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lumosandnoxwriting · 4 years

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Thinking of You - Fred Weasley

Title: Thinking of You Pairing: Fred x fem!reader Summary: Fred and the reader are best friends. No matter what George thinks he knows. Just best friends. Best friends who are in love, that is. A/N: this is for the anon who wanted a best friends who are obviously in love with each other!! Reader is the daughter of Sirius Black and Marlene McKinnon, I tried to make it obvious but there it is in case it isn’t clear!! Feedback is always welcomed and requests are open!

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“So, any fun plans for this summer?” Lee asks, trying to break the tension in the air.

Y/N shrugs, pulling her eyes from the landscape swirling outside the train so she can look at the three boys sitting with her. Train rides home for the summer with Lee, Fred and George are easily some of the best memories they’ve made together. They’re usually filled with loud laughter, too much chocolate and plans for their next year of pranks. They’ve been the fearsome foursome since the first day of term nearly six years ago, when Y/N had called Snape Snivellous under her breath, and Fred had laughed so loud he landed himself in detention. Fred had insisted she sit with him, George and Lee at dinner that night and the four of them have been pulling pranks and causing chaos together ever since.

But this year, this year is different. Over the past few years they’ve become accustomed to their school year ending in a less than traditional way, but it’s never stopped them from having fun together one last time as they head towards home. This year though, the last few weeks have been so tense and sad around the castle that it has carried over into their moods. Y/N has never seen Fred and George so quiet, except for the time Fred fell asleep with his head in her lap in the common room third year.

“Come on, Y/N. You’ve got to have something exciting going on. You and Remus always have summer plans,” Fred teases, nudging her knee with his.

Y/N scowls at Fred, trying to hide her smile. Her home life was certainly less than traditional, and Y/N’s friends loved to tease her about it. They didn’t tease her about the fact that she had been raised by her Godfather, but more so about the fact that she had been raised by Remus Lupin, their former professor. When Remus took up a teaching position at Hogwarts during their 5th year, Y/N had no choice but to reveal to her friends just exactly why their new professor knew her so well. They had all thought it was pretty cool, but unfortunately for Y/N it raised more questions about her home life than it had answered.

She rolls her eyes, shoving Fred lightly. “We went on a road trip one summer and you’re still giving me shit about it? Pathetic,” she teases with a giggle. Fred throws his arm around her shoulder and messes with her hair. “If Remus,” she mocks, sticking her tongue out at Fred as she leans into his side. “Has planned anything then he hasn’t said anything.”

Y/N swallows thickly, trying to force the lump in her throat away. She hates lying to her friends, but she’s on strict orders from Dumbledore not to say anything. Now that Voldemort has returned secret plans have been made, the biggest of them being the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix. Remus had moved into Order headquarters a few days before the end of term, and she’d be joining him there for the summer.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” Fred chides before he turns his attention to Lee.

Y/N lets herself snuggle into Fred’s side, a small smile appearing on her face when his grip around her tightens. George gives her a knowing look, and she sticks her tongue out at him, a pink blush creeping up on her cheeks. Despite whatever George thinks is going on with her and Fred, Fred Weasley is her best friend and absolutely nothing more.

“Dad!” Y/N squeals excitedly before she’s running down the entry hall of 12 Grimmauld Place and into her father’s open arms.

Sirius chuckles and wraps his arms around his daughter tightly. “Hello there little one. I’ve missed you.”

Y/N pulls away from her dad, a bright smile on her face, unable to contain her happiness. She’d been dreaming of the day that she’d get to live with Sirius and be a proper family since the end of last year, when the truth about James and Lily’s death was made clear. Y/N had only gotten to see her dad briefly before he had to flee, and she’d spent quite a bit of her free time thinking about him over the past year.

“Oh no, Y/N, Sirius, don’t worry. I don’t need a hand. I’ve got it,” Remus huffs, his tone teasing. Y/N turns back towards the door, giggling as Remus struggles to pull her trunk through the door. “What in Merlin’s sake do you have in this thing? It didn’t weigh this much when I dropped you off at Kings Cross in September.”

“I may or may not be harboring some things for the Weasley twins,” she admits with a laugh.

Remus gives her a disapproving look to try and hide the gleam of mischief in his eyes. He takes out his wand, waving it so that her trunk is now floating. “Harboring what? Is there something illegal in there? I know what Fred and George get up to.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and laughs along with Sirius. “It’s nothing like that, Remus. I promise. It’s just some stuff they’ve been developing for their joke shop. If Molly finds it she’ll destroy it, so Fred gave it to me to hold onto for a bit. Not a big deal.”

“Come on, Remus, don’t be a stick in the mud,” Sirius chides. “We got up to quite a bit of mischief in our younger days. It’s only natural that Y/N does as well. She’s got the blood of one Marauder and she was raised by another, that’s double the mischief.”

Y/N can tell that Sirius is trying to joke, but his voice shakes. She and Sirius have corresponded a few times since he flew off on Buckbeak and many of her letters contained stories of things her and Remus had done as she grew up. Often times Sirius’ replies were filled with apologies and regret that he had missed out on doing those things with her.

“As long as it’s nothing illegal I’ll let it slide,” Remus says quietly a few moments later. He directs Y/N’s trunk to fly down the hallway and up the stairs. “Second door on the right, yes?”

Sirius nods and puts his arm around Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “That’s right. I spent all week preparing your room.” He looks down at Y/N with a reassuring smile. “Alright then, let’s head down to the kitchen for something to eat.”

“Have you got the rest of the rooms cleaned out, Sirius? Our guests will be arriving in a few hours,” Remus says as he takes a sip of coffee.

Y/N frowns, looking between Remus and her dad. “Guests? What guests?”

It’s only two weeks into summer break and Y/N has been enjoying every minute of it. Remus has been in and out of the house doing things for the Order, so she and Sirius have had plenty of time to connect. The house is pretty busy as is, with Order members fliting in and out at all hours of the night, so Y/N can’t imagine it getting any crazier.

Sirius and Remus share a look before Sirius turns to look at Y/N. “Dumbledore has fully briefed the Weasley family on what’s going on, and Arthur and Molly have joined the order. And since Arthur works at the ministry and their son Percy is an assistant to Fudge, Dumbledore thinks it’s best that they stay somewhere that’s under protection.”

“So, the Weasleys are going to be spending the rest of the holiday here?” Y/N asks, her cheeks heating up. When Remus nods she bites her lip. “Do they know? That Sirius is, you know, my dad?”

“You haven’t told them yourself?” Sirius asks. Y/N can hear the hurt in his voice.

Remus shakes his head. “Dumbledore told Arthur and Molly I’m sure, and Ron knows because of Harry, but I don’t think the Twins or Ginny know.” He turns to Sirius then. “We talked about this, Sirius. For Y/N’s safety no one knows you’re her father, that’s why she has Marlene’s last name. We all know that you’re innocent, but the rest of the Wizarding World doesn’t. It was smart of Y/N not to tell anyone except for those who know the truth about you.”

Y/N watches Remus and Sirius look at each other as if they’re having a conversation without even saying anything. “If it makes you feel better,” she says softly, causing both men to look over at her. “I only told them Remus is my Godfather because he started teaching at Hogwarts. He ruined my mysterious reputation.”

Sirius laughs, breaking the awkward tension that had fallen over them. “It does make me feel a bit better, yes.”

“Hey now, I won’t have any of this. You two ganging up on me. Y/N you’re supposed to be on my side,” Remus teases. “Now hurry up and finish your breakfast, you need to get a start on your summer reading. You remember that reading, Sirius? The reading I told you to make sure she started last week?”

Sirius puts his hands up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says innocently, sending Y/N a wink.

After breakfast Y/N does reluctantly head up to her bedroom to start on her summer reading. And she has every intention of doing it. But as she settles into her fluffy bed and starts to read about some transfiguration method she can’t help but let her eyes close, dreams of what shenanigans she and her friends may get up to this summer floating through her mind.

“Five more minutes, Remus,” Y/N mumbles, batting away the finger that’s poking her in the cheek. When the poking persists she opens her eyes, a noise of surprise coming out of her mouth. “Fred? George?” she asks in surprise, suddenly sitting up. She starts to fix her hair, a light flush on her cheeks. “What in the hell are you two doing here?”

“We could ask you the same thing, Y/N,” Fred says, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“Yeah, imagine our surprise when we enter what we think will be our room for the summer,” George continues, taking a seat on the edge of the other side.

“And we see you, peacefully sleeping in a bed,” Fred says, leaning a bit closer to Y/N.

“In Sirius Black’s house,” they finish together.

“There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that,” she starts, trying to figure out how to explain one of her deepest secrets to her best friends. They both look at her expectantly and she starts to twirl a piece of hair around her finger. “Sirius Black is my dad,” she mumbles.

Fred and George give her identical looks of disapproval. “Gonna have to speak up, love. We’re old men now, being 17 and all. We’re a bit hard of hearing,” Fred teases, lightly nudging her foot.

Y/N rolls her eyes, ignoring the feeling she has in her stomach from Fred’s pet name and touch. “Sirius is my dad. And not like how you guys like to tease me and say Remus is my dad. He’s my full on. Blood related. Dad.”

“Blimey, Y/N. You’ve been holding out on us. What are we going to find out next? Your mother is the Queen?” George teases with a laugh.

“You’re an idiot, you know who my mum is,” she says with a light laugh, leaning forward to punch George in the shoulder.

Fred wraps his hand around Y/N’s ankle and squeezes lightly, causing her to look over at him. “You have been holding out on us. How come?” he asks, trying to keep the same jokey tone his brother had to hide his genuine hurt.

“Because it’s pretty hard to make friends when the world thinks your dad is one of Voldemort’s biggest supporters,” she answers honestly. “That’s the reason why Remus changed my last name back to my mum’s when he got custody. My mum and her family, they died heroes, that’s the legacy that Remus wanted me to have.”

Fred squeezes her ankle again and Y/N tries to pretend that it doesn’t cause goosebumps to erupt up her leg. “But what about after? When you found out about what really happened?”

Y/N shrugs, looking away from Fred’s gaze. She knows that she could have told them the truth after she had learned it herself and she’s not really sure why she didn’t. “I dunno. You guys had just barely found out about Remus. It just seemed easier to keep it to myself.”

“So, it’s not because you secretly hate us and don’t really want to be our friend?” George asks with a grin.

Y/N grabs a pillow from behind her and throws it at his head. “You’re a moron, George.” Y/N fidgets, suddenly very aware that she is still in her pajamas. “Now shouldn’t you boys be doing something else? Like unpacking your things or bothering I dunno, anyone else in this house?”

George looks from Y/N to the place where Fred is still holding onto her ankle and gives her a glance that Y/N knows means he’ll be bringing this up to her later. She grabs another pillow and throws it at him. “Fine, fine, we’re leaving,” he laughs.

“Wow, someone is feeling feisty,” Fred teases. He squeezes her ankle one last time before he gets up and follows George out of her room. “Oh, by the way, nice Pj’s,” he teases, causing Y/N to throw her last pillow at him.

“Y/N dear, it’s lovely to see you!” Molly greets as Y/N enters the kitchen a bit later. Y/N smiles at her and accepts her warm hug. Having Molly in her life was certainly one of the best perks of being friends with Fred and George. Molly radiated warmth and was always willing to open her home and her heart to her children’s friends; something Y/N was always thankful for.

“Hi Molly. I’m so glad you’re here. Remus and Sirius are pretty awful cooks,” Y/N says with a laugh as she goes to sit down. She tries to take a seat next to George, but Fred grabs her arm and pulls her towards him instead. Y/N flicks Fred on the ear and takes a seat in between them, hoping to avoid more teasing remarks from George later on.

Sirius eyes the interaction between Y/N and Fred carefully, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Now while I can’t speak for Moony, I did just spend 12 years in Azkaban,” Sirius chides a moment later.

“I see why you always beg to spend the Holidays at the Burrow, Y/N,” Remus teases, choosing to ignore Sirius.

“Oh yeah it has everything to do with Mum’s cooking,” George pipes up, his tone a clear indication that Y/N’s yearning to spend time at the Burrow has little to do with Molly’s cooking.

Y/N hits George upside the head, causing Ginny and Fred to burst out in laughter. “Well I obviously don’t go there to spend more time with you, git”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough out of you lot,” Molly scolds lightly as trays of food start to fly onto the table. “Y/N is welcome at our home anytime no matter the reason.”

Y/N sticks her tongue out at George and reaches for a sandwich, her hand brushing Fred’s as he goes to grab the same one. “You take it,” she says quietly, letting her hand linger near his for a moment.

Fred grabs the sandwich and puts it on Y/N’s plate with a wink. “Nah you have that one, I’ll take this one.” Fred winks at her again as he takes the sandwich Ron was about to close his hand around.

“Hey!” Ron shouts in annoyance.

“Sorry ickle Ronniekins, gotta be faster than that,” Fred teases with a laugh.

Y/N laughs along with him, trying to ignore the warmth Fred’s hand gives off as it rests on her knee.

“I really am doing my reading, Remus, I promise!” Y/N shouts after someone knocks on her door.

Y/N had spent most of the day with Fred and George, getting caught up on the new item they’d started to develop in the few short weeks it’s been since the end of term. For a while she had just laid on Fred’s bed, watching him and George pour over their notes to try and work out the issues with what they called ‘extendable ears.’ Eventually she got up and went to find Ginny, mostly to avoid George’s stare after Fred’s hand wound around her ankle again. She avoided both boys until dinner, when the topic of her reading was brought up again. Unfortunately for Y/N, George ratted her out to Remus about her mid-morning nap, and he had made her promise that she’d head up to her room after dinner to read.

“Really? That’s quite boring,” Sirius says playfully as he pushes her door open.

Y/N laughs and throws the book she had been skimming onto the bed next to her. “Oh hey, Dad.”

Sirius closes the door behind him and comes to sit on the edge of her bed. “What’s with all this summer reading anyway? Last I checked Hogwarts didn’t set homework over the summer holidays.”

“It’s not official reading. Just something Remus makes me do during the break. Keep my mind fresh or something,” she explains with an eyeroll. “It has come in handy a couple times, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Sirius winks at her and pretends to zip his lips shut. “Your secret is safe with me.” Sirius pauses for a moment. “So, what’s going on with you and that Weasley boy?”

Y/N can feel her face start to heat up, and she starts to twirl her hair around her finger. “Fred and George are my best friends. Nothing more.”

“Your mother was one of my best friends back in our Hogwarts days, and you can clearly see how that worked out,” he jokes, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Y/N says softly, trying to both avoid the current topic and find out more information. “Remus didn’t talk about you much, growing up. For obvious reasons,” she chuckles.

Sirius gives her a sad smile. “Your mother was a wild card. You never really knew what she was thinking unless she told you. She instigated quite a bit of the shenanigans James and I got into, just to see if we would actually go through with it.”

“And of course, you guys did,” Y/N laughs.

Sirius scoffs playfully. “Well duh. I was never one to back down from a challenge, especially not when it gave me the opportunity to show off for your mother. I so desperately wanted her attention; it was actually quite pathetic. James would tease me relentlessly for it, but he was no better. Lily didn’t give him the time of day until at least 6th year, no matter how hard he tried to impress her.”

“Well obviously you got her attention eventually,” Y/N says, gesturing towards herself. “I’m living proof.”

“That you are, little one,” Sirius smiles. “You remind me of her so much. Obviously not looks wise,” he adds with a laugh when Y/N gives him a look. Appearance wise there is no doubt that Sirius is Y/N’s dad, they have the same Grey eyes and dark wavy hair. “You have her spirit and her attitude. You have her ability to charm anyone in a matter of minutes. I’ve seen you use it on Remus, it’s quite uncanny really.”

Y/N blushes. Growing up Remus had told her story after story about her mother. Probably to make up for the lack of stories about her dad, but Y/N enjoyed it either way. He often told her how much she reminded him of her, but it sounds different coming from Sirius. Sirius had been in love with her mother, had known her deepest secrets and had even started a family with her. If Sirius could see Marlene in Y/N, then there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s true.

“So, just friends eh?” Sirius asks a moment later, playfully nudging Y/N’s leg.

Y/N blushes again for a different reason and nods. “Yes, just friends,” she insists.

“We’ll see about that,” Sirius says with a wink. He stands up then and looks down at her. “Now you better actually do some summer reading, before Remus forbids us from spending any time together.”

“How’s the summer reading going?” Fred says teasingly as he sneaks up behind Y/N.

Y/N quickly turns around and hits him on the chest lightly with her book. “You’re such an asshat. This house is creepy enough as it is, there’s no need for you to go sneaking up on people.”

Fred laughs as he jumps over the back of the sofa and sits next to Y/N, his arm resting on the piece of furniture just behind her head. “But that’s half the fun.”

“Where’s George?” she asks, turning her head to look around and make sure that he isn’t lurking around somewhere as well.

“Why? Am I not enough for you?” Fred asks with a pout.

Y/N rolls her eyes and digs her fingers into his side, tickling him slightly. “No. But I recall Molly tasked you two with getting some doxies out of the curtains in the study upstairs so if you’re slacking off he is too.”

“Me? Slacking off?” Fred asks astonishingly, grasping at his heart. “Y/N, you absolute monster! You’ve wounded me! I would never be slacking off!” He grins down at Y/N, causing her to roll her eyes again. “But to answer your question he’s upstairs recovering from a mishap with one of our nosebleed nougats.”

Y/N grimaces, a memory of Lee Jordan bleeding all over her Potions notes coming to mind. “Yikes. Still haven’t gotten them just right?” Fred shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “You think they’ll be ready? By the start of term?”

All Fred and George have talked about for years is opening up their own joke shop someday. In the past few years they’ve become closer than ever, having already developed some successful products with more in the works. Their only real roadblock has been funding, and Fred had shared with Y/N their plan to develop something called a Skiving Snackbox that they could sell to students to help with their startup costs.

“Oh yeah, there’s no doubt in my mind,” he responds confidently. “George and I are a force to be reckon with when we’ve got our mind on something and now that we’ve got our best girl with us for the whole summer,” Fred pauses so he can wink at Y/N and she hopes that the immediate blush that appears on her cheeks isn’t noticeable. “We’ll definitely get all the kinks worked out in time.”

Fred’s arm has fallen from its’ original resting place to Y/N’s shoulder, and his fingers have started to play with her hair. She rests her head on Fred’s shoulder, her fingers fiddling with the pages of her book. Fred’s fingers tug on her hair lightly, causing Y/N to look up at him. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?” he asks softly.

Y/N shrugs. “Just thinking about next year. We’re gonna be in our last year of school in a couple of months and I still have no idea what I want to do with my life.” During her OWL year Y/N had told McGonagall that she wanted to work in the Care of Magical Creatures department at the Ministry, but she isn’t quite sure that’s exactly what she wants. “You and George have already figured everything out and I’m just kinda stuck.”

Fred scoffs. “We have far from figured everything out, Y/N. But I’m glad it appears that way,” he chuckles. “And who cares if you don’t have everything figured out yet? You’re not even 17 yet. Frankly I think it’s rubbish that we’re expected to have our lives figured out when we’re this age.” Fred bites his lip. “If it really bothers you that much, then just come work at the joke shop with George and I.”

“What?” Y/N asks in surprise, trying to hide her excitement at his casual remark. “You’d really want me to work with you? The both of you. You and George,” she says quickly, looking away from Fred to hide her embarrassment.

“Yeah, ‘course, Y/N,” Fred says with a laugh. “You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t I want you to?”

“So, I’m your best friend, hm? Can’t wait to tell Lee you said that,” she teases, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Well, don’t you too look cozy?” George asks suddenly, causing Y/N and Fred to jump apart.

Y/N turns around so she can glare at George before she throws her book at him. “Blimey you’re a menace.”

George laughs and comes over to Y/N and Fred, forcing them apart so he can sit in between them. “Hey, that’s not very nice,” George says, giving Y/N a look when she digs her elbow into his ribs.

“You couldn’t have sat in any of the other chairs in this room?” Fred groans, moving over to give George room.

“I could have,” George says playfully. “But I wanted to sit here.” George grins wickedly at Fred. “Is that a problem, dear brother of mine? That I wanted to sit next to Y/N?”

“Not at all,” Fred says as he suddenly stands up. “We should probably get to that stuff Mum wanted us to do anyway.” Fred gives George a look and starts to head towards the door. “Enjoy you’re reading, Y/N,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

Y/N glares at George before digging her fingers into his ribs, causing him to yelp. “Ow! What was that for?” he asks, rubbing his side.

“You know exactly what that was for, git. You always have to go and make things weird,” Y/N huffs, crossing her arms.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Y/N,” George says with an eye roll. “And I wasn’t making things weird, I was simply trying to facilitate a conversation that you and my brother are both too stubborn to have on your own.”

“And what conversation might that be?” Y/N asks as she swallows thickly, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t be daft,” George drawls. “You’re both stupid in love with each other, so just admit it and make out so we all can move on. It’s getting ridiculous.”

Y/N blushes and digs her fingers into George’s ribs again to hide her nerves. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, George. Fred is my best friend, just like you and Lee.”

“Oh yeah, because Lee and I are always looking for an excuse to touch you, my bad,” George rolls his eyes. “Wait, that was Fred who kept grabbing your ankle yesterday, silly me.” George hits himself on the forehead jokingly. “And it definitely wasn’t Fred who just left his brother up in bed after he nearly bled to death so he could come cuddle you. Definitely not. Oh, wait.”

“Now who’s being a drama queen,” Y/N teases lightly as she begins to twirl a piece of hair around her index finger. “Friends can cuddle with each other, it’s not a big deal,” she mumbles.

“You’re right it is normal, Harry, Ron and Hermione cuddle all the time,” George responds, nudging Y/N.

Y/N scoffs at George. “Just give it a rest, George. If I did feel something more than friendship with Fred I would never act on it. Fred isn’t shy about anything, if he wanted to be more than friends he would have said something by now. So, we are clearly meant to be nothing more than friends. Which I’m fine with,” she adds, glaring at George. “Now go help your brother with that doxy infestation before Molly finds you here and sets off that awful portrait of my grandmother again.”

“Finally,” Fred groans when George joins him up in the third-floor study. “Mum’s gonna be here any minute to check up on our progress and getting rid of these doxies is a two-person job.”

George rolls his eyes and takes the spray bottle Fred practically shoves into his chest. “What’s got you in a mood? Upset that I interrupted your snuggle time with Y/N?” he jokes.

“No,” Fred grumbles. When George gives him his signature ‘cut the crap’ look Fred flips him off. “We were just sitting there, talking like two friends do. You’re the one that made it weird.”

George rolls his eyes. “Have you forgotten that we’re twins? And that I can practically read your mind?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fred asks as he grabs his wand. He motions for George to get into place as he gets ready to cast the spell that will make the doxies fly at them. When George nods that he’s ready, Fred waves his wand and a flurry of doxies heads towards them.

“You know exactly what it means,” George grunts as he sprays the immobilizing potion at the doxies. When Fred doesn’t say anything as he starts to throw the stunned doxies in a bucket, George continues. “You very clearly have feeling for Y/N that expand beyond friendship.”

Fred glares at his brother and throws a doxie in the bucket a little too hard. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Y/N is my friend. My best friend, just like how she’s your best friend, git. Or are you claiming to be in love with her as well?”

“If she’s only your best friend then why did it bother you when I sat in between you two just now, hm?” Fred looks away from George, urging the younger twin to continue. “And what about the other day at lunch? She was going to sit next to me, and you pulled her towards you. Why? And what about that thing with the ankle? Hm? What was that all about?”

Fred turns away from George, trying to hide his blush. “Friends can be affectionate with each other, George, “ he insists. “Just because you don’t feel the need to be affectionate with Y/N doesn’t mean that I have non-platonic feelings for her because I do.”

“Oh really?” George asks curiously. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I started to show more affection for Y/N then? The same way you do?”

“Not at all,” Fred responds through gritted teeth. He stomps over to George and shoves the bucket into his stomach. “Now finish up with this, I’m going to go revamp our nougat recipe so we can avoid another bleed out.”

George smirks as Fred’s back as he storms out, a plan forming in his head.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Y/N whispers into George’s ear a few days later during breakfast.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Y/N,” George responds with a wink.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him. “You’re up to something, I know it.”

Ever since their conversation in the lounge, George has been acting weird. He’s been insisting that she sit next to him at meals, when she hangs out with Fred and George in their room he pulls her down onto his bed and the other day he even went as far as to hold her hand while they watched Ginny and Ron play Wizard’s Chess.

“I’m just being a good friend, Y/N. Friends can be affectionate towards each other, can’t they, Fred?” George asks, suddenly turning towards his twin.

Fred glares at George. “Mhm. Of course they can.”

George then looks back at Y/N looking far too pleased with himself. “See, Y/N? I’m just doing what normal friends do.”

“Well knock it off,” she scolds lightly. “It’s weird.”

“Oh, so it’s weird when I do it, but when Fred does it, it’s a normal part of friendship,” George muses. “Interesting.”

Y/N scoffs and stands up from the table. “I’m going to go read.” She gives one last look at George before she exits the kitchen and heads upstairs.

“Can I come in?” Fred asks softly, leaning against the entrance to Y/N’s room. He planned on giving her some space after what went down at breakfast, but when she didn’t come down for lunch Fred decided to seek her out.

Y/N is sitting on her bed leaning up against the headboard with a book on her lap. “Yeah, sure,” she responds, not even looking up at Fred.

Fred sighs and comes to sit down next to Y/N. He leaves a small gap in between them and resists his urge to put his arm around her. “What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you cross at George.”

“He’s just being an idiot,” she says, slamming her book shut and tossing it aside. “He’s taking the mickey out of me after a conversation we had the other day.”

Fred hums, nudging Y/N’s foot with his. “That would explain his odd behavior over the last few days. He’s been keeping you all to himself, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Y/N blushes and punches his thigh lightly. “You know I’m just across the hall from you, right? You could have come in at any time to see me.”

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles. Fred bites his lip. “Must have been some conversation to get you both so worked up.”

“It was stupid honestly,” Y/N says with a shrug, trying to seem casual. “I just let him get to me and I shouldn’t have.”

“Yea, I got a bit stroppy at him the other day as well. That’s why he’s so quiet, he’s figuring out how to get in your head,” Fred muses with a laugh. “You’re alright though, yeah?”

Y/N nods, bumping their shoulders together. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Good, now I won’t feel bad about doing this.”

Before Y/N can ask what Fred’s talking about, she’s being smacked in the head by a pillow. “Oh, it is on, Weasley!” she shouts, grabbing her own pillow.

They spend a few minutes hitting at each other, both of them laughing like crazy. Y/N manages to knock Fred’s pillow out of his hands as she lands a hit to his chest and Fred’s hands immediately fly to her sides and he starts to tickle her as a distraction. As she tries to wiggle away from him, Fred takes one hand away and knocks her own pillow to the ground.

“Okay, okay, you got me,” Y/N giggles, trying to catch her breath. Fred is hovering over her, a cheeky grin on his face. He brings a hand up to brush her hair out of her face, and Y/N tries to ignore the tingles that roll down her spine at his delicate touch. She’s suddenly very aware of Fred’s weight on top of her and a pink blush starts to creep up her neck.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” Ginny shouts, a laugh falling from her lips when Fred nearly falls off of Y/N’s bed as he tries to get up.

“What, Gin?” Fred runs a hand through his hair, trying to act casual.

“Mum needs help getting rid of some creature stuck under a bed upstairs, if you’re not too busy here,” she chuckles, gesturing towards Y/N.

Fred nods and shoots a grin at Y/N. “See ya later.” Fred heads out of her room, shoving Ginny as he goes.

“Damn,” Y/N mutters to herself. She was trying to tiptoe down into the kitchen to grab a snack before dinner, but the door to the stairwell is shut tightly. “Stupid Order.” She’s about to turn around and head back upstairs, when she hears some noise coming from the sitting room.

“Are you two playing Wizard’s Chess?” she asks in surprise. When she first entered the sitting room, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but Y/N certainly didn’t think it would be Fred and George sitting on either side of the coffee table, with Ron’s Wizard Chess board between them.

George rolls his eyes as one of his pieces moves across the board. “Don’t act so shocked, Y/N. Contrary to popular belief Fred and I in fact have brains and we use them from time to time.”

“I’m not shocked because you’re doing something that involves thinking,” she chides as she takes a seat on the sofa. “I’m shocked because you’re doing something quiet and innocent.” Fred leans back against Y/N’s legs, and his left hand winds around her left ankle. “Figured you two were up in your room working on those extendible ears again.”

Fred huffs as one of his pieces gets destroyed by one of George’s. “We were, ‘til Mum walked in on us and confiscated it. She’s going to Kings Cross after dinner to pick up Hermione, so we’re just killing time until we can go and nick it back.”

“And your nosebleed nougats? You figured that one out?” Y/N asks, starting to run her hands through Fred’s hair.

“Yup, turns out we weren’t using enough Billywig Sting Slime in the antidote candy, so it wasn’t strong enough to stop the bleeding,” George responds, not even bothering to look up at her.

Y/N groans. “You guys are boring. I’m going back to my room.” She moves to stand up, but Fred tightens his grip on her ankle.

“No,” he coos. “Stay, please.” Fred tilts his head back so he can pout up at Y/N. “We’ll be more entertaining, I promise.”

“Yeah, this game is over anyway,” George says with a grin. “Checkmate.”

Fred groans as his final piece falls. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Yeah sure you will,” George laughs. “Moving on to more exciting things, someone’s birthday is coming up.”

“That’s right! In just a few weeks little Y/N will finally be the big 17,” Fred teases, squeezing her ankle again.

Y/N kicks at him lightly. “Oh, shove off, I’m only a few months younger than you lot.”

“But we’re still older than you, and that’s what matters,” George teases. “So, what do you wanna do for your birthday?”

Y/N shrugs, she honestly hadn’t even thought about it. Her and Remus never really made a big deal about her birthday. They’d pick up some takeout from a muggle restaurant and later in the evening they’d have cake and she’d open up her presents. It was never anything special, and Y/N was fine with that.

“Just figured we’d do the usual, if I’m honest. Dinner, cake, some presents. Nothing crazy,” she responds a moment later.

Fred frowns up at her. “That’s it?”

“Figured you’d do something big; a young witch only turns 17 once ya know,” George says.

Y/N nods. “Yeah, that’s what I always do. Why would this year be any different?”

“I don’t know, maybe because your two best friends in the whole world are here to celebrate it with you?,” Fred teases.

“And your father is too,” Sirius says, causing all three of them to turn and look at him.

“Blimey dad, you scared me. How long have you been standing there?”

Sirius smiles at Y/N and steps farther into the room, his forearms resting on the back of the sofa. “Just a few minutes, the Order meeting just got out.”

Y/N can hear shuffling as people head past the sitting room towards the entrance of Grimmauld Place. “Anything exciting happening?” she asks hopefully.

Despite the fact that Fred and George have already reached adulthood in the Wizarding World and Y/N’s 17thbirthday was only a few weeks away, none of them had been allowed to join the order or attend meetings. Y/N had begged Remus to let her join not too long after summer started, and he had firmly put his foot down. Fred and George had managed to get their extendible ears up and running for them to eavesdrop on the meetings, but everything said ended up translated into Spanish.

“You know as much as I would like to share that information with all of you,” Sirius says slowly, looking from Y/N to the twins. “I can’t. For one it is classified information per Dumbledore’s orders,” Sirius rolls his eyes. “And two, your mother will have my head and mount it on the wall if I say anything to you boys.”

Y/N groans. “This is such bullshit. We’re old enough to be considered adults and yet we’re not allowed to make decisions for ourselves.”

“Why haven’t you joined the order?” Fred asks, squeezing Y/N’s ankle so she’ll look down at him. “Obviously George and I can’t because of Mum but why haven’t you? Sirius is clearly fine with it.”

“Because Remus said no,” she explains with an eyeroll, as if the answer is obvious. Y/N can hear Sirius shift uncomfortably behind her.

“And? Sirius is your dad. That’s got to count for something,” George points out.

Y/N frowns, she honestly hadn’t even thought about that. Sirius is her dad, and Remus may have been the one who raised her, but he’s not her dad. Y/N loved growing up with Remus, and she’s thankful that he sacrificed so much of his life so that she could be raised by someone who loved her and cared about her wellbeing. But Sirius is free from Azkaban now and they’re living under the same roof. Why shouldn’t Sirius be the one making her decisions?

“Makes sense to me,” Sirius says. “So, Y/N, you have my blessing. If you want to join the Order once you turn 17, then do it. You’re right. In the eyes of the ministry you become an adult in a few weeks, and you should be the one making your decisions.”

Y/N smiles up at her dad. “Guess this birthday will be a bit different than normal.”

“So, I’ve been trying to figure out what to get you for your birthday,” Fred muses as he comes to sit on the edge of Y/N’s bed.

Y/N resists her urge to pull him closer, instead choosing to nudge his side with her foot in the hopes that he’ll grab her ankle again. As weird of a gesture it might be, Y/N actually really enjoys it. “Is that why I’ve barely seen you? Too busy thinking?” she teases, a hint of seriousness in her voice.

Once Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place it seemed like Molly was kicked into overdrive. She had them working like crazy to get the house cleaned and free of the magical pests that had taken residence in the empty house. Any free time they had Fred and George spent locked up in their room, meaning Y/N has only seen them at meals for the past week.

“Aw, did you miss me?” he asks playfully, his hand winding around her ankle. “George and I have just been busy is all. We’ve finally got the extendible ears transmitting in English, and we managed to get the Fainting Fancies to taste like caramel instead of ear wax.”

“That’s good, I guess,” she mumbles.

Fred squeezes her ankle lightly. “Oh, come on don’t be like that. You’re still my best girl.”

“You could have at least invited me to join,” Y/N says, trying to keep from smiling at their contact.

“Hey, I wanted to invite you in,” Fred says defensively. “But George kept spouting about how I get distracted when you help us, and we never end up getting anything done so he wouldn’t let me.” Fred is blushing like crazy and Y/N can’t help but smile.

“I’m just messing with you,” she chuckles, her stomach full of butterflies. “So, you’ve been thinking about what to get me, hm? Any ideas?”

“Oh loads,” Fred says, his thumb starting to rub circles on her ankle. “But nothing seems quite right.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Just get me what you do every year. A card that explodes and scares the shit out of me and a chocolate frog.”

Fred shakes his head. “No, it needs to be something, special. Your birthday gift to me this year was special, so I need to do something even better.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Y/N says softly, looking away from Fred. Fred and George had taken advantage of the Triwizard Tournament and had spent the days leading up to each task taking bets and sacking away the money they made for their shop. Y/N knew that Fred wouldn’t straight up take any money from her, so she had gifted him a Galleon on his birthday, insisting that it was an investment in what she knew would be a successful business.

“Yes, it was,” he insists, pinching her ankle so she’ll look up at him. “Most everyone thinks we’re mental for putting everything we have into something that may never be successful, except for you. You’ve always believed in George and I, since the first prank we ever pulled. So yeah, maybe it was just a Galleon, but it was the meaning behind it that made it special.”

“Okay, no need to be so mushy,” she teases, trying to ignore the feeling Fred’s words give her. Fred is your friend she reminds herself. It’s normal for friends to say that kind of stuff to each other. And it’s normal to feel lightheaded when they do.

Fred laughs. “Fine, don’t take my compliment. I’m still going to do something special for your birthday. Whether you think you deserve it or not.” Fred squeezes her ankle again before standing up. “Alright I’ve gotta get back to George, I was only supposed to be going to the toilet.”

Y/N lays back against her pillows as Fred leaves her room, a dopey smile on her face as she tries to deny the fact that George may have been right all along.

Y/N watches as Fred shuffles the stack of cards, looking far too pleased with himself. Since their conversation in her room the other night, Fred has been making more of an effort to spend time with Y/N. They’ve been playing exploding snap with Ron and George for the past 45 minutes, and Fred has somehow managed to win every game.

“Take a picture, Y/N, it’ll last longer,” Fred teases, bringing Y/N out of her thoughts.

“Don’t know why anyone would want a picture of your ugly mug,” Ron pipes up, causing Y/N to laugh.

Fred hits Ron upside the head. “I don’t see anyone fawning over you either, git. Y/N’s been staring for a good five minutes, clearly she’s entranced by my beauty.”

“Oh, in your dreams, Weasley. I’m keeping an eye on you, there’s no way you’ve been winning by pure luck. You’re up to something and I’m going to figure it out,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him.

Fred winks at her. “Sure sure, whatever you say, dear.”

“Just deal the damn cards,” George groans, clearly annoyed by their antics. “Flirt with each other later.”

Y/N watches as Fred deals the cards to them all, trying to detect any signs of deception. She frowns when nothing appears to be out of order. They play normally for a few minutes, but Y/N’s suspicion that Fred is cheating returns as he quickly pulls ahead.

“How? How are you doing it?” Y/N asks 20 minutes later as Fred celebrates another win.

“I told you, I’m not cheating. It’s okay to be jealous of my success, Y/N. You’ll get better the more you play,” Fred teases with a wink.

Y/N groans. When Fred goes to grab the cards to shuffle again, Y/N slaps her hand on top of them. “If you’re not cheating then you won’t mind if I shuffle this time,” she smirks. Fred sputters as he tries to think of a reason why Y/N shouldn’t shuffle. “I knew it! You’re charming the cards aren’t you?”

“No, of course not,” Fred says quickly, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I knew it!” Y/N shouts. “You’re a dead man, Fred Weasley!”

Fred gets up and runs around the room, Y/N following close behind him. Y/N manages to catch up and she jumps on his back, Fred’s hands automatically gripping her thighs, so she doesn’t fall.

“Do I even want to know?” Hermione asks as she steps into the room.

Fred has thrown Y/N onto the couch and is tickling her mercilessly, while George and Ron look on in disgust.

George shakes his head. “No, probably not.”

“There’s the birthday girl,” Sirius says with a smile as Y/N enters the kitchen. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, dad,” Y/N says as Sirius envelops her in a hug.

She takes a seat next to Fred when they part, a blush forming on her cheeks when he puts his arm around her and pulls her into his side. “Good morning to you too, doofus,” she teases, piling some pancakes on her plate.

“How does it feel to be an old woman?” Fred teases, causing George to laugh.

“I can’t believe our little Y/N is already so grown up,” George says playfully, pretending to wipe away a tear.

Y/N rolls her eyes as she drowns her pancakes in syrup. “You’re both insufferable, do you know that?”

Remus enters the kitchen then, a large smile on his face. “Didn’t expect to see you up so early.” He pauses behind Y/N to ruffle her hair and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

“Thanks Remus,” she says, flicking Fred in the ear as he laughs.

“I can’t believe you’re 17 already. Seems like just yesterday your mother was laying on the beach refusing to believe she was in labor,” Sirius muses with a smile as Remus sits down.

Remus chuckles. “I remember that. I think you sent me 15 owls in the span of 45 minutes.”

“Well I was in full on panic mode, Moony. I thought Marlene was going to give birth right in the sand!”

Y/N feels like her cheeks are on fire as Fred and George snicker to themselves. “Okay, can we please talk about something that isn’t my birth? Literally anything else I’m begging.”

“Potty training, then? Because boy do I have some stories about that,” Remus teases, a laugh falling from his lips as Y/N chucks a grape at his head. “I’m only joking, no need to start a food fight.”

The kitchen starts to fill up then as everyone starts to wake up, and Y/N is thankful that all of the heat is off of her. Y/N looks around as everyone takes a seat at the table and starts to each, idle conversations popping up all around. Y/N can’t remember a time when she felt this content. Nearly all the people she cares about are sitting around the same table, it’s like every wish she’s ever made on a birthday cake has come true.

“So, Y/N, now that you’re 17 are you going to join the Order?” Ginny asks excitedly.

Before Y/N has a chance to respond Remus chuckles. “Of course not, she’s still in school. That’s the rule, no underage wizards and no wizards that are still in school.”

“That’s not the Order’s rule,” Y/N points out as she frowns. “That’s Molly’s rule for Fred and George. I no longer have the trace and I can do magic outside of school. Therefore, I’m joining the Order.”

Remus gives her a look. “Even so we talked about this at the beginning of summer. I said no, end of story.”

Y/N puts her fork down. “No, not end of story. I was 16 at the beginning of summer, now I’m 17. I can make my own choices. And besides, Sirius said it was okay.”

“Sirius’ opinion has no bearing on the matter. I told you that you’re too young to join the Order and that’s final,” Remus scolds.

“And why does my opinion have no bearing, Remus?” Sirius asks firmly. “Last I checked Y/N is my daughter, not yours.”

The air in the room is tense, and everyone looks around, trying not to pay too much attention to the exchange between Sirius and Remus.

“She might as well be. It’s not like I haven’t sacrificed the past 15 years of my life to raise her or anything since you got yourself tossed in Azkaban,” Remus responds coldly.

Y/N stands up suddenly and everyone turns to look at her. “Sorry that I was such a burden on your life, Remus. No need to worry, I’m 17 now and I can take care of myself. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any longer.”

With that Y/N turns on her heel and stomps out of the kitchen, a few stray tears streaming down her face.

“Go away,” Y/N shouts at whoever is knocking at her door. She’s lying on her side in bed, her body curled around a pillow that she’s hugging to her chest.

“Please let me in, Y/N,” Fred pleads.

Y/N sits up and wipes away the few stray tears still running down her cheeks. With a wave of her wand the door unlocks. “Fine, come in.”

Fred pushes the door open and slowly comes in, one hand behind his back. He bites his lip as shuts the door behind him, his eyes focused on Y/N. “Are you alright?” he asks softly as he takes a seat down next to her.

“Do I look alright?” she asks, gesturing towards her disheveled appearance.

Fred smiles at her. “I dunno, you look just as beautiful as you always do”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better,” she says lamely, lightly shoving Fred’s shoulder.

“As if,” Fred scoffs. “You always look beautiful to me, Y/N. Even after you dove headfirst into that snowbank while sledding 2nd year.”

Y/N glares at Fred, but she can’t help but smile as well. “Okay fine, I’m smiling. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Fred teases with a wink. He pauses, reaching out to grab Y/N’s hand with his free one. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice serious. “That was, something back there.”

Y/N shrugs, squeezing Fred’s hand. “I always forget how young Remus was when I fell into his lap. I mean he was only 4 years older than we are now and suddenly he was responsible for a toddler than wasn’t even his. I know he gave up a lot to take care of me but hearing him say it like that,” Y/N’s voice cracks as tears well up in her eyes again. “It makes me feel, I dunno, bad. Like a burden.”

“Hey, now, I’ll have none of that,” he says softly, wiping away the few tears that stream down her cheeks. “First of all, you have nothing to feel bad about. It’s not your fault that Remus chose to bring you up. And second of all, honestly, love I don’t think he meant a word of what he said. He looked so awful after you left, he was really broken up about it.”

Y/N sniffles. “Really?” When Fred nods she takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have pushed it either. I was kind of being a brat,” she admits, sticking her tongue out at Fred when he nods in agreement. “I should go apologize.”

Y/N moves to get up, but Fred tightens his grip on her hand. “Wait, not yet.”

“What now?” Y/N groans, squeezing his hand back to let him know she’s only kidding.

“I know it’s a little too early for presents but,” he says as his other hands comes from behind his back. There’s a medium sized black box in his hand, with a big red bow right in the middle. “I can’t wait any longer to give it to you and I figured it’d make you feel better.”

“Fred,” Y/N gasps, a pink blush appearing on her cheeks to match the one on Fred’s. “I told you just to get me a chocolate frog.”

“And I told you I was going to get you something special,” he responds cheekily. He pushes the box into her hand. “Open it.”

Y/N releases Fred hand so she can open the box, her eyes not leaving his. When Fred gives her a nod of encouragement she looks down at the box, a small gasp leaving her lips. “Oh Fred.”

Inside the box is a delicate silver chain, with a silver charm in the shape of an F hanging from it. Y/N’s fingers ghost over the chain lightly, trying to find the right words to express how much she loves it. Emotions are bubbling up in her mouth, threatening to spill out everywhere and her heart is fluttering in her chest.

“Do you like it?” Fred asks nervously.

“Like it?” Y/N asks as she looks back up at Fred. “I love it Fred, it’s gorgeous. It was worth all the thinking you put into it, it’s perfect.”

Fred smiles at Y/N. “Well I settled on this particular piece of jewelry because I was able to get a matching one pretty easily.” Y/N gives Fred a look of confusion, and he chuckles as he reaches a hand into the collar of his shirt. He pulls out a necklace that looks identical to the one in Y/N’s hand, but the charm that hangs off of it is the first letter of her name.

“I charmed them, so when you touch the F on your necklace, the letter on mine warms up and when I touch the letter on mine, the F on yours does the same. That way whenever I’m thinking of you or you’re thinking of me, we can touch our charms and let the other know,” he explains softly.

“Fred that,” Y/N swallows thickly. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Fred clears his throat and grabs Y/N’s hand again. “It’s looking more and more like George and I aren’t going to be completing our final year at Hogwarts.” Y/N goes to say something, but Fred puts a hand up to stop her. “With the money that we made last year and the money that Harry gave us from the Triwizard tournament we were able to rent out a place in Diagon Alley. We’re still gonna start the year, it’ll give us time to test our products and start to build up a customer base, but we already decided that we’re not going to finish the year.”

Fred releases Y/N’s hand so he can cup her cheek instead. “And I can’t leave you there at Hogwarts without there being some way for me to tell you when I’m thinking of you. Because Y/N you are constantly on my mind. You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night. You’re my everything. You’re my voice of reason, you’re my source of comfort, you’re my best friend and,” Fred pauses, taking a deep breath. “And you’re the love of my life.”

“Fred,” Y/N breaths.

Y/N is so overwhelmed with emotion that she can’t find the words to express everything that Fred means to her, so she does the next best thing. Y/N tentatively leans forward and lightly brushes her lips against Fred’s. Taking the hint, Fred presses their lips together in a heated kiss. Their lips move together softly, and when Fred pulls away Y/N feels lightheaded.

“I love you,” she whispers softly, kissing Fred again briefly. “At some point you became so much more than my best friend and I tried to deny it for so long, in case you didn’t feel the same. But Merlin, Fred. I am stupid, stupid in love with you.”

Fred chuckles and presses a peck to Y/N’s lips. “Thank Merlin George was right, otherwise I would have just mucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Fred pauses, taking the necklace out of its’ box. “Just don’t tell him I said that.”

“And give him the satisfaction of being right? Never,” she says with a chuckle. Y/N moves her hair out of the way so Fred can clasp the necklace around her neck. The chain is cold, and it sends a shiver down her spine. “Well, let’s see if it works then.”

“Do you doubt my abilities?” Fred teases.

As Fred grabs a hold the charm on his necklace, the F on Y/N’s starts to warm up, causing goosebumps to pop up on her chest. “Not in the slightest,” she assures, grabbing a hold of the F. Fred leans forward and presses their lips together again, both of them still desperately dripping their charms.

“To be honest with you,” George says from the doorway, looking up at Remus and Sirius. “I don’t think she’s thinking about what happened at breakfast.

Y/N and Fred laugh into each other’s mouths as Y/N fumbles around for her wand. With a wave the door slams shut. “Oh yea, there are definitely perks to being 17,” she says, pulling away from Fred’s mouth. When Fred gives her a questioning look she waves her wand again.

“What did you just cast?” he asks, allowing Y/N to pull him on top of her as she lays back on her bed.

She grins up at him, her hands gripping his neck. “A silencing charm.”

Fred presses their lips together hotly, thinking of all the non-platonic things he wants to do to Y/N.

#Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fluff #Fred Weasley fanfiction #Fred Weasley fic #Fred Weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #fw #golden

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kindahoping4forever · 3 years

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I Want Your Midnights // Ashton Irwin

Happy 2021 everyone! Thank you to everyone who feverishly (yet politely) requested a follow-up to Under The Christmas Lights; those holiday fics were really fun but kind of a lark and I didn’t expect that any of them would get that kind of reaction! I hope this continuation lives up to your expectations.

Big, big thanks to @cal-puddies for setting me back on the right path more than once while I was writing this - I honestly gave up about halfway through and she (lovingly) refused to let me give up so if you enjoy reading this, it’s because of her tbh.

Warnings: Equal parts fluff, banter and smut, mentions of quarantine, frantic resolution of sexual tension, protected sex within a new relationship, references to consensual voyeurism, masturbation and oral sex on a male, oral sex performed on a female, discussion of and use of sex toys, single joking use of the word “Daddy”

Word Count: 5675

Hoe For The Hoe-lidays Masterlist

Masterlist // Taglist and Ko-Fi linked above

Let me know what you think!

11:29pm, December 30

“So we really overestimated our self-control skills tonight, didn’t we?”

Ashton laughs raspily at your comment, the sound travelling from your phone speaker straight down your spine, giving you chills. You prop your head up on your pillow, gazing towards the direction of your window, towards his bedroom window, a sight you’d become quite accustomed to these past few nights.

You’ve talked to Ash everyday since your feelings for each other became obvious and ever since your Christmas encounter when your intentions for those feelings became explicit, you’ve spent your nights engaging in some sort of mutual self-pleasure either via text, phone call or window watching.

Tomorrow the quarantine you both agreed to will be over and you'll safely celebrate New Year's Eve together; earlier, the two of you decided you should forgo your nightly socially distanced rendezvous in the interest of building anticipation for your imminent in-person one. But you were already in bed when Ashton called to ask if there was anything he should bring tomorrow and one suggestive comment led to another and before you knew it, your hand was between your legs yet again.

“It’s my fault, I asked what kind of chips you wanted me to bring, I should’ve known that would get you hot and bothered,” he jokes, the sound of him pulling tissues from the box on his nightstand now a familiar tune to your ears.

“Pretty goddamn slutty of you, honestly,” you laugh giddily.

“Can’t imagine what you would’ve done had I asked if I could bring soda as well,” he cracks himself up.

You giggle, “Ohhh, listen, if you talk Dr. Pepper to me, I’ll have no choice but to break quarantine and have my way with you right now.”

“Explain how that’s supposed to deter me from the subject,” he teases. You hear his sheets rustling and know he’s settling back into bed. He exhales loudly before admitting, “I’m nervous for tomorrow.”

"Aww, why? It’s just me… just us.”

Ashton is quiet for a beat before answering. “I think part of it is it’s been a long time since I’ve had something to look forward to,” he ponders. “But also… I can’t remember the last time I wanted something… someone… this badly.”

Your heart feels like it skips a beat, like it always seems to around him, since the day you moved in over a year ago. “It’s gonna be good, Ash,” you quietly reassure him, reassure yourself. “We’re gonna be so good.”

10:45am, December 31

You wash your breakfast dishes in record time, focused on all you need to do to finish your work day and get ready for tonight; it’s only when you’re drying your hands that you mindlessly glance up and notice the sight before you.

You look up just as Ashton, midway through his daily workout, is reaching to peel off his white tee that’s mostly soaked through; you find yourself staring as his muscles flex, tighten and relax again as he pulls the material off his body and then uses the discarded shirt to wipe the sweat running down his chest and neck.

He takes a swig from his water bottle before he starts up again and you hear yourself audibly gulp as he bends and stretches, giving you the opportunity to admire his ass and thick thighs in his athletic leggings. You watch his body and lose yourself in thoughts of him hovering above you, moving over you the way he's moving over his mat on the deck.

The alarm on your phone set to remind you to clock back into work snaps you out of your lusty daze. You silence the noise and then quietly cackle to yourself as you type out a text to Ash: “Watching you stretch is really making me look forward to the stretch I’ll be feeling tonight.”

You hang by the window, waiting to see his reaction. He reads your message and a self-satisfied smirk spreads across his face; he looks towards your kitchen, hoping to catch a glimpse of you in all your surely flushed glory, but you’re already gone.

4:07pm, December 31

Despite your mind's best efforts to distract you with wild thoughts about tonight, your work day finally ends and you head upstairs to get dressed. You stand in front of your closet, weighing your wardrobe options when your phone's text chime sounds out.

You scoop it off the bed, clicking on a message from Ashton reading, "If you need suggestions, you could wear your green dress… I’ve been thinking about taking that off of you for a while now.”

You shake your head at how instantly your heart speeds up once that image is in your mind. You bound over to the window to find him standing in front of his, waving with a cheeky grin on his face. You greet him by holding up the dress he mentioned in one hand and your middle finger in the other. “No spoilers” is your texted reply as you pull your curtains closed for the first time in weeks.

5:10pm, December 31

The doorbell rings and you’re shocked you can hear it over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears; you make yourself count to ten before you answer it. You take a deep breath and turn the knob, opening the door to reveal Ash beaming at you excitedly; one look at him and you feel any nerves that were nagging at you dissipate.

“Hey neighbor,” he greets you with a chuckle.

It takes you a beat before you realize you can reply with more than the shy wave you’re used to and you step forward to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. You breathe him in, grateful to finally decipher the scent you’ve caught occasional wafts of over the fence and have spent so long trying to pin down. It’s sweet, spicy, woodsy and fruity all at once; you can’t wait to have it all over you by the end of the night.

You pull back to study him, it’s the first time you’ve really gotten to look at him up close and he’s stunning. You never noticed his dark hair was dyed but now you see the light roots at his hairline, softening his face; some stray curls have fallen out of place and you sweep them aside, revealing the laugh lines crinkling around his eyes as he smiles at you. His eyes are deep pools of hazel you already feel yourself drowning in and his cheeks are much rounder than you realized, growing bigger the more he grins at you. His lips… well… his lips look soft and shapely and suddenly you feel like you might die if you don’t taste them this instant.

You place your hands on either side of his face, running your thumbs over his beard before closing the gap and pressing your mouth to his. It’s everything and nothing like you’d imagined your first kiss would be: soft, slow, cautious yet undeniably heated. You feel his tongue slide over your bottom lip and you allow him to deepen the kiss; he murmurs as your tongue connects with his for the first time and he pulls away to check in with you.

You offer him a sweet smile that quickly turns into something more frisky. “I think we can do better than that, we’ve spent the past week listening to each other cum,” you tease.

Ashton smirks at you, stepping inside; in one swift motion, he kicks the door shut behind him and scoops you in his arms, backing you up against it, lips crashing into yours. Suddenly it’s like your mouths can’t move fast enough, feverishly trying to make up for lost time. You kiss him like you’re trying to commit his taste to memory and maybe you are.

He breaks away to mouth over your neck, immediately licking and kissing over the parts of your skin his beard scratched moments before; you run your hands through his curls, marveling at the fact that’s something you’re allowed to do now. His mouth ends up sucking over a spot behind your ear that’s such a specific turn on for you, your mind races to remember if you told him that during one of your phone sessions or if he just knew. He bites down a little and you cry out, pushing him back, ready for more.

You slot your lips with his again, already missing his taste on your tongue. You walk him backwards as you kiss, trying desperately to lead him to the nearest surface, any surface where you can get him between your legs.

You make it to your desk at the other end of the living room and you thank your past self for taking the time to put away your work from earlier, although it would’ve been fun to see Ash do the cliché “impassioned arm sweep” to clear it. You hop up on the edge and spread your legs, pulling him close, needing as much of him on you as possible.

Ash groans when your hips move against his and you grin at the feeling of his cock straining against his pants, brushing over your clothed heat. “Hard for me already, eh?” You tease, biting at his lower lip.

He gives a lighthearted scoff. “Please, I’ve been hard for you since I saw you in this dress through the window before I walked over here,” he rasps, gliding his hands up and down your body in the form-fitting outfit to illustrate his point. “You look incredible, by the way.”

You rut against him again and you both moan. “God, I can’t wait any longer, Ash, I need you,” you rush out, breathless.

“Yeah?” He checks, looking over your face, noting the desperation in your eyes. “I have a - ”

“Yeah, please, Ash, fuck,” you pant, out of your mind with desire.

He kisses you hurriedly as his hands skillfully slide under your dress and tug your panties down your legs, setting them aside; he reaches to retrieve a condom out of his coat pocket. It briefly crosses your mind how absurd it is that he’s still wearing his coat and you’re about to move to help him out of it but then he’s pulling his cock out and you can’t focus on anything other than getting your hands on him.

You give him a feather light squeeze before starting an agonizingly slow rhythm on his shaft and reaching down to cup his balls like you’ve seen him do; he’s as thick and heavy in your hand as you imagined and you feel yourself becoming wetter with every stroke. He brushes your hands aside so he can roll the condom on and you capture his lips in a lusty kiss because you’re not sure what else to do.

One of Ashton’s hands cradles your head as you kiss him, the other trails between your thighs and starts teasing your clit; he murmurs into your mouth when he feels how wet you are, how after just a few touches, you’re already rocking into his hand. He breaks the kiss to push your skirt up over your waist so you can both watch as he lines himself up at your entrance. He glances at you and with your eager nod of approval, he starts pushing in.

You inhale sharply at the sensation and he pauses, eyes darting up to yours. “No, it’s good, more,” you insist, hooking your legs around his waist. He continues to slide in and you feel your eyes roll back, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. It's obviously been a while since you've had anyone inside you but the fact that it's Ash and the size of him… what a way to get back in the game.

He groans as he starts moving in you, slowly at first, eyes trained on your face to make sure you’re comfortable. You pull him into a kiss that’s all tongue, tangling your hands in his hair, needing to feel as much of him as you can in this moment. You've started moving along with him, your body asking for more, so he carefully lays you back on the desk, gripping onto your thighs so he can ramp up his pace.

The sound of his hips hitting yours, your clothes rustling together and your intertwined grunts and moans of encouragement for each other fill the living room. He lets go of one of your legs so he can move his hand back down to your clit and as he rubs circles on it, you curse under your breath, stunned you already feel as undone as you do.

"I'm already close," you whisper, gripping his arm as he leans in, bracing himself on his hands on either side of you.

"First of many tonight," he smirks, trying to maintain his sexy cool demeanor but failing as you both burst into giggles at his remark. He lightly encourages you, "Tell me what you need."

You squeeze your clothed breasts and use your legs to bring him even closer to you. "Hard. Just. Hard," you pant.

Ash growls, grabbing your legs again, pushing them up towards your chest, fingers digging into your skin as he thrusts with force. You cry out at his renewed vigor, at the change in angle making him somehow feel even thicker and longer inside you. You bring your hand to your clit and it only takes a few seconds of pressure for your breath to catch and your body to start shaking.

"Ash… fuckfuckfuckfuck oh my god," you breathe, pawing at the collar of his coat, your back arching up off the desk as your orgasm crests.

You're not sure if he was holding off waiting for you to finish or if the intensity of your body climaxing around him does him in but Ashton follows you over the edge less than a minute later. He gasps your name as he cums like you've heard him do many times over the phone but hearing him say it as he hovers above you, knowing your pussy is the reason for his pleasure is a different experience entirely.

He collapses on you briefly and you revel in the tactile experience: his lips pressing gently against your neck as he comes down, the texture of his wool coat under your fingertips as you rub his back, the unexpectedly satisfying scratch of his beard on your skin.

Ashton's lips travel back up to yours in an unhurried, relaxed kiss before he pushes himself back over you, joking, "We've really got to work on that impulse control thing, don't we?"

7:52pm, December 31

The two of you enjoyed a nice dinner comprised of delicious food and compatible conversation; you’ve talked a lot over the past few weeks but being able to finally be so close, being able to touch his arm when he says something sweet, feel his laughter vibrate the wood of your table - there’s an air of normalcy and domesticity that wasn’t there before. It’s nice, almost like there aren’t strange global circumstances that led to this evening, like you haven’t been basically dating from a distance.

You stand up to clear the table and when you reach for his plate, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his lap, hugging you tight and thanking you for inviting him over. He helps you carry the dishes to the kitchen because of course he does and when he stands at the sink to rinse them, you wrap your arms around his waist and press your face into his back, because that’s something you've always wanted to do.

You move to the living room, coffee mugs in hand but they’re soon forgotten with the return of Ash’s lips to your neck and your hands in his hair. You’re not in the hurry that you were earlier so everything feels much more relaxed; you’re able to appreciate the little things more, like the way he hums into your kiss when you brush his hair behind his ears, the quick pecks he sneaks in as he’s pulling out of a long liplock with you.

He finally undresses you, laying you gently on the couch in your underwear. “For someone who said they’d been waiting to get me out of that dress, sure took you a while,” you tease, gasping as his hands massage your breasts through the lace you’re wearing and his mouth peppers kisses over your stomach.

“Looked too good, wanted to enjoy it a little longer,” he smoothly replies, hooking his thumbs in your panties, glancing up at you to make sure it’s okay for him to continue. You nod, lifting your hips to aid the process. He kisses his way back up your legs, beard dragging across your skin, murmuring, “Something else I’ve waited too long to do…” before pressing a series of wet kisses directly over your clit.

You squirm against his face, eager for him to get into it but Ashton seems determined to take his time, slowly teasing up and down your lips, moving over to nip at your thighs and then returning to your pussy, tongue lavishing attention everywhere except where you want him most.

You’re just about to speak up when his fingers spread your lips apart and his tongue starts fluttering at your clit, causing you to suck in a breath instead. “God, Ash, yes, like that,” you encourage, fighting to keep your eyes open so you can watch him work. It feels so much better, looks so much more erotic than you ever could’ve imagined.

His mouth remains attached as he slips a finger inside you; the way your hips start grinding against him tells him when you’re ready for another and you moan as his tongue and fingers find an alternating rhythm to please you.

You paw at your tits, pinching your nipples through your bra as he works you. He pulls off to catch his breath, pushing himself up near your face to check in. “This working for you?” He asks, panting.

You affectionately swipe over what you thought was sweat on his beard, groaning at the realization it’s actually moisture courtesy of you. “Are you fucking kidding me, dude?” You laugh. “The other night I came thinking about you doing this and it’s already better than both the fantasy and the toy I used.”

He grins with pride. “Good,” he winks at you before diving back in.

Ashton eats your pussy with confidence, attentively listening to your sounds to determine what you like best. It’s when he sets one of your legs over his shoulder, angling your hips up slightly, that you start sounding really desperate and he smirks to himself. “Aww, ready to cum already? I was just getting started,” he taunts playfully.

You let out a guttural moan at his remark, gripping his hair a little bit rougher, holding him to your body a little bit tighter. He grabs on to your hips as they try to speed up and you murmur incoherent praise as you cum on his tongue.

He continues to lick at you, cleaning you until you push him away, clamping your legs shut. He massages over your thighs tenderly before moving up to kiss you. With a twinkle in his eye, he asks, “So what other fantasies of yours can we best while I'm here?”

9:24pm, December 31

After an enthusiastic but quicker than either of you would’ve preferred blowjob on the couch, you and Ash end up back in the kitchen, ready for a snack. You giggle to yourself as you stand in just his shirt, digging through your kitchen junk drawer, searching for a rubber band to help grip the jar of nacho sauce neither of you seem to be able to open.

“It’s not funny, how humiliating that I’m showing such weakness on our first date,” he jokes through gritted teeth, trying his hardest to turn the lid.

You grin, enjoying the show of Ashton clad only in his boxers, pouting as he loses the battle against a jar of cheese sauce. “Yes, you’ve fed me, done my dishes and made me cum twice since you’ve been here but I clearly still need you to prove your worth as a mate to me,” you smirk, passing him the rubber band you discovered. “Although I have to say, if you want to keep trying to open that yourself, I don’t hate watching those tattoos dance while you struggle.”

He laughs sarcastically as he fits the band over the lid and effortlessly pops it open seconds later. “Easy, I don’t know why you were so worried,” he giggles loudly before he even finishes his sentence.

He begins pouring the cheese over the chips you set out and you slide yourself under his free arm, fitting easily into his side. “New Year’s resolution, you clearly need to work on your upper body strength,” you tease, playfully biting at his shapely bicep.

He snorts, smiling as he passes you the plate of food to put in the microwave. He leans against the counter, observing you fondly while he wonders out loud, “Are you a New Year’s resolutions person?”

You move to get the other toppings out of the fridge; you stop and think before passing him the goods. “I mean, I’ll make them but I never really follow through. It’s like after the first week or so it just kind of slips my mind... maybe I’m making the wrong resolutions, I guess.” You shrug, setting the heated plate on the counter. “You?”

Ash shakes his head, hopping up on the counter so he can easily look at you and dress the nachos at the same time. “I never really understood why the calendar resetting is supposed to be this all-powerful impetus for change. If you want to do something, you should just do it no matter what the date is,” he says passionately, with furrowed brow.

You nod, pouring two glasses of soda. “It’s important to make goals but the rigidity of a resolution kind of just chains you to one thing when the whole point of a new year is that you don’t know what it will bring," you point out. "I think that's what's slipped me up before. Instead of saying 'I'll work out five days a week' I should be saying 'I want to live healthier.' It shouldn't be about the thing, it should be about the change you want to see."

You notice he's gone quiet and you look up at him inquisitively. You find him gazing at you, enchanted. "I agree," he reassures you. "I was just enjoying hearing you talk about it."

You feel your cheeks get warm and you pause to take a sip to collect yourself. "What I do like about New Year’s is the opportunity to reflect on the year you’ve had and let that inform what your next year will be like," you share. "So. What's one thing you didn't do this year that you wish you had? And not something because of quarantine, that's a copout."

Ashton doesn't hesitate to say, "I wish I had gotten to know you sooner."

10:53pm, December 31

You chuckle at Ash's wide-eyed interest, “No, I haven’t used that one to get off with you yet.” You take the thick blue dildo from his hands and smack it on the headboard of your bed, yanking on it to demonstrate the suction cup. “It’s more of a shower toy… or sometimes I’ll stick it to one of my chairs and ride it.”

His cock twitches with interest and he absentmindedly gives it a subtle squeeze. “Well we’re gonna put a pin in that, I guess,” he mutters, peering back into the drawer. “Also I like that you said ‘yet.’”

You smile widely at him, enjoying his enthusiasm. You’d finally made it to bed and were getting ready to ride him but when you opened your bedside table to grab a condom, your toy collection caught his attention and curiosity took over; you’ve spent the last five minutes watching him eye your toys, eagerly asking which ones you’ve used during your phone conversations with him.

He jumps as a pink contraption he doesn’t recognize starts to rumble out of his grasp with the push of a button. You giggle and reach over, unfolding it, placing the top portion of it over the back of his hand. “I used this one last night,” you admit, clicking the second button, watching his jaw drop as he feels the toy start lightly sucking at his skin.

“You’ve definitely had a much more fun quarantine than me,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief as he turns up the settings of the vibe. “What do you even need me here for?”

“You’re a lot nicer to talk to,” you say sweetly, leaning in to give him a playful kiss.

“I also would’ve accepted ‘your cock is much bigger, Daddy,’” Ash deadpans. He waits a beat before bursting into loud laughter, clarifying, “I’m totally kidding.”

“Well we’re gonna put a pin in that, I guess,” you tease, reaching down to lightly give him a few strokes. “Although I don’t know if I can say that first part, you haven’t seen my other drawer… I’m totally kidding.”

He scoffs, kissing you hard, placing his hands on either side of your ass and moving you closer to him. ”What’d you do with that condom?”

You pat around the bed for a few seconds, triumphantly holding up the stray package you found lost in the sheets. You roll the condom on him while he continues rifling through your belongings. “This is cute,” he declares, rolling a purple bullet vibe across his fingers. “And tiny. We could probably use this right now, huh?”

You raise your eyebrows, surprised but impressed at his openness. “Yeah, if you want, that’d actually be great,” you agree.

He beams at you, tossing you the vibrator while he settles back against the pillows; you set it aside and sling your leg over him, leaning in to kiss him thoroughly. You lean your forehead against his as you line yourself up over his cock and start rolling your hips back and forth, teasing the both of you by running your pussy over him; you watch him bite his lip, not sure whether to cry out from pleasure or object in frustration. Finally, you reach to guide him inside you. You take him a little easier than last time but the stretch is still deliciously intense and Ash can see it on your face. He plays with your tits while you adjust, watching you closely to see what you like.

You eventually start moving, lightly bracing yourself on his chest as you get going; you set a moderate speed, eager to let him fill you but cautious of trying to pace yourself, trying to pay attention to what he seems to respond to. You switch from rocking to a bouncing motion after a couple minutes and his hands move to squeeze your hips, helping you along; you notice his eyes haven’t left your breasts since you started moving like this and you whimper, running your hands down your front, stopping to pinch and play as needed.

Ashton's hands soon replace yours again and you arch your back, allowing him easier access. He gives a low groan, you’re giving him such a show, he’s not sure where to look. You’re leaned back and bracing yourself on his thighs, hard nipples jutting out, begging for attention; you expertly work your bodies together and he finds himself hypnotized watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again.

You love how he’s staring at you; it’s making you feel wanted and bold and you decide to tease him a little. “Working so hard to take all this cock, does it look as good as it feels?” You murmur, lifting yourself off almost entirely and then sliding back down on him with ease. “You like watching me fuck you?”

A growl escapes his lips and his hands roam your body wildly. “Doing so good… look so fucking good riding me,” he says, voice rasping with desire. “Better than I ever imagined.”

He feels the overwhelming need to make you moan for him and he sneaks his hand between your folds; you jolt at the contact, letting out a yelp and he smiles at his victory. He reaches over and grabs the vibe, tapping your leg to ask if you’re ready. You answer with a breathy “uh-huh” as you continue riding him.

He clicks the button, setting it to the lowest speed and presses it to your clit to gauge your reaction; you shift your rhythm, slowing to allow yourself to feel the new stimulation. You lick your lips, mumbling, “Oh, that’s nice,” as you grasp his hand to move the toy over just a bit until you’re moaning outright.

Ash holds the vibe on you for a bit longer until you sit up to change position. After a short spell of trial and error, he slips the bullet between your bodies and you help him once again fit it against you until it’s giving you the kind of stimulation you need. You roll your hips a few times, testing the setup and within seconds you’re whining, his cock hitting inside you in just the right place and the vibrations making you squirm above him.

He runs his hands up and down your thighs, watching you work yourself on him, using his body and your vibrator to build your climax; he gently rocks up into you, not wanting to disrupt you but between your movements and the stray buzzing of your bullet, he’s starting to become overwhelmed himself.

“Ash! Fuck… good… fuck,” you mutter, falling forward, place your arms on either side of his head to prop yourself up as you keep fucking him. “Close. God, I’m so close. Please.”

He recognizes that tone of desperation in your voice and knows just what to say to help you over the edge. “Fuckin’ me so good… ‘bout to make me cum for you… need to feel you cum around me first,” he wraps his arms around your back, panting in your ear. “Come on, baby, you deserve it.”

Your breathing speeds up and you whine his name as you start to pulse around him, losing your rhythm, clawing at his shoulders. He holds you as you cum, riding it out until you can’t take it anymore and you reach between you, throwing the vibrator across the bed, not even bothering to shut it off.

Ashton chuckles softly at your frenzied action and notices what looks like a wince as you rock yourself lightly on him. “Hey, I can finish another way if this is too much for you,” he offers.

You shake your head vigorously. “No, it still feels good,” you tell him insistently. “I’m just tired. Maybe you could…”

He gathers your meaning and pulls you down into a sloppy kiss before you move your mouth to his neck, slowly sucking to leave a mark, humming as his beard scrapes your skin; he grips your ass tightly with both hands and starts fucking up into you. He begins cautiously, wanting to make sure you’re still feeling good and as the noises pouring from your lips reassure him that you are, he increases his speed, thrusting up with force.

Your moans blend together in perfect harmony until yours trail off as you lose your breath; before you know what’s happening, you feel yourself cumming again and hard. You bury your face in Ash’s neck, hands tugging roughly at his hair. Feeling you squeeze around him again and with such intensity is enough to set him off and with a few loud grunts, he’s filling the condom.

He sighs deeply, rubbing your back as the two of you come down; your breathing falls into a synchronized rhythm and you bask in how nice it feels just to lay with him for a minute.

"Well that was something," he comments, pecking the top of your head as he helps you off of him, laying you on your pillow.

You quickly pull him back in, planting a quick kiss on his lips before he gets out of bed. "No, you are," you coo.

12:39am, January 1

"Ash… Ash… we missed it," you laugh softly, pressing kissing along his collarbones until his eyes flutter open.

"Huh?"

"We fell asleep and missed midnight," you explain with an amused smile. "Happy New Year."

He lifts his head up, looking around the room in confusion. After you’d both cleaned up, you climbed back in bed, intending to relax and chat until it was time to watch the midnight countdown on TV. Evidently, once the cuddles started, exhaustion from the night's activities overtook you both and you awoke to the sound of fireworks going off in the neighborhood.

"Oh," he frowns, rolling on his side to face you. "Well. Happy New Year." He leans in and gives you a soft kiss that easily could turn into more but you pull back, wanting to say something.

You run your hand up and down his side and say, "I'm glad we did this." He raises an eyebrow, smirking at you and you playfully pinch his arm. "You know what I mean. I'm glad you came over. I'm glad you're here."

Ashton's face softens and he scoots closer to you, placing his head next to you on your pillow. "Me too," he responds sincerely. "Sorry we missed midnight though, wanted to kiss you."

“Well lucky for us, we’ll get another midnight in about 23 hours,” you grin, reaching over to scratch his beard.

He slips his hand around your waist, pulling you to his lips. He murmurs against your mouth, “Do over at my place? It’s a date.”

————-

Taglist issues again so my apologies if you get notif’d more than once (or not at all)

@mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @loveroflrh @ghostofmashton @sexgodashton @feliznavidaddycal

@castaway-cashton @ashtonlftv @cashtonasfuck @megz1985 @ashdork-irwin @angelicfluffs @findingliam-o @youngbloodchild @irwinsbetch @everyscarisahealingplace

@wiildflower-xxx @metalandboybands @realisticnotes @makeamovehemmings @golden166 @burstintocolor

@mfartzzz @babyoria @petunias-pet @youngblood199456 @notinthesameguey @seanna313 @zhangyixingxing1 @stardust-galaxies @zackoid

@lovelybonesetc @xsongxbirdx @justhereforcalum @ashtonangst

@laura66sos @calumrose @karajaynetoday @pilunb @jazzyangel242 @babylon-corgis @heyheyhaleyd @calmsweetcreature

@spicycal @talkfastromance4 @holystxne

@meetmedowntown @myloverboyash

@irwindoll @cheekysos @carrielfisher @lukedorkyhemmings @creampiecashton @lovelywordsblog

@trix-arent-for-kids @uh-huhh-honey @tobefalling @aladyofalbion @likehuhdude

@curlycalums @cxddlyash @reddesert-healourblues

@fedorable-killjoys @iamcalumswhore @i-like-5sos

@millennial-teenybopper

@Too-et-moi215 @photochic18 @kouska901 @Indermeow @dantord

#5sos smut #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin fic #ashton smut #smut #Kindahoping4forever #kh4f fic #under the christmas lights #i want your midnights #Cass and Crystal present: hoe for the hoelidays #Feedback is appreciated #Thanks again to everyone who encouraged me to write this - it was fun!#Here's to another new year of clowning lmao

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Life bites

Pairing: Oz x fem!werewolf!reader

Request: Oz? YES PLEASE! how about agirl who's also a werewolf, but sdhe hates her condition and is always shying away from others, that is until our sweet guy finds out and does all he can to help help and... feelings involved ;)

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Discussion and feelings of shame/guilt. Being a werewolf is described as being traumatic for the reader.

You hated the moon. Despised it. Cursed and swore blindly at it whenever you had the chance, or the ability to speak as it rose.

You were a werewolf. Not by choice. Although, you would be hard pressed to find someone who had become a werewolf by choice. You had been bitten one evening, you had been out later than your curfew.

You blamed yourself for being out so late. For looking biteable and easy to take on without a fight. You were devastated when you realised.

When you kept waking up in strange places, your mind spinning with part memories. Snapshots of horrific mutilation and blood. God, there was so much blood. Thick and rusted into your matted fur. Now, in your hair once you returned to your human form.

You were sick of taking showers with the water running red. Having to see it again made you have to relive the carnal massacre your demon side would partake in. Your whole body had wracked with sobs, masked by the shower.

Your family hadn’t understood. Had said your personality had almost changed overnight. That you were so angry and they didn’t understand why. So emotional and insular. You couldn’t dare tell them.

They couldn’t know, couldn’t be subjected to the danger. To the misery that had taken up residence in your chest. So you left home, trying to protect them. Drew into yourself. Trying to hide the shame that you felt. The shame that came along with your identity.

You had isolated yourself, moved to a new place. Sunnydale, it was called. There was a pull in your gut, you had been driving aimlessly and you just knew in your mind, body and soul that you needed to go there. To this town. For whatever reason.

You didn’t usually believe in fate, but you hadn’t believed in werewolves until two months ago so who were you to disbelieve?

You had lost your friends, unable to make new ones. You were more reserved around people, worried that your condition would get worse and become permanent. That you could hurt people. Infect them just by meeting their eyes as they spoke.

You folded in on yourself further, trying to be really small. Not taking up much space in public. You wanted to hide under the radar. You wanted, more than anything, not to be a threat to these innocent people.

You barely left your house, barricading the doors and windows before every full moon. You didn’t know how else to protect the population from yourself. It wasn’t completely effective. Sometimes you woke up in fields again, having broken out of the barricades.

You always woke up to your house having been trashed beyond repair. You had used to clear and replace everything but after the fourth month you had just left it. You still had a bed and a working sofa, so you decided you would be okay. You preferred hurting inanimate objects than living beings. The library fines were worth it, you decided.

You found yourself praying, calling out to every known deity. Trying to bargain with them. Assure that people wouldn’t have to suffer at your hand. You did this every day now.

You had started to frequent a library. It had an occult section. There was quite a large amount on werewolves. You were trying to figure out a way to stop it. A way to understand your condition. To manage it the best that you could.

You usually took all of your books and headed home pretty quickly. And this was what you were doing as you cut across the parking lot to get to your car.

What you didn’t see, as you had been watching your feet as you hurried across the tarmac was a guy. A cute guy at that.

You bumped into him and dropped one of the books you had been clutching to your chest. He had seen you around but you never stuck around long enough for him to strike up a conversation.

“Sorry, here” He picked it up and offered the book, before scanning his eyes across the front of the copy he was handing back. He half smiled at the irony. Werewolves.

“Oh, th-thank you” You stuttered, not accustomed to doing more than speaking to shop clerks when you had no other way out of it.

“Any good?” He asked, gesturing at the book.

“Haven’t read it” You mumbled, before becoming more and more evidently embarrassed. Oz stared, trying to figure something out. He opened his mouth as if to say something but you just nodded your thanks again and awkwardly shuffled to your car.

He watched you speed out of the parking lot, thinking a moment. Before shaking his head and carrying on to the record store that was next to the library. He couldn’t stop thinking about you though. Your demeanour. Your nervousness. He sensed something in you. And now, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about you, despite not even knowing you.

He asked around, describing you but nobody recognised you. He frowned but he couldn’t forget your startled face. He had identified something in you, a similarity. Or something that spoke to him anyway.

All he knew was that he was supposed to talk to you. But he had more pressing issues himself as the full moon loomed. He had to prepare for his own transformation.

However you did bump into each other again, only this time as werewolves. Both of you had somehow managed to escape from your confines. As if it wasn’t only the moon calling that night. It was the promise of the other. Of that spark you had felt but pushed down when you met him the first time.

The night was fraught, you only had flashes of snarling and horror. Of blood and rage. Of a guiltless carnage that waited for you to awaken in your human form.

The one thing that he could cling to, the only glint of hope in an otherwise dreaded destiny was those eyes. When he woke up, he remembered them. They were the same eyes you had glanced in briefly when you bumped into each other in the parking lot.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you until he found you again. He had waited. Knowing you would probably be bringing your books back. And he was right, he saw you walking towards the library.

You had returned with only one of the several books you had left with and it was half torn up. Deep claw marks meaning that the library was never a free service to you. He knew, his hunch was right. Those eyes, he couldn’t pull his own away.

It had been troubling him, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. His heart ached for you, he saw how lost you looked. The panic in your eye when anybody came close to you.

“Hey, y/n, right?” He asked but you were trying to rush past him.

“I can’t stay”

“I thought maybe we could hang, there’s a great record store down by-” Oz wanted to speak to you, try to offer a hand. Some support. He had needed it when it was new to him.

“Really, that’s kind, but you don’t understand-” You stopped

“I understand more than you think” He tried to hint, looking at the ground before looking back into your eyes.

“You couldn’t possibly-”

“Full moon. The deer in the cemetery” He barely spoke above a whisper, he never really said much about his own feelings. His own guilt. Especially not to strangers. But he saw the way the shame bit so deep. The way that the only thought that replayed on your mind was horror. And pain.

The animalistic part of you scared you. You were lost. But the man in front of you, though appearing cool and disaffected on the surface – you could almost see into his soul. Through those eyes that shone, you saw him. You really saw him, the same wolf you had met the night prior. The meal you had shared before you ran through the streets. Leaving destruction in your wake.

You nodded. Unable to verbally confirm what you both knew. His words made you choke on a sob. Your hands moving to your face, your shoulders wracked with emotion. Tears welling and then streaming.

A hand slid along your back, soothing you despite him knowing you didn’t feel you deserved it. He saw the good in you. The way you kept going despite the weight around your neck. The heavy burden of guilt upon your back. You carried it around with you everywhere. It weighed you down. The only colour in your otherwise black and white world was red.

“Trust me” he murmured. But you could see that he was being sensitive to you, to the way he knew so intimately that you must be feeling. You nodded, a decision you would thank yourself for down the line.

He brought you back to his place. His tone was soothing and level despite what you were both discussing. You found yourself missing his touch from that slight touch of comfort you had received earlier. It was the most contact you had in such a long time.

When you were in his home, he spoke to you, explaining ways to cope. About letting people support you which was something he had always struggled with. He even mentioned things that he had researched and found out himself. About shutting yourself away, which you explained you already did at the expense of your entire house.

He saw you, truly saw you. In a way nobody ever had before. You were more human to him than anyone he had met and you sensed this from him. Together, to the onlooker you could just be a guy and a girl talking. Hanging out without a care in the world.

He shook his head at your admittance, concerned for you. For how wherever you looked in your home you must see the destructive part of your nature. Viewing yourself as a monster before a woman. He could almost feel your emotions as his own. You shakily shared experiences, ones you hadn’t dared to say out loud before. Spoke about other things, less serious.

You weren’t used to company, let alone speaking to people anymore. So that day you had been extremely emotional. Your voice dwindled into a hoarse whisper. But he knew about being quiet. Not having the words. He had been this way. Now he had grown to not mind what people thought.

You met him almost every week after this. Finally beginning to let someone in. You slowly got to know each other. In this time, his feelings for you blossomed. He even began to give you guitar lessons. Writing thoughts and lyrics together. He was giving you a way to express how you felt. You tried your best at it, it was very hard to verbalise how you felt. Which Oz got completely. As time went on, you mostly found yourself slowly looking forwards to this time spent with him.

One evening Oz called you out of the blue. He asked to meet you somewhere and you found yourself feeling something. That he wanted to spend more time with you. You couldn’t place it. But it was as if the pressure that you were so accustomed to was slowly dissipating.

You arrived and Oz showed you into the deserted room. It was a cage. Oz explained that him and his friend Xander had made it. Or, Xander had made it and Oz had claimed that he distanced himself creatively. In case you didn’t like it. It was sturdy and it matched his. So that you could be safe as well as everyone else in Sunnydale.

Your reaction was emotional. Of course you were grateful. This meant something to you. Oz was doing everything he could to tighten his grip on you. To pull you up from drowning in the guilt he was all too familiar with. You ran at him and hugged him. Tears shining in your eyes. You both almost overbalanced at the enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected this. You weren’t even sure where it had come from.

The first glimpse of something akin to hope. That you could carry on. That you could make sure no harm was inflicted by your hand. Or, sizeable canines.

You realised what you had done and pulled away. His complexion was tinged pink but he had embraced you with open arms. Neither of you said anything, but you both laughed a little under your breath. Smiling at the other.

You had never been this visibly happy. Your smile made your face light up. He wanted to see you smile much more often. He was about to tell you this, but Xander skidded in with an enthusiastic description of all the features the cage included. Oz went quiet and you both nodded along as Xander’s voice got more animated.

After a few months, you both agreed to wait out the full moon together. You were spending most of your free time together, discussing your thoughts. Emotions. Just sitting together comfortably. So, it made sense for this to be the next step in your relationship. Your cages were moved into the same abandoned warehouse space together. Sunnydale was full of spooky derelict buildings and people knew not to just wander into the one you had chosen.

You were monitored by his friends who were really very accepting of you. It was nice, being introduced to people that didn’t hate you for what you had gone through. People who would empathise and attempt to understand.

You and Oz had both started to grow closer and closer together. He was an incredibly considerate soul. He would do anything for you and he knew that you had a great affection for him.

He was going to ask you on a date, that wasn’t sitting side by side in a cage for the evening and passing the time that way. But for now, he was happy to spend this time with you.

Another month, another full moon. You and he were together again, looking at each other through the thick bars. You could communicate just through looking at each other now. Nonverbal communication made your silences always comfortable ones.

There was a level of intimacy in how relaxed you could both be together, even in this situation. Even waiting for the night to fall, a time where both of you felt so vulnerable. So concerned that something would go wrong with the cage. That you couldn’t contain it.

You reached for him through the bars wordlessly and he didn’t hesitate to move towards you. His hand stretching between the space. Your hands twisting like vines. Solidifying the nature of your connection. Of your unsaid feelings.

You could get through tonight, as you always did, together.

As your human forms disappeared, the wolves emerged. Pacing your cages. Longing to be together, whining that they couldn’t reach each other. Trying to escape, not just for the hunt. But for the touch of the other. As always happened.

When morning came and you could be unlocked, you went to get brunch together. It was the best part of the month, especially when you were safely caged away and nobody got hurt. You had an entire month stretching before you. You both became incredibly hungry in this period and the morning just appeared to glow with hope.

He had helped you want to live. Changed the bleak landscape of your existence into a sunny life you could actually imagine enjoying. Only with him.

You slid into your booth, the one by the window that you always did. He had helped you so much, but you hadn’t realised how much you had helped him. Today though, on this morning with the early morning sunlight filtering in, he told you. It came from the heart just like those lyrics he wrote so well. The ones he had played for you in those long afternoons you spent alone.

Your eyes shone and your voice was barely audible as you gushed about how much he meant to you. About your mutual adoration. Your words didn’t feel enough. You wanted to express all of these feelings you had for him in the same way he had so easily reeled off from his own heart. He had been nervous to reveal them, but you never would have guessed.

He smiled at the way you had opened up so much since you first met. He slid around the booth the sit beside you. His eyes moved between your eyes and your lips. He was nervous but your adoration for him shone through. You shared a knowing smile.

He leaned in and his lips brushed tenderly against yours. He never wanted to press you for more, just feel his wholehearted emotion. This one action said everything. He wanted you to be his. His girlfriend. You kissed back as his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your skull. Began to tangle softly into your hair. The kiss was so tender and sweet, you near melted into him. Your hand found his resting on the table as your lips moved against the other in such reverence. Your hand clasping his. You eventually reluctantly moved from this kiss. It made you feel like you were flying. As if you were walking on air. It meant hope. It meant him.

“Werewolves in love” He smiled, before landing a brief and incredibly soft kiss to your lips. He then slid back to his side of the booth as the waitress arrived with you food.

Neither of you could help smiling. The corners of his lips tugging into a smile that completely accentuated his features. He glowed. You were grinning across the table from him, unable to believe just how much your life could have changed for the better.

You were never going to be alone anymore. You had each other. You knew each other intimately.

#Oz #Daniel Osbourne #Oz x reader #Oz x you #Oz imagine #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #female reader #female #x reader #werewolf #werewolf reader #buffyverse

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zuzu-hotman · 4 years

Text

Ready To Love Pt.2 [[Zuko]]

Pairing: Zuko x Female!Reader

Warnings: More angst??? Dark-ish imagery?

A/N: Uh so I got asks for more??? I want you all to know most of my works are angst- but I live for good ends so dw (; I’ll link the first part after posting bc tungle is dumb. Anyways, probably gonna do a third cause there’s a bit more I want to do with this and I don’t want too much at once <3

Pt.1

“ Hᴇʏ, ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ?”

Seeing him again was like adding salt to deep wounds- rubbing the coarse grains deep into gashes, open and bleeding. You kind of hated that it hurt so bad- you were supposed to be over it. You were supposed to be completely done with him. With all remnants of him. His choice was clear- the truth was laid out bare for your eyes to see.

He was not who you thought he was. He was not the Zuko you knew in your mind- and maybe he never was.

No one who had once worn a kind smile could look like he did that day, right? There was no way someone like that could just... lose all sense of themselves? That look he held- the crazed fire in his eyes.. how those flames should have touched you- burned you. Perhaps Zuko was not as skilled as Azula. He didn’t bend the way she did, but that didn’t make him any less powerful. He had good aim- he knew you’d find it hard to even try to make an attack on him. He could’ve used that against you- it’s what Azula would have done.

You assumed that if he could so easily turn into Azula’s direction.. he’d be able to be as cruel as her. That he’d use your weakness to him against you. You felt the heat of his flames, you knew they could have scorched you. You weren’t that accustomed to fighting yet. For a long time you had suppressed your bending- scared of what it might bring you and what it meant for your future.

You came to regret that eventually. You could have told your parents- your Father could have shown you so much..

Fate was absolutely cruel- you firmly believed this now. She had no right to harm you like this- to drag you through the mud, already beaten down and tired.

She allowed him the chance to be in this group. You wanted to object, violently so. It wasn’t your place to though. Your personal ties to him had no place stopping him from teaching Aang about fire bending. The Avatar needed to know all four elements to bring balance. It was important to Aang’s journey and to putting an end to this long war.

That didn’t make you despise it any less. Hatred or anger- which was it you felt?

“Please talk to me..”

His quiet plea fell upon your ears in the dead of night, long after everyone else had retired to their own spaces. You had suspected he’d find his way to you soon- someway or somehow. With no one else around to bear witness. You hated how you froze in place- how all that anger just fizzled into nothing at the sound of him. So sad- so lonely. You were his only link to his former self, to who he should have become. A tiny string stuck on it’s last thin thread. You didn’t know that however. t’s not as if that was his only reason for reaching for you like this, and that you didn’t know of as well. You were in the dark on his feelings.

As you assumed you always had been.

“___, please..”, he whispers once more when he gets no response.

You make sure to keep your breathing even, to not move at all. Give him an inch and he’d probably take miles. Miles upon miles- stretch you until you break into tiny pieces. Yet some small pieces would still yearn- crave for what your brain told you not to.

You hear his breath hitch a bit, as if he’s fighting back overpowering emotions- him? The glorious crown prince who had slain the Avatar? The prince who turned a blind eye to you, to his good Uncle? The audacity- and yet you felt no actual anger. Not when he spoke.

“I- I’m so-- ___ I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough. I know it will never be enough- I was wrong. I did everything so wrong and Uncle- I’m sure he hates me. I’m sure you do too. I never meant- I thought it was my destiny to.. to.. capture him. For my honor and my nation. I thought I was right and..”, he takes in a shaky breath. You’re glad you can’t see him. His face just might break you. “I hurt you. I hurt Uncle. I-I made you not trust me- I disappeared and I never responded to any of your letters- I still have them I- I don’t know.. I don’t have a reason or any excuse I just.. please. Please at least talk to me- say something! Anything! I’ve missed you- I was miserable- it’s not home.. not without you. I made mistakes even there I.. even she told me that I was wrong.. even..” and he trails off, gaining no response.

Little did he know he was close to getting one. She? He didn’t mean Azula.. he would have said her name. You hated how your chest burned- what mistakes could he make there? At home? No- not home. Not your home.

“...You’re sleeping.. I hope. I almost got loud. I’m..”, he sucks in a breath, “Okay. Another time.”

You choose to ignore the way he sniffs- knowing all too well it meant he’d shed tears. If you acknowledge it, you know what may happen. You know how it’d go- how weak you’d be. This isn’t how it should be, you should be able to ignore him without batting an eye. He should be able to just let you go. He’d already done so. What was the use in this? Hadn’t he decided already, who he was or at the least who you were to him?

Clearly nothing-

You let out a heavy breath, almost shudderingly so when you hear his footsteps fade away. You clench your eyes shut, banishing any trace of wetness from your eyes. No no no- you would not cry. Not again, and not anymore. Remember how he looked- remember those crazed eyes and harsh blasts of fire. Remember and hold it- no apology could fix it. Not so simply. It would take much more than words because.. you weren’t sure your aching heart could take much more of it..

Morning came quickly, with no remorse to any who had not slept in her absence. Specifically to you or Zuko. Luckily enough, you hid it well enough. Zuko? Not so much. Clearly he looked like he’d had a fitful sleep.

Hmph-

“Wow. I didn’t know it was possible for you to look even angrier than usual.”, Sokka pipes up, already at his usual antics of antagonizing the newest group member.

“Shut. Up.”, Zuko hisses in response, causing Aang and Toph to laugh a bit at his expense.

“You really should sleep. Set a good example for your new student.”

“I said shut up.”

“He is kinda right, you know.”, Toph adds in, “It’s not good to be up so late.”

Zuko freezes for a moment, but says nothing else. You’d almost forgotten- Toph was very attuned to the earth. Of course she’d know if anyone was up and moving. The only thing to question was if she’d heard him. At the time though, there would be no answer to it. He wouldn’t ask and she didn’t seem keen on pressing the issue. No one else was aware either. So it just faded into silence, not spoken of. It was replaced by Zuko barking at Aang that it was time to start his training.

“I lost my stuff.”, he says it so plainly. Uninvited and without any context.

“Wasn’t me.”

Zuko makes a face, “No I mean my bending- I don’t know I..”

You decide to tune him out, spacing away from his frustration and Katara’s laughter. Was he really that out of it? He suddenly couldn’t bend? What a load of garbage. If he expected you to feel bad, you didn’t. Not even the slightest. Serves him right for the look he gave you when he learned of your bending. When he saw the element of fire was not in you to control, but-

“___” , He speaks your name softly.

You look up to where he stands, a few feet away. You hadn’t noticed everyone else had already gone to bed. It was just you and him and the dwindling fire between you.

“I-”

“Goodnight.”, you say, starting to stand up, brushing your legs off.

“Wait-”, he gently grabs the sleeve of your shirt but you push his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” You don’t look at him- you can’t. You must remain strong- don’t do what you did in Ba Sing Se. Don’t fall into that hole a second time..

“At least hear me out- get mad all you want. Scream at me- hit me I don’t care just-”

“I’m not going to do that. You made your bed. Lie in it.”

“I did, you’re right. I did and I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize. Teach Aang bending. I’m not a part of this- none of them know I knew you, which clearly I didn’t. I never did. I know you as this guy I bumped into in Ba Sing Se. This guy that I thought I was nice and had a good heart but I guess I misjudged. Maybe he just feels guilty or that apologizing to me might right his wrongs or whatever. If this is your way of getting them to trust you more, I’ll allow it. Anything to help Aang.”, you speak as calmly as you can. Not sparing a glance, “You already made your choices- you already let me go so just-”

“I don’t want to let you go though- I never wanted to. I just- I thought I was right. I thought that.. you’d come home. I thought that that was still home. I was wrong. I was so wrong-”

“Yet you still stayed, huh?”, you say, bitterly now, “You had a little life out there- you had your glory. Had the nation at your feet. The crown prince who slayed the-”

“I’m not that person! I never was!”

“You seemed to think you were! You acted the part! You were there for well over a month!”, you looked at him now, eyes burning, “You weren’t sorry enough to come back earlier! You didn’t think enough- you didn’t care enough! You were gone for three years! You never replied- I lost my Father! I lost what I thought was home and you weren’t there! I find you in Ba Sing Se- acting like no time had passed! Like we never grew apart! You talk to me like you still knew me, like you still cared! Yet you still chose to do what you did!”

He’d shrunk back a bit, shocked at the bass in your voice- how heavily it weighed on him. He didn’t know you felt all that. He had no idea..

“Your Father-?”

“Don’t.”, you hiss, quieting down, now aware you might have stirred the others from their sleep, “Don’t even. Don’t come to me with any apologies unless you really mean it- unless you’re ready to tell all you have to tell. I’m done with secrets and lies. Good night.”

You walk off now, leaving him to stand by the dying fire. His hand feels cold- his chest aches- your Father? That man he’d seen love you so happily- the home that was worn down but well loved? Gone? How had you suffered so without him even knowing- what had happened to you in his absence?

Why hadn’t he even thought of it?

How did he manage to screw up a screw up?

Zuko groaned to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, “...what would Uncle have me do- what’s right..”

How to salvage this mess?

“Mʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ɪs ᴀ sʜɪᴘᴡʀᴇᴄᴋs ғʟᴏᴏʀ..”

Pt.3

#zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko fic #fire lord zuko #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender #ari writes #ready to love #oop #hi hiii

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delaneytveit · 4 years

Text

Hold me Close, and Let It be

Annnnnndddddd she’s back. Uni is up and running again and I had to take care of some personal stuff, but here is a new little ficlet for ya’ll to enjoy. Hope you like angst with a little bit of comfort.

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Today was definitely not a good day. Lance woke up to the blaring alarm of his phone, a piercing screech that on any other day would have earned no more than a disgruntled groan before a quick press of a button. Today however, it received a string of curses as the Blue paladin rolled over and away from the device, stuffing his head under the pillow to muffle to sound to no avail.

With another few choice words, he reluctantly withdrew himself. Sitting up with little grace and all the annoyance he could probably use to fuel the ship for decapheobes. Lance was pissed.

After spending all day the day before training and failing and training more, chores upon chores in the infirmary, his own solo missions, and meetings with the team he was once again forced to find each and every paladin and put them to bed at a reasonable hour. God forbid they be able to pull themselves away from whatever they were doing to do so themselves. Okay, forced wasn’t the right word. No one was holding him at gun point, threatening his family. But his team was hurting. They weren’t taking care of themselves. And he would be damned if he let his second family spiral when he could so easily stop it.

So he spent each night hunting down each paladin, getting them to eat, drink, rest. Usually taking hours before he was finally able to do the same for himself. Of course that meant that while the rest of his team got to bed at a reasonable hour, he was far from it.

He stumbled lazily to his ensuite bathroom, quick to wash his face and brush his teeth before returning to his room to dress in his paladin armor.

Allura had announced the night before that they would be attending a diplomatic celebration on a planet Lance had no hope of ever being able to pronounce. On any other day, Lance would have jumped at the idea of such a mission. Celebrations meant parties, and if anyone liked to party, it was Lance. But over this past pheobe or so, he’s lost any and all emotional capacity to do more than train.

Coran had told him to come to him when this feeling started. Knowing what the missions were asking of Lance, and how heavy they would weigh on the Paladin’s mind. As grateful as Lance was for the Altean’s words, he couldn’t shake the thought that it would just be better if he didn’t. The less people traumatized was better, and these missions were confidential for a reason.

So, there he was, drained, exhausted, and irritable. Dreading the day before it had begun as he entered the bridge.

To his surprise, he wasn’t the last one. In fact, he was the first of the paladins to reach the bridge. Though he probably shouldn’t have been as surprised, he had been getting pretty good with his time management if he did say so himself. The room was only occupied by Coran and Allura. They quickly shared good mornings, Allura in her excitement already briefing Lance on the celebration. A day-long party followed by a dinner with all of the planet’s officials. Easy enough. Lance just had to act like he wanted to be there, and not like he wanted to crawl inside a hole and hibernate for the next decade.

The room was quickly filled with the noise of the other paladins, bright and lively as they entered. They didn’t seem to notice Lance as they bickered, Shiro stepping in a few times to keep it out of hand.

“Where is Lance, is he late again?” Pidge joked, earning a scoff from Keith before both of their eyes landed on the Blue Paladin already standing at the console with the Alteans, their conversation seemingly interrupted by the outburst. After the briefing, it was little over a varga before the castle landed on the planet and the Paladins were greeted by its inhabitants. Music and excited shouts filled the air as the group marched from the castle to the large civic center that was to house the celebration.

To Lance’s joy, Hunk stood with him the whole time. His friend finding exciting food for both of them to try as they mingled with some of the natives. As exhausted as Lance felt, his smile never faltered, and in all honesty it could have been much worse. He just wished that whatever alien was practically hanging off of his arm could let off a bit.

It was smooth going throughout the party, all the way up until the dinner. Nothing could have ever prepared him for this dinner.

Well, could anyone really prepare to be seated across from the most beautiful alien he had ever seen. Her skin a dusty pink that seemed to aglow in the candle light, her long flowing hair dark as night and hung in long curls where it wasn’t plaited in the most intricate braids. But her eyes, her diamond like eyes could have put the most precious stone to shame. The way he could see almost every colour in them shook him to his core.

She was beautiful, strikingly so.

He almost hadn’t realized he had been staring until he felt the elbow of his best friend hit his ribcage. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The girl sitting in front of him looked up with such sad eyes, it made him want to cry just looking at her.

“You carry much pain with you, Blue Paladin.” her voice was soft, but the sentiment in it struck an arrow in his chest. It seemed her words had silenced the entire table as eyes turned towards the two.

“Though you crave to return home the most, you know that you will not. Not in your lifetime...and yet you remain.” she took a shuddering breath, reminding Lance that he hadn’t breathed since she sat in front of him. “I will not ask you why. For your silence is all the answer I need, but I must ask. You are scared are you not?”

“That’s enough Nalena.”

But all she did was hold a singular slim finger to her father, an action that silenced him yet again.

“Yet you brave the fight, the war that you are convinced you will not survive.” She moved her hand to cover his, offering him the slightest squeeze of comfort.

“You fight because though you may not return, you will do all you can to make sure that they,” she dropped his gaze finally to pass her eyes upon his team before those kind diamond eyes returned to his once more, “they may. You lay awake at night, haunted by the prophecies of your demise, yet you continue. You rise every day, answer every call, knowing that it could be your last.”

He could feel the pain in her voice be mirrored in his heart, and knew the tear that fell from his eye matched that on her cheek.

“Alejandro, you have committed many sins in your effort to protect your team. Though they will never truly know what you have done, what plagues your mind every waking moment, know that they could not have a more devoted nor more loving paladin. Your heart will never be hardened, your efforts never in vain. You carry the curse of the Blue Paladin, and take it in stride. Your loyalty knows no bounds. Know this Alejandro Serrano-McClain, if they do not let you into your heaven it is not your fault. The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but it is their loss for not honoring the hero you have become.”

Blue eyes stared, unlooking into the vast expanse of the stars hidden behind the glass. His mind still reeling relentlessly vargas after his encounter with the princess Nalena. Her words played in a continuous loop in his mind. Keeping him awake.

So here he stood, arms crossed, dressed in only a pair or dark sweatpants and his lion slippers shielding his feet from the ice of the cold castle floor. He was so wrapped up in his own mind, he hadn’t heard the doors whoosh open, nor the light footsteps that followed to where he stood.

“Lance?”

Startled he turned around, eyes wide when they settled on the violet ones belonging to the red paladin.

“Keith...what are- are you okay?”

They both stood in silence, Keith dressed in his pajamas seemed colder than Lance did, shuddering a little in the dark of the observation deck.

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

Lance shifted on his feet, not really sure where this was going, but dreading it nonetheless. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“Are you? I mean, after what happened today, I wouldn’t be. And I-” Lance watched as Keith fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, his eyes refusing to meet the blue paladin’s in front of him. “I don’t know. What she said. It seems like you haven’t been okay for a while.”

Lance wasn’t sure why he was so surprised, after all the whole team had been there to witness the incident. They weren’t blind. Of course they’d be concerned. He’d be worried out of his mind if the same thing happened to Pidge, or Shiro, even Allura. But he had to admit it was a little weird having Keith, his self proclaimed rival- not rival, genuinely worry about him.

His first instinct was to deflect. Hell, this wasn’t something that a few kind words could fix, and the last person he’d want comfort from would be the boy that only bickered with him. But that wasn’t right. Keith was standing in front of him because he wanted to help, because at the end of the day they were a team, friends. And he genuinely did care.

Lance sighed before holding out his hand, gesturing for the other boy to come and join him in front of the glass, only turning back to the stars when Keith finally stood next to him.

“You’re right.” he said, breaking the long drawn out silence, his eyes never leaving the stars he had grown so accustomed to. The stars that he knew he would live and die fighting in. “I don’t think I’ve been okay for a long time.”

He could feel the smaller boy’s eyes on him, studying him and if the conversation hadn’t weighted so heavily on him, he probably would have blushed.

“I used to look up at the stars, and dream about flying through them. I wanted to be the best pilot out there, traveling farther than anyone ever had. Even when we were brought into this war, I couldn’t help but dream of doing great things. It's all I've ever wanted to do... fly.”

“All I ever wanted to do was fly.” He repeated softly, as he looked down at his feet, shaking his head at his own ignorance. No, not ignorance, naivety. All those years ago he was a naive 17 year old who would have given an arm and a leg to travel the stars.

“Now I’m here, fighting a war my family has no idea even exists. And all I want to do is go home. I want to hug my mom, argue with my siblings, play with my niece and nephew.”

“You will, Lance. We’ll go back to Earth, and you can do all that, and more-”

“Will I?” he interrupted. There was no harshness, no anger. Just a reserved sadness that Keith would have done anything to never hear from his friend’s lips again. This wasn’t Lance, Lance was supposed to be loud and happy and...not hurting like this. Lance deserved to be happy.

“It doesn’t scare me any more, the thought of not going home. At first I used to be terrified, of getting hurt, dying, leaving my family to wonder what happened to me. As bad as it sounds... I don’t feel that way anymore.”

“Lance…”

“I used to spend hours imagining how I would die, getting gunned down by a Galra soldier, or saving one of you, or… I spent so much time imagining it, that I couldn’t even imagine going home if I wanted to.”

Keith had turned completely now, facing the taller boy, tears in his eyes as his friend struggled to talk. How could he have not known about this? How could any of them not have known? They were supposed to be a team, and when one of your team is hurting, you help. They didn’t seem like a team at that moment, neglecting their Blue Paladin. The one person who was holding this team together was completely falling apart and none of them could see it.

It made him want to wrap Lance up in the biggest hug he had ever known, and Keith was far from a hugger. But seeing the boy stand before him, speak about how accepting he was of fucking dying? That was not okay. None of this was okay. They had grown up fighting a war, and if there was any indication that it had taken its toll on the teens, Lance was it.

“She was right.” Lance said finally. Breaking Keith out of his stupor.

“Right about what?”

“I’ve done horrible things for this goddamn war. I’ve killed people Keith, not droids, or senteries. Living, breathing Galra. Not just Galra, but anyone who would cross the coalition. I-” his voice cracked as he placed his head in his hands, stifling a sob that threatened to escape him. “I don’t want to be remembered for that. I never wanted to be a hero, but here I am pretending to be one, knowing all the things I’ve done.”

Any self control that Keith had once had evaded him in that moment, as he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Lance. Pulling him close, as if he was afraid to lose him if he didn’t.

The action only made Lance cry harder, no longer hiding it as he clung to the Red Paladin. Keith guided them to the floor, and there they remained until Lance had cried himself out, Keith releasing a few tears himself.

It was some time before either of them spoke again. Neither one really wanting to break from the safety of the silence, but knowing that more had to be said. In the end, Keith waited until Lance pulled away before speaking.

“Lance, war brings out the worst in all of us. We’ve all done things that we’re not proud of, but we can’t let it define us. What we do is to help the universe. Voltron exists to help the universe.”

Lance scoffed at that, the disbelief held in his voice only pushing Keith more.

“I’m so sorry that you’ve been forced to do those things. But I’ve also seen you do some amazing things as well. I’ve seen you carry children out of a collapsing building, I’ve seen you push Pidge out of the way of a shot, I’ve seen you talk Shiro down from his nightmare induced panic attacks. Hell, you literally drag me out of the training deck every night to make sure I actually sleep. Lance, you care for this family.”

Before Lance could get a word in, Keith cupped his cheeks in both hands, angling him so that their eyes met.

“I know me listing all of the good things will never outweigh the heaviness of the guilt you carry. All I ask is that you acknowledge that you are more than that, because you are. You are Lance McClain, the Blue Paladin of Voltron. A hero, a fighter, a friend. The scar on your back is a testament to how true that is.”

He let the words sink in, let Lance just have time to feel them. Because he meant every word.

And he’d be damned if he let Lance go on believing that he wasn’t worthy of being here. He defined what it meant to be a paladin, and though he may not be their leader, he still managed to instill it in each and every one of them.

“Lance, I-”

“Thank you. I think I’m gonna go to bed.” Lance pulled back before moving to stand up, popping the cricks out of his shoulders.

“...Just think about what I said, please.”

Lance turned then, a small smirk replacing the broken expression that plagued him just the minute before.

“Yeah, I will. Thank you, Keith, really.”

#langst #but with comfort this time #we love to see it #I love two blue bois and lance is one of them #I mean the number has gone up to three blue bois but I refuse to change the tag #its fine #everything is fine #lance mcclain #lance serrano #vld lance #klance if you squint #honestly its klance for comfort #Keith just wants his boy to be okay

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yacoka · 4 years

Text

AMOR FATI

──⊱ aut simul stabunt aut simul cadent

character(s) — akaashi keiji

pairing — akaashi keiji x reader

genre — angst

warning(s) — blood, death, war, mortal wounds

word count — 1700+

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

Your first meeting was in the midst of battle, the scent of death heavy as red mist sprayed through the air, the sounds of men fighting and dying all around you. You were two soldiers on opposing sides, powerless pawns destined to die for your countries in a senseless war that had waged for years.

You had entered the army with no hope, only the desperation of keeping your family fed. There was no other way to earn money, not in a war-ravaged country barely surviving the failing economy while the rich hid in their castles built on the bodies of slaves. Your weak arms, arms that had never carried a sword before, now swung it robotically. It was an extension of your body, and you had long numbed yourself from the guilt and horror of taking another’s life. You did what you had to, for your family.

It was the same every day. Fight an already lost battle, get injured, get sent back to recover. Pain wasn’t a foreigner anymore, and you learned to tune out the sharp pain into a dull ache. Until him. You felt the it as the sword sliced through his neck, the death blow sending you reeling as you felt his life gushing out with the blood that leaked from his throat.

Terror and shock filled your veins, jolting you from the numb haze clouding your mind. Your hands scrabbled at your untouched throat, coming away dirty, but still blood-free. How can there be no blood? How can that be when you could feel it trickling out of the phantom gash, filling your lungs with its sticky, thin heat. It just didn’t make sense, how did it, how did it, how did it-

Your eyes met his, and the questions died out as you watched the life leave his eyes. A hollow resignation that faded into a look of nothing, and it burned into you as you choked on his blood. That was the first time you died together, in fear, in confusion, in relief.

The darkness seemed endless, and the solidity of the nothingness beneath your feet was disorienting. Every step was so, so heavy, and yet so, so light. You screamed, you cried as you begged whatever power there was to free you from this silent hell. Didn’t you suffer enough? Hasn't life taken too much from you already? Could they not spare you this small mercy of moving on?

You awoke days, weeks later, screaming as you struggled past the dead bodies piled upon you. This was no mercy, you screamed at the heavens, tears streaking through dirt caked upon your face. The only response that came after was a sharp, biting rainstorm that drenched you to the bone, filling you with a chill that lingered long after the storm had stopped.

It was a miracle, they said. A God-given gift to win the war, they proclaimed as they shoved you back into your suffocating armor, stuck a sword in your hand and tossed you back onto the frontlines. Every cut, every slash, you felt them just as strongly as you did years ago, when you were nothing more than a mere novice on the battlefield. And you embraced it, the only thing grounding you from the unsettling emptiness that lay within you.

And so you swung your sword like a dutiful little soldier, cutting down enemies and stealing their lives from them, tucking the memory of the light draining from their eyes at the back of your mind. Brown eyes, black eyes, green eyes, blue-

Gunmetal blue that stared right back at you, shining brightly beneath the grime upon his face. Those unnerving eyes that stared right past your freezing walls and into the dark crevices of your mind. You never broke your gaze once, not even as your swords clashed and you gained new wounds. Even as he laid the killing strike that sent the both of you to your knees, your hands clutching the sword stuck cleanly into your chest.

“Your name,” you gasped, forcing yourself to stay a little longer, blood spilling from your wounds, painting the ornate handle red.

“Akaashi Keiji,” he choked out, his previously calm eyes now panicked. His hands clutched at his chest, broken nails leaving a frenzied trail of red.

“Th-that’s a be-beautiful name, Akaashi Ke-keiji.” A weak smile rested upon your pained face as the darkness claimed you, his name lingering upon your lips.

The third time you met was surprisingly not amidst battle, but in the neutral ground where both sides had called a ceasefire to recover their dead. You had been lifting the body of your fellow fallen soldier, his face mutilated to the point of unrecognizability when Akaashi snuck up behind you, bending down in the guise of inspecting another fallen body near you.

“I didn’t catch your name the last time,” his voice was low, steady despite the horrors laid around you.

There’s a slight pause as you hesitate. Was it safe to give your name when you now knew neither of you could die? What if he used it against you? A glance at the man crouching down beside you had your name slipping out before you could stop it. It was only fair that he knew yours. After all, you had his name too.

He stood then, grunting slightly as he hefted the body across his shoulders, tilting dangerously close to you. “Why does it keep happening?”

You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you didn’t have the answer to that question. How could you explain why you two would always die together, and come back alive once more, just to repeat the vicious cycle? This was a question no mere mortal had the answer to, and you left him there, with a single word.

“Fate.”

You had begun to lose count of the number of times you had died and come back to life, the vicious cycle becoming a mundane routine to you now. And as you performed yet another deadly dance with Akaashi, you picked up from your last conversation, having been cut short by your deaths.

“So what did you want to be, before you got dragged into this war?” You panted, darting back as his sword swiped through the air, narrowly missing your stomach.

“A writer,” he replied, bringing his shield up to block your attack. There’s a resounding clang as your sword crashes against it, and you grunt as you pull back from him.

“I could see it,” you hummed, before letting out a short gasp of pain as his shield knocks into your face. There would be some ugly bruising later on, you think mournfully. “Leave the face out of this, pretty boy.”

“Sorry,” he jumped to avoid the swing you take at his ankles. “What about you?”

There’s a pause in the conversation even as you continue to parry. You never really thought about your dreams before, and the saddening realization deflates you a little. “I don’t know.” You admitted. “I never had any dreams, and I was raised to be a soldier.” You lunged at him, successfully sticking your blade into a chink in his armor.

Your heart twinged as you watched his face screw up in pain, and you fell to the ground with him. The pain may have been mirrored onto your own body, but the sight of his dying hurt more than any mortal wound ever could.

“See-you-next-time-I-guess,” he wheezed out, a bloodied hand reaching out to caress your face with a gentleness you had not yet seen from him. Smiling sadly, you covered his hand with yours, returning the sentiment and faded back into the darkness, awaiting your next encounter.

Somehow, through all the gore and death that hung between you, you had fallen in love with him, and him with you. The first confession escaped through his dying breaths, and you didn’t get the chance to return it until the next duel with a glittering smile and the agonizing knowledge that you wouldn’t be able to hold him in your arms, nor kiss him. Nor live a normal life with him.

A year of killing and watching each other die had passed, but the ache in your chest only grew every time you watched his figure walk up to yours. Every step he took is heavy, and his shoulders are slumped, weighed down by the impending death.

“Why do we keep doing this?” You cried out, tears streaming down your face as you defended yourself.

“Because it’s the only way we’d get to see each other,” came his steady reply, even as his eyes brimmed with tears filled with love and anger and regret. These were tears he’d never let fall, for to do so would mean giving up the tiny shred of hope he had left.

“What if we ran away?” Your voice is filled with desperation, your swings losing their determination.”

Akaashi pressed his lips together tightly, eyes flickering away from yours for a second, almost as if he was considering the possibility. But the words that follow shatter your foolish hope. “They’d only catch us and force us back into this, you know that.”

“But I hate this! I hate having to kill the man I love, over and over again, watching the life drain out of you as we die for a war that will never be won.” It doesn’t matter that the soldiers around you could hear your traitorous proclamations. You’ve been through too much, died too many times to care anymore.

“We don’t have a choice!” He roared back. His hard gaze softened. “I don’t mind dying, for a second with you is worth a thousand deaths.”

With a yell of frustration, you let your guard down and his sword, one that you’ve grown accustomed to over time, ran straight through you.

“See you next time,” you grinned weakly at his horrified face, blood dribbling down your chin.

“You’re an idiot,” he snarled back, wrapping his hand around yours and squeezing tightly. “I’m supposed to take the hits, not you.”

You shook your head at him, and with shaking hands, you yanked him to you, pressing your lips tightly to his. If you were to live a life of death and misery, you deserved to have at least this. This small piece of mercy in a merciless world.

“I can’t always be the reason why we die.” You whispered against his lips.

“And I can’t bear watching you die.”

#akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu akaashi

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

Text

Soooo @rock-n-roll-fantasy wanted me to write an essay on my self-indulgent theory that Muse’s ‘Simulation Theory’ and Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’ are set in the same universe, and my brain rather predictably used this as an opportunity to develop a novel-length crossover fic instead. I’m starting to doubt that the full idea will ever get written purely because life has a habit of getting in the way, but here’s a bit of an overlong teaser in place of your essay! 😉🥰

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

The trek from Room 521 to the ballroom is a long, monotonous one. Not that that particularly matters; even if Mark didn’t know every corridor like the back of his hand, he no doubt would have been guided to his destination regardless, simply by following the growing ruckus of banal chatter overlying soft musical notes. His own band won’t be the ones playing tonight – thank Christ seeing as he barely has the energy to hold a mic for two hours let alone sing into it – but the prospect of spending the evening alone in his room had hardly been tempting. He could have arranged to meet one of the lads for a drink, he supposes, but he hadn’t wanted to impose. They all have lives beyond the hotel after all, whereas he remains tied to its walls like an obedient dog on a leash.

High-ceilinged corridors eventually lure him towards a set of heavy oak doors, the only veil remaining between him and a horde of guests who by now are likely enjoying their third glass of champagne. Muffled conversations become crystal clear for a moment as one guest stumbles onto the corridor looking considerably worse for wear, but the noise is quickly silenced by an exaggerated slam. The guest sways on his feet for a moment, narrowed eyes struggling to maintain focus on Mark’s face, before he huffs and takes the first step of what promises to be an arduous journey back to his room. No doubt he’ll have collapsed in a pool of his own vomit before he’s even halfway there, adding one more job to the cleaners’ already overflowing pile in the process. Mark sighs, already regretting his decision to be sociable, and forces himself over the threshold before he can change his mind.

The ballroom does ignite a certain pride within his chest, he must admit. The spacious hall - resting beneath a curved ceiling kept afloat by granite columns - is a stark contrast to the narrow claustrophobic corridors leading up to it, and the size is adequate enough that the space never feels too crowded. Waiters flit back and forth between packed circular tables on the fringes, offering blessed champagne or scotch from a well-stocked bar, and an elevated platform at the far-end of the hall proudly showcases the evening’s entertainment.

It would appear the choice of dance tonight is a simple waltz. Guests dressed to the nines in elegant frocks and sharp tuxedos glide effortlessly along the polished dancefloor; guided by lilting piano notes as they sway beneath the soft light of a glittering chandelier. As usual, Mark feels no particular inclination to join them. On occasion, he himself will be the one sat by the piano, enticing his guests to dance for him whenever the evening feels a little too stagnant, but it would appear that his influence is not needed tonight. Besides, the only thing enticing him for the moment is the bar.

Despite having to make his way through the masses in order to reach his destination, luck must be on his side for no-one takes the opportunity to disturb him. He must have timed his trip well enough that the drinks are already taking hold, to the point where the hotel owner himself has become an unnoteworthy presence. His short walk to the bar goes entirely without a hitch, so much so that it probably shouldn’t surprise him when he arrives to find that his luck has run dry.

There’s someone sitting in his usual spot. Logically he knows this isn’t an issue; there are plenty of free stools lined up against the horseshoe-shaped counter, but the sight gives him pause nonetheless. For as long as he can remember, that centerfold seat has been his and his alone, and the sight of someone new sitting there has unease coiling in his gut for reasons he cannot explain. If that were the strangest thing about this situation then he could have moved on and settled himself elsewhere without another thought, but what truly makes him gape is the appearance of the man who has seen fit to take his place.

In stark contrast to the stylish formalwear adorning the vast majority of guests, this man seems to have made it his mission to break every rule of fashion there is. The loud red jeans and shiny trainers would no doubt have been bad enough on their own, but in comparison to the gaudy nylon jacket and the lit neon sunglasses which remain fused to his face despite being indoors, the lower half of his body looks positively tame. Intricate circuitry is affixed to the front of the jacket, with wires snaking their way into a large pocket which no doubt houses a switch designed to make the jacket as loud as the sunglasses. Mark can’t help but wonder how this man hasn’t attracted any unwanted attention and has instead been left to cradle his glass of bourbon in relative peace. Perhaps this is the current fashion trend on Earth and someone has simply forgotten to give Mark that particular memo.

Shaking his head once and remembering his mother sternly telling him that staring is rude, Mark clears his throat and gestures to the free stool by his side when a pair of concealed eyes turn in his direction.

“Mind if I take this seat?” he asks, well aware that he of all people shouldn’t need to ask permission.

A knowing smile graces the man’s thin face and he nods graciously, removing his glasses to reveal surprisingly gentle blue eyes. He appears more normal up close than Mark anticipated, barring a pair of impressively sharp cheekbones and a hairstyle so haphazard he doubts an intense combing session would tame it.

“Be my guest,” the man offers in an accent which turns out to be English, to Mark’s not unpleasant surprise. Besides the lads, he can’t remember the last time he encountered someone from home. “Though I imagine that’s usually your line.”

A surprised laugh escapes Mark at the lame joke, causing the stranger to grin proudly before taking another generous sip of bourbon. Mark considers calling the waiter over – the impressive display of booze resting before him is enough to make his mouth water – but the man in question appears to be preoccupied with an uptight elderly couple nearby, and besides, his curiosity is already threatening to consume him. The booze can wait.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” the man interjects before Mark can ask the question weighing on his mind. The words escape like a bullet, so rapidly that the compliment could easily be dismissed as flippant, but the stranger’s smile seems sincere enough. “You’ve got one hell of a mind, Turner.”

There’s a gravity to his tone that Mark can’t quite comprehend, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

“How did you get here?” Mark asks, aiming for a conversational tone only to flinch when the words emerge as confrontational instead. In an attempt to save face, he adds, “I don’t remember greeting you at the station, is all.”

‘I would have remembered if I had’ goes unsaid, though the implication doesn’t appear to be lost on his new companion.

“Interdimensional portal,” he replies without missing a beat, bringing his glass to his lips once more as he gazes at Mark with mischief in his eyes and a challenge in his smirk.

The ensuing silence is broken almost immediately as Mark bursts out laughing again; an action which appears to serve as an invitation for the other man to join him. The high-pitched giggle is unexpected, but the sound of it is enough to melt some of Mark’s lingering unease.

“I doubt technology’s reached that stage yet,” Mark teases once he’s recovered his composure. “Not unless they’re keeping secrets from me back home.”

“I wouldn’t sound so sure if I were you,” the man retaliates, that same challenge resting on his lips and a single brow quirked upwards with mocking intent. “How long has it been since you visited Earth?”

The lightness in Mark’s chest vanishes for a moment and his brows knit together as he ponders the question. Strange. Now that he thinks about it, he honestly can’t recall how long it’s been.

When it becomes clear that no answer is forthcoming, his companion simply shrugs before facing ahead once more, demolishing the rest of his drink with a single gulp. It’s impossible to tell how much he’s had already. His current glass barely seems to have touched him, unless his strange approach to conversation is merely the product of drunken ramblings. He makes no move to relinquish his seat however, nor does he signal to the now-free waiter for a refill, and Mark finds himself facing straight ahead as he contemplates the choice lying before him.

On the one hand, this man is clearly strange. The unease which continues to coil in his gut is proof enough of that, and Mark imagines that walking away now would spare him a world a confusion. His eyelids feel heavy enough as it is without his mind being weighed down as well.

On the other hand, he honestly can’t remember the last time he had a conversation that was so... spontaneous. He’s grown accustomed to forced chats about hotel business and band rehearsals, to the point where he can’t remember the last time anyone made him laugh in pleasant surprise. Until tonight that is.

And honestly, what is his alternative? Mingling with the guests and sweeping up compliments about the taqueria, or the pool, or the perfect view of Earth offered by the casino’s transparent ceiling? Having to listen to rich businessmen divulge their recent purchases of eye-wateringly expensive yachts or starships, while wives half their age hang onto their arm and pretend to look interested?

It isn’t really a contest in the end.

Decision made, Mark gestures to the waiter, who approaches with what he suspects is a put-on smile. To the man’s credit, said smile doesn’t falter even when he casts a sideways glance towards his boss’s unconventional choice of companion.

“Sixteen-year-old Lagavulin please, Andrew,” Mark orders with an easy smile of his own. “And one for my friend here as well.”

Andrew hesitates for only a moment before preparing the drinks with practiced ease, applying a crystallised ball of ice to Mark’s glass once both whiskies are poured. At his side, the mysterious stranger eyes Mark with what appears to be surprise at this unprompted display of generosity, but the smile returns soon enough as he takes his drink in hand and thanks Andrew with all the grace of a perfect gent.

“You trying to get me drunk, Turner?” he teases, though if he’s opposed to the idea he doesn’t show it.

“Just hoping for some interesting conversation,” Mark responds with a wry smirk of his own. “Scotch usually helps with that, I’ve found.”

Without further ado, he takes a sip and closes his eyes in satisfaction as the golden liquid instantly works its magic. A pleasant burn trails down his throat until warmth settles in his belly, and any lingering stress drifts away like smoke on a breeze.

“You can call me Mark by the way,” he says, raising his glass as an invitation. “It’s about time we introduced ourselves, don’t you think?”

A flicker of unidentifiable emotion crosses over his companion’s face, just for a second, before he returns Mark’s easy smile and brings their glasses together with a soft clink.

“Matthew,” he says, which strikes Mark as such an ordinary name for one committed to looking so extraordinary. “But you can call me Matt. Everyone else does.”

Mark nods in acknowledgement before returning to his drink, and they wile away the following minutes in companiable silence. The band appear to have moved on from classical waltzes and are now playing a smooth jazz number, the seductive groove of the double-bass soothing Mark into closing his eyes and forgetting the hundreds of guests gathered nearby. The chatter has died down slightly since his arrival, but the odd clink of a glass or drunken laugh is enough to assure him that he’s not entirely alone. Not as alone as he would have been had he remained in his room with only the hotel blueprints and a virtual reality mask for company.

In a few more moments he may even have found himself forgetting Matt’s presence, but it isn’t long before his reverie is broken by a now-familiar voice.

“What do you know of ‘Simulation Theory’?” Matt asks flippantly, as though it’s the most ordinary question in the world. The fact that Mark can only stare dumbly for several seconds is likely a sign that his scotch is already beginning to take hold, but he eventually forces himself to give a resigned shrug.

“Not much,” he admits. The name doesn’t sound familiar in the slightest, though he’ll admit that he isn’t known for scouring scientific journals. “I suspect that’s about to change though.”

That statement seems to be invitation enough for Matt, who downs the rest of his drink without so much as a flinch before launching into what appears to be a well-practiced spiel.

Mark can only try to keep up between finishing one drink and ordering another, as Matt starts explaining the concept of computers advancing to the point where they can simulate the laws of physics, so much so that the future of interplanetary travel may end up being achieved via the means of simulated reality - unlimited by the demands of the fragile human body - rather than old-fashioned means such as starships or satellites as ancient sci-fi shows had predicted. The whole lecture is delivered in what must be Matt’s typical rapid-fire delivery; Mark would likely have been left with little breathing room even if he had been entirely sober, which he is becoming less and less so as the evening wears on. With his keen enthusiasm and eccentric hand movements, Mark reckons Matt would have made an excellent physics professor in another life if the concepts escaping his mind weren’t so utterly ridiculous.

“Which of course poses the question,” Matt concludes eventually, pausing to stop for breath. A pleasant buzz is coursing through Mark’s veins by this point, and he rests his head on one hand as he studies Matt with an amused smile. “If we conclude that it is feasibly possible for technology to exist which is capable of simulating reality so convincingly, who is to say that it hasn’t already happened? What if we’re all just cogs in a machine, believing our decisions are our own and that everything around us is real, when in actuality we’re being watched and studied and controlled? Like ants under a microscope?”

“Hmm,” Mark ponders the question as best he can, taking another sip despite knowing it won’t help. It strikes him that the whisky has already rendered him soft and sleepy, whereas Matt doesn’t appear to have been affected at all despite the fact that he’s clearly had more. As quick as his delivery is, Mark can’t even recall hearing a slur. “Like characters in a videogame or summat?”

“Something like that I suppose,” Matt concurs, though there’s a tension in his skinny frame that implies Mark has barely scratched the surface. “What do you reckon would happen if a videogame character realised they were trapped in a videogame? That their entire lives were a fiction and that someone else was in control?”

“I imagine they’d spiral into existential dread,” Mark concludes with a dismissive shrug, polishing off what must be his third glass and placing it face-down on the countertop. It would probably be best if he stops now, seeing as Matt appears to be in a philosophical mood. “Good thing they can’t think or feel anything then, isn’t it? They just do as they’re told.”

An amused smirk graces Matt’s face and there’s a glint in those blue eyes that implies he wants to add something, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut. For now at least. Mark uses this window of silence to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes before casting a glance around the ballroom. It’s still relatively busy. The band have given no indication that they’re approaching the end of their set, and so long as the drinks keep flowing, there will always be ample opportunity for dancing and conversation. He loses himself for a moment as he observes the movements of the guests gracing the dancefloor; everyone from beautiful newlyweds to elderly couples celebrating their golden anniversaries locked in intimate embraces, with eyes only for each other. Matt’s musings weave their way through his mind and he finds himself searching for flaws in the system; a hint that what he’s seeing isn’t all it appears to be. He scans the faces of the guests to see if he can find any duplication; eavesdrops on nearby conversations in search of generic, repetitive sentences. He feels the warm cotton of his suit and the cool condensation on his glass and the sticky sweat on the palm of his hand, only to conclude that it all must surely be real. He knows all-too-well what it’s like to wander lucidly through a dream, and this isn’t one.

Still, the possibility is fascinating. Ludicrous, but fascinating.

“Let’s say you’re right,” he starts, taking a moment to select his next words carefully. He doesn’t usually feel the need to be so cautious in conversation, but Matt’s ability to spout ridiculous theories with the utmost confidence has left him feeling like he’s playing catch-up. “And let’s say that we’re the ones trapped in this game, or simulation, or whatever you want to call it.”

Matt turns to him as though shocked that Mark’s actually giving his ramblings any consideration, and he can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been shot down in the past. He pauses, half-expecting an interruption, but Matt’s only response is a smile followed by an encouraging nod.

“What if there’s a reason behind the fiction?” he proposes, more confidently now. “What if we’ve been trapped in a game because reality is terrible.”

“And therein lies our conundrum!” Matt says, eyes lighting up with childlike glee as he leans back and slams his hand on the counter. Tending to a guest a few seats away, Andrew side-eyes him warily, perhaps wondering if he’ll be forced to escort another drunk from the premises soon, but Mark’s total lack of concern seems to reassure him. “Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

The hypothetical weight of the question stumps Mark for a moment. Any thoughts which had previously been running through his mind fragment like shattered glass, leaving only a warm fuzz in their place. He lets himself imagine what it would be like to have an all-powerful, all-seeing creature manipulate his thoughts - moulding them like clay - and despite the room’s pleasant warmth, he finds himself shivering. It’s not that he believes Matt’s theories – far from it – but pondering the question elicits the same uncertainty planted by movies like his beloved Blade Runner; makes him contemplate deep, existential ‘What-ifs’ until sleep eludes him and a shiver creeps up his spine.

When the power of speech finally returns to him, he finds the words spilling forth without having crossed his mind beforehand.

“I think we’re both a little too drunk for philosophical discussions, don’t you agree?” he says blankly, though upon hearing the words even he is left utterly unconvinced. He may already be able to anticipate the crushing headache that morning will bring, but he’s managed to remain somewhat lucid so far. Matt, damn him, doesn’t appear to have been affected by the alcohol at all. Nor does he seem willing to let Mark back down; instead he pointedly says nothing as his lips curl upwards in an unspoken challenge.

Mark sighs, before forcing himself to answer the question with one of his own.

“If the fiction is so convincing that you could go from birth to death without realising it is a fiction, does it really make a difference?”

“A fair point,” Matt concedes with a shrug, though Mark doesn’t miss the way his expression darkens. A twitch in his jaw implies that his words have struck a nerve, only he can’t possibly see why that would be the case. He expects Matt to elaborate further – to quash his argument with a clever retaliation – but he simply turns back towards the wall of booze and signals to Andrew to bring him another glass of scotch. The temptation to tell him that he’ll need to be carried back to his room on a stretcher if he carries on like this is momentarily overwhelming, but the words remain glued to Mark’s tongue like resin. His mouth feels as dry as sandpaper and the flurry of unease which had been temporarily dispelled returns with a burning vengeance. All he can do is watch as Matt gratefully accepts what must be his fifth glass and gulps half of it down his throat without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Something stirs in the back of Mark’s mind. A distant memory perhaps; a vague flicker of recognition which had lain buried until this moment. He can honestly swear he has never laid eyes on Matt before today, but it strikes him that their camaraderie has been a little too easy tonight. Almost as though he should know Matt from his previous life on Earth.

But he doesn’t. He knows that for a fact, and any treacherous doubts suggesting otherwise are swiftly cast aside with an urgency he can’t explain.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to polish off his glass, setting it down on the counter with a finality which suggests it’ll be his last of the night. Just as well, Mark thinks. He can feel the evening beginning to wind down already, and he can feel fatigue settling into his bones.

Before he can offer to foot the bill, his companion finally decides to pipe up again. Any trace of his earlier bravado appears to have abandoned him, leaving him crouched and visibly exhausted, his voice impossibly small.

“If nothing is real – if everything around us truly is a fiction - then it stands to reason that there’s no underlying purpose to our existence. Our lives are there to serve as meaningless entertainment for something lurking in the shadows and nothing more. So everything we do or say, everyone we love...none of it matters in the end. Not really.”

He looks directly at Mark then, his once gentle blue eyes burning with an intensity that makes him want to shrink back like a frightened child. A silly notion really. Of all the words to describe Matt, ‘threatening’ doesn’t immediately come to mind, but the discomfort lingers regardless. Matt must notice, for he averts his eyes to the floor almost immediately and offers a small, apologetic smile as recompense.

“I just don’t think I could live with that,” he concludes with a certainty that has Mark’s chest tightening. “No matter how beautiful the lie is.”

A beat passes. Then another. Mark becomes all-too aware of his heart pounding in his chest, trying to assure him that he’s okay; that he’s solid and real. It occurs to him that he has forgotten how to breathe, and the discomfort in his chest outweighs the soothing burn the scotch had planted there earlier.

Matt doesn’t say anything else. Instead he runs a hand through his wayward hair, before ultimately deciding that fidgeting with his discarded sunglasses would be a better use of his time. Against his better judgement, Mark allows the weight of his words to sink in and momentarily imagines an existence in which all of his actions are pre-determined, his thoughts carefully filtered. Where everyone he loves are simply figments of expertly-written code. Where any responsibilities he may have are ultimately unimportant.

A simpler existence perhaps, but a wholly purposeless one.

“I don’t think I’d want to live like that either,” he admits quietly, so much so that he’s amazed Matt hears him. He must do however, for the words force him to look at Mark again, his expression unreadable besides a hint of sadness in deep blue eyes.

There doesn’t appear to be anything more to say. Words escape him - even the simple courtesies which usually come so naturally - and yet he cannot bring himself to look away. Matt seems to be in the same predicament. For a moment it’s as though they’re both gazing into a supernova, unwilling to look away despite knowing full well that the sight will blind them.

For the first time all evening he finds himself missing his friends. His Matt would have told him to snap out of it by now and Jamie or Nick would have called him a twat for getting so worked up about meaningless theories, and while Mark may have retaliated with a pointed ‘fuck off’, he no doubt would have felt lighter in their presence.

In the end it’s Matt who breaks the spell first. His eyes are drawn from Mark’s face to something lurking in the background, and a palpable shift overcomes him as thin lips are pulled into a grim line. Beneath soft overhead lights, Matt visibly pales and his pupils dilate with what Mark can only presume is fear, and white fists clench so tightly around his glasses that it’s amazing they don’t shatter. Dread claws into Mark’s chest with no explanation, and before curiosity can swallow him whole, he turns his head to follow Matt’s eyeline.

It only takes a moment to locate what has grabbed his friend’s attention. The new arrivals have barely made an effort to blend in after all. Standing out among the throng of increasingly drunk guests, two men linger at the far end of the hall, eyes obscured by dark sunglasses and twin postures stiff and unyielding. Both are clad in leather jackets which are only slightly less conspicuous than Matt’s own, and once again a treacherous flicker of recognition ignites in Mark’s brain before sputtering into a puff of smoke. The taller man must be pushing six feet, his brown hair cropped short and a 5 o’clock shadow darkening his features as effectively as the scowl on his lips. The smaller man must be around Mark’s height and appears slightly less threatening for it, though from a distance he almost resembles Matt himself with the exception of his dirty-blond hair.

For a moment Mark wonders if the two men are members of his own security team, seeking out Matt on grounds of a misdemeanor which Mark has been blissfully unaware of all night. Matt doesn’t necessarily look surprised to see them after all, though their presence certainly disturbs him. That thought is cast aside quickly, however. Mark has made an effort to familiarise himself with every member of his workforce, and even if these two are last-minute recruits, their outfits don’t resemble any worn by the rest of his staff.

The not-so-concealed carry lurking on their belts is hardly a feature of his security team either.

Blood freezing as two hidden pairs of eyes settle on the bar and its occupants, Mark turns to Matt in a panic; mouth open with the intention of voicing a warning, or demanding an explanation, or both, but Matt is already one step ahead of him. Those awful neon sunglasses are back on his face, albeit he has the good sense not to activate them this time, and he throws some crumpled notes onto the counter before turning to Mark with what is no doubt supposed to be a reassuring smile. It doesn’t work of course, though he imagines Matt is well-aware of that.

As a gesture of goodwill, Matt places a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder and offers what sounds like a very final farewell.

“It was good to see you again, Alex.”

And then he’s off, wandering past the quickly emptying dining tables and mixing with the assorted bodies on the dancefloor. Fat lot of good it does; he has about as much chance of blending in here as a giraffe does hiding among a gang of meerkats. Casting a glance towards the mysterious arrivals, Mark spots them making their way towards the dancefloor, the only indication of urgency being the grim determination on their faces. They don’t seem to have any interest in him for the moment, but that prospect brings him little in the way of relief. Instead he simply feels nausea crawling up his throat, and as Matt threatens to escape his eyeline, a new madness takes hold and compels him to follow.

Keeping Matt in his sights is more difficult than he’d hoped it would be. As much as he stands out among the crowd of dancers, once Mark finds himself trapped within that very crowd, his ability to focus on what’s directly ahead of him falters. The band has gone and a DJ has taken their place, enticing drunk youths to stumble to and fro under the guise of dancing, and Mark finds himself being roughly grabbed more than once by revelers inviting him to join in. One man pointedly tells him to “fuck off” when he manages to free his arm from his tight grip, before swanning off to harass some other poor sod, but Mark forces himself to recover quickly and carries on with his misguided pursuit. Later it will occur to him that he is not usually in the habit of hiring DJs, nor is the ballroom usually so crowded at this late hour as the casino tends to attract the night-owls, but for now all he can focus on is Matt’s retreating back sneaking onto one of the many corridors adjoining the hall.

Mark follows him seconds later, having escaped the horde with his limbs intact; not daring to look back to check if their assailants have located them. It occurs to him that as hotel owner, he could abuse his status and stand in their way in order to buy time, but he’s not sure he trusts them to resist putting a bullet in his head for insubordination. He may not have the faintest idea of what’s going on, but it feels so much bigger than him somehow. Like he’s been handed solid proof that everything he’s achieved – the hotel, his band, his reputation – is meaningless in the grand scale of the universe.

He stumbles onto the corridor just in time to spot Matt turning right at the far end, and he follows as quickly as he dares. The next turn is a left, then another left, then a right... an endless maze of blinding white walls and hotel room doors, flanked by sprouting monstrosities emerging from intricately painted plant-pots. After a while it seems like Matt has deliberately chosen this route to tease him, and he begins to wonder if this entire evening has been a devilish ploy, but the thought has barely had a chance to take hold when he finally reaches the end of the line.

There is no turning point at the end of this corridor. Only an unassuming wooden door leading into what appears to be a store cupboard. There aren’t even any hotel rooms remaining in this section; instead the route ahead is lined with marble columns sporting busts with expressionless faces.

Mark only manages one step forward before freezing, as icy fingers of dread crawl up his spine and clutch his heart in a fierce grip.

No being in the universe knows this hotel better than he does. He knows every room, every corridor, every little nook and cranny as surely as he knows his own name. As well he should; he designed every inch of the place.

And yet, he can say with absolute certainty that he has never laid eyes on this corridor before. Not even in a passing dream.

Before he can blame the obvious hallucination on the scotch, or even glance back in search of Matt’s pursuers, the silence is shattered by a blinding red light emanating from the cupboard door, illuminating the corridor in time with a sharp, mechanical whine. Mark raises a hand to his eyes as the light pulses in time with his heartbeat - giving untouched walls the appearance of being drenched in blood - and the accompanying noise slams against his eardrums with unrelenting ferocity. Against his better judgement, he presses onward, cowering as the assault on his senses intensifies with every step. No doubt he will be left with nothing but regret as a result of this choice, but he fears the lack of answers will drive him mad if he doesn’t see what lies beyond that door.

Besides, Matt must be in there. There’s nowhere else he could have gone, and Mark has little desire to leave him for dead.

The pulsating doesn’t stop until he reaches the door. Body trembling in the quiet aftermath, he takes a moment to recover as the light’s echo persists with every blink of his eyes and a sharp ringing assaults his ears. His breathing sounds painfully uneven in spite of his efforts to remain calm, and he can feel his heart hammering away in an attempt to break free from his chest. He finds himself wishing he could explain away these last ten minutes, but his mind feels numb with uncertainty and the alcohol certainly isn’t helping. Has it even been ten minutes since he’d been sitting at the bar? It simultaneously feels like it’s been mere seconds and several hours since he was enjoying his evening without a care in the world.

The cupboard door remains unopened, the handle a seductive enchantress promising answers he isn’t sure he wants. This new silence doesn’t bode well, and his lack of familiarity with this section of the hotel only increases his chances of running into danger on the way back. There is no doubt in his mind that he’s damned regardless of what he does however; he may as well sate his curiosity in the meantime.

A cool trickle of sweat slides down his cheek as a trembling hand curls around the door handle, and he pulls sharply before sanity can take hold, expecting resistance but receiving none.

It seems he will have to settle for not receiving answers either.

The cupboard is empty.

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

The details of how he stumbled back to Room 521 and wound up sprawled on his bed are a murky blur. Even as his drunken haze makes way for a pounding headache, he can only recall glimpses of dragging his feet back the way he came; wandering through an almost deserted ballroom followed by similarly empty corridors, before eventually collapsing into bed with a crushing exhaustion. Despite his fears, he never did end up encountering those two assailants on his way back, nor did he glean any further clues as to Matt’s whereabouts. All three men had vanished into the night as mysteriously as they’d appeared, and a numb regret settling over his mind is enough to assure him that he will never see Matt again.

That is, if he even existed in the first place. As the night wears on, he begins to feel more inclined to put the evening’s events down to the drunken hallucinations of a lonely mind. Perhaps if he calls Jamie in the morning, he can put his mind at ease and call him a silly twat, erasing the whole sorry ordeal in the space of one conversation. The urge to pick up the phone now is almost too tempting to resist, but he stays put for now. There’s no need to bother his friend with the drunken ramblings of a madman. Not at this hour anyway.

Reassurance can wait. For now, he desperately needs sleep which is stubbornly unforthcoming.

He misses the presence of moonlight. That notion is so strange that a weak rebellious smile tugs at his lips, before the bitter sting of tears replaces it. Homesickness is unlike him – he has never been inclined to hop on a rocket and return home no matter how easy it would be – but right now his yearning for Earth feels suffocating. He misses the moon’s comforting presence in the sky and the wonder it had elicited from him as a child. He misses it hanging overhead as he wandered along silent streets with friends and lovers, singing and kissing and stumbling drunkenly as joyous laughter broke through the relative peace. He misses waking up with his heart in his throat and a new lyric in his head, only to be soothed instantly by luminous streaks of light.

All he has here is thick, empty darkness which seems intent on crushing him down to dust.

Those memories of home seem so distant now. Unreachable; locked away in a chest sporting a rusted padlock and buried deep beneath the realm of consciousness. Perhaps it would be best if they remained buried. Even if Mark were capable of digging them up and freeing them from their prison, the sheer weight of the memories within would surely drown him in an instant.

Mark shakes his head and closes his eyes before bitter tears can trail down his cheeks. It would be best not to dwell on such things. His nights are sleepless enough as it is.

It only occurs to him later, as unblinking eyes linger on the ceiling above, that Matt had casually referred to him as ‘Alex’ and that the thought of questioning it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

#writing #long post #simulation theory #tranquility base hotel and casino #muse #arctic monkeys #i am extremely rusty but honestly it's been nice to write something just for myself again #well...myself and @rock-n-roll-fantasy :P #my fic

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patricia-von-arundel · 4 years

Text

A World on Its Side: Part 1 - Prisoners of Fortune - Chapter 1

Art by @zaaschila

Rating: M

Summary: It began with a simple mission: to rescue the Imperial children from beneath the palace in Enbarr. But when Jeralt brings home with him the sole survivor - Edelgard - he sets in motion a chain of events that will forever alter the course of the war to come in Fódlan. Soon, Edelgard and Byleth will find themselves joined by unlikely allies... and by ghosts from a past neither knew existed.

Prologue

Imperial Year 1180

Keep a close eye on that one, they said.

Don’t trust what you see. This animal is feral. Rabid.

Anaxi had taken it all very seriously, at the start. Checking upon the hour, every hour. Keeping logs of all that he observed, exactly how much food was consumed at each meal, the length of sleep cycles. He asked the questions his training had told him to ask, despite receiving no more response than cold, bright eyes briefly meeting his own. By the book, just as he had tried so hard to do in his magic training.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that it worked no better here than it had there. Maybe he just wasn’t a by-the-book kind of man.

He had been assured that this was a truly plum position, especially for one on such a tenuous second chance as he. He was in charge of guarding no ordinary prisoner, kept only to provide a means to gain influence and information - this one was somehow... different. And had once escaped, almost a year previously, killing two guards to do so. (This information had weighed heavily on Anaxi’s mind, in the earliest days of his posting. Now, he questioned the truth of it, honestly - it was rumored there had been accomplices. This one hardly seemed to have the will to move, much less kill.)

A plum position, yes. A very special position.

So why did he feel as if once more, existence had chosen him as the butt of some nasty, inescapable joke?

All he’d ever wanted was to be noticed - to be something more than just another cog in an army that seemed less a well-oiled machine and more some mighty automaton collapsed to ruin, pilfered for scrap and beginning to rust. The children of Shambhala were taught of their own great legacy - descendants of those who had brought down gods! - but Anaxi had very early found himself questioning if any of that greatness truly remained. What was the value of legacy if no one lived up to it?

As a naïve child, he had dreamed of being the one to do it - to rise up, and reclaim that glory his ancestors had called their own. False gods once more reigned across a beastly, primitive world, worshiped by vermin. He could bring them down. He could become the rebirth of true history. An end to stagnation! Words with meaning, more than parroting ideals, proverbs of steel left without bite!

But it was not to be, of course - beyond boyhood, he remained devoted to such a cause, but knew the war would never be his to lead. Instead, he watched as his dreamt-of reclamation nonetheless began, plans unfurling first as rumor, but soon as proud promises that the end of that world of primitive creatures and nefarious false deities would soon, finally, be at an end.

Anaxi was then in military training - the perfect place for lapping up every drip of information. Soon, the gossip all seemed to whisper. Soon, soon, soon.

Then they called for more mages - training for any willing to do what was necessary for the greater good. And once more, Anaxi felt a calling. There were moles on the surface now. Infiltrating. Risking everything. But they could do nothing without magic.

Anaxi was accepted.

Half a year later, he was dismissed.

There was no dramatic story to tell, no grand plot against his future - he simply proved to be, in a word, lousy at magic. Juggling words, his hands, and the direction of power, all at the same time, turned out to be more than he was able to handle.

A blow - and one that, at the time, had seemed likely to leave unfading bruises to his pride. He had believed in himself - believed he truly had something to give for the glorious future of this woefully maligned land.

But eventually he realized... He still believed it. He just had to figure out the true capacity by which he might show it. It wasn’t magic or leadership - so be it. But whatever it was, he would search until he found it. Deciding he needed a position that allowed time for rumination on the matter, and speaking to some of his former tutors in spellwork, he had received his current security position: monitoring the most valuable of prisoners. The advantage of it was that they were also the least likely to escape - far darker means than wood and iron kept them in their cells.

This one, though - this one was kept apart from the others. He could see the dark magic, writhing, powerful, that worked its way across the entrance to the tiny, bare room. There was a bed in there, a wooden bucket, cleaned twice daily (thankfully not by him), a small basin of water...

And the prisoner.

Face covered by a cowl, though he did not know if that was by order, or choice. Rarely moving - sitting on the edge of that narrow bed, most of the time, looking down. Lean, in those dark fabrics: more a wraith than a feral animal. Still and silent. And those cold, bright eyes...

He no longer bothered to do hourly checks - just the occasional one, and he scribbled “no unusual activity” in the log for each required entry at the end of each tedious session. He spent most of his time cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall and trying not to doze off. He wasn’t supposed to engage beyond official questions, but he really wished the prisoner would talk, even just a little bit. Babble or something, like some of the prisoners in the regular cells, where he had been before. Some sound, any sound; something besides his own bored sighs.

He told himself he was accustomed to the silence by now. It wasn’t true.

Still, he remained. Considering the future. Maybe he would see that outside world of beasts, when it had been taken. Maybe there was still a way he could assist in the taking. Maybe -

He jerked his head from the wall, sat up straighter.

A noise. Around the corner. Echoing - a cry, quickly silenced. A muffled thud.

The prisoner’s head turned.

That sharp face, beneath the cowl -

It was smiling.

Imperial Year 1159

For most of the journey, it had rained. Like the clouds were following them - a dark thought, but an amusing one. And rather appropriate - she felt a little cloudy still herself, though far stormier than the steady spring showers she watched through the window.

The distance was not great, but the entire journey was across craggy hill and mountain, and the rain did nothing to improve the conditions of the roads. Even calling them “roads” was being generous - they were often hardly more than muddy goat paths. The carriage made slow, steady, laborious way along them, a crawl that made what should have been a 10-hour journey become instead a day and a half. She spent the short night at the inn tossing and turning, wishing desperately that this part could be over with - that she could just get there, and be done with it.

Be done with him.

The pompous, self-righteous picture of perfect piety sitting across from her in the carriage.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself,” she had said - multiple times.

“Of course you are. But it wouldn’t do for a young lady for your stature to arrive at such a place alone. Besides, I would like to pay my respects to the Goddess at her own eternal resting place.”

Of your stature - she should have laughed every time he said it. As if she didn’t know exactly why he wanted to accompany her. It had less to do with the Goddess or any “eternal resting place,” and far more to do with hoping to kiss the holy rump of the Archbishop and any powerful noble rumps that happened to be there besides.

She had wanted to go to Fhirdiad, to study sorcery. But no - no, to him, that was not good enough. Not after he had been denied his own place, over a decade before, their mother citing the stiff cost. Where the gold had been found now, she did not know. Perhaps the Goddess herself thought to give her a year’s respite from pious social-climbers, and had vomited money down upon them.

She smiled at the mental image, then quickly forced it away - but not quickly enough. “There’s a happier expression,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, it will soon be hard to hide that happiness. You’ll like it here - it is the heart of all Fódlan.”

She had her doubts, but said only, “Perhaps.”

The sun was trying to find its way out as they made the final, winding climb - he’d probably see that as some kind of sign. There were other carriages now, a few open wagons, and one small party on horseback. She envied the last; they had probably made the best time of any of those arriving.

Arriving at Garreg Mach Monastery.

She had been here once before, though she did not remember it. There had been border skirmishes that threatened to turn deadly, and her mother had brought her here for shelter until the situation was resolved. She’d been only two or three at the time.

Looking up at it now, she wondered how impossibly enormous it had appeared to a child so young. Even now, it was imposing... almost monstrous. What message was intended? If she asked, she was certain the answer would be “sanctuary.” But she felt no warmth, no comfort. She felt threat.

...Which even she had to admit to herself was ridiculous. Certainly, she did not view the Church of Seiros with the same blind devotion as some, but this was no more than a series of buildings. Large, looming buildings, but still just stone and wood for all that. The worst that might happen here was admonishment for her abysmal bow skills. No need to be over-imaginative.

How often had she been told that?

A lot.

They were stopped at the gates, and a knight with a long scroll of paper opened the door, bowing his head as he did so. “New student?”

She opened her mouth, but was not given a chance to speak: “Yes - my sister.”

She bristled, but only until the knight looked at her then, not him. She appreciated that. “Your name?”

She sat up a little straighter, head held high. “Anselma von Arundel.”

Whatever happened later...

This was how it began.

Her room in the dormitory was larger than her room at home - significantly so. For all the value of the Arundel lands compared to much of the rest of Adrestia, they might as well have been in Faerghus (and practically were), and the manor house reflected as much: low and long, with a thatched roof and small rooms built to retain as much heat as possible through long, cold, damp winters.

The room at the Officers Academy was high-ceilinged, bright, airy. She wasn’t about to admit it to Volkhard, but this offered a very positive first impression of a school she had fought tooth and nail not to have to attend.

She left the two trunks of her things beside the bed - she could unpack them later. For now, while Volkhard was off kissing rings and the toes of Saints’ statues, it seemed the perfect opportunity to come to know her new surroundings a bit better, before the welcome dinner to be held that evening.

(That, she was actually looking forward to - because it would offer her her first glimpse of her house leader. Alger von Vestra, cousin of the recently-recognized new marquis - even in the remote northwest of Adrestia, the Vestra family was... notorious. Infamous. Volkhard’s pursed-lip displeasure at the choice had alone been enough to leave Anselma intrigued.)

She closed and locked the door to her room - something she would have to try to grow accustomed to doing, though slipping her very own key in her pocket made her feel foolishly adult - and gave her new home a longer look around than she had coming in. Walls, and more walls. Paths, and more paths. Grass. A lot of grass. All very well-kept, attractive, but -

I’m going to get lost. Often.

Perhaps forever, and she could become the Eternal Lost Soul of Garreg Mach, a tale told to frighten new students and see that they were in their rooms come curfew. Better than a year here trying to woo some noble so she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life offering utterly sincere prayers under Volkhard’s thumb. Though lost souls probably couldn’t visit Enbarr, something she rather wanted to do, as long as she was this close. She’d never been anywhere bigger than the hamlets and villages scattered across the Arundel lands, and most of those had more goats than people.

From her left, a sudden crash - loud and close enough to make her jump. She whirled, startled, to find a girl of about her own age. The girl’s eyes were wide, and her face was flushed a brighter color than her rather-bright hair. She was already in uniform - Anselma only noticed because the collar was incorrectly fastened, and had come askew. At her feet, the source of the crash: a pile of large books that had to stack almost as tall as she was.

Their eyes met, and the girl’s face grew even brighter. “I... I’m sorry. I tripped on the edge of the path. None of them hit you, did they?” She held up a hand, almost as if offering something. “I can heal you. I mean... if you need it.” She looked almost hopelessly eager - like a naughty puppy trying to wag its tail to avoid trouble.

“They didn’t hit me. I’m fine.”

The girl’s hand dropped, and so did her shoulders. “Oh. Good. But... I’m still sorry. And sorry if it’s rude, but I... I need to pick these up. Quickly.” She gathered them with almost frantic hurry, hugging them to her chest with one arm in nearly as much disarray as they had been in on the ground.

They were just going to go everywhere again if she tried to get them all like that. “May I help?”

For a moment, the girl’s eyes met hers once more. “You... you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. All my things are already in my room.”

“I... it would be easier. If you’re sure you don’t mind. I would... very much appreciate it.”

“Not at all.” She got the rest before the girl could attempt any more herself, then followed her to her room - “Hey, it’s right next to mine!”

“Really?” The girl was fumbling for her key, her books in danger of going everywhere yet again. Finally, she managed to shove the door open with her shoulder. “But your clothes... I thought they said the nobles mostly take second-floor rooms? That’s... what someone told me, anyway. When I was applying.” She dumped the books on her bed, so Anselma did the same. “Are you a noble?”

She laughed - she couldn’t help it. “Theoretically. More like Lady of the Goats. I’m Anselma von Arundel, and I’d bet my last 100 gold the name means absolutely nothing to you.”

For the first time, the girl smiled. She really had a very eye-catching face, especially those heavy-lidded blue eyes. “I don’t think I should take that bet. I don’t have 100 gold. I’m Cornelia Arnim.”

“Cornelia Arnim, who likes to read.”

“Well... not just... I like to read, but -” She stopped abruptly, and turned to stare out the window. Her eyes once more went wide. “I... my apologies. I have to go. Right now. The wagon is hired, and I have to get the rest of my stuff - if the driver’s not back to Enbarr by sunset, he charges for another day. I’m sorry, I have to -”

“I’ll help,” Anselma said - and at the door, took off running. The gates were the one thing she knew how to find, and she’d been cramped in a carriage for nearly two days. “Come on, hurry! We can get it all!”

Cornelia’s voice, calling after her: “Are we allowed to run?!”

“Nobody said we couldn’t!”

Behind her, she could hear the quickening footfalls, hurrying to catch up.

He had never had the richest lands, nor the richest life. Nonetheless, Volkhard von Arundel had always felt blessed by the Goddess. Truly blessed. He had never lacked for food, or shelter, or clothing. Losing his parents - his father when he was 12, to an injury from a horse kick; his mother when he was 16, to an inflammation of the lungs - had been hard, and attempting to raise Anselma, only 5 years old when he became her guardian, even harder. He had become lord and parent, and in doing so forewent his lifelong goal - something he had never truly abandoned until then - of being the first Arundel to attend the Officers Academy.

Still, he felt he had risen well to one of the Goddess’ accompanying challenges - as lord, he had managed to arrange for increased sales of meats, furs, and cheeses across the border, into Faerghus. It not only allowed for fresher goods to be sold, it also meant less travel and higher prices - much of Faerghus still highly reliant on imported goods to feed and clothe its population, and paying a premium to do so - which in turn led, for the first time Volkhard knew of in recorded history, to significantly greater profit across the soil-poor Arundel lands. Anselma might complain of all the sheep and goats, but he suspected she would change her tune soon enough, when she truly understood all that those animals had brought her.

But that was the other challenge of the Goddess: Anselma.

Here, he feared his plans had not fared so well. Maybe it was losing her parents so young, and then being allowed too much indulgence and freedom as he focused most of his attention on their livelihood. She had had a nursemaid, of course, and later there were several young scholars willing to take low-paid positions in exchange for a recommendation to carry along with them at departure, but perhaps none of them had been firm enough, disciplined enough, for one such as Anselma. She had been pushing boundaries - if not outright leaping over them - her entire life, and showed little inclination to attempt to stop doing so even now. She spoke her mind even when her thoughts were highly unorthodox - even vulgar - then five minutes later refused to speak at all. She had a self-righteous pride the Saints themselves would find trying - and Volkhard was himself certainly no saint.

She accused him of sending her to Officers Academy solely to see his own dreams fulfilled, and perhaps there was an element of that. Certainly, the offer from the Central Church to pay for her time here had come as an unexpected, very pleasant surprise, after he had so long ago seen his own dream of attending dashed.

But there was also the hope that it might instill in Anselma more discipline - and, perhaps, a modicum of piety. She did not yet recognize the value of such things in arranging a successful marriage - nor, as yet, did she seem to recognize the value of a successful marriage in and of itself. It was a sign from the Goddess, surely: she had rewarded him as a faithful servant, for his increased donations each year to the church as his own wealth slowly grew, and now she had sent a sign she did not intend to forget him... nor even his wayward younger sister, difficult though she might be to reach.

He had never had the opportunity to visit Garreg Mach; when their mother had fled here with young Anselma, he had been 14 years old, and already lord in name if not in practice: he remained behind. This visit was not one he intended to squander, and he allowed Anselma to shoo him from her new dormitory with little protest. There were things he must do.

The cathedral itself: that was where he must go first. One of the oldest structures in Fódlan, and - as he could confirm for himself now, staring up at it with his own awe-struck eyes - very likely the most beautiful. It was a far cry from the squat little stone church he had attended all his life. He could only imagine the glory of seeing this place filled, hundreds of rapturous voices rising even above the rafters, all the way to the heavens and the ears of the Goddess herself... Back at home, it was usually only himself, Anselma (if she hadn’t woken up early enough to disappear first), and a handful of the oldest inhabitants of the nearly villages who attended worship. Much - too much - of Adrestia had seen the dissolution of the Southern Church as an excuse to turn their backs on the Goddess.

The money in his pocket - he’d brought it for just this visit to the cathedral. More than he could truly afford to give, but it wasn’t only for himself - it was also for Anselma, and her future, and the future of the Arundel name. Perhaps a husband in Enbarr, children to cure some of Anselma’s high-spiritedness, and security for the family beyond wools sold to Fhirdiad and the frigid borderlands to its north: that would be all and more Volkhard would ever ask of the Goddess. His final gift, then, would be himself. Should Anselma bear a son to take over the family lands, he intended to retire here, and dedicate the rest of his life to the Goddess as a monk.

(Yes, of course, some would call his desire for a male heir antiquated and ridiculous - Anselma likely among them. But he had no qualms about being viewed as old-fashioned, and as long as he was alive and serving as Lord Arundel, he would pick an heir as he saw fit.)

It felt satisfying, dropping the gold into the collection basket beside the entrance. He walked inside slowly, breathing deep of hushed, rarefied air. This was where the Archbishop herself came to pray. This was where the Goddess dwelled. This was where the Saints might watch over Fódlan, with all their holy wisdom.

He could feel them all.

The space was enormous - cavernous. His steps echoed now, as did many of the prayers offered from the pews. The nave was more filled than he would have expected - and many of those praying or sitting in silent contemplation were in the uniforms of students. Some with their families, but just as many were alone - here of their own volition? If so, it must bode well for their potential influence on Anselma’s faith... or lack thereof.

He allowed himself, very briefly, to have a seat and a prayer of his own: a prayer that he was making the right decision. A prayer that this was truly the will of the Goddess.

Then, he went to the left. Down the aisle.

Just as the letter had said - a courtyard. A knight stood in the doorway. He ducked into a quick bow. “My apologies - this area is currently off limits.”

“My name is Volkhard von Arundel.” The words, too, came from the letter. “I am expected.”

Like magic - the knight stepped wordlessly aside.

The man outside had his back turned, looking out over the wall at the world spread before them, so very, very far below. He was wearing robes and the distinctive cloth tri-cornered hat of a monk.

“You came, then, Lord Arundel,” he said - and only then turned to duck his head in greeting. “Well met. The Archbishop will be pleased at your willingness to come even this far.”

“I would do anything the Archbishop asked of me. As I have already put into writing. I would gladly do so again, and seal it with my own hand.”

The monk almost smiled - he had a youthful face, but something of his expression spoke of greater years. “I think your presence here is assurance enough. Your sister - she has also arrived?”

“Yes. Though she is probably more eager to nose around than to begin her studies.”

The monk laughed at that. Very briefly. “She is not the first such student, nor will she be the last. Worry not - there are eyes everywhere at Garreg Mach, especially as new students arrive. She will be kept to approved areas. For her own safety, of course.” He glanced around, as if to make certain none of those eyes he spoke of watched them. “Now - about the... small matter... I alluded to in my letters. Dangerous to all of the Church - and all of the people of Fódlan. You remember all of this, I presume?”

“Of course.” The letter - the second he had received - had come with instructions to burn it... and a chit for the full cost of Anselma’s time at the Officers Academy. From any other source, he would have of course immediately smelled a rat, but from the Church itself - “Whatever I can do to assist you in this matter, I give you my word, I will do it.”

A curt nod. “My thanks, Lord Arundel. Come, then - let us speak of his more privately. And perhaps over a cup of tea? I fear all I need to tell you may take quite some time...”

Imperial Year 1180

Anaxi scrambled to his feet, reaching for the shortsword at his belt. He could feel himself shaking - and he could feel the cold eyes of the prisoner still, staring at him through all that crackling, surging magic.

I probably just fell asleep. Fell asleep, and had one of those dreams that wake you right back up, like the one where you miss a step and your foot jerks in real life.

Then why had the prisoner been looking at him? Why that smile?

He could hear something new now. It sounded like... breathing.

Panting, eager breathing.

Just around the corner.

On the surface world, beastly creatures stalked their prey. They made a game of it - toying. Sending eyes wide, flesh quivering, hearts racing. Fear - they feasted upon it as surely as upon muscle and marrow.

He was prey.

Cold sweat, beading along his skin.

He drew his sword. As silently as he could. As if whatever lurked around the corner did not already know he was there.

He wished now, once more, for magic.

The heavy breathing had slowed. There was no other sound. His own breath had long caught.

Then -

A slow, sliding, heavy step closer.

Another.

He held the sword up. Breathing, suddenly, in harsh, erratic gasps. “Halt!” His voice shook, too - and suddenly, irrationally, he wondered if the prisoner would laugh at him. “None are permitted here!”

“Oh?” The voice was deep... sonorous... and very close. “I do not recall asking.”

“I have a weapon!”

“...Glorious.”

He was grabbed by a blur of movement and pain, the shortsword falling from his hand as he was slammed, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, into the cold stone of the wall behind him.

But colder still was the blade that speared his middle.

He heard his own desperate, choked groan.

Eyes. Colder even than the prisoner’s.

Then the blade was gone - jerked mercilessly from his belly - and he was released, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Blood. Hot. It was so hot.

Something to give for the glorious future of Shambhala...

His life.

It was hard to focus - darkness dancing around his eyes. Inside his head.

The last thing he saw: the one who had killed him. Walking through that crackling wall of spellwork as if it was no more than cobwebs.

And the prisoner’s eyes, watching him die.

#a world on its side #what-if tales of the tiny emperor #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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thatonegirlcalledtoxic · 4 years

Text

This is my suicide story.

I was taken in by the officers called to check on me. They came, called by my concerned best friend who didn’t want to lose me. They asked repetitive questions that increased my anxiety. A ciclical array of query’s all in an attempt to coax me into saying outloud I was suicidal. Little did I know that once I’d said it outloud, I had just relinquished all personal freedom.

I was taken to my local hospital in the back of an ambulance where an EMT assistant, in an attempt to make conversation and fill the sound of my muffled sobs, started listing all the (material) reasons to live. As she ran on her fatuous listings very quickly mutated from all the reasons you should live to her explanation of how her job made her feel better about herself and that’s why she’s alive. After a vapid ride I’d later have to spend $800 on, I was sat in a busy ER while nurses threw looks of distain on my sob swollen face. Sat in the hall of the ER I waited for my badge weilding handlers to pass over my paperwork and tried not to continue sobbing. I thought about how crazy I must look. I thought about how insane I felt, With every fiber, I felt crazy. How every face that walked by was laden with pity or distain. I thought about my father in the waiting room and the guilt that splayed my heart strings like a harpsichord and plucked each like a masterful bard.

As if turning a coin between ones fingers, I rolled a train of thought through my mind. I thought about what one of the officers had told me as he walked me handcuffed to an ambulance. He talked about his brother, how he’d committed suicide and how he never wanted any one else to feel that pain. He continued on about how much his brother was loved and I absorbed his words. I know guilt wasn’t his intention, his words were meant to affirm my worth, but I weighed his words as I sat in this 1990s hospital chair, I couldn’t help but feel like a prisoner weighing their shackles. It’d been ten minutes. I thought about my situation from both sides, from his side I seemed selfish and confused. Turning up the good and happy things in my life, in choice of self pity. Refusing to recognize that there were people in my life who cared. To him, I was seeking attention. I flipped the coin. To me, he was ignorant. Thinking any of my actions were made without the full consideration of the people in my life. That’s why I’m here. I tiptoe. I appease. I always have. I make sure everyone else is happy. Maybe that’s why people like me seem so selfish, because others have become accustomed to our accommodation. I live with a mind that doesn’t stop and considers all. I know exactly what I’m doing with every step I take. I’ve already contemplated the consequences. I’m not seeking attention, I seeking some sort of confirmation that I’m normal. And even if I’m not, that it’s still okay.

I turned the coin over in my mind. Both sides made sense. Both sides seemed right, just one stung a little more. I looked at the ER exit. I could walk out. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve walked out. It’d been thirty minutes. After some prodding by the officers to get a nurse to check me in, they finally gave me an arm band and put me in a room. The lady who checked me in rolled through the conversation like a checklist, take off my clothes and jewelry, yes it had to come with her, no I couldn’t keep my phone, yes even my underwear, yes she had to check my personal ‘areas’ in case I had drugs on me, yes I had to pee into the cup, yes I had to get blood work, yes I had to stay over night, no I wasn’t allowed my rosary.

It felt so casual to her. I finally asked when my father could come in and see me, I told her I was afraid and I wanted him by my side. She said she’d send him back ASAP and that if I needed anything else just ask. I asked for a cup of water, she smiled and said not a problem. An hour went by.

I got out of bed and started pacing, I couldn’t physically keep laying in a hospital bed where my shivers of fear were so violent the vibrations of my rib cage shook the bed. I paced. Wondering where my father was. Had he not come? Did he not care? How insane did I look? Why was everyone treating me like a hollow egg? Why couldn’t I have Advil for my migraine? Where was the nurse with the water? Never once had it registered to use the call button. Instead, a nurse noticed my pacing and came to check on me. But “checking on me” is a gentle way to say, she told me to stop pacing before they restrained me to the bed. I stopped. And began to cry as I asked her to please get my father, that he would be in the waiting room. She said she would and turned, leaving the curtain open to the hall, where a very drunk and injured man looked at me like a museum exhibit or a circus show. I was on display. I shut the curtain and laid down. My shaking only got worse. She checked on me several more times. Never once did my father come back, nor did she ever come with a cup of water. Another hour went by.

I rang the call button, hoping for the cup of water I’d oh so gently and politely asked for. By this point, I’d come to the conclusion that my father had not come at all and that my anxiety was right. I really wasn’t loved. My depression worsened to the point I began to search the room for anyway to kill myself. They didn’t have a heart monitor on me. They wouldn’t realize. I spent another hour searching.

The doctor strode in asking why I was there. As I explained why, his face twisted, mouth pursing, as he listened to a healthy 23 year old explain why she wanted so desperately to die. The hardships, the harassment, the rapes, and the stress, I unraveled my life in front of this 50 year old man. To have him look at me, and tell me that life gets better eventually, and that doing this was selfish. My heart hardened. He didn’t care. I was just a part of his job, I quieted and let him check on my vitals. He remarked about how quick my heart beat was and how unhealthy that was. I laughed. As he finished up and left the room, he asked if I wanted anything else. I looked him in the eye and said I’d been without water for three hours and my father was supposed to be waiting for me in the waiting room but he’d not come back. That I would cause a scene if I did not find out if he was there or not, and that I would make every nurses life and ever living hell on a very busy night. I just wanted to know if he was there. The doctors eyes widened when he realized I was dead serious. Five minutes later my father came back with my younger brother. They both held me as I cried. It was the most relief I’d felt all night. Five minutes after that my water came. I’d later pay $300 for that interaction with the doctor. It would later become the only worthwhile thing I was billed for.

I told my father what had happened, and silently we agreed to get out that night, by any means. My brother still sobbing, told me how scared he was sitting in the waiting room, how neither one were sure if I was dead or alive or somewhere in between. I hugged him tightly and told him I was alright now that they were there, and that was the truth. In comparison to how I felt at the beginning of the night, I was on cloud nine! They’d broken me in to the point of compliance, but I refused to stay overnight and my father and brother agreed. Our goal now was to leave together, no matter what. With my father by my side, a seemingly stable person, he flagged a nurse and asked for the dr and another cup of water. The water came quicker this time, and soon after came the doctor, my father asked what the options were and I stayed quiet. We silently worked together. The doctor told us that someone would be in to do a mental evaluation and that depending on that we’d be allowed to leave together, he left shorty after. Me and my dad came to a silent agreement, we’d lie. Another hour went by.

Finally a very disheveled man in slacks carrying a hospital laptop stumbled into my room. He introduced himself to me and started on a seemingly endless list of asinine questions pertaining to my life. As he continued his interrogation, I realized half of my problem were finances. I was underpaid and overworked, straight out of college with nothing but 3 full years experience in my field and a degree in biology. Making 29k a year. He kept going, asking whether I had a support system, asking questions about hobbies and likes. Unbeknownst to me, he was creating what they call an “emergency plan” so when I found myself in these stressful circumstances again, I’d be able to look at a list of things that included, cats, warm cups of tea, and playing sims 4, to find MEANING AND PURPOSE in these small material objects and actions. So that, next time I found myself encompassed by existential dread and nihilism brought on my the inability to support myself with a degree, I could remind myself, “WAIT! These trivial things you find nice when happy exist! Don’t you want to remind yourself that your depression keeps you from partaking in anything you enjoy!?!” For the record. You never look at your emergency plan the second time around. You don’t remember it exists until you’re cleaning out your files.

As he went on with his question, me and my father were poised and prepared. No there were no guns available to me (there were). Yes I would be going home with my father where I would be watched for at least 3 days (I went to my apt where my little brother and I cried and watched movies). All of these queries effortlessly answered and accounted for. He told me my antidepressants were probably too high a dose and that I should stop taking them. He tried setting up appointments for therapy, but those never materialized as I realized most therapy centers were open on normal business days, when the average person works. No appointment ever materialized and instead he handed me a card for a care center and he wished me the best. Soon a nurse would arrive with my clothing and jewelry. I redressed and we walked out together. A week later I’d go through something called ‘antidepressant withdrawal syndrome’, not realizing that, similar to heroin or meth, I was using an artificial serotonin to replace something I didn’t naturally produce. And so I went through drug withdrawal for about a week. I felt like I had the flu, I would throw up but my stomach still hurt. I was shaking and sobbing. I had a headache that lasted 3 days straight. I couldn’t sleep, during that time, and even began to hallucinate. I never told anyone about that, I was too afraid to go back and be treated like I was insane.

I went back two months later for a second suicide attempt that landed me in a psych ward this time. Sadly not much was different this time. Except that the nurses that tried harder to make you not feel like a prisoner. But nothing was different. I discovered direct behavioral therapy and applied it to my life but I only got a book to walk through tough times with. It’s helpful, but only as long as you remember to use it.

I wish I had a nice ending for this.. I almost want to make one up, to say that I never thought about ending my life again! That after I went to the hospital my life dramatically changed for the better and I became a neurotypical member of society. But I’d be lying. Mental healthcare hasn’t improved, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest only showed the rampant medical abuse in mental healthcare, but fundamentally what did it change? When we have people in positions of care and power who believe themselves fundamentally better than others because of biology, we will never improve. People have a right to be sad and suicidal without being treated like they’re insane for doing so. The system is set up to break people and keep them in their place, never asking for better, and never allowing them to willingly die. I don’t have a solution to this problem, I just think more people need to know how their depressed brothers and sisters are treated by others. We’re not selfish. We are people. And we want to live. Not as cogs in a machine but as people. I’m just tired. I’m tired of police performing mental health check ups. I’m tired of doctors acting like you can’t make decisions for yourself because you’re stressed. My heart hurts and races thinking about how many people were where I was but who didn’t have someone “sane” to help them get out. How many tried once and gave up and resigned to suicide being the only real option, except now they know to keep quiet about it. Our mental healthcare system isn’t a solution. It’s a very real problem. That we need to change.

#horror stories #real life #mental health #defund the police #mental help #mental disorder #suicidal thoughts #suicide

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ethereaiin · 4 years

Text

Change | Boku no Hero Academia

synopsis; he was your breath of fresh air.

features; you and midoriya izuku

[au]

inspired by this song

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The memory of blood always left a bitter taste in her mouth. Despair weighed heavily against her chest and the feeling pooled itself against her very being, suffocating her in endless abyssal black.

Her hands, stained with the crimson red of her victims continues to glisten brightly in the light of day. No matter how many times she's washed her hands or how hard she's scrubbed them clean, the blood never rinses away. It serves as a dreadful reminder of her sins and she'll never allow herself to forget.

She is a monster. She is irredeemable. In the eyes of society, she is a villain and that's all she'll ever be.

Her acceptance of such a blasphemous title was only natural. The moment she was caught, there was no choice left in her life. Like she deserved, she'd be placed somewhere her freedom could no longer apply. She was ready for it, accepting her fate that would forever confine her to a room with no solace of escape.

What she wasn't prepared for, what she didn't expect in a world that has never shown her any mercy; was for someone to see her as something more than evil.

She remembers his eyes the most. They were filled with a hope she had yet to ever experience and a kindness that seemed so foreign to her. They were vibrant, and oh so welcoming. She wanted to stare into them until the end of time, until she was able to discover why he was able to look so pure compared to herself.

She couldn't understand his motive. Why would someone like him want to save her? Compared to the lives she's taken, there is no sensible reason he'd want to her to live. He should hate her. He should be cursing every part of her being, despising her for the innocent lives she's taken.

Yet. . .

"Don't you want to be free?"

She glances up from her intertwined hands, the heavy chains that bind them together clink gently against each other with her movements. She doesn't know how to regard the man before her, his face holds no look of fear or repulsion that she was so used to receiving; instead he looks at her with pity.

'Why?'

"No." Her eyes avert from his, unable to continue gazing upon his honest expression. It seemingly mocked her when she spoke nothing but lies. "Freedom isn't what I want."

He doesn't speak for a moment, far too engrossed in his own thoughts to fully process the words that had left her chapped lips. Half of it was the truth. She truly didn't desire freedom, the thing she yearned for the most was out of her reach. It was a concept that she felt was far too unrealistic, he wouldn't ever gift it to her. No one in their right mind would ever think that she deserved anything more than to be locked up for the rest of her life.

"What do you want then?"

Redemption. She wanted to say it, to finally utter the desperate wish in hopes that it would become reality. Yet, she is not naive. She's not like him who knows hope so well that he is able to carry it with him wherever he goes. She cannot see the good in her like he can.

She wonders if he's ever felt the heaviness of despondence.

"What I want is something you can't give me." Her voice was soft and defeated. He noted the somber look shining in her eyes and he wished he knew what he could do to ease her desolation. "But I don't blame you. . . I don't deserve it."

He stares at her for a few moments longer, his fingers intertwining with each other as they resettle atop his lap. He isn't sure what about her caught his attention. As a villain, she was one of the harder ones to track down, yet she was surprisingly compliant in her arrest. She never struggled or lashed out, it was almost as if she wanted to be caught.

It may have struck the other pro-heroes odd, but it wasn't in the least bit surprising to him. It was clear that she was looking for some kind of forgiveness, a way out of the hole she dug for herself the moment she took the life of an innocent. Maybe that's why he held an odd interest in her. The obvious regret she displayed for her past actions made her look redeemable in his eyes.

She could be saved. Unlike the many other villains he's helped wrangle into the depths of Tartarus, she was the only one who's ever shown clear remorse. He could be the one to save her; to show her the hope that's been ripped away from her numerous times.

"I don't believe that," His words causes her head to peer up at him, her features twisted into a look of utter confusion. "I think you at least deserve a second chance."

Her breath hitches in her throat and her heart squeezes so painfully in her chest that she felt as if she were going to die. Never once has she ever heard anyone tell her such a thing, let alone the number one hero. The thought of being believed in by someone so much more righteous than her melded a feeling of relief and anxiousness within her.

For years, she carried a feeling of desolation. Her birth from villainous parents exposed her to nothing but a life of askew morals and unending crime. She thought herself predestined to become evil and back then she had no qualms with such a way of life. It was only when she grew older, more mature and wise in the darkness she surrounded herself in that she realized her own wrongdoings.

"Do you really mean that?" She breathlessly whispers, somber eyes roving the expanse of his face as if his features would give away his insincerity. "Do you really think I'm worth redemption?"

She didn't want to hope. It hurt too much to feel that familiar light flicker deep within her chest only for it to be suddenly extinguished the moment it's pulled away. She didn't wish to undergo it again, not if this hope were false.

"Is that what you want?" He asks, lips pulled into a reassuring smile. Once again, she found herself drawn to his eyes and their indiscriminate shine of endless kindness. "Redemption?"

Her eyes flickered away from his and down to her chained hands. The clinks of metal against metal only being a stark reminder of her fate if she felt otherwise. Tears brimmed at her eyes and she couldn't find the strength in herself to wipe them away. She doubted the chains binding her hands would be long enough to allow her to do so anyway.

"It's what I desire the most. . ."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The heavy weight that rested against her wrist and the base of her neck felt so much lighter in comparison to the shackles she once wore. Despite being vouched for by the current number one hero, there was still people who doubted her 'pure' intentions.

She couldn't blame them. She was a menace to society for so long that there was no reason for them to ever trust her. If it weren't for the countless requests and fighting on her hero's end, then she doubted she would have ever been able to see the light of day. She could still remember the day he showed up for their weekly meeting, the excited flush of his cheeks and matching smile that graced his features. The news of her release warmed her heart immensely and even she couldn't fight off the smile that broke across her lips.

"Deku,"

She started with cheeks flushed in red. These new feelings of gratitude were unfamiliar to her, she's never once thought that she had anything to be grateful for. She only knew how to take, never receive. If she ever were given something there was always an ulterior motive, but she knew this man long enough to trust he truly wished for nothing in return.

The patience apparent on his face was enough to encourage to keep going. Over the year since she met him, he never once shamed her for her past, she did that too much to herself already, he only urged her to look forwards to the future. To a life that she wouldn't ever feel so utterly guilty for living.

". . .Thank you."

The smile on his face turned softer at her words and if she were to look closer, she could even describe it as being a bit apprehensive as well. "Midoriya Izuku. I think I know you well enough to give you my real name."

"Then thank you, Midoriya."

She never forgot the effort he went through for her, even if her granted freedom placed the heaviest of conduct upon her. The quirk cancellation bracelets that were tightly bound to her wrists was apart of her atonement, as was the high voltage collar strapped to her neck. Her freedom was not at all given to her for 'free'.

There were regulations, curfews, thick books filled to the brim to list the things she can and cannot do. The apartment complex she was allowed to live in was heavily monitored and the visitors who were allowed over were limited to a few she could count on one hand. The transition was going to be hard for her. To go from a life of taking what she wanted when she wanted, to one that restricted her every movement wasn't going to be easy.

I can do this, She'd chant to herself on the days when the bracelets felt heavier and the collar felt particularly suffocating. I can show them I'm more than just a villain.

Sometimes that would be all that she'd need to hear in order to carry on. The daily hateful remarks and general fear she faced from those beyond the safe walls of her apartment could prove to be too much sometimes. She became somewhat accustomed to it, believing it to be nothing more than another obstacle she needed to face in order to find forgiveness.

It was the harder days that got to her the most. The days when the words of strangers felt more impactful and the white walls of her apartment felt more like a spruced up cell than a home. It was the days when her tears never stopped running and her thoughts refused to budge from her past atrocities that made her feel as if she didn't deserve what she had now.

Yet the moment the thought of giving up settled into her brain, her phone would light up and the name of the man who saved her would be announced in bolded text on its bright screen. It was almost funny how many times he unknowingly pulled her from the discouraging thoughts that ran through her head.

"How are you doing, [last name]-chan?"

With those words alone, no matter how much she urged herself to resist, she'd find herself spilling everything. Her frustrations, her mistakes, and the loneliness that accompanied her new lifestyle. Each grievance was spoken through tears and she doubted that he could even understand her half of the time. Still, he wholeheartedly listened to her and comforted her with a gentle tone that made her chest flutter and eased her anxiousness.

"You can't always allow your past to dictate your future. You are no longer the same person from back then, I promise you that."

It eased the tension she felt throughout her body to be told such a trivial thing. The past has always haunted her in fleeting memories or twisted dreams. She sometimes felt as if it were inescapable. The reminders alone were enough to break her down into tears, yet his words would hold her together. They served as a reminder of the lengths he went to save her. The man who she believed would've abandoned her the moment she was placed into custody, was the same man who spoke such soothing words.

His continued weekly visits quickly became the one thing she had to look forwards to and despite her hardships, she never allowed herself to feel down in his presence. For his sake and for her own, she continued being optimistic.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Don't you realize how far you've come?"

At first, the words didn't register in her mind and when she looked up from the cup of tea before her, she felt a sense of deja vu. He sat on the other end of the couch, his kind gaze was focused solely on her and the smile that gave her an unending sensation of warmth graced his features.

For only a passing moment, she was briefly reminded of the dark cell he'd meet her in on a weekly basis.

With a smile mirroring his own, she absentmindedly touched the base of her neck where the collar was once bound. It lingered for only a moment before falling back down to rest on her thigh. It's only been a little over a year since she began her new life under the watchful eye of both heroes and the government alike and only three months since they've taken the shock collar off of her. Their apprehension of her was still obvious from the bracelets that still clung to her wrists, but she hoped that soon they too would be gone.

"Of course," She nodded, fingers cradling against the porcelain cup as she placed it back down onto the coffee table. Her cheeks colored with fluster and she felt herself begin to feel slightly nervous under his gaze. "If. . . If it weren't for you, I don't think I could have gotten this far."

Her words emitted such sincerity that he found himself unable to deny them. Instead, he opted to swallow down the nerves before reaching out and placing a hand on her own. "It wasn't just all me. . . You did most of the work."

She stared down at their joined hands, the undeniably warmth that radiated from him felt as if it were flowing into her in tingling waves. She's never been this close to another person, neither has she ever touched them without the intent to harm them. Like many things she's experienced with him, this was new. It felt so simple in comparison to the familiar numbing sensation she felt on an almost daily basis. The momentary happiness she felt only in his presence alone made her feel so undeserving of it. She believed if she were to be selfish with it, she'd eventually ruin the one good thing in her life, but she couldn't bear to distance herself from him.

Just this once, she wanted to be selfish.

"Before I met you," She started as she turned over the hand he held in order to intertwine their fingers. She relished in the roughness of his hand, not at all repulsed by the old scars that littered them. She found them to be tender, even if they were anything but. "I never knew what kindness felt like. For the longest, I believed the moment I was caught my life would end or that I'd be kept inside a cell for the rest of my existence."

Her gaze shyly met his and at the sight of his own reddened cheeks, she felt her chest tightly clench. "You are the only one who's ever thought of me as something more than the criminal I am. No one has ever tried to give me a chance, not even myself. For all you've done for me, I don't think I can thank you enough."

Her fingers squeezed around his own in a silent attempt to get across all of what she wished to say. "With you, I realized there's a lot more to life than violence or death. . . there's a lot more I haven't felt before, but you. . ." She sharply inhaled, her gaze holding an unwavering conviction and steadiness. "You've shown me so many new things. So. . ."

"Would you hate me if I asked to you to stay by my side? Is it selfish of me to want to keep you to myself, if only for a little while longer?"

Her eyes clenched shut as the cold fear of rejection began to rack her body in waves. She felt as if her heart were harshly beating in her ears and her throat constricted with the weighted feeling of incoming tears. She's never been this afraid of hearing another person's response. It was dreadful. The feeling of suspense hanging above her head like some glorified guillotine was enough to crush her in disappointment and it only amplified the moment she felt him slip his hand from her own.

She couldn't help but wonder the worse possibilities that were to happen after her brazen declaration. Her words could have been interpreted in different ways, yet she hoped that his understanding would be on par with her true intentions.

'I love you,' She wished to say, though the words failed to leave her lips. 'Please don't leave me.'

The moment she can feel the tears beginning to slip down her face from clenched eyes, she feels the sudden pull of someone. It felt as if it were only in mere seconds that her body was encased in a gentle warmth that made her feel relatively lighter than the dread that encompassed her. Her cheeks are still flushed in an embarrassed hue and her brows are knitted tightly together as she softly sniffles.

When she warily cracks open her eyes, she is somewhat surprised to see that Midoriya has gone from holding her hand to embracing her as if she were to slip away at any given moment. The ache in her chest is relieved only slightly, leaving behind a lingering sensation of throbbing.

"I could never hate you," He says, his voice being soft and gentle next to her ear. "You're too important to me."

Despite all that he's done to ensure that her past would never catch up to her and the endless support he's offered in whispered words of assurance, he could still see the abiding guilt that clouded her mind from time to time. He knew it wouldn't be an easy task to ease the blame nor the stigma that associated itself with the title as heavy as 'ex-villain', but he was more than determined to show her and the rest of the world that there was more to her than her past.

'Please, forget the past.' He wished to urge her, the plead dying on his tongue before making itself known. He only hoped that his tight embrace would convey it. 'Please see yourself as the compassionate person I see you as now.'

"I love you."

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blobbyclouds · 5 years

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Ok so this is kind of out there but I cant get the image out of my head of a human who runs a smuggling ring for androids? kind of like rose but a bit of a bigger scale, and maybe some of the deviants falling in love with the human who smuggles them out? I've got my eyes on Ralph and Jerry in particular but if you only wanna do one just Ralph is good! Sorry it's a lot hfdudivnueiwn and thank you if you do this one!

idk why the image is so big oof This is a really good idea, thanks for the request! I did my best to incorporate the second part in, so I hope it turned out like you were hoping

warnings: minor violence

—

Ralph clung to their hand with an iron grip. It was almost painful, but they could understand his nerves — one wrong move and both of them would be caught. After all their time spent helping androids cross the border, they weren’t so easily susceptible to stress as others were. Each time was a bit different, but there was a steady routine that they and everyone else followed through to make sure every android crossed the border safely.

But despite their expertise in navigating the border, just one mistake had resulted in them being left behind. The boat was already pulling out of the dock, filled with all the refugees except for them. They were stuck in a dark alleyway, tucked behind a dumpster and a chain link fence.

“Ralph is so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Ralph didn’t mean for—”

“You’re okay, Ralph,” they said. “You couldn’t control the fact that the police decided to change their patrol routes.” They sighed, rubbing their forehead with the hand Ralph wasn’t clinging to. They were still mentally kicking themselves for not thinking that the police would change their patrol routes eventually, thus cutting them off from the boat just a second too soon.

“What are we going to do?” he asked. As with most things, Ralph looked to them for guidance. Even from the beginning, Ralph had greatly favored them over the other humans who smuggled androids.

They chewed on their lip as they weighed their options. “Obviously, the boat isn’t an option,” they said. They patted Ralph’s shoulder as they felt him tense up again. As one of the few people he was comfortable with touching, he relaxed at the motion. “We need to get out of here. There are other ways to get across the border. They’ll take longer, but we’ll get to them.”

After peaking around each corner, they began to lead Ralph down the darkened streets. He jumped at every sound, but kept a firm grip on their arm. At this point, they didn’t even bat an eye at his tight hold. They had long become accustomed to Ralph’s nervous touch, holding them close whenever he felt nervous. In these shadow infested streets, they didn’t mind Ralph holding them so close that he nearly stepped on their heels with every move — it was far better than being alone.

“So where are we going?” Ralph asked.

“A friend of mine. They live on the other side of town, but we’ll be safe once we get there,” they replied.

The idea of walking across the city in the dead of night terrified him. The idea of leaving their side was even more terrifying though, and he found himself tightening his grip around their arm. Even if they were constantly looking straight ahead, Ralph couldn’t help but keep his head on a constant swivel.

A thump to the left? Ralph tightened his grip on them so painfully they had to gently pat his shoulder as a reminder to relax. A car driving past? He would huddle so close to them that he was practically walking on their heels. His eyes roved left and right, in front and behind them. He was paranoid, but at least he had a good reason for it.

But despite their vigilance, they weren’t aware of the police car until its menacing array of blue and red lights were flashing against the brick wall near them. Ralph nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart — though it was made of metal and wires — began to beat wildly against his chest.

“What do we do?” Ralph asked. The car was already on the same block on them and slowly driving towards them. “Please, what do we do? Ralph doesn’t want—”

“Stay calm, I’ve got this,” was all they said. They whipped up Ralph’s cowl so that it was hiding his face. They allowed their hand to rest on the side of his face long enough to meet his gaze and smile. Despite their predicament, Ralph found himself smiling back. It was hard not to when they gave him the smile that made his systems malfunction.

The police car pulled up to the sidewalk. The window rolled down. “Excuse me, you two,” the officer on the driver’s side said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m going to have to see your ID’s.”

They could feel Ralph trembling, tugging lightly at their arm. They gave him a gentle pat before frowning at the officer. “What for?” they asked. They smiled sweetly. “Is something the matter?”

Both officers sighed. Ralph wished he could see past his hood to read their faces. Did they have a gun? Some other weapon? Were they glaring glaring at them, even though they had never done anything to deserve such treatment? Ralph hated this. He had wanted to run the moment the car had come into sight. Not only did the officers put himself in great danger, but also dragged them into that same danger. He cared about them too much. Just thinking of something happening to them made his mind spin around like error warnings were jamming his software.

“Just the usual patrol. We have to make sure there are no androids wandering about with everything that’s going on,” the other officer replied. Her voice wasn’t annoyed, just tired.

“Oh, I see,” they said. “Perfectly understandable.”

“And while you two do seem very nice, I am still going to have to see some identification,” the officer added. There was a hint of apology to his voice. Was there still hope for them?

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re in a bit of a hurry,” they said. “I’m sure you understand. With everything going on, we don’t want to be out here any longer than we have to.”

The officer didn’t reply right away. Ralph tugged on their arm more insistently. He couldn’t stand this silence, with nothing but the low hum of heating units and drone of distant cars to fill the tense silence. There was no way these officers were going to let them go. They were far too obvious. If his hood moved down just a little, they would be able to perfectly see his scar and there was no way they could talk their way out of that one.

“We’ll make it quick, we promise,” the other office said. “And if you live far from here, we’d be more than willing to give you a ride home.”

They smiled, even if they felt like they were suffocating. This wasn’t going at all how they had hoped. They were still miles from their friend’s house, and even if they could reach it, the task of getting across the border tomorrow would be even more difficult now that the officers knew their face.

“Alright,” they said. Ralph let go of their arm arm long for them to shrug off their backpack and crouch down by it. Hee placed his hand on their shoulder, fidgeting with their coat’s thick material. “Just a moment, I have both of our ID’s buried in here somewhere,” they said. Their brow furrowed as they began to mindlessly fumble through their belongings to stall.

“Honey, could you come help me for a second?” they asked, looking up at Ralph. Even though he was still trembling, he dropped down to their side instantly.

They were both well aware that the two officers were staring at them. They didn’t have much time before they would begin to become suspicious. They nudged Ralph gently, perking his attention instantly. He looked at them with wide, frightened eyes, searching for the familiar light of confidence in their face.

“When I stand up, run,” they whispered. “A block down from here we can turn down an alleyway. There are a bunch of small side streets and alleys all tangled together. We’ll be okay, I promise.”

Ralph gave a vague nod. He was terrified, but if anything, that made him all the more willing to listen to them. They pretended to have something in their hand as they put their backpack back on.

“Sorry that took awhile,” they said, giving the officers one last smile. They began to slowly stand, taking Ralph’s hand in a firm grip as they did so.

The moment they were completely standing, they ran. They didn’t look back, not even when the sound of yelling and car doors slamming filled their ears. The rush of their footsteps and breathing were the only sounds they could focus on. Ralph clung to their hand as they raced down the street and whipped around the corner into the alley. Without the faint glow of the streelight’s guiding their path it was near impossible to see, but they didn’t have a choice.

They continued to lead the way, turning randomly down the dark paths. The way was cluttered, causing both them and Ralph to stumble and have to pull the other up to keep going. The officers yelling and footsteps told them they had to keep moving, they always had to keep running and—

They ran straight into a brick wall.

They hadn’t even seen it before they were stumbling backwards and falling to the ground. Ralph’s hand slipped out of their grip, and they heard his sharp gasp of surprise. They blindly fumbled through the darkness, crawling backwards until their back hit something hard. There was scuffling in the darkness, people moving and yelling. Was Ralph there? Had he gone off a different direction when their hand was no longer guiding him?

The click of gun being loaded, though quiet through all the noise, cut through every other sound like a gong.

They pressed themselves farther back into the wall. Where was Ralph? He had run, right? They doubted the officers would actually shoot them, but Ralph was a different situation — to them, he was just an android. They wanted nothing more than to call out his name and find him. The ony thing keeping them from doing such was the fact that it would probably lead to the both of them being apprehended.

“Where’d they go?” one officer gasped. “I swear both of them went right down this dead end.”

“No one ran past me, I swear,” the other snapped. “They’re probably both still down there hiding. Here let me go first, I have the gun.”

“Is that really necessary? You’ll end up hitting me with this dark,” the first one grumbled, far closer than they had been in a few seconds ago. Their heart beat wildly inside their chest. So Ralph was still trapped with them? Where though? There wasn’t much space to be hiding.

“As long as I hit one of them — human or android — it’ll mean we have at least someone to interrogate,” the officer with the gun said. “And at this point, I—”

The officers words were cut off with a distinctive thud.

The next officer could only get out a sharp gasp before a similar thud cut through the air, instantly followed by a heavier thump.

Except for their own heavy breathing and racing heart, there was silence. Absolute chilling silence.

They took in a shuddering breath. “Ralph?” they said tentatively. “Ralph, where are you?”

There was no verbal reply, only a nearby shuffling.

“Ralph? Is that you?” they asked. Figuring it was him, they added, “Come here.”

The uneasy footsteps came right to their side. They were sure it was him though — and when his trembling arms wrapped around them far too tight, they were sure of it.

“Ralph didn’t mean to hurt them,” he said. His voice was partially muffled as he buried his head into their neck, taking in their comforting smell.

They nodded and began petting his hair. “I know you didn’t,” they said.

“They were going to hurt you. Ralph wanted to keep you safe like you always keep him safe,” he continued. He was still trembling, but their touch had caused him to relax into their hold.

“I know,” they said again. “But we need to get going. I don’t know how long they’ll be out, and I don’t want to take anymore chances.”

In the darkness, they could barely see Ralph nod. As they began to rise to their feet, Ralph clung to their arm painfully tight. Under most circumstances, they would’ve gently reminded him not to practically walk on their heels or hold them so tightly, but any such comments didn’t seem to suit their current situation. Having them just that much closer seemed to comfort him, and that was all they wanted for him in that moment.

And besides, they didn’t mind having him so close either.

#detroit become human #Ralph wr600 x reader #dbh ralph fic #ralph wr600 imagines #ralph scenario #dbh x reader #turned out more like a run on than i expected #oh well #hope it's okay!

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