#a lot of stuff needs to be done by monday and i have no spoons to spare

[godbirdart]

i stay silly i stay silly i stay silly

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Lurker anon here, and I've got some brainrot that I'd like to share :)

So one of my friends is a culinary student and he works at a bakery on the side. From school, he's always bringing back the food everyone makes in his baking class since for some reason nobody ever wants theirs (one time he got like 10 cakes), and he's also always bringing home stuff from the bakery since they need to keep everything fresh and a lot of their stuff can't be left out for too long, plus the place is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays (he tried to give me a giant bag full of bread just last week). That's gotten me thinking.

Let's say your boyfriend owns a bakery. It's a pretty small one, so apart from the two of you there's no need to hire anyone else to help out. It's a Monday evening, so the bakery is closed to the public. You've taken the day off to just relax and get some household chores done, but your boyfriend has been there since the crack of dawn, making and testing new recipes that he's been wanting to add to the menu. The bakery has good equipment that he doesn't have at home, but said equipment is large and so he always ends up making a *lot* more than he needs for sampling, or even for giving away.

Not one to let perfectly good food go to waste (and of course he has a sweet tooth), on top of all the sampling he's doing he's also spent the day snacking on the extras. When you head to the bakery in search of him, you find him leaning back against the counter, one arm braced against the marble surface while the other cradles his swollen, gurgling belly. His stomach is bulging outwards because it's so stuffed with baked goods, outlined by his apron and straining against the ribbons that tie it against him. He's stuffed to the gills, and on top of that all that sugar has made him rather queasy and he raises his hand to his mouth, stifling a low, sickly burp. Looking around, you can see that there are still plenty of pastries dotting the kitchen counter.

The question is, what do you do now - rub your poor boyfriend's overstuffed tum, or see if he can fit anything more into it?

THE RETURN OF LURKER ANON!!! omg this is incredible.

im not usually a mean feeder, but i can see it going one of two ways ;)

you hate to see your boyfriend so sick, so you usher him home to rest. you help him untie the tight apron, and when he lies down in bed his belly rises up like a hill under the covers. initially he doesn’t want to take any medicine, so terribly embarrassed of what he’s done to himself, but after the strained digestive gurgles get especially loud he gives in, and you sit at his bedside and spoon medicine into his mouth.

he’s got such a bad stomachache that he has to keep the bakery closed into the next day, which he feels guilty about. i imagine him upstairs with his eyes closed, stomach hurting too bad to actually sleep. he thinks about heavy creams and tart jams and wildflower honeys, chocolate chips and powdered sugar. all the red velvet and cinnamon bread and eclairs. as you come in with a chamomile tea you see him wincing, so you start playing with his hair and caressing his sore belly.

or maybe you feel mean. you and him sometimes play punishment games, and nowadays it seems his masochistic self wants to be punished, and although a terrible stomach ache seems like the ultimate punishment to you, you decide that your boyfriend needs to be disciplined and taught a lesson. you collect the scraps of pastries left behind and drag him home. out of the closet you pull ropes, and once his arms are restrained behind his back you force him to keep eating, giving brief intermissions from a gallon of milk:

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

okay!

you currently feel like a trapped animal ready to chew your own hand off at the wrist to get free.

but that's not real. it's just a feeling.

(Big Anger and the prospect of estrangement under the cut, metions of rape and suicidality).

on Monday, HR is going to fix your paycheck. if they refuse to make it retroactive, you can loop in L, M, and N and see who they can escalate to. they owe you (redacted) dollars and they will pay you (redacted) dollars or you will quit your job.

if you have to shelve querying for a little while so you can look for a better job, you will not die it will hurt, but it will not kill you.

tomorrow, text Z and get some time on her calendar for Budgeting Round One.

your brain is generating worst-case scenarios and then looping on them for hours at a time. please try to stop doing that.

you will make a budget.if you have to, you will get a new job. this is BIG SCARY but less big scary than just Doing This Forever.

and then you will invite your parents to go to family therapy. if that doesn't work, you will write them a letter. you will say the stuff you need to say so it does not rot inside of your body and make you so sick you die. they will react how they do. maybe you will need to stop talking to them for a week or two. maybe you will have to stop talking to them forever.

your brain is creating an itemized list of scary escalations they could do if you tried to set a boundary with them (driving to your apartment, forcing you to go back to PA with them, etc.) your brain is spending a lot of itself on making disaster plans for emergencies that are, at worst, a year out and, at best, never going to happen.

your brain is scripting what you will tell your brother, your pastor, your aunts and cousins. you do not need to know those things yet.

please get your brain to stop looping and go to sleep.

you are doing this because you are scared. I think you are a little bit scared that the next time your dad snaps at you on the phone, instead of bursting into tears and folding yourself up like an origami swan, you will instead go YOU DON'T GET TO MAKE ME FEEL UNLOVEABLE ANYMORE FUCK YOU FOREVER NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN and you know you can't do that until you can pay your own rent.

I think for part of your brain it would be a relief if they did something totally out of pocket, something you could say to people and they would go 'oh, that's why you don't talk to them anymore, that tracks"

maybe take a break from trying to be grateful it's not worse, grateful that you get to do this on your own timeline, grateful that you can't imagine them doing anything dangerous (apart from the dangerous things they have already done, but those things were neglect-dangerous not abuse-dangerous)

you know, even typing this, that the best-case scenario is to get to a place where you have a sustainable relationship with them. you only want to nuke them from orbit because you feel so trapped and scared.

but maybe just take a little hiatus from gratitude that they didn't/aren't hurting you worse. stop imagining your calmest and most reasonable communication of boundaries in the face of the scariest thing you can imagine them doing. they probably will not do that thing and also there is no legal mandate that you have to be as calm and rational as possible in your maladaptive emergency planning/daydreams.

imagine how it would feel to go "no, fuck you, the ketamine is keeping me from literally dying, I will not stop taking it because I do not wish to literally die. you have done zero things ever to help me in pursuit of not becoming a suicide statistic, even when i was a child and you had an obligation."

imagine how it would feel to go "no, fuck you, I am as loveable as any person who can use a knife properly and I always have been. fuck you for spoon-feeding that garbage to me when I was too young to know better."

"fuck you for preferring shaved leegs with self-harm bandages on them to unshaven legs. your priorities are broken."

"fuck you for every single thing you have ever said about my body and the way I feed it."

"fuck you for every nasty, belittling little remark I am supposed to swallow"

"fuck you for telling me it wasn't rape! you are not the arbiter of that! fuck you for telling me "don't call it that" like my language was the priority when I came to you in pain. your priorities are broken"

"fuck you for brushing me off the first time I tried to tell you I had anxiety. fuck you for convincing me I was lying about having migraines."

"you guys are mean and your priorities are wrong and you did not try very hard to keep me from dying between the ages of 12-18 and you did not have my back when a boy gave me PTSD. you praised that boy for taking such good care of me and you told me "oh, you'll get over it," when I told you he had raped and terrorized me. and you fed me poison that made me grateful for him for a long time before I left."

you might love me, but you sure do treat me like I am hard to love. you do not respect me even a little bit. you are not reliably kind. you do not see me. you refuse to engage with the lived realities of my life. you do not love me in a way that feels like love, now that I have been loved by people who do not prefer a version of me that doesn't exist.

come correct or spend the rest of your life telling people that your daughter was a crazy person who cut you off for no reason. I'm prepared to spend the holidays alone, are you?

you will be able to tell them a version of this in three to eighteen months, depending on how the budgeting and a possible subsequent job hunt go. it will be scary but you will no longer feel like chewing off your own hand every night.

[dungeonegg]

Nilrex guild survival guidelines - part 1

Just a bit of a goofy little thing I've been working on that I thought I'd share. Some of the tips and tricks the guild came up with over the years before the annihilation.

If Aiden says it's a "good" idea....run.

Do not steal Reveka's ice cream. She will pull serial killer from a horror movie tactics in revenge.

If Alouette, Zykelle, and Danny have any sort of Disney marathon before a Dungeon raid, be prepared for quotes, singing, and so on at highly inappropriate times. Zykelle is the primary instigator but the other two will do so as well. Expect no regrets or remorse.

Rowe goes missing a lot. If needed, tell Divondra and wait If Divondra is unavailable, just wait. Do NOT attempt to locate Rowe yourself. Especially do not attempt to search Rowe's room or the air vents.

Aiden's brother, Kaz, is not allowed anywhere near the kitchen. Ever.

What goes on paper plate awards is not to be explained to any source of media. Ever.

Stage a coup Fridays are for Fridays. Not Mondays. Especially not as protests over the weekend being done.

Serious attempts at staging a coup are not encouraged, at any time. Crazy, outrageous ones are king and have a specific day of the week reserved for them.

Danny can make a weapon of pretty much anything. No, you do not need to ask for demonstrations. And no, poking Danny with a chop stick between the ribs is NOT an advisable way to get a demonstration. Or with anything else, any where else. Looking at you Aiden.

It's best to keep ALL sharp objects away from Tallulah when requesting healing. Blunt objects too. Any objects really. Better yet, do not request healing from Tallulah.

Do not ask about Zykelle's "tramp stamp". He will proudly show you.

Don't make Addy cry.

If Alouette is baking, prepare for war. Victor gets the goods. Or hit with a wooden spoon. Depends if she plans to share. (She usually does.)

Any consequences of one's powers are the responsibility of that particular individual. So yes, Aiden, you do have to baby sit when you use yours.

Cornered or surprised Rowe can be a bit...stab happy. Always let Divondra handle.

Yes, some of Addy's "friends" can be terrifying. No, you cannot tell that to her. Or at least, no you should not if you do not want Addy trying to convince you of their good qualities by employing whichever of her friends you fear to follow you around while Addy lists off positive traits of theirs.

Give Tallulah knitting supplies at your own peril.

If Danny is missing, immediately tell Alouette or Zykelle. Space may be all Danny needs but letting Danny stew ends poorly for everyone.

Unless brought up by a member of the guild, it's best advised not to bring up their family situation. The ones who have good family relations will let you know.

While it may be adorable to see, it's not advised to let Addy play with Divondra's drag gear. Not that Divondra has any real problems with it but Addy has actually gotten injured playing dress up with that stuff. Addy is no size thirteen after all.

[morvantmortuary]

I've had like zero energy the past two days because of my period, and I've been wondering how the Morvants would be with a reader who struggles with it

well first of all, babe, a big solidarity high five from me, bc Omg Same :’D I’ve been on the daily pill since I was a teenager, and Istg my symptoms have only gotten worse. the first two days of my placebo week every month just wipe me the fuck out now, and those were this past monday and tuesday for me and I swear I’ve been at half-battery since ☠️ I’m feeling a bit better today - I got up at a normal person time and have managed to get some stuff done - but I hope if you’re starting to feel a bit better if you’re not quite on your feet again yet 🖤♥️ Fatigue as a symptom can be hard, esp. when lots of people already don’t take PMS super seriously.

The Morvants, however, know bodies can be complicated things, and would be happy to help their sweetheart out when you weren’t feeling well 🥰 (mdni, we get a bit 18+ below the cut)

Maxi would love the excuse to have a slow, sleepy day with you - but Death usually has other plans. If he has decedents to prepare or services to arrange, he’ll have to tend to those, but depending on where you are when you wake up will dictate how his day goes:

If you wake up with him at the Mortuary, he’ll insist you stay there with him so he can take care of you. You’re welcome to spend the day in his bed sleeping as you need to, or working remotely, or whatever you need to do. You can even stay in pajamas all day, he’ll be the last person to judge. Instead he’ll check on you whenever he finishes a client appointment or an embalming, bringing you a snack and something to drink, some pain killers if you’re having cramps or a headache, or ordering delivery for the pair of you from wherever you like. He’ll linger with you as long as he can until he’s called away for work again, fiddling with your hair, adjusting your pillows or the fans in your room.

If you wake up at your house, he’ll still do as much of the above as he can when he can get away - if your neighbors weren’t so used to the hearse in your driveway, they’d be concerned about how much it drives back and forth on these days, as he walks in with your favorite silly little coffee drink or some other treat from town to cheer you up whenever he walks into your room.

When he’s finally off work for the day, his attention is entirely on you. If you haven’t bathed yet that day and want to, he’ll take it upon himself to care for you that way, whether that’s stepping with you into the shower to wash your hair and lather your skin (and get the formaldehyde smell off himself, tbh), or drawing you a bath to let you wallow in the warm water as he rubs your muscles where they ache.

After this, he’s going wherever you want to go in his old joggers and a t-shirt: if you want to just lay in your bed with a hot water bottle and listen to podcasts or watch movies on your laptop, he’ll spend the rest of his evening as your big spoon, idly kissing your neck and shoulders (and muffling soft scoffs if you’re listening to a true crime podcast about cops being fucking incompetent again). He’s content to drift in and out of naps with you, holding you firmly in his gator’s grip and sniffing lightly at your hair as he enjoys your warmth and nearness.

If you’re feeling well enough to hang out on the couch, he’s right there with you. If you want to lay on his chest while the two of you watch creepy YouTube videos or play video games, he’ll absently kiss your forehead every now and again, his hands resting on your body where you aren’t pressed up against him and rubbing circles there when he’s distracted. If you just want to binge a season of whatever new spooky tv show you’re watching together or a bunch of bad horror movies, he’ll lay on you if it won’t make you feel sore, happy to provide some comforting weight (and enjoy the solid thud of your heart beneath his ear) and cuddle you like you deserve. 

If you want, he’ll absolutely read to you from an old favorite, or something you’d been meaning to get around to forever but just didn’t have the energy for. His drawl adds something to the book, a dimension you hadn’t considered when you read it alone, and you’re reminded as you listen just how long your beloved has been living in Cajun/Creole country - it gets a little stronger the longer he reads as he relaxes into his words, and you go back later to re-read some passages, smiling to yourself at how the words sounded completely different on his tongue.

He’ll bring you snacks as you desire, cook about any comfort food you ask for (you discover he’s actually really good at pancakes and crepes when you guys opt for breakfast for dinner one night), and build a nest of pillows and blankets for you both if it means you’re comfortable and looked after

We know our boy absolutely has A Thing for period sex, but he obviously won’t ask if he knows you feel exhausted/gross. He’s had partners like that before, he knows it sucks. But the minute your hand tangles a bit too long in his hair, or he feels you grind ever so lightly against his thigh if you were laying on him, he’ll turn to you curiously, his hand sliding over your lower back. “Can I help you with somethin’, baby doll?” He’ll ask innocently enough, eyes wide and soft, but you can see the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as you feel a mirroring one on your own face.

If you tell him yes, he’ll ask you exactly what you want, and give it to you. In spades. He’ll plant soft kisses down your stomach as he moves, pulling your pajama shorts down and shushing you gently as he kisses your inner thighs. “Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs, glancing up at you over his glasses. “You don’t have to do anythin’, just let me take care of you.”

He’ll put your thighs on his shoulders and keep your hips in his grip as he devours you whole, and by the time you’re shaking and out of breath from overstimulation, his mouth is as red as his eyes are now shining. He licks every drop of blood and slick from his face as he looks up at you, still your sweetheart, but something closer to the feral, frightening thing you know that’s hiding inside him. (…If his tongue looks maybe just a touch… longer? Narrower? Than it normally does? You’re willing to chalk that up to the fact that you’re literally seeing stars, holy shit.)

If you prefer something else, he’ll lay you out however you’ll be most comfortable - on your back, or maybe on your stomach - and wet your cunt thoroughly with his own spit and some careful applications of his fingers before he works himself into you, taking his time not to overwhelm you (but unable to resist a light lick of his own lips when you moan at the stretch, the ache of adjusting around him). Slowly, with soft reassurances in your ear - “There you go, pretty, look at you, I knew you could. You’re so good, takin’ all of me like this—“ he’ll pull you so his hips are flush with you, watching you squirm admiringly for a moment before he experimentally rolls them to move in you. “It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his thumbs running over the soft skin of your hips. “You relax. Daddy’ll do all the work.” You then only have to lay there and whine for more as he gives you all of him, as slowly or as rough as you want, until you’ve thoroughly soaked his cock as many times as you can manage and he’s filled you with as much as he can give, pressing soft kisses to your panting face as he lovingly fucks his cum further into you, before the two of you at last collapse in an exhausted tangle to cool off before you can cuddle properly.

This always happens when you’re not well - there comes a point whee he lays awake, gazing at you like it will never be enough no matter how long he looks. The monster inside him is only ever silent when you’re this close, when it knows you’re safe at his side and only Hell itself could part you. It has no business being this close to you, but as much as he hates it, he can’t help but agree that this is the most at peace he ever feels. The thing inside him - not quite demon, not quite him, all reaper - would tear the world apart for you, this one or the one beyond.

Hex’s work doesn’t demand as much socially from him, so if he can afford to cancel his latest shoot or cancel whatever plans he was making to stalk his next Chain link, he will. He’ll be happy to either bring you to his place or to come over to yours, armed to the teeth with your favorite junk food, his softest flannel shirt for you to borrow, and scratchy beard kisses wherever you want them.

As much as his first thought to make you feel better is usually to get you moving, he understands that in cases like this, that’s just not going to work. So he’s determined to keep you comfortable: he rubs the muscle balm his mom used to give him after training with Maxi and his dad into your lower back, he rubs your feet if he thinks that would help, he sits behind you while the pair of you watch tv to rub your neck and shoulders.

He keeps you on a steady diet of fruit juice and homemade dishes, a constant deluge of scents of cooking and baking coming from the kitchen of whoever’s house you’re crashing at. It feels like every time you wake up from a nap, he’s standing over you with a new batch of rolls or conchas, or with a new smoothie recipe, or something smothered in cheese. If you really want something greasy and fried from your usual take-out place, he’ll get it for you without complaint, but he always prefers to cook for you when you’re not feeling well. He’s proud to be able to take care of you that way and it dispels the nervous energy he always has just under the surface when you’re not feeling well.

He’s content to lay around wherever you want to lay around - be it your bed, his, or the couch at either person’s house. He’ll be tweaking some photos on his laptop while you scroll through your phone, or he’ll happily hold you between his legs so you can rest against his chest as the two of you take on a season of your shared favorite shitty reality show. (He’s a sucker for Catfish and the Circle - cyber drama always intrigues him, and the wilder episodes will have him cackling in a way you only ever hear when he’s with you or around the twins. The boy was raised on telenovelas, after all.) He might doze off in the middle of your favorite prestige drama or procedural (if he’s not quietly mumbling observations about the camerawork and the lighting to himself), but he mysteriously always keeps up with the plot. If you turn on Great British Baking Show, he’ll wake right back up, I promise. He might even want to make you more snacks after, just to try his hand at some of what he saw.

If you’re napping on the couch or reading quietly, he will take stealth candids on his phone. Lots of them. He loves it when you’re just hanging out with him, casual and in your comfiest clothes. He thinks you’re beautiful - even if you don’t always - and he’ll want to look at this photos later, to admire the light on your skin and the engrossed expression on your face.

If you want to bathe, Hex will happily offer to help - but if you just want to stick to dry shampoo and a washcloth, he’d help with that too, making sure to spray the deeper layers of your hair evenly and get that hard to reach spot between your shoulder blades for you. He’s done that plenty of times himself when he was on the run traveling, he knows sometimes that’s all you need if you just don’t have the energy. He’d always make sure you had fresh pajamas, though, even if it meant you stole a t-shirt and a pair of his worn-out sleep pants for a day or two.

If you need a nap buddy, he’s always down to be a nap buddy. He sleeps a bit more restlessly than most (as happens when you tend to slip a bit more easily Beyond the Veil from your dreams), but even if he can’t be your big spoon the whole time, he’ll sleep with one part of him always in contact with you - be a hand on your thigh, or his shoulder blades against your back, even intertwining his legs with yours. Even if he can’t sleep, he’ll lay there and watch you, taking in the little things about your face: the way your brows knit together and smooth out when you dream, your little sniffles and mumbles in the deepest parts of your cycle - how vulnerable you are, and how much you trust him to let him see you like this. 

Period sex isn’t quite as much of a thing for him as it is for Maxi - he has his own... cravings, as it were - but if you ask him, he’s not about to deny you. 

This could be anything from sliding his fingers past your waistband and teasing your clit while you watch a bad movie, pretending not to notice as you flinch and whine and writhe in his lap while he makes you come until you’re ready to cry without once pulling away his hand, or on your sides in bed, whispering to you as he fills you while holding one of your thighs on his hip. 

“Aww, pobrecita,” he mock-coos at your muffled moan, tilting his head to look at you as he snaps his hips against yours. “You’re just feeling way too much, huh?” He nips your lower lip before you can respond, pressing closer to you and deeper inside in the same movement. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna make you forget all about that...” His hair falls in his eyes, but you don’t miss the way he grins as you whine and cling to the fabric of his shirt, the way his free hand squeezes your ass as he eliminates any possible space left between you two. 

He only lets you go when you’re having to bite back a scream, having left a few bites of his own along your collarbone and shoulder earlier. When he does, he smirks. “How’re you feeling now, Querida?” he asks like he doesn’t know, his tone light as he takes his time cleaning you up.

For acting so smug, he really is a big softie. He’ll get you anything you like after before he stretches out next to you, sighing contentedly as he pulls you against him and fits you under his chin. He strokes your back, singing what sounds like a lullaby under his breath as you fall back asleep on a wave of hormones, satisfaction, and exhaustion. You feel a soft kiss to your forehead as your eyes finally close, and his lips linger there like a ghost.

He’s overwhelmed with how much he loves you. He hadn’t believed Maxi when he talked about that dark other self living inside him, how possessive and utterly greedy it became when he found his own Obsession. But he gets it now, and he has to banish that shrieking wraith inside him that wants to take you over just the same, to keep you prisoner to his worst impulses and fears. He never wants you to know about that, just how much of you it would take for himself. It scares him too.

While the boys are sweet, Rora’s the one who will absolutely Get It. “Oh, Petal,” she frowns, taking in your dulled eyes and the bags beneath them. “You too, huh? Don’t worry,” she runs a hand over your hair, affectionate and soothing all at once. “I remember how this works.”

She’ll move a bare-bones version of her workshop into whatever bedroom you make your main crashpad - yours at your house, hers in the Mortuary - tiny portable desk and all. When you want to just lay there, slipping in and out of consciousness or boredly scrolling through your usual apps, she’ll sit off to the side, a silent but constant watchful presence as she works. She knows that sometimes cuddling just doesn’t cut it, and being able to stretch out in a big empty bed alone is the best remedy, but she still wants to be close to you. You’re impressed with just how quickly that woman can taxidermy small rodents. It’s kind of alarming.

Heating pads, ice packs, anti-ache ointments of her own concoction - you want it, she’s got it, and she’s got it in a million combinations she probably tested on herself back in the ‘90s. She keeps you regularly dosed with Motrin (or whatever painkiller is most compatible with anything else you take), giving you your next set pills as soon as is reasonable so they can’t wear off and leave you achey, so you can sleep as much as you need to.

(If you express surprise she isn’t sticking entirely with Natural TreatmentsTM, she snorts. “Cramps are never the time for farmer’s market bullshit, Little Bee. There’s treatments, and then there’s painkillers.” She gives you a withering, knowing glance. “I know which one I’d prefer to have when a linin’ of tissue is tryin’ to expel itself from my body. I’m not about to mess around when it comes to yours.”)

She brings you fruit-infused water from the kitchen with fresh slices floating in it, ones she obviously just cut herself. She’ll have a glass herself in the process, but she’ll watch you like a hawk to make sure you’re staying hydrated, only swapping that out with something caffeinated if she thinks that would help your sleep schedule from getting completely out of whack.

The woman has an entire collection of silk sleep masks you didn’t know about. She’ll pass you a fresh one each day you’re not feeling well, and you luxuriate in the cool smooth fabric against your tired eyes. You wouldn’t have thought to get one of these for yourself, but you’re grateful for her stray flourish of fanciness she only shows on unexpected occasions.

She will take her time showering with you or giving you a bath, if you want one. As much as you know showering can sometimes give her a bit of vertigo in her host body, she’ll focus intently on yours, covering your skin with her favorite English lavender soap and giving your hair whatever it needs to keep it clean and healthy. She spoils you after with sweet-smelling oils, thick creamy lotion, a facemask or just something cooling for your undereyes if you’re feeling up to it. Her hands are firm but tender as she rubs your scalp, your shoulders, your thighs and the backs of your calves - everywhere that can get too tight if you’re stressed, or laying down a lot.

Rora doesn’t have quite the same attention span for bingeing that the boys do - when she was alive, she got told off for watching tv for too long, and she’s still getting used to the whole “everything streaming all the time everywhere” kind of thing. But she’ll sit with you through whatever you feel like watching. While she has patience for all sorts of shows, she perks up during nature documentaries, shows like How It’s Made, or - her favorite - anything involving cold cases or autopsies. If you watch a costume drama, she’ll pretend to only be politely interested for a while, but eventually you’ll hear her softly gasp at an especially pretty dress, or titter or tsk at something happening on screen. When the service finally asks if you’re still watching, she glances at you, holding a pillow to her chest and looking somewhat enchanted. “...Maybe just one more? Y’know, just to make sure the Duke gets what’s comin’ to him,” she’ll ask quietly. 

(You finish the rest of the season in a night, and spend the rest of the evening googling whatever you can find out about the upcoming next season as she looms quietly over your shoulder. When you show her the tag for the show on a site like this one or AO3, she’s mesmerized.)

(You open your eyes at one point late that night, aware of her cool, solid presence beside you - still, but with her breathing too shallow to be asleep. You peer over her shoulder to see her browsing the same tag on her phone, screen on minimum brightness as she scrolls with abandon.)

(If she hears you chuckle, she doesn’t say anything. But when you kiss her shoulder and wrap an arm around her waist, she squeezes your hand as it rests on her stomach and finally sets her phone on the bedside table.)

Period sex for Rora is, like many things, a bit complicated - it brings up memories of her own original body, but she’s never not enticed by yours. If you ask, she’ll answer with a kiss, and her cool hands sliding possessively over your frame as she hums low in her throat.

Rora’s fingers are strong and sure despite their aristocratic taper, and she knows exactly the way to work them in you to make you feel like you’re lighting up from the inside. She twists and scissors them in a way that makes just how wet you are extremely audible, her emerald eyes never leaving your face as you come undone repeatedly under her calculated touch.

Or, taking another route, depending on who’s house you’re at she’ll pull out one of your favorite toys - or her old reliable of a spotless hitachi wand if you’re at hers - and apply it mercilessly to your clit with a cool reserve. She observes with a deceptively stoic mask how long it takes your thighs to shake helplessly, for you to try to flinch away when it all becomes too much, and exactly how many soft pitiable whines it takes until you soak the sheets with a softly pink-ish rush of warmth. “That’s okay, daffodil,” she soothes, leaning down to kiss your flushed brow when you mumble a slightly teary embarrassed apology. “They’re just sheets, nothin’ worth gettin’ upset about.” She runs a hand over your hair, and her pale pink mouth quirks in the hint of a smile. “You wanna go again? It’s good for you - it helps, I swear.”

If you ask to make it up to her, by burying your head between her cool thighs and feeling her nimble fingers now curl helplessly in your hair, for once - she won’t refuse. After, she’ll take your face in her hands with a still-dazed expression, and kiss you messily with an open mouth to hide just how much her breath is still shaking.

Rora watches you sleep - it’s no secret. She has problems getting to and staying asleep since she came back to this side of the Veil, and she would sooner shave her own head than get out of bed and risk disturbing you. But sometimes she feels something else watching out of her eyes, taking you in with an avarice that isn’t entirely hers. She and the boys have talked about it since she found you: that urge to keep, to claim, to never let you out of her sight again. To never let you be parted by something as flimsy as the Veil. While the creature in her head coos over you like something more precious than gold, counting your every breath, she knows in her conscious mind that she would bring you back a hundred times if she never had to be without you again, damn the consequences. She has lived too long alone, her and the monster inside her - and neither of them will be denied now.

Sorry this took a while, sweet nonny!! I was feeling a bit worn down myself this week 🖤 I hope you’re feeling better now, and have this for the next time Shark Week decides to throw you out of whack 🥰✨ sending love your way!

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: 12/6/22

It has been a complicated several days, made worse by my chronic stuff.  I spent a couple of hours on rheumatologist paperwork on Saturday and did not finish.  Sunday, all we really managed was food shopping.  Monday...  Monday was a mess for reasons that were no one's fault, small things making larger and larger disruptions in plans like an avalanche.  It was grueling for me, horrifically exhausting and painful, made worse by it being a treatment day.  There was no help for it.  Things needed to be done so they were done.  It involved things like, standing twenty minutes in a pharmacy due to multiple communication errors on a day when even a trip from my bed to the bathroom was a painful and dangerous adventure.  Long hobbles through various stores.  I trip up and down four flights of particularly dangerous concrete stairs.  no close parking anywhere except the place with the stairs, so long dangerous hobbles across parking lots.  I burned the whole amount of gas I expected to spend for the week in one night, and these treatments mean double the normal gas consumption for the duration.  I am curious to see how i pay for all these medical travel costs.

It was absolutely no one's fault.  It was borderline comical as Thompsons go, like some sort of comedy routine.  Sometimes the only way out is through.  This was one of those times.

I burned most of this week's spoons I suspect.  This is a no-functional level of pain.  I've treatment and errands again tomorrow.  I am afraid to bump up pain relief any higher lest unpleasant hallucinations follow.  

So this is why I didn't post the pre-election aggregate Tuesday morning.  I came close, but I needed to lie down.

Fuck if I know what posting will look like this week, given the givens.

On the upside, I won more hours for Head Millennial, to our mutual benefit.  I definitely need them.

* My family traditionally calls that thing where miscommunication leads to long complicated, exhausting and time consuming unasked for adventures a “Thompson.”  EX: "Meet me at 8 at the KFC.”  There are two KFCs on opposite side of town.   Both people travel back and forth frantically searching for the other for hours never finding the other or only doing so after hours and hours are wasted.  Or perhaps one person likes AM and one person thinks PM.   AM person eventually gives up .  PM person waits for hours.  You get the idea.  It also apples to things like drove for hours to get somewhere and have to turn back and do it all again because you forgot something essential.  We had examples of both types Monday.  Seriously, nobody’s fault.  Sometimes you just have to throw up you hands and laugh.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Lack of Update

I am ... very tired. I could do things, but honestly, I don’t want to. I have no spoons. I need spoons for tomorrow.

And Sunday.

And oh dear gods Monday because Monday I am going to have to GO THE FUCK OFF on some people.

So, continuing the saga of getting my work-from-home bullshit sorted out. This morning, I checked my work email before the long commute, just in case there was anything else IT guy’s boss wanted me to do. (He didn’t get anything done yesterday because a server in the other building horfed or something.) There was an IT-related email. It was not from IT guy’s boss. It did not even end up copied into IT guy’s boss. It was, however, from IT guy. And while it was addressed to me, it was attached to a whole bunch of email correspondence that I had not been a part of. Which I guess is fair, honestly, because I didn’t include IT guy into the stuff I sent to IT guy’s boss where we actually made some semblance of headway into the actual problem. IT guy’s email included zero apology for vanishing without warning at a time when he had committed to calling me to sort out some stuff. It consisted of one sentence: “Can we schedule that call for tomorrow?”

Keep in mind, this was sent yesterday, about 40 minutes after I leave the office. Because apparently three separate emails outlining the fact that I leave at 4pm have not got through his thick skull yet.

Anyway, the forwarded email correspondence was actually a lot more interesting. It was my Head Honcho emailing IT’s Head Honcho going, effectively, “You people have been jerking my staff around for months! This is a health and safety issue! Sort it out!”, and then IT’s Head Honcho saying, “Okay, I don’t have any of the details on this but IT guy has some EXPLAINING to do”. So it’s probably no surprise that I sensed a certain amount of desperation in IT guy’s one sentence.

I emailed him - and everyone else in the correspondence chain, and added IT guy’s boss for good measure - before I even left the house. Explained, again, what my hours are. Explained that this is not something a call can sort out because it’s an issue with the transcription software install, but that IT guy's boss had been immensely helpful and that IT guy should liaise with him for further details. Basically business-speak for “I went over your head, you ass; fuck off”.

Of course, now I feel bad about that on the grounds that once I got home today, I kind of expected something to have been done? But as far as I can tell? Nothing. Transcription software still doesn’t work. I’m going to have to drop an email on Monday morning - and probably a text to IT guy’s boss as well - going, “Look, I literally cannot get to the office on Tuesday. This needs sorting out now. Or at least some kind of update”. The email’s a necessity because Scruffman’s in the email list and he needs to be aware of what’s happening on Tuesday. Either I’m working from home or I’m not working, because I can about manage a train strike and I can ... almost, kinda, sorta, maybe manage a Tube strike (though honestly, given last one I tried to get through, maybe no), but a bus strike? At least that bus company? Nope nope nope. So Scruffman has a choice - he can shake IT until they do the fix, and I can work from home ... or I can stay at home and play video games. I know other IT shit is going on, like, all the time, and people get busy. But IT guy’s boss knows what the problem is and knows what the fix is; either he hasn’t done it, or he has and it didn’t work. Either way, an update would be really nice.

I’m really glad I treated myself to some gummy sweets on the way home today. I mean, I kind of am. Just ... don’t get me started on the autumn budget statement in this country. Basically we’re all pretty well fucked. But I’ll talk about the budget later, when I have more spoons. Right now, it will be painkillers and video games.

[tricitymonsters]

progress report 8/13

i am mentally recovering some spoons from that last crunchy push but I’m feeling a lot better now that I’ve caught up on some sleep and had some free time to just kinda chill.  (and play some yakuza kiwami)

I had some desperately neglected “housekeeping” that needed to be seen to and now that Amir’s done looming over me I was finally able to take care of it- mostly my desktop looked like a warhead went off so I cleaned and organized all my files, wips, and docs, plus cleaned up three google drive accounts, and began the long and arduous process of migrating my tcm and oc art archive to onedrive from google keep.

I like to make new wallpapers every quarter for my three displays, its goofy but i like when everything matches so I was able to do that for funsies this week too.

the website!! I haven’t published the changes yet but updating the TCM website has been on my to do list for ages.  I updated the masthead to show a looping mp4 of the logo.

which by the way, I had zirodesign deal with the animations on all three logo variants and they did an awesome job for a great price and saved me a lot of time.  If you need anims done for youtube intros or stuff like that I definitely recommend.

I also updated Amir’s old face to his sexy new one on some outdated graphics and I’m beginning my phase out of the eclairages font.

I also linked the TCM Character Guide because I feel like its a great little tool to check out the roster, especially for new people just jumping on board.

I also updated the itch.io page with new graphics to indicate Amir’s release status to patrons and uploaded his profile card to hopefully entice some people to check him out.

Sometime this week i need to clone and rename the git repository for amir’s chapter so that i can begin scraping content off the base structure to use as Akello’s framework

Though I do have some structural changes I want to make with akello- namely layered displayables/sprites instead of making a million separate images oops.

Another note from Renpy is that while the Renpy 8.0 update no longer supports web builds, I found a reddit thread that walks you through the process manually and noticed there’s a way to turn of progressive loading in browser which is what causes those heavily pixelated images when you first load the game sometime.  When I start implementing patron feedback (probably this week) i’m going to play around with it.

BUT the other good news is that Amir was built in Renpy 7.5 and i’m seeing a LOT more browser play stability and WAY less memory exception errors so fingers crossed but I think browser player may finally have a semi-stable release.

ALL that said, Amir is out to Galleria and Uptown patrons, he’ll be releasing on Monday to Lower East peeps and then Monday the 22nd to the Pitrats crew.

I am still shaking down patrons for feedback so be aware that I do desperately want to hear what you thought about his chapter, it will help me refine not only amir but the rest of the characters and the game as a whole.

Also i’m trying to think of some fun ideas for TCM’s one year anniversary, coming up at the end of next month.  Give me ideas if you’ve got them, but at the very minimum I’ll post a bunch of OC ask memes or shipping memes and just marathon answer some character questions!

I’d like to do mini donation drives once a quarter so be on the lookout for an announcement about my next one coming up soonish.  Not sure what cause I’ll be working for but I’ll keep yall in the loop.

[sevdrag]

dreamwidth update: wording out: when you can't write (1/?) - chronic fatigue

IDK if y'all are aware of this, but I've really been struggling with words lately. I'm a full 40 days behind my GYWO writing pledge for Days Written, and based on an informal expectation that I would write the word count I did last year, I'm only at 55%. And it's almost June, which makes me pretty damn behind.

There are a few things I've been meaning to talk about as reasons I haven't been writing -- please note this isn't because I think I owe anybody anything (except for a few lingering comms for v understanding friends) or that I really think anyone cares. It's just interesting stuff for a dialogue, really.

The key part of me not writing is that I've been caring for my three nieces weekly. This involves a 2-hr drive to my brother's house on Monday, where I pick them up from school (METL MUM) and watch them for 3 hours, then start / help / eat dinner. After dinner I can escape to the basement if I have things to do (and often do), but 3 hours with 3 young and very energetic girls can be exhausting, so it's rare that I have any spoons to write after, say, 20:00. Tuesday I wake up early to take them to school and have like 9:00-15:00 to myself, at which point I do the same thing, just a little more tired. Wednesdays I take them to school and then drive the 2 hr back to my house, at which point usually I collapse.

and there's a lot of this that has just taken far more energy than I expected. The girls, the travel, being away from my cats and my OWN grocery shopping and my safe spaces, sleeping in a strange bed (although at this point it isn't THAT strange), the wear of scope creep as weeks went on. 3 girls for 3 hours is a lot of overstimulation, which is one of the things I'm critically sensitive too -- more likely to wear me out than almost anything else.

Part 1: Fibro Sucks

We all know spoon theory, right, but -- a lot of the time I explain fibromyalgia and other chronic pain conditions using a credit or debit card analogy. Say you've got a card and every day you get X number of task energy loaded into that card. Then every time you do an activity, you swipe the card and it charges you. Some tasks - eat breakfast, shower - might be one unit of energy, while others - work 8 hours - might be six units, or eight, depending. For most ablebodied, neurotypical people, the number of tasks they can load onto their card in the morning usually averages out about equal to the energy they need for the entire day.

With fibro, first of all, you don't know how many energy credits you're going to have on any given day. You might wake up and have a 'normal' amount of energy. Or you might wake up and only have, like, 8 tasks on the card. And you have to pick how you want to spend them. Most of the time people with chronic pain disorders wake up with fewer task energy credits in their account, comparably -- this is why we're always complaining about not being able to keep up with the dishes, the laundry, the vacuuming. Our credit cards are a lot more limited. We don't get as many tasks per day as most typical people. Most people with fibromyalgia continuously run on a deficit.

And in addition -- yeah, you can borrow from the next day: you can overcharge the card. But not only does that give you less energy for tomorrow, the bank (your body) hits you with an overdraft fee, such as extensive pain, brain fog, exhaustion, or even illness. These things compound on themselves, too, until you've built up such debt that you have to spend an entire weekend in bed.

Recovery Days: When Brain and Body Are Just Done

The problem with all of this travel and work hasn't necessarily been the care itself (although man it's been great seeing the girls like this and ALSO oh man i'm super tired) -- it's been recovery. If I get up, drive / take the girls in, put in whatever work I can manage that day, care for the girls BY MYSELF, make dinner, etc... that's a full day. That's a full day for a parent. So even when I slip downstairs at 19:00 to relax, I've still put in a lot of work. And that plus the dissonance of continuous traveling has just ... it's worn down my credit card a lot.

The problem has been that I'll come home and do nothing Wednesday and usually need Thursday as a light-brain-and-body day until I'm recovered enough to feel like myself. By the weekend (when I see Actual Husband) I'm usually alright, but at that point I'm trying to forward-bank energy for next week's child care. When you run on a deficit like this, well -- my time w the girls is my top priority, they're my nieces, but/so other things start to suffer.

So one of the reasons it's been hard to write much of anything is because I've been spending far more time in Recovery Mode. Like, Hardcore Recovery Mode. (Fibro's one of the biggest reasons I don't have children of my own, although there are others.)

It's no surprise that the only things I've posted this year are comfort fic (forth, the fifth) and feral birthday gifts (weirdly specific AUs) where I had people cheering me on as I was writing AND a deadline. That encouragement piece has really, until now, been the driver. I'm finally starting to crawl out of the hole, finally looking at WIPs again, but.

And the funniest/worst piece is that I hadn't really realized up until just recently - when I started climbing out of the hole - what it was. It isn't necessarily writing burnout - because I still wanted to write - but it's other burnout, spending my energy elsewhere on other people and then needing to plug myself in like a dead phone. (My other favorite fibro analogy is the mobile phone with a shit battery and too many apps analogy.)

you just get tired of being tired, my friends. you get really tired of being tired.

comments Comment? https://ift.tt/7IhSitP

[dollslayer]

Botanical Interest - In Bloom

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x florist!Reader

Summary: Steve comes home to you angry after a rough day at work. He made a promise to keep his work life separate but can he keep it?

W/C: 4,103

Warnings: Angst, mentions of past abuse, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

A/N: Hi there! A part three for our soft mob Steve and his lovely florist. Thank you so much to everyone that has shown interest in my work so far, if you like it please reblog and comment!! You can also check out my other stuff if you haven't yet. Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

_____________

When Steve Rogers had asked you to be his girlfriend you knew there was a weight attached to it. A long talk over a stack of waffles and a couple of beers left Steve with a ‘yes’ and some ground rules.

After the incident in the alleyway you both agreed that he left his work at the door whenever you spent time together. Steve’s profession has made you uneasy since you met him and you two couldn’t avoid it forever.

A month later and you’ve managed to avoid conflict for the most part. Nothing as bold as that day in the alley, just small moments where he’d have to take a phone call, once when he had to cancel your plans for a ‘work incident’. But still he really was trying to keep his work and personal life separate and you appreciated it.

It had bothered you that he had to do those things but it’s not as though your work hadn’t impacted your time together either. Being a florist meant a lot of late nights when you worked events. Wedding season in full swing, every weekend was a busy one for you.

That’s why Monday’s have become almost sacred to you, your one day off a week. You and Steve always spent time together, sometimes you’d go out or stay home and just relax.

This Monday Steve had promised to come over and make you dinner. He’d only ever tried to cook for you once and it had ended with a lasagna burnt so badly you had to open every window in the apartment just to get the charred smell out. You couldn’t wait for him to redeem himself and take him to bed after you both came out of your food comas.

You were cleaning the kitchen when you heard your phone buzz. You had asked Steve if he wanted you to pick up any groceries since you had the day off. Expecting a list you were met with mild disappointment.

Running a little late, doll. 6:30 and not a minute later, I promise. Don’t worry about groceries. I'll get it all taken care of, just enjoy your day off.

You were kinda miffed but at least he gave you a heads up and he was going to get the groceries. You picked your sponge back up and scrubbed away at the counter.

________

Expecting to be let down, you were pleasantly surprised when 6:30 rolled around and your doorbell sounded. You buzzed him up and waited patiently for him at your door.

Steve appeared as he rounded the corner and he looked exhausted, irritated maybe. He carried a lot of tension in his shoulders and his suit jacket was long gone. His tie was undone and his sleeves were rolled up to where you could see well toned forearms. You bit your lip thinking of those arms holding you in place in bed.

Maybe we should just ditch the dinner and skip straight to dessert.

He approached you and you leaned up to give him a kiss.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” You greeted him as you shut the door behind you.

He set the groceries down onto the counter with some force and you winced. Okay so he did have a rough day. Do I ask him about it? I don’t wanna talk about his work but I don’t want him to feel like he can’t talk to me about his day.

He sighed and turned to face you, took his tie off completely and ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it” he responded as he took a beer out of your fridge.

You were off-put by the abruptness of his answer. Maybe he was just short with you because he didn’t want to talk about work.

You stepped closer and tried to approach him again.

“I-“

“I said don’t worry about it.” Steve snapped, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen, visibly annoyed. “I gotta take this”. He slammed the door to your bathroom shut behind him and left you stunned in the middle of your kitchen.

What just happened? You had never seen him so upset aside from when you caught him mid-punch a month ago with Mr. Andersen.

Realistically you knew it wasn’t you he was mad at but you’d never done well with people when they were mad at you. You were engaged years ago to a man that was abusive towards you. Things had started off well like they always do but he became manipulative and he was quick to anger. You were constantly questioned and criticized. He kept you from seeing your friends, even some of your family. It took your friends coming through for you to get you out of the situation safely. Through lots of therapy and flinging yourself headfirst into your business you’ve come a long way but sometimes you had difficult moments.

It couldn’t be helped as your heart began to quicken and you felt heat come to your face from the embarrassment of being snapped at. Unsure what to do you poured yourself a glass of wine and sat down at your small dining table facing away from the bathroom.

You were trying to get yourself to not shut down in response to his change in mood but it was hard. He’s upset and clearly irritated with me already, he probably just wants to go home. Maybe you should just reschedule. Don’t cry, if you cry you’re gonna make it a whole Thing. Don’t cry. He’s not mad at you specifically and it’s not your fault.

In the torrent of your thoughts you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Steve hadn’t spared you a glance or a word as he started unloading the groceries. Angrily placing a jar of pasta sauce onto your counter with a thud and muttering under his breath. You watched him timidly and took another sip of your wine.

He turned to you and took another swig of his beer.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do?” He challenged.

Not wanting him to be upset with you, you devolved into old ways of over-explaining so you could justify your actions. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the rational part was telling you it’s not your fault he’s angry and you don’t owe an explanation but you were too far gone.

“I, I just, you didn’t do anything you just, um, you just looked upset. I don’t want to make it worse, I’m sorry. I was just looking at you, I didn’t mean to-”

You were cut off in the midst of your nervous rambling by the shrill ring of Steve’s phone. A frustrated growl escaped his mouth.

“I have to take this,” he muttered as he strode back to the bathroom. “I told you not to call me until you had it fixed” you heard him before the closing of the door muffled his anger.

He left you there to stew in your nervousness and self loathing. Five minutes had gone by and the rational part of your brain was slowly taking over. The rational part of your brain was angry. It’s okay for him to have a bad day and not want to talk about it but the way he’s spoken to you and responded to you isn’t warranted. You needed to confront him calmly and if he was still angry you needed to ask him to leave. You can talk to him another time but not while he’s angry. It won’t do anyone any good. Just like you’ve talked about in therapy.

You rehearsed the lines in your head and finished your glass. You heard the door open again and almost threw everything you had been going over in your head out the window. Just breathe. It’s fine, he calmed down so quickly after that time in the alley, he’ll understand.

_____

Steve was angry. With Clint for getting the dates of Pierce’s arrival wrong, with Sam for failing to get the recon they needed to get the drop on him. Even angrier with Bucky for taking all of this out on him when it wasn’t even his fault. But most of all he was angry with himself for letting his work get in the way of your time together. He promised you undivided attention and you deserved it.

He knew how important your day off was to you and after the day he’d been having he couldn’t wait to just come back to you. He just wanted to make some decent spaghetti and melt the worries of his day off with your embrace. He craved the physical comfort he got from you after a long day. The feeling of endlessly sinking into your arms while you held him in bed allowed him to be the vulnerable one for once. He never felt comfortable enough with any of the other women he’d dated to even entertain the idea of being the little spoon.

He always suspected that who he was at work was almost the only reason any of the other women had even gone out with him. Who he was at work was almost a front for the art-loving, touch-starved, hopeless-romantic that he was when he let himself relax. They’d all just wanted this big burly man who was always in charge, a walking wall of muscle and testosterone that they had seen and heard of him to be when he was on the job. But when he was on his own time he just wanted to feel comfort more than anything.

He just wanted to melt into you.

That’s why he was eager to get to you today but the constant calls were cutting him to his last nerve. Bucky was out with Natasha and her parents so he specifically asked not to be called. Being the boss, Bucky was not to be bothered. Being second in command, Steve was.

When he hung up with Clint he exited the bathroom and walked straight past you without a word, knowing you didn’t want to hear about work and talking about it would just make him angrier. He started unloading the grocery bag with maybe a bit more vigor than was necessary.

Remembering he had opened a beer that was probably warm by now he turned to you and grabbed it off the table you were sat at. At this moment he looked up and you had this look on your face he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to know what was up so he asked but you just ended up stammering out a response that didn’t make much sense.

He was trying to listen to you, he really was but he just couldn’t work around this building anger, couldn’t let it go. So of course his phone rings again. And of course he takes it. Excusing himself and locking the bathroom door behind him again he was already forming how to lay into his men on the other line without raising his voice and alarming you too much.

“I told you not to call me unless you had it fixed” he seethed into the receiver. Steve pounded his fist against the porcelain of your sink in aggravation. “I’m not fucking coming down there tonight. I shouldn’t have to be taking fucking phone calls to solve this kinda shit when I’m with my girl. Lose their tail, re-track them, and we’ll deal with the rest in the morning. Don’t call me again unless someone fucking gets shot”, Steve hung up abruptly and took a deep breath.

He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say to you so he just waited a minute to collect himself. He took another deep breath and readied himself to go back to you.

_________

You were sitting quietly at the table, silently digging your nails into your palm as you tensed your fist. Steve had exited the bathroom and taken a seat across from you. You decided to see if he’d speak first and waited.

A beat of silence and you sighed deeply, readying yourself to talk to him like you’d planned.

“Steve, I understand you’re having a bad day and it’s probably work related. That being said, just because you’re mad at someone else doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me” You blew out a shaky breath, wanting to finish before you lost your nerve and before he interjected. You didn’t dare make eye contact. Only stared at his hands on the table in front of you.

“If- if you’re mad don’t take it out on me, and if you feel like you can’t control that anger I don’t want you around me while you feel that way. If you want to talk through it or just work past it then I’m here. But if you’re going to snap at me again and just be mad then you need to leave. It’s not fair to me.”

I’m pretty sure Dr. Danforth would be fucking proud of me right now. Straight to the point but respectful, just like we talked about. And even if Steve’s mad, you’re in control. You’re doing great.

You braved a peek at his face at this point and he looked stunned himself. He’s probably never been spoken to like that in his life, being the second in command and all. You watched his brows bunch together in what you hoped was thought and not frustration for you and waited for him to speak.

________

Oh. Steve was a little struck by what you’d said. Have I been that bad? She’s shaking like a leaf, of course I must have been that bad. He’d had no idea that he even snapped at you, that’s how wrapped up in his own business and his head he was. He never meant to take it out on you, didn’t even realize he had. Sometimes it was like he was so deep into his work life he couldn’t take himself out of it. But he wanted to try, for you.

He remained silent while he pulled the chair across from you out and took a seat. He looked up to meet your gaze only to find you staring at your hands. You were digging your nails into your palms so he brought one large warm hand to cover yours and brought the other up to your face gently to get you to look at him. You flinched away from him and he felt another strike of surprise, but also maybe a hint of shame. Is she afraid of me? Normally Steve likes when people are afraid of him, makes his job easier, but he’d never want that from you.

“Sweetheart”, Steve’s voice was just above a whisper when you finally looked up at him.

“I’m… sorry, that’s really it I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I didn’t even realize I did.” He apologized.

____________

You could feel your tears subsiding and finally brought yourself to look at him. He looked just as exhausted before, just a little bit more sad. You imagined it was probably easy for him to get swept up in who he was at work so it must be hard to separate himself from it since it requires so much from him. You don’t want him to feel bad for being upset, you just want him to be more aware of himself and to not take things out on you.

“Steve, I know we said you wouldn’t talk about work when we’re together but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me if you have a bad day. Maybe you can keep it vague but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say anything or be yourself, unless of course you don’t want to, I don’t want to force you to talk about anything either. When you snapped at me I just sorta shut down” You explained.

Steve seemed to be processing your words and forming a response when he took your hand in his to stop your nails from ripping into your palms like they often do. He nodded and took a breath.

“You have no idea how much it means to hear that from you, thank you. Just for the record, I never feel like I can’t be myself with you, it’s opposite, really. When I’m with you I get to drop all that bullshit at the door. Girls in the past have just wanted me because I was scary but seeing the way you flinched just now, I don’t ever want you to feel scared of me.” Steve confessed.

Maybe it’s time to tell him about the engagement, let him know where you’re coming from. You blew out a shaky breath and looked away from him again.

“I, um, I’m not scared of you. Years ago I was engaged to a man and things were really bad, he was really bad. I’m not ready to talk about all of it but that’s why I shut down on you when you snapped. I’ve been through a lot of therapy and I’m still working on it, but I’m not afraid of you. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it’s… kind of a sore subject” you admitted.

Steve’s nostrils flared and his grip on your hand tightened a little but you could tell he was trying everything he could to school his features and reply to you.

“I… didn’t know that I’m sorry.” he said as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. “If you ever wanna talk about it more, I’m here. And if you don’t, I understand.”

You stood from your chair and came around behind him to throw your arms around his neck. You kissed his cheek and rested your head against his.

“Thank you for listening and apologizing. I forgive you. And if you wanna talk about your day then I’m here.” You assured him.

Steve turned his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss which you reciprocated. Steve stood to his full height without breaking the kiss and brought his hands up to frame your face. The warmth was comforting again to you. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and he elicited the softest of sighs before returning your passion.

He broke the kiss while his hands explored your curves. “I want to make it up to you, will you let me do that, sweetheart?” he asked.

You could only look up at him with eyes blown wide with lust and affection. You nodded and he kissed you swiftly before leading you to your bedroom. You were holding his hand when he let go and softly urged you backwards onto the bed. You obliged and soon he was on top of you laying feather-light kisses to the column of your neck.

Your hands mussed his hair and smoothed out the tension in his shoulders as you held onto him. He kissed his way lower and lifted up the hem of our shirt and kissed his way back up to your breasts. You sat up slightly and took off your top and unhooked your bra, letting it fall before throwing it to the side. Steve took turns taking your nipples between his teeth and teasing them, licking and kissing them. He knew it always made you squirm and would build the anticipation before you could even touch him.

“Steve, please.” You whined.

Wordlessly he kissed and bit his way lower and undid your shorts. You arched your back to help him remove them along with your panties. Steve wasted no time and administered the smallest of licks to your clit. You gasped slightly at the feeling when you felt two fingers prodding your entrance before going in. Your body was getting accustomed to the initial wave of pleasure brought on by Steve’s movement and slowly you ground your hips against his hand and cried out softly.

Normally Steve would never let that fly, he was always so controlling and dominant in bed but tonight was different. Tonight was soft and he was making it up to you, showing his love in a physical way. So he let you push him deeper and raise your hips just so to reach the perfect angle. You felt yourself tighten around him and this is the point he usually slows down just to drag things out but your loud cries only fueled him as he doubled his efforts. With a final cry you came around his fingers, white heat blinding your vision momentarily.

You caught your breath and looked down at Steve. His beard was absolutely drenched and he sucked his fingers clean. You could almost cum again just from the sight of it. He wiped his mouth on a tissue before returning to you to give you a kiss. You tasted yourself on him but you didn’t care, you just wanted his mouth on yours. You felt his erection pressing against your thighs and it had you squirming all over again. You reached to undo his belt when he stopped you.

“This night is supposed to be about you, doll. I’ll be fine” He protested.

You shook your head at him. “I want you, all of you. Please, Steve”, you begged.

He nodded and undid his belt. You helped undress and when he was finally naked you felt the rush of heat to your core all over again, an itch you couldn’t scratch. You laid back further on the bed and soon he was above you, face inches from yours and one arm at the side of your head.

His cock nudged against your core and entered slowly to stretch you out. You moaned deeply and when he was all the way in he kissed you passionately and began moving. It didn’t take much for him to pick up the pace as he started to fuck you. He swore under his breath at the feeling of you.

“You’re so, so, good sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He praised.

His words made you keen as you let the feeling of him making love to you take you over completely. His lips grazed yours in between grunts and he moved one hand to your clit while the other cradled the back of your head. You held onto his shoulders tightly and sobbed out pleas for him to keep going. His thrusts picked up speed and so did his hand. You were so close to the edge and you could feel he was too.

“I love you” he panted out before his hips lunged forward into you one last time before he came inside of you.

The shock of his confession and his work on your clit triggered your second orgasm. It was powerful and had you clawing his back and gasping in pleasure. He’d never said that before. Did he mean it? You looked to him for the answer but his lips caught yours as he gave a few last lazy thrusts. He finally collapsed to your side and was heaving to catch his breath.

You both laid there basking in the afterglow of the makeup sex for a few minutes. You turned on your side to look at him. He was so perfect like this, so at ease.

“Did you.. Mean it? What you said?” You questioned nervously. You really wanted him to mean it.

He turned slowly to look at you and he was blushing. “Yeah, I did. I know it’s kind of soon and you don’t have to say it back, but I couldn’t help it. I love you” he confided.

“I love you too, I’m not just saying it cause I feel like I have to, I love you Steve Rogers. All of you.” you assured him.

The softest of kisses was laid on your lips. This moment with him was perfect.

“I can’t believe you love me. I’m so sorry about earlier. I feel so comforted when I’m with you, the last thing I want is to lose you. I promise I will do everything I can to never be like your ex. Ever. If I’m being a dick I want you to tell me,” He apologized again.

You were about to respond when his stomach let out the loudest groan. You both laughed as you sat up.

“I did promise you dinner. Unburned this time!” Steve pledged as he helped you gather up your clothes.

“That’s a promise I’m going to hold you to, Rogers.”

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[beclynn-herondale]

It was a Monday morning. Céline was up making breakfast before having to wake up Jace and Kit. And before Rosemary woke up, she wasn't a morning person.

While Céline was cooking she hummed a french lullaby to herself. The same one she sung the boys to sleep with.

She flipped a pancake and let the other side cook, while that was cooking she started a pot of coffee. When she was done with that, she flipped the pancake onto a plate.

“Mama?” said a familiar voice from the kitchen doorway.

Céline turned around. “Hey, honey. Good morning.”

Jace looked at her with a sleepy face that made him.look grumpy. Or maybe he was grumpy this morning.

“Is breakfast ready?” he asked.

“Yup.”  She smiled at him.

She got a plate and put a pancake on it, adding a little maple syrup to it. Jace had already climbed into a chair. He loved food.

“Here you go, buddy.” She kissed the top of his head.

Céline went to cut up strawberries and mangoes. Kit loved strawberries and Jace loved mangoes, it was a must every morning.

“Ma?” another familiar voice called this time.

“Kit,” Céline said. “Good morning, love. You hungry?”

He just nodded and walked over to the chair beside Jace's. He was having trouble getting up, Céline almost went to go help him but Jace got up and did it.

“Here,” he said, and lifted him up a little.

“Thanks.”

Jace ruffled his hair.

And Céline tried not to cry over how sweet her boys were. She gave Kit pancake that she had cut up for him, then went back to the fruit. Once she was done she put some in small bowls and handed on to Jace and one to Kit.

Rosemary came into the kitchen a few moments after that, she was dressed in a work suit.

“Are you leaving for work already?” Céline asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

Rosemary went over and poured coffee into her work thermos then screwed the lid on. "My work called me a bit ago. They need me to come in early to go over a case."

“Oh. Is it urgent?”

“Just the usual." She grabbed a bagel and put cream cheese on it and took a bite. Once she chewed it she spoke again, "I'll be back this evening.”

“You've been working a lot lately,” Céline said, worried. “They aren't giving you too much are they?”

Rosemary shook her head. “Not at all.” Then she winked. “Plus, I'm the best they have.”

That made Céline smile.

“Hey, boys?” Rosemary said.

They both looked at her and smiled.

“When I get back this evening we're gonna play Candy Land,” she grinned.

Jace grinned back at her. “I'll beat you this time, Mom.”

“Never,” Rosemary stuck her tongue out.

“What if I beat you?” Kit asked.

“There's a better chance of that.”

“Hey!” Jace said, narrowing his eyes at Rosemary.

She looked back at him serious.

They all broke into laughter.

This was how most mornings went. And Céline wouldn't trade it for the world.

_

That evening when Rosemary came home, she and Céline helped boys with their homework. Then they had dinner and had the boys take baths. The four of  them sat on the living room floor now and played candy land.

In the end Rosemary beat them all. She was unbeatable at Candy Land. Jace and Kit tackled her in a hug. And she play fought them off.

Céline watched this go on for about ten minutes before looking at the time. She hated making the boys go to bed, because, well, they were so much fun and she loved them. But they'd both be grumpy without enough sleep.

“All right, my angels,” said Céline. “Time to get ready for bed.”

A little reluctantly they all stopped play wrestling. Jace and Kit went to go brush their teeth. After they were done Jace and Kit hugged each other good-night.

Rosemary went to tuck Kit into bed and Céline went to do the same with Jace,  Céline a d Rosemary switched each night. Tonight Céline had Jace.

He crawled into bed, she pulled the covers up over him. “Which book do you want me to read you tonight?” she asked.

“You pick,” he said.

She decided to go with one about faeries. Which was apparently a good choice, because he enjoyed and fell asleep pretty fast. Or it had bored him to sleep.

She kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” she whispered, and left the room.

She walked down the hallway to her own bedroom, the one she shared with Rosemary.

She opened the door carefully, I'm case Rosemary was already asleep. It turned out she wasn't. She lay there on the bed, reading, waiting for Céline probably.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

Rosemary looked up. “Heya.”

"Did Kit go to sleep easily?" Céline asked.

“Yup.” Rosemary set her book down. “He was out quick. What about Jace?”

“He went to sleep pretty quick.”

“I bet they played something extreme in gym class today,” Rosemary said.

Céline chuckled, then said. “Aren't you tired? You worked a long day.”

“Baby, I always have energy.” She smirked.  Céline could tell she was fighting off a yawn.

Céline shook her head but smiled fondly. She them went a crawled into bed with the woman she loved.

Rosemary snuggled her and kissed her neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Céline turned to kiss her on the mouth.

Then Rosemary spooned her and they fell asleep.

_

I got inspired to write something.

Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @megs-readstoomuch @magnus-the-maqnificent @replayfootsteps @my-archerboy @jazzkaurtheglorious @simply-ellas-stuff @bookfast-at-tiffanys

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART SIX 

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: major marijuana usage!!  Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: say hello to your new potential love interest - he’s cute, no? let’s see how he compares. 

As always, if you see @lantern-inthenight​, tell her thank you for being the very best editor. 

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack​

On Monday it had dusted snow, but tragically, it had happened while you were in class. You hadn’t even known until you were leaving campus and had seen the lightest coating left on some spots of the grass by the treeline. 

When you got back to the apartment, Josh was already there, stirring a huge pot of something on the stove. The room smelled like a restaurant.

“Josh, oh my god, it snowed and I missed it!” you exclaimed, tossing your jacket over the back of the chair. 

He paused what he was doing to look up at you and chuckled. “Don’t worry, I promise that’s not the last time.”

“What are you making?” you asked, padding across the linoleum to peer over his shoulder. 

“Vegetarian chili,” he answered, lifting a wooden spoon to your face. You blew on it for a moment before taking a taste. “It needs something, but I can’t figure out what.”

“I think it’s perfect,” you replied and meant it, suddenly excited to have a bowl of it. 

He hummed at you. “Thanks, but it’ll be a while before it’s done.”

You watched as he swiped the scraps from vegetables from the cutting table into the compost bucket. 

“You want to watch a movie tonight?” he asked. 

You frowned back at him. “I wish I could, but I’ve got a lot of work to do on my presentation. I’m supposed to be reading it to the class in like two days.”

“Alright,” he agreed, just a shade on the solemn side. There was one thing you knew for sure, and it was that there was a lot you would endure to make sure you didn’t have to see him looking sad. 

“I think I can still concentrate on it if I sit with you during a movie.” 

He laughed under his breath at your bargain. “It’s okay, you can work in your room instead if you’d like. Or, you can have the living room and I’ll keep to my bedroom.”

You scowled at him and pointedly replied, “Don’t be stupid, Joshua. Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to work on my paper until dinner time, then we can watch a movie.”

“I’ll take that deal.” He reached out and took your hand, shaking it once in a faux professional manner. 

“But, that means I have to work all night on it tomorrow,” you warned, looking directly into his eyes. 

He just grinned back mischievously. 

+++

“So, what happened?” you prompted, dipping a spoon into a cup of strawberry yogurt. Kate peeked up at you over the rim of her cup, crunching a piece of ice as she set it back down on the cafeteria table. 

You had been expecting Josh to join you for lunch, but you’d gotten a text telling you that he had to bail to work on production stuff and he’d see you later. You had been a bit disappointed, but you had to admit that you envied his dedication. Plus, you had Kate to keep you company. 

She poured more of her Diet Cherry Coke from the bottle into the cup of ice as she talked. “Not much, honestly.” She looked like she was going to continue until her gaze caught on something over your shoulder. 

You were just about to turn your head to find what she was looking at when she spoke again abruptly, making you halt all movement. “Don’t look, but there’s a guy by the vending machine that keeps looking at you.” 

You gave her a surprised look. “Oh, what does he look like?”

“He’s kinda handsome - short blonde hair, probably a little taller than you, a little shorter than me.” She paused, fiddling with the cap of her soda bottle as he snuck peeks at him from across the room. “Okay, quick look.”

You chanced a glance over your shoulder and hummed as you turned back to her. “I think I’ve seen him around. I don’t really know him though,” you stated. “Are you sure he’s not looking at you?”

She huffed amusedly at you. “Pretty sure he’s not.”

“Ooh, speaking of,” you started, reaching out and nabbing one of the waffle fries off of her plate and popping it into your mouth. “Have you been texting Jake?” 

“Not really.” A scarlet-colored smile was forming on her lips. 

“Does that mean yes?” you pressed when you realized that was all the information she was going to give you. 

She shrugged at you, already collecting the remainder of her lunch to toss away with a cheeky look. 

It wasn’t until your last class that you realized where you’d seen that boy before, and embarrassingly, it wasn’t until he was already sitting next to you. 

You glanced over at him, trying not to look too surprised. 

“Hey, do you care if I take this spot today?” he asked, seemingly knowing what your answer would be. You kind of wanted to say no, just to prove him wrong. 

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed sweetly instead. 

“I hope this isn’t weird, but I saw you at Bennie’s party on Saturday and I guess I just wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Trevor.”

He held out an open palm for you to take, and you cautiously did. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He looked pleased that this was going as smoothly as he had clearly intended - not that he was lacking confidence, but something about his facial posture told you he had expected you to give him a hard time. 

“So, I’m not going to lie, this is partly because you seem to be really good at this class, but would you like to study together sometime? We could maybe get coffee after class.”

You looked at him for a silent beat before replying. “What’s the other part of the reason?”

“You seem nice, and I think you’re very pretty,” he said honestly, giving you a smile. 

You mirrored it back to him with a nod. “Coffee sounds nice.”

+++

You had made it a point to message Kate, telling her exactly where you were and who you were with, and you had texted Josh, telling him you’d be back in a couple of hours. 

Trevor was nice and somewhat funny. He seemed a little intellectually shallow, but you couldn’t actually judge that from an hour and a half long hang out in a coffee shop. 

When you got back to your apartment and checked your phone, you had six messages from Kate. 

Oh i’m kinda shocked

Good for you tho

Is he cuter up close?

Are you guys actually studding

*studying

i’m going to ask around and see if anyone knows anything about him

You snickered to yourself as you were reading them, before quickly typing back, let me know what you find out tomorrow. 

You were greeted by an empty living room and kitchen, but you could see that Josh’s bedroom light was on, so you headed that way as you shedded your extra layers of clothing. 

You knocked on the door frame, though the door was wide open to reveal Josh laying out on his bed with a lit joint between his lips and Penny on his bedside table. Folk music was playing from his laptop in a tinny quality. 

He peeked an eye open at the sound of your entrance, greeting you with a smile. 

“You’re not falling asleep with a lit spliff, are you?” 

“This is my second one,” he replied as if that was supposed to answer your question or quell your concern. “You want some? Or do you want to work on your paper?”

You ran your teeth over your bottom lip. “I finished my paper in class today. My professor gave us the whole period to work on it.”

He perked up then. “I can’t help but notice that wasn’t a no.” And after a pause he finished, “And congratulations - I’m proud of you.”

You gave him an awkward thumbs up that he promptly barked a laugh at.

 “You wanna?”

“I’ve never smoked before,” you reminded him like it might change his mind. 

“C’mere. I’ll help you.” 

You held a finger up at him. “Hang on, I’m going to change. Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want my new sweater to smell like pot, dude.” 

You returned back in your pajamas, still nervous, but now comfy. He patted the spot in front of him on his bed, prompting you to clamber on. Once you were situated, you tugged his comforter over your shoulders from where it was bunched up at the bottom of his bed. 

“Are you good?” he asked. 

You nodded at him, nervous enough that he could sense it. 

“I’m going to shotgun you, okay?” He put his hand on your knee for comfort, and you had to admit that the touch helped ground you. 

“Okay,” you replied quickly. 

“Okay?” he prompted again, looking less convinced. 

“What does shotgun mean?” you whispered like it was a secret, making him giggle into his shoulder. 

“I’m going to blow the smoke into your mouth. Since it’s your first time, I don’t want you to get super high.”

“Oh. Yeah, that wouldn’t be good,” you agreed. 

“Okay, I’m going to take a drag, and you’re going to open your mouth and suck in the smoke when I blow it out.”

You watched him raise the paper to his lips, the cherry turning bright orange as he inhaled. It wasn’t until he leaned forward with a closed mouth that you realized how...intimate the moment was. 

You weren’t positive he wasn’t going to press his lips directly to yours until you opened your mouth and pulled in his exhale. 

“Hold it in a second if you can,” he instructed, his voice a bit deeper from the smoke. 

You did as you were told, grimacing as you exhaled. “It tastes like dirty socks.”

He snorted a laugh, tipping his head back until it was rested against the wall. 

“I’m not sure what I expected though, because it also smells like dirty socks,” you continued, prompting his laughing to continue until he was sighing contentedly. 

“That’s cute,” he said through a grin. “Innocent.”

You could feel your cheeks warming by the second. You rolled your eyes at him playfully. 

“Do you feel anything?” he asked, sitting back up to attend to you. 

You shook your head. “Not really,” you admitted. 

“You wanna try again? You can just take a hit yourself if you want.”

“Actually could you do it again?” you asked, embarrassed, but not enough so that you were willing to do it alone. 

He gave you a grin, lifting the blunt back to his lips, but this time when he leaned forward, the fingers of his right hand found your jawline, pulling you into him too. When he blew the smoke to you, it was just inches from your lips, and this time you drank it in, forcing it deep into your lungs and holding it there. 

It started to hit you moments after you exhaled it - this pleasant, warm feeling. 

“Hang on,” you said excitedly, throwing the blanket off of you as you scrambled to get off the bed. When you returned you had a little speaker and your phone. The playlist that the two of you had collaborated on for cleaning days started playing, and even though he was laying out flat on his bed, you could see his lips turn up into a smile. 

You laid next to him, resting your head on his arm and giving a pleasant sigh. 

“What’s it feel like?” he asked, a rasp behind the words. He lolled his head to the side to look at you. 

“Warm and fuzzy. Kinda like being in love or seeing a really cute kitten. But also kinda like being on a sailboat in the middle of...I don’t know, some European sea. I can’t think of a single one right now if I’m being honest though.”

When you met his eyes, he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Damn, that’s awesome.”

He sat up on his elbow and reached past you to grab something from his nightstand. You were going to look and see what it was, but staring at the little speckles of plaster on his ceiling was suddenly the best thing you’d ever experienced. 

“Do you always wear cologne?” you asked, suddenly unsure if you were talking really slowly or if your brain just couldn’t process the sound on time. 

“Usually.” When you were able to look over at him, he had a bag of Tootsie Pops by his side, one of the sticks hanging out of his mouth. “You want one?”

You agreed by holding out your hand, letting him give you whatever flavor chance had picked for you. 

He had unwrapped it already, which you thanked him for as the flavor of grape hit your tongue. 

“What flavor did you get?” you asked, turning over so you could lay on your stomach, head propped up by your hands. 

“Cherry,” he replied through a smile, opening his mouth to show you after he asked, “Is my tongue red?”

You giggled at him. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

There was a long, comfortable pause, but you were in no state to determine how long it lasted. 

“I went on a date today.” It came out like an admission, despite your efforts to keep the statement casual. 

He had an impressed look on his face ”Oh, yeah? With who?”

He sat up with what looked like some effort until he was sitting cross-legged. You breathed a laugh, casting your eyes to the pendant of his necklace where it rested against his sternum.

“This guy, Trevor.”

The shocked smile he gave you felt a little surreal in your state. “I didn’t know you even knew any other people here.”

“I actually met him today,” you admitted. 

“And you went on a date with him?” And before you could answer, he continued. “How did it go?”

“It wasn’t really a date, per se. We just had coffee,” you informed. “And, actually, I even bought my own. “

He raised his eyebrows at you until you realized he wanted you to answer the other part of his question. 

“Oh, it was okay. I liked him.”

“Was he kind to you?” he asked, keeping his expression level. 

You nodded. “Yeah, he was. He offered to get my coffee, but I didn’t want him to think he was like. Doing me some big favor, you know?”

Josh huffed a laugh. “That sounds about right. Sounds like you.”

“We made plans for him to come over on Thursday and study.”

Josh tossed the stick of his sucker across the room, landing it perfectly in the little trash can by his door. “Would you like me to be gone for that?”

You frowned at nothing in particular. “Two things. One, how did you just make that shot? I can’t even move. And two, no, why would I want you to go?”

He shrugged, popping another sucker into his mouth. “I’m full of surprises, you’ve just gotta stick around.”

“Well, I live here so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” The way you had muttered made him smirk at you. “But no, you obviously don’t have to leave while he’s here. Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t - I don’t know him very well.”

Josh looked up at you through his lashes for a moment. “Then I’ll be here.”

The both of you hung out on his bed for an indiscernible amount of time, and not once did you ever feel less high. You had intended to get up and brush your teeth, but it didn’t happen, and there was nothing you could do about it. Your eyelids started to feel heavier than you could ever remember them being - like something had ahold of your leg and was dragging you down into sleep. 

The last thing you could recall was the sound of Josh’s smoked-out voice, quietly humming along to the chorus of a song and the visualization of the sound behind your eyes, sweeping back and forth between notes. 

[pretty-much99]

That time of the month

Zion × Reader

Plot: Fluffy story of Zion helping you out when your period starts and him confessing his love for you.

(Y/N POV)

It is Monday and I am supposed to be at work by 8 but as you wake up you feel the pain all women dread. I started my period and I literally can't get out of bed and it is an hour before you have to go to work (fml). It is more painful than normal, my cramps hurt so much that I am in a ball on my bed. I texted my boss and told her I can't come in and had to use a sick day that I had. My first phone call is to one of the closest people to me, Zion who is my best friend. He would always help out when he wasn't playing fortnite or doing stuff with the band. I call him and he groggily answers after the fourth ring "hello" you try to speak but I start crying because the pain was so intense. I heard him shuffle around really hard and then eventually I mustered up the courage enough to say "I'm okay I just…" He hangs up the phone and you try texting him to let him know that you are okay but nothing.

Ten minutes later you hear the door opening (he knew where the spare key was) and you heard him yelling (Y/N). I weakly called out to him, he made it to my room wearing a t-shirt and night pants and he said "where is the person and why did they hurt you". You softly tell him to sit down and slightly hit your hand on your bed. He gets more upset and tells you "I am not sitting down no matter what" so you have to quickly tell him that no one hurt you. He looks at you unsure of the facial expression that you are making but it is enough to finally calm him down. He sits down beside you and you have to tell him that it is that time of the month. He started to understand everything better and he asked if you needed anything. You smile through your pain and ask for an ice and heat pack. He got up and walked out without another word. A few minutes passed which was odd since he knew where everything was and just as you are starting to call out for him he opens the door with your favorite breakfast in bed tray.

You slowly turn your body and he tells you not to move. He put the tray on your nightstand, he had the ice pack wrapped up in a towel so it wouldn't be so cold on your skin. He slowly turns you upright and puts the ice pack on your lower stomach where it hurts most. He smiled and playfully said "you woke me up out of my sleep you better be lucky that I…." He went silent immediately and coughed and tried to change the subject asking about how you felt. You smile and try not to press on what he said so you said "I feel like I got hit by a bus and a truck at the same time and being stabbed and life sucks." He laughed and assured you that by the end of the day you would feel better. He grabbed both of your arms on the bottom and slowly started sitting you up and you got settled. He gently brushes your hair to the side out of your face and you look over at the tray as he reaches for it.

He grabbed a bowl and picked it up with a spoon. You smile and say it is too early for soup but he makes you eat the chicken noodle soup anyways because it will help. He also had crackers and ginger ale. You laugh with some pain and tell him you are not sick. You feel like your stomach is being stabbed from the inside out. "This is what I know how to do..  wait I have to go get you some chocolate that will help right?" This was the nicest gesture someone had done for you in a long time and he grabs his phone and sends a text. "Thanks so much Z but you don't have to get chocolate, you have already done so much for me I appreciate it." He smiles and he turns on your tv hoping for you to get settled a little more. Thirty minutes later after watching some of an episode of The Originals. There is a ring at your door bell and he gets up and answers it and you hear mumbling and what sounds like the other boys from the band they walk in your room.

They were all in their pj's and asked if you were okay. You let them know you are okay and you see Nick come in with some chocolate and some fake flowers and a get well soon card. You smile and tell all of them to give you a hug and Z steps back. You motioned for him to get into the big group hug. It hurt but you were happy they were there and they were being sweet about it. Z switches the ice pack to the heating pack and puts it on the lowest setting so it would not create more pain for you. They were all on the bed and they picked up from where the episode left off and you slowly fell asleep. You wake up and everyone is gone and the TV is paused. You are still a little sleepy but you feel better with your stomach pain. You were able to finally get out of bed, and walk into the living room and see the boys. They all check to see how you are feeling and Z stood up and walked up to you and kissed you out of nowhere.

You are stunned and realize his kiss is like honey and you slowly melted and in a way forgot about your pain. But you slowly pull away because you remember the other boys are there. They all awkwardly leave and you ask Z why he did that. He said "Talking to the boys made me realize that I love you a lot (Y/N). I will always help you out no matter what even if that means waking me up out of my sleep. I want to be with you and take care of you when you don't feel good because you always take care of me and everyone else around you. You have a heart of gold and I feel like you and your heart were made for me, I love you and that is never going to change." You start smiling and tears streaming down your face at the same time, his words touched you because you felt the same way about him. You confess your love for him and he kisses you and his adorable beaming smile that lights up the room that was only focused on you was all you could ask for.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Sorry there’s no Eye of the Storm for today. I’m currently going through physical and emotional hell but I hope you don’t mind some Andy Barber.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed angry. You were always warned against it and you always learned your lessons the hard way. Hence, your current predicament and that stabbing just above your eye brow.

You got up slowly. You groaned and grumbled as you forced yourself to your feet. It was early and you had a shift at the diner. You never thought you'd be eager to be in your greasy apron but it was better than the alternative.

The night before, you'd spent a few minutes looking around the bedroom. There was an attached bathroom and you were thankful for that as you'd awoke once to relieve yourself before stumbling back to bed. 

You pushed through the half-open door and pulled your night shirt over your head. You stretched and reached to start the shower. There was a hand towel hanging from the ring above the sink but nothing else. You went to the closet but upon opening the door, you were surprised to find another bedroom on the other side. 

You swore and slammed the door before Andy could look up from his tie. You searched the handle for a lock and clicked it into place. God damn it! What kind of house was set up like that?

You heard his bedroom door in the hall and he knocked on your own. You scrambled to pick up your night gown and pull it back on as the hinges whispered and he appeared at the bathroom door. He looked confused as he crossed his arms.

"What was all that about?" He asked.

"I needed a towel," You huffed. "And I thought it was... a closet."

"Ah, linen closet's right next to my room." He explained. "I never really liked the layout but Laurie... I'll get you a towel."

You nodded and he left you. He returned with a dark blue towel and offered it to you. You took it and he reluctantly let it go. His gaze never left you; sombre and serious.

"Did you decide?" He asked.

"I'll tell Saul today," You said. "Is that acceptable?"

He sighed and sniffed.

"Call me." He said. "Doesn't matter when, I'll pick up. You let me know when your next appointment is."

"Okay," You resigned. "So, can I shower or...?"

"I gotta head out," He tucked his hand in his pants pocket. "I'll leave your breakfast on the counter."

"I can take care of myself." You insisted.

"Yeah, you keep saying that," He gave a sarcastic smirk. "What time are you done?"

"Seven," You answered dully. "I'll be home before curfew, dad."

He rolled his eyes and backed away.

"Well, won't be long till I am," He countered. "Isn't that right, mommy?"

He left you, the door closing with a snap. You listened as he went back to his own room and left shortly after, his footsteps fading down the stairs.

You set the towel down on the toilet lid and felt the warmth of the shower’s spray with your fingertips. You'd thought living with your mom was hard. Now you almost missed it.

🌙

You felt like you had a secret victory. While you'd given up the job that had seen you through the last decade, your job at the cafe was starting to look more promising. Many of your co-workers were college students and handed off shifts quite often. 

By the time you left the diner, dispirited as you were after the last few days' events, you had picked up two half-shifts for the next week. Another and you'd have more than thirty hours away from Andy and his suburban prison.

It was short-won as you found a bitterly familiar car waiting by the curb as you walked out of work. Andy sat in the front seat, his hand leaned against the steering wheel as he squinted at the glowing screen of his phone. You were tempted to ignore him and catch the bus instead but you didn't want another night of arguing. You just wanted to be home. You could hide in the guest room and try to forget. Well, as much as you could.

You knocked on the window and he looked over. He gave you his usual disapproving look and unlocked the doors with the flip of a switch. He tucked his phone away and turned the engine as you climbed in.

"I messaged." He said as he peered out into traffic. "Why didn't you answer?"

"I haven't checked my phone," You frowned. "Sorry."

"I told you to call me." He pulled out and his knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the wheel. "You make your appointment?"

"Monday," You muttered. Only three days away. "Ten thirty."

"I can make it work," He said. "You wanna grab some dinner? It's a bit late to cook."

"You gonna spoon feed again?" You challenged.

"Only if you make me," He said. "I want a copy of your schedule. Every week. I need to know when you're working and not."

"You're not serious?" You scoffed.

"I think I have a right to know. And look, we're having a kid and we should learn to get along before it gets here." He glanced at you in the rearview. "It wasn't so hard that night in the bar."

"Andy, forget that night," You breathed. 

"I can't." His voice was low, dusky. "Even if... if I hadn't run into you again, I'd still be thinking about it."

"Don't do this," You begged.

"I love-- Loved my wife," He continued. "But it was never like that. Never that--"

"Stop," You interrupted. "Andy, I get it, well, I can't really understand what you're going through but you're grieving your family. It's confusing, scary, but you can't expect me to fill that hole. It was a one night stand. As far as I know those are suppose to end the morning after, at latest."

He was silent as he pulled into the drive through of a local burger joint. You'd been to the place once, they had great potato wedges but charged a bit much for limited portions. He stopped at the speaker and turned to you.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Chicken burger, extra mayo, side of wedges," You craned to read the menu around him. "And an iced tea?"

"That's a lot of sugar. You should have a water for now and I have some stuff at home."

"Why did you even-- fine," You relented. "Water is fine."

Andy ordered and idled between the windows as he waited for the food. When it was his turn at last, he drew up and paid. He took the paper bag and the tray of drinks and handed it to you. He tipped, well, and thanked the server before pulling away.

"You don't understand. You're right." He said stiffly. "You can't but you can at least try. A baby... do you know what that means to me? Especially now, after everything. I never really put much faith in God but it feels like... a sign."

You lowered your head and shifted the paper bag on your leg as its warmth seeped through your pants. You felt bad. You were so concerned with what you were going to do, you hadn't really thought about him or his feelings. Sure, he was bossy, angry, but could you blame him? After a tragedy so uncontrollable how could you not be desperate for an ounce of control?

"Thank you," You said quietly. "For buying me dinner. For... letting me stay with you."

"You don't have to thank me for that. Decent people do those things." He stared at the road grimly. "I'm... sorry I've been so angry."

"It's alright. I haven't really been easy to deal with." You chuckled darkly. "I'd blame the hormones but I think it's just me."

"No, it's not," He turned down his street. "I'll be home late tomorrow night. There's lots of food in the fridge. You working?"

"Closing." You answered. "I'll be late too."

He nodded as he pulled into his driveway.

"Alright," He killed the engine. "I still want that schedule. It'll make things a lot easier."

You wanted to slap yourself. He came around as you managed to open your door and took the bag from you as he left you the tray of drinks. You followed him to the door, shaking your head at your own idiocy. He might be decent but it didn't make him any less overbearing.

🌙

Your days continued on a tightrope. You did your best to balance between Andy's irritability and your own misery. He might have apologized but there was something about the man that just kept you on edge.

And it was difficult to adjust to living with a man that was barely more than a strangers. To live in the shell of his former life. Even when you were alone, you stayed in the guest room, kept to yourself. It felt wrong to be there.

When Monday came, you woke to ready for your appointment. You dressed and went downstairs to find Andy awake and put together as always. The smell of his coffee made your mouth water.

"Any left in the pot?" You asked.

He shook his head as he blew the steam away from the rim.

"You can't have coffee. Too much caffeine." He said. "I'll buy you some decaf if you want. There's a gourmet place in the market."

"Don't worry about it," You grumbled. "I'll just have some orange juice."

"And some fruit, toast, yogurt..." He began as he set his mug down. "You should start writing down your meals. Keep track. You don't want to undereat." He opened the fridge and pulled out a basket of blueberries and a tub of yogurt. "We should also look into some supplements for you. Iron, probably." 

He grabbed a bowl and measured out the yogurt and then rinsed some berries to go on top. He slid the bowl across the island and put everything back in the fridge. He grabbed the loaf from the breadbox and shoved two slices in the toaster.

"They should be able to let us know what after today," He continued. "I was reading up. They're gonna take some blood, probably some urine, and you might even have an ultrasound."

"Reading?" You narrowed your eyes. "Did you do all this with... before?"

He pressed his lips together and cracked his neck.

"I was younger then. Naive," He said. "Nine months is a long time. A lot can go wrong."

You were quiet. You scooped yogurt into your mouth and tried not to scowl. You didn't need to walk into the doctor's in a mood. The whole thing was stressful enough.

He finished making your toast and offered you peanut butter. You took butter and accepted the dry dark rye. He tapped his fingers on the counter and reached for a book on the end. He slid it over and flipped it open just as you read the title; 'What to Expect When You're Expecting'. You wanted to laugh. You chewed instead.

"That's your research?" You asked.

"You should read it," He said without looking up, crossing his arms atop the counter as he bent over it. "You'd learn a lot."

"Oh yeah?" You swallowed. "I'll see if I can fit it on my reading list."

"Huh," He looked up at last. "I saw that you had quite a few hours next week. Thirty-three."

"You said I couldn't work two jobs," You shrugged. "So I have one."

"I thought we were getting somewhere," He stood straight. "I really did."

"What else am I supposed to do? I can't just sit around and wait for the baby."

"You can," He snapped and rubbed his beard, feeling the bristle of his beard. "Jesus, I just-- I'm trying to do what's right."

"For you? Me? The baby?" You wondered.

"For us," He said pointedly. 

"Us?" You echoed and set down the last crust. "What do you think is going to happen when the baby is here?"

His brows crinkled and took a breath.

"Well, I hope to have the nursery set up by then. Some clothes ready. No surprises, we'll need to know the sex so that we're ready." He slowly smiled as he spoke. "And maybe a pump for you, just in case. And I can take some days off to help out. It can be exhausting--"

"Andy!" You spat. "Andy, do you think-- do you think I'm going to stay here... forever?"

"You gonna pop this thing out and just go?" He asked. 

"I never said I'd stay. Why would I--?"

"Because we're gonna be parents. Together." He hissed. "Because I won't have my child bouncing back and forth like volleyball."

"I'm not doing that." You said. "No, I'm not--" You stood and rounded the counter. "I'll find my own way to the appointment. There's no reason you need to be there."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa" He stepped in front of you and blocked you. "I wasn't asking."

"You can't make me--"

"I can do whatever I want," His voice grew deeper as he backed you against the island. "I can tell the police you abandoned your child. I can sue you for support. I can have you arrested for neglect."

"Prove it," You snarled.

"Won't be hard. I got buddies in the PD. I don't even have to plant the evidence," He smirked. "I just gotta give them the go ahead."

"No," You tried to push past him and he grabbed your sides, pushing you back against the counter.

"Let me tell you something, sweetheart," He leaned in to whispered in your ear. "You're gonna do a lot of things you think you don't wanna do." 

His hand slipped to your hip and you caught his wrist, grasping his chunky watched. He stood straight and looked down at you nonchalantly. 

"You're right," He wrenched his arm away and looked at his watch. "We're gonna be late."

[jean-kayak]

Chapter 17

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: angst lmao that’s really all i can say without spoiling anything 

Word Count: 2581

A/N: This is another FLASHBACK, and this will be the last one for the rest of the series, but after this, it goes pretty downhill lmfao

Tags: @iwascrybaby​, @styxtm​, @germinvasion​, @prxttyguardian​, @bigdaddyzawa​, @kbbvbz​, @tomsadversary​, @kqtsukisgf​, @pettyluxury​, @protectpancakes​

Chapter Summary: Words can hurt. Like really, really bad.

If you ever wanted a time to be good at holding back your tears, it would be right now. Final exams are coming up, so your stress levels are already through the roof, and to make it even worse, your teacher for interior design basically told you that your project was a failure and that you're going to have to start over. Today is Friday.

It's due Monday.

You're sitting on one of the benches in the main lobby of the high school, waiting for your ride, and you just can't stand being at school any longer. You're looking down, hoping no one who's still wondering through the hallways after almost everyone's left looks your way.

You freeze when you hear a familiar voice, and you feel a new fresh wave of tears roll down your face. You hear Eren laughing with his friends, and you keep your gaze down, refusing to look up as you wipe the tears from your eyes.

And you hate how your body sheds more tears at just the sound of his voice, and you blame it on the fact that you're already stressed. He "rejected" you a long time ago, so there's no reason for you to still be pining over someone you're never going to be with.

You keep sniffling due to the fact that you're looking down, and you're hoping he walks past you soon without looking your way at all. When you feel someone lightly nudge your head, you feel your heart drop. "Hey." His voice is soft, and that just seems to make you more upset. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on your shoes. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Bullshit." You sigh as you look away from your shoes. He definitely is the most stubborn person you've met, and you're best friends with Jean.

"It's true. There's nothing wrong," you repeat. "Now, I'm pretty sure you'd rather be with your friends than with me, so you can go." You wipe your face with your sleeve, sniffling again which doesn't help your case.

"Look at me and say that." You feel yourself clench your hands into fists at his stupid fucking persistence, looking up at him, and you refuse to believe that you see his face soften when you look at him. "What the hell happened?" he asks, and you shake your head again.

"Like I told you, it's nothing. You wouldn't care." This is what you tell yourself, you're pretty sure it's the truth anyway. There's no way he would actually care about how you're doing.

"Where'd you get that from?" he questions in disbelief, and you scoff as you look back down at your hands, flexing your fingers as you relax them.

You shrug. "I don't know. It's just something I assumed."

"Well, it's a stupid assumption," he tells you before he sighs. "Come on, let's go." You look up at him, raising your eyebrows. "Tell whoever's picking you up that I'm taking you home." You scoff again as you shake your head.

"Eren, I already told you, I'm fine. I don't need you treating me like a baby," you respond, your words coming out more aggressive than you wanted.

"Come on, Y/N, you know I don't look at you that way. Now, let's just go." You roll your eyes as you look in the opposite direction of him, cursing yourself when you feel more tears brimming your eyes.

"I'm pretty sure you'd rather hang out with your friends than me. They're more important than I am." You didn't realize how self-deprecating you got in your head when you tried to get over your stupid crush.

"Who told you that?" He sounds angry now, and you can't hold the tears in anymore, more falling down your face as you shake your head.

"No one." I did. You try to hold back the sob rising in your chest, but it slips out, and you suddenly feel a hand on your wrist pulling you up from the bench before an arm is around your shoulders, leading you out of the school.

You find yourself sitting at that same booth in the ice cream parlor, this time barely putting a dent in your ice cream. "You can start on the work now. Just get a little bit done while you sit here," Eren says, and you shake your head, giving him a small shrug.

"No, I'll probably just wait till I get home. I'm sure you've got somewhere else to be, don't wanna hold you up."

You don't look up when he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. "Who's telling you all this shit?" You can't help but feel pathetic. You can't say yourself because then you'll feel even more stupid.

"No one, it doesn't matter." You put a spoon of ice cream in your mouth to stop you from saying anything else. You glance at him, and you know that he can tell that you're not telling the truth or that there's something else underlining your words, and you hate how much of an open book you are.

"Seriously, Y/N, do the work. I have nothing else to do." He leans back in the booth, eating some of his ice cream to emphasize his point, and you sigh heavily before you slide your ice cream to the slide and start pulling out the stuff you need to start on the toughest thing you currently have to deal with.

You're actually pretty immersed in your work, your notebooks and binder spread out all over the table, pens and colored pencils littering the surface, and you just happen to look around to see a pencil in Eren's hand. He seems pretty focused, and you chew on your lip nervously before you set your pencil down, flexing your fingers that are starting to hurt.

"What are you doing?" you ask cautiously, and he looks up at you through his lashes before he lifts his head up.

"Drawing," he responds easily, and you nod, remembering how Jean said that he had started to take it up.

"Drawing what?" you push softly, and he responds with an easy shrug.

"Stuff, I guess," he responds, and you raise your eyebrows as you give him an easy smile.

"Can I see?" He easily slides the book over to you, and you pick it up, setting it on top of your stuff. Your eyes widen when they land on the different sketches spanning across the two pages you're looking at. "You're amazing," is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and you're really at a loss for words.

You didn't know what you were expecting, but they're way better than what you thought. "I would hang these up in my room," you say, and you keep your attention on the drawings as you hear him chuckle softly.

"I don't think they're that good," he contradicts, and you scoff as you look up at him.

"Are you kidding me? You're seriously amazing," you emphasize before passing the book back to him. "What?" you ask when you notice that he's staring at you.

He hesitates for a second, not saying anything as he looks down at the table before looking back at you. "Can I draw you?"

You blink in surprise before you let out a depreciating chuckle. "You wanna draw an ugly girl with dried tear tracks on her face?"

"I want to draw a girl who is not ugly, and who is going to finish her project and get the best grade in the class," he counters quickly, and you chew on your lip softly as you try to fight the heat rising to your face.

"If you want to," you respond softly. "What do you want me to do?" you ask, fiddling with the pencil in your hand nervously.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." You respond with a small nod before turning back to your work, feeling a little bit weird now that Eren's watching you, but you're soon back to being absorbed into your work, nearly forgetting that he was drawing you in the first place.

Eren decides to leave once you have most of your project drafted, almost ready to work on the final result. "Can I see that drawing?" you ask as you pack your backpack up.

"It's really bad," he says, and you roll your eyes just as you zip up your bag.

"I know that's not true," you object, and he chuckles softly before sliding out of the booth.

"I'll show you one day. Come on, let's get you home," he says, nodding his head towards the door, and you walk out of the ice cream parlor feeling a lot lighter than when you came in.

^^^

The end of your freshman year of high school passed in a blur even though you swore you had those weeks where it felt like it took forever for them to end. You barely made it through your exams unscathed, your brain feeling like it had been fried ten times over, but now you had the summer to look forward to.

Eren had a graduation party, and the only reason why you were there was that Jean got to invite some of his friends because his mom didn't want him to feel left out. You two were the only ones there though, most of them not wanting to be surrounded by a bunch of former seniors or either having things to do.

You went to obviously hang out with Jean, but once more people started showing up, that's when you realized that this probably wasn't the best idea. You and Jean were able to take refuge in his room for the time being, and you couldn't go to your house because Jean's mom was making him stay for at least a couple of hours.

Jean wasn't happy about it, so you listened to him complain for at least an hour about that before he switched the subject onto you. He started asking you about your relationship with Eren, and he wasn't happy when you told him that sometimes he would take you to get ice cream. "What's so wrong with it?" you ask, and he just shrugs.

"I just don't like it," he replies, making your frown deeper. "Do you like him?" The sudden question makes you jump slightly, and you try to mask the nervousness in your chuckle.

"What do you mean? Like if I--"

"Y/N," he cuts you off, his voice telling you there's no point in beating around the bush, and you sigh heavily as you pick at the side of your cup.

"No? I don't..." you trail off, not really knowing how to answer. "It doesn't matter," you conclude.

Eren causes your feelings to be all over the place. One moment, you're fine, it's like you're over him, and then he'll do something like bringing you to the ice cream parlor to make you feel better, and then those feelings explode all over again.

"I'm going to get something to drink," you say, quickly standing up and walking out of his room. You maneuver through the mass of people, the house seeming to be stuffy from how many people are inside, probably due to the heat outside.

You slide past a bunch of people before you decide that you need a breather. You make your way to the back door, sliding it open just enough for you to fit through before closing it behind you. You release a sigh that slumps your shoulders when it feels cooler outside than it does inside. You walk away from the view of the door, leaning against the house so that no one can see you.

You're about to sit down when you hear voices coming from the side of the house. You make your footsteps light as you tiptoe across the deck, and you keep your back against the wall as you look around the corner, feeling an uneasy feeling settle over you when you see Eren talking with his friends.

Eren and Will are sitting next to each other in cheap lawn chairs while Porco leans against the wall, cigarette lit in his mouth. The conversation is nothing to really pay attention to, but once you rest your head against the wall, out of their sight is what catches your ears. "You ever get that whole crush thing sorted out with Y/N?" Will asks the question, and you can feel your heart starting to pound.

"Yeah, she said it wasn't true," you hear Eren respond and a scoff follows it.

"Yeah, right. Don't tell me you believed that." It's Porco that speaks this time, and you bite your lip as your hands dig into the brick against your back. "It was so obvious, it's almost sad."

"Like I said, she denied it," Eren repeats, and you want to leave, but your feet are glued to the ground.

"And then you were hanging out with her," Porco continues. "Like you had a crush on her, too," he jokes.

"Fuck off, man," Eren says. "I was only nice to her because she's Jean's best friend. Trust me, that's the only reason why I put up with her."

You think you physically feel your heart break. The tears are brimming in your eyes, and they spill as you turn in the opposite direction towards your house, your walking soon turning into running, not stopping when your parents ask you what's wrong, and you close your door, locking it before pulling the covers over yourself and crying so hard, you fall asleep.

Coming up with a lie to tell your parents wasn't easy, you roping in Jean to help you, and you both just said that you had gotten into a meaningless fight, but you're fine now. Jean was livid when you told him what happened, but you told him not to do anything. For one, Eren was way bigger than him, and two, Eren was about to leave so there was no point.

Jean only came to your house to hang out, and you never stepped foot back into Jean's house until Eren had left for college. Sometimes Eren would text you, but you never looked at it. You would swipe the notification away, and slowly the texts stopped coming in.

You obviously knew that it could never work between the two of you, but why did he have to say that about you? Was that true? You didn't want to believe it, but he seemed so serious that it makes you cry all over again. It just makes all of those moments you had together mean absolutely nothing, and it makes you want to punch the memories out of your head.

You didn't go see him when he left, you telling your parents that you weren't feeling that well, and Jean came over to tell you that he was gone. It took you a lot longer to get over him than you wanted, but you made sure to distract yourself for the whole summer, and Jean helped you.

You didn't tell anyone else what happened and neither did Jean, and even though it caused a deep wound, you were slowly but surely starting to heal, and Eren deciding that he wasn't going to come back often made it easier for you.

You didn't have to see him ever again, and you used that to aid in your healing process.

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