pan and lit the cooker. Satisfied with your level of domesticity achieved, you placed your coffee and soup onto a tray and levitated it behind you into the sitting room. You scoured the books for something to read, and finally settled on a dusty black jacketed book called Dracula. The image of the author; a gentleman named Bram Stoker was still and aged, you could but assume this was a muggle book and you secretly relished in the simplicity of it. You settled into Professor Snape’s well-loved armchair and ate your soup quickly, quietly cursing when you burnt your tongue. You devoured the novel, your coffee forgotten until you squealed at the un-dead return of Lucy Westenra. You heart raced and you laughed, having fully immersed yourself in this novel. It was exhilarating. Your coffee was now cold as you brought it to your lips, and you yawned. It was dark outside now, but, in the deep December that could mean it was about five o’clock. Looking over your shoulders as if someone could catch you at any moment, you reached for the handle of the drink’s cabinet and marvelled at the assortment of alcohol stored within. You reached greedily for a bottle of port and padded into the kitchen for a glass, it was then you noticed a scrap of parchment next to the sink.

(Y/N), it read in Professor Snape’s neat script,

Welcome, if you have decided to stay. I have left some muggle money on my desk in the second bedroom upstairs, along with an almanac of the values of it. There is some food in the cupboards, please feel free to help yourself to it. I am not expecting anybody to arrive, so please do not let anybody inside the house. I would be very much appreciative of that. You may write to me if you wish, I would like to know if you are there. Have a Merry Christmas.

Best,

Severus

You raced up the narrow stairs of Professor Snape’s house, port and glass forgotten. The landing was small and had three doors that lead from there. One you assumed was the bathroom, you hoped it was as clean as the rest of the house. You continued to the next door along and opened it, Professor Snape’s personal study before you. You walked into the body of the room, absolutely in awe. He had enchanted the ceiling to reflect the night sky, the moon high above and stars twinkled through the heavy clouds. You stood for a moment and appreciated the craftmanship of this, it was silent in this room and the serenity of the night sky filled you with a sense of calm you hadn’t felt for the longest while. By the only window in the room sat his desk, it was surprisingly non-cluttered with minimal books. True to his note, there was an envelope marked Money. It was a curious thing, you peeked inside and found coins but also paper money too. What would muggles do if the paper money floated away? From the cursory glance you gave Professor Snape’s deconstruction of the value of each piece it seemed the paper money, or ‘notes’ as he called them were of greater value than the coins. But the coins together equalled the sum of notes. It was all very confusing, so you popped the envelope back on the desk and opened up the small drawer on top, thankful to find some parchment.

The feel of Professor Snape’s quill in your hand was foreign and took some getting used to. You wrote two letters in total, one to Professor Snape to let him know you had arrived and to thank him again for his hospitality. He really had gone over and above what you had dared hope, and you sunk further into his debt. The other letter, was to George. Could it really only be a few hours since you had last seen him? You ignored the glassy state of your eyes as you sealed the letter and opened the window. A small silver whistle hung on a chain attached the inside of the sill, it had an owl in flight intricately engraved on the side. It was really quite beautiful, it glistened in the moonlight of the room and felt heavy in your hand. You brought the cold metal to your lips and blew once, but no sound came from the whistle. You looked desperately into the blackness of the street, the only light was the flickering streetlamp; only one was working and that one looked ready to be condemned. You noticed a speck in the distance, it grew bigger as it flew toward you. Your heart leapt at the sight of the black owl that fluttered its wings as it settled on the windowsill. “This one first.” You instructed the owl as you offered the letter addressed to Professor Snape to it, it presented its leg and you fumbled in the drawers of Professor Snape’s desk for some string. “Fucking fuck fuck, where’s the fucking string?” You cursed, the owl gave an indignant hoot, and you made a face to it. Upon finding the string, you attached both letters to the owl’s legs and watched as it flew into the night.

You trapsed back down the stairs and collected you dirty dishes and washed them in the sink. You yawned, fuck, you didn’t realise how tired you were until you caught your eyes closing of their own accord as you stood aimlessly in the kitchen. You collected your bag and made your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. You hadn’t expected a bachelor to take such good care of his home; the bathroom smelled strongly of bleach and the toilet was so clean you could’ve eaten your dinner off of it. No shower, you thought. Not a bit of wonder really, especially when you considered how old these houses were. You were thankful though, that Professor Snape must have charmed the brick somehow to keep the heat in, you wouldn’t even know where to start switching a radiator on. You decided against having a bath, it was far too late, and you didn’t fancy accidentally drowning to death as you inevitably fell asleep. You changed and popped your dirty clothes into the empty washing basket in the bathroom, making a mental note to write to Professor Snape and ask for instructions on how to use the washing machine. You felt a pang of loneliness as you walked across the empty landing, you and George never went to bed alone and you had missed his usual night-time burst of energy as you would get under the covers. It usually resulted in you making love for a few hours until you both passed out from exhaustion. No- you wouldn’t think about that.

You pondered what to do. There was one bed. You hadn’t spared a second thought to the idea that Professor Snape had turned his second bedroom into a study, you cursed yourself as you stood in your knickers and stared at his wide bed. The bedding was black, of course and looked inviting in your sleepy state. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t appropriate for you to sleep in his bed, certainly not. You imagined how enraged he would be if he found out you had slept in his bed. But, he had let you stay here. Surely, he knew you would need to sleep? Maybe he thought you would have a sleeping bag, or even a blanket and you could sleep on the sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. You shook your head and chuckled, what a nightmare. Resigned, you pulled back the covers of Severus Snape’s bed and climbed in. You decided you would find your way to the town centre tomorrow and buy a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the sofa. But tonight, well one night wouldn’t hurt. You had imagined Professor Snape would sleep in a coffin, or perhaps a bed of nails in your youth. You hadn’t considered a large spongy bed, with brushed cotton sheets and pillows so soft your head could sink through them. The sheets smelled of freshly washed linen and you wondered if he had cleaned his house for you coming, you were grateful if he had and impressed if he hadn’t. Your eyes were heavy and closed almost instantly, you pulled the covers tight to your chest and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

********

You were awoken by the sound of scratching. You opened your eyes and were confused for a moment why there wasn’t a sleeping redhead next to you. It had been three days since you had arrived in Spinner’s End and you felt almost at home now. You had a routine, you would wake up and have a bath, have some breakfast and read. You had managed to find the muggle supermarket and filled the cupboards full to burst. You often found yourself falling asleep in Professor Snape’s armchair. The evening would breach the windows of the living room, and you would drift away. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t particularly exciting either. You felt the same pang of loneliness you’d felt the night before as you sat slowly and sighed. The black owl tapped its beak impatiently on the bedroom window, you rose unsteadily and pulled a t-shirt out of your open bag. The owl didn’t wait for you to let it in as you opened the window, it swooped into the room and landed on the bed, kicking it’s legs, like you hadn’t already noticed the letters tied to it. “I haven’t got any treats for you, sorry.” You said as you attempted to untie the letters, at least, if the owl stayed still for a second. You finally prised the letters away and the owl flew out the way it had come. The morning air was freezing, more snow had fallen in the night and the whole street was bathed in an eerily white blanket. There were a few children already out in the street, their parents scraping ice from the windows of their cars. People still need to work, you supposed, regardless of how close it was to Christmas. You closed the window and climbed back into bed, it was still warm under the covers and you settled in to read your letters.

(Y/N), the first one read.

Glad to hear you have settled in. Yes, you may help yourself to some of the drinks in the cabinet, but if you touch my Lagavulin with your grubby little hands, I shall know.

You snorted as you read that. You inched deeper into the bed, craving more warmth.

I’ll be in London for New Year, believe me, it’s as much an inconvenience to you as it is to me. So, whilst you are more than welcome to stay in my house, be prepared for my arrival on 31st December. If you wish to stay until then, I will require you to buy food. Please let me know what you decide to do well ahead of time.

Best,

Severus

That was the third time he had signed off by using Severus and not Professor Snape or Professor S. Snape, Head of Slytherin House Hogwarts, Potions Master, Surprisingly Nice Person as you had almost expected him to. So, he was coming back for New Year? Blanket and pillows were definitely on your agenda for the day. You picked up the other letter. You knew it was from George and you felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you fingered the envelope. You weren’t really expecting a reply, you told him you had arrived safe and you’d write him again soon. You weren’t sure what in the letter you sent actually required a response.

My darling, George wrote.

I’m chuffed to hear you’ve settled in wherever you are. I’d like to think you’re being looked after, but I know you don’t need anyone to look after you. I really miss you, gorgeous. I know there’s not much I can say that I didn’t already say yesterday, but I would have felt like an absolute git if I didn’t tell you again. I’m not going to ask you to come home if you’re not ready, but I wanted to let you know that me and Fred are heading to mum’s for Christmas. Couldn’t quite face it in the flat without you. So, if you decide you want to come home for Christmas, you know where we are. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to show you that.

All my love forever, George xxx

P.S. I noticed you didn’t take any of your tampons with you, just say the word and I’ll send them to you. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, love x

You shot out of bed like a rocket. Your tampons? Oh fuck. You raced across the landing to the loo and as you sat down, you saw the same sight that had been staring you in the face for weeks.

Nothing. Nothing in your knickers.

You were late. More than late, it had been far more than a week ago since you were due on and yet, with all the stress of the last few days you had forgotten all about it. You sank onto the bathroom floor and cried. Big, mournful tears and sobs that wracked your whole chest. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t to be your life. With a sniff of resolution, you stood from the floor and looked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t realised how haggard you looked. There were dark circled under your eyes and your face was pale and gaunt. You ran a finger across your cheek and felt the hardness of your cheekbone that jutted out further than it ever had before. Merlin, you were far too young for any of this. In the year that you had spent being George’s girlfriend you had had more strife than you could have possibly imagined. Quite frankly, you thought, you had taken it like a champ. But this just seemed one ordeal too far. You were alone, alone and hiding in Severus fucking Snape’s house from your boyfriend. No family, no friends, nothing. No, no more.

******

You hadn’t been to this part of London before. You were quite shocked when she suggested meeting you here, you hadn’t anticipated she was one for the theatre. As you stared up at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the bright still photographs of the show stared back at you. A woman, with long curly hair in a pink dress seemed frightened as a masked man with dark hair loomed behind her. What utter drivel you thought, who would pay money to see this? You rubbed your hands together, now significantly warmer with your new gloves you had bought on your way into London; and scoured the busy street for her. You were starting to think she wasn’t coming when you saw an emerald green cape swish in your periphery. “There you are! Merlin, I was beginning it think you were taking the piss out of me.” You said as you wrapped her into a warm hug. “Never,” Pansy smirked, she pulled away from you and gazed intently at your face. “You look terrible mate.” “Thank you dear, you are nothing if not horrendously honest.” You looked at Pansy with a sly smirk. It felt so wonderful to see her again, her arm entwined easily with yours as you started back toward Leicester Square. “Why did you want to meet in front of that theatre?” You asked. “Oh, I saw the show last week with my parents and it’s an easy location, tucked out the way a bit yet still in central London.” Pansy seemed to have blossomed in the time since you had last seen her. her hair had grown long and glossy, and she was pretty, very pretty. “You? You saw a musical?” You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed you playfully. “Don’t judge unless you’ve seen one yourself. The music is to die for.” She smirked and lead you up a busy street. “Do you want to look at the Christmas Markets?” Pansy asked as she picked up a bauble from a nearby stall and inspected it. You wondered if it was a mistake to meet in such a crowded place so close to Christmas but, as she had reminded you, less chance of bumping into somebody you know. “Actually Pans, I need to talk to you.” You replied, she nodded and lead you across the square to a café, all of the tables were either taken or dirty. You both looked over your shoulders as you pointed your wand at a table in the corner and the dirty mugs and plates stacked and ended up on the next table over. “What do you want? I have muggle money.” You said as you reached into your purse and pulled out one of the paper notes; you remembered they were worth more than the coins. Pansy looked from the paper note in your hand and to your face and burst out laughing. “What?!” You demanded. Onlookers from other tables began to stare in your direction as Pansy doubled over laughing. “Oh, fucking hell, (Y/N). You are so clueless.” She managed through her giggles. “You’re going to pay for two coffees with a fifty-pound note?” “Is that wrong?” You asked bewildered, surely it was right to take the biggest one? “Merlin, just put that back in your purse before someone steals it out of your hand and I’ll get the coffees.” Pansy replied, you could see her shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter even as she queued for your drinks. You couldn’t help but smile too, it had been so long since you had seen her last, too long.

Pansy ended up taking longer than you anticipated ordering drinks. Your stomach began to rumble, and you felt sick. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, you needed to speak to Pansy about the situation. You had nobody else to turn to. You stared aimlessly out of the window at the last- minute Christmas shoppers frantically move from shop to shop. You wondered if George would have taken the things you had bought for his family back to the shops, or if he would have wrapped them terribly and dished them out. You cringed at the idea of Molly seeing George’s wrapping and thinking it was yours. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold and a suitcase whizz pass the window. Your heart raced as you made eye contact with him, Mundungus Fletcher. Behind him he pulled a trolley you saw old ladies carry their shopping in full of tat. He raised a ringed hand up and waved at you through the glass, a sneer fixed on his stupid face. You reached for your wand, but he was too fast, he weaved through the crowd and was gone. You searched for him wildly with your eyes, you craned your neck to try and see further, but it was no use. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You tried to quell the hatred that bubbled under your skin and took a deep breath. “Who was that?” Pansy asked as she set a tray on the table. She passed you your coffee and a slice of cake and put the tray on the floor. “Nobody.” You muttered. You thanked her and took a sip, you grimaced as you swallowed it. Muggle coffee was terrible, watery and bland. It made you long for home, the kitchen staff at your parent’s house were always at the top of their game. It had spoiled you really, you had made such an effort to learn how to do everything yourself. You wouldn’t be one of them. You refused. “What did you want to talk about?” Pansy said as she shovelled a forkful of cake into her mouth. You bit your lip; you didn’t know how to say it. “Oi, you haven’t dragged me all the way to London just for a coffee so talk.” “I’m late.” “What do you mean?” “My period’s late.”

Pansy’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth; her eyes wide with shock. You tapped on the table nervously and glanced over your shoulder. You would be mortified if you found yourself in another situation like the one of the last few days. “How long?” “Nearly two weeks now that I think about it.” “Shit.” “What do I do, Pansy?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you watched your friends face flit between emotions. Pansy’s usually stern face softened, she ran a hand over her beautifully quaffed hair and sighed. “Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” She asked, you shook your head. “I didn’t know I had to. I only realised this morning and that’s when I wrote you straight away.” “Right, okay. So, first thing you need to do is go to St. Mungo’s, you’ll see a mediwitch and they’ll make you drink a potion to see if you’re…pregnant or not.” She whispered, you nodded tearfully. “Is that it? I just need to go to St. Mungo’s?” “Well, you need to make an appointment first. Only-” She stopped short, she frowned, and her brow furrowed. “Only?” You prompted. “Only, it’s the day before Christmas Eve (Y/N). They’ll be no appointments until after the New Year, I’m sure.” “Is it the 23rd already?” You asked, “Fuck me, I didn’t realise.” You paused. “So I have to wait?” Pansy nodded and swallowed another mouthful of cake. She pondered for a second before she sat up straight in her chair. “Unless…” “Unless?” You asked, you were growing impatient. “There is the old-fashioned way of finding out. The muggle way, it’s just as effective. My sister had to do it before she was of age and she had it off with one of the Black cousins.” “Which is?”

******

You shifted your weight uneasily from foot to foot. You were in Piccadilly Circus waiting outside of a, you think Pansy called it a chemist? She didn’t trust you to not have a breakdown in the middle of a muggle pharmacy so left you to wait outside. It was bitterly cold and the snow had begun to fall harder than before. You watched as muggle pedestrians tried to weather their way through the flurry. How had it gotten to be the 23rd of December without you noticing? How had you let yourself not notice that your period was late? Very, very late, you cursed. You couldn’t help but be slightly angry at Fred and George, you had worked your fingers to the bone over the last few weeks to make sure the sop was stocked to the brim ready for Christmas. You had been exhausted, and still found time to cook and clean for the boys too. No, stop that, you thought. You were just irritable and nervous. You weren’t angry at the boys; you loved the boys; and were so proud of everything they had achieved in such a small space of time. Its natural to have bumps in the road, you just hoped there wouldn’t be a bump of another kind making an appearance.

You shook your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts. It was no use to anyone to berate yourself, you placed a hesitant hand on your stomach. You prayed silently to Merlin, to anybody that could possibly hear you. You whispered the words over and over again in your mind, please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be- “Got it!” Pansy thrust a plastic bag in your direction, followed by a handful of coins. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Your change,” she announced and placed the money in your hand. “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing do you.” You offered her a tight-lipped smile as she linked her arm with yours and you hurried away from the pulsing crowd. “Right, let’s go to your flat and get this over with.” Pansy stated, she pointed to the designated apparation point and looked at you expectantly. The thought of going into an empty flat filled you with a dread that quickly turned to sickness, a bile that rose in your throat. You shook your head and slumped against the wall behind you. “I can’t Pans, I can’t go back there now. Not today, I’m not ready.” You muttered, your hair fell into your face and shielded it from Pansy’s view. You felt Pansy put an arm around her shoulders. She pulled you close to her and enveloped you in a hug. The tears you had been holding in since you left Severus’ (could you even call him that now?) house fell from your heavy eyes as you clutched to your friend for dear life. She rubbed your back and swayed you from side to side. “That’s okay, we don’t have to go there. Let’s just go to where you’re staying.” “I can’t take you there either!” You laughed through your tears, Pansy laughed too and brushed her thumb across your cheek. “Fucking hell, you truly are off grid, aren’t you? Don’t do break-ups by half.” “We haven’t broken up, Pansy. I just needed some time away. I haven’t been on my own since…since-” “Shh. I know, I know. I was just winding you up.” She pushed you back gently and held you at arm’s length. “Now stop crying please, you’re making me uncomfortable.” You laughed again and smiled weakly at her. You exhaled deeply and nodded. You needed to pull up your big girl pants and be an adult. “I’ll owl you as soon as I know.” You said, Pansy’s face fell into a look of concern as you took a step back from her. “Have I not shown you, you can trust me, (Y/N)?” She replied, she looked hurt and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, of course you have, Pansy. I just- I need to do this alone.” Pansy sniffed in indifference and crossed her arms over her chest. You felt instantly guilty, you loathed to upset your friend, especially when she had gone above and beyond for you; but you needed to do this by yourself. “Fine. But you should let George know, it’s as much his concern as it is yours.” Pansy said stiffly before she turned away from you and disapparated with a small pop!

You were still for a moment. The snow had turned to sleet and it seemed to soak you through to your very bones as you stood. How had everything turned into such a mess in such a small space of time? Of course, Pansy was right, you needed to tell George. He had a right to know what was going on as anybody else and another feeling of guilt flooded over your already aching chest.

******

Desdemona was waiting patiently on a streetlamp as you approached Severus’ house. She let out an almighty hoot as you spotted her in the encroaching darkness, she flew quicky from her porch and nearly into your face. “Bloody stupid bird,” You muttered as you extended an arm. Desdemona landed roughly; her talons pinched your skin under your winter coat as she offered the letter in her beak. Your heart sank as you took it, it could only be from your parents. “I don’t have anything for you. Go home.” You ordered her, if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn she rolled her eyes before she took off into the sky. You watched her fly for as far as you could see her, her tawny features hard to make out after a while. With a groan, you let yourself in to the house.

You settled in Severus’ armchair and kicked your shoes off. The letter from your parents held tightly in your hand, it felt heavy and you were anxious yet reluctant to find out what it said. You sank lower into the comfortable leather and brought your knees to your chest and teased open the envelope. It wasn’t a howler, that was for certain. A smaller envelope dropped out of the initial one, and a folded piece of parchment landed on your lap. Ignoring the small envelope, you picked up the note and noticed immediately it was written in your father’s hand.

Daughter,

I understand you have moved to Diagon Alley with your partner; congratulations, I’m pleased you have found happiness. I must admit, this is to be a strange Christmas without you here with us. I will leave your stocking above the fireplace like always. I wish for you to understand that you are always welcome here, this is your home. I am your father. You will always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Enclosed you will find your Christmas present; your mother gave her blessing for me to send it to you.

Merry Christmas, my darling.

You clutched the letter to your chest as you sobbed. You traced your finger over your father’s words, as if you could touch him through the parchment. You missed him more than words could say, you hadn’t anticipated how much so. In the time that had elapsed since you had last seen him, it was easy to forget the good things, the best things about your father; instead remembering him as the distant man who told you to run instead of protecting you. But he had, from the coldness of your mother, from the sneering remarks of the other noble families as a child and finally from your torment as you sat alone at Christmas.

You padded solemnly into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of port and the glass tumbler you had set out the night before. You poured yourself a healthy measure and as you brought the glass to your lips, you stopped. You remembered the white plastic bag you had flung on the floor at the bottom of the stairs when you arrived back, your stomach gurgled, and you bit your lip. What were you to do? Well, you knew exactly what you should do. You should write to George immediately, or better yet, go straight to The Burrow and you could do this together but- there was a part of you that felt that if you were to go to him now, you would be conceding. You would be letting yourself down. You hadn’t run straight into George’s arms the minute Mundungus’ plot was uncovered, if you were to go back now after two nights away from him would make you look weak. You demanded space, you demanded time to think and get away; you deserved it! George had to understand that he had hurt you immeasurably and not everything could be solved by a kiss and a cuddle.

Regardless, if it turned out you weren’t pregnant then what would have been the need? You would have gone back to him at the first sign of trouble like always, and you weren’t prepared to it this time. If you were pregnant then yes, you would go to him. You would sit down and have an adult conversation over what to do next; but if you weren’t? You could perhaps enjoy this time to yourself before you returned to him. Before you decided what it was exactly you were to say to him. The layers of guilt that had so far weighed heavy on your chest eased slightly, your affirmations to yourself that this was the right thing to do, seemed to have assuaged you some. It was time, you knew it was. It was now or never, and it was most certainly, now.

You read and re-read the instructions on the side of the box as you sat on the toilet. Your hand trembled as it held the little white stick, you parted your legs and pushed your hand between them; no idea if the stick was in the right position. When you were satisfied that you had done what you needed to, you pulled the stick away and popped the little blue cap on the used end. The box said it would take two minutes to give you a result, so with that, after thoroughly washing your hands, you returned to the living room. You placed the ‘test’ (it was most unlike any test you had ever taken in your life thus far) on the table face down, so you couldn’t see the little window and picked Dracula up from its perch on the nearby shelf. It was then that you noticed the small envelope your father had sent on the arm of the chair. You opened it gently, unsure of what it could be. Onto your lap fell an incredibly delicate silver choker encrusted with brilliant emeralds and littered with small diamonds, given to your mother when your grandmother died. You lifted it to the light and watched how the jewels caught the light. This piece of jewellery had been in your family for generations, You had admired it since you were a little girl, it had sat pride of place around your mother’s neck for special occasions, and you had tried it on- once or twice. Your mother would have been furious if she had found out. Your heart swelled with pride as you traced your fingers lovingly across it, that your mother wanted you to have it. Progress perhaps?

A thunderous banging on the front door caused you to yelp in fear. You reached into the pocket of your jeans and produced your wand, you waved it frantically across the room and with a puff, all the candles were extinguished. You were plunged into darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you inched slowly out of the living room; wand raised- you weren’t sure what use it would be in the dark, but you refused to cast a Lumos. Severus had said he wasn’t expecting anyone at the house, and to not let anybody inside. You swallowed your fear and allowed yourself a second to think. The only people who would know what this house was, would either be one of two kinds. Muggles, probably drunk, banging on the wrong door or the darker alternative. The one you hoped to Merlin it wasn’t. The banging recommenced as you entered the hallway, you flinched at the sound but continued in your progress toward the front door. The early evening had well given way to night, and the only thing you could make out through the panes of glass in the door, was the shadowy figure that once again brought its hand up to bang against the wood. You crept silently along the hallway, with each step your pulse quickened as with trembling hand, you slowly reached for the catch. You felt a trickle of sweat run down your neck as you clasped the metal knob and turned it ever so slightly, you aimed to open the catch and fling the door open to the surprise of the intruder. You hoped to catch them off guard. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you flung it open. “Stupefy!” You exclaimed, but he was faster. “Expelliarmus.” Your wand flew from your hand and landed in his, bloodied and shaking. You blinked, unmoving as he reached for you. His other hand grasped onto your shirt as he tried to stand up straight. You recoiled backwards; it was instinctual. You noticed the hand which held fast onto the front of your shirt was also drenched in blood. “Don’t scream.” He breathed, “Don’t scream, just…help…me inside.” You managed to nod and grasp him under his arm, as with the other he left bloody handprints along the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him as you helped him into the lounge, and with a big heave, assisted him to the sofa. “Why…is it so…dark?”

In a second, every candle was lit, and you were able to get a good look at his face. “What happened to you, Severus?” You asked horrified, he had a large gash on his cheek that bled freely. He clutched his side, and you noticed a flash of skin underneath his hands, he was wounded, badly. Bleeding profusely, what the fuck do you do? “Tell me what to do.” “Dittany.” Severus whispered, “Cupboard in…bathroom.” You raced from the lounge up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, you wrenched open the bathroom cupboard and frantically searched for Essence of Dittany. You noticed that your hands were also covered in blood, his blood as you twisted and turned every bottle until you clasped your hand around the brown bottle. “Give it to me.” Severus said weakly, he reached for the bottle, but you shook your head. “No, you can’t-” “I didn’t ask for…your opinion witch, give…me the…bottle.” He wheezed through gritted teeth, his face was a mass of blood now, like he had somehow tried to quell the bleeding but had somehow made it worse. You hesitated for a moment before you handed the bottle to him. He reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and applied three drops to his cheek, his face contorted in pain as a small puff of green smoke rose around him. He winced as he tried to sit up, “Help me,” was all he said. Again, you supported his arm and helped right him. “My coat, I can’t reach-” You reached for his buttons and swiftly tried to undo them, he writhed beneath you, obviously in a copious amount of pain. “Sorry!” You breathed as you reached his midsection, you could see clearly now the wound on his side. It looked as if he had been sliced, the blood was thick and dark as it oozed out of him. Tears stung your eyes as you panicked, you felt so very overwhelmed and with no idea how to help him. You tried to gently manoeuvre his arms through his sleeves, his jaw clenched and with two tugs, you managed it. He pulled his shirt up to his chest and granted you a look at how thin he was. You almost cringed at the sight of every rib in the poor man’s body, his stomach and what you could see of his chest were absolutely littered with scars; some old, some new. “You will have to help…with this one.” Severus said, he looked better, if that was possible. The wound on his cheek shone purple, as if it had been there all along. The only tell-tale sign was the blood beginning to dry there. You rolled him onto his side and took the bottle from his hands, opening it quickly. You placed a gentle hand above his wound, just to the side of where his ribs jutted out. Severus flinched one and then relaxed as you tenderly brushed your fingers against his skin. “Ready?” You asked, he gave a curt nod and you applied four drops of the Dittany across his wound. Severus, to his credit, let out a groan of pain whilst his whole body shook under the strain of new skin closing the wound. The puff of smoke was larger this time, you held your breath as it passed over your face. You held him in place until his breathing slowed, he looked at you askance and motioned to be helped up. “Do you want some water?” You asked as you pulled his shirt back down, covering him up. Severus shook his head. “Whisky.” You rolled your eyes but knew better than to argue with him. You stood and brushed your hands against your jeans, you were sticky with his blood and felt uncomfortable. You hurried over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the amber liquid. Severus held his hand open and you passed him the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought it to his lips.

You watched him as he took sip after sip of the whisky, the colour eventually returned to his cheeks and you felt satisfied to leave him for a moment. You wandered into the kitchen and doused your hands with soap, scrubbing them hard to remove the blood. You fought back tears as the image of Severus writhing in pain engrained itself into your mind. You had never seen so much blood in your life and shuddered as you remembered the smell of the smoke as his skin knit together. You found him asleep on the sofa as you entered, bottle tipped to the side and his face peaceful. Carefully, you slipped his shoes from his feet and propped his legs up onto the sofa. Your wands lay together on the floor, you retrieved yours and Accio’d his duvet and a pillow, laying the latter under his head as you covered him in the blanket.

You retrieved your cloak and settled into the armchair, you pulled it up to your chin and hooked your legs over one of the arms. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but you couldn’t justify leaving him in his state. Your hand closed around your wand and pressed it against your chest, ready, just in case. For what- you didn’t know.

******

“Sleep well?”

You awoke with a start. Severus sat across the room from you, he was upright on the sofa. He still looked weak, but his eyes sparkled with humour. “Like the dead.” You offered feebly; you arched your back; oh, fuck it was agony. You winced and Severus chuckled, your neck was stiff as you craned it to look at him. “Nice choice of words.” You grimaced as you swung your legs onto the floor and ran your hands through your hair. You were surprised to feel the ends were dried red. Oh, of course. You shuddered as a fleeting image of the previous night’s bloody work crossed your thoughts. Brushing it off, you stood. “Coffee?” “Please.” He answered, he looked more tired than you had ever seen as he watched you lazily. You returned a few moments later with two mugs of coffee, his black obviously, Severus nodded in thanks. You drank in silence, neither of you looking at the other. After a while, you stood without speaking. You felt disgusting, you were covered almost head to toe in Severus’ blood, although you had scrubbed at your hands- you hadn’t realised how messy it had been.

You allowed yourself to cry in the bath. The water was hot and as you sank beneath the surface, you felt pathetic. You sobbed, more than you had in days. Your throat hurt and your eyes were swollen. Your heart hurt, why? Were you scared? Scared that someone might come after Severus and you would be caught in the crossfire? Or guilty that the man who had shown you so much kindness had been so dreadfully hurt and you hesitated in answering the door.

He was sat in the same position that he had been in when you left him. He didn’t look like he had moved a muscle. “Are you in pain?” You asked quietly, you felt stupid asking him stood in your Christmas pyjamas, but you were quickly running out of clean clothes. “Immensely,” Severus answered wryly, he pointed at the coffee table. “What’s that?” Your gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger and your stomach fell. “Nothing. Don’t worry.” You replied quickly, you snatched the pregnancy test and thrust it into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. How the fuck had you forgotten about that? Your heart raced; you could know. You could know now, all you had to was look at the little window and it would tell you all you needed to know. “Is that a pregnancy test?” Severus asked, the whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as you blushed. “No.” You lied, why would he know what a pregnancy test looked like anyway? Especially a muggle one. Severus shook his head. “If you say so.” He paused and watched you, your hair dripped big, wet droplets onto your shoulders. “Bring me some parchment and a quill, I need to write a letter.” “Do you not think you should rest?” His face was aghast as you questioned him, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze. “I promise not to exert myself too much moving my wrist.” You gave him a look of annoyance as he made a gesture as if he were writing. You rolled your eyes again, he chuckled once and then grasped his side in pain. Good, that serves him right for being a dick. You smirked to yourself as you retrieved parchment and a quill along with the silver whistle and thrust them into his hands. “Would you like something to eat?” You watched him as, even with the sheer amount of pain he was in, his hand was steady as he wrote fluidly across the page. Severus ignored you as he continued to write. You sat in the armchair and watched him for several minutes, you noticed he brought the feathery tip of his quill to his lips every once in a while, in thought. It was almost hypnotic, watching his hand glide across the parchment, the only sound the scratching of his quill.

The test in your pocket burned with anticipation. You reached for it deftly, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Severus. Your fingers grasped it and pulled it out slowly, you shot a glance in his direction, satisfied that his attention was firmly placed upon his writing. You turned it over and…nothing. You panicked and turned it over, upside down and back to front. The little window that displayed the result was empty- no lines. “Did you not read the instructions?” Severus called from the other side of the room. You gave him an uneasy look. “It quite clearly states that results disappear after twelve hours.” He hadn’t even looked up from his parchment, or so it seemed. You raced from the living room to the bathroom and plunged your hands into the wastebin in search for the box. He was right, of course he was right. Why wouldn’t he be right? You felt the blood drain from your cheeks as you slowly made your way back down the stairs. “Idiot.” Severus mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear as you paced the length of the room. What were you to do now? It was Christmas Eve; you couldn’t face going back into the crowds. “I need you to take this to The Leaky Cauldron.” Severus’ deep baritone distracted you from your thoughts as he passed the parchment he had been writing on in your direction. You rose from your chair to take it from him, he had closed it in on itself over and over again until it appeared miniscule in your hand. Some kind of enchantment to dissuade the prying eyes of those unintended to read it, you supposed. “What is it?” You enquired, turning it over in your fingers. Severus motioned you forward and held his arms out to you. “You don’t need to know. Help me up.” Severus muttered and as you placed your arms around his back, your chests flush together; you blushed at the close proximity. He placed his hands onto your shoulders and supported himself to a standing position. “I need to go to the toilet.” He took two steps and swayed, he grasped hold of your arm to steady yourself. “I can apparate us upstairs, Severus.” You stated, he grimaced and placed your arm under his. “No, I’ll be sick. Help me and I might be able to help you with your problem.” He gave you a strained smirk and you nodded. You wondered what he could mean as you slowly supported him up the narrow staircase. You waited awkwardly outside of the door for a moment while he relieved himself, you accio’d his duvet and pillow and returned them to his bedroom, taking care to clear up the clothes you had scattered around the floor. When he emerged from the bathroom, you noticed his face was wet. He had attempted to wash his face rather unsuccessfully and you suppressed a laugh. You helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him, he seemed to relax under your care; letting you wipe a warm flannel across his face to remove the stains of his blood and hummed contentedly. “You can do the rest yourself,” you announced. He opened his eyes and regarded you, “You can piss off if you think I’m going to give you a bath.” He laughed at this, a real smile appeared on his face and you smiled back, it was nice to see. “Agreed. I can manage for now.” He sighed, “How late are your courses?” “My courses?” You looked at him quizzically, Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your period, (Y/N). How late?” You blushed again and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he looked at you expectantly as if he had asked you a question about the ingredients of a potion. “Two weeks.” You answered, Severus nodded slowly and looked to the ceiling as if in thought. “Yes, I think I shall be able to help you. Let me sleep for a while, deliver that letter for me and when you come back, we can eat, and we shall get to the bottom of this.” You sighed; you really didn’t want to go back to The Leaky Cauldron. “Who shall I give it to?” “Give it to Tom, he’ll see it gets where it needs to go.” Severus replied, his eyes closed again. “Am I to say who it’s from?” Severus opened one eye and gave you a dark look, he wet his lips and frowned. “Obviously.”

*******

You hesitated before pushing open the door to The Leaky Cauldron, it was midday, and the pub was filled yet again with people making merry. You fought your way to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the young witch behind it, your neck craned in each direction to catch a glimpse of her. She appeared finally, two large trays of glasses hovering behind her as she began to rearrange the glassware behind the bar. “Excuse me!” You said as you waved your hand, she noticed you and gave you a smile. “Oh, hiya!” She said warmly, “Can I get you a drink?” “No thank you,” You replied, “Is Tom available?” “He certainly is,” A voice behind you said, you whirled round to be met with Tom’s smiling face. “Can I help you, miss?” “Yes actually, I was told to give you this.” You showed him the tiny piece of folded parchment, Tom’s eyes flashed from it to yours and gave you a concerned look. “Is this from…” “Severus Snape, yes. He told me you’d know what to do with it.” You levelled, he took it from your hand and placed it into the pocket of his shirt. “I assume there must be a reason why he sent you and not delivered it himself.” Tom replied with a raised eyebrow, you refused to let your mind wander to the events from the night before. “Yes, but it’s not for me to say so- can I leave it with you?” “Of course, I’ll see to it that everything is in order, tell him.” Tom replied, “Merry Christmas, miss.” “Merry Christmas, Tom.” You watched as he withdrew into the crowd, you turned to the witch behind the bar. “Merry Christmas.” You smiled, she offered you a grin in return and waved her hand. “Merry Christmas.” She replied cheerfully.

You didn’t want to go into Diagon Alley, but your feet carried you over the cobbled stones to the dismay of your heart. Despite the growing tensions in the wizarding world, the wonky street was abuzz with people; not unlike the shoppers you had seen in Piccadilly Circus with Pansy. There was a long queue outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and you smiled sadly as you approached the window. The display you had spent so long working on looked magnificent, snow fell from behind the glass and tiny enchanted swans swam in a small lake, surrounded by miniature fur trees and families of deer. “Penny for your thoughts?” You noticed Fred’s reflection in the glass appear next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I thought you’d still be at The Burrow!” You exclaimed, he laughed and hugged you back. You pulled away and looked into his face, he looked well and cheerful. You had learned the differences between him and George over time, subtle though they were. “Well somebody’s got to be here to run the shop,” Fred said as he gestured to the busy building, “I’m going back tonight.” You nodded in understanding and he placed your hand in the crook of his arm. “Fancy a walk?”

Fred led you passed the bustle of the shops and back towards the apparation point. “You okay, Freddie?” “Yeah yeah,” He answered quietly, it must be difficult for him to see you- to know what had transpired between you and George. “Look, I don’t want to bombard you with questions or anything, (Y/N). But I need to know; is that you and George done? You left things so up in the air with him, and he’s putting on a brave face don’t get me wrong but…he’s my brother, and I can tell he’s hurting.” You bit your bottom lip, you hated to think about George in pain; but you just weren’t ready to talk about things. “No, Fred. We’re not done…but he really hurt me, he said some awful things to me; accused me of terrible things and it’s going to take some time for me to be ready to have a conversation about it. Let alone forgive him.” You paused and wiped away a tear that fell onto your cheek. “I suppose I just never expected he could be like that. It surprised me.” “Bloody surprised us all mate. When George came flying down to the shop floor after you left, ranting and raving- I’d never seen that side of him before. And Merlin, when Snape arrived at mum’s with Mundungus Fletcher, I thought he would wind up with a wand suspension the way he was trying to hex Mundungus.” Fred exhaled with a small laugh, you matched it with a smile. “He’s a good bloke, (Y/N). You mean everything to him. Believe me, I’ve had to share a room with him for the best part of two decades. If you’re not ready to talk about anything, can I at least tell him I saw you today and what you said? I’m sure it’ll make him feel loads better if he knew you hadn’t, you know, broken up with him without him realising.” You considered it for a moment, if Fred told George he had seen you today; it might make him want to find you. He had really respected your space so far and you were grateful for it, but the thought of making Fred keep something like this from his brother was too big of an ask. Plus, you were also keeping a huge secret from him, but you couldn’t tell Fred before you told George- it wasn’t right. “Yeah, of course, Freddie. Tell him, you can also tell him Merry Christmas and that…I love him.” Fred made a gagging noise and you smacked him on the arm. “I need to go.” You pulled Fred in for one last hug and squeezed enough for him and George. He chuckled as you walked to the apparation point and gave him a big wave goodbye.

*******

Severus stayed upstairs all afternoon and well into the evening. You couldn’t blame him though, it looked as though he had been through a massive ordeal and he needed time to recover, you couldn’t begrudge him that. You found a magical cooking book in one of the cupboards and coupled with some of the food you had bought at the supermarket, you managed to cook a reasonably tasty meal. Severus made comments about the quality of the steak, but you expected nothing less. You suspected it was only to save face though, as twice when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him close his eyes and savour the taste of the food. You had served him in his meal in bed, he had managed to prop himself up on the pillows and you sat at the foot of the bed. It seemed quite personal really, but you found yourself savouring the intimate moments you shared with him. It made you feel like he did actually care for you, as more than an ex pupil, as a friend. He asked you about The Leaky Cauldron, who you spoke to, how you got home. After a moment, you felt brave. “Who did this to you, Severus?” Severus sighed and passed his empty plate over to you. “Nobody.” “I find that extremely hard to believe. I need to know if I’m in danger.” You asked him earnestly, he met your gaze with a softness you seldom saw from the man. “You’re in no more danger now than you have been in the last three days. Please don’t concern yourself with my welfare.” He answered, you suspected he intended to seem sterner than he came across. You wondered if he couldn’t muster the energy to chastise you. “It’s a bit difficult to do that when I have to take you to the loo every time you want a piss.” “You’re vile.” “Pot, kettle, black. I found your blood in my ear this morning. That’s vile.” You laughed and he managed a laugh too. “I’m just glad I was here when you arrived last night.” “Whether you were here or not, I would have gotten inside one way or another.” He levelled nonchalantly. “Would it really be so horrendous to just say ‘thank you’?” You let out an exasperated sigh and flopped backwards on the bed. He eyed you with annoyance, but you could tell it was fleeting. “Yes, actually. For me anyway.” “Well I’m not surprised. You’re just annoyed I’m working off my debt to you.” You winked and rolled from the bed, you picked up your used plates and took them downstairs.

You returned when he called for you. You held two glasses of port in your hands and found him in his study. “When did you get in here?” You asked with a smile, pleased to see him on his feet, if not slightly unsteady. “I am an enigma of a man, (Y/N). I wouldn’t expect your tiny brain to even begin to comprehend me.” Severus answered with a smirk, you passed him the glass and he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. “Delicious.” It was then you noticed the cauldron bubbling contentedly on his desk. You wandered over to it and inspected the shimmering, iridescent silver liquid, it smelled foul; like rotten eggs and you recoiled. “What the fuck is that?” You demanded as you covered your nose. Severus had his back to you; he ran a finger along one of the shelves which held bottles of all shapes and sizes and plucked a large green bottle with a jade lid. You watched as he carefully unscrewed the top and dropped a tiny drop of the liquid onto a sprig of lavender. The flowers wilted instantly, and he dropped the whole thing into the cauldron. A great lilac cloud erupted from the cauldron and dissipated as Severus waved his hand. “This, (Y/N) is a pregnancy test.” Severus replied with a satisfied smile. He beckoned you over to the desk and you sighed as the smell had gotten progressively worse with the addition of the lavender. The liquid had changed from its silver to a dark burgundy, it still held its iridescence as it bubbled. “Is this what they use in St. Mungo’s?” “Merlin no, they use a potion so convoluted there you could have had the baby by the time you receive an answer.” Severus sniffed, “This is Enfantin Inventim, it’s old. Really, very old. They stopped using this in everyday practise about three hundred years ago. It’s notoriously difficult to prepare and can often lead to an incorrect result.” “Should we use it then? If it can give an incorrect result?” You asked anxiously, the last thing you needed was to wait another day. You needed to get on with your life, one way or the other. “Do you think I would prepare something that would achieve anything other than one-hundred-percent accuracy?” Severus snapped. He had a point; he was a potions master for a reason. “Okay, what do I do?” “It isn’t pleasant, (Y/N). Do you trust me?” You considered it for a moment and then nodded, he offered his hand to you, you took it and he pulled you towards him forcefully. Severus winced with the effort and forced your hand open. He quickly drew a pearl-encrusted dagger across the length of your palm, easily opening the flesh. You howled in pain and tried to pull your hand back, Severus clasped it into a fist and squeezed tightly. Blood began to fall from you hand and he brought it over the cauldron, the potion drank your blood hungrily and after you parted with ten drops, the potion began to cloud over.

“Stand back.” He commanded, he gave you a scrap of cloth and you pressed it hard into the palm of your hand. “If the liquid turns white, you’re pregnant. If it turns black, you’re in the clear.” “How long do we have to wait?” You whispered and closed your eyes. “Not long.” In that moment, you wished George were by your side. He would know exactly what to say, and even if he didn’t, he would make you laugh. You imagined his hand around your waist and his lips pressed to your head in a gentle kiss. “Severus. If I am…you know. What do I do?” “I imagine what women have done for a millennia-” “No, what I mean is-” You paused, unsure of how he would react. “Do I have a- do I have a choice?” “Of course you have a choice. I can put you in contact with some discreet mediwitches. They’re friendly and would have you sorted in no time.” “Okay.”

You waited for what seemed an age. You tended to your wounded hand and shot a scowl in Severus’ direction when he likened it to a scratch compared to his. The cauldron continued to bubble, it produced green smoke and spat out occasionally. You couldn’t take it anymore. Severus stirred it dutifully and you told him you’d be back in a moment, trapsing your way to the bathroom. You paced back and forth frantically. You couldn’t stand the waiting idly by, you had fashioned a bandage for your hand out of the cloth and some rolled up toilet paper when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You moved towards it and placed your hands gently on the sink underneath it. “You need to sort your fucking life out, (Y/N).” You said to your reflection, you stared deeply into your own face. Hardly even recognising the person reflected back to you. “(Y/N)!” You heard Severus shout from the study. “It’s done.” You supressed the bile that rose in your throat and took a deep breath. You stepped uneasily back into the room to see Severus’ neutral face waiting for you. He stood with his hands behind his back. “Have you looked?” “Yes.” “What is it?” “For fucks sake, have a look.” He snapped; he shook his head with a scowl as you inched toward the cauldron. Your hands trembled as you peered down into the now still liquid. It was black. The liquid was black. “It’s-” “Black.” He answered with a smile. “I’m-” “Not. Pregnant.”

You cried out a tremendous cry of relief. Big tears rolled down your cheeks as you moved to Severus in two swift movements and threw your arms around his shoulders. He swayed with surprise. “Ow. Careful.” He murmured before he patted you awkwardly on the back. When you pulled away, you beamed triumphantly up at him and he returned your smile. “You can thank me by releasing me.” You complied with a laugh, a genuine laugh. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, you breathed easier than you had done in weeks. “Thank you, Severus. I suggest you stop being nice to me or I’ll forever feel indebted to you.” You laughed, you noticed Severus’ expression alter slightly. “What? What did I say?” “I feel like I haven’t been quite honest with you.” Severus said quietly, “Don’t interrupt me, just let me finish, yes?” You nodded and took a step back. You waited patiently for Severus to speak, he seemed to mull the words over before he was satisfied. “You asked me a while ago whether I’m this involved with all of my old student’s lives, and I think we both know the answer to that. When I returned to Malfoy Manor after I took you to The Burrow, your father took me to one side.” You eyed him suspiciously as he wet his lips before continuing, “He knew what I had done and asked for a favour.” “Of course he did.” “Shut up, I’m not finished. He asked me if would be able to keep an eye on you, he knew I had connections almost everywhere, and he wanted reports of your whereabouts. And I agreed.” You stared unblinking at Severus. “He offered monthly payments if I could tell him where you were going, what you were doing, who you were seeing etcetera.” Severus squared his shoulders and took a sip of his port. “He just wanted to know you were safe.” “So he paid you to spy on me?” “In essence, yes. I never accepted the money though.” Severus levelled, you covered your eyes with your good hand and sighed. “That’s why you let me stay in your house.” Severus nodded grimly and gestured for you to sit. You did so and chewed on your lip. You felt a multitude of emotions, not one of them good. “There is one more thing, (Y/N). That night in The Leaky Cauldron where Mundungus saw you and I for the first time. He was there on my orders.” Your mouth fell agape. No, no absolutely not, that couldn’t be. Severus couldn’t possibly have ordered the hurt that Mundungus inflicted. You stared at him again, stony faced as tears began to trickle down your cheek. “I heard you though, I followed you into the alleyway when you confronted him.” You said feebly, your lip quivered. “I know, I made sure you would hear so not to suspect me. I was annoyed at him though, that was never part of the plan. He went rogue, so to speak.”

A heavy silence descended between the pair of you. Severus, his usual staidness reduced to slumped shoulders and a guilty expression. There was a plethora of things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask him, but you couldn’t find the words. He finished his port and hobbled out of the room, your heard him enter the bathroom. You sat still, positively unable to process everything he had told you. Was there anything in your life that you held control over? When he appeared in the doorway, his face was ashen with pain and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his brow. “Do you have any cigarettes?” You asked him slowly. He nodded and pointed downstairs, you pushed passed him and retrieved them from his discarded coat. You carried the remainder of the bottle of port back with you and sat on the floor. Severus moved slowly passed you and collapsed into the chair, the evidence of his exertion etched into his face. You filled his glass with the ruby liquid and then pressed the bottle to your lips and took three deep swigs. He raised an eyebrow as if to complain but thought better of it. “Did you ever care about me, Severus? Because if it isn’t already clear, I care about you.” You pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, you threw the packet into Severus’ lap, a little harder than you intended. He winced and lit his own cigarette. “Of course I care.” You scoffed and took another swig from the bottle. “And are you going to tell him about this? My father?” You pointed to the cauldron full of Enfantin Inventim. Severus shook his head and took a sip. “No, I did this for you.” “Why should I believe you?” “You don’t have to, I suppose. I can’t force you.”

You were silent again after that, you took long drags of your cigarette until the heat became too much as it reached the filter and burned your lip. You finished off the port and dropped the stub into the now empty bottle. Severus didn’t remove his eyes from your face, as if he were waiting for you to explode. You had every right to, you could go and punch walls and kick holes in doors, but what would that achieve? “I’m trying really hard to be angry at you.” You whispered. Severus’ look of surprise almost took you off guard. “And?” “I can’t.” Severus sighed and slipped further into the chair, he finished his cigarette and beckoned for the empty bottle. He dropped the stub in slowly, his face contorted with pain as he stretched. You watched as he did his usual action of wetting his lips, his tell-tale sign that he was about to speak. “I do care about you, (Y/N). There’s a goodness in you that one doesn’t always see when they’re brought up in the circles we frequent. I’m satisfied knowing I played my part in ensuring you got out of it all. You remind me very much of somebody I knew a long time ago, someone I wished I could have done more to help, but it wasn’t within my power. This, on the other hand, was very much within my capabilities. I’m not sorry.” His face settled into a frown and you sighed with exasperation. “Fucks sake.” You muttered, you rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to Severus. You dipped your head and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You’re an arsehole.” “Believe me, (Y/N). That is one of the tamer names I have been called in my time.” He smiled ruefully and found your hand and gave it a squeeze. “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer it honestly?” You asked, you saw the faintest hint of humour flash across his eyes. “I shall try.” “Was it the Dark Lord who hurt you last night?” He looked at you thoughtfully, a smile tugged at his lips. Severus lifted his chin and placed a finger on it and brushed it over his lips. “Yes.” You didn’t quite know what to do with the information, you weren’t quite sure why you asked the question. You simply nodded and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I know what I’m doing.” “Still.” Severus shrugged, he looked to the clock on the wall and then out of the window into the night. “If you leave now, you could make it to The Burrow by midnight. Bring in Christmas with your loved ones.” He said quietly, you wondered if you saw the slightest twinge of remorse on his face. You cocked your head to the side. “You want me to go?” “I think we both know it’s time for you to, what’s the expression, ‘get your shit together.’” You snorted and threw your head back as you laughed. “You could come with me, if you like; to The Burrow?” Severus shook his head, his hands outstretched in front of him. “No thank you, I prefer my own company.” “What will you do? Will you be okay if I go?” “I have weathered much more serious casualties than this one by myself. I shall be fine. I will travel back to Hogwarts in the morning ready for my Christmas Dinner.” “Are you sure?” “Go,” Severus stated with a small smile, “Get out of my house.”

******

It was five to midnight when you knocked on the door to The Burrow. You didn’t want to just burst in, just in case they were asleep or busy with family time. Your fingers flew to your neck where the intricate choker your father had sent you sat at the base of your throat; it was a special occasion after all. You knocked again and stood back to take a look at the house. There were a few lights still on even at this late hour, you strained to hear any noises on the other side of the wood and were about to knock for a third time when the door flew open. Ginny stood in fluffy red pyjamas, wand raised and a look of shock on her face. You launched yourself at her and she you, you engulfed each other in a vice like hug. “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, “George is going to wet himself.” She led you through the house where only Molly, Ginny and Ron sat by the fireplace in the living room. Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as she struggled to get out of her chair quickly. “Oh! My dear!” She said as she tottered toward you, she pulled you close to her chest and rocked you back and forth. “I am so happy you’re here; we can finally celebrate now.” “Please don’t, you’re going to make me cry.” You said as Molly pulled away and placed a warm hand to your cheek. “Welcome home.” She whispered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

The sound of feet thundering down the rickety staircase made you jump, Ginny arrived breathlessly at the bottom and George immediately behind her dressed in his pyjamas. Your eyes met across the expanse and you opened your arms to him. He crossed to you in a flash and placed two hands on your face and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You tossed your arms around his neck, and his arms moved down your body and hugged your waist. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed. “Merry Christmas.” You breathed; a whisper of a smile played at George’s lips. “Merry Christmas.” He replied, he laced his fingers with yours and beamed at you. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Most of the snow had melted in the fields surrounding The Burrow, and you were grateful for it as George almost dragged you along a beaten path to a wooden bench under a tree, a good quarter of a mile away from the house. He pressed a hand to the seat and shrugged; “It’s not wet, just cold.” “I can handle cold.” You sat close to him on the bench, his arm around your shoulders as you both gazed up into the crisp night sky. There was something about the way the stars looked from here, like you could reach out and touch them. Lonely clouds like tiny whisps of smoke littered the sky occasionally, and you took turns in those moments where the stars weren’t visible in giving the other a kiss. “Merlin, I missed you.” George said into your hair, he stroked the side of your face with a gloved finger and you melted into his touch. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it, George, but I need to tell you something.” You replied, his gaze softened as he placed another tender kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of warmth that spread through you, you were home. He squared his shoulders and shifted slightly on the bench, so to face you more.

He listened intently whilst you told him of everything since you had last seen him. He nodded and occasionally asked the odd question like; “Was the inside of Snape’s house full of bodies?” and “God, I can’t believe you slept in his bed. Was it a coffin?” The only thing you neglected to tell him was of Severus’ attack, you didn’t know how deep the waters were that surrounded his area of his life and you didn’t feel like it was your place to share that information. When you told him of your pregnancy scare, his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched. “(Y/N),” He said sternly, “You should have told me straight away. That’s not fair.” “I know love, I feel awful about it. That’s one thing I’m truly sorry for, George. I promise not do anything like it again.” He nodded, seemingly content with that and kissed the tip of your nose. You began to tell him of the plot your father had embroiled Severus in, and George’s hands clenched into fists. “That fucking snake.” George muttered, “How are you not furious?” “Believe me, I tried to be,” You answered, “We talked about it and I decided there’s more important things to be worried about. I don’t blame him for what he did and neither should you, okay?” “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” “I’ll take it.”

When you climbed into bed that night, it was nearly two in the morning. The rest of the house was sound asleep as you and George became reacquainted. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair and you moaned quietly as he pulled softly, his mouth lathering your neck in kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed the sounds you make.” George breathed into your ear, you tipped your head back and found his mouth with yours. His hands travelled from your hair down to your hips, he pulled you close, and you felt his already hard member as it pushed against his boxers. You brought a hand down and cupped it, he hissed at the contact and bucked his hips forward. “Please let me fuck you, (Y/N). It’s been too long.” “Yes, oh, fuck yes. Do it, George.”

He wasted no time in pushing your knickers over your bum, and you wiggled frantically in an attempt to free yourself from them. He pulled his boxers down and climbed between your legs, he rubbed his cock against your folds and spat into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft for extra lubrication. When he pushed into you, you moaned together. It was like for one split second, the earth stopped. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat in your eyes as you pulled George’s head down to kiss his lips. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip, and he shuddered. He rolled his hips against yours, and you grasped onto his shoulders tightly. George pulled out almost completely, before he pushed into you again; fully sheathed inside you. He did this three more times before you cried out; “Please! I can’t take it anymore!” With a growl, George thrusted hard. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at intense pace, he lifted your legs above his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deeper within you. You gasped at the sensation of being utterly filled by him, your brow furrowed as you struggled to keep your moans quiet. He continued this pace, his cock now slick with your juices as you bit down hard on the back of your hand. He pushed back slightly and reached a hand in between your legs, parting them slightly as he began to furiously rub your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as overwhelming pulses of pleasure coursed through your veins, you moved your hips with his, suddenly desperate for release. George let your legs fall from his shoulders as he grasped your hips, moving you with ease along his throbbing cock. You groaned, as George pressed harder against your mound, drawing from you a string of curses as you trundled towards your orgasm. “Fuck, I’m going to come, George.” The surprise in your voice was palpable, the swiftness in which George was going to make you come was incredible. You panted hard against his shoulder as with a grunt, his nimble fingers rubbed you to completion, his cock hitting the delicious spot inside you. As you reached the peak of your high, George followed. He groaned as your walls tightened around him and he spilled his seed deep into your quim. “Sorry,” George breathed, “I couldn’t hold on any longer.” You smiled and kissed him, it was tender and held every ounce of love you had for him. He deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue around with yours as his hand cupped your breast. “I’m going to fuck you so hard as soon as we get to the flat, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Georgie.” You smirked, he tweaked your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth close to your ear, his voice deathly low. “I’m going to make you come, over and over again. You’re going to beg me to stop. Then I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you the way you ought to be fucked. Rough and hard because naughty girls don’t get fucked nicely.”

Your skin flushed with heat as he nibbled at your earlobe, desire already building between your legs. You cast a look to George, who looked about two seconds away from falling asleep and giggled. “Do you want to be the little spoon?” You asked, he didn’t answer, instead he rolled his body away from you and faced the wall. He pushed his bum out and you gave it a playful slap. “Don’t get any ideas.” He muttered and you grinned as you wrapped your arm around his middle. He laced his fingers with yours and hummed contentedly as the room gave way to the quiet of the house. “I’m so happy you came back.” George whispered; his voice heavy with tiredness. “Me too. I love you.” You replied with a yawn. “Love you too.”

George complained the entire way back to the flat. He had insisted on carrying your bags plus gifts you had received over Christmas, including but limited to; a lovely scarf Molly had painstakingly kitted for you and a hilariously ruffled gilet for George. You couldn’t help but grin consistently as you walked ahead of him up the back stairs to the entrance of the flat, his hat had slipped over his eyes and he lost his footing. Your suitcase lurched backwards, it manged to bump comically every step before it lay still at the bottom of the stairs. “Right!” George announced, he dropped the rest of the bags and grabbed hold of your hips. You yelped in surprise as George hoisted you over his shoulder, fireman style and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. He near enough kicked the front door open and moved swiftly through the flat and into your shared bedroom, he ignored your giggled protestations and flung you down onto the bed. He was on top of you in an instant, his knee pushed your legs apart and his mouth descended onto your throat. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin and began undoing the buttons of your coat. “Off.” He ordered as he opened your coat and tugged at the bottom of your jumper. Dutifully, you sat up and removed the offending items of clothing. His gaze was ravenous as he watched as you tucked your hair behind your ears and waited for further instructions. George’s gaze flashed down to your breasts. “Off.” He repeated. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as George removed his own coat and shirt, his hands moved to his belt and he slipped both his jeans and boxers from his body, his already hard cock sprung against his stomach as you followed suit. You threw your jeans across the room and your knickers next.

“So beautiful,” George commented as he ran a featherlight touch across your cheek. “Such a good girl.” You melted into George’s ghost like touch and shuddered. You kept your eyes on him as he brought a hand down to his cock and rubbed along the length slowly. “Touch yourself, (Y/N) I want to see you make yourself come.” Your eyes widened with shock for a moment before a smile crept across your mouth and you brought your hands to your breasts. Was it a show he was after? Then a show he would get. You placed your fingers on each of your hardened nipples and tugged slightly, your lips parted slightly at the sensation. You heard George as he took a sharp intake of breath as he gripped the head of his cock. You trailed one hand slowly down your body and shuffled down the bed as you lay your shoulders back onto the covers. You reached your throbbing cunt and spread your legs wide for George to see, he moaned as you brought your fingers over your clit and rubbed a sweeping circle of it. “That’s it,” George moaned, “Let me see you- oh! Good girl.” You watched as George began to pump himself faster, your name fell from his lips as you plunged two fingers between your slick folds. You matched George’s pace as you fucked yourself with your fingers, you closed your eyes and fisted the sheets with your free hand. Pleasure built within you as with each pulse of your fingers, you found your sweet spot. “Come quickly, (Y/N). I want to see how fast you can come.”

You took your fingers out of your entrance and brought them now coated in your juices and recommenced the rubbing of your clit. You moaned as you rubbed tantalisingly quick circles on the electrified pearl between your legs. Your toes curled as you felt your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach, you moaned, and George answered it with a moan of his own. Your hips bucked from the bed as you pressed harder with each swipe of your fingers until you came, it was fantastically intense and your voice, thick with desire called out for George. “Come here.” He demanded once you had recovered. His cock was impossibly hard and almost screamed for attention as you crawled slowly over to where he sat. George placed a hand on your head as you took him in your mouth, you placed a tender kiss to the tip and licked the little drops of precum that had gathered there. He sighed as you pushed your lips down the length of hi and relaxed your throat, allowing him a small thrust. His gentle hand became a fist in your hair as he pulled you back, almost pulling you away from his cock; but your hand reached around the base of him and began to pump him. Your tongue swirled around his tip and George’s head rolled back as you wrapped your lips around him and swallowed. You found a rhythm and George’s hand on your head helped you keep time; you could see the muscles in his thighs tense as you hummed around him. “Fuck. That feels good. Such a good girl.”

At George’s praise, you sucked him faster, hollowing your cheeks and your grip around his shaft tightened. George’s hips began to lift off the bed as he thrust into your mouth. There was nothing you loved more in this world than to feel this man come undone under your hand, you moaned against him and he slid further into your throat. That was enough for George, who parted with four thick spurts with a cry of pleasure. You swallowed it up and wiped your mouth, you pulled away and gently massaged your aching jaw. You watched the rise and fall of George’s chest as he recovered from his orgasm, arm slung over his eyes. “I love you.” You whispered, you felt tears sting your eyes and you sniffed. George sat up and looked at you, his face etched with concern. “I love you too, what’s the matter?” He asked, he pulled you close and bundled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzled your face against his neck. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just so happy.” George chuckled and hugged you tighter, you popped a leg over his and hummed as happy tears fell from your eyes. “Me too.”

**********

“No, those need to go to the stockroom, Fred. I’m not having them cluttering up the flat. There’s already zero room in here as it is.” You gestured around you to the boxes of stock that stood tall in your tiny living room. “Right, and I’m telling you there’s nowhere to put them. We need more space.” Fred sighed and placed the box full of love potions on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Angelina appeared from behind a tower of boxes, her face aghast as Fred opened his arms to her. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “We’re drowning in all this.” She said, you shook her head at you; a silent communication that the boys had finally lost the plot. “What do we need to do?” George called from the doorway, he levitated three coffee’s behind him as he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. You grinned as he rushed to you, he presented the flowers to you and you sniffed them gratefully. Roses, lily’s and daisies. Your favourite. “They’re beautiful, George! Thank you!” You placed a loving kiss to his cheek and traced a lily petal delicately with your finger as George put the champagne in the fridge. “Congratulations my love! And happy second anniversary.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “This mine?” Angelina asked, she pointed at one of the three coffees suspended behind George’s shoulder. “Oh yeah sorry, Ange. This one’s yours love.” George smiled and dished the coffees out; Angelina gave George a warm smile of thanks as you sipped happily. “Where’s mine?” Fred demanded; George patted his pockets sarcastically. “You weren’t here, mate.” He shrugged, Fred huffed and turned his attention to you. “Congratulations I suppose, (Y/N). Still think you’re wasting your time being a Healer.” Fred said, Angelina wasted no time smacking his stomach. “You think I’m wasting my time being a Healer…as we’re about to go into war?” You said, despite the seriousness of your words, a smile tugged at your lips as you knew Fred was just sorry to lose you from the shop. You had spent the last year and a half revising your arse off to be fast-tracked through the training programme. It was the only way you could think of to give back an inch of the kindness you had received. You had received your lime green robes this morning, an immensely proud moment indeed. “All I’m saying is, you could have been junior assistant manager. I had the badge made for you and everything.” “Ignore him, (Y/N).” Angelina said as she rolled her eyes, “We’re all really proud of you. Well done, babe.” You handed George the flowers and tossed your arms around Angelina’s neck for a hug. “Thank you, Ange. What did I ever do without you to help reign dear Freddie in?” You laughed and she laughed with you. “Think there’s anyway we can back out, Georgie?” Fred whispered dramatically to George who just grinned ruefully. “Not a chance.” “Too fucking right. You’re stuck with us now.” Angelina replied, an arm slung round your shoulders. “We still need to work out what to do with these boxes.” “There’s no room for them in here.” George offered, he waved his wand over your flowers and they arranged themselves beautifully in a vase. “No,” Angelina agreed, “I think we all know this flat isn’t big enough for four people, couples or not.” You nodded and made your way back to George, he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter and you settled between his legs. “What are you thinking?” Fred asked his girlfriend; Angelina shrugged and sipped her coffee. “We were thinking,” You replied, “Turning this upstairs flat into a staff room and overflow stockroom. You’re selling so much, so obviously have to have the stock to sell. There just isn’t room for us in here anymore. Plus, I’m pretty sure the staff would love to be able to come up here and have an actual cup of tea on their breaks.” “We think we should move.” Angelia said, “Separately.” She added softly. George’s hand stiffened around your waist. You wished that Angelina had waited a day or two before dropping the bombshell, but the pair you had spent the last month speaking of little else. You and George needed your own space, and Fred and Angelina needed theirs as much. “You want us to move away from each other?” Fred asked incredulously, you offered him a small smile. “Not exactly.”

**********

The portkey dropped you in the middle of a field. You were on your lunch break and only had half an hour before you needed to be back at St. Mungo’s. George looked stressed as he straightened his tie, you could tell he was nervous. You took his clammy hand in yours and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?” “Yeah,” He replied in a strained voice. “It’s just a lot of money to part with.” You sighed and dragged him in the direction of Fred and Angelina who stood waving at you. You approached them with hello’s and hugs and waited. “What time’s he meant to be coming?” Fred asked as he checked his watch, you followed suit and checked the upturned watch pinned to your robes. Only twenty minutes left. “Any minute now.” Angelina asked. You all looked in opposite directions, scouring the grassy horizons for any sight of the man in question. What you didn’t expect, was for him to surprise you from behind. “You can never expect a group of Gryffindor’s to be on time.” You felt a grin widen across your face as you saw Severus fold his arms across his chest. “Excuse me, I’m one of yours.” You replied, he shook your hand rather formally but gave you a brief wink as he dropped two sets of keys into George’s hand. “Is it all sorted?” George asked the potions master, Severus nodded. “Yes, I watched them as they signed the paperwork this morning. All in your names now, though I don’t see why you had to have me do it. I’m very busy.” “Because I don’t trust anybody else.” You countered, “I needed to be one-hundred-percent sure my parents wouldn’t try any funny business.” “They were quite happy to get rid of these cottages if you ask me. They have no need for them anymore, especially given that they’ve sold the house in Rouen.” Severus said, he looked up at the old stone walls of the two cottages. “The price of war, I suppose.” Fred quipped; Severus cocked an eyebrow but ultimately smirked in agreement. You broke away from George and the others and placed your arm through Severus’, wandering a few steps. “Thank you again, I really appreciate that.” You whispered; your heads close together. Severus placed a hand on top of yours and patted it softly. “Are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? It’s my only day off this week.” “Are you cooking?” “No, George is.” “Yes, I shall arrive at twelve.”

You waved as Severus made off into the distance, when there was no longer any sight of him. Angelina turned to you, and then back out to the cottages. A pair of great stone cottages with an adjoining garden stood before you. That had been built hundreds of years ago by twin farmers who tended the surrounding fields. They were acquired by your parents in the sixties; and now were to make new homes for you and George, Fred and Angelina. It was fitting really that another pair of twins would live in them all those years later, making new memories. “How long have you got before you need to be back at the hospital?” George whispered into your ear. You glanced down at your watch. “Fifteen minutes.” “Plenty of time.” He breathed, George grabbed your hand and dragged you laughing towards the front door of your cottage. The door slammed behind you as he placed a hungry kiss to your lips. His hands where everywhere at once, slipping your robes over your head and grunting in your ear. “This is our house, (Y/N). I want to hear how loud you can be.”

Of course, you complied; you wanted everybody to know that you were his, forever.

#george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x reader #severus snape #Pansy Parkinson #Ginny Weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #nobody can know #godrics-swallow #fred weasley

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geekeryandsentiment · 4 years

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I remember you telling us, you know quite a bit about all the kiddo’s rooms. Can you describe them for us? And why did Liz wanna rearrange her room? (as mentioned in the silent treatment) Also, You had mentioned chalkboard paint once, and I found that idea so cool😍

Hey there! You send this in about four years ago and I just didn’t have the time to answer when you sent it in and then idk, I just got lazy and let it sit in my inbox for a while...however, here’s your answer, sorry about that. This one is below the cut and I’m warning you it’s loooooong. Sorry lol, I got a lot carried away. I hope it was worth the wait lol. Sorry again.

Before I forget...Lizzie just wanted to rearrange things. Sometimes moving the direction the furniture is facing can help spice things up a bit. If i remember correctly she was 11/12ish during the silent treatment and around that age Arthur pulled out his old desk from storage and put it in her room, so possibly she thought of a better way to rearrange her furniture to put that desk in the place she wanted it?

Liam’s room is like his happy space. There is no theme or reason to anything. It’s all completely random. He’s still got posters and trinkets from his first year attending school and even before that. Alby’s art is plastered on his walls and he has old birthday cards and little notes that he and Alex used to pass back and forth in lessons tacked up on his walls as well. He has repainted it 4ish times since he was eleven and his parents repainted one of the other rooms (the one that would eventually become Alby’s room) and he decided it looked fun and wanted to try it. One time, when he was sixteen, he endured his room being pink for almost three months over the summer because Elizabeth dared him to do it when he was discussing possible color changes and he didn’t have anything else to do that next day (and has absolutely nothing against the color pink) so decided to take everything off his walls and paint them pink just to show her that he would. His room is currently green and the wall that had chalkboard paint on it is accented a darker brown (the green did NOT properly cover up the chalkboard with only two coats and he didn’t have any more green so he had to improvise). For several years he had a whole wall of chalkboard paint (the around his door) and he and Alex were entertained by that for many many hours in their preteen years. He is the only one of the kiddos to have a TV in his room. He didn’t get it until he was thirteen and he had to practically trade away his soul to convince Waverly to allow it, but he and Alex also had a lot of fun playing video games on that throughout the years. He has Theo’s old room, and Theo is very crafty with his hands. When he was younger he installed bookcases into the same wall his two windows are on, so William has bookcases surrounding his two windows that go from his ceiling to his floor. They are covered in books, some of which he will never read but owns anyway simply because he likes the cover and think they look cool. The other furniture in his room doesn’t match all all. Like at all. For the most part that is because he has broken a lot of the pieces that used to match and instead of doing what Waverly wanted to do and reordering the pieces or even picking something that matches the remaining stuff, Liam just picked out things he liked as replacements, even if they clashed with the other things in his room already.

Alex’s room is a bit more themed and put together, but it’s also always messy. It’s not dirty. It’s regularly cleaned and he makes his bed every morning (and if he dared leave food wrappers or any food in his room Waverly would have his head) but it’s cluttered most of the time. He doesn’t really mind if things are on the floor or if his desk is stacked three feet high with different files and textbooks and Lord knows what else. He knows where everything is. He manages to stay ahead with his schoolwork and keep everything straight, so Arthur and Waverly don’t hound him too often to make sure his room is as neat as they would like. His room is pretty typical. It’s painted a dark, navy blue and he has a whole lot of red (his curtains and bed sheets) and grey (his comforter and bean bag) accents. He does have a giant beanbag in the back corner behind his bed that Alby loves to fall asleep in sometimes, though. His bedroom used to belong to Beatrice when she lived in the palace when Arthur was younger, but her pink walls were painted over when he was about one years old and Arthur and Waverly decided to stick him in the room beside William’s. It’s nothing too fancy. William’s room is definitely far more interesting with the built in bookshelves (and wait until you hear about Lizzie’s room...🤭) but it’s his home. That’s his safe space. When he feels like the whole world is against him, the only place he wants to be besides maybe on his piano bench, is his own bedroom.

Elizabeth’s room has changed colors a few times throughout the years too, but it’s stayed purple, just different shades. Her room is across the hall from Liam and Alex’s and on the same side of the quarters as the sitting room, meaning her windows overlook the palace gardens. She has a large, three window set up with a small cushioned seating area that extends out from the wall a little bit. When she was younger she had a few cushions and a mattress pad there and her and Alex would have sleepovers in her room all the time. They would look up at the stars and she would try to point out constellations. Now, that mattress pad is used every once in a while for Alby if he wants to spend the night in her room, but more often it’s tucked away and she just uses the area to sit on her laptop or read. In the corner she has a large corner desk with a desktop computer with two monitors. She doesn’t have a TV, and she doesn’t really need one because she has a pretty sweet set up there. Her desk belonged to Arthur when he was younger (no, none of the children are in his old bedroom. Too many unhappy memories. That’s used as a guest bedroom now, and only if there are too many guest to fill up the other two rooms) and still has his initials carved into the corner from when he got bored and engraved them one day when he was about twelve with an old key he found. Her room is more themed than Liam’s, her furniture matches, even Arthur’s desk fits in really well with the other black pieces, but there isn’t really a color scheme or anything. Lizzie doesn’t really care about that. She just fills it with things she likes. Oh, she also has a blacklight in her room and an epic solar system hanging from her ceiling as well as markers that she can draw all over that massive window with. When she was home full time it used to be schedules and count downs until special dates and to do lists. Now it’s not quite as busy as it used to be and more often than not the windows can actually be seen out of because they aren’t covered in marker...but every once in a while she’ll feel a sudden urge to draw on them again and fill them with chemistry or math or biology...or even music.

Alby’s room is stand alone and surprisingly the farthest away from Arthur and Waverly’s because he was born last. He is on the same side of the hall as Lizzie, but he does not have the room connected to hers. He’s actually one more down. ((Oh, this is actually relevant so let me talk about it for a moment...The room that is connected to Lizzie’s is currently used as a lab or sorts for her. She has all kinds of old technology in it that she tinkers with a lot, it’s pretty empty and none of the others are jealous that she has the extra room or anything. They do call it Lizzie’s “lab” though sometimes, and there is a proper key to it that she has and she regularly locks it when she doesn’t want Alby to go in and touch anything she’s working on.)) His room is still really kid-ish. He has toys and a little chair that hangs from his ceiling that he can sit in when he reads. His room doesn’t have the same bay window that Lizzie’s does. He doesn’t spend a lot of time in his room. He’s almost always in one of his siblings’ rooms or he’s lugged a handful of toys down to the sitting room/Arthur’s study/wherever someone else is to sit and quietly play near them. He doesn’t really like to be alone, and his room reflects that. There isn’t a lot of personalized things in his room, instead he likes to leave an impression on the other rooms of the house (leaving drawings on the walls in Liam’s room, pictures on Lizzie’s windows when she lets him use her markers, and leaving stuffed animals and small toys on the shelf where Alex’s stuffed crocodile spends his lonely days now that he’s a teenager and he doesn’t play with him anymore). No one seems to mind, in fact, William regularly tells him when he’s away at school that he wants a whole new set of pictures hanging in his room for him when he gets home to help keep the baby busy. Alby has his own shelf full of books that has slowly started to overflow as his siblings slowly hand the boy more and more books to read. His favorite toy when he was younger, and to this day, is trains. He looooooves trains. So if his room has any theme in the chaos it’s definitely trains. He has those stickers on his walls of little cartoon trains and he almost always has some giant town built with the little wooden train sets across the back half of his room on the floor. His parents gave up trying to make him clean those up every night a long time ago. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting, especially when one little town of his creation could keep him occupied for days.

I don’t know if you meant Elaina too but you’re going to get her because I’m on a roll at this point, lol. Elaina’s room is...well kind of boring. And she hasn’t had too much freedom to change anything either which kind of stinks. She has Brielle’s old room and it is exactly how you would expect a princess’s room to look. Light baby pink walls. Her furniture is white. It’s adorable. She HATES it. I mean, I shouldn’t say it like that, it’s her room and she likes it because it’s her space. But she doesn’t like how it looks. She doesn’t really like how it looks like a nursery (because it kind of does) but her parents aren’t really feeling the whole re-painting thing and her furniture belonged to her grandmother and so it’s staying in the family and she can’t get rid of that either. She really loves all three of the English kids’ rooms. They all are a little darker and the paint and the colors are cooler and not as bright and blinding as her pink and white. She is just a touch jealous that despite Arthur and Waverly’s dictaror-ish tendencies, they let their kids decorate their rooms how they want. She’s an artist, as you all know and she loves to sketch and paint and draw. At one point when she was about 11 or 12, I forget exactly but it’s written so perhaps I could share it one day, she used a sketching pencil to draw this really pretty floral design down the side of her nightstand and her parents saw it and lost their shit (old family antiques are not for drawing on, Elaina. You know better!). She hasn’t dared try to do that again, but she’s also always wanted to get all new white furniture and paint over it and cover it in her own drawings. One day she promises herself that she will. In the meantime, she has one single poorly shaded drawing on her nightstand that she managed to convince her parents to let her keep and not erase.

That was a LOT. However...sprinkled in there is a few really relevant pieces of information. The story arch I am currently working on directly involves some of this information and you know how my brain is...I can’t think of anything without figuring it out for everyone...so you’ll see some of this brought up in the actual story again too, eventually.

#my writing #alex #Liam #alby #lizzie #elaina #aaaaaand now I'm going to bed #Feel free to send in more questions any time #I apologize if it takes me literal weeks to get to it #bedrooms

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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848

Around the House (#4)

Bathroom(s) 1. How many bathrooms are in your house? How many are full and how many are half? We have two, one that’s mainly a guest bathroom downstairs and a main one upstairs for us. They’re both...full bathrooms I guess? Hahaha we don’t really use those terms but our bathrooms are very identical-looking and have the same features. 2. Do you have more than one window in your bathroom? Yeah, each have two. 3. What is/are the wall color(s) of this/these rooms? Light turquoise downstairs, peach upstairs.

4. Does/Do the/these room(s) have hardwood flooring or carpeting? An area rug, perhaps? Linoleum? Both have tile flooring, but we have a rug in each too. 5. What type(s) of lighting fixtures are in this/these rooms? (wall lamps, table lamps, freestanding lamps, or ceiling lamp/fan) Just lightbulbs at the ceiling.

6. Do you have cabinets above or below the sink? The guest bathroom is rather bare because we barely entertain visitors. In the upstairs bathroom, we don’t have a cabinet but we have a couple of racks up on the wall instead that hold everything that would’ve gone inside a cabinet. 7. Do you have a cabinet above the toilet? That’s the above mentioned racks, yes. 8. Do any of your bathrooms have more than one sink? Nope, each just have one. 9. Do you have a bidet in any of your bathrooms? Both bathrooms have one. The guest bathroom used to not have a bidet, but since our family has been spending more and more time downstairs we eventually got my dad to put a bidet there too. 10. Is your linen closet inside your bathroom, or is it in the hallway? Not sure if I’m answering this question right but all blankets, bedsheets, etc. are kept in a certain cabinet in the master bedroom. 11. Do you have any cleaning supplies in your bathroom, or is there a separate utility closet for these items? Yes, they’re in the bathroom. But we also have a separate cabinet for the rest of the cleaning supplies because like I said, my mom is a little bonkers about keeping the house tidy. 12. Do you have anything on the walls of your bathroom? The racks I mentioned, and a mirror. 13. Do you have a full-length mirror on your bathroom door? No, we don’t. 14. Do you have any decorations/items on the back of your toilet? What are they? We have a toilet lid cover. 15. What is on your bathroom countertop? Toothbrushes, toothpastes, and some of my siblings’ face products. 16. Do you do your makeup in the bathroom or in your bedroom? How about getting dressed? I don’t wear makeup. 17. What color is your trash can? Brown upstairs, black downstairs. 18. What is one unique thing you have in your bathroom that hasn’t been mentioned yet? Welp we’re currently using the downstairs bathroom as a potty training area for Cooper. No one ever takes a bath in there so the shower area has since shifted to be a place for him to do his business in, and he’s doing amazing so far :D We’d take him outside but 1) we don’t have a gate, and 2) his digestive system’s not 100% yet and we don’t wanna make it worse by taking him outside where all sorts of tiny creepy crawlies hang out. Bedroom(s) 1. How many bedrooms are there in your house? Are they all currently being used as bedrooms, though? Three, but we turned it into four after we made our balcony into my brother’s room – so that’s mine, my sister’s, my brother’s, and my parents’. Yes, they’re all bedrooms but they’ll probably turn my room into something else once I move out, probably a little movie room. I know for sure my dad’s already got a few ideas haha. 2. What is/are the wall color(s) of this/these rooms? Three of the rooms have white walls, though my parents’ room was green before. The only different-colored walls are in my brother’s room; we couldn’t exactly build up new walls since it used to be the balcony so he mostly has windows around his room. We did retain the lower half of the balcony’s wall which is light cream, same as the outside of the house. 3. Does/Do the/these room(s) have hardwood flooring or carpeting? An area rug, perhaps? Linoleum? Everything is hardwood upstairs. My parents’ room has a rug. 4. What type(s) of lighting fixtures are in this/these rooms? (wall lamps, table lamps, freestanding lamps, or ceiling lamp/fan) Just ceiling lights for all. My parents have wall lamps above their bed, while I think my sister has a night light because she doesn’t like the dark too much. 5. What size bed do you have? What size parents do your parents have? (if you still reside with them) Siblings’ beds? My sister and I have twinbeds, but because my brother’s room is considerably larger than ours my parents opted to get him a queen bed because a twin would look too tiny in his room. My parents have a king bed. 6. Do you have any prints or wall decorations up? I have Audrey Hepburn wall decors on one side. On another section of my room I have a poster of Nam Joo Hyuk up (still, haha) and various paintings that Gabie made and bought for me. 7. Do you have a string of lights somewhere in your room? Nope. I wanted those before but I think it’d be too pressing on our electricity bill and I’d rather be practical for my parents’ benefit.

8. Do you have a desk in your room? What’s on it? Nah. Okay, story time! It sucks because when we first moved in this house, we did so with the intention that my sister and I would be sharing a room. As someone who shared a room with my family of 5 in our old house, I didn’t want that shit. I wanted my own room. So I called dibs on what was supposed to be my brother’s room instead, thinking that my younger sibs could be the ones to share a room instead.

Thing was, my 10 year old self could not tell that my brother’s room is actually the smallest one in the house. But I didn’t care about that then; I just wanted my own room. Fast forward to my high school and college years, I started to regret that dumb dibs I made because I couldn’t even have a desk in my own room. Eventually I realized that it was okay, because I feel like I’d fall asleep if I studied in my room haha. I do all my work at the dining room table and it’s worked out very well for me. 9. Do you/did you ever have to share a bedroom with someone else? At some point in high school when my brother was starting to grow bigger, my parents said to switch rooms, which meant that I’d have to share a room with my sister – which was the original plan lol. My sister hated it, I hated it, we all hated the new set-up. We shared a room for like a week, tops. So my parents just completely turned the balcony into a bedroom so that us kids could each have our own room. 10. Do you have a nightstand? What’s on it/in it? I have a bedside drawer and I just use the top of it as my ~nightstand. It has quite a lot of knickknacks – old chargers and wires, an artwork my sister made, high school grad photos of my friends, some DVDs, my wallet, and what was supposed to be my graduation sash. My memory jars for Gab and I which include receipts, old letters, etc. are also there.

11. Do you have a vanity or a mirror in your bedroom? Yes. 12. Do you have a clock in your bedroom, even if you just use your phone as an alarm? Yep, still do. Barely look at it now though lol. 13. Do you have a calendar in your bedroom? Nopes. That’s in my phone now. 14. Is your bedroom neat or messy? How often do you clean it? Oh it’s definitely neat. My mom inspects each room on a daily basis. It internally drives me bonkers but it’s just a tiny adjustment I have to go with so she doesn’t yell at me. Plus it’s much more relaxing to enter a tidy room anyway. 15. Do you make your bed on a daily basis? Not always. Sometimes I’ll feel too lazy folding up my blanket, which is quite large. 16. How many windows are in your bedroom(s)? What sorts of coverings do they have? Two. I dunno what you technically call it but it’s like a pull-down window shade thing. 17. Do you have a bookshelf in your room? Approximately how many books do you own? Nah. Again, it’s that issue of accidentally picking out the smallest room in the house lol. I’ve had to maximize the tiny space I’ve got so my books are grouped in various places...on top of my closet, in the lowest section of my closet, in my bedside storage chest, in one of my drawers, etc. I probably own like 50-60 or so. 18. How many dressers do you have in your room? One. 19. Is your closet “regular” sized, or is it a walk-in? It’s just regular sized. 20. What kinds of things do you do in your bedroom? [trigger warning] I go there mostly to sleep, but during considerably bad breakdowns my room turns into a depression hole. No exaggeration. I’ll go there to cry, starve myself, harm myself, stare at the ceiling or wall for hours, etc. That’s why I don’t really like staying in my room if I’m happy or just not necessarily sad. I’ve associated it too much with negative energy. 21. Do you have any photographs/pictures anywhere in your bedroom? Yeah I have photos of friends on my bedside drawer and I’m sure I have more of them kept in various places. 22. What’s under your bed right now? I have storage boxes for all the collections I used to have when I was still a fangirl haha so inside those boxes are all my WWE and PWI magazines; the WWF magazines my old friend Ellud gave me; various ~fancy~ magazines like Vanity Fair, Vogue, Elle, Harper’s Bazaar, etc. where Kristen Stewart or Beyoncé were in the cover, my old issues of K-Zone, etc. 23. Is your hamper overflowing? Do you need to do laundry? No, not at the moment. 24. Do you have anything in your bedroom that you wouldn’t want your parents finding? (even as an adult, if they came over) Honestly my room is already swarming and glaring with hints that I AM IN A SAME-SEX RELATIONSHIP. YOU CAN’T MISS THEM. But they never ask lol. At first I tried to hide the flowers, Post-Its, etc., but then that got boring so I tried to test them through the years by bringing more stuff out for the naked eye to see. They still haven’t asked.

25. What does your comforter look like? How many pillows/blankets do you sleep with? Right now it’s plain royal blue. I have two white pillows and a duvet. 26. Do you have a trash can in this room? Nope, my mom prefers we throw all trash in the bathroom. 27. What is one unique thing in your bedroom that hasn’t been mentioned yet? I used to have this ~artwork that I had made myself put on the wall. It was a quote CM Punk said and each letter was cut from pages from my old magazines. I knew my mom never liked it from day one, and she was never supportive of it, and she ultimately took it down like a year later while I was in school. She had no idea that the quote served as my motivaton to keep going, so it was such a fucking downer. Plus, it was the one time I got really creative??? So for her to put the whole thing down really hurt me because I was actually proud of something I made. I didn’t bother crying about it anymore because she would’ve just told me that my work wasn’t pretty anyway, and that I shouldn’t be so sensitive. For those wondering, the quote is, “"There isn't a person on this planet that should let a past nightmare dictate their future dreams.” [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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violetsmoak · 4 years

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Pieces of April [11/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro. Jason and Isabel Ardila

First Chapter

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As expected, Jason doesn’t sleep that night.

His eyes remain trained on the ceiling of the guestroom while his subconscious drags him along a tilt-a-whirl of anxious and circular thoughts. He can barely process what they are with how fast they manifest and vanish again to be replaced with new ones. And before he’s really aware of it, the sun is streaming through the window that he forgot to pull the shades over, and he hears movement outside the room.

Figuring he might as well get up, he heaves himself out of bed and ambles down the stairs, skirting the piles of baby supplies he somehow forgot about while drowning in his night of circular thinking.

Tim is standing in his kitchen doing up his tie, nodding and humming with a frown on his face. Jason’s about to ask until he notices the hands-free earpiece in one ear. That could be either for work or to cover the Bat-issue comm; he probably has the latter plugged in permanently the same way Bruce does.

Tim notices him, and his mouth quirks upward in a not-quite smile of greeting.

“I’ll be in shortly, Lucius,” he says distantly. “We can discuss it before the meeting.” He taps the earpiece, hanging up, and then addresses Jason. “Good morning. You look like shit.”

“It’s the ‘I-didn't-sleep’ chic, which you should recognize since you invented it.”

“You’re just jealous you can’t make it look as good as I can,” Tim quips, and maybe if Jason were well-rested, he’d have a better retort for that. Instead, he narrows his eyes to study the younger man.

Tim Drake is polished and put-together, the epitome of perfect Wayne heir. Damian might throw around the words ‘blood son’ at every opportunity, and Dickie might be the first and favorite son, but Tim’s the one actually carrying on the Wayne legacy. From what Jason’s heard, he does it better than Bruce ever did.

Goddamn workaholic. And that suit probably costs more than rent for one of my legal apartments.

“I’m heading out,” Tim announces needlessly, taking a sip of what must be coffee from a travel mug. “I’ll try to get home before four o’clock, but it really depends on how much work Lucius decides to pile on while I’m still in town.”

“Because it sure as hell won’t get done if B is the only one around,” Jason agrees, earning a sharp grin in reply.

“Exactly.”

And there’s the cocky little bastard Jason’s been waiting to re-emerge after a day of being hidden by the scarily competent functioning adult façade.

“Feel free to stick around here and play the game system or raid the fridge or whatever. It’s up to you. The security system’s biometric, but I can give you an override code—” Noticing Jason’s disgusted and somewhat insulted look, he huffs, “Or not. Whatever. You’ll figure it out.”

He leaves without saying anything else, and suddenly Jason is well and truly alone for the first time since waking up on the anniversary of his death with his only thought being to get black-out drunk.

Funny how much twenty-four hours can change.

Except it’s really not.

Jason doesn’t want to spend another day thinking over all of his problems and the infinite possibilities of how the situation can become even more screwed up or confusing, so he busies himself with breaking into Tim’s hideout.

That occupies him for a little while, figuring out the security codes to the false wall and then to the locks on his computer system. He spends the morning wandering around, getting to know the frankly sweet set-up of the place, testing out the training room and looking under the hood of the cars in the garage.

Wonder if Timbers would help me outfit my bunker.

He’s been squatting in an old subbasement beneath GCPD headquarters for a few weeks now; the place was cut off from the main building during the Cataclysm a few years back and for whatever reason, everyone seems to believe it was caved in beyond repair.

Jason’s cleaned the place out and set up his own operation, but it doesn’t have the tech or necessities of an actual Cave. Which, frankly, isn’t fair, since everyone else has their own Batman-free getaway to hide in when the old man gets in one of his moods. Hell, even the new kid has a place beneath the Fox center.

As soon as the thought enters his mind, Jason scowls.

What the hell am I thinking?

None of this is even going to matter for a while anyway, now that he’s about to be benched. Might as well say goodbye to the state-of-the-art vigilante tech now and spare himself the disappointment.

He leaves the Nest (was Drake born without the ability to be original or something?) and returns to the living area, examining the place with a more critical eye this time around.

He still ignores looking at the pile of baby supplies.

Jason’s first impression the day before was of a barely lived in space, meant to show any would-be-intruders how a normal local celebrity might live. He learns he was only half-right when he spies smaller, more personal touches in the décor as he wanders through the house. There are photographs arranged along most of the walls, which on first glance he assumed were the kind you picked up at Ikea to make a place look classy, but he realizes as he studies the black-and-white images that they are shots of various locations in Gotham.

Locations a normal person can’t actually get to.

Which means Tim must have taken them himself; it’s just innocuous enough that a regular visitor would only admire the clarity of the shot. To someone like Jason, it’s impressive for completely different reasons; not least of all the danger inherent in achieving just that right angle. Two pictures he knows could only have been taken by hanging one-handed off a Gotham Trade Centre gargoyle.

The whole thing says more about Tim’s personality than any human detritus or strewn personal belongings could.

Though he does have those, too.

The shelf beside the television has a copy of what might be every video game known to man, across three different platforms. The study is filled with vintage board games and robot figurines and piles of tech magazines. Everything is scary neat—the professional, unnatural Stepford kind of neat that speaks of someone paid to clean it—with the exception of Tim’s bedroom. Jason pokes his head in there for like a second before shuddering and walking away from it.

How has Alfred not murdered you yet, kid?

Back downstairs, he studies the faux mantle above the electric fireplace where he sees artfully placed personal pictures of other recognizable personages. Tim with his Kryptonian and speedster friends, then him along with his generation of Titans. There’s one of him as a child with two people Jason assumes are his parents at a high society event of some sort, as well as a wedding photo of him much older; the man beside him is the same, but the woman in the veil is different. Stepmother, probably.

Jason pauses to smirk at the one of Tim and Dick on a beach somewhere, both ridiculously sunburned; it’s in the same folding frame as one with them both sitting beside Bruce on a beach chair. The older man is asleep, or at least pretending very well, and they’ve used sunscreen to write ‘I hate this place’ on his chest. Alfred obviously took that one.

The family butler is in the next image, standing beside the entry stairway of the manor with a thoughtful expression on his face. It’s so clearly staged to seem as distinguished as possible.

Guess Alf never did get over his dislike of having candid pictures of him taken.

Moving on, there’s a four-strip photo of Tim and Blondie stuck in the frame of a larger one with all three Batgirls past and present in what he supposes is Barbie’s apartment, with them trying to show Cass how to make a duck face. Beside it, one of Tim and the Thomas kid arguing over what looks to be a disemboweled computer; judging by the thumb shape in the corner it was taken sneakily and probably by Dick. Hell, there’s even one of the demon brat there, conked out on a couch in Bruce’s study with a black and white cat curled up on his chest.

Family’s all here, he thinks with a grim sort of humor. All except yours truly.

He’s not sure if he would have expected different, given his and Tim’s relationship. They might partner on occasion, and he works better with Tim than any of the other Bats he sometimes teams up with, but it’s not like they’re actually close. He doesn’t go out of his way to spend time with him outside of the mask, and then there’s a chasm of tense history between them.

He’d actually be surprised if—

Something catches his eye as he turns away from the fireplace, if only because next to all the gleaming frames its’ ordinariness makes it stick out. There’s a faded paper propped up against the wall behind a decorative clock, and when Jason reaches to pick it up and examine it, he finds himself staring down at his own grinning face.

Sort of.

It’s him from years ago.

The Jason Todd before Bruce stopped trusting him; before finding out his entire life had been a lie and before the Joker destroyed him. And it’s not so much a picture as a clipping from a newspaper.

Little Jason grins up at the photographer, missing his right canine and the same side of his face slightly puffy. Jason vaguely remembers the fight with Two-Face the night before, faster than he recalls sitting for this photo. He’s wearing a school uniform, can now recall the harried little man asking if he was sure he didn’t want to wait for picture retakes so they could get a picture when his face wasn’t bruised (“Bruce tried to teach me to ride a horse. They need to make those things closer to the ground!”) and him refusing because he earned these colors, thanks very much—

Jason can’t figure out how this photo ended up in a newspaper, though; the only pictures of him still extant in public are the ones they drag up on television every few years when Bruce does some bit of charity for orphans. Reminders of the poor dead orphan.

But this one—no, now he remembers.

This was the photo the press used during the custody case when Bruce was publicly battling Natalia Knight for guardianship of Jason. It’s not a copy, printed off the internet or digitally finished as a photograph. There’s yellowing around the edges and the paper quality is thin and grainy the way an actual newspaper is when it ages.

But why the hell does Tim have this?

He’s been back from the dead for years now, and with the Bat propensity for stalking and surveillance footage, if Tim wanted a photo of him, he could certainly have gotten all manner of material. Why this one? And why include it here at all, if it’s hidden away behind the others like a dirty secret?

The whole thing is vastly unsettling, and as he remembers Tim’s words from yesterday—

“We’re too complicated to be family. But we are Robins. And in a lot of ways, I think that’s stronger than us being part of the Family.”

—his chest starts to experience that vicelike pressure he’s been having on and off since learning about Isabel and the baby.

He’s struck by the very pressing need to get out of here.

Fleeing the apartment for the hidden Nest once more, Jason finds the exit protocols and manual overrides for Tim’s system, then borrows one of the bikes in the garage area. Tim did say he was free to do ‘whatever’ and though Jason doubts that includes absconding with his wheels, he doesn’t entirely care. He doesn’t even bother looking for the tracking beacons he knows are hidden on them.

He’s not running away, he’s just…clearing his head.

Or clearing it as well as anyone can while navigating the construction and traffic-infested roads of Gotham.

An open highway would be the most ideal way for him to lose himself and avoid his complicated feelings, but he supposes that option has its own dangers. Like just driving straight to California and pretending the past day has been nothing but a bad dream.

Instead, the constant roadblocks and detours Jason’s forced to take through the corners of the city jog his brain back into thinking. Back into reasoning and solving problems and improvising like he usually does.

First of all, he needs to stop letting Tim do everything for him.

Jason is capable—has survived on his own his whole life; it’s time to get his shit together. And to do that, he has to find someone who can take care of the baby.

His daughter.

He needs to get used to saying it, whether he stays in her life or not.

Jason isn’t entirely sure what he’s looking for in terms of the plans Tim suggested to him the night before. There’s merit to all the ideas, but he’s stuck between getting her out of Gotham or finding someone here who knew Isabel.

Or at least someone who knew she was expecting a kid. Any kind of connection to her mother would be better than nothing.

In theory.

Jason’s pretty sure that it’s a rare kid—himself included—who would have been better off without knowing anything about their birth mother. But Isabel is not Sheila, and the situation isn’t anything like that one.

He’s not even sure where to start looking for potential guardians.

Though Isabel’s friend Safiya said she would be looking into it, it’s once again putting Jason in the position of letting others deal with the consequences of his own actions. If only he knew more about what frame of mind Isabel was in before all this started…

Jason didn’t live with the world’s greatest detective for three years of his life without learning how to build a profile on someone. And the best starting point for that is where she spent most of her time.

He pulls over in the parking lot of a Bat Burger to unlock the fancy computer hidden within the bike’s dash (obviously one of Tim’s own design) and linking to the Bat-network’s backdoor to Gotham General’s patient records. Then it’s a simple search to bring up Isabel’s personal information, including her latest address.

Turns out she moved a lot closer to Gotham General than she was before; as he revs the motor and takes off again, Jason wonders if that was pre-emptive.

Isabel’s place is on the edge of Midtown, where the business district turns residential. The condominium itself seems well taken care of, especially in contrast to the fixer-uppers Jason’s used to in his own neighborhood, but in Gotham, that means next to nothing.

Though clearly Isabel’s been doing well if she’s able to afford a place here.

He’s not entirely sure what the average flight attendant’s salary is, but maybe she was just good with money.

Her apartment is on the highest floor of the apartment building, reachable by the fire escape. He scowls a bit at the idea that just anyone could get in here if they so choose, and if she thinks that’s a good enough deterrent than—

Jason has to stop and shake his head and remind himself that Isabel is gone. She’ll never have to worry about break-ins again.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he jimmy’s open the window and slips through.

⁂⁂⁂

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

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#jaytim #jaytim fanfiction #jason todd #tim drake #babyfic #accidental baby acquisition #enemies to lovers #slow build #slow burn #coping with big news

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Eighty-One: Pizza Delivery ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina, InoSaku ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Laying atop her bed, a leg resting atop her other bent knee, Hinata has closed eyes as she gently bobs her raised foot. A pair of bulky headphones rest over her ears, currently playing a playlist she’s carefully hand-crafted to help her relax. She just got done with a day that included two exams, and...needless to say, she’s in need of a little downtime.

A figure eventually stands in her open doorway, rapping knuckles before realizing...she can’t hear them. They call her name...then a little louder...louder...until just walking in and jostling her knee.

Eyes snapping open, Hinata reflexively bolts upright, scrambling to remove her headphones. “Huh, what?”

One of her roommates stands beside her bed, now laughing heartily. “Sorry! I guess you couldn’t hear me?” Ino asks, still chuckling a bit. “I tried to sorta...rustle you gently.”

“That’s, um...that’s okay! Did you...need something?”

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang with Sakura and I tonight? I think we all got brutalized by exams this week, so we wanted to have a little evening off! Thought we’d order some pizza and just, like...watch a movie or something. Sound good?”

Hinata quickly perks up. “I’d r-really like that! Here, um…” She starts rooting around in her bedside drawer. “I have some money I can chip in…”

“Okay, cool! Just let me know what you want, and I’ll order it online. I think we’ve got drinks, so that’s all good. It’ll be nice to have a night to just...chill after all the rush lately.”

“Yeah, you’ve g-got that right,” Hinata agrees with a heavy sigh. “I’ll be so glad those classes are over for the semester…”

“I know, right?” Accepting Hinata’s contribution of cash, Ino gives a mock salute, turning on her bare heel and taking her leave.

Once she’s gone (having been polite and shut the door), Hinata flops back atop her bed. That was...mildly embarrassing.

The three girls in their apartment are all currently juniors in college. All three went to the same high school: Sakura is going into nursing, Ino is studying to go into journalism, and Hinata is taking classes to be an elementary school teacher. Ino and Sakura had been best friends in high school, Hinata a bit of a tagalong. But they’ve gotten along rather well.

Some...well, a bit better than others. Not long into their freshmen year, Sakura and Ino actually started dating. Which Hinata was honestly very happy about. She’d always had a kind of suspicion about it, but...well, it wasn’t her place to speculate. They’ve been going steady ever since, and show no signs of slowing down.

It just...well...can make living with them a little awkward at times. Whether it be feelings of being a third wheel, being teased for her single status (or her bicuriosity), or having to endure various, er...noises, Hinata can - at times - feel a little out of place.

But she still considers both girls good friends, as they’ve only all gotten closer as the past three years have gone by. She just feels a little lonely sometimes, even though she hardly lives by herself.

Staring at her ceiling for a time, she eventually sits up with a grunt, heading out into the belly of their shared apartment. On her phone, Ino asks for her order.

“Um...vegetarian is good with me,” is her reply, given with a shrug. “If, um...if that won’t be too complicated?”

“Nope, you’re good! We can split it three ways. Wanna make sure we’ve got enough drinks? I’ll have Sakura stop by the corner store if not.”

Peeking her head in the fridge, Hinata finds their typical stash of soda, beer, wine, and bottled cold coffee. “W-we’re good!”

“Awesome! Sakura should be back soon, and then we can pick a movie. Ugh, I am so ready for this weekend…” Finalizing their order, Ino then boots up the TV and Netflix, browsing a few things as they wait. Hinata opens a soda, quietly sipping and watching the screen from behind the couch.

“I’m back, ladies!”

“Hey babe,” Ino calls back as Sakura arrives. “We’re having a movie note!”

“Oh hell yes,” the rosette replies, dumping her bag by the door for the time being. “What’re we watching?”

“Dunno yet.”

“I’m down for anything.”

“Hinata, any preference?” Ino asks from over the couch.

“Oh, uh...not really? Just nothing like, um...slashers, or whatever.”

“Weak stomach?” Sakura teases, making Hinata go pink. “It’s all right. I think something more low-key would be good after the last few weeks we’ve had, right?”

“Totally,” Ino agrees, still scrolling. “Ooh, how about this? It looks cute!”

The others read the description of a romance flick. “Eh, sure,” Sakura agrees, flopping on the couch beside her girlfriend. “We can watch some straights fall in love and be ridiculous.” A pause. “...no offense, Hinata.”

The Hyūga just giggles. “I-it’s fine. They are pretty silly…”

Waiting for the food, the trio decide to at least start the movie. With the couch mostly taken, Hinata instead snuggles under a blanket in an armchair, eyes trained on the screen as the title sequence plays. They’re about a scene into it when the doorbell goes off.

“I’ll get it!” Hinata offers, standing and finding the pile of gathered cash on the counter. Counting it out, she checks the peephole first. A guy in a work getup stands outside, looking down the hall. In his hands is a pizza box. Must be their guy.

Undoing the locks, Hinata opens the door, and...pauses as he turns to look at her.

They both just sort of stare for a moment.

“...Sasuke?”

“Uh...hi,” he replies, a tiny hint of an embarrassed flush in his face.

“I...didn’t know you worked at this place!”

“Just part time, after classes,” he assures her, giving a fleeting hint of a smile. It’s clear he’s not too happy at being recognized.

“Oh, that’s...that’s neat! It’s good to make a little money on the side. You...still have time for all your coursework?”

“Just barely, yeah.”

“Well, um...I’m glad it’s working for you,” she tells him honestly with a small smile. “...um, anyway, here…” She hands over the money, accepting the box. “I think there’s a...seven dollar tip…?”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

“Do you...work much later?”

“Yeah, another hour or so.”

“Oh…”

“Having a night off?”

She nods. “Yeah, um...Ino and Sakura thought we should have a m-movie night!”

“Oh, those two?”

“Yeah, they’re...they’re my roommates.”

“Haven’t driven you insane yet?”

“Uh...n-no. It’s a little, um…” She glances behind herself, not wanting to be overhead. “...awkward sometimes.”

That earns a small laugh. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Well, I...I wish you were done with your shift! You could...watch the movie and eat pizza with us!”

“I won’t lie, kinda sick of pizza after working this job,” Sasuke admits, giving a more genuine smile.

“What? Sick of pizza? That’s like...like...being s-sick of air!”

“I get that a lot, believe me. But uh...thanks for the sentiment. Maybe some other time,” he replies, almost looking a tad disappointed.

“Well, um...maybe let us know some night you h-have off! Maybe we can schedule something. It would be fun, I...haven’t seen you in ages.”

“...maybe I will. But I better run, got more to do…”

“Oh, sorry!”

“It’s all right. Later, Hinata.” Giving her a nod, Sasuke makes his way back out of the corridor, disappearing into the stairwell.

Hinata watches him go, giving a start as Ino calls her name. “C...coming!” Closing the door and making sure it’s locked, she moves to dish up the pizza on a few plates.

“What took you so long?”

“Oh, um...it was Sasuke!”

“Whaaat?” Sakura asks, clearly in disbelief. “No way!”

“Yeah! I told him he could join us i-if he wasn’t busy, but...he’s still working.”

“Oh, Sasuke...tricked me into thinking I was straight for far too long,” Ino sighs whimsically. “He’s too pretty to be a guy.”

“I know, right?” Sakura laughs.

“Oh, Hinata!”

“W-what?”

“We should set you up with Sasuke!”

“What?!”

The other two burst into laughter. “It’d be cute!”

“But...but I…?”

“Nope, I’ve made up my mind,” Ino cackles, pulling out her phone. “This is going to happen.”

“I-Ino, don’t! He’s...I mean I…?”

“Just let her have her fun,” Sakura advises, grinning from her perch on the couch. “She won’t be at peace until she tries.”

Hinata just...wilts with a hint of a sigh, curling back under her blanket with her pizza. That was not what she meant when she suggested Sasuke join them…

...but maybe he’ll still come to that, at least. They can just all hang out. Ino, and Sakura, and...Sasuke and Hinata.

...two third wheels and a lesbian couple. Totally not weird, right? They can have Chinese food. Since pizza, apparently, will be out of the question.

.oOo.

Was a lil spooked by this one...cuz I actually had pizza for dinner tonight, haha xD Anyway, just a little sort of slice of life with a few nerds. I actually really like InoSaku...I dunno why I don't write it more often! Poor Hinata, a constant third wheel. But maybe Ino's scheming will land her a date ;3 Buuut yeah, that's all from me for now. I'm a sleepy bean, haha - thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #inosaku #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #yamanaka ino #haruno sakura #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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franklongbooty · 4 years

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hi harriet again I swear this is it

hi hi here is my boy frank, his about is long, connections down the bottom!!

Statistics Page

Pinterest character basics

full name: Frank Joseph Longbottom

birth date: June 21st, 1957 (He’s a Gemini/Cancer cusp lmao)

blood status: Pureblood

3 key positive traits: Sincere, sentimental, attentive

3 key negative traits: , impulsive, critical, single-minded

FC choice (2 or more, please!): Matthew Daddy-ario

academics

primary wizarding school & graduation year: London School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 1975

degree & cohort: Auror Academy

house & year: Gryffindor, 1st Year Masters Student

rooming

Frank was very excited when the flat above Honeydukes Sweetshop suddenly became vacant at the start of this third year. He has a notorious sweet tooth (brought on by his mother not wanting them in the house when he was young), and went there enough during exam periods (and the rest of the year, let's be honest) that he knew the owners by name, and so they gave him a great offer on the place, despite being able to afford whatever rent he would’ve needed to pay without any discounts. He makes up for their generosity by buying way more sweets than he could ever get through. So come to his flat? You’ll be sure to have been offered pretty much anything that’s available in the shop below.

The space is quite big, due to the size of the shop below, but I picture it to be super airy and quite open plan (ie the only door is to the bathroom, everything else is arches and half walls, high ceilings). He’s not big on decorating, and he’s got his neatness that his mother has instilled in him from a young age, but he does have a wall completely covered in book shelves, and his dad's favourite armchair in one corner.

extracurricular activities

Former Head Boy, former member of the duelling club, former captain of the Wizards Chess Club, Warlocks of Great Britain

all about your kiddo

Frank Joseph Longbottom was raised by a stern mother, and a loving father. A mother who had a place for everything, and a father who always seemed to forget where those places were. A mother who spent hours of each day making sure the house was perfect, and a father who would come home and forget to hang his coat up after a long day at the Department of Mysteries. A mother who couldn’t help but smile anyway when her husband cracked his jokes, forgetting the mess for a moment, and a father who tried his best to remember to wipe his shoes before stepping into the house. A mother who, when her husband didn’t come home, only got worse, and a father who was never seen again. Frank was only eight years old when Joseph Longbottom disappeared. The day had started like any other, with a kiss to Augusta’s cheek and a ruffle of Frank’s hair. He’d left the house whistling his favourite tune, and that was the last anyone saw of him. He never showed up at work, and by the end of the day Auror’s were swarming the Longbottom house, looking for anything that could be amiss. The disappearance of his father has played on Franks mind ever since that day. What started as a child not quite understanding, turned into a burning desire to find out what happened. That burning desire is what first led Frank to consider the Auror Program at Hogwarts. Now through to the Auror Academy, Frank finally has the resources to start looking into his father’s case. He knew he had to be discreet. Until he knew what had actually happened - whether he had been taken, or, possibly worse, simply left them, Frank knew it was important to lay low and do this slowly, if he wanted any chance of finding answers.

Without his father there to help, Augusta Longbottom’s perfections slowly turned into obsessions. Although they had a house elf, she spent much of her time reorganising the house, re-stacking bookshelves over and over again until they were exactly how she wanted it, and then once more for good measure. As Frank grew, her need for perfection turned on him. His clothes were always perfectly pressed, his bed had to be perfectly made every morning before his classes, and his hair was always cut to the same length without fail. But he took this in his stride. As a child, Frank had always strived for greatness, wanting to be the best out of all his peers. It started as a need to be able to run the fastest when playing with his friends and to read the longest books during primary, eventuating in the role of Head Boy in his final year at Hogwarts. This grew a deep confidence within himself, but it also caused him to be hypercritical of all the small things that he couldn’t control. And although his hair is now a little longer, he still has to make sure his quill and ink pot are perfectly straight on his desk, his parchment smooth, and his bed made every morning before he goes to class.

Where his mother had instilled the hard side to Frank, the time he did have with his father nourished a soft side within him that continued to grow as Frank got older. A side that made bad jokes, that was sentimental, that loved sweet things, and that fiercely cared for those close to him. Perhaps contradictory, the confidence that grew from his mother pushing him only fueled his desire to help others in the only way he knew how. The growing war did nothing to quell Franks need to excel in the Academy. His strong convictions and the anger that was bubbling within him at the injustice of it all made him want to do something. Whispers around the castle and a cryptic conversation with Dumbledore has led Frank to believe something bigger is coming -- something to help put a stop to the war that is beginning to bubble around them. With half of him feeling a pull to follow Dumbledore into that unknown, and the other half increasingly focused on trying to find out what happened to his father, Frank is finding himself at a crossroads.

The unexpected always threw Frank. Something about Alice Shafiq was completely unexpected, but it was an unexpectedness he welcomed with open arms as soon as he saw the way she smiled. She made him feel at ease, and as the years went on and friendly study sessions turned into stolen kisses, it was easy to understand why. The touch of her hand on his arm always helped ease him, and he suddenly didn’t mind spending his nights awake, as long as they were with her. Ask him, and Frank would tell you she’s a good friend. But ask anyone else, and they’d probably disagree.

extra credit

Frank feels all his emotions with fierceness and certainty. If he disagrees with something his blood will boil and he won’t sit quietly - he’s got them strong convictions. Similar so, when something makes him happy it’ll be impossible for anyone not to notice. Think loud exclamations, lots of opinions, stubbornly standing up for whatever it is he is currently fighting for. He’s also quite impulsive, and these go hand in hand. He believes in his emotions to the fullest (maybe to the extent he acts like a bit of a know-it-all at times). Also has a bit of a saviour complex tbh, and doesn’t like asking for help. He can do it himself, thank you very much !!!

Frank has the fashion sense of a Grandpa. He loves his funky socks, and they’re all perfectly matching and rolled up (he has a whole drawer of them). He loves baggy jumpers over blue denim jeans (thanks 70’s). He loves his funky socks perfectly matching his baggy jumpers. He also wears glasses, but! They’re reading glasses, so during class/study only

His patronus is a buzzard

Armortentia is oatmeal cookies, burning fireplace, lavender

Wand is Rowan, unicorn hair, 13 inches, rigid

Likes: funky socks, sweets, oatmeal cookies, mustard, earl grey tea, elaborate chocolates, muggle movies, the smell of lavender, bad jokes, satchels, his owl Whetherby

Dislikes: quidditch (but no one knows this), ketchup, coffee (see elaborate hot chocolates), messiness, laziness, messiness caused by laziness, unpredictable change

Whilst Frank is nowhere near as bad as his mother, he’s definitely inherited some ticks. He keeps his sock drawer perfectly tidy. If he’s sitting, he bounces his leg whenever he’s anxious, or stressed, or worried; if he’s standing, he paces like a madman. Someone get a fitbit on this boy. He always feels like he needs to be in control, which leads him to be critical of things when it means he’s not going to be in control of them. And critical of himself when he lets things get out of his control.

Possible connections

A good friend he’s had since childhood - maybe a family friend, maybe a neighbour, someone who was there through it all, his #rideordie. This person helps Frank fkn chill out

An ex-girlfriend, or fling, who ended up dumping him for being weirdly close with Alice, despite his insistence that they’re just friends

Fam bam - some cousins would be lit

Frank is a competitive boy, something that comes from needing the be the best of the best, so someone who is his competitive rival would be fun!!

And also the good old enemies! Frank doesn’t think his fathers disappearance was a coincidence, and now all these things with Voldemort have come up he’s extremely suspicious of people

#frank #introduction #sleepingdooc

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jenuminous · 5 years

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Howl Your Love to Me | njm

na jaemin | 8.5k | “you’re not supposed to be here.” It wasn’t what Jaemin planned from the beginning for you — a normal part-timer — to know what kind of blood was flowing under his skin.

genre angst, fluff | werewolf! jaemin x fem! reader | mentions of blood, biting, quick time warp, etc.

messages happy belated halloween!! uh... I lowkey think this doesn’t make sense or even think it’s werewolf! jaemin!

June 1st, and the year 2056.

It wasn’t long when the town had decided to build a mechanic wall layering outside. In order to go outside you either needed a working pass or something more complicated than just a form. They really meant for people to stay stuck in here and be like a sheep inside the fence, shaking from unknown fear. Glancing through the peek of nailed wooden planks, it wasn’t a surprise to see only wooden fences instead of picturesque buildings, enveloping around houses for protection, though some were made of rotten woods that smelled a little. The city used to be colored under the gloomy sky, but now it was morose with the autumn sun.

[And maybe there are possibilities of spies who opened up the town gate for the wolves……]

Passing by your father’s unbelievable utters, you silently hoped someone would turn off that damn television by now. The floor creaked as you tiptoed silently towards the front door. “Get me some liquor when you come back,” you rolled your eyes as you stuffed your feet in the worn—out Adidas shoes, keep on pushing your feet in until it slipped into the end like Cinderella’s glass slippers.

“Mom’s coming back at dinner though, doesn’t she hate the liquor smell?” I know, your dad shoots back in his hushed tone. “Your mom is gonna need some rest, isn’t she?” Your father finally lifted himself up from the couch, kissing your forehead before letting you head out to the caged city.

“Good luck with your first job,”

“Thanks, dad. See you back at night.” Your hands were empty, your right shoulder pressed down from the eco bag that had nothing more than your phone, a wallet from your last year’s birthday present, and a notebook with a pen. Simple, hoping you could drop by a cafe before arriving at your destination.

The outside scenery was duller than what it seems. You weren’t sure if this was really the technology future the ones before you wished and worked for. Not that you could relate the many changes of the past and present. Dusty roads, buildings you saw in the textbook (they say they developed the whole thing, but you doubt that), robots were still unable to help in certain aspects, humans being humans (or worse).

Was this all included in the blueprint? Maybe the rebellion of wild lives wasn’t in their calculations. Wolves were a big issue these days. Humanity was strong enough to protect themselves against wolves last time, but this time it wasn’t their turn to hold the victory trophy. Wolves have gotten smarter, and stronger than one’s imagination, connecting to theories of werewolves that came out of the dusty ancient textbooks, suspecting a ‘spy’ within this city. You weren’t that into fantasies, unlikely to be agreeing with their statement.

[...there is a high possibility of wolves to be attacking with the full moon...]

Executing to brainwash everyone, the morning news was only congested with the continuous onslaught from the menace, wild wolves of unknown species. You’ve heard there was an extra show of ‘How To Survive from the Wolves’ which was hitting the highest rating. Not to your interest, there were currently about 50 people (concluded they were mostly farmers) and half of the population chickens were gobbled up known by the news, reporting daily injuries and farm panoramas. Thanks to the news, you had to rip off the canvas sized wolf poster you’ve gotten for your 7th birthday (just for your baby cousin’s sake).

The chicken price increased about twice again (at least you’ve feasted on them for the whole entire week before the incident), and so did the wheat — the main food substance of the livestock. The smartest solution the government thought was to cut down the chickens, which would lead to less attraction of wolves to strike down from the hills. The town has gotten hushed; it could’ve been renamed as a ghost city if it weren’t the running students and some elderlies out for a walk (not that you were attached to this place before). By the blowing winds by your face, it was hard to multitask — brushing your hair to the side while reading off the map. “Excuse me!” The push made you jump, the several adolescents who seemed your age — maybe not their height — were giggling with each other after the apology, when they seemed to be late for class. Dusting off your shirt, you study their backs as they shrink within seconds.

A sudden thought of regret goes through your mind, but you shrug it off. “At least I’m earning some money,” you mutter, and perhaps the dog might’ve given you a pitiful gaze as you continued your journey. You didn’t feel left out. You were just, oh well, homeschooled.

Your body stuttered a little as the door slid opened sideways when it coded your presence in. The outer seemed to be just a renovated house from the 80s, but appearances didn’t matter when it came to healing. At least the inner interior was a lot simpler and neater than your thought. From the ceiling to the furniture, everything was dipped into the same shade of whiteness; just by a touch, you’ll get to see a culprit’s fingerprint on everywhere. Thanks to that, the colorful shades of medicines caught your eyes quickly; helping to differentiate the medicines stacked and waiting neatly in the squared shelves.

The pharmacy, well, was part of a house for a family of 3. Three, yes. At least that was what you saw from the picture frame hanged during the interview. You could see it through the rectangular shape cut out from the wall, the view filled with stairs heading upstairs, and from there on the floor was cherry brown, with green painted wallpapers. While in the opposite rectangle was the way to the kitchen — you remembered having a seat last week — where a sweet smell rising from the oven and to your nostrils. You recognized the scent right away: roses.

The sudden open of door startled you (you knew it was going to take you time to get used to the sound), and you turned around to see no other than a neat man. He had golden framed round glasses, hair neatly parted with wax, he sure had some wrinkles but that didn’t make him seem aged at all. “Oh, Mr. Na—” as you stood up straightly after the recognition, instead of a greeting back, you see him walk past you and put down several boxes stacked on top on the white counter with a clipboard beside.

“So, if I remember it correctly, you’re Y/N, right?” Though there didn’t seem that many of resumes on top of his counter when you came to apply for the job, you were surprised he remembered your name. Sure: pharmacy, good memory. He seemed to have a lot to say, but he was simplifying it down in his mind (probably) noticing from his deeply thinking position. “Well, welcome to the family, Y/N! Happy to have you working with us,” instead his output was a simple, welcome—yet—warm comment, whistling as he headed to the kitchen.

“Rose apple pies?” By the sudden kindness you were not used to, your head automatically nods and Mr. Na smiles as he takes out the culprit of the sugary aroma. Not that you had completely lost hope from humanities, but it was new to see someone opened up for once. Placing the hot, steaming piece on a rosy plate, he pushed it towards you. Thank you, you mumble, as you take the first bite after Mr. Na did. The soft ripen apple strongly traveled your mouth, followed by the fresh, herb of roses.

The conversation didn’t last for that long, you pulled up the sleeves of your beige hoodie, with a clipboard Mr. Na assigned to you. Excluding the medical terms, the simplified names were easy to be recognized, though it was hard to tell which went to which category. There were many medicines you wondered if people would ever need, but the illness was unknown to everyone, wasn’t it? The clock was ticking to 3 already when you haven’t done much work. Perhaps the taste of that rose apple pie took a good 20—minutes.

“My son usually comes late from practice,” That was what you heard from the kind pharmacist who has willed to hire you for the job before he went upstairs for some research (you guess). ‘My son’ who you never seemed to have a chance to meet — ever — during your shifts. He — ‘My Son’ — apparently dyed his hair back to brown, he added. Born with a sprinkle of athletic talent, his six senses all sharply activated (as a con, it disturbed him from going to sleep), always trying and gets the best results, all the girls willing to go on a date with him.

He sounded very robotic; a munchkin, too perfect for the world. Well, all parents would talk about their child like that, don’t they? But what practice did he have, though? Questions were never answered inside your brains, neither did you really wish to get it answered.

The fact that you were unable to meet him in real life didn’t disappoint you that much. After all, you were just a part-time worker who might quit tomorrow morning, and additionally, weren’t even interested in someone who you only heard verbally.

🌕

The summer night wind was colder and sharper than your thought, maybe it was true that the city would be visited by a thunderstorm during the late night time. You tightly hold the collar of your hoodie as you speed-walk the dead road, up to the hills you walked this morning. You never knew you would make such a dumb mistake in your life. How could you not realize a bottle of pills has fallen into your bag? It was midnight with a full moon faint; howlings were echoing, but your steps didn’t stop by them.

What could possibly go wrong? Maybe you getting bitten or perhaps tore by a pack of wolves. Nothing less or more than that. It would’ve been a better idea if you left your death letter on your desk before your journey.

You should’ve noted you weren’t some sort guide to memorize the whole path within 10 minutes. Since when did the pharmacy lead to a deep pine tree forest? Soring in pain, your legs were wobbling and pretty sure your whole body was too. The old flashlight seemed to be getting out of battery, lucky that you had extras in your hoodie pocket though. Swearing beneath your breath, you kneel down as you carefully dismembered the flashlight, the clicking sounds of hesitation ringing with the moans of wind.

The battery slips out your fingers and to the ground, as you hear a howl. Impatiently you swear once more, grabbing the soggy dirt to find the battery, quickly fitting it in and complete the circuit. You didn’t need a source of light to see what was coming next. Click. The flashlight finally turns on, this time with a much brighter light. The wolves seemed more ravenous than usual.

No weapons, or anyone near. You couldn’t have felt more helpless than right now, legs shivering and tears were automatically formed (even though you tried not to). You couldn’t just end your 18 years of life for this. The alpha wolf seemed to be taking his moves, slowly getting into its ready position to leap — probably targeting your head first.

Would ducking your head down help? You researched all the survival methods in your head, but it couldn’t think straight from the sudden fear. Automatically your arms shot up in a guard position until you hear a defeated wimp of a wolf’s, and not yours.

“What in the…... ”

The crouched feature straightened itself, your hands feeling the terror as the size of it got bigger than what it seemed like. The sudden shift of the shadow seemed to be startling the wolves too, as you hear their whimpers as they backed up. It was neither a wolf nor a human, but a werewolf. You didn’t dare to blink an eye, or else it would be gone the moment before you realize. The posture of it was majestic, tender looking brown fur, with a scar across its cheek. You guessed that was left during its jump in front of you.

The creature — or the werewolf — growled lowly in a threatening manner back to the pack of wolves, and in sudden seconds no fur of wolves was left on the ground, all gone for their lives. “This is a disaster,” you mumble, biting down your shaking lips as your eyes meet.

“...Hi,” your greeting was hesitant. What if it bit off your hand? Not that it wasn’t a possibility. It seemed like it wanted to say something to you. But instead, it backed away slowly and with a sharp turn, it hid into the bushes.

You shaped your hands into a fist — hard — until it shook hard, pinched yourself several times, and closed your eyes for a good second and opened them again. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t close from being one, time was ticking on your watch, the sudden bright light scorching your eyes.

“What am I doing,” you monologue, dusting off the dirt on your loose trousers, hurrying until dawn came up.

Standing in front of the pharmacy, You swear under your breath once more at the sudden immerse of an ominous feeling, as you found the door easily opening up for you.

Was it a robber? Or a wolf?

Not another one, you wished. Biting down the swollen lower lips, you slightly tasted a bitter taste of metallic blood. With shaking hands, you lifted your flashlight. Carefully, as if you were in a ghost house, your body shifted with the flashlight.

“Please don’t say this was all my fault,”

Pill containers were all over the ground; some had their lids opened up, crunched beneath someone or thing’s pressure. The flashlight seemed to have caught something in its radar: converse shoes with untied shoelaces. Directly, your eyes shot up to a shadowed, frozen statue: a boy.

Squinting his eyes from the sudden light you flashed at him, you weren’t too sure what shade his hair was dyed in, but the light illuminated on his eyes sure portrayed a wolf’s. His chest constantly rose up and down with heavy panting, he shot both his hands up in the air.

“I, I can explain.” His voice was deep, yet rushed by the danger alarm. Was it his voice? The sudden suspicious soothes away as he comes closer, his hands raised towards you as a signal to calm you down, “Trust me, I’m not what you’re thinking right now,”

The assuring gaze from the sweet, honey-dipped eyes. Your heart started beating fast, the thumping sounds ringing loudly enough to make you dizzy. With no doubt, you knew who he was: the pharmacist’s son.

“I—” your voice — as soon as you use it — rapidly chained inside your throat, heart sinking down in a second, swirling with the sudden heart thumps. The boy had a smile bloomed on his face, “your hand, is it okay?” To your notice, there was a small cut on the back of your hand, blood dried up already. Perhaps it happened while bumping into a thorn bush somewhere in the woods.

“Here, let me see.” The pharmacist's son took your hand gratefully, but no one knew the consequence held in your hand: the orange container you came to return.

You thought it was human nature that people were able to change their facial expressions quickly, whatever mood they were in beforehand. In this case was a dramatic change: a smile to a cold, deadly stare.

“Why do you have this?” Roughly he snatched it from you, as he flips it around until the medicine tag showed up. It seemed like your wound was no longer an interest in his eyes; the sudden change of his atmosphere confused you, snapping you back to reality. Locking your eyes once more, you noticed fear in his eyes. You could hear his hands were shaking than yours, how the pills inside were shaking tremendously, fragile than ever. After skimming down the list of chemistry terms, he lets out a heavy breath — he must’ve kept it in for a while — shoving them hurriedly in his sling bag. Now that, was clearly what a robber would do. Not a pharmacist's son. It made you quite hesitant whether you should call the cops or not, but technically you were not different from him at this point.

In the silence your eyes did its job, as usual, scanning the one up and down, left to right seeing what flaw he might have. Your head tilted sideways, eyes narrowing as his headshot to his left, making sure his parents were asleep.

“Hey, you’ve got a scar—”

He had a great sense of argute, you had to admit. His head sharply turned back to you, backing up even when your reach wasn’t even close to touching him. The boy then seemed to realize it, quickly touching over his dried up scar that was skidded horizontally on his cheek, with some brown fur surrounded by it.

Brown fur.

“That looks kinda bad. Here, I have some alcohol, you can use it—” As your steps enclosed the gap, the boy’s eyes widened even more, scurrying upstairs; perhaps he tripped on one of the steps as if he had seen a wolf behind you.

Luckily, there were none until you tuck yourself under your bed.

🌕

Several days have passed from that night. You could’ve believed everything was a dream, but so far it wasn’t. Flipping over the electronic magazines you hummed the tune from your earphones. They were the only fun that would get you away from the boredom that easily came to the pharmacy on the hill, where customers seemed to have stopped their visits. The other choice was you to clear and reorganize the shelves of categorized medicines, always filling and crossing out numbers beside the medicine names. You sometimes challenged yourself to read out the medical name caged in the brackets, where it looked like a foreign language when you spoke it.

Chemistry, they say. Well, you would like to skip that for now.

Your index finger slid across the white shelves, flicking off the dust layered on top of your finger with your thumb as you moved along. Your body stops in a certain position stiffly, as you stop at the very left of the collection, reading off the name tag in your mind. Feeling the grip of the container, you skim through the sticker with concentrated eyes. Orange tinted container with ivory capsules held inside, there was a caption [anti] written as the very first word.

It was the one you took that night. By accident. The one that boy was so desperate about.

What exactly was this used for? As if there was a quote “eat me” written on it, magically your hands were already grabbing it, ready to open up the lid and see what will happen next. It was a jeopardy, for sure.

Just then, the door slid open with waves of laughter, automatically letting your body spring up before your eyes, hands not clear where to be kept. The best solution you came was to hide them behind your back (maybe too obviously). Hands rolled into a fist, they were shaking hard as if they were about to crush the container in your hands.

“Hello, what can I help you with?” your eyes stopped at a certain target. It wasn’t your fault, he was just too obvious and the only one you knew among the crowd. His eyes were widened too, almost ready to pop out.

The boy from the night.

“Jaemin, who’s this?”

With a soft hit from a black—haired boy, the other boy with the name ‘Jaemin’ lowered his eyes, slowly blinking his blank eyes of confusion. The sudden release of fast fluttering butterflies bothered you as your eyes met within a shot, realizing swallowing your own saliva was a tougher job than you thought.

“Oh,” he took a second to retrieve himself. “She’s the new apprentice of my dad’s.”

With the access of bright sunlight, you had a better view of his physical features than the night. His hair dyed hazel brown with split ends, eyes twinkling by the golden brown galaxy of its own, his spectacular long lashes curled up perfectly upright, and his cherry red lips didn’t seem to be smiling when the ends were curled up slightly. His eyes had depth in them, how his eyes stared deeply and calmly at the one who was talking, the shift of his eyes unpredictable. There were heavy sweat beads dripping down his slim, sharp jawline, his cheekbones lifted up soon with a smile.

“But it’s also my first time meeting her.”

You almost dropped the container from your hands, sweating by the awe of his presence. Your heart seemed to be unable to function, how it was jammed by the sudden attack by his eye contact. It was the first time you ever encountered the pharmacist’s son, in fact. And yes, he was perfectly drawn out; just like how he was always described by people. How he would flash his smile like he was getting an award, being the most athletic person in the whole entire universe. You can see it just by the basketball swirling quickly at the tip of his fingertips. It felt like the world was revolving on it.

You couldn’t believe yourself blushing just by an eye-contact.

“I’m Na Jaemin.”

“Y/N.” your voice slipped faster than your hand to shake Jaemin’s hands, only embarrassing yourself more. Wiping your hand slightly by the hem of your shirt, you feel Jaemin’s hand embracing yours gently as he shook them down then up. “Wow, I’ve never seen Jaemin this awkward with girls,” a cheeky laugh was followed after a brown—haired boy’s statement, and you watched Jaemin roll his eyes as he shook the hand he let go. There seemed to be not much more to be spoken in-between the two of you.

“Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you.”

After a smile, he followed the rest of his friends upstairs without looking behind for you. Maybe you were wrong; how could that ethereal-looking boy be the boy from the night? The vibe, the voice, the ‘everything’ he was giving off was so different. Before returning back to your place, you slightly glimpse at the container still gripped tightly in your hand: [anti—wolf].

Maybe it was all a dream or your exaggerated imagination. How could there be werewolves in this world?

🌕

You made sure that no corners were sticking out from the pile of papers. It was almost dinner time, which meant it was time for you to go back home, and at the same time smell the delicious smell of roasted beef. Mrs. Na has offered you several times to join the dinner table with them, but politely you declined it every time and you were surely regretting your past choices.

Grabbing your grumbling stomach, you slid your arms into the denim jacket, which weren’t warm at all. “y/n!” Your head was lost to find the trail of voice you heard from upstairs. To your surprise, it was Jaemin, hurrying as he tucked himself into the white hoodie. “Oh,” you added in silently, and perhaps Jaemin was too busy with his task to point it out. His hair still seemed wet from a shower, quickly shaking his head only adding droplets of water on the well-cleaned floor. You could only stand awkwardly and watch every move he made; it was surely hard for you to react around him, especially when you met him today for the first time. Your body swiveled around the direction Jaemin was walking towards, footsteps stopped but his didn’t. With your hesitance, Jaemin sighs, and pulls you closer to him, reaching his arm to your shoulder.

“Hey, what are you—!”

“Just let me.” Grabbing your bag for you, softly Jaemin whispers directly beside your ears. He surely didn’t want something to leak out. Dumbfounded by his action, you couldn’t do anything but nod slowly at his words with confused eyes, and cheeks blushing with a tint of cherry red. He had an aura in his voice you couldn’t tell, but something more powerful than your imagines.

“Mom! I’ll be right back after taking Y/N back home!” He seemed to be in a hurried mode, and a clip of deja vu flashed across your mind. He pulled you quickly out of the door, and out to the cold, starry night.

The night air was chilly, how street lights only helped with guidance and not providing warmth. Warm breath against your hands, you could only catch snippets of Jaemin beside you. He was walking at a slow pace to match yours, and surely he wasn’t in the mood to be talking about something.

“Right, here.” It took a second to realize what Jaemin was talking about until your eyes fell on the bag displayed on his hand. You realize how much it looked better with Jaemin, the simple combination of beige and black letterings suited him well.

“Oh, thanks.” Even shouldering your bag seemed to be awkward beside him, the unused to silence kept even after getting your bag gifted back.

“What school do you go to?” Jaemin asked finally. He coughed several times, even when his voice was smooth as ever. He seemed to be expecting a specific answer, but your reply was rather disappointing: “I’m homeschooled.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Sorry,”

“No need to be,” Jaemin cracked a smile slightly but even the slightest movement on his lips had your heart shaking like an earthquake. Would you be able to meet a boy like Jaemin if you went to school too? Perhaps you could’ve been best friends; if you had a chance. Oh, your footsteps stopped with disappointment, already realizing the familiar door of yours. Voice locked tightly in your throat, pointing a finger was only you could do, and Jaemin’s footstep stopped with a short realization too.

“Thanks for walking me back home.” You hurriedly wanted to get into your room and throw yourself into your fluffy bed with a thick, soft blanket waiting for you, as you would groan in embarrassment. His silence made you timid, grasping the hem your shirt in trying to act normal.

“Y/N,”

“Yes?” A sudden instinct told you should tuck your hair as you turned around by his call. Maybe you’d have to examine yourself from Mr. Na tomorrow. There would be no reason why your heart would be beating this fast when you’ve only heard your name for 18 years pronounced by a boy you’ve met today. You blinked your eyes twice, hoping that was way more attractive than you thought.

“Nothing much.” Jaemin hesitated, his eyes instantly dropping down to the cold, hard ground. He seemed to be having some troubles with his words, “Can you keep everything as a secret?” Jaemin blurted out quickly, his voice was ringing the streets even though his voice was quiet. His words were confusing, taking time for you to translate.

“Keep what?”

“That night where we met.”

That night where you met him.

“Oh.” Silence followed after you, and you could see Jaemin biting his lips, eyes with regret. A sudden sink of your heart made your body cold.

“Jaemin, that—” seeing a finger pulled to his lips, you gulp.

“Good night,” he smiled weakly, as he got himself ready to run back. “Does anybody know?” You had to shout it out to him, stopping Jaemin with a bitter smile. He didn’t have to explain it more.

🌕

October 1st.

Time has flown by faster than your thought. It has been four months since your acceptance to the pharmacy, and still, there were things that you couldn’t seem to be able to handle: Jaemin, yes, Na Jaemin.

The peculiar boy, who always lifted your lips into a smile, and sometimes the boy who he’d lean onto whenever he needed support.

It wasn’t long until you found your lips pronouncing his name over and over again, how his name sounded so peculiar even after numerous times, his soft giggles ringing in your ears every time. You’ve gotten closer with him easier — way easier — than you thought, even though you could never read his intention behind his deep brown eyes.

Na Jaemin, the boy who you now draw and describe every time on your diary, always picking up the brown colored pencil crayon (which is almost gone) to color his hair and eyes. Na Jaemin, who’d always be the first you’d wish to call during the late nights when clearly he was awake too. Your lips curled up as your memories recalled a clip of the tip of Jaemin’s ears blushing when you visited his school with his forgotten gym strip, how he awkwardly stood still in front of you. Maybe his cheeks were blushing too, but you didn’t know if it was because you encountered him right after a basketball game.

It seems like it was yesterday when Jaemin kept on coming up to you and pleading you to keep the secret, half-threatening, you could say. You’ve come close enough with him, where at one point Jaemin would just show up in front with both his ears and tail out, sipping his morning coffee on a Saturday afternoon, his eyes still closed with his uncontrollable amount of exhaustion. His sudden reveal as a werewolf only startled you, always finding your heart thumping at his confidence. You’d then mumble to yourself: right, he was a werewolf.

Jaemin — unlike any others — being a werewolf came to you as a fear, but also something special. It was a secret only the two of you shared (well, according to Jaemin, he is famous in school) and also something you could hold onto whenever asking Jaemin to do certain tasks, such as baking you another pie. You knew why Jaemin was so athletic, so sensitive that he needed to have his head patted when he willed to take a nap.

“Jaemin, this isn’t funny.” Jaemin hummed as he opened his eyes slowly, “sure, it is. Come on, my ears are waiting for its scratch.” It was your responsibility from there on to tell him to take the pills (he’d refuse to drink it with water, he’d slip it with his coffee which you quite disgusted), though something didn’t feel right.

The pill. Yes, the ones you accidentally brought back home. The pill — that started this whole messy, unknown friendship between you and Jaemin, or maybe the werewolf. You didn’t know the exact detail of how the pill worked, or ever did you wanted to know. You just knew it helped Jaemin — or the werewolf — to maintain his human form, lessen the pain of his another ego’s rebellion, especially during the full moon. That was it. That was the briefly told explanation from Jaemin, and you didn’t ask furthermore.

“Lee Donghyuck that was totally cheating!”

“The real world’s full of cheating, what do you mean?”

Your head snaps as your eyes blurred out the memories, coughing dryly in embarrassment. You encountered him every day, at the exact same time, 3:30 PM and the door would open with waves of laughter and you’d see 7 boys drenched in sweats, someone always shouting “I win” (you didn’t really know what the deal was). “Hi, y/n!” Chenle, giggled as he elbowed Jaemin (who then raised his eyebrows to him), waving out the biggest hi with his arms.

“Hi, Chenle.” Waving back, Jaemin caught your eyes but quickly retrieved as he awkwardly called out Chenle’s name, making him whine. You’ve gotten closer to the other 6 boys too — Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, Chenle, and Jisung — boy, there were a lot. They high fived you as they headed straight to the kitchen, your hands awkwardly folding back to your side when it was Jaemin’s turn. There wasn’t much conversation rather than ‘hi’ or ‘hello’s, maybe there were some ‘good afternoon’s.

“How was school?” You tried to twist things up, but it was a pretty dumb question to start off with: even you admitted. But not to your surprise, Jaemin still replied kindly. “No more basketball practices. The season’s over, a good thing I guess.” Jaemin always smiled so naively that you almost forgot who he really was the full moon you saw him.

“y/n, aren’t you eating lemon pies with us?”

At Jeno’s call, you quickly let go of the cloth you were using to wipe the counters, making sure your hands were clean with the hand sanitizer as you headed to the kitchen. The energy created from the 7 boys were amazing — it was like handling 7 elementary school kids, but maybe more immature. By the time you cheerfully arrived, you notice (and hated) that the only available seat was beside Jaemin’s, which was the center of the table; it made you feel like a birthday girl. Jaemin coughed dryly as he shifted his place, pulling the chair out slightly for you.

“Hey,” despite both of you shared your afternoon greetings, your lips had to spit it out once more, only causing more giggles from his friends. “You like greeting people, don’t you?” Jaemin’s question fanned the fire in your heart, and you wanted to hide behind the counters if you could, but there was already a piece of lemon pie placed neatly in front of you.

And there was Jaemin.

“Is Jaemin giving up his last pie for y/n?”

“I swear, Lee Donghyuck.”

You weren’t so used to having 7 boys talking loudly on top of each other, but at least they made you laugh. “I’ll do the dishes,” as you get up with the gathered plates, Jaemin quickly stops you, realizing then his hands were overlapping yours. The kitchen fell silent until Donghyuck led the astonishments.

“No, I’ll do. You’ve got work to do, and Donghyuck would help me.” Seeing Donghyuck’s confused expression, surely this wasn’t something discussed beforehand. There were small chuckles followed, shut as soon as Donghyuck snapped his head around.

“Good luck, Donghyuck. We’d be upstairs!” Jeno exclaims as he waves a goodbye hand, the rush of the others spun your head around a little. You smiled a little, helping Jaemin until he had to put a hand out to signal you.

🌕

The sudden gale of wind was enough to scare the entire village away. It was sure a windy afternoon, though the sun was down earlier before the moon started rising. You couldn’t believe you were walking down the same path of darkness, and how the storage felt further than usual distance. The box wasn’t heavy or too big to distract your sight of the path, though you had to adjust it a couple of times due to its smooth surface slipping down your hands.

Snap. It was then when your ears twitched sensitively in a beat late of the snapping, followed by a held breath somewhere. Your breath hitched, the filthy feeling of creeps crawling onto your skin. No weapons, no nothing. Nice, you think.

“Who’s there?” You call out but the only reply was your echo against the cold wind. Before your head snapped back to the path — not to your notice — a sudden force tugged your arm. A sound of startle was caught beside your ears, both you and the person tangling together by your resistance, tumbling down the hard ground. Or was it soft?

“Are-are you okay?” Opening your eyes, you realize how you were suffocating the one under you, quickly picking yourself up as you flushed with embarrassment. The person coughed out as if he was choking on hair, and you recognize the face under the sudden moment of dim moonlight amongst the clouds: Na Jaemin. He hadn’t got a scar on his face, but surely he seemed to be in pain by the fall.

“I was only trying to help.” Jaemin ran his fingers through his hair, wincing from the sudden pain that stabbed his back, rubbing it carefully as you helped him sit up. It was weird seeing Jaemin like this. He would’ve caught you in his arms and avoid the fall if it were the usual, perfect Jaemin. He had a plain white t-shirt with a black leather jacket, with ripped denim jeans which were stunning, even his hair that was messy from the blowing winds. You never knew these style of fashions were your taste until today.

“I-I’m sorry, truly.” Jaemin shrugged at your apologies with a chuckle that only made your heart skip another beat.

“Delivery?” He asks, picking up the box that was ditched on the floor due to distraction. He flipped it over as if he was treating it like a basketball, turning his head around instead of the box to read off the sticker, which contained the information of the resources within.

“Kind of. But it’s to the storage.” He hummed with a nod, followed by his eyebrows twitching, his eyes willing to open the box by ripping. Nervously you stared at his cold tension, silencing your questions. You knew it by now too well, that the medicines inside were the ones he was searching for — the ones he got mad at for you having them — but he didn’t comment about it.

“You always seemed to hold my pills, I guess it’s a good coincidence.”

“Excuse me?” You asked him with a playful chuckle, but Jaemin’s grip tightened at the edges of the boxes slightly, and you knew it was something sensitive. “Good that it’s you though,” his words were bitter yet sweet in some corner around, your eyes filling up with sympathy, which he didn’t seem to be willing to meet.

“Am I that trustable now?”

“Don’t get your hopes that high,” Jaemin chuckles. You loved his soft smile, it eases everything. You wondered if he thought the same way whenever he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The color of the night sky was darker than usual, and it only grew uncertainty of safety. “My dad used to take me here, we also had picnics if the weather was nice.” Jaemin, as always, was the one who opened up the conversation, “we could, well, maybe watch some stars on the way back.” It was weird that even though the dim moonlight that dulled all the colors, you could see the tip of Jaemin’s ears tinted in redness, which only raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“If you don’t want to—”

“Hey, I’d love to.” You cut him off this time with a small crack of an awkward smile. “The sky’s clear today down the hills, it must be helping us.” continuing with a giggle, you bump into Jaemin’s back, who suddenly froze, body twitching sensitively. “Jaemin?” Echoing your whispers were howls of wolves, halting your actions just like how Jaemin’s did.

Oh, this is bad. Really bad.

“Jaemin are you scared of wolves too?” You let out a slight laugh, but both of you knew it was only to wash off the sudden creep crawling up the spine. Jaemin was never afraid, you could tell, it was a bad joke at a bad timing, you bit your lips.

“No,” Jaemin whispered lowly, “of course not. Not that I’m scared— it’s just another reason.”

“Jaemin, are you telling me that you didn’t take—”

They glowed. The hungry, shining eyes of hundreds glowed so luminously and dangerous that you knew you weren’t going to spare your life this time. Tangling your footsteps with his, Jaemin catches you swiftly, but his hands beside your arms were slightly shaking. With the sudden draw of the clouds, the dim moonlight was a lot brighter, and you winced by the sharp poke on your arms. Claws. There was no longer the soft hands of Jaemin’s, but furry browned paws with sharply sheared claws piercing out.

“Jaemin, keep it in.”

“If I do, we’re gonna die.”

Jaemin tried to keep his meek smile, leaving you aside for a while. It wasn’t hard to notice that your heartbeat had been ignoring the tempo lately. At Jaemin’s bold action, the wolves halted immediately. Have they figured out who he was? In a blink, Jaemin was no longer there. The earth shook by some matter with an unusual howl. It was the second time, yes, exactly and only the second time. Yet, you felt this familiar feeling from the tall, lunatic figure in front of you. Neither you or the wolves seemed to have expected another visit of him, as the wolves backed up with a menace growls on their faces. How Jaemin had his back hunched to diminish his size, but he still looked menacing enough. A part of you wasn’t even sure if you could call him Jaemin anymore. He gave off a different aura, something more… dangerous, and less human. His growl with a sharp swing was good enough to chase them away. Searching around for semi-useful weapons, you notice a wolf staring deadly at you and only you: the alpha wolf. You recognized the long scar stretched across its snout, the angle of the line just off of its piercing, icy blue eyes.

The smirking growl was the announcement of the beginning of its hunting. Scurrying its steps, Jaemin plunged himself fiercely towards the alpha wolf once more, how the wolf could not even have its chance to run away, rolling onto the ground with Jaemin. It looked like Jaemin was about to rip it into halves, but instead, a deep bite in its leg seemed to be enough warning. The alpha wolf winced in pain, but the other wolves were smart enough to know it was wiser not to attack. Jaemin stood up with dripping blood on his sharp teeth, his cold glare to the clan was enough. The wolves dared not to attack, petrified by the arising of a new enemy they never have witnessed before. The alpha tried getting up, helplessly trying to balance with his three legs, running at a slow, yet fearful pace, following the others.

Your legs were still left shivering from the sudden blood and mess that quickly flashed by just now. The werewolf dropped onto its knee — hard — and you felt the ground shaking a little. His breath was never steady, how you could see the light skin tone of Jaemin’s showing up from the disappear of furs, his figure stopping at where his ears and tail was still able to be seen. His hands were digging into the dry ground for extra support, beads of sweat falling down his cheeks to meet at his chin, dropping on the cold ground.

It was just like the first time you’ve encountered him; shaky hands, sweats meeting one another to drop, irregular patterns of inhales and exhales. He gathered himself with a gulp of his saliva, harsh breathing heard from a distance. A false in his step was one thing that would make him drop dead on the floor. Jaemin — this time — had his ears and tails out, all drooped down.

“Jaemin—” your voice trails off as you get closer to him, speechless from the sudden scene. But one thing you knew was that Jaemin was there. He was back. “Please go,” Jaemin always kept his order simple and short. That was the way he was, and the way you couldn’t navigate out from. “Jaemin, I’m not going to find you cold dead tomorrow morning.” you were stubborn enough to show your will to help him. But instead, you were pushed away by him with the short droplets of energy left in his body.

“Go.” his voice was stronger this time, yet he was still weak. Jaemin wasn’t looking at you, he had his head turned around from you completely. “I just need some time.” His frustration needn’t have to be explained more, “don’t tell this to anyone.” Your fingers blossomed out from your fists, a sudden overwhelming emotion swirling around you. You thought you got closer to him, but maybe he just friended you for his secret.

“Fine.”

The night sky was enclosed with clouds, moonlight no longer seen now. Maybe Mr. Na would be surprised when he opens up the storage, traces of wolf claws that has ripped opened the box. It wasn’t entirely your fault though.

🌕

It was strange. Too strange.

Jaemin didn’t come through the front door of the pharmacy the next day. Or the following afternoon. You couldn’t help feel your heart sinking deeper and deeper, past your stomach, past your feet, and down deep into the earth, where it was so deep under that it felt like you were burning.

[A wild werewolf has been witnessed during the past days, only threatening the humanities more and more. and scientists are still unsure of the cause…...]

Lies, you silently tossed the cushion onto the TV screen, sighing as you turned it off. You’ve been refusing to eat, locking yourself inside your room ever since that day, thanks to Mr. Na suggesting not to come to visit until several days has passed by.

“I’m coming back late.”

But of course, would you ever listen to someone?

The pharmacy was surely closed, as Mrs. Na, who noticed you from the kitchen, had to open the doors for you. “Jaemin’s gotten a bad fever,” finally his mother opened her mouth in concern, as she poured the steaming hot tea into your tumbler. The sweet, romantic aroma of rose hit your nostrils first, then the soothing green teas followed.

“Oh,” first was the hit of betrayal, and second was the hit of worries. You knew it wasn’t just a bad fever.

“Would it be fine to see him?” At Mrs. Na’s nod, you salute a thank you. It was weird how the wallpapers were green now, how you wished the staircases creaked less as it only helped but to ruin your surprise. You knew which door led to Jaemin’s right away, the small crack of the door helping you easier for the door to open.

There he was lying in bed. Jaemin was beautiful, his eyes closed softly, his long eyelashes gently laid on top. He was a sleeping beauty, and if it wasn’t his body rising for breathing, everyone would believe he was an art piece. “You’re not supposed to be here.” His voice was hoarse, deepen from the nap he has gotten since you arrived, still waking up to realize your presence.

“Got a good nap?” Jaemin squinted his eyes a little as you drew the curtains, sunshine directly shooting on his eyes. It took a while for Jaemin to realize what was happening in the room, sighing as he calmed himself down. His sigh was more of a hum, but you couldn’t really tell.

“I guess,” Jaemin straightened himself up, how the blankets slid helplessly on his body, revealing his bare chest which was full of scratches and bruises. You might’ve found yourself blushing by the sudden reveal, Jaemin silently mouthing an ‘o’ as he quickly tried to pull the blankets back up, but giving up soon enough as he noticed you weren’t that surprised.

“Why are you here?” He still seemed to be resuming with his nap dream, his upper body still as he bent his back a little, eyes slowly closing back.

“That can be answered later. First, of all I’m treating you with some medicine.” you lower your voice so the conversation couldn’t leak, as you opened up the lid of alcohol, getting ready some gauzes to dip in. Jaemin squinted his eyebrows a little, making a face, but he didn’t really stop you. Instead, he leaned back, groaning as if he was suffering a back pain.

“You’re such a mess,”

“Always, a mess.” Jaemin corrected you as he chuckled. His smile relieved you somehow, and you replied to him with annoyed eyes. Jaemin threw his head back, staring at the ceiling silently, leaving you in awe of his jawlines. Your thoughts of Jaemin during the weekends flashed by, how you wanted to tell him how much you missed him, worried him, prayed for him, and now, here you were, cleansing his injuries. Jaemin hissed at the cleansing, even though some injuries seemed quite old.

“Do you ever treat yourself after a rough day?” You ask, and Jaemin shakes his head.

“I only take pills. The rest I try to clean on the spot, not when I get back home.” Jaemin’s chin points to the door. “My mom doesn’t know about this.” Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. No wonder her mother looked truly worried when addressing Jaemin with having a bad fever.

“Well, Mr. Werewolf, I think we’re done.” You stuffed the used gauzes in your bag, hoping the alcohol smell wouldn’t leak.

“Don’t— don’t call me that,” You were sure that Jaemin was blushing this time, your eyes watching him sliding the blankets back up. The comfort embraced you just by seeing his eyes, how your eyes moved up and down, observing how his chest rose lightly. The only sound heard was the silent breeze coming through the window, and his small breathings, which sounded like a lullaby to you.

“Your eyes are swollen,” his touch wasn’t startling at all. His warm touch only made you grin. “Did you miss me?” Jaemin asked out of the blues, and your eyes widened slowly. He was hesitance with the movement of his hand, and you witnessed that. The intense atmosphere made your hand still until it came in contact with Jaemin’s. Wordless from then on, Jaemin let out a sigh as he stroke the surface of the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Do you know how much this house smells like you,”

“No, I don’t. But it should, I’ve been here for months.” You chuckle, feeling Jaemin’s grip on your hand only tightening with a smile. His hands were soft, his touch gentle and cautious, as if he was treating you like glass. “I’ve never felt so relieved to smell you as soon as you entered the house,” he smiled, “hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m not creepy, I’m being my werewolf self.”

“Yeah, sure, Jaemin.” your sigh ended up with a smile, as Jaemin pulled you into his arms, smiling wider as his forehead gently touched yours. He snuggled to you closer, head buried into the crook of your neck with a smile of a child, finally wrapping you around with his arms. Your fingers gently combed his dazzling brown hair, and for once, it was peaceful.

“I missed you too, I really did.”

Birds were humming against the slightly opened window, and for the first time, the town seemed to be back in its spring color palette. Livelier shades of green gradationed the leaves, hearing them rustle as the wind brushed against lightly.

#nct #nct dream #nct jaemin #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct angst #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #werewolf! jaemin #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst

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zombriekid · 6 years

Text

Power [Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hellsing

Summary: after your gargantuan failure on the last mission, it’s time to pay the piper and take responsibility for your actions. pray you survive.

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing is the very definition of elegance, the epitome of regal nobility, distinguished English aristocracy personified, and in everything she says and does and owns reflects that.

You currently have the privilege of “holding council” in her office, and being surrounded by such extravagance makes you entirely all too aware of the sock peaking out of the toe of your eight year old shoe. The space of the room itself is about twice the size of your first apartment, with an ornate ceiling towering hundreds of feet above your head and bearing the weight of a series of glistening crystal chandeliers; the floor is made up of glossy black and white tiles that were installed in a checkered pattern, and though the style isn’t anything you would’ve chosen the quality of the polish delivers your reflection so clearly that you can almost make out the small coffee stain on your shirt. Stretching along the length of the room is a curtain of windows, the kind that are broken up into modest squares all of the same size, and due to the fact that none of them have any drapes there’s a surge of moonlight that is just flooding the space. And there, sitting behind a large desk made of dark wood and intricately carved filigrees is sir Integra in a matching chair with a high back.

Chair, you ponder, more like a throne.

“Hunter Murray, care to explain what exactly happened on the mission?”

You may have the honor of speaking to your boss in her opulent study but it’s the purpose of the meeting that fills you with dread. Sure, being in her presence never fails to induce some ripples of an anxiety attack, however you’re no stranger in dealing with the British upperclass- you’ve been in the Hellsing’s employment for the better part of a year after all, and hell even your former boss Mr. Holmward comes from a not-so-long line of nobility- so it’s needless to say that you can hold your own against old timey rich people who look down on your bargain-bin clothes. But that’s not the purpose of the meeting, is it?

No... no, your current boss is asking about the mission you’ve just returned from, and why you shouldn’t be receiving any participation trophies for it.

Do you dare lie to her face?

Shit Murray, what the hell are you thinking?! She likely already knows. Just fess up, don’t ruin what goodwill you’ve managed to build up!

“Yes ma’am- uhh sir.” The temptation to stare at your shoes is, admittedly, rather strong considering that her one good eye is trained on you with no one else in the room to cushion the intensity of her attention. But you don’t, you maintain direct eye contact. “On the way to the location, I believe I may have offended mister Alucard in some way. Because of this He told me to hang back while He took care of the target, so I did... I... I stayed in the car. Mister Alucard did everything. You can verify this with both Him and the driver.”

Sir Integra keeps staring at you, the lines marring her face relaxed as she steels her expression to preserve the usual air of cold aloofness she carries. Her hands fall behind the desk to open a drawer, and from there she takes out a small wooden box followed by some sort of silver contraption. Inside the box lies a neat pile of slim cigars, a brand that she’s often seen puffing on between her teeth, and she retrieves one only to slip the tip into the opening of the contraption. The gadget’s mouth closes around the cigar leaf, bites into it, and flings the loose piece away. She’s quick to chomp on the tobacco and light it with a match (likely from years of practice), and still she doesn’t look away when she draws in a mouthful of smoke.

(You’ve always hated the smell.)

“I have to say,” she starts, thin, willowy trails slithering from her lips around each word, and you brace yourself for what she says next, “I’m most disappointed in you, Murray.”

Just nod, kid. You deserve every bit of this.

“You’ve proven yourself a rather capable monster hunter, proven my initial conception of your mediumship to be false. In the past year you’ve had seven missions grand total, three solo, two with Hellsing soldiers, two with Seras- and all successful.

“You work well by yourself, you work even better with a team, and you’ve shown that a partner’s species doesn’t matter to you. All this... and yet you personally failed on this mission. So why? Why did you not put in any effort?”

Why indeed, that’s the million dollar question. Well the immediate answer is a vampire in red named Alucard; since the moment you were introduced to Him He’s regarded you with outright hostility, as if by merely existing you serve as some sort of huge offense to him, as if you’re an enemy, and one that He’s ready to snuff out at any given chance. So yeah, His hatred for you despite not having any goddang good reason to seems like the right answer. Can’t be the fact that He told you to stay in the car, your stubborn American pride wouldn’t allow that. It’s just... that’s not it, at least not entirely.

It didn’t occur to you until after the mission was over and you noticed the specks of blood peppering his pale skin simply dissipate into His pores. The reason He feels so different from other vamps, why He truly scares the holy hell out of you- why your instincts go absolutely apeshit whenever He’s near.

Hundreds upon hundreds of years of human evolution fine tuning your sense of self-preservation to prepare you for the very moment when you come face to snarling face with the most dangerous of predators. It’s primal, it’s ancient, and it’s name is Alucard.

You’re scared of him; as simple and as basic as that sounds there’s no other way to describe it. He scares you. And that’s why you stayed in the car.

You explain all of this to sir Integra, who continues to puff on her cigar without interrupting you, and it’s only when you grow quiet that she cradles it in between her index and middle finger and removes it from her teeth. She decides to grace you with a single question.

“Is Alucard your employer?” She asks.

“I... what?” You respond, totally caught off guard and utterly confused.

“Is He your employer?”

You can only gawk, an awkward moment that lasts about five heartbeats and three blinks, before you answer her. “N-no, sir Integra.”

“No indeed. He is but a servant, a tool to be used at Hellsing’s discretion for the betterment of England; an effective, if not deadly, one but a tool nonetheless.” She loosely points the smoking end of the cigar in your direction, “you’re an employee, sworn under a contract that’s currently standing in my responsibility. Do you understand?”

You think you do.

With the silver moonlight casting in from the windows and bathing down on her platinum waves, green eye ablaze in the dark and mouth in a firm line, behind her desk sir Integra presents herself as a lord, a boss, and now you realize the true depths of her words.

Alucard is certainly a threat but only when His master allows Him to be. You’re an employee, you’re something of an ally and until you render yourself an enemy to the Hellsing organization you’ll be protected by the ironclad word of Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.

So feel free to be afraid of all that He can do to you but it’s ultimately her that has all the power, and don’t you dare forget that.

The corners of your mouth pull up ever so slightly, and you give her a nod followed by a simple bow. “Yes, sir Integra. I do understand. I’m sorry for my crappy work conduct this past mission, I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

In the shadows and through the smoke, you swear that you can see your boss smirk a little.

“Good, see to that. Now unfortunately I’ll have to withdraw any payment considering the fact that you didn’t do anything, but perhaps I’ll find you another task to complete soon.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Very well then. You’re dismissed, hunter Murray.”

In a corridor relatively close to sir Integra’s office is an old painting of an English queen. The contours of her face look nearly familiar to you, one of the Elizabeths you think- the one that never got married maybe? You at least know for a fact that she was a majorly influential figure in history and though you give her credit for being a strong monarch in ye olde patriarchal times... you always do your utmost best to avoid this part of the manor.

See the painting is a front, a facade to conceal the doorway that lies behind the canvas. Where it leads to you can’t really say but one thing that’s for sure is this: that’s the entrance to Alucard’s lair and you may have newfound confidence fueled by a combination of trust in your boss and indignation of the mission- but yeah, you’re still going to stay out of Count Prickula’s way.

Such a shame that He doesn’t feel the same.

“It seems that my master has finally grown tired of this game,” He purrs somewhere from behind you. “She may yet cast you aside like the pathetic garbage that you are, revenant.”

You don’t look for Him, don’t rise to His bait and turn around to confront Him mostly because you have yet to cope with your fear and you just know that, if you do, then you’ll more than likely lose what little faith you’ve gained from the meeting. So you just square your shoulders and clench your fists; you can’t look at Him, and His negative energy is still way too stifling, but you’ll be damned if you don’t defend your honor now.

“You’re right, mister Alucard. I’m more than capable of handling a lone vampire and some ghouls so I should’ve done something. I didn’t- I should’ve, but I didn’t, and now the best thing I can do is move forward from here. Sir Integra has given me her blessing and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

You feel ballsy enough to glance out of your peripheral and over your shoulder (and you don’t see anything but you know He’s there.)

“There’s only one person here that I’m trying to impress and I’ve been doing that for the past year, so you can hate me all you want, I don’t care, because it legitimately doesn’t matter anymore.”

Taking a moment to catch yourself before your rambling gets you into too much trouble, you decide to wait to see if Alucard wants the last word, afford him the basic decency He keeps denying you, but when you realize that He’s likely not going to say anything you wish him a goodnight.

...

But damn your American southern pride!

“Oh, one more thing. A revenant is either a revived ghost or an animated corpse, two things I’m obviously not, so I don’t get the reference. Maybe you can try using my name for now on? At least it’ll make sense.”

There’s a swell of anger, and cold air, and negative energy that rushes your back, and you’ll readily admit that it freaking terrifies you knowing that it’s coming from Him but now you understand the truth- the secret that you’re safe from Him as long as She wills it- and so it’s with that note that you keep striding forward, as if the most powerful monster that you’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering wasn’t currently picturing your demise.

This exchange will likely come back to bite you in the ass in the future, but for now you’ve got a date with a mound of plush throw blankets and you fully intend on keeping it.

a/u: so... this entry gave me such a freakin hard time but voila. sorry for the lack of alucard. i’m actually pretty damn proud of how this turned out, feels organic murray’s transition from petrified human to... well petrified human but now with enough backbone to kinda stand up to the count. hope y’all agree. like and reblog this ish if ya enjoyed it, and if you wanna see anything specifically then feel free to hit me up.

#hellsing #hellsing alucard #hellsing alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x you #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard #hellsing ultimate #hellsing fanfic #hellsing fanfiction #writing #hunter murray

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imightbeapotatobutihavestandards · 6 years

Text

He’s Hurting Me Pt 12

Summary: It’s Virgil’s birthday, the day he dreads all year round, but this year, he has friends who are insistent on making this his best birthday yet... unfortunately others don’t share their enthusiasm

Triggers: Explicit language, swearing, violence, mentions of attempted suicide, blood...also very long, I would say it’s to make up for me being gone for a week but I really don’t like this chapter so... I’m very sorry

Part 12

Virgil stared up at his ceiling, contemplating the passage of time. He grabbed his phone, letting the artificial light temporarily blind him, before noting how late it was.

Seven minutes to twelve.

Seven minutes.

Seven minutes to his birthday, until he is officially one year older. He felt his anxiety spike again. His birthday only reminded him of time, and his time was running out. He was reminded of the exams to come. The colleges and universities to apply to. He was reminded of the future he had to know. Everything was changing. He’d lose everyone. Or they’d lose him. Virgil was younger, in the year below everyone else, they’d be leave him behind. Patton was off to work, to travel with his brother. Logan would be studying at some advanced university. Roman had a scholarship to a prestigious performing arts course. Virgil would be stuck here, going nowhere, entirely alone, for a year. He couldn’t even think of where he’d be in two years, he had no idea what he wanted. Creative writing was always an option, but what if he wasn’t good enough for the course? What if he never found what he wanted to do? He felt his insides twist around themselves as he thought about fading from his friends lives, about them forgetting him.

Think logically, he told himself in Logan’s voice. He’d figure out what he wanted to do eventually. He didn’t have to know now. His exams were ages away, there was nothing he could do for them now. No matter what, Patton would always stay in contact with him. Besides, his friends were still here, they weren’t leaving until next September, he didn’t have to say goodbye just yet.

He still had time.

He felt some pressure release. Sometimes, he was able to think reasonably, and he was greatly appreciated Logan’s help in that. This was a only a momentary peace, but so long as he kept reminding himself of facts, he could avoid a full blown panic attack. So he clung to these moments; the way Logan had told him to.

He thought of Logan. Although cold, and almost emotionless at first, Virgil couldn’t help but feel calm about him. Logan was honest, and that was reassuring. He was responsible, in a way he was like Patton, he seemed to always know what exact thing he needed: a bit tired? He’d buy Virgil a coffee. Exhausted and running off barely any food or drink? Absolutely no coffee, lots of water, some food. On the verge of a panic attack? Calm, assured, reasoning. Full on panic attack? Patton. It was funny, how well Logan and Patton complimented each other. They were polar opposites, yet worked well together, and it wasn’t as if Virgil didn’t notice how Patton perked up that bit more, or would sit that little bit closer, to Logan. It was adorable, really.

Virgil found himself and Logan agreeing a lot on things, and Logan actually understood him pretty well. Virgil thought about how before, he’d only ever been fully comfortable around Patton, he assumed it was because he’d known Patton for so long, yet he and Logan seemed to have some kind of unspoken bond. He was comfortable with Logan, and Logan with him.

Buzz.

Virgil jolted violently as his phone went off, he grabbed it and once again allowed himself to be glared at by the bright light. Squinting, he noticed the time, and panic struck again.

Twelve.

It was officially his birthday.

Virgil’s eyes scanned the rest of his screen, seeing a notification from Roman there.

Now that was an odd one. Virgil remembered, vividly, the hatred he had felt for Roman the night before the play: his arrogance was frustrating, he was always obnoxiously loud, and was extremely stressful to deal with. Virgil had hated him… and then they’d met, and his eyes had glistened brightly, and his smile had tugged slightly more to one side, and he’d hated how that’d made him feel. He’d hated how easily he’d accepted the compliments and charisma. Hated how instantly he’d felt okay in his presence. And then, Virgil had really started hanging out with Roman, and they’d argue over every little thing. Virgil chuckled thinking back to just yesterday.

“Virgil, you can’t call me a nerd if you are arguing in defence of Star Wars.”

“Yes I can if you’re arguing for Star Trek, nerd.”

“Star Trek is infinitely better than Star Wars!” Roman argued back, enthusiastically waving his hands around.

“No, it’s not! Star Wars has an actual plot, a well-developed plot! Star Trek, they went back in time to save a whale, w-“ Virgil was promptly cut off by the boy in front of him.

“Yes, and it was magnificent!” Roman decided passionately. “It’s light-hearted, engaging, touches on some important and complex themes, and showcases a diverse cast!”

“Okay sure, especially for the time.” Virgil admitted. “I’ll give you that. But, it’s still nothing compared to Star Wars.”

“Just because Han Solo’s hot…” Roman mumbled, faking a pout and crossing his arms.

Virgil dramatically placed a hand on his heart, looking offended. “Roman, how dare you assume I’m as shallow as you… besides Ewan McGregor’s hotter.” He grinned.

Roman chuckled, nodding his head rapidly. “You’ve got me there, plus that man can sing.” Roman said dreamily.

“I know, Moulin Rouge is actually my favourite film.”

Roman’s eyes went wide and locked onto Virgil, he wasn’t sure if he was this happy because someone else appreciated Ewan McGregor’s singing, or because it was Virgil appreciating any kind of singing… actually that’s a lie, it was entirely because it was Virgil.

“Oh my-“ Roman cut himself off by wrapping his arms around Virgil. Virgil couldn’t help tensing up slightly, but he quickly relaxed, smirking a bit.

“Okay, whatever, you win this debate, just because you said a MUSICAL is your favourite film!” Virgil laughed at Roman, and was fairly sure Patton was fangirling in the background.

Roman pulled back, but clasped his hands on Virgil’s shoulders firmly. “ We need to watch it together.”

Virgil pretended as if he was considering it, when really, he’d already decided.

“Hmm…”

“Please, please, please!”

“I don’t know, I quite like watching you beg.” He smirked, but inside began freaking out.

Roman’s eyes widened, but allowed his lips to twist upwards. He seemed at a loss for words, which was unusual. Their eye contact lasted longer that perhaps it should, and Roman’s smile became more of a smirk every moment, maybe Virgil had actually said something right for once?

“Alright then Princey, I’ll watch it with you… if you bring the snacks.” Roman cheered at that response.

Virgil smiled at the memory, unlocking his phone and reading his friend’s message.

Sir Sing-a-lot: Happy birthday my favourite Emo Nightmare! I may have only known you for a month or two, and we may have had our disagreements (Goblet of Fire is still the best Harry Potter book,) but I’m still so glad I have met you. Now, I’m not entirely sure what I’d do without your cynical comments. So, celebrate this fine day, and I’ll see you soon Hot Topic xx

Virgil’s heart felt weird, and his pulse was going insane, but it wasn’t panic, he felt warm? He felt… loved, and appreciated… and he had no idea how to respond to that.

Me: Wow Princey, I didn’t know you actually cared this much… thanks, see you soon x

It took Virgil a solid three minutes to send because he was kept deleting and then adding the ‘x’ but, eventually, he left it and he hit send.

Sir Sing-a-lot: Of course I care, Virge. Now get some rest

Me: You too Roman

Virgil closed his phone and looked up at the ceiling again, his heart a bit lighter, everything feeling a bit warmer. He drifted to sleep at around 1:04, but that was good for Virgil.

***

Virgil immediately pulled his hood over his face when he reached the lunch table, his friends singing chirpily and far too loud.

“No, please. Stop.” Virgil cut them all off, causing them to giggle. He already thought the whole canteen was judging them, he didn’t need more attention.

“Okay, okay, only so we can get to the presents quicker!” Patton exclaimed.

“Presents?”

“Yes! Presents!” Patton practically squealed in response.

“You didn’t have to get me anyt-“ Virgil began but was interrupted.

“Nonsense!” Roman smiled. “Now on with it!” He declared, crossing one leg over the other as Virgil sat opposite him.

Patton clapped excitedly, diving into his bag and pulling out an envelope, and two package wrapped in pale blue with a silver ribbon. Virgil first opened the envelope, cautiously slipping his finger under the flap and neatly tearing it open. The cream material had hidden a hand drawn card stating; “ur fam” on one side and “ily” on the inside, next to a picture of all four of them. All of them had signed, the handwriting varying from an elegant calligraphy to a barely legible, excited scribble.

Virgil let out a slight laugh. “Thanks guys.”

“Open them. Open them. Open them.” Patton chanted excitedly, bouncing from his seat. Virgil chuckled and complied. He opened the smaller one first, carefully pulling at the ribbon and unpicking the neat wrapping.

“Wow…” Virgil gasped as he examined his gift. It was a black, leather-bound journal, with the word “thoughts” etched into the centre, and a black string enclosing it. Virgil excitedly opened it, a shocked expression still plastering his face. The paper was high quality, cream, and the lines were slightly faded; perfect.

“Patton… thank y-“

“Just wait till you see the next one! I’m most proud of that!” Patton beamed.

Virgil, still surprised and entirely grateful, reached for the other gift. As soon as Virgil saw the present, he’d leapt up and thrown his arms around Patton.

“I hope you like it!” Patton smiled kindly.

“I love it.” Virgil’s voice was muffled by Patton’s shoulder, and when he pulled back he wiped his eyes quickly. Patton had given him a sleek black frame, the picture inside was of a smiling Patton, his glasses reflecting the sun and his hair a wild unkempt mess of waves. Virgil was laughing, looking down, his hair neatly cut, for once. In between them both, smiling, practically glowing like the sun, was Virgil’s grandmother, her arms around both of them. Virgil wasn’t sure what they were laughing at, but he remembered the feeling; he had been laughing so much his stomach hurt, smiling so much his face ached, he’d felt so happy, so… accepted, and proud.

“Thank you… so much.” Virgil almost whispered, pulling away and staring at the photo.

“You’re very welcome, kiddo!”

Logan coughed awkwardly, drawing Virgil’s attention. “Mine is far less… well…”

“I’m sure it’s great Logan, I really didn’t expect you to get me anything in the first place.” The smaller reassured.

Logan’s smile was so quick Virgil was almost convinced he’d imagined it. He handed over his present, almost nervously. Taking great care again, Virgil peeled back the suspiciously Christmassy wrapping paper, to reveal a pair of large, black, cordless headphones.

His eyes flew wide, his head jerking up. “Holy shi-“ He cut himself off in shock, seeing Logan holding out something else; a gift card.

“I know you’re prone to… moments of extreme alarm.” Logan began, not entirely sure how to word what he wanted to say, which was weird for him. “I thought these noise-cancelling headphones may help.” He continued matter-of-factly. Virgil just nodded, still in awe as he took the giftcard.

“And that’s so you can buy some audiobooks, that might help you calm down.”

“Logan I… That’s really thoughtful, thank you.” Virgil replied sincerely, his eyes flickering from the gift to Logan, before finally deciding and tentatively wrapping his arms around Logan. Logan hesitated before hugging back, in a manner that was confused at first.

“You’re very huggy today, J-Delightful.”

“Shut up. I’m allowed.” Virgil mumbled, pulling away.

He sat back down in his seat, surrounded by wrapping and presents. He couldn’t fight the soft smile that graced his way onto his lips. Roman handed him his gift from across the table, grinning brightly.

For the final time, Virgil carefully pulled apart the wrapping, revealing a soft black material. He titled his head in confusion, before holding it up. The mysterious material unfolded to reveal a black hoody, embossed with plaid purple patches, white stitches, and a thunder cloud.

“Pat helped me with some of the design choices. I hope you like it!” Roman beamed.

“Wait, you made this?!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Yep!” He responded brightly. “Now come on, try it on!” He urged as he stood up.

Virgil quickly shucked off his black hoody and replaced it with the new one. The material was soft and comforting, it pooled around his wrists and fell past his hips. He held his arms out, examining it further and discovering zips on the sleeve, Virgil grinned. Every part of the hoody was planned out and considered entirely dependent on Virgil, it was literally made for him, and it was perfect.

“Roman this… wow, it’s so soft. Thanks!” He smiled, eyes darting across the table, he was confused when he didn’t meet Roman’s green ones. He turned to find his friend standing in front of him, arms flung out wide.

“My turn!” He grinned. Virgil laughed, but complied, allowing himself to be enveloped by Roman’s arms. The taller leaned back slightly so Virgil’s feet were lifted off the ground, the grip around him tightening in response, but the movement barely startled Virgil, he just laughed into the other’s shoulder.

Roman put Virgil back down and removed his arms, hands ghosting over his hip.

Virgil was elated. He was so happy, he could feel tears pricking the back of his eyes. As he sat amongst all the unwarranted gifts, a part of him wanted to hug them all again. He’d never liked presents, he liked birthdays even less, but this was different. Everyone had thought so much about these things, put so much time and effort and care into it, hell, Roman had HANDMADE his git. They weren’t forced out of obligation, they got him something meaningful, and he was indescribably grateful, if a little guilty. He couldn’t help that knowing feeling in the pit of stomach, that he’d made his friend’s do that, he’d made them waste time and money on him… but at that moment, he couldn’t help the happiness brought from the love he felt. Virgil pressed his palms to his eyes gently, trying not to wipe off his eyeshadow while wiping his tears. He knew it was pathetic but, he hadn’t felt like this in so long. Felt like he was cared for, by people who didn’t have to care for him. His friend’s weren’t forced to be there due to blood, they chose to be there, for some strange reason, but he wouldn’t question why. Not now at least. Not after such a good day. For once, his birthday brought genuine happiness.

“Oh look, it’s that little freaks birthday.” Spoke too soon.

A voice recognised to be Louis, spoke from behind him. Virgil visibly tensed, his eyes training intently on the table, hands balling into fists, body slowly beginning to close in on himself.

Logan had flinched as he turned to face the group with a cold, hard stare. Patton was entirely focused on Virgil, worry flaring bright in his eyes as he saw the glaze in Virgil’s own, his entire body stiffened. Roman, on the other hand, was clearly working hard to contain himself. His fists were balled, knuckles turning white, jaw set, eyes livid. If looks could kill Louis would be dead where he stood.

“Nice jacket, faggot.” Virgil shut his eyes.

“He’s finally found a group as fucked up as you? That’s pretty difficult.” Logan opened his mouth to say something, but James beat him to it.

“Why not just try and kill yourself again? Second times a charm, y’know?”

Screech. Roman’s chair flew backwards, falling over dramatically. He stood in between the group and their view of Virgil, his eyes still murderous, but also controlled, calculated.

“Got a problem, Prince?” James spat, stepping closer.

“Yes, actually. You’re my problem. You and your disgusting mindset.”

“You’re one to talk about disg-“

“Come up with a new joke, that one got old. Quickly. Oh wait, you can’t, you’re too stupid to comprehend anything past your limited vocabulary.” Roman retorted.

“What, the fuck, did you just say to me?” James demanded, people clasped at his shoulder, holding him back.

“Oh, not just you. All of you. This entire group put together probably still wouldn’t have a single brain cell. No wonder you’re all failing. I look forward to seeing you guys serving me across McDonalds and gas stations in the future, considering that’s all you’ll amount to.” Roman continued, desperately trying to prod the bear.

“Watch your mouth, fag.” James growled, the hands holding him back growing weaker.

“Make me, coward.” Roman bit back, a smirk playing at his lips.

Like a flash, a fist slammed into Roman’s jaw, with so much force he fell to the floor. He heard the others stand up, but he couldn’t let them help him, they couldn’t interfere. He took two deep breaths, forcing himself up, desperate to ignore the pain and throwing on a smirk for good measure, striding towards the group, a copper-ish taste filling his mouth.

“Did your parents not teach you violence is never the answer? Well, actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if they hadn’t.” He smirked.

“What are you saying, asshole?” Roman knew he was going too far, he knew he should be better than them, but he needed this to end.

“I’m saying, your behaviour suggests something’s wrong at home. Don’t worry, I get it. Daddy not hug you enough?”

“Alright, that’s it.” James snarled, Roman had clearly touched a nerve. Good.

Roman felt James’ hand tighten around his collar, pulling him into the centre of the group. He was pushed roughly against Louis, who happily held him up, circling his arm’s under Roman’s.

Already there was a crowd, drawn in by the promise of violence. Like wild animals, they were drawn to blood. Virgil, Logan and Patton had somehow gotten trapped on the outside of the circle, helpless behind yelling and cheering children. Why were there never enough teacher’s on duty?

A fist smashed into Roman’s face and he could feel his entire body crumple with the impact, almost like he was short circuiting. He knew the arms circling him were the only things holding him up. He’d squeezed his eyes shut from the impact, biting back a cry of pain. He felt warm blood trickled down the side of his temple. A force jolted him, forcing him to turn his head and look back at his attacker.

He snapped his eyes open, spitting out the blood, making no attempt to fight back. Another hit. This one more to his nose, the impact causing a shot of sharp, unbearable, pain.

“Ahh.” He couldn’t stop the pained exclamation. He was focusing too much on holding back the heavy threat of tears stinging the back of his eyes.

“Look at me, fag.” A voice yelled, it might have been James, but he wasn’t sure. When Roman refuse to follow the order, the owner of the voice yanked his hair harshly, causing Roman to wince. Roman’s eyes jumped to two things; first the clock, then his friends. Through the sea of people, he could see their movements, see them pushing to reach him, but no one let them pass. Somehow, through the havoc, for a split second, Roman’s eyes met Virgil’s. He looked terrified, with the very little time he had, he tried to seem calm, willed his eyes to tell him not to worry. He hoped he understood. James yanked his hair again, pulling him down to eye-level.

“Kinky.” Roman flashed him a bloody smile. The other boy’s face heated, his cheeks puffing out, he said nothing as he pulled backwards, removed his hand, and punched Roman in the stomach. All air was knocked out of him and Louis let him fall to the floor. He lay on the floor, pain shooting through his nerve endings, heart racing, lungs empty, gulping for anything. It was like there was too much to process. The roar and cheers were consuming until finally, they were silenced by a shrill, piercing voice. He could feel the presence run in immediately between him and the group.

“Stop this! Stop this instant!” Miss Fitch; the one time she’s late.

And now, was Roman’s time to shine.

He started coughing loudly, a few sounds a pain escaping as he did. He tried to push himself off the ground but his arms shook and collapsed. He let out some sort of agonised whimper and allowed his body to shake. Virgil quickly appeared at Roman’s side, helping him sit up, Patton and Logan not far behind him.

He saw the group around him stiffen, unsure of how to react to the figure of authority in front of them. “Explain yourselves!” She snapped, glaring at each of them individually.

“Self de-“

“Don’t even try that! Roman just decides to attack all of you at once? I don’t think so. Principles office. Now!” She commanded before speaking rapidly into a walkie-talkie to other members of staff, while the group begrudgingly, and somewhat confused, walked to the office.

As the others walked off, Virgil pulled Roman into his arms, inspecting his injuries as best he could.

“My hero…” Roman muttered as Virgil carefully helped him to his feet and the crowd around them dispersed.

“Roman, will you be able to get to the nurses office yourself?” Miss Fitch asked, Roman nodded. “Good, I need to deal with them. Don’t worry, the school will do all it can to stop this from happening again, I’ll need you to fill out an incident report form at some point though.” Roman nodded again. “Alright.” She began striding off, barely hiding a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, and your parents will be notified as soon as possible.” She called nonchalantly over her shoulder.

Great.

As soon as she disappeared from sight, Roman forced himself to flash the others a bright, if slightly bloody, smile.

“Roman, are yo-“

“I’m fine, Virgil.” He wheezed slightly.

“You really don’t look it.” Logan interjected.

“Yeah kiddo…” Patton’s voice was filled with concern, Roman felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. “What happened back there?”

Roman attempted a shrug but it didn’t really work, given he was being held up by Virgil. “I couldn’t let him say those things. But if I hit him I’d get in trouble.” Roman stated as if it was an obvious fact.

“Wait, so you planned on getting beaten up?” Virgil was seriously questioning Roman’s sanity.

“Well, not badly.” Roman winced slightly as he tried to move, his head was still loud and roaring. Pounding. “But I remembered what Logan and I talked about once. Nothings ever gonna change, not unless-“

“-They get caught red handed.” Logan finished.

“Exactly. Miss Fitch won’t let this go lightly, she’s probably the most well-respected and reliable teacher at this school, they’re not gonna ignore her for a bunch of delinquents. Besides, this is the opportunity teachers dream of: Rescue a helpless student, get rid of a difficult student, and have air-tight proof.” Roman stated, his words slightly forced and breathy, but he needed to say these things. He pointed upwards to a security camera with an innocently blinking red light. “Despite what I said, James and his friends aren’t stupid, they know its… risky, to start a fight here. I just needed to make them mad enough they’d forget their common sense.”

“I… I hate to say I’m impressed.” Logan admitted. “It was… disagreeable, but there is an unfortunate amount of logic behind it.”

“There is no way you came up with that on the spot.”

“It was a vaguely planned idea I’d imagined, but never actually thought about implementing it. Seemed too farfetched. Besides, my pride wasn’t worth it. But, the stuff they said… before I knew it, I was on the floor.” Roman finished, his voice hoarse.

“That was fucking stupid, man. Look at you! I am not worth this.” Virgil argued, genuinely mad at Roman for being so reckless when it came to his own health.

Roman jolted his head upwards, affronted and holding back a wince at the sudden movement. He opened his mouth to defend Virgil’s worth, but the angry teen just cut him off.

“Shut up, dumbass. You’re going to the nurse.”

***

The nurse was in shock when she first saw Roman; bloody, bruised and voice hoarse. It didn’t look good. However, once she’d cleaned off the dried blood and plastered up a couple places, she was relieved to discover there was no bone damage or heavy structural damage: Roman’s nose was in tact, his lip was only slightly swollen and his wound on his temple wasn’t deep. He’d bruise, but he’d heal. The only other issue was his arms, he’d managed to land on it when he fell, still not too much damage but she ordered him to hold an ice pack over it. Virgil leaned against the wall near the doorway, still glaring at Roman: he was so worried and relieved and scared and pissed as hell. He wasn’t sure who he was mad at though. Roman for getting himself hurt? James for hurting him? Or himself for not doing anything? All were equally good picks.

The nurse held another ice pack to Roman’s lip, causing the swelling to reduce. Once satisfied she moved the ice pack around in her hands, then placed it to the cut on Roman’s temple, just above his eye. There had been a thick, heavy silence in the room, until another teacher poked her head through the door.

“Oh, uh, sorry-“ Began the older woman, looking between the three with wide eyes. “-It’s just, Mel, if you could, we need your-“

“-Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a second.” The nurse smiled kindly. “I’m going to deal with this, Virgil, can you hold the ice pack?” She asked, turning to Virgil and offering him the ice pack.

“I can do tha-“

“No. Keep pressure on that wrist.” The nurse firmly told Roman. Virgil took the nurse’s spot as she rushed out to deal with… whoever’d just thrown up.

There was silence between them. Pounding against their ears. Virgil refused to look at Roman’s desperately pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Roman said, genuinely.

Virgil sighed, all anger he had leaving him in an instant. “It’s alright.” He replied, reluctantly. “I don’t… it was really nice you stood up for me, I do appreciate that. I just, I don’t want you to get hurt Ro, least of all because of me. I was so worried.”

“I know, I know but, I don’t want you to get hurt either, Virge.” Roman’s voice was honest and serious, Virgil wasn’t sure he’d heard him like this before, without a hint of bravado or humour. “What they said wasn’t right. It wasn’t okay. I couldn’t stand seeing the way you tensed up. They’d crossed a line, and getting beaten up will be worth it when they get expelled.” Roman said, determined.

Virgil sighed heavily again. He’d been so worried about Roman he’d almost forgotten those stinging words.

Why not just try and kill yourself again?

He winced. Now they knew. They probably knew already. Lots of people did. But lots of people didn’t as well. It’s funny how gossip travels, some people get left out entirely. But now they knew. Roman and Logan.

“I… I know a lot of people know me as the kid that attempted suicide.” The words rolled off his tongue without his permission, he looked down, trying to escape his own words. “I know that’s why I get those looks, even after two years, that’s all they see me as. Either someone to pity, or the punchline of a joke. But, it was different with you and Lo. I thought, maybe you didn’t know, maybe you didn’t have to. Maybe you’d see me for who am I, not what I’d tried to do.”

“Virgil…” Roman spoke softly, bringing a hand up under the other’s chin.

“You need to keep pressure on your-“

“Virgil.” Roman cut him off, forcing the other boy to look in his eyes. “…I’ll admit I’d known of someone who’d tried, I hadn’t known it was you. But, just because I know now, doesn’t make me see you any differently. I know who you are Virgil; you are loyal, kind-hearted, intelligent, fiercely witty and highly sarcastic… with a tendency to hiss at people. You are also strong. I’ve always known this. It doesn’t change now I know what you’ve overcome.”

“Thanks Roman… and thank you for being a complete fucking moron, in order to protect me. Honestly, where would I be without my Prince?” Virgil smirked, trying to lighten the sombre mood, but also feeling genuine gratitude.

Roman chuckled, hand still under Virgil’s chin, eyes flickering to his lips. It wasn’t until that moment, Virgil realised how close the two were to each other, and how the gap seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, until there wasn’t a gap and their eyes were shut.

It was the smallest sensation, the lightest warmth on their lips. It wasn’t like the films, there were no fireworks, or butterflies, or elongated make outs that had a cold falsity to them. None of that. But there was something. Something tugging at Roman’s gut. Something deep, but light. Something real.

It wasn’t what was on TV, it was just two nervous kids with no idea what they were doing, and that was so much better.

They pulled away, Roman’s lips stinging slightly from where he’d been hit. He blinked, then reattached their lips again, only for a moment. It was still shy, soft, and fleeting, but it still meant so much.

“Roman.” A voice jolted the boys backwards. “Pressure on your wrist.” The nurse smirked.

Taglist: @bunny222

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#thomas sanders #sander sides fic #sander sides #sander sides au #prinxiety #eventual logicality #He's Hurting Me

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douxreviews · 5 years

Text

The Punisher - ‘The Dark Hearts of Men’ Review

"Who among us can look at themselves without shame?"

I'm just going to say it up front.

I was wrong about Pilgrim.

Wow. That was just a really well constructed episode. Honestly, I kind of want this review to just be 'That was really good. You should go watch that, if you haven't already.'

The Punisher gives us an episode structure that we've seen done elsewhere, does it well, and then at the very end turns the entire thing on its head with a last minute reveal that totally changes what we thought we were watching.

The structure in question is the time honored 'Main characters in separate, self contained character studies that never intersect.' The first previous example of this structure to come to mind is of course 'Conversations with Dead People' over on Buffy. This structure has two main virtues. First, it's a great way to really focus on character development before your season long arc kicks into high gear. Second, and more usefully, it's a great way to cover the fact that your main actors couldn't get their schedules to match long enough to get a scene with them together.

I doubt that scheduling was an issue in this case though, as 'Dark Hearts of Man' is, in hindsight, clearly structured the way it is for a very specific reason. Last chance for a spoiler warning if you haven't watched it, because we're about to discuss that last minute pivot, and it really works better as a surprise if you don't know it's coming.

For most of the episode's runtime we think we're watching three separate character studies. Well, two character studies and an action sequence that pauses a lot for brown study. We have Pilgrim, recovering from a fight, Dinah and Krista sharing a girls night of red wine and a debate on the ethics of retaliatory violence, and Frank and Curtis preparing to raid Billy's hideout and then actually raiding Billy hideout.

Taking those one at a time, let's talk about John Pilgrim. In my review of a few episodes back, I complained about how cliched hypocritical religious figures who judge others while they do bad things themselves are. That remains true, but it's not at all what the show was doing with Pilgrim and I apologize for assuming that that was where it was going. Pilgrim, it turns out, was once part of a white supremist group, but somehow got away from them, changed his name, and tried to become a better man by embracing religion. Unfortunately, it appears that no matter how hard he tries to be a good man he keeps getting dragged back into a world of violence and that that world is still very much part of his own nature. The image of bloody, cut up John Pilgrim, barely able to move from all his injuries, forcing his arm out to pick up his preacher's hat and put it back on seems like it kind of sums up Pilgrim's entire existence. The montage of him in the hotel afterwards recovering from the fight through the application of whiskey, cocaine, and prostitutes is as broken as I've ever seen a character on television, and it was fascinating. Great work by Josh Stewart.

Meanwhile, Dinah and Krista's conversation was so close to being healthy. If you didn't have any outside context it genuinely would have seemed like a healthy friendship, and Krista's advice was totally solid. But wow, the undercurrents of unhealthy going on there. Essentially they were debating about whose man was better, so sadly they receive no Bechdel test points for today, but if you look at what exactly each of them was trying to say, something interesting turns up. Dinah was arguing that Frank is basically a good man, as adjusted for personal circumstances. Whereas Krista is arguing that Billy isn't any worse than Frank is, because Frank is just as bad. Those are not equivalent arguments, and it says a lot about each of the women involved. Also, I can't have been the only one saying to themselves, 'Hey Dinah. maybe ask why the light fixture is dangling from the ceiling... that might be important...'

And finally we have Frank and Curt, just hanging out on the roof waiting for night to fall so they can try to take Billy out. For all that Frank jokes with him about it, it's very clear that they both know that Curtis would never in a million years turn him in for the reward money. It's also clear that Curtis knows Frank would still rather be there with Billy. That's just a sad and multilayered dynamic, and I like the way everyone involved played it. It was almost a shame to get the actual action sequence, because the character work was so well done between the three men, without Billy even being physically there.

The bookending of Frank and Billy getting jumped in by their military brethren and Frank getting jumped out by Billy's crew in the warehouse was a nice bit of structural detail as well, the first being an, arguably unhealthy but we're not judging here, example of male bonding. The second being what we might refer to us 'male un-bonding'. They frame the discussion between Frank and Curtis nicely, as well as just being a really solid structural hook to frame your episode around.

So there we have it, a nice little episode that explores three different situations in a way that helps us to understand the characters involved better, so that we have a better feeling for the personal stakes involved as the series moves into its end game. Or at least that's what we thought we'd just watched, but then the episode pulls the rug out from under us with the reveal that what we'd really just seen was the story of how Krista realized how to destroy Frank based on her ostensibly friendly conversation with Dinah. We were simultaneously watching her come up with the plan and the plan being carried out, and we had no idea. Now that's a neat way twist an ending. To be fair, they were upfront about showing their cards; they showed us the '24 hours earlier' screen caption when Krista and Dinah's conversation began. But man, who could have guessed how important that time disconnect would turn out to be. Well played, show.

Bits-

-- I really, really wish that I didn't immediately know what the '14' tattoo on Pilgrim's assailant's arm meant. Short version, it means he's a white supremist. If you don't know specifically what the 14 means, I beg you to count yourself lucky and not look it up. You're happier not knowing.

-- Fascinating as Pilgrim's meltdown into his old habits was, I did kind of wonder where he got the cocaine. That was cocaine, right? I think that was cocaine.

-- Both fight scenes this episode were hard to watch. To the extent that I started having trouble believing that anyone involved in them wasn't dead. Both were also not in hallways, which I think might be a fineable offense for a Marvel Netflix show.

-- It seemed like a flaw in the episode early on that we say Billy on the higher roof looking down on Frank and Curt but that he didn't kill him. It makes perfect sense now.

-- Speaking of Billy and his plan, his plan only really works if Frank kills all Billy's soldiers and makes his way to the room to find the dead innocent bystanders. Did Billy just assume that Frank would kill all of his guys and factor that into the plan? It kind of feels like he did. Which is just stone cold.

-- I desperately want to believe that Billy's soldiers had an arts and crafts night at Valhalla, at which they got out magic markers and all colored their masks together. Please show me that flashback.

-- The bulk of this episode was taken up with the question as to whether Frank was the same as Billy. Normally that would be boring, since the answer is obviously 'no', but here it turned out that the fact that the answer was obviously 'no' was sort of the point. It wasn't about proving that Frank was just like Billy, it was about a plot to make Frank believe that he was just like Billy. Clever use of the audiences expectations.

-- The choice of music for the montage of Pilgrim recovering from the fight was fantastic. This show actually does a really good job with the music cues.

-- Billy sees his fight with Frank as 'he thinks he's better than me'. That kind of glosses over the whole 'you killed his wife and family', Billy.

Quotes:

Billy: "Pain is only temporary, right?"

Dinah: "Does ‘friends’ come with a confidentiality clause?" Dr. Durant: "You can write me a check if it makes you feel better, Dinah."

Dinah: "When Frank smashed Billy into that mirror, he was looking at himself."

Pilgrim: "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." White Supremist Guy: "You have no mercy coming." Pilgrim: "I wasn’t talking about me."

Frank: "That’s the thing with Bill. He’s always alone."

Pilgrim: "Brotherhood is a hall of mirrors."

Billy: "I am you, Frank!"

I am a huge fan of solid structure, and this episode has structure so solid you could build condos on it. Along with some genuinely moving character work, the reveal of unexpected depths in the bad guys, and an ending that makes you immediately watch the episode again.

Four out of four dangling chandeliers.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

#The Punisher #Frank Castle #Billy Russo #Dinah Madani #Marvel #MCU #The Punisher Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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ongnable · 6 years

Photo

spaces between us

a/n: second part of the supernatural au, this time it’s eumyang-sa jinyoung. special mention: sum! my dearest - @moonetc; who provided the title and also helped me proofread for: “player! jinyoung” and “boyfriend! jinyoung" anons (hopefully the length of this series will make up for the fact that i am centuries late)

unfair.

this was so unfair. why did jinyoung have this type of power over you?

he’s ruining your name with each syllable he breathes. ruining it forever, because you know no one else will be able to say it the way he does.

{ supernatural au } kdn | bjy | pwj | osw | hmh | hsw

the families were gathered.

yin-yang symbols that adorned their clothes a clear indication of their bloodline; compass boards tightened to their belts refused to sway even as they sat at their respective seats on the table. the gold linings that traced against gaudy eighteenth mahogany furniture is a stark contrast to the guests’ attire.

grandiose and commanding, the conference rooms of the institute were designed neither to look welcoming or friendly. velvet tapestries decorated the walls up to the high ceiling, while lush carpet lined the floor.

they were there purely for business purposes.

as were the families.

greying hairs piled up on top of her small stature, dry wrinkles deepened on the aged face of the elder when she notes the lack of appearance by their reason for gathering. a clear sigh escapes her without trouble as she twirls the jade pendant hanging low around her neck, twirling it between her first three fingers.

her stamina may have begun to weaken in the last few years, but her magic is still strong. the lack of the heir’s presence isn’t something that can escape the pungsu-jiri circle she’s put up.

“where is jinyoungie?”

from her left side, she could see her only son bite his lower lip nervously before a slight scrunch of his nose forms - a habit he’s surely passed on to his own child. if there was one thing of this family that she knew of - it was that they all shared the same habits. good or bad.

but mostly bad.

it came with growing up in the same wretched conditions, from one generation to the next. an apprentice near a temple learns to recite the scriptures untaught.

“halmeoni!” is shouted from outside the hallway when her grandchild finally shows up. neat in his uniform, hair styled out of his face.

“ahh, our jinyoungie finally decided to make his entrance.”

“better late than never, right?”

the older woman smiled, repeating after her grandson, “better late than never”, dropping the formal air that surrounded her as the crow’s feet lifted. “now go take your seat”. she gestured at the empty space between her daughter-in-law and son.

it was late and you’d just made it out of the library before the magnetic looks were about to shut you in, so it’d been strange to hear someone else still out. their hushed voices echoing down the empty hallway.

even stranger that you could pinpoint one of the voices.

they’d quieted down when they heard you approaching, likely because the pair didn’t want to be caught sneaking around at night. from what you made out before they both when silent, it was a boy and -

“seojeong?” you asked. positive that it was your friend’s voice you’d heard before the speakers went silent.

“oh thank the gods, it was just you!”

it was just me? you raised a brow at your friend’s tone. why the sudden secrecy?

“why are you still out?”

“i was just in the library. i must’ve dozed off without realising.” cracking a smile teasingly, a hand unconsciously comes to rub the back of your head. “you know me.”

“ahh. i’m not even surprised. you’re always so clumsy.” she tutted, “are you heading back to the dorms now?”

“yes; and you...” you glanced at the boy next to seojeong.

tall, kind of lanky under the purposely loosely fitted uniform. not really seojeong’s type now that you think of it, knowing her crush on kang dongho in the upper years. so you don’t stare too long in case it gets rude.

“you too?”

“i’m just going to finish talking to jinyoung before i go back. you head back first. don’t stay out late by yourself - it’s almost the night of full moon after all. i’ve been smelling the wolves out lately.”

“of course.” you try to control the urge to roll your eyes, nothing ever escaped her sense of smell. she probably just wanted to show off a little, it wasn’t as if the wolves could hurt you anyway.

from the corner of your eye you can see this jinyoung studying you in interest. all clinical curiosity and sterile scrutiny. as if you were a wild animal stuck in a petting zoo he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch.

“i’ve never seen you before.” he said, and it gets really hard to hold back an unimpressed expression. something halfway between a snicker and an un-ladylike 'huh?’.

how many times have you heard that line before? it’s even worse when you see how jinyoung treats your friend, ordering her without even so much as glancing her way.

“introduce us.”

seojeong seems to catch on to watch you’re thinking straight away since her pacifist ways start grinding away at the sharp edges of the building pressure.

“she’s not a - aish. i don’t even know why i should bother explaining to you. she’s not one of us.”

“fun.” he talked at if you weren’t there, as if you were beneath him.

even as an outsider, you could tell what seojeong was trying to say to you. to warn you.

us, the eumyang-sa.

so this boy must be related to her. in a sense - you could see it. the same small faces and round eyes. unconsciously hypnotising voices.

“i’m jinyoung, bae jinyoung.” he introduced himself, before turning his attention to you. finally looking at you, instead of through you. yet, it’s uncomfortable - the way he stares as if he’s found new prey. “what’s your name?”

he’s asking for a name. i should tell him... seojeong has told me about her abilities before... so just the first half....

seojeong cuts in before you can say anything. blocking your view of jinyoung.

“don’t answer him.”

y/n, she mouths your name. allowing you to blink open eyes that seem to have closed in your mind. as if a spell over you has been broken.

“don’t answer him.” is repeated, and she’s glaring at jinyoung over her shoulder now.

jinyoung who’s wearing a smirk. a sense of victorious bliss washed over his face when he sees the reaction he’s elicited out of his cousin.

there’s a bitter taste of stark realisation in your mouth when you see that you’ve been a pawn in this stupid game of chess played between the two of them - and your friend has lost because of you - as seojeong hastily drags you away towards the dorms.

“y/n. i’m so sorry about just now. i didn’t mean to get you involved. if it were up to me, i wouldn’t introduce jinyoung to anyone at all. he’s actually nice once you get to know him, but you know what it’s like with us.”

then why did you answer him? you wanted to ask.

but it made sense, because you’d tried to tell him your name too. even when you know you shouldn’t. even when you didn’t.

it was difficult to control.

that fine blurred line between a suggestion and order.

“jinyoung isn’t like me, so please try to not tell him anything if you see him again. i know it’s hard - but he doesn’t need your full name to influence you. he’s the heir.”

the heir. you’re sure you’ve learnt about what an eumyang-sa’s heir can do before during asian history class.

the beginning and ending of wars. the downfall of dynasties.

every hundred years or so - spanning three generations - no can more than one heir exist in the same time frame. holding a power so strong it’s considered a curse.

“if he has your name. it won’t be something weak like what i control, y/n.”

scent. seojeong controlled scent.

the ability that allowed her to match-make couples by manipulating their pheromones. the reason your house always smelt of fragrant flowers and baked goods instead of rotting flesh and blood despite the range of students. how she always evaded the wolves and foxes during sports practice.

as long as she knew their names.

you’ve never once thought of it as weak.

“he’s the grandson of the elder. a direct, pure blood descendant.”

you hear what she’s trying to say. he was strong. very strong.

there was a reason the eumyang-sa families were unafraid to send their children to the institute despite not being classified as another race under the post-ragnarök peace treaty.

“born under the golden dragon, bae jinyoung. if he has your name... it’s your sense of touch he takes away. jinyoung will be able to control your actions.”

the cup of coffee by your side is casually taken from you when someone decides to sit across your normal seat at the library.

you really should’ve known this was going to happen as soon as you learnt that the cousins had been arguing the previous night.

“you’re seojeong’s friend right?” jinyoung’s helping himself to your drink, taking a hearty gulp before placing it next to you again.

“yes,” a friend was a good title to have when dealing with him. “and you’re jinyoung. heir of the eumyang-sa families.”

i know who you are. i know what you can do. i won’t tell you my name.

the best defense is good offense.

“hmmm.” jinyoung leans on his hand as he tilts his head to the side, and he’s staring again. a habit he seems to have developed when it comes to you.

“did you want something, bae jinyoung-ssi?”

“a bit of your time. and maybe a name.” he’s peering over to look at your notebook. one of the little actions that have always bothered you. you don’t understand why people liked looking over at other people’s work so much. “but i don’t think you want to give me your name.”

you give him a small smile. something that won’t be misinterpreted as being overly friendly. followed by a soft shake of the head to emphasise the “no. i don’t.”

because it’ll be more than my name you’ll be taking.

unlike jinyoung who gave you his name so readily, it wouldn’t be like giving gold coins to a cat for you. it’ll be the pearls that he can readily trample and rend you with.

“i just want to be friends.”

“why?”

“why do i need a reason to want to be friends with you?”

“because i’ve heard about you.”

and not just from your roommate. people talk. your class gossips.

none of his friends are low profile either; all them of famous amongst the student body. the boys that lived in dorm a hundred and one were all legends amongst the races.

more importantly, you’d sought out information on him.

this mysterious boy with a voice you couldn’t forget. only - each piece of information served to confuse you more. none of what you’d heard about him made sense.

“you have another girl around your arms each week. you drop classes even before you start attending them. you don’t even leave the dorms unless its to attend the weekend trips out of the institute grounds. we have nothing in common, so why do you want to be friends?”

“you’re close friends with my cousin.”

you knew that amongst the eumyang-sa that attended the institute, seojeong and jinyoung were both outliers. the families usually clung to themselves and travelled in what were jokingly called tribes (privately, you always thought it mocking). was he trying to see if you were genuinely friends with seojeong without ulterior motives?

is he just trying to play the protective family member role?

jinyoung pauses. sizing you up. wondering whether you were worth the trouble of a lie. he settles for telling the truth instead. he could always leave if you proved yourself problematic.

“you’re not scared of us.”

that was... unexpected.

“and i require-” the words get in him, and he quickly swaps for something a little more amicable. “i want someone who isn’t scared of me. to help. for a favour.”

“oh.”

you’ve never had someone force you into doing a favour for them before. what were you supposed to say?

jinyoung didn’t look like he was willing to elaborate either.

the two of you sit in stalemate silence as you continue flagging down the pages of your book, jotting down the occasional note.

and so it goes like that; you - making your cursive notes. him - watching you make your notes. by now, the library is starting to fill in with a few more students as the upperclassmen finish for the day. the two of you inadvertently catching the attention of a few scandalmongers.

“i need to go out with someone who isn’t scared of me.”

it takes a lot of focus for you to not pick up your jaw before it drops on the wooden table. was this how he had legions girls lining up for him? he’d talk to them for a bit, get them a little curious, and then just fire something at them like a thunderbolt in the midst of a clear sky?

people were seriously attracted to these kind of lines?

“you make it sound like all your exes were scared of you.”

“they were.”

jinyoung remembers the way their smiles didn’t reached their eyes, their hands always alert enough to shrink away if he tried holding them. the way they willed their bodies to turn towards him when the tips of their toes faced away; and the way their elbows constantly stuck to them - a barricade.

“then why did you date?” you ask. hushed voice a muffle against the crowd that have just entered the library.

under normal circumstances you’d really feel bad for this guy. because - wow - must be crappy having a girlfriend who’s scared of you. even worse - to have several of them.

but at the same time, the ridiculousness of the whole situation makes it hard to relate.

“because i needed a girlfriend, and they were willing to let themselves be led on in exchange of being treated well.” jinyoung explained.

he knew that none of the girls he’d dated were actually ‘led on’, he’d made clear what his intentions were, and they all knew what was going on. but you didn’t need to know that unless he got your agreement to help.

“right... um...”

'i need a girlfriend.’ you’re not sure people usually placed such importance on dating someone rather than actually liking them.

still. you had no interest in doing the boy in front of you a favour when you had nothing to gain from it. especially not being his girlfriend just for the sake of having rights to said title.

closing your book - since alas, it seemed that studying was not going to be on your agenda today - you look up. excuse prepared on hand.

“why do you think i’m not scared? according to what the old texts say - you could tell me to breathe underwater against my body’s natural defences and i’d still do it.”

flinching, jinyoung’s expression turned grim as his lips settle into an annoyed frown. he probably didn't expect such sharp words when you’ve been exchanging such pleasantries until now.

"how could i possibly not be scared?"

he gestured at you with a tilt of his head.

“i know you’re not.”

from across the table, his bangs part ever so slightly, dusting above his brows as his gaze skims over your fingers. splayed over an open book to mark the page. before his eyes drag up to your face. taking up everything along the way, and finally settling - at your nose? your eyes? you’re not sure.

“your body language gives away a lot.”

the vivid micro-expressions, the gentle angles of your limbs, the un-exhilarated breathing.

even though you weren’t paying attention before; you feel your heart suddenly thundering in your chest, the bass-like resonation loud enough to echo through your ears.

just knowing that he’d been paying such close attention, that someone was studying you so...

“you’re not scared. but i don’t know why."

this was the way he spoke, you thought.

answers that weren’t actual answers. questions that weren’t quite questions.

you shouldn’t answer. you really shouldn’t.

but just like the previous night - there’s a pull to him. an invisible force that bubbles from your chest and pushes up your throat and the words tumble out without much thought. without any thought.

jinyoung’s only answering the bare minimum and yet... and yet... you wanted to know more.

was it because of his voice? part of his ability?

“if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be put at risk even in a hundred battles. if you only know yourself, but not your opponent, you may win or may lose. if you know neither yourself nor your enemy, you will always endanger yourself.”

“did you just quote art of war at me?”

there’s a soft shrug you didn’t mean to throw so easily, but one doesn’t read sun tzu for nothing, and you re-focus on the table, packing away stray pens into the case.

if there was ever a good point to stop the conversation - it’d be now.

“but the more you know, the more useless you’ll feel. our power isn’t something you can fight against.”

his voice is sharp. almost accusing as he states his point. but rather than calling you a coward, it’s more like he’s saying ‘you’re an idiot’.

there’s a raised brow on that intricately handsome face, challenging you for a comeback; and against what self control you thought you possessed - it works.

“can’t you just take it as me accepting it? i don’t see why i feel should scared if i’m already prepared for it. not to mention... i think you’re a good person.”

proud, a little arrogant, and self-indulgently rude. the type to brag without reservation, yet had the ability to back it all up.

but people who pay attention to others and observe their peers well are almost always unfailingly kind despite appearances.

so you’ll take your chances.

“let’s just take it as me being willing to take risks. because, bae jinyoung-” you dropped the formalities. “i don’t think you’ll give me anything to be scared of.”

grabbing your bag, you stood without taking a glance back at the boy who just asked you to be his girlfriend.

just an inch more before he’s completely out of earshot - you hear that his seat is unmoved against the carpet floor as jinyoung reaches across to finish the cold coffee that you’ve left behind.

it takes a total of three more times of seeing jinyoung at the library that week before you next speak to him. just enough for it to be bothersome, but not enough for you to consider it an annoyance. he never says anything; but you feel his eyes on you nonetheless -

“you’re here again.”

jinyoung wasn’t studying. he didn’t have books on him, no laptop to keep him occupied, and, certainly - he took another swig from your cup - certainly no drink to keep him awake.

“but there’s no point in you being here at the library.”

“correction. there didn’t used to be a point.”

trust him to make it his mission to try and rile you up even though the two of you have barely spoken.

"i’m sure you have better places to be and better things to do. so maybe, you could, you know… just go.” instead of distracting me.

for some childish reason, it felt as if you admitting that he bothered you - it’d be losing. that it meant you took notice of him. that bae jinyoung’s presence registered with you. you felt immature for thinking so, but it was hard to deny the competitive streak inside.

more-so; the sun was shining outside, the weather was mild, and the library was empty. echoes of the terrestrial species playing basketball rang through the concrete courts, the dribbling beat an unpredictable staccato.

even you felt tempted to go out for a bit.

“why are you even here?”

“because you are.”

it should make you blush. words like this were designed to be just right. neither too much nor too little. little things that tug at the heartstrings and pull you closer step by step.

but something else bothers you.

he was doing it again, answering only the bare minimum. making you lead the conversation. studying his face for any sign or indication of him initiating more of the exchange and finding none, you move to pack away your stuff from the table.

evidently, you weren’t going to get anything done today. so there was no point in wasting your time here.

purposefully leaving your drink behind, you push it towards jinyoung. for once, it’d still be warm when he finished it.

how he could ever stomach the cold tea or coffee he took (stole stole stole, the petty side in you chants) always equally confused and impressed you.

“you’re leaving early today.”

“i’m not focusing.”

he smirks, and the unease you didn’t think you were feeling decreases a little inside. the stuffiness you had blamed upon cabin fever floats into something akin to lightheaded ease.

compared to the stoic, un-movingness he’d been displaying; a cocky and prideful jinyoung was turning out to be much more pleasant to be around. more natural.

“it’s because i’m here isn’t it?”

“ah. but then i wouldn’t have stayed for the last few days either, would i?”

it wasn’t as if he hadn’t showed up before.

turning back to look at him. something you’ve been doing a lot lately, you realize belatedly. there’s a warning glint in those dark eyes when they peek through his long bangs.

“but yeah.” effortlessly swallowing pride, you give exactly one curt nod. “i’ll give it to you. you’re part of the reason, bae jinyoung.”

“i’m distracting you.”

yes yes yes yes you’re distracting me so please stop

he shoves the almost empty cup back into your hands. as if he’s unwilling to finish it off. there’s two sips left inside, so you will yourself to think that it’s just because he doesn’t want to be the one throwing away the trash as you tip it back.

no good would come out of you thinking too deeply into non-existent affections.

“but why? it’s not as if i’m the one who hasn’t answered questions.”

thinking back, it was true. jinyoung may answer cryptically, but he’s never hedged away any of your questions even when they were too inquisitive.

not to mention ‘the favour’ still sat in the awkward space between the two of you, but you refused to bring it up again first in case he had meant it as a joke.

favour my ass, you wanted to argue, more like request. or order.

“is it because i’m so handsome?”

shameless. really, he was shameless.

“you wish. you aren’t my type.”

“oh, so you have a type. that’s good. i can try and match it if you tell me. if it’s a specific someone, just tell me their name - i’ll even better them if i can have that.”

“i-” flush. that’s what you promptly do when he lowers his height to meet yours. it wasn’t noticeable when he simply sat across you. but standing, it was plain to see that you both did not see eye to eye.

literally or metaphorically speaking.

a few seconds of silence settles in as you wreck your brain for what really was your type. it was something you’ve always said to keep people off your back whenever asked to attend blind dates. but you’d never actually thought of it seriously.

perhaps someone who respected the elderly? liked pets? you honestly didn’t know. someone who seldom lied, maybe?

thinking hard, your mind busies itself with the sudden unanswerable question. another one. frustratingly. but you refused to have another answer you owe him.

only when you see him trying to hold back his laugh that you finally register it as a joke.

it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh like that. not the snarky huffs that materialise out of schadenfreude, and not the mocking smirks he does just because someone must’ve told him that its how you go around breaking hearts. it rumbles from within and comes out giddy and childlike, innocent and boyish, and whatever words you had get stuck at the top of your throat.

“come on, the sun is shining, the weather is mild, and the library is so boring.” he leans back, gesturing for you to follow him, angling his body towards the institute’s most popular coffee shop. unsurprising as it happened to be the only one.

how did he-?

still frozen in your spot, jinyoung beelines to grab your hand when you make no movement to follow in his first few steps ahead. the smile he flashes you taking a mischievous turn as he pulls you through the shelves. the leaking sunlight strobing his silhouette through each awning windows the two of you pass.

“let’s head out. i’ll buy you another cup.”

{part 2} to be updated

masterlist

#reupload as photo post because gif quality was so bad on the other one #bae jinyoung #bae jinyoung fic #bae jinyoung imagine #bae jinyoung scenario #wanna one fic #wanna one imagine #wanna one scenario #supernatural au #jas writes #spaces between us #kpop fic #kpop imagine #kpop scenarios

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yamomsahoeee-blog · 5 years

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study buddies - izuocha fanfic

(deku, uraraka, denki, kirishima, sero, mina)

deku woke up with a crick in his neck. he observed his surroundings, trying to get an understanding of what had happened.

oh! you’re awake!

he woke up to that familiar face- that familiar smile that never failed to cheer him up.

uh- sorry... but... what happened?

well... we’re weeeerreee studying... but you crashed after problem 6!

she giggled and passed deku a warm cup. tea?

drink up!

t-thankyou! but um... where is everyone?

oh- then went to bed. i was waiting for you to wake up. number 8 really has my brain is spirals... haha

that damn smile practically ripped deku’s heart out his chest. the 2 began to do their homework, but they were interrupted by a loud ringing sound.

oh no! i forgot!

he turned his head, curious of what she had forgotten.

i made some cookies.. i know i’m not a chef like sato- but it’s the thought that counts, right?

deku didn’t care if the cookies tasted like actual garbage. anything she put her heart into was pure gold for him. not to mention her excited look. how cute...

you made cookies? you really didn’t have t-

don’t worry about it! i just thought some sugar might wake us up a bit- ya know?

they exchanged smiles as they tried the cookies. burnt. hard. dry.

shoot! i left it in WAY too long!!!

it’s okay! it’s the thought that matters!

her sad expression made deku feel bad.

how about... we make some new ones!

really? but it’s so late and our homew-

we can get both done!

uraraka grinned from ear to ear. so flipping adorable, deku thought to himself. they started making the cookies, and soon the room was filled with the smell of freshly baked cookies. the recipe actually belonged to inko, deku’s mom.

ready?

the crunch was quite loud, which made them giggle. soft, crunchy, and very sweet. the gooey chocolate oozed on their tongues.

these are great! your mom is really talented!

you are too! you made these!

we made these.

she smiled like a goofball, and he did too. they decided to wrap up the extras for the rest of the class in a neat little plate. at around 12 o’ clock, they finished and began to clean up.

thanks, deku

for what?

this- i had so much fun! even if we just spent it studying and baking. i love spending time with you...

uraraka turnt bright red. bright. deku began to tense up.

sorry!!

sorry?

she laughed. and oh how he loved that laugh.

i didn’t mean it like that!!

really?

deku looked disappointed... shoot- she thought.

well- i did but didn’t! i really like hanging out with you! you’re so cool and smart and nice and caring and-

he shut her up realll quick.

neither of them had ever kissed anyone before, so both were confused. but that didn’t stop them from confessing the best way they could. direct contact.

he was surprisingly a good kisser- at least for a first timer. they were already close to a wall, and uraraka leaned up against it. deku getting closer and closer.

this went on for an hour and a half. somehow they migrated to the couch. unfortunately- the night owl denki swooped in at the perfect time.

at 1 am- deku had uraraka on top of him, neither trying to take a breath. they got really close. it was a giant shock because neither were good at flirting, even worse at making-out. but for them, it worked.

denki was mumbling tik toks as he went into the kitchen to grab a snack. (he’s a hungry boi) to get to the kitchen, he had to pass through the living room. where our 2 lovers were.

uraraka went is for a deep kiss as denki snuck into the room. he found some cookies and got excited.

don’t mine if i do!

deku and uraraka couldn’t hear him.

i wonder if we have an pizza rolls lef-

it was then and there- at now 2 am. where deku and uraraka had been caught in a hardcore makeout session.

deku made eye contact. uraraka didn’t. she hadn’t realized yet.

holy shit midoriya

uraraka jumped- and made a loud yet high pitched EEK as she looked towards denki.

it’s not wHa

yEah uM

uraraka looked at saliva ran down her face.

damn. you were going strong right

dEnKiiIi

minas gonna flip when she hears this-

wAIT! don’t tell mina!!

but it’s mina... she has to know about this stuff.

about what stuff?

mina, sero, and kirishima stood at the doorway. maybe they got hungry too.

woah midoriya!!

kirishima!!!!

deku became so red that he was a perfect match for kirishima’s hair.

what are you guys doing here??!!

we liked to do weird crap at 2 am. more importantly... what have you to love birds been up to?! give me all the details!! who made the first move? was it deku? or you?? come on girl!!

the weight on deku’s chest suddenly vanished, as uraraka began to float towards the ceiling.

ooohoo! it was good then- right?!

yeah! she had deku’s saliva on her face and he

kaminari!!

midoriya has finally hit puberty. it’s been long enough.

sero!!!

uraraka floated towards the top of the ceiling. she showed no sign of coming back down any time soon.

i knew you had a giant crush on him- go uraraka!

it became to much for her- as she began to spin rapidly around.

wait minaAaa

uraraka passed out mid-air. deku activated one for all instantly, and he caught uraraka in the blink of an eye.

have you guys slept yet? sleeping is manly too- ya know

well we were studying, then uraraka’s cookies got burnt. so we made some more!

studying AND baking together? you guys are practically married! my ship has sailed...

*mutter* if only bakugo could sit still long enough to study with me..

sero pat him on the back.

ok welll... i’m gonna head to bed! bye!!

hold up there buckaroo!

deku ran (while still holding uraraka) to the elevator.

have a good night! i mean morning!

he had escaped their grasps.

uGhh!! we were so close! i want to know everything!

sero bit into his cookie.

maybe it’s better if we leave them alone.

(all)nahhhhh...

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creamypudding · 6 years

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Preview Chapter

‘Sup guys! I wrote a Clack thing for a challenge over on the Clack dicord channel. This story was supposed to be a oneshot and much much longer than what’s below. But, I was struggling with writing this and finishing it, so I’m gonna break this into chapters. Below is chapter one for an unnamed fic. I don’t know how many chapters this thing will have or if I will ever finish it. I hope I will. Please enjoy :)

Chapter 01/?

Title: ? Fandom: FFVII - Modern AU Pairing: Cloud/Zack Chapter Rating: Teen Word Count: 6310

Summary: Cloud gets roped into having a day off. he’s sure he will hate it but is pleasantly surprised. he still hates it... but it’s not quite so bad when a certain dark-haired stranger takes his hand.

It was a quiet and calm Thursday evening. A storm had blown through the city of Charlton five hours earlier, leaving the world crisp and clean. Cloud’s window was open to take full advantage of the cold change the storm had left in its wake. He could feel the heat leaching out and turning his sweatbox apartment into a respectable dwelling after six days and nights of hellfire. It was delightful. Cloud felt energized and motivated to get through his paperwork.

He sat at his desk, the occasional almost-freezing wind tousled his hair and some of the paperwork on his otherwise-neat-and-tidy desk. The sound of cars driving through the wet drifted in from his second-story window, but it was peaceful ambience.

A sound suddenly erupted, starling Cloud so much so that the paper he was studying went flying up into the air.

Hand clutched at his chest. He took two calming breaths and then located his phone.

“Good evening, Strife here.”

“Hello, Cloud!”

He was instantly suspicious of the sweetness in her voice. “Hello,” he said carefully.

“How are you?” “Fine. What do you need?”

An audible gasp sounded through the line. “Why are you being so cold?”

“You don’t call me unless you want something.” He made to look for the paper he had been holding, scanning his desk and floor. “Cloud! I see you on an almost daily basis!”

“Yes, but you never call me unless you know the answer to your demand would probably be no. I’ve known you long enough, Tif.” For some reason, he had trouble saying no to things over the phone. Maybe because he couldn’t see her face to judge if she was actually upset with him or not. Or maybe it was his difficulty in hanging up the phone. Walking away was far easier for him.

“I am deeply hurt.” She certainly sounded it, and Cloud hated that.

“What can I do for you?” he sighed, bracing for the request.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I’ve wanted to find a hobby for myself to compliment my martial arts training for a while now.” “Rings a vague bell.” Cloud located the paper and placed it back on his desk. “Oh good! Well, I have found something.”

“Congratulations! Can I get off the phone now?”

She laughed. “I haven’t gotten to the reason why I’m calling you yet.”

Cloud’s heart sunk. “Get to the chase then.”

“I’ve signed up for dance lessons. It’s ballroom and latin dance.” “Congratulations,” he said once more, not understanding why she was calling him about it.

“It’s on this Saturday. Starts at eleven, sharp, down by the Five Docks studios.” Cloud hummed, not paying attention to her, instead focusing on the invoices that needed to be filled out.

“Are you listening?”

Cloud hummed again. “Well anyway, I’ll text you the details.”

He hummed again but then the words cut through. He sat up a little straighter. “Wait, what? Why?”

“You’re coming with me.”

And there it was; the sinking feeling and dread. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not,” he said forcefully. “I don’t dance. I’m busy.”

“I don’t dance either, that’s why we are going to the classes. I’ve already signed us up.” “Find someone else.” “There is no one else I’d rather go with.” The automatic response of denials died on his lips as her words struck his heart. He grumbled. “You know I’m busy.”

“You work too hard.”

“I have to. It’s my livelihood. Do you want me derelict and living under a bridge with Toothless-Hank and Scabies-Sharon?”

“Other than those adjectives, they sound nice. Maybe they’ll let you share their cardboard box if you showed them how to dance.” “Bridge trolls don’t dance.” “You’re not a bridge troll just yet, so come dance with me. Let Denzel and Marlene look after the shop. You’ve been overseeing them for two years now. You must have some faith in them or you would have fired them by now.”

Tifa had a point, but Cloud did not want to go. “Denzel can go. He doesn't work Saturday’s.” “No. Make Denzel work Saturday’s for the next ten weeks. C’mon Cloud. You work there seven days a week. You never call it quits. Take a break. Take a break with me! Do something fun! Please,” she whined. “Please, please, pleeeeeease!”

It made Cloud uncomfortable. He wanted to walk away, lock her out. He couldn't hang up. “Fine,” he said gruffly.

A high pitched squeak came through the line. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Ten weeks you said?” “Yes.” “You owe me, big time.”

Cloud hated this. He was standing out the front of some abandoned looking red-brick murder shack in a desolate part of town, dressed in clothes that clung to his body way too much for comfort. His skin liked to breathe, but right now it was getting claustrophobically intimate with dark slacks and an old pale-blue short-sleeved t-shirt he had discarded in the back of his wardrobe because it has always been too tight.

It was nearly eleven and Tifa was nowhere to be seen. He checked his phone. He hung to the side of the building, avoiding all the couples that had been steadily streaming in and out of the complex. Finally, his phone rang. “Where are you?” he snapped. “I’m sorry, I can’t make it today.” “You what? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“Sorry, Cloud. Something’s just come up. I didn’t want to tell you before I knew you would be there. Please just go in and enjoy yourself. I’ll be there next week. I promise.”

Hands gripped his phone tight, turning knuckles white. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You can. You’ll be fine. I already called the instructor to let her know. She sounds super nice. She said you can dance with her. And then you can show me all you learned.”

Cloud stewed silently for a moment. “Why are we friends again?”

“Because I kicked your bullies ass when we were ten, and your mom makes the best apple pies. Plus you just can’t get rid of me.”

“Ah. That’s right.” The smile tugged at corners of mouth.

Tifa apologized again, promised to make it up to Cloud and then hung up, leaving Cloud to trudge up the many flights of stairs to the dance studio named in the text message Tifa had sent him two days ago.

Cloud’s insides clenched and his heart began working overtime. Tifa was supposed to have been his security blanket. He didn’t do stuff like this — embarrassing things like dancing. Not in private and certainly never in public. He knew he couldn't dance. He knew he would fall flat on his face and everyone would laugh at him. Not to his face, because that would be rude, but after, when they went home to their private dwellings, they would have parties and tell stories of Cloud’s ineptitude to the sound of raucous laughter.

He had just decided that he would turn around and leave but had sadly just reached the top and been spotted by one very enthusiastic lady with brunette hair and a jubilant smile.

“Ah! You must be Cloud?” She walked towards him, arms outstretched.

Cloud looked behind himself and all around, hoping she was addressing someone else. The sudden thought leaped at him that he should have tried to find someone else to pretend to be himself and cursed in his head for having thought of that too late. He was here now, identified by this woman, and no way out. He gave the smallest nod.

“Everyone else is here already. Tifa said you would be joining us solo today. I’m Aerith, your instructor.” She was like a summer breeze. Warm, soft and persistent. Cloud was swept up with her and lead to the other side of the room by the elbow.

Cloud absorbed as much as he could as he was being led. The dance studio at the top of the stairs was all timbered floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows were situated on one wall, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the wall running parallel to it. Flowers hung from the ceiling and stood in pots at the far end of the room… where a small crowd of maybe twelve people stood, all looking at him.

It was mortifying. Cloud swallowed the massive lump in his throat. Eyes only ventured to take the most cautious of glances at the people before himself. He mostly focused on feet but could make out that they all seemed to be paired off.

Aerith swung Cloud around, depositing him into the group and then took her place before them all.

“Thank you for joining me here today. I'm your dance instructor, Aerith Gainsborough. I have been doing Ballroom and Latin dancing since I was a little girl. I've danced in various competitions but have found that teaching is my real passion — well, that and flowers as you can see,” she giggled and swept her hand in front of herself to draw attention to the various plants that seemed to be everywhere. “They bring brightness and an energy to the room. But I digress.” She patted down her fluttery skirt that she wore over tights and clasped hands before herself.

Cloud took a small peek around himself at the people on either side of himself. He took heart in seeing that he wasn't the only guy dressed in ridiculous clothes.

“As your instructor, I'm here to create a relaxing, non-judgemental environment for you to learn and flourish in. If you have any questions at any time please ask me. If you need me to slow down at any time, let me know. I will be coming around after the initial demonstration to see how each of you are going, but do speak up if you don't understand what I'm doing as I’m demonstrating it. As we are a large group it will take me some time to make my way through all of you, and I don’t want any of you to feel like you're doing it right or missing out on practicing the dance moves. We only have an hour so time is precious.”

She smiled and looked at everyone in turn before continuing, “I will not force anything on any of you, but I do encourage you to keep an open mind, give this your best go, and enjoy. You are all beginners so no need to be self-conscious. I have structured the course so that each week we will be trying a different dance. We will be progressing from the simple dances, like the waltz today, up to more technically challenging dances as the weeks progress. So I hope, as you grow more confident in your abilities, you will be able to get the hang of all the dances and enjoy yourselves.”

People nodded and hummed in understanding.

“So, let’s not waste any more time. As I have mentioned, first up we have the waltz. A simple three-step dance. We are missing two dancers today so Cloud, if I could get you to pair up with Zack for today’s lesson that would be fantastic.” Aerith waved her hand about.

Zack? He would have to dance with a man? Cloud looked around, feeling even more nervous than before as he was trying to find his dance partner in the crowd. It wasn’t too hard though — a tall, muscular, dark-haired, blue-eyed man — wearing a big smile — approached him with gusto.

Cloud gulped. He would have to dance with an attractive man? He could feel warmth spreading up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“Hi, I'm Zack.” Hand was extended and smile somehow grew bigger.

Cloud took the offered hand and was the recipient of a handshake as firm as that body looked under that snug fitting dark-grey tank top, and slim-fit tracksuit pants, and it certainly was as warm as the smile.

“Cloud.” He gave a nod, hand was released and they stood side by side, looking back towards Aerith. Cloud was painfully aware of his height next to Zack. His head only reached the other man's shoulders. Zack's arms were like twice the size of Cloud's, and damn if those abs couldn't cut through the fabric they were encased in. Cloud folded arms across his body and curled in on himself a little bit.

Aerith talked a bit more about basic dance terms, moves, and then began instructing, getting everyone to follow along as she demonstrated the basic waltz box step.

Cloud was struggling with his left and right foot and bumped into Zack a couple of times as they practiced side by side. There were, however, a lot of 'sorrys’ and 'excuse mes’ flying around all over the room, so Cloud felt a little bit better.

Once they had done the steps a few times Aerith asked Zack to be her partner to demonstrate the lead and follow dance positions. Cloud concentrated very hard o follow along. He didn't want to get this wrong.

Zack returned to Cloud's side after a few minutes and Aerith clapped her hands together once and gave a cheery, “Now to you!”

This was the moment Cloud had dreaded. He dreaded it even more, now that his dance partner had been replaced with a hunk of meat.

Cloud and Zack looked at each other. Arms went out. “Shall we?” Zack asked, head cocking slightly, inviting Cloud to take his hand.

It was beyond embarrassing. It was mortifying to the highest degree. Cloud took the strangers hand, and their other arms and hands got tangled up together as each tried to wind around the others back. They both ended up with hands on each other's shoulders.

This didn’t seem right. Cloud’s concern must have shown, though it was completely misunderstood, “Don’t look so scared. I’m sure we can figure this out.” Zack flashed an enthusiastic grin.

Aerith’s voice drifted through the air, “One, two, three. One, two, three. One two, three.”

They both moved and instantly clashed. Toes were stepped on, torsos bumped into, and Cloud’s nose got very intimate with Zack’s collarbone. Sorry’s were muttered, positions resumed, and repeated attempts were made, all resulting in the same uncoordinated effect.

“Why’s this not working?” Cloud wondered aloud as they moved and collided once again.

“Beats me. She made it look so easy.”

Both of them looked towards Aerith. She was currently half the halls distance from them, looking at, and critiquing a couple who seemed to be having a way easier time than Cloud and Zack. In fact, the more Cloud looked the more everyone else seemed in sync.

“I’m not cut out for dancing, I told Tifa as much,” he grumbled and frowned at the floor, wanting to ignore the way he was being held by a completely lovely stranger.

“C’mon, Cloud. Everyone else is doing it. We’ll figure it out too,” Zack enthused with a thin smile. Something about Zack’s energy was infecting Cloud — or perhaps he was too embarrassed to give up and walk away.

They attempted again, moving, bumping, and stepping on each other. Zack’s smile vanished, brow scrunched up, and bottom lip was worried at. The man seemed to be really concentrating hard.

“Forward, side, close — Back, side, close — Forward, side, close — Back, side, close.” Aerith’s voice was getting louder but it wasn’t helping the complete disaster of a situation the two men found themselves in.

Their waltz was less a graceful fluid motion than a stop-and-go traffic congestion. Thankfully, the struggle finally ended when Aerith came up to them.

They pulled apart and Zack huffed out, bending slightly at the waist. “Dancing is tough work.”

Cloud nodded rapidly, hoping to garner some sympathy from their instructor and maybe even be let off the hook and be allowed to go home for the rest of the session.

No such luck was had. Aerith gave them a gentle smile and calmly said, “It is when you’re in a wrestling match with your partner.”

“Oh, we’re not wrestling, are we?” Zack looked bewildered. Wide blue eyes set on Cloud for clarity.

Cloud looked at Zack. “Sure felt like it.”

“It definitely wasn't dancing. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.” Aerith started clapping to help everyone else keep their rhythm while she continued talking to them, “I’m sorry, I should have come to you two first. Sometimes when I do have two men dancing together this can happen — each wanting to take the lead. I always tell men that there is nothing wrong with following and taking the more traditional feminine role in dancing. The steps are all the same but in a slightly different order. Some of the most amazing dances I have seen have been by same-sex dance partners. There is something so beautiful about the ability to be both strong and feminine. To watch the flow and grace suddenly shift in energy as the follower becomes the leader in a choreographed instance. It is some of the most dynamic and exciting dancing to witness. So I just want you both to know that both of you can lead, but both of you need to also learn to follow, and it’s a wonderful experience to share with someone. It makes the dancing partnership truly equal, and ballroom dancing, and dancing in general is nothing if not the unity of movement between two bodies. So talk it through, take turns, and enjoy.”

Aerith stepped back, still clapping her hands.

Was that what had happened?

“Woah, okay, that makes total sense now. We were both trying to do the same thing.” Zack laughed with clear relief. “Boy, I’m glad to hear that.” “Why?” Cloud frowned in wonder at Zack.

Sunny smile was thrown his way again. Zack said, “It means there’s hope for us!” He gently bumped his fist against Cloud’s shoulder.

Cloud huff out in slight laughter.

“Hey! That’s more like it. Good to hear you laugh!” Eyes almost sparkled as they looked at Cloud. Zack’s only grew larger, which made Cloud self-conscious.

He focused them back on the task at hand, “So, who will lead first?”

“Do you want to?”

Cloud shrugged.

“I’ll take the lead then.”

Suddenly Cloud wished he had spoken up.

Hand was held out once more. Cloud looked at it for a moment. It was less foreign now. Maybe even slightly welcoming. Cloud took it. Zack’s other arm wound around and hand landed on Cloud’s upper back. It was weird for Cloud to have another person, let alone a man touch him like that. He wasn’t used to physical contact at the best of times so felt a bit nervous. At least he could just rest his left hand on Zack’s right shoulder. That was probably the best thing about being in the follow position.

Zack’s eyebrows raised, encouraging smile was given and a quiet, “Here we go,” shared between the both of them as Zack took the lead, sweeping them off — to nowhere in particular. Cloud struggled. Zack struggled. But at least they moved in a somewhat unified direction, even if there was nothing graceful about them. Cloud counted in his head and heard Zack just above a whisper do the same. Heads were bowed, feet looked at, to make sure minimal stepping on toes occurred.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

It went a bit better, feet continued to be carefully watched, and stumbled over. Chests bumped together, apologies uttered. They just seemed to get the hang of things when Aerith announced that they would all be swapping partners in a fun round robin. It didn't sound fun to Cloud. He was just getting used to — and maybe a little attached to his partner-in-graceless crime. Aerith, however being able to read the general mood of the room, assured everyone that they would be able to learn lots from different dance partners, as well as the added bonus of getting to meet people.

That notion seemed more like an added layer of torture to the searing hellscape inferno of embarrassment and discomfort Cloud found himself in. It was made even worse somehow when Aerith asked Cloud if he wouldn't mind taking the follow position on the inside of the circle everyone was forming. It was mortifying for him but what could he do?

He gave Zack an almost forlorn look as he stepped away to his purgatory in the inside circle with all the women. Instant regret and sadness welled up inside. He didn't want the awkwardness of having to dance with anyone else. Cloud felt like they had just come to an understanding and mutual respect which he was surely not going to be afforded by any other man he would have to dance with.

He tried to escape into his head — find a niche of peace and safety somewhere in his anxiety-riddled, anti-social webbing of synapses and neurons. He willed himself to be teleported back to his beloved grocery store. Dealing with Toothless-Trudy and her inane requests for sparkling butter, and lemon flavored breakfast cereal would have been preferable over this. Having to shake every man, woman, and child’s hand and give a cheerful smile to them as they entered his store would have been better than this… but only just.

He wasn’t spared his pain though. Positions were taken, the music flowed, and the dancing started, forcing Cloud to stay focused if he didn’t want to have a complete trainwreck of an experience like he had suffered through with Zack. But at least he had felt like he had suffered that with Zack, instead of inflicting it on others, like he was sure he was doing right now.

It wasn’t as uncoordinated as his first attempt with Zack… in fact Cloud managed to move quite smoothly really. But Cloud still didn’t like it. He listened to Aerith as she clapped, and after about five complete waltz steps, announced that it was time for the outside circle to move to the left and change partners.

Cloud felt awkward every time he had a new partner. Some men were tense, and Cloud wasn’t sure if it was because they had to be dancing, or if it was because they had to dance with Cloud. He couldn’t bring himself to do much else besides say his name and nod in acknowledgment of the other men’s existence when they intruded into his personal-space bubble. He felt uncomfortable every time awkward hands found perch on his waist and in his hand. But he grit through it.

This was definitely a new kind of hell that had been devised just to illicit suffering in Cloud. Tifa owed him — what was bigger than ‘big time’? Ginormous time!

Cloud caught sight of Zack and watched him when he could. And when he couldn’t see Zack’s bumbling form he definitely could hear the calls of ‘excuse me’, ‘so sorry about that’, ‘woops’, as the outside circle moved around the room. It gave Cloud a small sense of still being connected to someone and didn’t make him quite so stranded.

The dancing and endless partner-swaps continued until Zack was next to him, and would be his partner again after this particular round was completed. The small wink Cloud caught Zack give him made Cloud stumble and apologize to his dance partner. He recuperated well enough, keeping his mind focused on getting his feet in order.

But when the swap occurred Cloud nearly leaped at Zack in desperation for familiarity. Hands sought each other out, filling Cloud with a sense of homecoming. Smiles were exchanged — and came far too effortlessly out of Cloud — and little chuckles sounded as they talked while they danced.

“Hey.” “Hey.”

“Learn anything useful?” Cloud asked.

“About ten different ways to step on women’s feet. You?”

“How to be even more awkward in an already awkward situation.”

“You’re so not awkward.” “Maybe not with you,” Cloud muttered.

Zack just smiled brightly and led Cloud around their little spot far more gracefully than ever before — which was to say it was about as graceful as a pair of hippos doing Swan Lake in leotards. But it was still better than before. Maybe there had been a method behind Aerith’s madness. Just maybe.

They danced on a bit more. A few more swaps occurred before some relief finally came and a quick five-minute break was afforded to everyone.

There was far more chatter now. The dancing had clearly been the icebreaker a lot of people had needed. But not Cloud. He’d need a Titanic-sized ice-breaker to get him chatting and laughing to these people.

And then Zack approached, red-faced and happy looking.

“How did you go?” Cloud asked, trying his hand at a friendly quirk of lips.

Zack rubbed at the back of his head and laughed nervously. “I thought I’d be a lot better at this than I actually am. It's really embarrassing. Everyone else is getting the hang of this way easier than me.”

“You're not alone. I nearly stepped on half the guys I danced with and I swear I gave someone a bruise with how tight I was holding on.”

Zack shook with a chesty huff of laughter. “At least you didn't have to worry over knocking over ladies. I feel like I’ve got two left feet.”

They both looked down at Zack’s feet, encased in sneakers.

“Must make buying shoes hard,” Cloud remarked.

Eyes raised and looked at one another. Zack burst out laughing. “It does,” he got out after a moment.

“Well, I feel like I’ve got two right feet. So maybe we can swap out our shoes.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Zack nodded eagerly. “Such a good thing that we got paired up then, huh?” Zack nudged Cloud with his shoulder and gave a cheeky wink.

Cloud huffed with laughter.

Zack’s smile did not abate. “But really, I swear dancing with you’s way easier, and I'm not so scared of breaking you. You're pretty sturdy,” Zack grinned.

Cloud didn't do compliments that well but he mumbled out a, “Thanks.”

“Wanna go get a drink?” Zack nodded to the table near the stairs with some refreshments on it.

Cloud nodded and they headed over.

“So, what brings you to dance lessons? Got a wedding to go to?” Zack asked.

“No, nothing like that. A friend asked me because she really wanted to go dancing. Her sensei suggested it for her footwork, and I got stuck being the designated partner because she thinks I work too hard and could use a hobby.”

“Oh, wow! I have so many questions — well maybe just two.” Cloud chuckled. Zack was rather bizarre. “What are they?” “Well, one — what do you do?”

They reached the table and grabbed a glass each, filling them with water.

“I own and run my own grocery store,” Cloud said and drank his drink.

“Cool. Where at?”

Cloud felt uncomfortable by the line of questioning, preferring to keep to himself as much as possible. “Um, near Central district.” That was surely vague enough.

Zack nodded, sighed in satisfaction after downing his glass and said, “Must get busy.”

“It does. I like being busy though.”

“Ah, yeah, same here. If I hafta stand still for more than five minutes I start talking up a storm and then I say all kindsa dumb stuff,” Zack laughed.

Cloud refrained from saying, ‘like right now’, but only just.

“Oh, hey, the second question was what kind of martial arts does your friend do?”

“Zangan-Ryu or something like that?”

“Do you know who her sensei is?”

Cloud shook his head.

“Damn. Me and my sister practice and run our own Kendo dojo. I signed us up for dance lessons for the same reason as your friend.”

“Oh, to improve your fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” That was definitely interesting to Cloud. He half suspected Tifa had made that stuff up to rope Cloud into this. Maybe there was hope yet that she wasn’t just having a big laugh at his expense.

Aerith clapped her hands, getting everyone’s attention. “All right, back to your partners everyone. Let me show you another step to add to your basic box step which will really get us moving and spinning. Cloud, could I have you partner for me, please?”

That request startled him. He glanced at Zack for reassurance and maybe to see if the man would possibly step in and save him. Zack only did the former by giving Cloud a confident smile and a slight push as he said, “You got this.”

Cloud walked over to Aerith, feeling thousands of eyes boring into him. Never mind that there weren’t that many people here. He just tried to focus on Aerith, who stood before him exuding confidence and warmth. She instructed him, and the rest of the class, clearly, and maneuvered Cloud where he needed to go. Together they demonstrated the basic waltz and the steps after to get more flow through the dance. She then instructed everyone to give it a go and followed Cloud over as he rejoined Zack.

“Okay, you two. I thought now would be a good time for you to swap over leads. Cloud knows what to do, so just follow him as best as you can, Zack.”

“Awright,” Zack enthused with a lot of energy. “Show me how this goes.” Zack held out his hands and Cloud took the leading position with him, hand sliding around broad back with elbows out and proud. Zack's hand was on Cloud's waist but Cloud maneuvered it up to the top of his shoulder.

“Woops.” Zack gave a sheepish grin. “Glad I got you here to set me straight,” he chuckled.

Cloud huffed with laughter but pushed the smile down and put on his serious face.

Hands were clasped and they began.

Cloud concentrated, keeping them moving to the music and guiding Zack when he got his feet all mixed up. It was clunky at first — Cloud had to keep correcting Zack, but after the fourth time around their little space, Zack was following along.

Cloud kept counting under his breath and looked at their feet. A warm squeeze on his shoulder made him raise his head and eyes to meet soft features completely trained and focused on himself.

“You’re doing great,” Zack almost whispered with seemingly misplaced affectionate warmth.

Cloud’s steps faltered, Zack collided with Cloud, headbutting him with the top of his chin. Cloud winced and grunted.

“Shit! You okay?” Zack asked, slipping out of Cloud’s hold, stepping back a little, and running concerned fingers over Cloud’s forehead and into his hair, rubbing at where they had bumped into each other.

Cloud’s heart raced with panic. “Yeah, yeah. Here, let’s keep going before Aerith notices.” He composed himself, head only smarting a little bit. He grabbed hands and began their dance again. “One, two, three. One two, three,” he counted, to stop himself from acknowledging how handsome his dancing partner was. Zack’s smile had been too big, and his voice too soft, and kind.

They got back on track. The music continued, and Cloud and Zack were beginning to glide.

“Looking really good, guys. Eyes up, Cloud,” Aerith chirped as she breezed past.

Cloud raised his head and gave the most cautious of glances up at Zack, not wanting to be completely disarmed like before. Zack still smiled but it wasn’t completely unexpected this time, so Cloud relaxed a little.

“All right everyone. You’re looking graceful and confident. Time to open the floor right up. Leaders, go wherever you want. Just be sure not to bump into anyone. You’re doing a wonderful job reining Zack in, Cloud,” she said with such light and cheer in her voice.

“Hey!” Zack protested with ease and jest, as chuckles and titters went up all around. “Not you too!” Zack directed at Cloud, in response to his small laugh.

Cloud did a poor job of holding in his smile. “Here, let’s show them what we can do,” he said quietly. The excitement on Zack's face and the eager nod grew Cloud’s confidence. He took a deep breath and began moving them hither and thither. They voided all kinds of human obstacles and began building up speed as they went around and around. Cloud tried to focus on their surroundings, which wasn’t too hard because the way that Zack’s face was lit up was a little too frightening to look at without a distraction to temper his nerves.

But Zack still got under Cloud’s skin. It was the way Zack hummed along to the music — it was the way Cloud could feel lean, powerful muscles react and twitch under his palm as he guided them across the room — it was the warmth of Zack’s handhold, and soft breath occasionally caressing Cloud’s cheek — but most of all it was that smile of pure bliss. Cloud wondered how dancing could make someone so happy… and how it was managing to make Cloud feel happy too.

They swayed, danced, and stepped to and fro. Worry, anxiety, stress, and agitation slipped off Cloud’s shoulders and a timid smile grew. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was even a little fun. Cloud thought he liked dictating where they went. He liked sweeping them past the windows, the mirrors, the dozens of plants. He liked how Zack followed, eager and willing to do Cloud’s bidding. It was a nice change from the beginning of the session.

Before he knew it the music came to an end. It took a few moments for it to register and then Cloud brought them to a stop. Zack and Cloud looked towards where Aerith stood, by the black speakers on a table by the windows.

“That was wonderful, everyone. Congratulations! You’ve just completed your first dance lesson.” Everyone clapped and cheered. Cloud had a big grin on his face and looked up at his dance partner, who also wore a massive smile.

“You did really well,” Cloud said, huffing a little with the exertion of their previous movements.

“We both did. We were dancing and spinning and not hitting anything — not even each other,” Zack tittered and then turned serious, though he was still smiling, though very gently. “You’re, like, the best dancer.”

Cloud’s eyes dropped, but his smile didn’t. He shook his head. “No.”

“Yeah. Trust me. I danced with a lot of people here today.” There was a soft chuckle that accompanied that remark, which made Cloud laugh a little as well.

He raised his eyes again and felt really warm all over.

“You two did so well together,” Aerith said, voice growing closer.

Cloud became exceptionally self-conscious over the fact that he and Zack were still in the dancing position while everyone else was moving off, gathering their things. Cloud made to slip his hand out of Zack’s, but not before he felt a small squeeze be given to him. Hands dropped away and Cloud withdrew from holding Zack, and looked at Aerith. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Cloud here is really amazing. He knows where he’s going. Makes it real easy to follow along. I don’t know what it was before but I was struggling,” Zack enthused.

If Cloud wasn’t blushing before he definitely could feel his neck and cheeks heating up now.

“Sometimes all it takes is the right partner. But I’ll be seeing both you back here next week with your actual dancing partners, right?”

“You betcha. Yuffie should be all better by then.”

Cloud nodded. He would kick — verbally kick — Tifa’s butt if she bailed on him again.

“Fantastic. Again, wonderful work you two. Zack, you really did do a lot better.” Hands went to hips, chest puffed a little. “Thanks. I had an awesome partner.”

Aerith smiled at both of them, seemed to catch sight of something behind them and excused herself, going over to talk to another couple. “Is she okay?” Cloud asked.

“Huh? Who?”

“Your sister.”

“Oh! Yeah, she’s just got a cold. She could have come out today, to be honest with you. But I didn’t want to get her snot all over me.” Zack chuckled and the smile mellowed but wasn’t any less present. “I’m really glad I had you as my partner today.”

It became hard to swallow for a moment. Cloud felt very uncomfortable. “I’ll see you next week.” “Sure. Don’t work too hard.”

They waved at each other. Cloud briefly watched Zack turn to the back of the hall before he headed towards the stairs. He could still feel warm, calloused hand on his own, and a soft pressure on his shoulder, if he really thought about it. Making short work of crossing the studio floor and reaching the top of the stairs, Cloud cast another glance back to Zack, who was pulling on a dark jacket and laughing about something with Aerith. The sight of the other man-made Cloud smile and something bubbled out, making him chuckle quietly.

Suddenly eyes were on him from across the room. Zack’s big, toothy smile spread, mouth opened up and voice boomed, “Have a great weekend, Cloud! See you next week! Hope your head’s okay!” Zack waved wildly.

Cloud waved back and descended the stairs. His smile came back out with a little more force once he was out amongst the summer air. He looked around the empty road before himself and gave his hand a little squeeze. Maybe having some time off wasn’t such a terrible thing after all. And maybe… just maybe, Tifa had done him a favor by getting him to come out to do this dancing thing. But he would never tell her.

#clack #ffvii #challenge #cloud strife #zack fair #dancing #ballroom dancing #waltz #preview

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