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charliedawn · 3 years

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How would they react to the new arrival ?

" Hi everybody. My name is Y/N and I am the head nurse around here. If you have any questions, you can ask them to me. I see here that two of you are transfers from St John's, so you'll be assigned to miss Harrison's department..However, I see here that mister Wendell Crumb has just been released from prison ? Who is mister Wendell Crumb ?"

A close cut man raises his hand with a slight smile.

" That would be me."

You smile back before checking something on your file.

" Fine. You'll be transferred to my department. However, I see here that you've got many names..May I ask who I am talking to ?"

Wendell Crumb suddely straightens up and stares right at you with a very unsettling smile.

" I'm Barry. Nice to meet you.."

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously before looking down at his file. Creepy smile. Judgy stare. Feminine stand..Yeah, definitely not Barry..

" I'm sorry, but in order for us to get along, honesty is the key..Now, could you please tell me who you really are ?"

The man's smile only widens as he congratulates you.

" Clever girl. I'm Patricia. Nice to meet you."

He then claps with both hands and you narrow your eyes, trying to figure the new patient out. He seems harmless enough, even though his file seems to suggest the contrary. A great pretender. After all the effort you had put in getting the patients to trust you, this one would surely bring chaos. You could already tell by just looking at him in the eyes: he wasn't here to get better.

You sigh before closing the file and signaling to the patient to follow you as Harrison enters. Wendell Crumb is almost too eager to follow you. You can feel his stare on you, as if he was sizing you up and down.

" The patients are eating, I suppose it is a good time to get acquainted with them and make some new friends. What do you think ?"

You smile and try to be nice to him, but he doesn't answer. He only huffs before looking away. You open the door to the cafeteria and feel the stare of all the slashers on you and the new arrival. Patricia seems to be doing a quick assessment of each slasher before finally landing on you.

" By what I heard, I thought I would be meeting fearless and bloodthirsty demons..But all I can see is a bunch of old-timers."

Your eyes widen in shock at his words and you can see some of the slashers tense. However, far from being intimidated, Kevin widely grins and seems to slouch slightly, taking another personality you guess.

" Hi guys ! I'm Hedwig ! I'm soooo excited to meet all of you ! Patricia said you were like us ! That's like, totally cool !"

To that, Freddy is the first to answer with a mocking smirk.

" Great. Another kid..Me who thought we would finally be enough to play poker. What a disappointment..Can he at least change his own grown-up diapers ?"

Suddenly, Hedwig's joyful expression shifts to a much serious one that glares daggers at Freddy.

" What did you say, steak face ?"

Oh oh. Freddy's expression darkens and he stands up to face Kevin that only arks an eyebrow at him, a silent challenge. One that Freddy is eager to respond to.

" What did you call me, baldie ?"

But, far from feeling intimidated, Kevin only stares down at him with a little smirk.

" You heard me, midget.."

You can feel the tension rising and put yourself between the two of them promptly.

" Hey ! That's enough ! Be nice ! And you.."

You turn towards Freddy with furrowed eyebrows, clearly displeased.

"..I told you to hold your tongue with them."

Freddy only humphs unhappily before getting out of your grip and glaring at Kevin that only grins defiantly at him.

" What ? That's it ? This is the infamous Freddy Krueger ? The bringer of nightmares and slayer of children ? I must admit that I am deeply disappointed.."

Patricia, she wants to rile him up. You quickly get another nurse to get Freddy to sit back down before he gives in to his violent impulses. You then glare at Kevin before taking him by the arm for him to follow you outside of the room.

" What are you trying to do exactly ?! Get killed ?!"

But, far from feeling guilty, Kevin's grin only widens as he stares directly back at you for several seconds, as if looking deep inside your soul..At the end, he pretends to be apologetic by raising his hands in surrender and finally giving some kind of explanation for his behavior.

" I'm sorry. I'm just feeling overwhelmed, garden variety issue..You understand. We mustn't let the bad seeds take roots, or we may end up with bad weed issues.."

At this, Pennywise that had followed you discreetly gets out of his hiding spot to growl menacingly at Kevin.

" Bad weed ?! Who are you calling bad weed, pal ?! I'll show you bad weed."

But one stern look from you, and Pennywise reconsiders. But, he is still glaring daggers at Kevin that only giggles maniacally while you get him back inside. However, he doesn't miss the way you instinctively hold on to the pendent hanging around your neck..What a strange necklace..? He turns his head towards the slashers that all seem on edge now, like a pack of wolves ready to attack. However, it's even worse when he suddenly takes you by the shoulders to smell you behind your ear, his gaze still fixed on the gang that seems ready to jump into action at any moment..Even Pennywise doesn't notice that he is munching on his spoon instead 9f his actual food. You try to get out of his grip, but he only tightens his grip on you as a response.

" What ? Are you all her lapdogs now ? I see the appeal..But still, to think she managed to have you all around her little finger..The strongest men on Earth, all submitting to that small bite."

As if to prove his point, he starts nibbling on the top of your ear, waiting for a reaction. However, before anyone could do anything, Kevin feels something piercing his skin and turns around to see a smirking Five with a needle in his hand.

" Nighty night."

Kevin collapses and you quickly kneel by his side to take his pulse. Thankfully, he's alive and you ask some nurses to bring him back to his room. You had agreed with the hospital not to use the collars unless it was a case of extreme emergency, looks like this could be one..

" Thank you, Five. But, dont use medical supplies without my permission again, okay ?"

He doesn't lose his smile before replying casually, hands in his pockets.

" Can't promise anything.."

The slashers are still staring at Kevin that is dragged out of the room. It takes you a while to reassure them that you're fine, even longer to convince yourself. However, Five seems even more suspicious than usual, he seems to be eager to return to his bedroom, and he was late for lunch..But, you don't have the time to worry about him. You finally manage to get them all to return to their bedrooms and walk inside your own. There, you let the mask fall and collapse on your bed, burying your face in a nearby pillow in order to muffle your tears and screams. Each time, you try to contain your own fear for the safety of the patients and yourself, but just with one touch, this new individual had made all of your walls crumble. However, you have to get it together, you couldn't let the other patients see you like this..You get up and cough a bit before cleaning yourself up. You then open the door, not expecting all the patients tumbling inside as they were listening in..You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

" What did I say about listening on doors ?"

They all stand up and look at everything but your face or simply try to justify themselves.

" Look, hon..We were only worried..Kinda ?"

Freddy tries to explain, but you take a big inspiration before stepping out. This is just what you needed: serial killers worrying about you.

" It's the hour of your medication. How about Michael and Five come to help me in the kitchen while you wait in the your rooms ?"

You finally decide to ignore Freddy and are surprised when Arthur takes you gently by the arm so you can look up at them.

"Hey, don't shut us down. Freddy is right, we were only worried."

You eyes soften at their genuine concern, but you quickly shake the feeling away. You had faced far worse, but this patient scared you the most..because he had attacked you as if he already knew, as if he knew who you were before you even introduced yourself. You will have to keep a close eye on that one, that's for sure. Fortunately, the patients hadn't reacted too extremely, or it would have turned bad, very very bad..You don't know why the hospital had suddenly decided to add another patient, but one thing is for sure, this new patient wasn't transferred here, he was sent here with a purpose. Now, your goal is to discover whatever purpose that is. You are on your way to his room when you realize something..You hadn't seen Jason all morning. He wasn't there for lunch either. You feel cold sweat running down your back when you suddenly hear some fighting noises. You run in the direction of the sounds and are shocked to see Jason, Five and, surprisingly, Klaus in Kevin's room. You don't have the time to ask what the last one is here that Jason takes Kevin by his shirt and throws him through the window.

You look at Five for an explanation, but he doesn't look at you and looks at the broken window instead.

" Did he just..?"

" Yup. He just did.."

Klaus confirms before turning towards you with a small awkward smile.

" Can someone please explain to me why a civilian is here and why Jason just threw Kevin out of the damn window ?!"

You exclaim and for once, Five is speechless and it's his brother that decides to step up to explain the situation to you.

" Hi. I'm Klaus, Five's older brother and I was about to help him escape until we heard noises of a fight outside. We got out and saw a bold man talking and fighting our dear sweet Jason that threw said man flying through the window. Literally."

Your eyes widen at the news of his planned escape and then look at Five with a confused frown. The idea of escaping wasn't what surprised you the most, but why would he want to leave now ? However, before you could ask, Jason, who is clearly upset, pushes right past you with angry groans and an uneven breathing. You give a stern look at Five, clearly signifying that this discussion isn't over before running after Jason before he could murder Kevin. When you get out, you see that all of the slashers had encircled Kevin that seems angrier than ever.

" I'll kill you all !"

He shouts, but Freddy only cackles while leaning against the wall, with the sunglasses you had given him sitting on his nose, and Pennywise that has a bowl of popcorn in his hands.

" Come on, Jason ! We'll enjoy the massacre..There are no witnesses. Just show that clown who's the boss ! No offense.."

He quickly adds at the end to Pennywise that only smirks before fist-bumping him.

" None taken."

You run to stand between the two huge men that don't seem to even notice you. You look at Michael for help, but he only crosses his arms, clearly implying that he wouldn't interfere. Great..You think before turning towards the devil you know, your hands outstretched towards him.

" Stop, Jason. Please. This is not you. Whatever he told you, it is not worth this. You will be punished, severely. They will maybe not kill you, but they will lock you away, somewhere nobody will ever find you again.."

Jason seems to finally snap out of it and you smile when he takes your hand and yanks you forward with his supernatural strength. You chuckle, relieved while he hugs you. But then, you hear a loud sound behind you and turn around swiftly to see..Brahms ?! Brahms just took Kevin by the throat to crash the back of his head against the concrete and his hands are now around his throat, squeezing painfully tight. You run towards them and try to get Brahms to let go, but he only tightens his grip on him as you yell.

" Let go, Brahms ! What are you doing ?! I said let go !"

But he doesn't listen to you, even worse, he gives you a hard blow to the stomach with his elbow that knocks all air out of your lungs. However, you still find the strength to get up and this is when Brahms finally shouts furiously.

" He took my doll !"

You are surprised how he managed to form a whole sentence without stammering and also horrified by the news. Brahms' doll is Brahms' most precious possession, no wonder he wants to kill Kevin. But then, Kevin laughs and spits blood on Brahms' mask.

" Idiot. You kill me, you won't get the doll and they'll throw you in the darkest deepest hole they can find.."

You know that he is telling the truth and look at Brahms that doesn't seem to be willing to stop. You take a big breath before finally taking out the pendent they had offered you. You hold it tightly in your hand before ordering Brahms to stop.

" Stop, Brahms ! Let him go ! Now !"

Suddenly, as if under some kind of transe, Brahms straightens up and finally releases Kevin. Brahms then slowly turns towards you and walks to you until he is barely a few inches away from you and leans in so close you can hear his hectic breathing. You almost fear for your life and hold on to the pendent even tighter.

However, he only humphs and walks away. You look up and, for once, see the disappointment in the different slashers' eyes. They all saw what happened, what you used to control Brahms.

" I..I didn't want to.."

But it's too late, the damage is done. The Joker, that had stayed silent so far, suddenly bursts our laughing, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes as he tells you bitterly.

" You know why Jason attacked Kevin ? Because he said that you were using us..Looks like he wasn't so wrong after all.."

He walks past you, not even giving you a second glance. You turn towards the rest of the slashers that seem either angry or even fearful of you.

" P..Penny..?"

You try to extend your hand towards Penny that is eyeing you warily and who growls warningly at you when your hand is too close. Suddenly, a hand snatches yours to yank you backwards.

" Back off, lady !"

Pennywise cautions you, his eyes glowing yellow in the dark. However, suddenly, some armed forces enter the yard and get out tazers to restrain the patients. You see one of the guards tackle Pennywise to the ground. To your horror, Penny bites the guard's shoulder that screams loudly in pain. Before you could say anything, another guard shoots some tranquilizers at the Penny that collapses.

" No..No !"

You run towards Penny and cradle his face with tears in your eyes. It wasn't supposed to go this way. What had gone wrong ? You look up at Pennywise that is now restrained and muzzled. He tries to break free to reach Penny, but the guards won't let him.

" Pennywise..I'm..I'm so s.."

But he glares at you and cuts you off harshly.

" Nah. Save your breath, princess.."

Pennywise says while eyeing you up and down with new-found disdain, even Freddy is not smiling anymore. The slashers are brought back inside with shackles and you feel your lower lip quivering. You didn't want to use the pendent, but he was going to kill Kevin and..You look back to see that Kevin is smiling. He even dares giggles when some guards come to take him away.

" Rejoice ! You are of the worthy ! You are broken !"

You don't understand and frown in confusion, but he doesn't add anything. You sigh deeply before getting back inside as well, you had to make it up to them..somehow.

" You really think it's a good idea ? We aren't even sure that Kevin will be able to accomplish his mission."

But the woman, far from being worried, only puffs out a cloud of smoke and replies with a confident smile.

" Believe me, John. It will work..Soon, we'll have the slashers at our mercy. They'll be our little tin soldiers. And nothing will be able to stop us, brother.."

#fandoms #imagine #pennywise 1990 #fanfic #pennywise 1990 x y/n x pennywise 2017 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #the joker x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves #arthur fleck #kevin wendell crumb

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helnjk · 3 years

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Stitching Together - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes !! by my lovely bean marissa @lumos-barnes

please accept my humble request for a george x reader where the reader owns a shop in diagon alley and one day they walk into WWW and george knocks over a whole display, he is a complete SIMP & cannot compose himself. complete buffoonery when the reader is near. they become friends & do all these nice things for each other and the reader is oblivious like "george, i'm so lucky to be your friend" (even though the reader is secretly simping) and he's like "um what, i'm literally in love with you"

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of meals and drinks (coffee), but other than that it’s just pure fluff & Dumb Idiots In Love

A/N: somehow i always end up writing george knitting? idk how it happened, but it happened. i hope you like it marissa 🥺💕

–

You took a step back to admire your handiwork.

After what seemed like neverending hours, the layout of your shop was finally perfect. From where you stood, you had a view of the streets of Diagon Alley, several passersby coming and goings from your sight. The display of charmed knit work by the window was already moving, demonstrating simple stitches that formed into a scarf.

It had always been your dream to open up your own shop in the most prominent wizarding area of Britain, with your passion for knitting and crafting, but the timing had always been off. Now, about a year or so since the war had ended, your grandmother surprised you with the capital to make your dreams come true.

The gesture was extra special because she was the one who first taught you how to knit. Many summers were spent in her cottage, sitting side by side and working on personal projects together.

Outside, your sign read ‘Stitching Together: Grand Opening’. There were a few flyers posted right on the door and on the window advertising the different classes and crafting groups you were offering, as well as the different products that could be found in your store.

It was as if your heart could burst at the sight of your fully furnished shop and you could wait no longer. With a flick of your wand, the sign on the door flipped to say open and that was that.

–

“Hey Freddie, have you seen that new shop that’s opened down the street?” George yelled from the bottom of the stairs once the last customer of the day made their leave.

“Haven’t gone in, but it’s gotten a lot of customers from what I can tell!” the disembodied voice of his twin replied from somewhere above.

As he began the process of cleaning up and reshelving, products floating in midair or zooming towards their proper shelves, he called out once more, “What type of store is it d’you reckon?”

“Arts and crafts? Something like that.”

George’s eyes drifted towards the shop window, where he could just barely see the outline of the new store. Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was filled with brilliant hues of purple and orange. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided that he would go welcome the new shop owner to Diagon Alley.

With a shout to let his twin know where he was off to, George strode out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and into the brisk weather. Luckily for him, Stitching Together was still open. He could see you bustling around inside, fixing displays and swishing your wand to tidy everything up.

It had only been around a month since your shop had opened, but the local wizard folk of London seemed to be very keen on buying the different things you sold. Many came around to purchase the instructional books and the different kinds of wool and yarn, and some of your regulars had even taken an interest in the classes you held weekly. It was a great way for you to get to know the community and to establish friendships.

You had always taken note of the joke shop a few shops down from you, but with the hustle and bustle of just opening, you hadn’t had a chance to visit or introduce yourself to the owners. It was just your luck that one half of them pushed open the door to your shop, the little bell at the top of it ringing to indicate his presence.

“Oh, hello!” you smiled, turning to face the redheaded man, “Welcome to Stitching Together, what could I help you with?”

Unbeknownst to George, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. How could a man be so positively handsome you didn’t know, but at the sight of him standing by the door, all you could think about was how gorgeous he was. And he hadn’t even uttered a single word yet!

The charming smile he sent your way did not help the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “Just popping by to say hello and welcome to Diagon Alley! My twin and I run Wheezes just down the street,” he said.

Your smile grew as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Oh I was just thinking about how I’ve been wanting to pay your shop a visit! I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“George Weasley at your service,” his hand was firm and warm as he shook yours, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Nice to meet you!”

“So tell me about your shop!”

Somehow, after that evening, George Weasley snuck his way into becoming a part of your daily routine.

Every morning he would show up with two cups of coffee in hand right before your shop was set to open. After realizing that you depended on caffeine to function throughout your day, he made it a point to bring you one everyday. As you sipped on your coffees, the two of you would spend a few minutes chatting about your plans for the day before going to work.

Whenever you would offer to pay for your own cup or even try to insinuate that you could get your own coffee in the morning, just so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble, he would stop you in your tracks.

“But George–”

“Nope!” he would say in a voice louder than yours. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I really feel for your customers who have to deal with a Y/N that hasn’t had her coffee fix. Could you imagine the grumpiness? Not on my watch!”

You would roll your eyes, but secretly it warmed your heart how sweet this boy could be. He was slowly inching his way into your life and becoming a great friend.

–

“So,” said Fred one day as George had gotten back from delivering your daily coffee, “The bird from the knitting shop, huh?”

His twin only rolled his eyes in response, used to the teasing that came with being brothers (and twins) with Fred Weasley. Instead of engaging, George went instead to do the routine last check over their store before they officially opened their doors. Still, Fred couldn’t resist the temptation to continue provoking him.

“Oi! C’mon, you bring her coffee everyday even if you don’t like the stuff. If I don’t remind you that you have a store to run, you would spend the whole day staring out the window just to catch a glimpse of the girl! Tell me you’re not whipped for her,” he teased, following George through the shop.

From their position at the till and on the second floor, both Verity and Lee tried to hide their smirks. This was too good a story to not eavesdrop on.

“Come off it, Fred.” George rolled his eyes. “I’m just being a good friend, that’s all!”

“Yeah but you wouldn’t mind being more than friends.”

The cheeky wink Fred sent George was not appreciated, as the prior soon found out, having to duck away from a stinging hex. Still, Fred’s laugh rang through the semi-empty store as he ran away from his brother.

Later in the day, as the lunch crowd tapered off, the four of them were left to mull around a bit. Lee and Verity were off taking stock in the back room, Fred was doing some accounting (because his twin couldn’t be trusted with any sort of math), and George was reshelving some Skiving Snackboxes.

The bell above the door to the shop rang, but he couldn’t quite tell who came in from his position towards the back of the shop.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he yelled, rushing to get all the boxes in order before he could help the new customer, “I’ll be with you in just a second!”

Just as he admired his handiwork, eyes scanning the display to make sure nothing was out of place, a familiar voice called from behind him, “It’s alright, take your time. I’m not looking for anything in particular.”

George almost jumped out of his skin as he heard your voice. He was so surprised that as he turned to meet you, his elbow caught on the edge of one of the Snackboxes and the whole thing toppled over.

You watched as the tower of boxes crumbled around him, and your hand automatically covered your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. It didn’t work, though, and soon the whole store could hear your guffaws.

Thankfully, George was a wizard, and what would’ve taken a muggle quite some time to fix, only took a quick flick of his wand.

“Oops,” you smiled at him bashfully as he finished, “Didn’t mean to startle you, Weasley.”

“Erm, it-it’s alright,” he blushed, “I just didn’t expect you to come ‘round today.”

In truth, the reason why George was so flustered at your appearance at his shop was because he had just spent most of the afternoon thinking about you. He often did that, getting lost in his thoughts about the many little things that made you, well, you. The deep breath you took before that first sip of coffee in the morning, revelling in the aroma. How your face lit up when you spoke about the different people you met in your classes. Your hands and how skillfully they worked whatever project you were creating at the moment.

He wouldn’t admit it to Fred, but what his twin had said earlier in the day was accurate. He was absolutely smitten over you.

“Well you’ve been a regular over at mine for the last couple of weeks, I’m just returning the favor and visiting my favorite redhead at his place of work!”

“I-I,” he stuttered, his brain refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was your favorite anything.

Fred, who had heard the commotion and had gone down to check if everything was okay, nearly face palmed as he watched George fumble through his words. The man was whipped for you, no doubt about it, and as a good twin, he decided to save his brother from further humiliation.

“I think what my lovely twin here is trying to say, is that you just haven’t met enough redheads to make your decision about your favorite one,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Fred Weasley, at your service!”

Your smile immediately brightened at the sight of George’s twin holding out his hand for you to shake, “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N, George’s told me loads about you!”

“Has he?” Fred raised his eyebrow, turning to look at George who was still a little dumbstruck at the sight of you in his shop. “Well, that just means it’s my turn to spend some time with such a lovely lady. C’mon, I’ll give you a tour of the shop!”

“Oh I’d love that.”

With a small glance and wave at George, you took the arm that Fred was holding out for you, and so began his (largely amusing) tour of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“What in Merlin’s name was that!” yelled Fred the moment you left the shop.

George groaned into his hands, embarrassment creeping back into him. He had acted a fool, unable to even mutter a single sentence to you the whole time you were around.

“Mate, I have never seen you so flustered around a girl,” his twin muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just tell her you’ve got feelings for her! Ask her on a date, do something! From what I could tell, you’re not the only one who’s caught feelings.”

“It’s not like that between us,” he said, “I doubt she even notices how much I fancy her.”

–

Somehow, George wound up taking Fred’s advice. Though, in typical-George fashion, he never explicitly mentioned to you anything about the way he felt.

Instead, he would stay around your shop longer in the mornings, taking slower than usual sips of his coffee (which he still couldn’t say he preferred over a good cup of tea). Other days, he would come around closing time and help put everything back in order and if he was lucky, the two of you would go out to dinner. Of course, he would also never let you pay a sickle for your meal, no matter how much you insisted.

Weekends were usually spent together as well.

Saturdays were for brunch and muggle films on the telly. It was one of the rare occasions he would drink a beverage in front of you that wasn’t that (god forsaken) coffee.

Sundays were more for crafting together. He would floo into your flat after having lunch with his family and the two of you would continue working on his little project.

“My mum loves to knit,” he mentioned one day, while he observed your quick hands skillfully moving the thread through your needles. “She knits us all sweaters for Christmas. It’s become a tradition of sorts.”

“That’s lovely,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, anyone who’s practically family gets one too. Like Harry and Hermione,” he mused.

“I could teach you how to knit her something, if you wanted,” you offered. “It’d be something pretty simple though, especially if you’ve never knitted anything before.”

The smile he sent you was so dazzling, you had to take a moment. You were practically melting under his tender gaze and you swallowed thickly, trying to gain your composure.

“That’d be bloody brilliant, Y/N!”

You only hoped he didn’t notice how your face got hot and how your hands couldn’t move the needles to do what you wanted, too flustered to be precise with your movements.

Since then, the two of you spent most of Sunday afternoons making sure George had the correct strings of yarn on the correct needle. You would keep a close eye on him and his progress, but most of the time he was alright on his own. Sometimes, he would purposely sit closer to you on your couch and you could practically feel the warmth radiating from him.

In between knits, your eyes would drift towards his focused face and you would smile. George had a habit of poking the tip of his tongue out when he was knitting. Something about the gesture helped him concentrate, and you found it absolutely adorable.

The more time you spent together, though, the more confused George got. It was getting to a point where in his head, it was impossible to miss what he was trying to say with his actions. You had to have caught on by now. And, since you hadn’t acknowledged what was going on between the two of you, he had assumed that this was your polite way of rejecting him.

On a chilly morning, he clutched the warm cups of coffee in his hands as he pushed the door to Stitching Together open with his back.

“Morning, Y/N!” he greeted.

You grinned in his direction as he made his way towards you. The moment he placed the warm drink in your hands and you took your first sip, a small moan of gratefulness escaped your lips.

“Merlin, I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled to your cup.

“Sorry?” George asked, brows furrowed slightly.

“Oh nothing!” you quickly said, “I’m just really glad you’re my friend, Georgie.”

Friend.

The word seemed to make his heart sink down to his stomach and ignite something in him at the same time. It was time that he told you how he felt, no matter what would happen afterwards. He couldn’t keep going on pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you.

“Erm, about that Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his work uniform, “I’ve got to tell you something.”

It was now or never.

You smiled up at him encouragingly, almost oblivious to the bundle of nerves that were most definitely visible in his expression.

“I-I don’t want to be just friends, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in anticipation.

“What do you want then?” you still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

In a burst of confidence, George took your hands in his and gripped them tightly, “I want to be with you. I fancy you loads, I think I might even be in love with you, Y/N. Honestly, I might’ve been in love with you from the moment I first walked into your shop.”

Your lack of an immediate response left him to back track, “But I understand completely if you don’t feel the same way, I just wanted to get it out there.”

For a moment, the two of you were silent. George eyed you nervously, wondering what was going on through your head, bracing himself for the rejection that he thought was on the tip of your tongue.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, “Y/N? Do you want me to go?”

Instead of answering, you flung your arms around his neck. He was so startled at your sudden gesture that he almost didn’t notice your lips on his. Almost.

As suddenly as you had kissed him, all of his apprehensions melted away. Almost automatically, his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. Your lips melted together seamlessly. It was as if this was where the two of you were meant to be, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.

Sooner than you had liked, George pulled away from you slightly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but dip his head down to peck your lips again. Once, twice, three times. This left you a giggly mess, your nose scrunching up in a way that was practically begging him to kiss it as well.

“Does that mean you fancy me too?” he murmured against your lips.

“Absolutely, head over heels,” you smiled in return.

The pair of you spent a brief moment with your foreheads pressed together, giddy smiles on your faces. That was until a knock on the door of your shop sounded. Immediately, you sprung apart, a blush coating tip of George’s ears and cheeks.

A few people stood outside, eyeing you amusedly.

“Oh shit,” you said, hurrying to flip the sign on the door to say ‘open’ and to unlock the door with a flick of your wand. “I completely forgot I had a class today.”

As the small group of people began to file inside, they sent knowing glances your way to which you only groaned softly and looked up at George.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked hopefully.

With a kiss to your cheek and a mischievous grin he said, “You can count on it, love.”

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies @pineapplesandpinas @papapapadumb @Mrs-g-weasley @a-castle-of--glass @hey-there-angels @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic @werewolfslut @surprizeshawtyy

crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry!

#george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagines #george weasley imagine #george weasley fics #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader #george wealsey x y/n #tw meal mention #tw drink mention

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 years

Text

Ram Sweeney x Reader || Headcanons

Topic: Dating HC's

Notes:

*Sigh*... I write regularly write for creeps like Freddy Krueger and Offenderman... and am one of the few tumblrs that write for Sheriff Hoyt romantically... and yet Kurt and Ram are my real guilty pleasure characters.

Anyway I hope someone other then me wanted this XDD I'm gonna do a Kurt one too.

Warnings: Some NSFW but not explicit.

Your song: The Way I Loved You (Taylor Swift)

He respects my space and never makes me wait

And he calls exactly when he says he will

He's close to my mother, talks business with my father

He's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable

...

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

And it's 2:00 a.m. and I'm cursing your name

So in love that you act insane

And that's the way I loved you

Breakin' down and coming undone

It's a roller coaster kinda rush

And I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you

You two as a TV/Movie/Book couple: Bianca Piper and Wesley Rush (The DUFF)

Having the kind of relationship that no one else understands at all. Like, you have nothing in commen except commen history and your feelings for each other (Which are, on the other hand, totally clear to everyone) but when you're together you're always laughing and being affectionate.

Being in an on and off relationship throughout middle school and highschool- but never and I repeat; Never, is anyone permitted to mess with you at all. Because Ram always considers you his, even when you arent together.

So yeah, you always have 2 (Ram, and Kurt) large football star bodyguards at your disposal.

Being very playful together.

SOOOOoooooo much PDA. Including: Making out in the hallways and at school events like football games (You dont care who sees), sitting in his lap or at least squished close to his side at lunch, him throwing you over his shoulder to carry you places, him giving you piggy back rides, him picking you up and twirling you around, him just standing behind you with his arms around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder when he's bored (With everything but you), his arm being over your shoulders as you walk together, you wiping peanut butter on his nose to get a rise out of him and then running away so he'll chase you, you peppering his face with kisses to make him laugh, etc.

Having a turbulent relationship. Because while, when all is well you two are like peanut butter and jelly and seem like the perfect highschool sweethearts, when you arent it's because Ram has gotten really jealous over something and called you a terrible name (Skank, whore, slut, bitch- any of those) or you understandably got irritated by his bullying and/or being a perverted, sexist asshole and you have huge, blow out fights in the middle of school and by the end of the period the whole student body knows about it.

You give him the silent treatment and the cold shoulder after those (If you didnt break up, that is) and he sends Kurt to give you messages.

When you make up its because he sincerely apologises although he doesn't 100% understand what he did wrong which becomes part of the next fight.

As you've been together so very long, he is basically part of your fucking family. He's so familiar and casual with your parent/s and/or sibling/s. They love him so much that, whether you're with him at the time or not, they allow him into the house and your bedroom with a cup of tea and snacks. (Its the 'American dream' popular-boy / football-star thing.)

So yeah, sometimes when you're mad at him or he wants to get back together (Which generally you want to do, to. You honestly have the same biological timer. Its like, 3 weeks pass by of being broken up and then ding ding ding! You both get the feelings its time to get back together and start sharing grins in the hallway and talking to your friends about eachother) you'll just find him waiting for you in your room when you come home.

Hanging out a looooooot with Kurt. Movie nights at your place, hanging out at the mall together on weekends sneaking out to see them at the football field at night time, etc. When you're sad, they'll both turn up wherever you are to cheer you up, too! Goofballs.

This does not mean there arent times where Ram shoo's Kurt off, though, when you two want some alone time together (*Eyebrow wiggles*) because of course. I'm just saying, you're a close-knit group.

When you are alone together, not much changes from when you're around others honestly XD You're still just as playful and affectionate. You just, you know, also have sex.

When he's down, you rusk your graceful image and climb through his bedroom window to be there with him. You dont fuck, you dont even really kiss. You just climb into bed with him and he'll tuck you under his chin and close his eyes. Legit old married couple. And you two sleep- by morning, he usually feels better and refuses to let you get out of bed with him.

"Five more minutessssss, babe!" He whines, holding you against him and pressing kisses to your head. You know he'll just say that again in 5 minutes time- and over, and over, and over again.

"Oh- no. I've been caught in this trap before Ram. We have school, so we have to get up. Come on!" You push firmly at his stomach (or abs) with your fists; not that that does much as he just just groans or gathers your little wrists in one big fist to stop you (Either way he certainly doesn't even flinch). His eyes are still closed. You sigh.

Now you have two choices, you can either give in and snuggle back into him for the rest of the morning, or threaten to send an attack towards his groin and he'll literally fling himself outta bed. Like "OH LOOK AT THE TIME- Kurt's gonna be waiting for us outside. Lets go!"

There are also mornings that you wake up with him (No sad Ram the night before necessary) and are all too happy to stay there with him. You just adorably nod into his chest, eyes still closed and making the cutest half-asleep morning sound when he asks if you wanna stay here a bit longer and he happily pulls the blanket over both your heads; shielding you both from the real world for a while.

OKAY MOVING ON FROM THAT FLUFFINESS.

You are also the only person who has any sort of control over him and Kurt. Like you can take them down a few pegs with just a look.

You two do date other people when you're broken up but its clear to anyone watching that these are just nice place holders for eachother. Neither of you are ever as happy with others as you are with eachother. You're ridiculously in love, actually.

Ypu were the first one to say I Love You, and he immediately called Kurt for guidance XD

Places you've had sex (Because it is always the full monty with Ram): Both your bedrooms so so so many times, the school bathrooms, his car, Kurts car (Kurt was NOT pleased.), the back of the football field, under the bleachers during a game or pep rally (he was benched for being too violent) + under the bleachers during practise + under the bleachers when the football field is deserted, the back of the school, the faculty parking lot at school, Kurts and Heather Chandler's houses (Parties. Basically a Westerburg High party is not complete without Y/N L/N and Ram Sweeney breaking in someones bed), his parent's car, the woods, cow pasture (a picnic blanket was used), and finally some mall changing rooms.

You leave him messages on his answering machine. He listens to every one of them (Which means something because he doesnt listen to anyone elses, unless he's gotta get through them to get to yours).

Him being SUCH a jealous asshole (With everyone except Kurt).

HIM STANDING UP TO THE HEATHERS FOR YOU.

#PromKingAndQueen

Having Kurt "Smartest guy on the football team," Kelly be your (Occasionally, live in- yes, he has slept over with the two of you on the floor so he could break up fights) couples councellor. Often his advice is 'fuck it out' but he also comes up with oddly wise shit sometimes. Mostly he's just very exasperated though. Like, its obvious you two are gonna end up together- stop bothering me with this shit. Let me get some pussy for myself guys please-

You two getting a bit frisky on movie nights with Kurt and he throws stuff at you. He just starts bringing a pool noodle (That he drew an angry face onto) along with him and hitting y'all with it whenever he feels its necessary. Cuz I mean, on one hand, of course he's happy for his bro Ram that he's getting his dick wet, but on the other- ITS FUCKIN MOVIE NIGHT, PULL YOURSELVES TOGETHER FOR T W O S E C O N D S (Oh the irony- it does indeed escape him). He'll park his ass right in the middle of you two if you keep it up.

If he had survived, you and Ram would have broken up after graduation and spent college apart, before bumping into each other again back home as new (Improved. Especially him) people that fit together better now and ended up getting back together for good.

#Ram Sweeney x Reader Headcanons #Ram Sweeney #Ram Sweeney x Reader #Heathers #Kurt and Ram #Kurt Kelly #Headcanons #Heathers Headcanons #Heathers x Reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

Text

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John!

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic).

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @sevenseasofcats @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @allauraleigh @bluutac @johndeaconshands

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

#queen fic #john deacon fic #fic series #72 hours in montreal

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shelby-love · 3 years

Text

FRED WEASLEY

Battle of Hogwarts

Requested: yes (by anonymous)

Prompts: none (Voldemort’s lines (cursive) are from the movie)

Warning(s): mentions of death, angst

Word count: 1.9K

Author’s note: I’m weak guys I literally cried while writing this. UGH! Movie 8 is so freaking devastating how can it be someone’s favorite?? If it’s your fav than you’re a freaking soldier! Anyhow, enjoy this because we all know Freddie deserves it! God I wish he lived :’( In the movie I mean lmaooo 💀

Link to Voldy’s little whispering announcement is here! Recommend watching it so you get the feels.

The once peaceful night had turned into a rampage in a matter of seconds. Just 16 hours prior to the battle you were sleeping late with Fred at the Burrow, inhaling his familiar scent until it lulled you back to sleep eventually.

Now you stand filthy, with cuts and bruises all over your body, looking around as the school you had attended not too long ago became a battleground for all witches and wizards.

Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, the sickly smiles the Death Eaters pranced around with suddenly being too scary to look at. The wind was no calmer than yourself - it blew harshly, pushing your hair violently to one side while you turned your head to look the other way. Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts and you were all alone to fight off the first wave.

Jets of green light flew past you in the heat of the moment, missing you by a tiny fraction of an inch. You ducked behind a fallen statue doing your best to ignore the never ending screams of curses. A giant plotted around the debris, walking in a semi-circle while trying to catch a few wizards onto his half-moon shaped weapon of choice.

No one had your back, only the stone statue you trusted enough to lean your back against.

The sight before you was truly terrifying. So many memorable places had turned upside down into something you didn't recognize. Didn't try to recognize. So many memories were squished into anguish. Pain.

Fear for your loved ones.

"Fred!" You screamed out in terror. Your boyfriend was not by your side, having split up from you when he went after his older brother Percy. You didn't see him anywhere since that moment on, but perhaps that was a good thing. Fred wasn't outside to see what the grounds has turned into. He wasn't there to hear the despairing screams that surrounded you. "Fred!"

Another burst of green had escaped from someone's wand, sneaking up to your body with force. The death curse awaited you - no one could deny it.

But something blocked it. A surge of light - pure bright light - blinded you for several seconds before it died down to a spark, leaving you squinting your eyes at the savior in gratitude.

"You really think I'd let my future sister-in-law die like that?" Said George, his voice unmistakably similar to Fred's. It wrapped around you like a cloak of protection, reassuring you that there was still hope.

That you weren't alone.

"You're alive!" Your voice, unlike George's, lost all its light as you staggered to your feet hastily.

"Course I am," said George teasingly though his dashing smile turned into a thin line of worry fairly quickly. He grasped your elbow and dragged straight inside until you met the corridors you roamed around your entire adolescent life. Without a choice but with full trust, you followed after George, watching as the robes on his shoulders held themselves on by mere threads, his whole body blackened by the smoke. Just like yours.

Panic flared within you. You could hear even more screams inside the school - the only place that was free of tall, monstrous giants with voices that shook the ground like bombs.

People, good and bad, screamed out both curses and jinxes while dueling. Your head snapped into different directions every second you were inside, readying your body to defend yourself.

George stopped suddenly, pushing you back behind him and blocking an unavoidable Avada Kedavra before turning back to you. He looked panicked, "Find Fred! He's on the seventh-floor corridor with Perce! Go!"

"I can't leave you, George!" You bellowed in between screaming a jinx at a dark hooded Death Eater.

"I don't think you have much of a choice in this matter, sis!" He said without a backward glance, hurling you into the opposite direction with a mere swipe of his wand. "Go!"

And so you listened, running off to find the man you loved while leaving his brother behind with a heavy heart.

The long-lost piece to your heart, although the piece that belonged to George since birth.

Fred.

You ran forwards through the halls you knew like your own home representing a mad-woman. Every so often, after cursing a different Death Eater through the window you would glance around and choke back a sob.

The halls, per se, weren't as devastating to see; it was the lack of greeting smiling faces that once stood proudly up on the walls that broke your heart. The people from the pictures had disappeared, no longer greeting you in passing like before.

Just then the sound of thunder penetrated through the land, like a storm greeting you on the doorstep. The room began to tremble, your head pulsing to the point you thought it would explode.

And then His voice echoed.

"You have fought valiantly... but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste."

You dug your hands into your hair like doing so would push Him out.

It didn't.

Although His whispers remained there, His influence did not.

Only at the sight of Fred backed up against the wall with Augustus Rookwood at his feet did Voldemort's voice drain down your ears into oblivion. He had his wand pointed to Fred whose own wand had been knocked out of his hold, disarming him.

Power surged through your being and without much thinking, a bright light of a jinx blasted out your wand, neatly hitting the Death Eater making him drop his wand and crumble to the ground like a pile of ash.

You drew in a suffocating gasp for air and dropped to your knees, a wave of wet tears threatening to spill over like a river. Augustus blew away with the wind, leaving only the two of you alone.

For now.

Instinctively, you cupped Fred's cheeks with your shaky hands and pressed your forehead against his. The whispering was getting too much. "Shh...you're okay..."

"I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity."

"Y/N?"

"N-no, don't speak Freddie," you murmured sadly, shakily brushing a strand of his hair while pinning his eyes into yours to distract him from the whispers.

He did as you said, locking his eyes with yours and not looking away until it was over. "Fred I love you."

"Harry Potter, I speak now directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me."

And just like that, the castle became unnervingly quiet. Every blast of light that sparked around was no more than a lingering smell in the air, unharmful to anyone - rendered completely useless.

You didn't know for how long this eerie bit of peace and quiet would last, but you were going to use it up completely.

"I-I..." Fred started, although no more words followed after that. He swallowed the rest of the thought heavily, instead letting you silently help him stagger to the Great Hall.

You tried not to look at the blood, but how could you not? It was everywhere, littering the walls and walkway even though no physical contact had to be made in order to kill someone using magic. It just comes to show just how merciless the dark followers truly are. You bit down on your trembling lip, suppressing the dark thoughts that invaded your mind.

Fred had thought the same apparently as he looked just as broken and tired as you did when you stopped in the doorway of the Hall, not knowing what awaited for you beyond those doors.

The room that used to be the liveliest place on earth shuddered with silence, only footsteps could be heard. Tears rounding up as a close second.

People were bawling. Although quietly, as if the fallen were asleep.

The house tables, the tables of pronounced rivalry between the four houses were gone. What crowded the room were the people, their arms around each other's necks. The injured were being treated but the dead lied in the middle of the hall.

Your friends mourned their loved ones; professors sat quietly by the side, looking grim but with hope still glimmering in their eyes; kids who you had nothing to do with during your schooling suddenly felt like the closest of friends, their closed eyelids will never open again. It tore your heart.

The first of many sobs escaped. You paused ever so slightly, pushing Fred back too without even realizing it. Breathing became harder, your lungs became tighter. Life was too harsh at that moment.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Y/N hey," said Fred softly, cupping your chin with utmost of care. Almost as if he was scared a simple touch could break you. "It's okay. Look at me, love."

You shook your head, unable to do as he said, "Fred? Y/N?"

Both Fred and you glanced at George who was standing amidst the crowd, looking worse than he did before. But at least he had a smile.

"Go." You gave Fred a simple nod, and he didn't even waste a second. Both brothers ran for each other, winding their arms around each other's necks. You could hear their cries of agony and the falling tears, so you turned your head to hide your own set of tears. All you could do was release the emotions, you came to realize.

There was something about the twins, as if they felt what no one in the world could. Perhaps that's what made them so close, a joy to be around really. Like many, they fought, but then they simply synchronized at the right time and all became good again.

There was something about knowing that the love of your life's brother was okay that made the world a bit more bearable. George was a part of Fred no one could replace - you, Molly, Arthur, Ron, ... You didn't want to live to see the day Fred mourns over his brother too soon.

But Fate smiled down on you, reuniting the two soulmates as a gift to the world.

Ginny walked toward you so quietly you almost failed to notice her, but when you did your lips curled sadly; her face was swollen, and she looked to be in a great deal of pain, but she hugged you tightly despite it. Your arms mimicked her own, pulling her close until the comfort balanced out.

Soon, the rest of the Weasleys joined, showing just how grateful they were for each of their kids. Hermione and you closed in on them too, and they immediately pulled you into the group, showering you with love while your parents couldn’t.

Remus and Tonks looked peaceful, looking as if they were resting while laying down next to each other, their hands touching. You didn't have the heart to wake them, you decided. Instead, you kneeled down and thanked them. Promised them that their son would learn and grow up to be just like the two of them.

You yearned not to feel, but that was simply not possible. So, you turned to Fred, tears travelling down your cheeks, every thought fried and cluttered - his eyes dimmed sadly. Fred reached out and pulled you to him, hugging you securely, his strong arms becoming a shield of love no one could break. You felt his tears travel down your neck and that urged more of your own to fall down too.

When you finally parted, you looked deeply into his eyes, letting him wipe your tears away. "Please don't leave again." The words barely managed to break out as the sobs you started to withhold chocked your voice back. Fred's eyes softened, his chin rested on top of your head when he brought you back to him. His arms clenched you tighter this time, like a promise.

"I'll never leave you again. I promise."

MASTERLIST

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ineloqueent · 3 years

Text

dreaming of you

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: a storm results in a power cut, after you get locked out of your flat. luckily, your neighbour is home.

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i hope you don’t mind that i took a few creative liberties with the prompts, m’dear <3

see the moodboard here!

⭒

London, 1973

It was one of those days that simply went from bad to worse. And then fell down the stairs. And into a frying pan. And then leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Except the fire was not simply a fire, but a flaming pit, that was somehow also freezing cold and pitch black.

In short, you’d had a terrible day. And as life would have it, your day was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

It had started that morning, when you’d got out on the wrong side of the bed, quite literally. You had fallen face-first over your office chair, which stood mere millimetres from the left side of your bed, because you lived in a tiny flat on Camden High Street, above a shoe shop, where, in the winter there was rarely hot water in the pipes, and you were forced to scrape ice off of the bathroom mirror with a razor in order to see your reflection.

So, you’d fallen out of bed and bruised— your forehead— instantly, only to realise that you’d slept through your alarm, and forgotten to lay out clothes for the day the night before. This was then followed by a rushed— cold— shower, and jumping in front of the iced-over mirror to glimpse the large bump already forming on your forehead.

You’d made it to the kitchen, and found that you’d run out of both coffee and tea, forcing you to decide between going without caffeine, or being late to work in the process of getting a takeaway beverage. You opted for the latter, and sprinted out the front door with your scarf only half-slung around your neck.

You’d shouted a hasty good morning to your shop keeper neighbour from the lower floor, before running straight into your other neighbour, the one who lived right next door to you, and shared your rice paper-thin walls.

He’d narrowly avoided spilling his cup of scalding coffee down your front, but in avoiding spilling it on you, the poor bloke had instead dropped the mug at his feet, and watched it shatter to pieces, coffee spattering his white shoes.

Still, he was the first to apologise.

He was like that, Brian May. Very polite. Well-mannered. Ever the friendly neighbour.

And very beautiful. You’d noticed.

Off to work you’d rushed, once you’d helped him to clean up the mess, because you weren’t about to leave him standing in a pile of shattered porcelain, the existence of which was quite honestly your fault.

You’d been not five, not ten, not twenty, but thirty minutes late to work, and your boss had been none too pleased.

“Deadlines,” he’d told you. “We have deadlines!”

Deadlines your arse. You’d watched that man leisurely read his morning paper, with his feet on an ottoman, whilst you scrambled to get your affairs in order.

It’d then been a drab day, working at the newspaper, because it seemed that nothing was happening in the world, outside of your own little corner, where everything seemed to be happening all at once, and thus, there was no story for you to write. You’d been reduced to running fax and photocopies for various people, and— ironically— doing a coffee run, because everyone else was too busy for such a frivolous thing as a coffee run. Funny, though; for all they shunned the coffee run, they could not do without their precious caffeine to fuel their productivity.

The day seemed to drag on, and when it finally let up, the rain came down with the night, and you, with no umbrella and a good walk on either side of your tube ride, stared miserably through the window at the depressing weather.

But at home, pasta and television and your lovely, soft bed awaited you, and so, you were desperate to get home as quickly as possible.

With a sigh, you stepped outside, and let the rain soak you as you went on your way, having once read in a scientific study in the newspaper which had concluded from a series of experiments that one got more wet from running through rain than from walking through it.

The tube was crowded, as usual, and like a good citizen, you offered your seat to an elderly lady, only to realise upon second glance that she was not elderly at all, and you had just morally offended a rather prim-looking business woman. And lost your seat to the smirking man who’d watched the exchange occur.

You tracked mud all the way up to your flat, nearly breaking your foot at least twice when you nearly slipped on the rain-slick wood of the stairs.

The final nail— or so you thought— in the coffin of your terrible day came when you fumbled in your jacket pockets for your key.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was perhaps the heaviest you’d ever felt.

In your rush that morning, you’d forgotten your key.

Brian May walked up the stairs just in time to see you kick your shoe off in frustration, and let out a laugh at the sight of you.

You looked up from your abused shoe to find Brian paused at his door, one eyebrow slightly raised in concern.

“Alright?” he asked, dubiously.

You took a deep breath, in an attempt to remain calm and appear normal at the height of your despair. “I’ve had a shitty day, since before you saw me this morning, and now I’ve locked myself out of my flat. Alright, you think?”

“No,” he conceded, “but it seemed polite to ask.”

“Do you always just do what’s polite?” you sighed.

“Now that,” said Brian, inclining his head, “wasn’t very polite.”

You shook your head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant it in a much more flattering way, like, you never fail to be polite, even when it’s hard to be, or when I’m sure you’d much rather say something sarcastic, or even just plain rude. You know,” you rambled, “you’re good at that—” you waved a hand, and amusement flitted across his eyes— “filter thing. You have a filter, I mean.”

“And you don’t,” he observed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, for once,” said Brian, “you look an absolute wreck, but—”

At that moment was when the real final nail of the coffin fell into place.

Because at that moment, accompanied by an ear-splitting peal of thunder, lightning struck, and eradicated the power supply of approximately one-third of the London metropolitan area.

“Bloody hell,” Brian remarked, as the rumble of thunder receded. The two of you stood in darkness on the landing, and while before, there had only been one bare lightbulb to light your surroundings, it was greatly different to be standing in total darkness when the city outside had become equally as dark.

“The power—”

You thought Brian nodded across from you where he stood, in the blackness of the hall.

“So…” you muttered. “What now?”

“Well, given our presently rather strange circumstances, I’ll offer to let you sleep on my sofa, and we can talk to Clarisse in the morning.”

Clarisse owned the shoe shop beneath your flats, and therefore your flats as well. She was yours and Brian’s landlady, but, as with her shop, she was only ever in from nine to five. Given that it was now six in the evening, she was most certainly long gone.

You considered Brian’s offer.

The two of you had shared a landing for four, almost five years now, since you’d each come to London, and yet, though you were friendly, you’d never got past having coffee together. You knew that Brian was studying astrophysics at Imperial College, which was very impressive indeed, and that he was the guitarist in a talented, but relatively unknown band. You’d encountered the other members of the band a few times here and there, every year, given that they sometimes practiced, or held meetings, at Brian’s residence. Clarisse didn’t mind the band playing, and as the next door building always had loud music pounding, there was no danger of annoying the neighbours to the point of the police being phoned, so Brian and his band were free to hold their rehearsals. You knew they were talented because you could hear them playing through said rice paper-thin walls.

And having had coffee with the man in question at least three times, you felt safe enough in taking up his offer. You only regretted that in all your years living next door to him, you’d never invited him over. Then again, he’d never invited you over either. But here he was now, in your hour of need, and that had to count for something.

You nodded gratefully, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see you all too well, and said,

“I think I’ll take up your offer. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nonsense,” said Brian. “I’m just polite.”

You thought he might have winked, but of course, in the dark, you couldn’t be sure.

He unlocked his front door, and you followed him inside.

“Watch out for the—”

You stumbled over what felt and sounded to be a guitar case.

“Oh shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” you apologised profusely.

He chuckled. “It’s fine. It’s empty.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered. “Thought I’d just destroyed something, again.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough that you ruined my coffee cup this morning.”

Reflexively, you covered your blush with your hand. “Please don’t remind me,” you groaned.

“I won’t miss it,” Brian assured you, tossing his keys onto a little table. “It was a hideous thing. Something Fred got me once from Kensington Market, where he works. Pretty sure the thing was second-hand too.”

Fred. Freddie, lead singer of the band you’d only heard through walls. Funny, charming, friendly though shy.

You wrinkled your nose. “Second-hand…”

“Yeah. He’s got no taste, silly bugger.” Though Brian’s remarks sounded harsh, he spoke with a fondness that could only have been reserved for the highest regard of friendships, and you thought that he and his bandmates must be quite good friends.

“Hungry?” Brian asked. “I’ve only got some left-over lasagna, unfortunately, since I wasn’t expecting company, and it’s vegetarian, but we can heat it up in the oven, and there’s enough for the both of us.”

“Honestly, Brian, that sounds delicious.”

Your eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, and so you saw his smile in response to your comment.

“Well, great. I’ll heat that up, then. Make yourself at home. If you can find the living room,” he added with a laugh. “There’s some candles in the chest of drawers by the window, so if you get those out, I’ll find some matches too, and we can have some light.”

“Will do.”

You set about your task, managing to only stub your toe once after removing your shoes, and set up candles about the living room, where you assumed Brian intended to set up dinner.

He brought you matches, and brought with him a glass bottle.

“Wine?” he offered you, having poured himself a glass, and you accepted, because it was Friday night and what the hell.

You lit the candles as Brian went back to his cooking, and before long, he returned with the lasagna dished up.

As your host sat down across from you, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

With the candles providing a rather romantic glow, catching on Brian’s pretty ringlet curls and dancing in his eyes, plus the wine, and now, the static-y music coming in over a battery-powered radio, this atmosphere was a lot cosier than you had expected.

Brian furrowed his brow at your noise of amusement. “What..?”

“Are we on a date right now?”

With a glance about the room, with its overstuffed cushions and stitched drapes, the two of you eating a meal by candlelight, Brian laughed too.

“It would seem that way.”

He raised his glass to you, and you would have been lying if you’d said that the gesture and his words hadn’t made your heart skip a beat.

You ate in silence for a few moments, until Brian spoke again.

“Would you mind awfully if we were?

The question startled you a little, and you swallowed your wine carefully.

“No,” you said honestly.

A small smile graced his mouth, before his eyes dropped to his lap. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I always meant to ask you out.”

You blurted, “Did you really?”

He smiled fully now. “Yeah. But I’ve always been so damn shy.”

You were the one to raise your glass this time. “Well, here we are now. And you’re not getting rid of me. At least until tomorrow.”

He laughed gently in response, and you thought of how lovely and warm the sound was.

If only you were as warm as that laugh. The rain that had soaked your clothes was beginning to take its toll on you.

You finished dinner in silence, and Brian cleared the plates in silence too.

He came back after washing the dishes, just in time to see you shiver.

“Oh, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Extra blankets.”

He fetched them, but then looked down at the bundle in dismay. It was very little; you could both see that.

You watched him close his eyes briefly in the wash of candlelight, saw him grit his teeth. You waited with bated breath for what he was going to say.

“It gets really cold here at night.”

This you already knew, from your experiences at your own flat.

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll get even colder now that we’ve lost all form of central heating… Forgive me if this is entirely over the line...” he sighed, and opened his eyes, watching you with a cautiousness that betrayed nerves. “But it might be best if I sleep here, near you. Body heat, and all that.”

“Oh,” you said, blushing slightly. Stupid blush. “Yes, that’s probably a— uh— good idea.”

“Right. Um. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanted to chan— oh. Well. Hang on. I’ll get you a jumper or something to change into.”

Your blush only deepened, knowing that you would be wearing his clothes.

You couldn’t look at him when you took the dry, clean clothes he handed you, and hurried to change in the bathroom, before returning to the makeshift bed now established on the floor of Brian’s living room.

He brushed past you to use the bathroom himself.

You slid under the duvet laid out, and shifted the pillow beneath your head, making yourself comfortable.

Brian returned, and began extinguishing the candles around the room.

Finally, a soft shuffling sound announced that he had laid down beside you, and you released a breath of relief, knowing you could soon go to sleep and forget the awkwardness you were so adept at in your conscious state.

But then you noticed that Brian, in his flannel pyjama trousers and t-shirt, was going to sleep with only a single blanket pulled over him; he’d let you have the duvet without a word.

You weren’t about to let him freeze to death on his own living room floor.

With a courage you knew not from where, you rolled over to face Brian. Or rather, Brian’s back. He was turned away from you. He probably thought you’d already gone to sleep.

You laid your hand gently on his shoulder, and he turned slowly.

“Hey,” you murmured, as his eyes met yours. “Sleepover?” You offered the duvet, a gift of peaceable intentions.

He smiled softly, and accepted with grace. But it was a stretch, with how far he lay from you.

“Oh, come here,” you said, and draped your arm over his lithe waist, drawing him closer to you. A little wine-tipsy and a little tired, a little cold, a little lonely, you nestled your cheek against his chest, your hands against warm skin beneath thin fabric.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around you too, and you breathed a soft sigh against his skin.

“Is this alright?” he asked carefully.

In silent response, you lifted your head, and kissed his pretty lips.

He reciprocated almost immediately, his kiss sleepy but tender, and you pecked his mouth gently once more. Then you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and touched the skin there with another caress of your lips.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered, and he ghosted a kiss upon your temple.

“I can wait for tomorrow,” he said.

And soon you both drifted off, you in warmth and contentment, and Brian dreaming of you.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #brian may x reader #fic

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starry-pierrot · 3 years

Text

Sleepy Nightguards

Okay! So this is a big one. Hope you all like it!

@jelly-belly-fish

Jelly was nervous as they clocked in for their third nightshift, they had just started their new security job at Freddy’s Pizzaplex and while all their friends were jealous they were working at the place that basically ruled their childhood; they were this close to being tired of it. Not because the job was horrible or anything but because of the long nights. Jelly wasn’t used to staying up till six in the morning and it was obvious the young adult was having some issues staying awake all night.

But not tonight! The night before was a nightmare when Montgomery woke them up with a Halloween mask from storage. If it wasn’t for Freddy and the others they were sure they would have had a heart attack right there and then. But tonight they would make it through the night without falling asleep if it was going to kill them and to make sure it didn’t happen they brought a bunch of sugary snacks and soda along with some coffee. Their heart might stop but at least they’d be awake.

Jelly stepped out into the Pizzaplex with flashlight in hand, they were sure the bots were out and about by now mingling with each other. They still weren’t used to them, anxiety taking over before they could have a real conversation besides ‘Hello’ and ‘ Gotta do the job.’ But they continued on as they walked throughout the building.

Like usual there wasn’t anything different about the building, no kids hiding, no burglars making their way in through the window and no random fires breaking out in the kitchen. They did see the counter was a little sticky with some soda, a day employee probably forgot to clean that but they continued on.

That was pretty much all they needed to do, the place is locked up for the night and no one would be getting in without the animatronics knowing about it. That meant one thing. Or it would if someone hadn’t snuck up on them. “ Hello,Jelly.” “ A-aha!” They jumped when a deep voice came from behind them, turning around to reveal it to be Freddy. “ Oh-uh-Hi..” It took a moment for their nerves to calm down. The bear gave a kind but apologetic smile, “ I see you are doing your rounds. Everything good?” “ Yes. Uh-yeah no nothing weird going on..” They looked off to the side then back to the bear hoping that he wouldn’t stick around too long even if they did like the sound of his voice. “ Good. I just wanted to check in. I know you’ve been having some trouble staying awake but that should pass eventually.” “ Yeah it should-look uh I gotta go man the monitors. See ya Freddy!” Jelly sidestepped the bear giving him a small wave before taking off towards the security room. They weren’t ever sure if they were going to get used to the animatronics actually talking to them. When MJ introduced them they were not sure what to think but at least most of them were nice. But the gator and the twins can be shoved in a closet.

The night continued on as Jelly watched the monitors, eating their candy and drinking their coffee to stay awake as they played on their phone. Sometimes she would catch the animatronics on screen, Roxane coaxing Montgomery into some arcade games while Chica cheered them on. Freddy was seen fixing up the plate placements in the party room while the twins mostly stayed in the playground area. Jelly didn’t realize it but they were getting tired, their head started to bob before jerking awake. A yawn slipping out here and there, maybe they were starting to rest their head against their arms as some YouTube video played on their phone. What were they watching? The sound faded out- “ Jelly?” Freddy asked as he peaked his head into the security room, it had been a while since the guard had done their last round and while management didn’t make them keep a time card for it (the tech would be an extra 100 to put in the system) Freddy liked to make sure they at least did the bare minimum for their job. But he paused when he saw all the candy wrappers and empty soda and coffee bottles that littered the desk and floor. The bear shook his head and quietly walked in noting that the guard was fast asleep. Quietly picking up the garbage and throwing it in the bin didn’t take long and when he was done he looked to the guard, they didn’t look very comfortable. The chair was a little too far back and he was sure if they slipped just a little further they’d fall right on their face. “ It’s always the young ones.” Shaking his head with an amused smile he gently scooped up the guard off the chair, Jelly not making a peep in this process. The guards had dragged in some big bean bag chairs a while back and they were perfect for this sort of thing, walking over Freddy gently put the guard on one of the chairs making sure they were in a comfortable position. He left for a moment only to come back and tuck in a blanket from his room around them, a few of the others had followed him and poked their heads in but he held up his finger to tell them to be quiet. “Let them sleep.” ------- @the-pun-sexual-nerd The first hour had gone by quickly as MJ had done their rounds around the complex, the flashlight twirling in their hand as they walked about. Monty and Roxane had decided to go kart racing with Freddy being the mediator, Mj would have joined them but they were feeling like doing something else that was a bit more quiet than a racetrack. Heading back to the security room they quickly turned on the monitors giving them a quick look over before they set up their phone, clicking on the streaming service they watch Lucifer on. They had recently gotten into the show and were trying to binge watch all four seasons within the week, it was a hyperfixation. Pulling out their snacks they leaned back in the chair as the episode started, it was a few episodes before the finale in season one. As Mj watched the show they took quick looks from the monitors to the show from time to time and for a while it was all quiet. So quiet in fact they didn’t realize they had another member in the room.

“ What are you watchin’, sugar?” The guard squeaked and dropped their chips as they jumped, spinning the chair around only to find Chica standing there looking a little surprised. “ Chica! Jeez you scared me!” “ Oh-opps.” The chicken laughed, giving an apologetic smile for the scare. Even if these guys were nice they really needed to quit it with being so quiet. Maybe they should get them all bells to put around their necks. “ Sorry about that, hun. I guess I don’t know just how quiet I can be.” “ It’s okay just...don’t do that again. Please.” “ I promise! Now what are you watching?” The larger animatronic leaned in to the now slightly moved phone on the desk. Mj quickly righted it and snagged their bag from the floor, luckily the snacks didn’t all fall out and there was still a good chunk of them left.

“ Lucifer. It’s a tv show about Lucifer who’s a fallen angel and he doesn't like his life anymore so he leaves hell. And he ends up movin’ to Los Angeles and everything is good and great until someone gets killed outside his nightclub and that starts some- “ Dear I don’t mean to be rude but I have no idea what you just said.”

Mj stopped for a moment realizing they went on another word bender with someone who probably isn’t even programmed to know about any of the themes within the television show. “ Oh-oops. Um-do you just want to watch it with me? We can start from the beginnin’.”

“ I’d love to!”

Hours later the two were sitting on the bean bag chairs, the phone sitting on a chair they had pulled over and propped up with a Freddy plushie. Mj had eaten all their snacks and was currently starting to nod off besides Chica.

“ Sweetheart I think you’re falling asleep there.”

“ No I’m not! I’m awake!”

Chica laughed and reached over to the phone to pause it, “ I know a sleepy human when I see one. Come on you got another two hours before your shift ends. You can take a nap.”

Mj seemed to consider it for a moment before they sighed and laid back on the bean bag chair, “ Okay...I am a bit sleepy.”

“ It’s all that junk food you ate. Makes you all sluggish.”

“ But soda has caffeine in it. “

“ And humans can get caffeine crashes. Next time I’ll bring you a little something that's a bit more healthy okay?” Chica stood up moving the blanket closer to the human and tucking them in much like she would do to a child.

“ Now get some sleep. I’ll let the others know to leave you alone, okay?”

“Okay! Night, Chica.” Mj adjusted themselves for a moment before they finally settled down and closed their eyes.

“ Night, darlin’.”

-------

“ Zoey we need you to work tonight!”

“What!?” It was currently a Saturday in the afternoon, about four, it was the busiest time of the day. Her and Twigs were already up to their necks in kids trading tickets and stocking at quickly as they could at the prize counter.

“ Katsu called out, she’s got something going on so I need you to fill in.” The manager didn’t even look up when he addressed her.

“ There isn’t anyone else? You know that's going to be like a fifteen hour work day right?” She’s been here since one and she doesn't get off until closing. That’s nine hours plus the twelve to six?

“ It’s fine. I already cleared it with Jamie you need to come in tonight. “ Her manager then quickly left giving her no chance to reject the extra shift.

“ Well shit.” Zoey sighed, it wasn’t that she didn’t like the night shift. No she loved it! But working so many hours was going to be a pain in the ass and she was sure she was going to get a major migraine in the morning. At least she would get to go home and eat before coming back.

Well there was nothing she could do about it now as she needed the money and she wasn’t about to quit when there were literal talking animatronics at this job. Rolling her eyes she went back to stocking the plushies on the shelf.

It was eleven fifty five as she clocked in ready to start this ridiculously long shift, at least she would be among friends who would make things fun. But first she had to handle some of her duties such as checking the facilities before turning on the monitors, though it didn’t take long for her to finish.

“ Hey Zoey! You wanna go play some Mini Golf? I bet we can beat gator boy over there.” Roxanne walked into the security office with Monty hot on her heels.

“ Oh no you won’t! You wanna start something wolfy?” And they were already starting with a little rivalry, this was fine. Zoey could play.

“ What, Monty? Are you scared you’re gonna lose?” Zoey shot back with a smile feeling some energy awake inside her.

“ Oh-ho! Someone is ready to kick some tail! “ Roxanne grabbed Zoey’s hand and began to tug her towards the door, “ Come on, Montgomery! Hurry up or we’ll leave you behind!”

“ I bet I’ll get there first!” Without much warning the gator sped forward passing the two towards his section of the Pizzaplex, Roxane not wanting to lose scooped up Zoey and threw her over her shoulder before running after the other animatronic.

“ Whoa-Hey!”

The run to the golf course was surprisingly smooth considering she was on Roxanne's shoulder, she was gently deposited on the ground when the two arrived just behind Monty. The gator gloated a little but she was quickly given her own club before being tugged out onto the field.

The three played for a bit all the while Monty and Roxanne shot words at each other, Zoey would say something here and there but she was realizing that the energy she had earlier was starting to give out. Her shots were getting worse too as they continued playing.

It was around hole fourteen that she stopped listening to the two playfully bicker and talk about whatever it was that they talked about. Soon her head was drooping, jerking awake and she tried to pay attention to the conversation.

“You think their parents would make sure their kid cleans their hand before they touch my mohawk.”

“ I had kids stick gum in my tail. But hey still gotta love them.” Zoey began to zone out again, this time her head falling forward before she jerked awake yet again. However this time Montgomery noticed.

“ Hey, you doing okay there, missy?” He asked.

“ What? Yeah just...a little tired. This is my second shift today and it was busy as hell.” Rubbing at her eyes she gave a yawn.

“ Swear jar.” Roxanne piped in.

“ I’m okay, I'm just tired. We can still play.” Zoey picked up her club and began walking to the next hole, the two animatronics looked at each other before following her. Deciding to keep an extra eye on her.

But it soon became apparent that the human was just too tired to play, Zoey wasn’t the best player at mini golf but her shots were just terrible.

“ Okay. That’s it.” Suddenly a tail wrapped around Zoey’s waist pulling her closer. Looking back she saw Montgomery giving her a look that said ‘Time to go’.

“ You can’t be falling asleep on the golf course now. You’ll ruin the grass and your shots suck worse than usual.”

“Gee thanks.”

“ Come on I’ll take you back to my room.”

This made Zoey freeze for a moment before she tried to pull away from his tail, “ Uh-no it’s fine I can just go sleep in the secr-” another yawn, “security room.”

“ The green rooms are closer. Come on.” Without missing a beat the larger animatronic reached over and scooped her up into one of his arms. Zoey squeaked as her face went red but she didn’t fight it.

How could she fight someone that was ten times stronger than her and wouldn��t take no for an answer?

Well-that was until she noticed Roxanne smiling at her. Suddenly her embarrassment was even stronger.

“ Okay-uh-Monty come on I can walk! “

“ You’re falling asleep on your feet.”

“ Yeah Zoey. Just let him carry you.” Oh she was going to get smacked later for this she knew what she was doing! Zoey glared back at Roxanne watching her as she stayed behind.

“ Monty put me down.” Zoey tried one last time.

“ No.”

The human sighed and gave in letting the animatronic carry her to the green rooms, not that she had a choice to begin with. It wasn’t a long walk and the room smelled of pizza and some type of air freshener. Monty walked over to the couch and dropped her on it before he tossed a blanket at her.

“ There you go. Now go to bed, we'll play another round when you won't ruin my grass by falling asleep on it.” Montgomery walked over to the lights and flipped them off turning the room into a dark enough space that would be easy to sleep in.

“ Okay fine...just wake me up before six okay?” Looking back over at him while she pulled the pillows closer she saw him pause and look back.

“ Yeah don’t worry.. Good night, little missy.”

With that he walked out leaving Zoey alone in his room, she could feel her heart beating a little quicker than normal and she wanted to bury her face into the pillow and die.

But something caught her eye, it was a Montgomery plush. Zoey would later refuse to admit that she had been cuddling with it.

----

@trollartistry

Today was not a good day.

Nemi yawned as he clocked into his nightshift, irritated and grumpy. The day had been a long one, first he couldn’t get enough sleep as his body just didn’t want to cooperate with him. He was sure he didn’t fall asleep till about three hours before his nightshift which was not enough time for him to be fully rested. Then his drier broke and he was forced to dry his uniform with a blow dryer taking up the time he would usually use to make a decent meal for himself. All he had was some toast and yogurt before he had rushed to his car so he wouldn’t be late.

He didn’t need management getting on his ass tonight.

The male gave out half-assed greetings to the animatronics and any other guards stationed with him tonight as he started his rounds, checking the bathrooms, the arcade and making sure no kids were hiding somewhere in the ball pit. It all seemed well and good until there was a sudden commotion just irritating enough to get on his last nerve. Quickly heading to the party hall he found that Moondrop was being berated by one of the other guards, Zoey. Once he took another look around he found that Roxane was yelling at the other animatronic while her tail was slightly colored pink, being held back by Freddy while Monty and Chica were off to the side.

“ You can’t just dye her fur! You know management would-”

“ It was just a joke!” “ No one messes with my fur and gets away with it!”

“ Now will you all calm down? There is no reason to-”

“ENOUGH!”

The room was suddenly very quiet as all their heads snapped to Nemi, the man glaring at them with a scowl on his face. Nemi walked forward, “ I’m not dealing with this tonight. Zoey keep that creep of yours under control. Roxane go wash your tail out before it stains your fur. And everyone else keep it fucking quiet!” The others were clearly unsettled by his attitude as usually he’d be nothing more than a sweetheart but clearly something had irritated the man.

But before anyone could say anything he stormed off towards the security room, why were they all so chaotic? And it had to be on a night where he was already having a bad day. Angrily sitting down at the security rooms table he let out a long winded sigh and held his head in his hands. At least now it was quiet.

“ Nemi?”

Oh for fucks sake. “ What, Freddy?”

The animatronic bear stepped in the room and walked over standing next to the irritated guard, “ Are you alright? You seem to be upset about something.”

“ Oh no. No I’m not upset. It’s not like there isn’t some dumb mess I have to clean up that I didn’t make. Or that my dryer broke and I barely ate anything or that-that, I couldn’t take a nap and I’m tired as all hell-shit.” Nemi could feel tears coming to his eyes, quickly wiping them away before they could fall. Why did Freddy have to come in now?

“...Would you like to take a nap in my room?”

The question caught the guard off guard, Nemi snapping his head towards the bear in surprise. “ What?”

“ My room. It’s quiet and the others will stay out of the room. I’m sure Zoey can handle the duties for tonight.”

“ No.” The bear’s ears roasted upwards as his eyebrows rose, seemingly confused at the rejection. “ No-it’s fine I’ll just-”

“ Nemi you clearly need to rest.” Freddy tried to argue.

“ No I’m fine. Just go back out and leave me alone for a while okay?” The man sighed and turned around thinking the bear would do what he asked. He wasn’t about to go sleep in Freddy’s room of all places.

“ I see we will be doing this the hard way.”

“ What?” Suddenly Nemi was being picked up. No correct that he was suddenly being bridal carried by Freddy. Nemi felt all his anger and his face flush red all at one. “ Put me down! Freddy!”

“ Don’t squirm now. You need to rest and if I have to give you a little tough love then so be it.” The bear’s grip was like iron as Nemi tried to get out of it.

“ Freddy seriously! Put me down right now!” But the bear ignored him as he carried Nemi out of the security room and towards the greenrooms. Nemi just hoped to god that none of the others would see him in this embarrassing state. It didn’t take too long for them to enter Freddy’s room and by the time they entered Nemi had stopped squirming so aggressively having grown tired from his already low energy.

“ Here we are.” Freddy walked over to the couch and gently set the man on it, but before he could make a dash for the door Freddy had him wrapped up in a blanket like some kind of burrito. Nemi knew this was the type of wrapping they used when there was an obviously overstimulated kid that needed to calm down.

“ Freddy unwrap me right now! “

“ No I don’t think I will. Nemi you need to rest.” The bear was pulling pillows over into a small pile before he gently knocked the man over so he could lay down.

“ I am not a child!”

“ No you certainly are not, but you are acting like one.” Freddy knelt down besides him, “ Nemi. I am only doing this because I care-we all care about you.” The bear looked away for a moment, “ I just want you to take care of yourself. You’re stressed.”

Nemi’s anger suddenly deteriorated as he saw the care in Freddy’s eyes, he could feel his cheeks getting hot with the bear this close to him and if this kept up any longer he was going to say something stupid. “ Fine. I’ll take a stupid nap.”

Freddy beamed at the confirmation, “ Good. And when you wake up I want you to apologize to the others.”

The man grumbled but nodded as he finally settled into the couch, Freddy stood up ruffling the man's hair before walking over to the wall and lowering the lights.

“ Have a good night, Nemi. I’ll wake you up an hour before your shift ends.”

The man said nothing but Freddy didn’t seem to mind as he walked out quietly closing the door. Nemi Laid there on the couch still frustrated that he was carried like a child and told to go to bed as if Freddy was his parent.

Wait.

He was carried by Freddy.

Like a groom.

No one heard the embarrassed groan that came from the man.

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #fnaf security guard #self insert #fnaf oc #guardsonas

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victorineb · 4 years

Text

Bloodletting

An omegaverse fic for @hannigram-a-b-o-library‘s Reverse Bang, featuring vampires, reunited lovers, and lots and lots of blood. Huge thanks to @idontfindyouthatinteresting for the inspirational artwork and idea, and to @desperatelyseekingcannibals for coming onboard as co-writer to save my hopelessly blocked self. All the love to both you guys 💖💖💖

---

“So you want me to tell you the story of my life?” Will asks, silhouetted by hazy golden light from the large windows of Hannibal’s office, an edge of red staining him where the sun filters through the drapes.

“Not all of it,” comes Freddie’s reply. He can tell she’s smirking without having to look. “Just start from when you met Hannibal Lecter. You are clearly very close. Is that usual for a psychiatrist and his patient?”

Will doesn’t respond, merely lifts an eyebrow at her, at which she smirks.

Will huffs and turns back to the window, a smile playing across his lips. As if she even knows what she’s asking. He has to admit that his only reason for agreeing to this interview is for his own amusement. It is always a pleasure to watch Freddie’s misplaced confidence that she has the upper hand. But he hadn’t expected her to go straight for the throat.

“Whatever you wish to tell me,” she encourages.

“I see,” Will prevaricates.

He turns to look at her. She’s made herself comfortable in her chair, dictaphone in hand and note pad on lap. Intending to capture absolutely everything.

She doesn’t have to attempt discretion this time round. Not like the last time she’d been in this office, with her cover story and polite persona, thinking she could easily dupe some fussy shrink into giving up the goods on Will and the Stammets case. As Hannibal had told him after - unethical, even for a tabloid journalist.

Though, in truth, Hannibal’s irritation came mostly from the spanner she’d thrown into their plans. For she had seen the painting, carelessly left poking out of its packing box. That had piqued her interest all the more, turning her from a mere nuisance into a potential threat, and she had hounded Will until he had, so she believed, given up and granted her demand for an interview.

An interview, and some answers as to why Hannibal Lecter owned a clearly timeworn painting of himself together with an unstable FBI profiler who had only recently become his patient.

And so now she sits once again in Hannibal’s office, having been graciously allowed the space for their tête à tête, the cat that got the cream after all.

“Do you mind?” she asks, holding up the recording device and tipping it towards him as if asking for consent. As if she wouldn’t use it anyway, regardless of his agreement.

“You’d need a lot of tape for my story,” Will replies, drily, ignoring her question.

“It’s all digital these days, Mr Graham.” Freddie smiles that snake-like smile of hers, truly believing that she’s the predator in the room. “So, let’s get started.”

Will strolls slowly over and takes the chair opposite her. Hannibal’s chair, usually.

“Where should we start?” she asks, pleasant and patient and completely false. “Perhaps you could tell me a little about yourself.”

“All right then, since you asked. I’m a vampire,” Will says, cocking his head and waiting for her reaction, holding her gaze. It’s clear that she’s trying desperately not to roll her eyes.

“Funny,” she replies with a raised brow. But as his expression remains unchanged, hers sobers and she asks, “You mean this literally, I take it?”

“Absolutely.”

Freddie glares at him.

“Mr Graham, I appreciate your leaning into the crazy angle but if you’re going to waste my time-”

Will sucks in an unneeded breath and lets out a sigh. “You want to know how I met Hannibal.”

“Please,” she replies, firmly.

“How I met him this time, anyway,” Will clarifies and her eyes narrow again.

She settles in to listen to him anyway.

---

Will Graham is something of a legend amongst the students of the FBI Academy, known by all as brilliant, demanding, and intense. Rumour has it that if you have the temerity to ask a spontaneous question during one of his lectures he will eviscerate you with nothing more than a few cutting words and a scowl. And his ruthlessness with a red pen is enough to strike fear into even the most confident and diligent of students — the papers they receive back bear a striking resemblance to the crime scenes he lectures on, stained with red in cruel, ruthless slashes. All this perhaps explains why the halls of the Academy are currently clearing at an exaggerated rate, as students fling themselves out of the path of Professor Graham as he storms down the hallways towards his office. Or perhaps it’s just the look on his face that suggests he might finally have flipped, the way certain cruel rumours say he inevitably would, one day.

It is the unhappy fate of one student to have chosen this moment to visit Professor Graham’s office, a foolish thing in any case, as Will has no office hours scheduled for this day. He is loitering just outside Will’s door, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand, completely unaware of the unhinged professor stalking towards him until they are inches from each other. In fact, the student – name of Miller, Will thinks – only becomes aware of his professor’s presence by his scent, that weird, unsettling mix of alpha and omega that means no one ever knows what designation Graham is, or likes to be in close quarters with him for too long. Miller can never understand why the Professor doesn’t wear scent blockers; at least then he might avoid the hisses of freak that follow everywhere he goes.

Then again, Will Graham is exactly the kind of stubborn asshole who’d enjoy making people feel uncomfortable.

Miller looks up into the blue eyes of his professor and squeaks, an embarrassing noise that he immediately attempts to cover up with a cough.

“What?” Professor Graham growls, actually growls, a rumble of irritation that would rival any alpha in rut.

The boy squeaks again and stares, petrified, at his teacher.

“Intelligent commentary as usual, Miller.”

The kid flees and Will watches him skid down the corridor without a backward glance. He sighs, and scrubs a hand down his face. He’ll make it up to Miller somehow, give him easy credit for something. Will stares into nothingness for a moment longer and then slides into his office and closes the door firmly behind him. That little performance should have ensured no one will bother him for the rest of the day. Possibly the week. Will leans back against the door and finally allows the smile he has been holding back to burst onto his face.

The bone arena of my skull, he thinks, rolling his eyes. His beautiful boy has not changed, then, still as pretentious and as annoyingly brilliant as ever.

Hannibal Lecter.

Will’s grin broadens. His fangs ache.

---

Later, he stands in the middle of a field, regarding Hannibal’s field kabuki, and wonders if he should feel offended. Patronised, at least. Apparently Hannibal believes that Will needs some help to see the Shrike and has gifted him some perspective.

Really, Will has no idea how to feel. Hannibal’s art has always been beautiful and this is no exception – shows, in fact, that his boy has progressed far beyond even the skill he had developed under Will’s watchful eye (and doesn’t that come with a dull ache, the knowledge that Hannibal did not spend the years apart pining, but continued to pursue his pleasures with the singular focus that Will had never liked directed at anything but himself). But it also suggests that Hannibal has not learned the lessons Will had hoped he would. Asked him to.

That is… disappointing, in a way Will finds unmooring, forcing him to step away from the scene, pretending overwhelm and upset in order to placate Jack. Childishly, he snaps out some retort about Jack preferring Dr Lecter’s opinions to his own and storms off, shaking his head at the daddy issues he thought he’d long shaken off. Hannibal’s getting to him, as he always knows how. He takes one last backwards look at the tableau, sees the tenderness in it, not for the girl, but for him. Its black tines curve upwards to the sky and the points meet and melt into the sparkling sunlight.

It is a beautiful gift.

---

Will smells him before he knocks. Scent-blockers do nothing to mask him, not from Will. He suspects he could freeze Hannibal in ice, or seal him in plastic and still he would find that scent, maddening and delicious. Still, he makes the good doctor wait, taking his time to slide out of the motel bed and stretch his muscles into wakefulness, before flinging open the door. The sunlight blinds him for a second, his eyes still sensitive to it even after all these years, and then there is Hannibal, smile on his face, food inevitably in hand.

“Good morning, Will,” he says, and the bastard has the gall to sound amused. He always did enjoy unsettling Will. “May I come in?”

Will raises an eyebrow. “You need to ask?”

“It’s only polite. You know how I abhor rudeness.”

Will hums, unimpressed. “Where’s Crawford. You didn’t eat him, did you?”

Hannibal smiles, close-mouthed, no teeth. “Agent Crawford is deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today.”

Will sighs, lets his shoulders sag, turns away into the darkness. Hannibal takes this as the invitation it’s meant to be, stepping over the threshold, closing the door gently behind him. The second he does, Will is on him, shoving him against the wall, one hand around his throat, lifting, lifting until his arm is at full stretch. Hannibal’s feet dangle above the floor. He appears wholly unconcerned, looking down at Will with a serene expression and adoration lighting his eyes.

“I told you to stay put until you were summoned,” Will growls.

“And so I did, until I was.”

Will flexes his hand around Hannibal’s neck, feeling it ripple under his grip. “All right, what loophole has your clever little brain come up with this time?”

Hannibal grins, delighted by Will’s disdain. “You did not specify that it must be you who called. Jack Crawford summoned me to help the noble ranks of the FBI, I could not find it in myself to refuse. That he specifically wished me to support a gifted yet troubled profiler by the name of Will Graham was a mere technicality, albeit a happy one.” Hannibal slides his arm up and over Will’s and rests his hand on Will’s cheek. “And it was truly happy, Will.”

It’s an old trick and one Will is hard-pressed to resist. Soft words and soft touches, Hannibal’s always known how to wriggle under his skin.

He tries not to let Hannibal see the effect it still has on him but there’s no hiding the fact that his grip loosens a little. Nor that the smile it pulls from Hannibal makes Will want to kill him, or kiss him. He’s never quite sure.

“I ought to put my teeth in your neck right now,” Will snaps, trying to wind up his anger once more.

Hannibal, though, knows exactly the wrong – or right – response, smiling down at Will as he tells him, “I have missed your mark on me. I wept the day the last one faded.”

Will’s nose twitches for a moment, taking in Hannibal’s scent and finding little of his own evident there. Every instinct tells him to do just as his alpha suggests, but he doesn’t wish to give the petulant child the satisfaction.

“I don’t find you deserving.”

“You will.”

Will lets it go. Hannibal’s right, after all; this was never intended to be a permanent separation, just a few years to remind his boy of his priorities. And he’s been planning their reunion proper since the moment he caught Hannibal’s scent in the halls of the BAU.

Truth be told, he’s been planning it – in the abstract at least – ever since the first Ripper murder dropped, years ago. But he isn’t going to let Hannibal know that, not yet. And he certainly isn’t going to reward his bad behaviour without making him work for it first.

“All right, you can stay. Show me what you brought for breakfast.”

Will drops Hannibal unceremoniously on his feet and Hannibal reaches down to collect the bag he brought with him, unflustered, unfazed, as though nothing had just happened. Will watches as the alpha delicately removes the containers of food he has brought, setting them on the table like the offering they are.

When Hannibal takes a seat, Will does so too. He deigns to offer Hannibal nothing but a cool gaze as this old, familiar scene plays out like it has so many other times.

“Hardly a suitable offering,” Hannibal demurs as Will’s mouth twitches. “Or sufficient.”

The momentary glance between them then is an acknowledgement. Hannibal is aware that Will hasn’t fed in quite some time. A fine shiver passes over Will at the memories of them feasting together, before, in circumstances quite different from this. He feels his control slip ever so slightly at the thought of what Hannibal might have brought, his eyes following his alpha’s elegant hands closely as they set out their meal.

“A little protein scramble; eggs and sausage,” comes the familiar refrain.

“Used up all your creativity on unnecessary theatrics, none left over for the leftovers?” Will asks, forking his share onto a plate, deliberately uncouth, and trying not to drool at the scent. It isn’t exactly his preferred source of nourishment – nor Hannibal’s, to be sure – but Hannibal can do things with even such plain fare that just the memory of his kitchen has, on occasion, caused Will to kick himself for leaving.

“I elevated those parts of her that were worthy of it; the rest I did with what I could.”

“And here I thought you were just catering to my plebeian tastes,” Will says, looking up from under his lashes with a sneer.

“I do not recall your tastes ever being less than exquisite. Save perhaps that time in Constantinople.”

“Matthew,” Will says on a sigh, momentarily submerged in their shared memories. “He had such potential, a shame he had no control over himself.”

“I never liked him,” Hannibal sniffs, flicking out his napkin and setting it on his lap.

“You never liked any of the strays I brought home,” Will counters. “I wonder where he is now.”

“I should have killed him,” Hannibal glowers, and Will can’t help the swell in his chest at the reaction, even as Hannibal settles back into eating as though nothing has been said. Perhaps Will should have let Hannibal kill Matthew, but there is something pleasing still about having denied him. He has to admit to enjoying Hannibal’s still-piquant jealousy over that particular event.

It’s not the time to bask though, so Will decides to move on from this teasing and clears his throat.

“I give lectures on you, you know.” He watches Hannibal’s pupils dilate and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thought you’d like that.”

“I will not deny that I always enjoyed being the focus of your attention. And I think that it would not be inaccurate to say that the opposite was true as well.”

“Yeah, well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Your distraction.”

“My disobedience.”

“Stop. It was never that. Don’t make me out to be some cruel master,” Will snaps, unimpressed by Hannibal’s attempt to play the victim.

“Are you not? You may have preferred to dress us up as equals but the control was always and ultimately yours.”

“Really, alpha?” Will hisses.

“Really, sire.” Hannibal touches a hand to his throat, smooth, unmarred skin a lie and an insult to them both. Will longs to remedy it. He had always been so diligent about maintenance in the past. Instead, he takes another bite of his food, just to watch the way Hannibal watches him.

It seems clear to Will that despite his intentions, there is no avoiding this conversation. Even if he hadn’t intended to have it here and now. Hannibal is here. Now.

Will swallows his bite and places down his fork with a deliberate click, a movement that Hannibal notes with a raised brow but doesn’t comment on.

“I was three hundred years old when I met you.” Will knows Hannibal doesn’t need reminding. Their meeting is seared into both their minds. Will, an omega of thirty when he had been sired, had been selective for those three hundred years in regards to who he would sire himself. They had been few, and mostly for the sake of power orstrategy, rather than any great desire to keep them with him.

And then there had been Hannibal. A beautiful young nobleman bent on vengeance for his murdered family. They had encountered each other as Hannibal’s search brought him to the final murderer, by then a vampire of Will’s acquaintance.

Will is still unsure, all these centuries later, justwhy he agreed to help the young upstart, other than Hannibal being Hannibal and refusing to take no for an answer. He’s only a little clearer onhow he wound up allowing the alpha to seduce him so thoroughly. Will might have been irritated by the human, albeitgrudgingly impressed by his prowess as a killer and his passion for revenge, but Hannibal was beautiful and wild and utterly self-possessed. It tickled Will’s ego to let him attempt a courtship. He just hadn’t expected it to work.

“We had centuries together, Hannibal. And then you got distracted.” Will spits the word, imbuing it with the betrayal that still burns in his veins.

Hannibal’s eyes narrow for a moment, and Will knows what he’s thinking despite his tense silence. That it wasn’t his decision to separate them. That perhaps if Will had expressed his displeasure instead of exiling Hannibal without discussion, they could have worked things out. That they didn’t have to spend so many years estranged, alone, suffering heats and ruts that would always synchronise regardless of their distance, all for the sake of unfounded jealousy and petty resentment.

The thought makes Will wince, and his glare at Hannibal makes clear that he doesn’t want to hear anything from his mouth on that subject. And so Will brings them back to the point, Hannibal – amazingly, uncharacteristically – taking his scolding without riposte.

“We had a good thing in Florence, and then you got so caught up in playing cat and mouse with Pazzi that you lost focus. You, and your ego, were distracted to the point of endangerment.” Will tries not to growl the words; his ire will do no good.

Hannibal’s jaw clenches at the truth.

“And so you have tortured me with the denial of your presence for decades,” he grits out, finally.

“I wanted you to learn your lesson. I said I would let you return when I was ready to deal with you.”

“Are you ready now, Will?”

“Does it matter?” Will asks, with a poison-sweet smile. “You’ve forced my hand.” He picks up his fork and resumes eating the remnants of Hannibal’s gesture.

Hannibal’s smile returns, despite Will’s harsh words. Pleasure at being back in Will’s company, and being allowed to feed him in this way, apparently outweigh any fears of imminent rejection. In truth it’s enough to inflame Will’s desire for his alpha anew, that feeling of being the only thing in existence that matters. Not that he’s about to allow said alpha to see that. Will swallows and looks at Hannibal with a stern expression.

“What do you want, Hannibal?”

“Only the pleasure of your company,” comes the reply, all pleasant and proper and precision- engineered to piss Will off.

“You’ll spend another thirty years without it if you don’t cut the crap.”

If anything, Hannibal’s smile only broadens at this and Will unexpectedly finds himself hoping for his lips to part, to allow him a glimpse of fang. “Impossible boy,” Will says and it has the desired effect, Hannibal’s lips skinning back to reveal the points of his teeth. Will sighs, and aches for them in his neck, and says nothing.

Instead, Hannibal fills the silence with exactly what Will had expected. “I have but one request.”

“Of course you do.”

“Come to my table, allow me to make you dinner, permit me one conversation. I could live a very long time on one conversation.”

“You can live a very long time regardless.”

“Without you, it is mere existence.”

Will stops, his fork halfway to his mouth, and raises his eyebrows at Hannibal. “That was excessive, even for you.”

“Perhaps. The truth often is.”

Will hums and there is a lull before Hannibal rejoins.

“You know, Will, Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup, the finest china. Only used for special guests.”

Will’s chuckle is genuine and lightens his chest. As does Hannibal’s clear appreciation at having triggered that amusement. Will sits back in his chair with a sigh, smile still lingering. He missed this. Missed having an equal.

“How do you see me?” Will can’t help asking.

“My beginning and my end. My everything.”

Will’s chest aches and he bites back the words that try to claw out of his mouth, the admission he feels the same, that he’s been lost for so long, that Hannibal is the missing part of his soul (assuming he still has one). Instead, Will hums again before replying, cool and apparently unaffected.

“One dinner.” He forks the last of his food into his mouth and speaks as he chews. “To prove yourself to me again.”

Hannibal smiles and nods his agreement.

---

Later, sitting in front of the Hobbs’ front door, Will steals a glance at Hannibal and rolls his eyes.

“What are you smiling at?” he asks, not quite conjuring the detached disinterest he’s aiming for.

Hannibal, who might as well be purring with delight, takes a moment to consider, his eyes roving the homestead before them, denying Will the whole of his attention. It needles, just as it’s supposed to, bright little points of irritation biting their way out from under Will’s skin.

Will huffs, a release of pressure. “I got a criminology degree, you know. A good one, too, could have gone for the doctorate but…” He shrugs, one-shouldered and easy.

“Been there, done that?” Hannibal inquires. Will shoots him a smile, small but fond, acquiescent. “I did know,” Hannibal continues, returning to Will’s earlier remark. “I have even read your monograph. You were always fascinated by the creepy crawlies.”

“Says the man obsessed with cochlear gardens.” Will watches Hannibal let him have that and then, in for a penny, asks, “What did you think of it?”

“Your writing has improved greatly since I last read any of it. You have mastered your old weakness for the run-on sentence.”

“Damned with faint praise,” Will says, waiting Hannibal’s teasing out.

“You know what an imago is?”

“A flying insect.”

Hannibal smiles, soft lines by his mouth that will never grow any harsher. He knows Will knows that is not the answer he was looking for but he will indulge his sire’s intransigence. “An imago is an image of a loved one, buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.”

“An ideal.”

“The concept of an ideal. Reading your book brought me as close to my ideal as I have been these last several decades. Still, it was only a concept, trapped and pinned to the page with its colour fading and its lifeblood drained.”

“Remind me never to ask you for a blurb on anything I publish,” Will says, burying himself under humour while the creak of his voice betrays him. “We should go,” he adds, unprepared to deal with the extent of Hannibal’s wanting him, even as he recognises the same urge building anew inside himself.

“Indeed,” Hannibal answers but neither of them move. “Was there something else?”

“What were you up to in that office?” Will asks, needing some kind of forewarning. He knows Hannibal did something, his antics with the box files deliberately obvious. And his alpha always did have a troublesome habit of setting things in motion out of idle curiosity. Just to see what would happen.

“I suppose we will find that out together,” Hannibal says, infuriatingly.

Will briefly considers punching him in the but he does have a job to do. He exits the car, stalking off towards the house and leaving Hannibal to follow or not as he may. The sound of the passenger door opening and closing provides the answer to that and Will doesn’t bother to look back, instead steeling himself to deal with Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ no-doubt polite but unconvincing front-door deflections.

Or not.

Will’s head snaps towards the door, beyond which he can hear the sounds of struggle, sense the outflowing of blood. He makes to sprint for the house but manages only a couple of steps before the front door is opening and the shadow of a man is pushing a bloodied, struggling woman into the light. The door slams and Will catches the woman – presumably Mrs Hobbs – in his arms. She is bleeding, bleeding, bleeding and Will’s vision is red, his eyes large and greedy as he goes to his knees under the deadweight of departing life. He pulls in a great breath of copper and fear and feels a fang slice his lip, shudders at the spark of pain, an echo of the agony beneath him. He can taste that pain as he tongues his lip, as he gazes into the woman’s shuttering eyes and he wants more of it. It’s been so long, he’s left it so long…

“Will.”

Hannibal. He shifts the woman so Hannibal can have access too. A life extinguishing in his arms and Hannibal at his side. This is right, this is how it always should be, this is-

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is hushed, gentle but insistent. He places a finger beneath Will’s chin and lifts it until Will’s eyes are forced to lift and look at him. “You have a job to do, mustn’t forget.”

“Don’t you want to…” Will begins, hazy through the cloud of hunger that has enfolded him. He blinks. He knows Hannibal is right, and yet the instinct is almost too strong to resist. Why is it so hard to resist? Will whines, pained and overwhelmed.

“My love,” Hannibal says, stroking Will’s hair with such easy familiarity that Will cannot help but lean into it. “I have wanted nothing more for so many years but I think you wouldn’t thank me for it when the FBI arrives.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Will hisses.

Hannibal pauses at that, regards Will thoughtfully. “Have you been waiting for me to come and rescue you all this time, sire? From undeserving masters who use you like a dog in the endless pursuit of justice and you with no reason to leave? You who has razed cities to the ground, drained kings of their lifeforce, been a god of blood and terror, have you been hiding, waiting, craving for a reason to live again?”

Will whines again and does not deny it.

“Will.” Hannibal says it on a breath and his hand tightens in Will’s hair. “We have been foolish, haven’t we?”

Will can only nod.

Hannibal is right. He should have swallowed his stupid fucking pride and told Hannibal to stay. Should have kept him by his side at all times, through all ages, ‘til the end of everything. Should have circled the world with him, well-fed and well-loved, and then done it a thousand, thousand more times. Instead, he is shivering and famished on the doorstep of some dismal human killer, wracked with hunger of every imaginable kind, punished by his self-pitying refusal to feed more regularly.And now, despite his great age, the mere presence of his alpha is causing primal instincts to surface. He can feel it rising in Hannibal too,the instinct to come back together, to renew their bond;it’s almost strong enough for Will to beg for them to leave now, to be away from this farce of an existence, no note, no explanation.

Hannibal’s presence there is cause both for his weakness and his strength, as he pulls himself together as best he can.

Hannibal looks down at the body in his arms and for a moment Will’s unbeating heart gives a phantom spark. He can already taste her blood in Hannibal’s mouth. But then Hannibal moves away and takes the body with him, freeing Will from its weight.

“Go and play the hero,” Hannibal tells him, nodding at the front door, “and afterwards we will begin again.”

---

Somehow, Will finds himself inside the Hobbs’ front door, bracing himself against the hallway as he gropes for any trace of composure. He has his gun up, his eyes darting to the sides to check for activity, but he knows where he’s going. The stench of fear and panic is sharp in his nostrils and he follows it like the bloodhound rumour would paint him as.

Into the kitchen, then, ducking into the doorway and the sudden feeling of steel through his heart. He staggers, more from shock than pain, and grabs the door jamb for support, slicking it red. The knife is warm inside him, painted with another’s blood, and uncomfortable as Will’s body attempts to reject it. He looks up, into cold blue eyes that sparkle with triumph and then dull into confusion and fear as Will grasps the knife’s hilt and slides it from his body with a little groan of relief.

“Do you see?” he asks the bewildered Garret Jacob Hobbs, letting the blade fall from his shaking fingertips to clatter on the ground, the sound cacophonous in the stricken silence of the kitchen. Even the child lying on the floor has grown quiet, her life leaving her in great gouts; like mother like daughter.

“Monster,” Hobbs rasps, poised between fight and flight.

“Takes one to know one,” Will hisses, then lifts his gun and puts every bullet he has into the pathetic creature before him.

Hobbs is shoved back into the corner by the of Will’s shots and drops to the floor in a ragged heap, wet noises bubbling up from his throat. Will doesn’t pay him any further attention – he will die in that corner unwatched and unheard – instead folding to his knees beside the girl exsanguinating on the floor. Her breath is shallow but still there and Will clasps his hand around her neck, thinking to stem the flow despite the likely uselessness of the gesture. Her father used the same move on her as he did on her mother – uninspired – a deep cut to the neck, opening the carotid so her blood would be pushed out, fast and forceful, her young, healthy heart speeding her death along. An attempt at mercy, Will supposes, but a pointless one. She will still die in pain and confusion, life snatched from her by a man who should have lived to protect her.

“So easy to take a life, so hard to save one,” Hannibal remarks from the doorway. Will lifts his head, shaking, overwhelmed, suffused with blood and death and desperation. He’s covered in it, not an inch of him spared, and he looks up at Hannibal through glass blooming with crimson. Hannibal looks back at him and, without another word, crouches at the girl’s other side and gently replaces Will’s hand with his own.

“This won’t save her,” he murmurs, as Will’s knees finally give out from him and he slumps into a heap, still trembling and panting for air he doesn’t need. Even now, human instinct is still buried inside him, the urge for survival seeking out every last route, even the pointless ones.

Will shudders as he looks at the girl. A mere child.

A child. And his body burns.

“Hannibal, fuck, can you smell it?”

“Yes,” comes the reply, Hannibal not looking up from his examination of the damage to the girl’s throat, “you are in heat.”

“The blood, the fucking… there’s so much of it and…” Will trails off, whining.

“And your alpha is here,” Hannibal finishes for him, clinical and matter-of-fact, belying the need Will knows he is feeling.

Will is panting, sweating.

He should have fed. He shouldn’t have let Hannibal so close. He shouldn’t have agreed to help Jack. So many recriminations litter his path to this point, and none of them matter now.

Not with the girl bleeding out before them, and his whole body screaming for Hannibal to take him and knot him for the first time in decades, not when Will can barely focus on anything beyond the three of them.

“What?” Will looks up, tries to focus, realising Hannibal had said something.

“I asked if you want me to save her, Will?”

Will blinks, looks down at the girl, blinks again.

“She could be ours. We could be her fathers.” Hannibal’s words sound encouraging though his tone is matter of fact. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A family? Let me give it to you Will. Let me make this future for us.”

Will winces and clasps his abdomen as a sharp pain strikes. His nostrils are filled with the scent of his would-be daughter’s blood. Could-be daughter. She’s choking on it, her eyes almost unseeing as her life continues draining inexorably from her.

An almost hysterical chuckle breaks from Will’s lips.

“Will she be your Claudia?”

Hannibal’s smile is soft, amused. “And which of us do you see as the scoundrel Lestat?”

Will finds a smile of his own, somehow. “Both. Neither. Can we just be ourselves?”

Hannibal looks like he would very much like to reach over and touch Will but he keeps his hands tight around the girl’s throat. “We certainly can try. But the point still stands. Do you want her, Will?”

“Yes,” the word escapes him like a cry.

Will seizes with longing and arousal as Hannibal’s fangs reveal themselves. He watches as he takes the near lifeless body into his arms and sinks his teeth into her, as Will sank his own into Hannibal so many centuries ago.

The girl convulses slightly as the last of this life flows from her and puts up no resistance as Hannibal nicks his wrist with a fang and streams a little of his blood down her throat. Will considers doing the same but it’s not necessary – Hannibal is his and she is Hannibal’s, the connection will flow through them all, it’s inescapable.

She will be nothing more than a husk now. At least, for a little while. Her new life will come with time and they will find her when it does. Hannibal will be drawn to her essence when she revives and will take her from whatever morgue or grave she has been stowed in.

And then they will be a family.

The thought sends another sharp pain through Will, his womb contracting with need.

“Hannibal.”

The alpha looks up and lets the girl slip from his arms, back into the pool of her own blood.

Will’s body cries out to be taken. So it is damn near excruciating when Hannibal simply raises a brow and tuts.

“You really should take better care of yourself, Will. Had you eaten as you should…”

Hannibal trails off when he hears Will’s desperate snarl.

“Hannibal,” Will growls.

Hannibal flinches, succumbing to the effect of his sire’s heat on him, helpless no matter how righteous he tries to seem.

Jolting into movement, Hannibal pulls Will to him and lifts him in his arms, getting to his feet in one smooth motion as though Will weighs nothing. The scent of Hannibal’s oncoming rut serves only to make Will’s womb clench all the harder, for his slick to run all the freer.

They are dripping with blood.

The little they had been flecked with from Mrs Hobbs, and the splatter on Will from shooting Garrett Jacob Hobbs, was nothing compared to the blood of their daughter. The Hobbs’ daughter once, but now – and forevermore – Will and Hannibal’s.

Will cries out as his body shakes through a painful tremor, instincts driving him to create new life inside him like a good omega, regardless of those organs having been rendered defunct and useless since the day and hour he was made.

“Breed me…” Will growls, trying not to whimper.

To which Hannibal sucks in a sharp breath and replies, “Claim me.”

Will trembles, and grins.

Trailing thick globules of blood, Hannibal carries Will from the kitchen, and towards the stairs. At that, Will can’t help a smirk. With backup doubtless on the way, Will can’t argue with the desire for privacy but Hannibal could have easily removed them to another room on the ground floor of the house. Instead, of course, Hannibal carries him to a bedroom and lays him gently on the soft blankets like a new bride.

Such a careful, caring action, deliciously at odds with the animalistic glean in Hannibal’s eyes that shows exactly how close the alpha is to descending into his rut.

And indeed, any restraint is gone in moments as Hannibal begins to tear at Will’s blood- soaked shirt. When it is shredded enough to fall apart, Hannibal crawls over Will like the predator he is, and lowers his mouth to Will’s right nipple.

Blood has soaked through to skin and Hannibal whines his pleasure as Will’s body contorts with need.

He needs to be naked, he needs Hannibal inside him.

But there is something else in this. Something in Hannibal sucking the blood from his chest, the girl’s blood. Their daughter.

The sight of it solidifies something within Will, a familial bond between the three of them. This will join them together irrevocably. Irredeemably. This is the promise of their future. The promise that he will never separate them again.

“Alpha…” Will gasps and wriggles and finally Hannibal pulls back.

His eyes are wide and feral, pupils dilated,

the expression Hannibal only wears when he’s killing or fucking. No, more than that, the one he only ever wears when he’s with Will, with his mate.

Will trembles at the sight. Has he ever understood what it means to be in love before this moment? How could he have? How could he have felt this and ever pushed Hannibal away?

“Mine,” Hannibal growls, moving back, ripping Will’s pants from him and throwing them away. They hit the wall next to the bed with a wet thunk, leaving a bloody impact stain.

Will tries to reach for Hannibal’s clothes, but it’s too late for that now.

He’s hazy, unfocused on anything but Hannibal’s scent.

But this is nothing compared to Hannibal’s loss of control. His rut is completely upon him now, vicious and unyielding until he knots his mate.

Hannibal pushes Will’s hands away. With motions quicker than even Will can follow, he reaches out and grabs Will’s throat, pulling him close enough to nose at the healed mating scar.

Oh, how Will hates that they heal this way.

It’s not a new regret, he has felt it every time they’ve renewed their claim on each other, but it’s all the more profound this time for how long it has been, how completely time has eradicated the proof of their bond.

Will whimpers as Hannibal pulls back and uses his grip to manipulate Will onto his front. He collapses to the bed when Hannibal releases him, but drags himself quickly onto all fours as he knows he must. As instinct drives him to in order to receive his alpha’s seed.

The sound behind him is unmistakable, Hannibal ripping open his exquisitely- tailored pants with no attempt to otherwise undo them.

“Stay,” he growls, an order and a plea, his hand now gripping the back of Will’s neck, forcing him down as he slides in tight against Will’s ass.

It’s only when the tip of Hannibal’s cock presses against his entrance that Will is aware of exactly how wet he is. Even for a heat, the slide is almost frictionless as Hannibal slips into him for the first time in decades, burying himself to the hilt.

The alpha pauses for a moment, shaking.

And Will wonders what is to come. They have never been so long between matings and now Hannibal has given him a child. Will shudders. Whatever is next, he wants it all.

There is some pain as Hannibal’s grip tightens on his neck, but it’s quickly soothed by the comfort of the alpha blanketing over his back, only the tattered remains of their clothes between them. He fucks Will hard. Harder than Will can remember.

And even with that, it is loving.

Hannibal’s grip loosens and he strokes over Will’s faded mating mark, before leaning in to nuzzle at it. Graze it with his fangs.

“Please, Hannibal.”

“Mine,” Hannibal grunts again and then sinks in his teeth.

Will comes.

He’s not sure if it lasts moments or days as his body drags Hannibal closer, further inside himself. He can feel the press of Hannibal’s knot against him but, beyond that, everything is dreamlike.

He is lost. There is nothing else but Hannibal’s body sliding in and out of his own.

It might last hours, Will can’t tell. He drifts in sensation, basks in their closeness, wishes that eternity could be nothing but this. But then Hannibal cries out as he pushes his knot into Will, and Will’s body locks around it, triggering another climax, this time for both of them.

Hannibal’s teeth are in his neck again, biting deeper.

Deeper.

“Enough, Hannibal,” Will commands in that voice that he so rarely wishes to use. The voice of a master over that which it has sired.

Still Hannibal grips, his tongue moving over flesh a moment longer, and Will wonders for a moment if it will be necessary to use force to settle his alpha. Hannibal’s remarkable discipline does not always extend to his indulgence in Will and they have sometimes come to blows before Hannibal’s control re-establishes itself. Will tenses slightly, in readiness for a fight but then Hannibal is pulling back, releasing. Collapsing.

Hannibal falls to his side and takes Will with him, his hips still pumping.

Both addled with pleasure and relief, Hannibal continues to fill Will with every drop of his seed, until they both black out from the exertion of their continued climaxes.

If time hadn’t lost meaning before, it has now.

Will has no idea how long has passed since they tied.

It’s still light out, but Will can’t be sure if they are even on the same day.

The initial haze of his heat has lifted, sated for now by the mating bite. Still, he will not be truly satisfied until he’s returned it.

Hannibal murmurs and then is awake.

He growls and Will shushes him gently.

He growls again, pushes up against Will and Will pulls away, seed spilling from him in the wake of Hannibal’s softened cock. This only brings another snarl from the rutting alpha, at which Will turns and snaps his fangs.

“Damn greedy boy. Insatiable boy. Behave and I’ll give you what you want.”

Hannibal proves his point by humping his now hard- again cock against Will’s thigh.

As quick as Hannibal had been before, Will pushes the alpha to his back and sinks down on his twitching member.

Hannibal’s growling fades into a howl and he almost doubles over, baring his teeth and snapping at Will.

Will chuckles, and smooths Hannibal’s hair back from his sweat -damp face.

“Oh, Hannibal. Always so beautiful in your rut. I have missed this.”

Hannibal’s lip twitches, his fangs exposed, when Will leans down into a biting kiss. He doesn’t know if the blood he tastes is his own or Hannibal’s as they catch fangs in each other's lips. He doesn’t care to know.

Will begins to rock gently, working Hannibal’s knot up. It swells quickly, and Will is glad that their bodies are reacting with such speed given that they won’t be alone for long. In fact he’s surprised they haven’t already been happened upon. Perhaps it’s a sign that not much time has passed at all.

“Remember this time, dear boy,” Will whispers, hovering above Hannibal’s lips before sliding his mouth down to Hannibal’s neck. “Remember it like the first time. Like every time.”

When Hannibal whimpers, Will sinks in his teeth.

And that’s all the alpha needs to howl once more and resume his impossible task of impregnating his omega. His sire.

Will sighs and lets Hannibal ravish him.

Lets him work through his rut.

For now, at least.

They have so much time ahead of them now.

---

“Will!” Jack’s voice is quickly followed by a heavy rapping on the bedroom door.

Will shakes his head, pulling himself from the muggy feeling of a heat temporarily sated by knots and bites. He’d passed out after their last round, straddling Hannibal’s hips, still securely knotted despite having collapsed face first onto the alpha’s chest.

He blinks and turns his head to the door, raises a brow.

“What do you intend to do?” Hannibal asks, casually curious, on his back with his arms crossed above his head. His knot pulses with his words.

Will squirms pleasantly at the sensation but keeps looking in the direction of the disturbance a moment more. Then he turns his head slowly, a sweet smile just for Hannibal bursting across his face.

“I intend to do nothing more than see just how you get us out of this mess. And you will get us out, Hannibal, because immediately after you do, I am taking you to my home, sating your rut, and then never letting you out of my sight again.”

Hannibal grins and calls out, in a professional tone that feels foreign in this intimate setting.

“Jack, this is Hannibal. I respectfully ask that you don’t come in.”

“Doctor Lecter? What the hell is-”

“I will write a full report for you, but suffice to say, Will was unexpectedly overcome. The adrenaline and shock of the experience, of the deaths downstairs, has driven his body into heat. A perfectly natural, if rare, side effect for an omega in these circumstances.”

Jack murmurs something on the other side of the door that neither of them can quite make out. Likely something about how he understands how delicate omegas can be.

Will raises a brow at Hannibal. Follows it with a scowl.

Before either of them can say anything further, Jack replies again.

“I will have this room restricted until you are ready to leave.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

They can hear retreating footsteps and Will bites back a growl.

“I would be mad at you for pulling that misogynistic bullshit with my boss, if I thought for one moment you believed it. Or that I’d have to work with him much longer. I’m surprised you didn’t just invite him in for us to feast upon.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be so indiscreet. Though it’s not too late-”

“No,” Will growls.

Hannibal hums his agreement, then rocks his hips slightly and makes Will sigh at the feel of his knot still locked firmly within him.

“I will endeavour not to do anything rash. We’ll have to wait until we can steal Abigail away from the morgue. Once she’s fully recovered, we will start anew elsewhere.”

“Not Florence,” Will grumbles, clenching around Hannibal’s knot hard enough to make the alpha draw a sharp breath.

“No, not Florence,” Hannibal agrees, mouthing at the renewed mating mark on Will’s neck.

Will smiles, a happiness descending on him that he has missed all these years. Except now it holds the promise of so much more, all just waiting for the moment Abigail wakes in her bed to see her new fathers sitting beside her, each holding one of her hands. Ready to begin their life as a family.

---

“And here we are now,” Will ends, his hands spreading with a flourish.

“That’s it?” Freddie frowns, angry. “You really expect me to buy that?”

Will shrugs. “Up to you, Freddie. The evidence is all there, you just have to interpret it.”

She glares at him, clearly trying to decide just what kind of crazy he really is. Will thinks she’s this close to storming out of the room, off to write an exposé of his bizarre fantasies, when her eyes alight on his chest, which hasn’t risen for a breath for several minutes now. Her gaze widens into a full-blown stare and Will allows himself a smirk as he sees the wheels turning in her mind.

“You… you…” she stammers, before pulling herself together. Will always has admired her gumption. “You smell wrong, nobody could ever tell what you were until Lecter claimed you. And – wait, he did claim you, everybody saw the mark…”

She trails off as Will, smiling indulgently, lowers his shirt collar to reveal the smooth, unmarred flesh he’d allowed to regenerate (much to Hannibal’s heated protests) just for this moment.

Freddie’s pen drops to her lap and rolls off somewhere into the office, forgotten, as she raises a hand to her mouth. She leans forward, on the edge of her seat, as she scans the patch of skin which she had posted pictures of, bloodied and torn, just mere days previously. She looks as if she wants to touch; maybe she would have, if her attention hadn’t just been gripped by something new.

She peers into the darkening room and finally registers the boxes, the packing that has already begun in readiness for a new life, elsewhere. Her eyes snap to his, suddenly frantic. “That’s not the end. It can’t end there. Or, tell me something else, tell me about before, before meeting him this time.”

Will can’t help but smirk at how quickly her smug entitlement has melted into eagerness.

That, and the fact that she believes it all and yet apparently has developed no concerns for her safety.

He smiles at her, almost kind if not for the momentary flash of points behind his lips.

“For you, there is no more to tell. No more stories, Ms Lounds.”

“There has to be more… What people wouldn’t give to have your life! What I wouldn’t give!” Her eyes glow with the burning desire he has seen so many times before, so predictable in this type of human. Only one had ever surprised him… but then, Hannibal hadn’t really ever been human,not even as the young Lithuanian man who had looked into Will’s eyes and told him the bite could wait until he was ready.

“You agreed to this interview for a reason, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” she presses.

Will smirks.

“And what reason would that be?”

“To make me one of you. Another companion. You can see we are all alike, that I was meant to-”

Will cuts her off. “Ms Lounds, I can assure you, we are nothing alike.”

He laughs, a cruel chuckle, watching as she stands from her chair, places her hands on her hips, every bit the entitled brat.

“I’m not leaving here until-”

Will moves so swiftly from his chair to hers that he knows he is nothing more than a blur to her. And the fear in her eyes confirms it.

She shrieks as he looms over her, taking hold of her shoulders with a crushing grip as he growls at her.

“Is that what you want? To be one of the immortals?” he growls, enjoying the fear that grows in her eyes, replacing the passion of moments before. He leans in close and whispers, breath cool against her ear, “You’ll never be more than food to us.” And there it is, the difference between him and Hannibal, and the likes of Freddie Lounds. Her eagerness has been replaced by terror that marks her as fodder, not friend.

Freddie screams and, with a grin, Will lets her go.

He watches her run but he doesn’t need to follow.

He can hear as she comes to a sudden halt just beyond the door. And then he hears Hannibal croon words dripping with charm… and other, deadlier things.

“Ms Lounds, we’ve been remiss. I believe it’s about time my sire and I had you for dinner.”

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partnersatfazbear · 3 years

Text

Midnight Motorist - An Essay

I promised this awhile ago, but my thoughts on Midnight Motorist... This mini-game has literally kept me awake for hours on two separate occasions trying to figure it out, lol! So, reading the Updated Freddy Files *suggests, not confirms* that Toy Chica: The High School Years may be how William lured each child. I made notes on this, of course.

Although I listed who was used as a stand in for each, it has no bearing on the actual child killed.

The first, represented by Foxy, is already dead. I assumed this was a stand in for Norman/CC.

Second, represented by Freddy, was lured away with promises to help with homework.

Third, represented by Wolf. Run over their dog. We all know this is referring to Susie/Chica.

Fourth, represented by Toy Bonnie. It was suggested that their house be set on fire and then Chica uses her body to put out the flames. Best I could settle for this one was perhaps pulling a fire alarm at the restaraunt, or something similar.

Fifth, Funtime Foxy. Live hostages. Presumably luring a child away with promises that their friend / missing friend is in the back room.

Sixth, the Puppet. This one is the most interesting and why I'm including it here. Chica says "I'll come over to their house later, maybe break through a window, or set the house on fire and smoke them out [IIRC, I am paraphrasing a little]" The window, in my honest opinion, has to refer to Midnight Motorist. Scott has made a point of adding things in a following game to clarify the game before (starting at least since Sister Location). With the other one referencing Susie and Fruity Maze, I think this theory holds up, although it doesn't really help solve Midnight Motorist I think it's very important to note. (William has as much of an obsession with fire as Henry, huh?)

Lastly, there is Pigpatch. It's implied William would have knocked out a child and told them he rescued them after being "kidnapped". I really like this one.

The number of victims adds up to the number of children: BV, Freddy, Foxy, Bonnie, Chica, Golden Freddy, and Puppet.

Now that that's out of the way, I feel this heavily implies the footprints outside the window in MM are William's. The feet match the Glitchtrap suit, which most of us assume is a prototype for Spring Bonnie. Not only that, but obviously the springlock suits wouldn't work in the rain. Second, if you take some logic to it and see Charlotte as the first victim (no suit, no hiding the body, developing MO) then this killing would be the start of his MO--kind of an "in-between" point where he's evolving. Now, as to who the people in the house are...

In my fic, I kept the general idea that it was William as mustard man (thank you MatPat, this is my fav name for our mysterious fellow). Mostly because despite the evidence listed there is still a ton of evidence supporting it:

Later That Night - this is the name of the game file for MM.

Rain - Due to the in-game rain and this title its heavily implied to be just after Charlotte's death.

Grey Text - Michael is the only one to have the grey text and has similarities to Chair Person. (Note: I think Matpat did point out the color is slightly different, but it's still grey.)

Purple Car - William is the only one seen with a Purple Car back in one of the mini-games (FNAF 2, IIRC). To further support this, the car is also seen as an easter egg in the Dreadbear DLC of Help Wanted (with purple headlights). This is probably the most damning evidence that Mustard Man is William, in my opinion... but then how do the footprints make sense?

In my fic, I explained it away as footprints from the evening before (it was the best I could muster at the time) but this is super weak :V So this kind of brings us to alternative theories. If it is William, the supporting evidence is... good evidence of that. So, the other options are:

A Child Victim's Family - This is my second favorite theory because I think it could possibly work for, say, TOYSNHK [The One You Should Not Have Killed, hereby pronounced Toy-Shnuck] (who I made Cassidy). The problem with this is the child's gender is referred to as male. And there's a huge debate on Cassidy being female in game lore and TOYSNHK/GF being male. It IS a gender neutral name and wouldn't be the first time Scott changed a gender (see: Puppet), BUT it's pretty weak since all the info we have on TOYSNHK is recent. It could be another child that isn't Susie, though, but why show some random child as opposed to an important one? PizzaSim's games all revolve around specifics like Puppet (the first to die overall) and Susie (the first to die of the main five).

Henry is Mustard Man - This is the theory my wife likes. I can sort of see it and I even considered it at one point, but there isn't much evidence to go on. Why is the car purple is the biggest wrench for me. I also have problems with Mustard Man's attitude ("This is MY house", "He'll be sorry") Even if Henry was torn up about Charlotte, I can't see him treating his kids this way. This would also heavily imply the missing window kid to be Sammy, which hasn't been referenced in the game lore at all. He was barely mentioned in the novel trilogy, even. This also makes Gray Text either Aunt Jen or Henry's wife. There's just not enough to support this, in my opinion.

UPDATE 5/28/21 - Please see this post analyzing Fazbear Fright’s story “What We Found” for a more detailed look at what I’m about to explain that supports the Henry theory: Also from the books, CC / Norman is now referred to as Evan.

For this to work, we must assume Henry is an alcoholic after Charlotte’s death. I think the “later that night” evidence becomes somewhat irrelevant, because if this was the night of Charlotte’s death it wouldn’t really make sense. Part of me wondered if it took place after FNAF 2′s Springtrap cutscene, but the footprints don’t match. It has to be Spring Bonnie or Glitchtrap. Also, Evan and Elizabeth have also died by this point because neither are seen in the mini-game in this theory. You also must assume, based on the story evidence, that Henry married / stayed with Mrs. Afton after William either “died” or they divorced--they had to have been together for an x amount of time as for Mrs. Afton to be living with Henry but also the fact that Mrs. Afton kept Michael and the purple car. Henry using William’s car wouldn’t be unheard of if Mrs. Afton kept the car and the house, I just don’t feel Henry would use it unless he had been using the vehicle awhile. This also explains the Bonnie-esque footprints outside since William would want to come get / visit his kid he’s [most likely] no longer allowed to see. He may even be taking Michael back to the FNAF 4 house (implying that the house we see in MM is Henry’s). Speaking of, if we assume William’s intentions are [likely] bad, he’s probably taking Michael back to experiment with the Funtime-Nightmares, if you believe this theory. I think this theory is probably true considering the random grave (which, in this context has no answer except a Twisted animatronic aka a Nightmare) AND because the blueprints in Sister Location SHOW the Nightmares on the display during Funtime Freddy’s repair, implying they are real and not imagined. This is also assumed to be punishment for Michael killing Evan. I think Michael goes WITH William because of his tumultuous relationship with a now mentally ill and drunkard Henry. Henry probably knows that William killed Charlotte and a common theme in some works is a parent seeing their child (or a murderer) in a child aka Michael reminds Henry of William, so he neglects him (which in itself wouldn’t be out of place for Henry, since he already wasn’t a very attentive parent).

The main issue with this theory is that it sort of assumes that CC was Michael and not Evan. I don’t think that’s the case, though.

While we're on this version, I also want to discuss evidence for the MM driver being drunk. Not only are you driving on the opposite side of traffic, the Files book explicitly states "crashing" into the secret road for the mini-game. Not that Henry couldn't be drunk, especially if he just found Charlotte dead, but... for me personally it seems a stretch. And I already mentioned the car.

William's Father - This is an interesting idea, but the foot prints kind of rule it out. At least there's an explanation for the car, though, right? Still, it doesn't explain the foot prints unless you assume maybe his father was more alike Afton than we thought. But then why bother showing us background on our killer so late with no pay off? I easily dismiss this theory.

A new theory, at least one I haven't seen posed yet:

Vanny - That's right. Vanny. What if she survived/lived? Some leaks even suggest she may be related to the Aftons. Mustard Man's color is similar to Princess Quest's heroine. It explains the footprints, but doesn't explain the car. This would make for a nice foreshadowing of Vanny, IMO, but it’s weak at best.

You know when Matpat discusses "that one puzzle peice that we're missing"? That's this entire mess of a mini-game. Don't get me wrong, the music is bawlin and it's fun to talk about, otherwise I wouldn't write about it, but it is undoubtedly FRUSTRATING.

What are your opinions?

I also wanted to point out some other interesting things from the Files book I haven't seen discussed: There is confirmation of two sets of gold suits. Not only is there the FNAF 2 phone call, but the text specifies between Spring Bonnie/Springtrap and Fredbear/Golden Freddy. IE: FNAF 4 suit is Springtrap but the one from Stage 01 is Spring Bonnie. This could be oversight, but... I don't think it is. I'm sure most of the fandom does ASSUME this anyway, but I felt it was worth noting. (In my fic, they are the same suit, but the second sets are upgraded after the original failures).

The poster behind Scraptrap. Nothing really interesting here, but there is an image of a building with two gargoyle (lion?) statues behind him. Presumably this would be a police station or Fazbear Fright. I just thought it was cool since I never noticed this in the image. My initial thought was this might be a reference to the hospital in Man in 1280, but that’s a stretch.

Jr's. This is the random building in Midnight Motorist in which Green Man says "gtfo" to our Mustard Man. I should mention I feel that is good evidence to it being William or Henry, depending what the building is. We can 100% say it is NOT a bar (in my fic, that's what I used, even though it doesn't make sense. I don't see a drunk person driving to a second bar so close to their home when they could have gone there initially, BUT then I am a home-drinker when I do drink, so I don't know the night life). The Files refer to it as simply "a restaraunt". Whether this IS a FNAF location (also referred to as restaraunts) or just some random eatery, it's something to contemplate. I am in the camp that it isn't FNAF 2, at least.

I have some other things from Fazbear Frights' Blackbird I wanna discuss, too, but I'll wait until the book is out to help you all avoid spoilers.

Now, this is all just my thoughts on it. Please don't take anything too seriously (as Scott says don't rack your brain on this, it's not worth it). I just think these are some points that haven't been discussed before.

Also, if you wanna read my theory on why Scraptrap is partly the Golden Freddy suit, I have that theory here.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk? <-- is that a dated reference? Probably.

#fnaf theory #fnaf theories #midnight motorist #updated freddy files #the freddy files #fan theory #fan theories #five nights at freddy's

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frederikandersens · 4 years

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All I Want (1) F.A

A/N: ok this is my first time doing this so pls don’t judge lol, i’ve been reading tons of articles about how to write and stuff so i’m practicing in my spare time, i will literally cry if anyone tells me it sucks bc i’m sensitive so please go easy on me lol. i hope you enjoy 🥺🤍

You and Freddie had gotten into an awful fight. Words were said, plates were ‘accidentally’ dropped on the floor, and hearts were broken.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Freddie!” you yell, grabbing a plate from the cupboard. It’s felt like years the last time you and Freddie were actually getting along behind closed doors.

“Don’t smash that plate” he says calmly, holding his hands out, it’s not long before a smirk forms on your face and your letting the plate drop to the floor, shattering over the dark hardwood floor, “oops” you smile.

“Are you fucking joking, Y/N?!” He yells. Freddie was mad - he was fuming - he storms into the kitchen grabbing the broom, you don’t move, just stand there, he looked like the sky before a storm, and you really didn’t care, not one bit, “I literally can’t believe you did that” he sighs loudly after cleaning up your mess.

“Get over it” you say, rolling your eyes. Honestly, you had no clue why he was so butt hurt about a plate, “get over it, get ov- are you serious?!” He laughs.

“Yes, you heard me, Freddie” you say, “did I hear you? Really?! Wow thanks for letting me know, Y/N!” He smiles sarcastically. Every time he spoke you were getting closer, and closer to ending things.

You take a deep breath and prepare for what was about to come out of your mouth, “you know what, Fred? I can’t do this anymore, I can’t keep fighting with you” you let out a shaky breath, “I can’t keep watching those ‘fans’ try to get with you, I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay with us, I can’t do it” tears begin to fall down your face.

“Then I guess maybe I should fuck one of them sometime, seeing as we haven’t had sex in a long time” he says, “Jesus Christ Freddie, you’re fucked up” you storm to the bedroom packing your things.

You feel your eyes begin to water as the memory intrudes your thoughts. The fight ended badly that night, too, leaving the both of you hurt, and angry.

You feel an arm wrap around you, it’s Auston. You try your best to smile at him, “I’m sorry it’s taking so long for me to find a place, but everything in my price range isn’t available until a few months from now, and-” he cuts you off, you were visibly distressed and he just didn’t want you to stress yourself out more, “stop it, Y/N” he just holds you closer, “I like you here, don’t worry about it” he says.

Auston really did love you living with him, he always enjoyed your company and loved the ‘Sunday Night Lights’ that’d you host in his living room for him after Saturday night games. But part of you knew he just wanted time alone also - which he hadn’t had for the last month or so.

“I think I’m gonna go for a drive” you say to Auston, “alright, I’ll see you later” he stands up giving you a hug, squeezing you tighter in his arms.

Auston has always been both yours and Freddie’s go to for anything, in fact he was probably the only one who knew about the fight as Freddie only keeps to a select few about your relationship.

You grab your car keys from the dish at the front foyer, noticing the little picture of you and Freddie attached to it, it had completely slipped your mind to take it off, and who really looks at their keys in such detail anyway?

You turn around the object and notice he had a little note in his handwriting etched into it.

Elskede, I love you. Happy 1 year, I am so glad that you chose me. I am so lucky to have you.

That was 2 years old now, you let a tear fall as you look at it, letting out a sigh before walking out of the house. You walk to your car, starting it, and backing out of the driveway waving to the neighbours who were outside. It was a nice neighbourhood and you always wanted to buy a house here, but with only one income, you would never be able to afford it.

You decide on going to Y/F/N’s house, it wasn’t too far from Austons, maybe a 10 minute drive. The drive was calm, too, and you park infront of a car you recognize, but not paying it too much attention. You needed someone outside of the Leafs group to talk to - who wouldn’t have a biased opinion - it took 6 months of convincing Y/F/N that Freddie was a great boyfriend, so she definitely was the right person for this.

You walk up her front porch, looking in the slim window beside her door, hearing ‘SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK’ by Joji playing faintly and her and Freddie dancing to the music. You feel your heart break at the sight of your bestfriend and the love of your life fall slowly for each other.

You run to your car and quickly pull away, the tires screeching loudly as you do so. You look in your mirror and see that they were now out on the front porch, they both knew you saw them.

The drive felt like years even if you were speeding, thankfully no kids were running wild on the streets nor were any other pedestrians, and thankfully no cops were around to pull you over.

And when you get home and cry to Auston, he’s right there supporting you, telling you if anything, she’s just a rebound and that Freddie definitely doesn’t love her. You couldn’t help but wonder how long this had been going on for. You felt hurt and betrayed by both Y/F/N and Freddie, the two people you’re supposed to trust the most.

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen imagine #hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs #auston matthews

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mable-stitchpunk · 4 years

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FNAF-TOBER Prompt- 12: You Forgot Your Costume

Unlike what was believed, the animatronics did receive routine cleanings. There were different degrees of this with the more thorough cleanings much more rare. Commonly, animatronics would be sprayed down with a powerful disinfectant and have anything unsightly squirted with a little cleaner and rubbed down. When they got too filthy to have this matter, their suits would be removed and dry cleaned. Normally, this process took a few hours.

Unfortunately, everything was a little more difficult with Foxy. Foxy purposefully acted up during repairs, sometimes outright leaving his stage and hiding when he knew it was coming, and the damage to his suit meant it was more difficult to clean. Eventually it got to the point that the workers threw their hands in the air, cornered him during the earlier hours on the weekend, and removed his suit.

Since Foxy’s suit was in such disrepair, it seemed like a waste to just dry clean and send it back cleaned and tattered. Instead, they sent the suit out for repairs, cleaning, the whole nine yards. Something that would take longer than one day. Which would mean that Foxy wouldn’t have his suit all night.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if the other animatronics’ programming meant that none of the other could recognize him. No matter how much he snarled and yelled, they saw a suit-less endoskeleton.

And he was very aware of what they did to endoskeletons.

Foxy barged into the kitchen and looked around frantically for a hiding spot in the dark. The closest thing he could find was the kitchen island and he scrambled behind it. His whole body felt so flimsy and small, leaving him feeling even more defensive, but he hoped it would also make him less visible.

Unfortunately, that didn’t make him any more quiet, and it wasn’t long before the kitchen door was pushed back open.

“Aww, come out little guy! It’s okay, we don’t want to hurt you. We just want to get you in a nice, warm suit,” Chica cooed.

Though as sweet as she sounded, he knew what that ‘nice, warm suit’ entailed. It involved all three of them forcing him into a spare Bonnie or Freddy suit, bending his ears, probably breaking his hook- it would be a nightmare.

Unfortunately, his pitiful hiding spot was soon found out. “There you are!”

“Ya come even a step closer, Lass, and I’ll capsize this here island and barge right through ya!” Foxy threatened. “Ye better bet yer beak I’ll do it!”

“Aww...” Chica cooed, completely unable to make sense of Foxy’s words beyond panicked garbling. She turned back to Bonnie in the doorway. “I think he’s shy.” Foxy groaned, metal clanking as his head dropped into his hand. “I’ll get him out!”

No, she wouldn’t. The moment she started to close in, Foxy reacted exactly how he had threatened. He threw the kitchen island over into Chica, sprung over it, and made a sprint for the door that Bonnie was standing outside of. Foxy might’ve lost his sturdiness without his suit, but he was faster than ever, and slid right between Bonnie and the door.

Right into Freddy Fazbear, who tried to trap him in a literal bear hug. Foxy swung out and wound up hitting him directly in the nose with a loud squeak. This staggered Freddy long enough to let Foxy get by and sprint down the hallway. Just a touch faster, just a touch harder to see through the camera, running down a hallway he didn’t typically enter.

Foxy was running for his life- or for his skin- and all he could think of was getting away from his band, which was currently hunting him like a common crook.

How tonight was the night that he skirted under the office door and got inside was beyond him, but it had to be some sort of cruel, universal joke, because even with the door slamming shut behind him, blocking the other animatronics from reaching him, he was forced to come face to face with the security guard.

Of course it would be Schmidt.

The man looked absolutely floored as he stared at the endoskeleton from his office chair. Eventually he found his voice. “What the-?!”

“Ya open that door and I be pluckin’ out yer eye!” Foxy snarled as he pointed his hook threateningly. The hook being pretty much the only thing differentiating him as Foxy.

Normally, no animatronic would dare speak around a human, but Foxy didn’t consider someone as persistent and irritating as Schmidt to be human. Maybe that’s why his reaction was equally blunt.

“What the hell happened to you?!” he asked. He then realized the other elephant in the room and added, “And exactly how long has this intelligent speech thing been going on?”

“Don’t even start with that, Schmidt. Yer not wantin’ to go down that rabbit hole,” Foxy firmly dismissed. He then slowly slid up to peer out the window, seeing Bonnie coming. “They be lookin’ fer me tonight. Ya can’t let ‘em in.”

“Because I routinely let Freddy walk through my office,” Mike said sarcastically as he checked the monitors. Then his head snapped over. “Wait a second! You can talk and think like people, and still you and those three overgrown beanie babies have been trying to break in here and kill me?!”

“I ain’t tryin’ to kill ya!... Err, they be tryin’ to kill you. I just be lookin’ to knock that bilge-sucking smirk off yer face.”

“Oh, okay. That clear it up. Totally doesn’t make me want to give the good captain the heave-ho out the side door,” Mike said flatly. His eyes raised to the window as he heard the footsteps outside. He knew it was Bonnie, so he didn’t waste the power to turn the light on.

He then looked down at Foxy, who was looking rather pathetic, huddled under the window emaciated and on edge. He always had a hunch that Foxy was purposefully messing with him, but now that he knew he genuinely was Mike wasn’t sure what to think. Though he was becoming increasingly curious. He sighed and made his decision.

“Tell you what, Foxy. You can stay in here until whatever that is blows over. Or at least until I’m off the clock. But here’s the deal-.” Foxy knew there was going to be a catch of some kind, and he was totally unsurprised by what it was. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on here. And I don’t mean why you’re streaking through the pizzeria- I mean why you’re alive.”

Foxy knew someone as stubborn as ‘Schmidt’ wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, he gave a defeated huff of static and, after hearing Bonnie wandering off, turned back to the security guard.

“Ya got yerself a deal, but don’t say Cap’n Foxy didn’t warn ya...”

What a night to get exposed.

#Fnaftober #Five Nights At Freddy's #prompt #Foxy the pirate #Mike Schmidt #You Forgot Your Costume #Freddy #chica #Bonnie

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staranon95 · 3 years

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colourful

a red hood au drabble

Gavin doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he feels he needs to do something. He needs to do this on his own. He can’t wait for Trevor to scheme and come up with a plan. He can’t wait for the crew to say they have his back. He can’t wait for Geoff to swoop in and save the day. In many respects, this feels like Gavin’s issue and only his. He can reach out to Alfredo. He can get past that hard exterior and reach him, not Red.

He just has to find him first.

He goes to his apartment first to grab his go-bag he keeps stashed in his closet. He leaves his phone and any other equipment Matt might be able to track his movements from. He’s got a few burner cellphones in his bag he’ll use for emergencies, but for this he’ll be going off the grid.

He leaves his apartment. He leaves his motorcycle and heads for a 24 hour garage that does business with people like him. There he’s able to get a bike the crew won’t be able to find him on. Then he stakes out a new place to work out of. He stays the night at a hostel and finds a cheap motel to work out of, paying cash at the front desk under a fake name.

Day one of finding Alfredo is literally all online. If there’s some new crew making its rounds in the city, people will be talking about it in forums. If you’re a civilian in Los Santos, you’re probably a fan of a criminal and talking about conspiracy theories and keeping up on the news. There are some smatterings of ‘Red’ on the forums that Gavin pays close attention to. If Alfredo is working for someone, then Gavin needs to know about it.

There’s some chatter about something called ‘Spectrum.’ Some people think it’s a group of highly trained grifters, conmen, hitmen, and more. An elite group. Others think it’s a person named ‘Spectrum.’ Like the Corpirate or Edgar. A moniker for a titan of crime. Or it’s an international organization that comes to massive cities like Los Santos to sow corruption into the municipal government for the betterment of mega-corporations and CEOs. Either way, Spectrum is something Gavin needs to consider. It’s information he’ll need to send to the crew.

Some people on the forums have said they’ve spotted members of Spectrum. And that an identifying feature is brightly coloured clothing for important members. That might explain Alfredo’s red sweater and why he wore it last night.

Gavin builds the profile based on what he has. He has some locations to work with that he’ll haunt for the next few days. It’s tedious work, but Gavin has the mind for it. He’s always been a puzzle guy, willing to sit and wrestle with something until he has the answer. So he builds his routine, makes note of locations, potential names and descriptions of people he’ll encounter.

It’s not that easy for him to move around—the so called ‘Golden Boy’ of the city. A lot of people know him on sight. So he shaves his beard, which easily takes a few years off his appearance. He ditches his designer jeans for loose cargo shirts and a shirt that’s two sizes two big. It makes him look younger, more immature, allowing him to pass by unnoticed when he needs to be.

In his room he hangs a map against the wall, using red thumbtacks to track the locations he’s checked out that he knows Spectrum has been by. He notices clusters of activity, attempting to triangulate to a location where this group might be working out of.

There’s one location in the downtown he decides to check into. It was one of the first apartment buildings built in the city, from the 1910s. The historical aspect of it is overlooked by the absolutely squalor that’s taken residence in it. There’ve been attempts to refurbish and remodel it, but it’s located smackdab in the crime district. Any politician worth their salt would know attempting to gentrify this area will end in failure, so no one is going to make an attempt on it.

He takes the fire escape all the way to the top of the building. It comes to an elegant point on top with slightly curved arches at the four corners. There are four massive eagle statues at each point, wings folded to make them look sleek and imposing. The age of the building means that very little surveillance has been incorporated into its architecture. It would make it great for hiding a criminal organization within it.

The entire top floor, what would’ve been the penthouse suite, is in constant sate of repair. Nearly all the fixtures had been torn down. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling in sections. Gavin has to admit, though, the view from the city is nice up here.

When he hears voices at the door, he ducks out one of the windows to crouch near one of the statues. It’s dark enough he shouldn’t be noticed.

“Prism has asked Blue and Yellow to move up to the docks,” says one.

“Yeah? And?” That’s Alfredo.

“Prism thinks you’re moving too slow. Once Blue and Yellow are in place and have the docks secure, Orange will be paired with you.”

Alfredo scoffs. “Prism can fuck off. I know the Fakes. I know how to handle them.”

“You had the opportunity to have three of them put in strict lockdown the other night and you gave them an out. How do you think that looks to the rest of Spectrum?”

“The Fakes have the most resources out of any crew in this city. They would’ve made bail no matter how high the DA would’ve set it. They have the best lawyers on retainer. You think a little burglary would’ve stopped them?”

“No, but I do find it odd that they were tipped off to the raid of their penthouse. They’ve been there for, what, almost ten years since Ramsey signed that lease? And someone tipped them off.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. You think I tipped them off?”

“I don’t know what I think. Just that a lot of coincidences have been happening concerning the Fakes lately. I’d be careful if I were you, Red. Prism doesn’t hand out second chances like they’re candy.”

“Is this a threat, Violet?”

“No. Just a thought. Careful, Red. Your true colours might start showing.”

The second voice moves off. Gavin hears the door close. He peers around the statue and spots Alfredo’s silhouette. He wonders if he should make his presence known, try to talk to Alfredo and try to understand what this is all about. Or should he try to make his escape. Or possibly trail this Violet person.

But he’s not ready for that, not yet. He decided to do this, go off on this quest to talk to Alfredo. Just talk.

He creeps along the edge and back towards the open window. He sets one foot in, toes then heel before the rest of his follows. He balances himself with his fingertips on the ground, looking for Alfredo’s figure in the dark. He hears a sigh off not too far. He stands.

“So you sleeping here or is it more of a vantage point?”

Alfredo whirls. He still has that mask in place, but his hood is off. Gavin knew his hair was longer. He kept it pretty short back in the day, but now he gets to see it fully, see how much Alfredo has changed.

“Gavin.” Alfredo scoffs, pulls up that wall of cold and sarcastic indifference. “I knew one of you would come looking. Thought it might be Fiona. I hear she’s more of a solo player. But you? Didn’t know you did shit like this anymore.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah, apparently. Thought you were the one who stuck by your friends. Even in the ugly times.”

Gavin swallows. It’s time he faces the past. “Everything pointed to you being dead.”

Alfredo laughs. “You for real right now? I know the type of impossible shit you guys have pulled. You broke Geoff out of a maximum-security prison in broad daylight. You guys once faked your own deaths! And what happens when you don’t find my body? You wash your hands and walk away.”

“We were there on the scene. I was just about to run in and get you when the building exploded in front of me. And I still ran in! If there was any chance you were still in there, I was going to look for you.”

“But you still didn’t find me,” Alfredo says, softer this time.

His admission makes Gavin pause because isn’t that what happened? Did they give up? Did they stop looking when they realized they were out of their depth? Geoff took Alfredo’s death very personally, and having Geoff demoralized like that affected the rest of the crew.

“We didn’t,” Gavin settles on. “And it fucks with me every day that we didn’t. I feel like I held on the longest. Kept some things of yours afterwards.”

“Yeah?”

Gavin nods, takes a step forward. He sees Alfredo shift his weight into a more relaxed position with his arms crossed over his chest. “A sweater of yours. This dumb disposable camera you had. Even got the photos developed. And your old Gameboy.”

“You kept all that?”

“They were important to you. I was hanging onto them for you. And for me.”

They never really had a deep talk about what they meant to each other outside of the crew, outside of their work. Does Alfredo still think of those times like Gavin does?

“Gav.” And then Gavin thinks Alfredo will drop the act. They’ll talk. They’ll leave. They’ll figure out this Spectrum/Prism mess together, and then—

Alfredo moves quickly. He swipes Gavin’s legs out from beneath him, sending him crashing onto the ground. Before Gavin can move, Alfredo is straddling him, pinning his arms to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’d fall for that. The sappiest trick in the book! You taught me that one and you fucking fell for it! Man. You’re out of practice. Or maybe you’re just too in deep to notice you’re drowning.”

“’fredo, I—”

“No. I’m not your ‘fredo. I’m not your ‘freddie. I’m not one of your fucking boys! I didn’t come back for you.”

“Then why are you keeping an eye on us?”

“Maybe because I like to screw around with you. Now get the fuck out.”

Alfredo stands and stalks off. Gavin is left shaken, but no worse off than before.

He retreats. He takes the fire escape down to the street and takes a twisting path back to his hotel until he knows he’s not being followed. Then he digs out one of his burner cellphones and calls up Trevor.

“Trevor, I think we need to get Geoff in on this. It’s bigger than I thought.”

#fake ah crew #fahc #gta au #red hood au #star speaks #star writes #i finally have an idea of what alfredo is doing #and its only going to get messier lol

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