#and it just seems like the kind of selfish thing he’d do to drive an even bigger wedge between them.

[tasteracha]

sweet venom

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

warnings: afab!reader, possessive behavior, unprotected sex, smut - MINORS DNI.

synopsis: request from my baby @astraystayyh who asked for grinding and lipstick and i kind of didn’t follow much of either but they’re there!!!!! 1.8k.

you can hear hyunjin doing his live in the next room - he made you swear to not click into it, saying that he’d be much too nervous if he saw you there. you listened, you’d do anything for him if he asked, but you held back the fact that the walls were thin and it was like you were there anyways. he didn’t need to know that. 

you were usually fine with it. you were usually happy to hear him giggling along with his fans, ecstatic that he had so many people who loved him and wanted to spend time with him. it was just one of those things that came with being in a relationship with an idol that you just got used to. but right now, you were in an unusual mindset of wanting to be the only one that loved him, wanting to be the single person that he was spending time with. you didn’t want to share him, and while that might be selfish you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

it took thirty minutes of you seething in bed to come up with your half-baked plan. you walk over to your spare closet, keeping your steps light as you dig through it for a small paper bag hidden in the corner. you’d been keeping it for a special occasion, something you could wear as a treat for hyunjin, but this seemed like a better opportunity. you loved catching him off guard, as rare of an occurrence as it is. 

you weave through the flimsy tissue paper in the bag and pull out a set of delicate lace, stark red against your skin. it was a beautiful lingerie set, something you had splurged on quite a bit, beautiful patterns of fabric complimented by thin bows and mesh paneling. you knew it would drive hyunjin crazy. 

you swipe on some matching red lipstick and a few coats of mascara before pulling on the fabric, shivering a bit at the cold air hitting your exposed body. you weren’t one to show off this much skin typically, but it was worth it for this. you push away your discomfort as you step into the hallway, feet feather-light on the hardwood until you reach the door.

you press your ear to it, hearing his voice as clear as if it was right in your ear. him giggling at someone’s comment, him making jokes that weren’t meant for you, him flirting with them like you weren’t in the same apartment as him. 

you push the door open abruptly and falter, your plan standing on shaky ground as you take him in. his hair is pushed back, a pair of metal rimmed glasses framing his face perfectly, and he’s spread out like a whore. he’s sprawled into the headboard of the bed, your bed, legs open and you see red. his head perks up like an animal, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“oh,” you can see the blood rush to his face as he twitches a bit, eyes flickering back and forth between you and the camera. “um. something came up, i have to go. bye!”

he turns the live off, and you already know that he’s going to be trending on twitter in a matter of minutes, but you don’t care. twitter can talk about him all they want, but he’s living and breathing in front of you and suddenly there’s too much space between you to bear. 

“you think you can show off like this for other people?” you crawl onto the bed and stop in front of him, kneeling between his legs, setting your hands on his upper thighs. “you think you’re allowed to show them my property? you’re mine-“

he cuts you off with a huff, pulling you into him by the waist, leaving you sprawled into his lap. your hands brace onto his chest to keep yourself from crashing into him, and you can feel his heart beating under them, light and fragile like a hummingbird’s wings. 

“you talk too much, did you know that?” he teases, leaning back to take in your body, eyes roaming up and down. it’s a testament to how much you trust him that you don’t want to hide from his gaze, that you preen under his attention instead. 

“hmm,” you swing your legs over his, fully straddling him. “i don’t think that i talk enough, actually.”

you grind down on him, satisfaction thrumming through you when his mouth drops open in a surprised moan, and you take the chance to kiss him. his lips immediately surrender to yours, letting you lead him as you rake your nails down his chest, the thin material of his t-shirt doing nothing to stop the sensation. his hands, still on your hips, pull you into him again, making small circles that are in tune with the way his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. 

you trail your lips down his neck, leaving red lipstick stains in your path downwards. you bring your teeth into the equation, complimenting every rose-shaped pucker with a sharp thorny bite. the whines he lets out are sweeter than any melody that has ever hit your ears - you’d never let anyone tell you that you weren’t a musician when you could play his body this well. 

“not-,” he cuts off with a groan when you bear down into his lap, kissing his collarbone to soothe him. “not where people can see, love.”

“i’ll do whatever i want,” you growl, meeting eyes with him as you suck a mark right under his jaw. “you don’t get to tell me what to do.” 

it’s a little ridiculous that a live has gotten you this worked up, but with the way his breath is picking up and his chest is heaving under you, you’re pretty sure he’s right there with you. you lean back to appreciate your artwork, pausing your hips and grinning at the way your lipstick stains have dotted his neck and smeared around his lips. they’re physical marks of your claim on him.  

“okay, sorry,” he whines, voice thin. “i won’t do it again, i was close, why did you stop -”

you shush him with another kiss, cradling his face in your hands. you pluck his glasses off his face, throwing them at the foot of the bed without care - it’s not like he needs them to see, anyways. they were getting in the way. 

“you’re close already? baby, if you’re going to come today, it’ll be inside me or not at all,” you murmur against his lips, pressing a few pecks there before pulling back again. he shudders, a fully body thing that sends your own body into a delightful hum. you’ll never get used to the effect that you have on him, you’ll never understand how it was you that he picked. 

you help him pull down his sweatpants and boxers, holding back a smirk at how hard he is. you barely have time to push your panties aside before he’s pulling you back into him again, a hard grip on your hips for the countless time; you hope he leaves hand-shaped bruises on you that last for days. 

you raise up and ease him into you, the wetness that’s been building up since you walked in making the slide almost too easy. when he bottoms out you pause for a moment, settling in his lap and letting yourself get used to the feeling of him inside you. he fills you up so perfectly, nestled within you like he was carved specially just for you. the streak of possession comes back full force, something nasty and dark curling up in you at the thought of no one else getting to experience this ever. you were going to keep him forever, he is yours. 

he swipes his thumb across your lips, smearing the lipstick everywhere before he pushes it into your mouth. you can taste the sticky sweetness of the makeup as you swirl your tongue around him, and his eyes are so dark on you that you almost can’t see his irises anymore.

you lift up and drop back down, once, twice, over and over god it feels so damn good. the angle you’re at makes him drive into that spot inside you that burns in pleasure, and soon enough your knees give out, unable to keep yourself upright. 

he takes it as permission to flip you over onto your back, the weightlessness making your stomach flip before your back hits the mattress. he cradles the back of your head in his hand, keeping it from hitting the headboard as he looms over you, lining himself back up and pushing back inside you in one go. 

his hair falls into his face, swinging along with his body as he rocks into you. the headboard squeaks but it’s nothing compared to the symphony your combined breaths create. 

your hands reach up to cup his neck, thumbs sliding against the droplets of sweat rolling down his temples. you pull him in for another kiss, nastier than the others, full of gnashing teeth and dirty licks into each other’s mouths until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. his hand trails down your side, fingers pressing into your ribcage before going further down, down, down. 

he parts your folds with his fingers, expert motions locating your clit easily. he rubs small circles into it, in time with his quickening thrusts, and you have to screw your eyes closed because it’s too much. 

you feel your orgasm approaching faster than you thought it would, something about his near feral motions hitting parts of you that you hadn’t discovered yet. your entire body tightens with it, wave after wave of what seems like never ending pleasure wracking your body, going from your core all the way to your toes and the tols of your fingers. 

he comes inside you with a growl, burying his head in your neck as you milk him through your own aftershocks. you can feel his heavy breaths on your skin, his entire body enveloping yours as you float through the haze he’s put you in. 

you come back to yourself when he pulls out, letting out a pitiful whine at the loss of contact. he runs a hand through your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before dashing away, coming back just as quickly with a water bottle and a warm washcloth to clean you up with. 

he goes to unhook your bra, knowing that you hate sleeping in them, but you pause his hand with a weak grip. 

“you like it?” you ask, asking for the verbal validation that he did even though you know. 

“do i like it?” he asks, incredulous, raising a brow at you. “you look divine. i’m going to paint you in this one day.”

“good,” you sigh in content, letting him undress you fully. he makes quick work of his own clothes, sticky with sweat, and he goes to retrieve his phone. 

“my love?” he calls out, timid, his eyes wide as he looks down at the screen. “would you kill me if i told you i never turned off the live?”

“what?” you hiss, fully awake now. “please tell me you’re joking.”

“i am,” he giggles, showing you the black screen he was looking at. “that was revenge for interrupting my live, you jealous baby.”

“i’ll show you revenge, hwang hyunjin!”

[beenbaanbuun]

comfort human w/ yeosang

——————————————————————————

Everything felt bad

You couldnt really describe it any other way. The way the rain pounded against your window in a way that was so repetitive it hurt your head was bad. The way the usually soft wool of your cardigan rubbed the same spot on your arm over and over and over again was bad. The way your socks constricted your toes was bad.

You would smell the meal you’d cooked earlier, the smell making you want to gag. You’d tried disguising it with a candle, but the sweet scent mixed with the crackle of the wick was enough to make you put it out after just a few minutes. You were left with an even worse mixture of burnt candle and meat and you wanted more than to plug your nose.

If you could, you would simply live in a vacuum. There would be no input from the outside world. Nothing but silence and pressure and the sweet nothingness that would come with being alone… truly alone.

Of course, that wasnt feasible. You didn't know where to find a room where ‘nothing’ existed and so you were left in this limbo where you felt too uncomfortable to exist yet you couldnt do anything about it. You were stuck, living a life that you simply couldn’t live without wanting to tear every folicle of hair from your head.

You recalled having a conversation with your boyfriend about it the first time he ever found you in this state. Yeosang had been nothing but kind, as he usually was, and had sat and listened to you complain about everything for what felt like hours. He didn't say anything, just let you talk and cry and release every negative emotion you had about, well, everything onto him.

He claimed to not know how to help the first time it happened, but him being there was enough. He didnt speak, didnt touch, but you knew he was there and that seemed to make life seem just a little bit easier.

The second time it happened around him, it turned out he’d done his research. Overstimulation was what he called it, and he pulled up his notes app on his phone to show you a long list of things that might help. He let you look through it, picking and choosing the ones you thought might make you feel a little better. Yeosang let you know with a kind smile that if they didnt work then you’d never have to do them again if you didnt want to.

By the end of that evening, there was a smile on your face and the sound of the cars passing by outside no longer made your teeth ache.

In the end, you’d decided that it was Yeosang that helped the most. As long as he was there with his familiar scent and comforting warmth, there was nothing that could truly bother you. That’s what made this all the more difficult.

Yeosang was home right now, with his members at their dorm, but that wasn't always the case. Sometimes he was half the world away and you had to navigate this whole thing by yourself. Of course, your insanely methodical boyfriend had come up with a system to help when he couldnt be with you - a weighted blanket sprayed with his cologne. You had to admit, it helped a little, but nothing could compare to having him by your side. Nothing made you feel as good as when Yeosang was lying next to you.

Tonight, the blanket wasn't working at all. You’d pulled it on top of yourself in the hope that you wouldn’t have to disrupt the games night Yeosang was having with his members. Perhaps it was the fact you knew he was so close that was making it feel worse. Why should you settle for a blanket when your boyfriend was nothing more than a 10 minute drive away from you?

It was selfish, you told yourself. Yeosang didn't exist for the sole purpose of making you feel better. He had his own life outside of your meltdowns, and he’d been so excited for this games night for so long. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you interupted that.

So you lay there, a pillow grasped tightly around your ears to try and block out the sound of the rain. You were naked, having removed any fabric that might irritate your sticky skin. The blanket was pulled up to your neck,and if it werent for the worry of suffocating yourself, you wouldve had it over your head. All the lights were off and your phone was lay face down on your nightstand. It wasnt anything close to the vacuum that you truly desired, but it was as close as you would get.

So you lay there, everything hurting as you tried to block out the world around you. It wasnt really working but you had to try. You had to-

Your phone rang out through the dark room. It was on do not disturb, but there was still one person you’d allowed to bypass it. Yeosang was calling you.

Your body jolted as you sprung up, desperately feeling around for your phone in the dark room. Your hand eventually found the vibrating object and you turned it towards you. The bright light made you flinch, but you ignored it, desperate to hear your boyfriends voice.

“Baby?” He breathed out as soon as you accepted the call. He sounded panicked, and your mind began to spin. What could’ve happened to make him ring you in such a frantic state?

“Yeosang,” you responded, voice quiet, “is everything okay?”

Your boyfriedn breathed out what you assumed was a sigh of relief.

“Thank God you're okay,” he said, “I’ve been texting you for hours but you hadnt responded. I just needed to know that everything was okay.”

‘Selfish,’ your mind told you. ‘You made him worry about you just because the rain was too loud? You’re a bad girlfriend.’

“Sorry, Yeosang,” you replied, “I just fell asleep.”

He sighed into the phone and you could tell he didn't believe you. Fuck. Now he knew you were lying to him. Trust you to make everything worse.

“Baby,” he grabbed your attention, “I’m going to ask you how you are, and you’re going to tell me the truth, okay? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

And you knew that. You could always tell Yeosang anything, but that didn't mean you should. It didn't mean that you weren't being selfish when he inevitably left the games night to comfort you instead. You wished there was a way out of this whole thing, but there wasn't.

“I’m not good,” you said. It was the truth, plain and simple, and you knew Yeosang would appreciate that, even if it only made the self-resentment that had been building within you, grow. “I just - I feel really bad, Sangie.”

Silence. Thats all you could hear. You had to assume that he’d muted the call on his side since he hadn't ended it. You wanted to know why, your eyes watering at the thought of what he might be saying to his members behind your back. It was just the anxiety talking, you reminded yourself. It didn't help.

The first thing you heard when he unmuted it was the jingling of car keys ahnd him saying one last goodbye to his members. There was a chorus of ‘goodbye’s back and then the door shut.

“I’m going to stay on the line with you, okay?” You hummed an affirmation. “I know that if I dont then you’ll somehow manage to convince yourself that you’re the devil incarnate, and I cant have my angel thinking that about themself, can I?”

“You really don’t have to,” you whimper, not wanting to inconvenience him any further.

“Oh shush,” he grumbles as his engine roars to life, “you know I'd give the world for you.”

[ahummingbirdwitch]

Fantasize (Cypher x F!Reader) Part 2

Summary: Part 2 to Fantasize. Read part 1 here

Pairing: Cypher x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,675

Warnings: male masturbation, sexual fantasy, hand job, blow job, p in v sex

Notes: Cypher’s turn ;)

After last night, I think I’m in love with you

(I think I’m in love with you)

Woke up and I can’t get you out of my head

(I’ve tried, I’ve tried)

~~~

Returning to work like normal had proven more of a challenge than Cypher had thought.

That night he’d watched you in your room, he’d hardly slept a wink, waiting for what felt like hours for his erection to go down. He’d thought about finishing himself off, just to relieve himself of the torment, but he’d refused. As desperately as he’d tried to think of anything else, the only thing on his mind had been you. You and your face drawn in pleasure, writhing under the covers as you cried his name…

He’d forced himself to go straight to bed, unwilling to let that memory linger. He couldn’t use you in that way. It was wrong. It was selfish. So he’d resigned himself to a restless night, certain that in the morning, it would feel as though nothing had ever happened.

But, despite his efforts, he could not seem to forget. And in the coming weeks, his turmoil would only worsen.

Cypher had been sure his feelings towards you would not change; he would continue working with you as always—as coworkers and friends, and nothing more. But the moment he’d entered the break room that morning and spotted your face among the others, he’d felt a jolt in his chest. He’d written it off as just surprise—he hadn’t seen you since the previous day, after all—but that sensation had returned later on, when he’d passed by you in the hall. A fluttering feeling in his heart—not unlike the kind he’d felt when he’d first started dating Nora.

It wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be a crush. He was a grown man—he was too old for crushes. If anything, he was coming down with a sickness. That had to be it.

Unfortunately for him, his symptoms persisted for the rest of the week, and the next week after. He was strangely jumpy around you, his concentration thrown off. He found himself more distracted during missions, his aim far less precise than it usually was, to the irritation of some of his teammates. If you had noticed, you didn’t mention it, but that wasn’t the point. He was off his game. There was something wrong with him, and it wasn’t good.

Cypher had joined the protocol for two reasons, and two only: to gather as much intel as possible, and to protect himself and his identity for as long as he could. In all the years he’d been with Valorant, he had not once strayed from those goals, nor let anything stand in his way, even with all the obstacles he’d faced. He knew everything —nothing ever caught him off-guard.

But for some inexplicable reason, this had.

At this point, he knew you had feelings for him. You were infatuated with him, at the very least. But why? He had never been particularly kind to you. He had been friendly, yes. Helpful, certainly. He’d cracked a few jokes with you here and there. But what had he really done to make you feel this way? Why would you think of him when you were pleasuring yourself? None of it made any sense, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since that night.

He couldn’t understand how he could have had such an effect on you—and in turn, how you could have such an effect on him. This wasn’t normal. He was always so focused, never losing sight of the task at hand, never letting anything distract him. And yet you’d found a way to worm inside his brain, burrowing down deep and making a home for yourself. He could only think of you, and no matter what he did to occupy himself, nothing was ever enough to drive away the thought of you. It was madness.

He had to do something about it.

~~~

Cypher returned to his room late that night, weary and eager to unwind.

He began to rid himself of his many layers, removing his hat first and then his coat, which he hung up on its rack. Once he had stripped down to his underwear, he considered taking a shower. It was so late, but the idea was tantalizing. His whole body was sore, and in all honesty, he didn’t smell pleasant. Wearing so much clothing all day long had its downsides.

Heading into his bathroom, he took off his boxers and started the water for the shower, stepping in when he was sure it was hot enough. As he let the water seep into his hair, he could feel his mind starting to wander.

You’d been assigned to his team for the most recent mission. Recently, Cypher had been finding ways to avoid you, hoping to keep his mind clear as much as he could when he wasn’t working, but when teams were assigned, he had no say in who he could or could not work with, and trying to get out of working with you would have looked suspicious anyway. The mission had not gone nearly as smoothly as it could have; he’d missed a target he’d been aiming at by a hair, then almost botched the entrance during the infiltration of the site. All because you’d been right there with him, and he’d been too aware of your presence.

You. You, with your bright eyes and smile that could light up a room. You, with a sweet voice and an even sweeter laugh. You, who always listened to him so intently, never interrupting. You, who were naive, but somehow also wise. Optimistic in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time, and maybe never would be again.

Cypher leaned against the shower wall, lost in thought. The memory of you in your bed, touching yourself to him, was beginning to replay in his mind. He remembered it so vividly; how you’d thrown back your head and screwed your eyes shut, back arching as you chased the pleasure your hand brought you. How you’d opened your mouth wide and whined his name—his real name—like you needed him more than anything.

He couldn’t take this anymore. Why couldn’t he have just kept your mic off? If you’d stayed muted, he never would have heard you cry out for him. He would never know you had feelings for him, even if now, they seemed almost obvious to him. He would have stayed ignorant, and experienced none of this torture—these feelings and sensations that always seemed to bog him down. It had been so much easier before, when you were just another coworker, another person who couldn’t affect him. He wished he could make all this go away, force his heart and body to stop feeling so much.

As he looked down, though, he was reminded of the fact that he couldn’t simply do that. He groaned, realizing how hard he’d become at the thought of you. Even when you were nowhere near him, you had power over him. It wasn’t right. He was the one with the power; he alone knew everyone’s secrets, including yours. What did you know about him? Nothing. No one did.

And yet… how could he blame you for any of this?

You were just a young woman, a new agent to the protocol. He knew your family, your history, your hometown. He knew the kind of person you were. You were sincere; you had no ulterior motive, no reason to want to get under his skin. You’d always been honest with him, even when you didn’t have to be. That night, you’d been alone in your own private room, with no way of knowing if anyone was watching or listening. You couldn’t have known he would learn about it. You’d done it for yourself… because you wanted to.

You were just… a girl with a crush.

Cypher glanced at his hand, then at his painfully erect cock. There was no point wracking his brain about this any longer. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he needed some relief.

Taking himself in his hand, he closed his eyes and conjured up an image.

He was sitting in a chair, someone on their knees between his legs. No face. Just someone to please him.

He sighed, relaxing as he began to stroke his shaft.

The faceless person shifted closer. Hands wrapped around his cock, lightly gripping the base.

Cypher copied the motion.

They leaned in, impishly licking the head of his cock, wetting it with their saliva.

He released a soft breath, stroking a bit harder.

Warm lips latched onto the head to suck, letting saliva drip down his shaft. Suddenly, opening their mouth wider, they took all of him in at once.

He inhaled sharply.

Taking him deep in their throat, they sucked and licked his twitching cock, moaning around him. Unable to help himself, he looked down, eager to watch the performance.

You were staring up at him, mouth full of him.

Cypher’s hips stuttered, and he nearly let go of his cock. No. No. Not you. You weren’t supposed to be here. He had to stop this.

He shook his head, rewinding the vision.

He refused to look down this time, focusing solely on the feeling of that warm, wet mouth and fat tongue. He thrust slowly, needing to be deeper, deeper. He hit something—the back of a throat, most likely—and the moan around his cock sent a shock through him like electricity.

It was your voice. Your moan.

A pained noise escaped him. No. He was losing control.

Cypher looked down, helpless not to meet your gaze. You peered up at him from under thick eyelashes, your pretty lips stretched around his cock. You took him deeper into your mouth, tasting him, savoring him.

He moaned, stroking himself harder. Fuck. This wasn’t good. He wasn’t supposed to be seeing your face. But how could he possibly stop?

You licked his shaft, then sucked him feverishly, giving extra attention to his head. He bucked his hips, reaching to grab your hair. Once he’d taken hold, he pulled, and you moaned around him again.

Cypher groaned low. This was so good. Too good.

You grazed him lightly with your teeth, gagging just a little as you tried to take him in all the way once more.

He pumped himself even harder, thrusting with each motion. He knew he shouldn’t enjoy this. He knew this was wrong, but he had to keep going.

You let go of him for just a second, dragging your tongue up his length.

His body jerked. More, more.

“Cypher, please,” you murmured, your lips pressed to the side of his cock. “I need you. Please.”

Cypher grunted. Oh, your voice would be the death of him.

He tightened his grip on your hair. “You need me?” he asked softly. “How badly?”

You licked him again, making him shudder. “I need you right now,” you begged. “Amir.”

He shivered, a surge of heat rushing straight down to his core. Oh, fuck. There was no going back now.

In an instant, everything shifted. He had you pinned down underneath him, both of you naked with eyes locked. You gazed up at him, your cheeks flushed and lips parted. You were so lovely.

Without saying a word, Cypher inched forward, lifting your thighs as he coaxed them to wrap around him. Then, his arms on either side of your head, he pushed into you.

You whined loudly as you took him inside, your slick walls contracting around his cock.

Cypher’s breath hitched as he worked himself. He wondered how tight you were, how wet you would be if he ever got inside you. Would you take him with ease, like this? Or would he have to open you up some more?

He moaned out, soaking in the warmth of your cunt as he drove himself deeper. You whimpered when he bottomed out, tightening on his length, and that only spurred him on. He thrust faster, harder.

Cypher moved as though he were fucking you, bucking his hips with each firm stroke.

“Amir,” you cried out, clawing at his back. “S-So good. So good—please.”

“Shhhh.” He bent down, speaking close to your ear. “Be patient, dear.”

You responded by clamping down on him, forcing a strangled cry from him.

Cypher panted. This was too much; he was so close now. Just a few more sweet words from you, and he’d be done for.

“Please,” you whined. Your hands had moved from his back to his hair, grasping and pulling on his curls. “Amir.”

“Sweet girl,” he breathed. He dropped down to his elbows to kiss your exposed chest. He found your nipple and sucked, relishing the high moan you made when he did so.

Just a little more.

Cypher kissed your jaw, rolling his hips into you. “Do you want to cum?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please—please.”

What he would give to hear you beg for him like this.

You dug your nails into his scalp, bringing his head down lower. You kissed his nose, his cheek, his neck, no mask to keep his face hidden from you.

Cypher faltered, your name escaping his mouth in a whisper.

You found his ear and took it between your teeth, tugging.

He said your name again, louder this time. So close, so close, so close…

You arched your back, tightening around him and moaning right into his ear. “I love you—I love you, please cum for me—”

Cypher gasped harshly. Shit—it was happening. It was happening now.

His cock pulsed violently in his hand, and then he was suddenly cumming, hot pale seed shooting out from the head. It spilled onto the floor of the shower, swirling for a moment before vanishing down the drain.

Cypher caught his breath, one hand soothing his cock through his climax with the other on the wall to support himself. His heart was pounding fiercely, so hard he could feel it ringing in his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time an orgasm had overwhelmed him this much. He was trembling, and unimaginably hot, even without the steaming water raining down on him.

He exhaled as his heart rate calmed, leaning heavily against the wall. How long had he been in here? He hadn’t even done a thing to actually wash himself. Blinking, and pushing his hair out of his eyes, he did his best to break free of his haze, wiping the last traces of cum from his cock before setting to work cleaning the rest of his body.

Some time later, when he’d finished, Cypher stepped carefully out of the shower and prepared for bed. After dressing himself for the night, he took a seat at his desk. No matter how tired he was, he could not go to sleep without one final surveillance.

Everyone appeared to be in their proper place; even those missing from their rooms were accounted for, either away on an established mission or relaxing in the break room. He searched for the agents from his own team—all in their own rooms, already asleep.

Including you.

You were tucked under your covers, turned away from the camera. Just as Cypher felt a twinge of disappointment, you suddenly shifted onto your other side, revealing your face to him, and his heart skipped a beat. You were holding your favorite teddy bear in your arms, so tightly it could have been your baby, and the corner of his mouth curled up at the sight.

He was too tired, too numb from the last hour to really think about any of this. About what he had done in the shower, and what it had meant. For him. For you. For Nora. The past. The future.

All he knew was that he wanted you, and it couldn’t be denied any longer.

(Part 3 coming soon!!)

[evidenceof]

regretful for the winnix ask please 🙏

aaa thank you for waiting and for the prompt, anna! <3 had this tumbling in my head for a while.

[ regretful ] for a kiss meant to apologise

happy/unhappy He peers through his car’s dashboard at the green of Dick’s farmland. It stretches on for miles into the purple orange horizon, broken and punctuated only by Dick's bright white house like a comma. When they talked about it in Eindhoven, Nix imagined a red barn; all hay and scattered livestock. Dick in jean overalls leaning on a shovel.  Nix doesn’t know what he was expecting. But it isn’t this: that both of them would be happy. Nix thinks, it only makes sense to be selfish when he’s unhappy. So it doesn’t make sense that he feels it now.

“It was good to see the boys again,” Dick says in that same way he does when he feels the need to fill a silence, when neither of them could sleep in a foxhole. Nix wishes he’d stop thinking about them in the war. 

“Lipton looked well,” is all Nix offers. Their first Easy Company reunion in thirty five years. He had gone because Dick had asked. His friend knew just as much and took over all the talking; the you-look-greats, the how-are-yous, and I’m-sorry-to-hear-thats. While Nix stood two steps behind Dick, realizing he hadn’t quite broken the habit. 

“You feel old yet, Dick?” Nix says now, staring ahead. Inside the big white house, he watches a light switch on through one of the windows. Someone would be waiting for Dick. It would be Ethel and it wouldn’t be Nix. Because he is here instead, in a car, engine stalled on the the Winters’ gravel driveway, clutch waiting to be put in reverse—to drive back home, to the airport, to California, to Grace, where he was happy. And it wouldn’t be Dick.

“The reunion felt like entering Toccoa again for the first time.”

“Major Winters? Nervous to meet his men?” Nix tries not to look back at the light in the house.

“My class As don’t even fit anymore, Nix.” Dick shakes his head when he laughs, but Nix hears the sadness in it anyway.

“Doubt any of ours do either. Hell you’re still a sight for sore eyes, Dick.” It’s takes a bit more maneuvering now but Nix manages to elbow Dick on the passenger seat. 

“And you’ve always been too kind to me, Lew. You know that?” The words sound like they're hooked to Dick’s throat, managing to get out but just barely. Nix had expected the novelty of the nickname to have dulled in time. But Dick’s voice rattles in odd places except in that one syllable. Even now, Nix knows it the only thing that sounded sure, and that makes him feel selfish.

“That all I was to you?” Nix looks at Dick and tries not to sound cruel. Tries not to resuscitate same unspoken conversation from ’45, that they tried to bury again in ’48. It's tense silence, strung up like a live wire that they chose to ignore, hoping it would die on its own. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to shoot the horse in the head. Depending on the day, Nix saw the hesitation either like hope or self-flagellation.

“Lew.” Dick is looking at him and doesn’t seem to notice when the porch light turns on. Lew stares hard at the front door, willing it not to open. They never seemed to have enough time, not in the war, not in peace time. “Are you happy?”

“Fuckssake, Dick.” Lew feels his face buzz at the question, like a million ants were crawling underneath. It feels like Dick is in his head. He doesn’t know why it hurts so much when he says, “Of course I am.” He doesn’t know why he chose right now to tear off the bandage of a gaping wound. He knew it was unfair. There would always be Section 8s. Hidden bars and clandestine hotels when Dick needed sun on a field, and Nix the expanse of the open ocean. Maybe he had hoped he’d forget. That he would be so happy, so, so happy he’d stop looking at Dick and thinking, “But I still wanted it to be you.”

“So am I. I'm happy.” And that hurts too. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dick reach out a hand and pull it back on his lap. Suddenly, they did feel old, straining against a conversation they had dodged when they were twenty-five.

“You think we retreated?” Nix turns to Dick again. Dick looks at him, and Nix didn't have to explain.

“We needed to give ourselves a chance to live.” Dick tries to say calmly. Nix almost sees him in ’44. M1 slung across his shoulder, red hair bright against the olive drab, giving the men a pep talk. Back then when they couldn’t allow themselves to imagine old age. “We had to try.” 

Nix only nods, staring at his lap. Dick’s hand is warm on his cheek and he’s almost forgotten what that felt like. He doesn’t know how he knows, but Nix is sure that Dick’s thinking of the same September afternoon in their last shared billet in England in ’45, when they talked about the future like they shared it. It was the only time Dick had held his face. Nix in turn had held his knee like he's doing now. When Nix boarded the troopship home, they had not said good bye and hoped that the lack of it counted as a drawn out promise, however tenuous.

It’s Nix who pulls away first because he knows Dick will wait for him until he does. Like he’s always waited for him. But he knows Dick has to go back to Ethel, and him back to Grace. Back to where they were happy. Even if it was a different kind.

“Maybe we’ll make it next time.” Nix's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's Dick who moves closer, and presses a small kiss on his lips like an apology.

“I’d like that, Lew.” It comes out strangled. And Nix feels his teeth are getting punched in when Dick opens the car door to leave.

He doesn’t wait for Dick to enter the house before he drives away. It should be easier when you’re happy.

my winnix kiss prompt drabbles

[stargirlfics]

The Gentleman Chapter 5: Éclosion

Alfred Pennyworth x Black Dancer!Reader

Summary: Harsh realities and a dangerous new enemy push you and Alfred to be upfront about your feelings

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, canon typical violence, chemical attack mentions, light angst, soft concerned bf!alfred vibes, romantic gestures galore, brief allusion to smut, fluff & feelings!

Word Count: 4.9k

Note: So happy to be bringing you all more of this story I know it’s been a minute! Hope you enjoy this one, it’s special in a lot of ways! The soundtrack for this chapter and the title come from Èclosion by Tony Anderson which I listened to while writing. It makes me think of what falling in love feels like!

[series masterlist] [series playlist]

Tension lay heavy over the city in the days after the fear toxin attack, people were wary and on edge, the weather even starting to turn cold and dreary while unease hung thick in the air.

Paulie’s Diner was now the site of a police investigation, the entire street blocked off, the news coverage of the attack on a twenty four hour cycle, just barely contained panic swirling over this fear toxin and what it could do. 

You couldn’t lie that it was terrifying, hearing what those who’d been injured said about the toxic gas, what it did to them; hallucinations of a nightmarish hellscape drawing out everyone’s anger and fear, driving them mad. 

It sounded awful and then there was Scarecrow’s chilling warning, the mystery of who he was and what his motives were bringing back eerie memories of the year before and how out of control things had gotten. 

Worry twisted taut in your stomach, exhaustion in your limbs as you finished out your last show of the night, the fourth one in two days in fact, your body and mind run ragged. 

Oz was a smart man but he was predictable.

The new late night hour dance slots added to the schedule weren’t a coincidence, you were sure he was using the distraction to make more money, every dancer working doubles late into the morning hours now, Madame Olena working quick to teach new choreography, a refresher on some pole tricks and sexier strip teases and dances added to the repertoire of shows. 

There were bruises already blossoming on your shins from where you had to push against said pole as you climbed it, inching your way up so the audience could see you float and twirl around it, and as fun as it was, as much as you enjoyed getting to dance with your friends on stage beside you each night, you were tired and sore and just wanted to sleep for a year. 

Certain rituals were getting you through the grueling hours though.

Sleepy phone calls with Alfred before you drifted off when you got home, his sweet encouragement texts and reminders for you throughout the day and how he’d stopped by every other day this week so far to see you even if just to say hello before heading back to the office. 

You’d both been busy since the night of the attack, not finding much time inbetween work to spend the kind of time together that you wanted, a reluctance in both your voices when trying to soften the sting of it likely being the entire week and maybe even the next before you’d get to see each other properly.

That didn’t seem to sway Alfred much though, even when you insisted he didn’t have to go out of his way to come by if he was pressed for time, he showed up anyway, as often as he could. 

You were grateful for it, relieved that he didn’t find your disappointment about your schedules selfish with everything going on, just as content to get any second spent with you that he could. 

Reminders of him were everywhere now too.

The throw blanket on your sofa that smelled faintly like him, the new bouquet of fresh flowers he’d come by one afternoon with, the space near the front door made for his shoes and coat next to yours, like tiny little puzzle pieces were beginning to fill in, ones you didn’t even know you seemed to have all the perfect pieces for.

It made you laugh to yourself now, laid out on the floor in your living room, trying to ease the ache in your muscles, stretching each limb gently while pondering on how tangled up your heart was.

All these feelings were so intense, one part of you cautioning yourself to slow down, not get too invested when you’re not sure he even feels the same, or wants a relationship while another part felt sure about trusting the groundwork that had been laid so far.

So much was going on and you were sure a proper conversation would happen soon, when there was time—if it was Alfred that much you were sure of, knowing he’d never leave you wondering for too long but you did worry. 

Maybe it just wasn’t a good time, with Scarecrow loose and wreaking havoc and the recent reminder that you were under Penguin’s thumb indefinitely; it didn’t bode well for fostering a relationship and in Gotham that was tricky enough on its own. 

But you also couldn’t deny what you were feeling and experiencing. 

Another half suppressed smile coming then, a dreamy breath sighed out at the memory of the previous evening, when Alfred had come by to drop off some takeout only to see you icing your shins, his immediate concern when you greeted him making you laugh, something he didn’t find as amusing in the moment. 

His slightly stern but still soft, “Darling, what happened? Who did this?” made you squirm against the cushions while also making haste to explain before he got too upset. 

The worry on his features faded just a touch after, as he fussed over you, though you didn’t miss his slight eyebrow raise of surprise and intrigue when you said “pole dance”, reminding yourself to circle back around to that subject at a later date…you wanted to see how far that interest went. 

It’s just that he didn’t ever make you feel like these visits were a chore, that’s what you kept coming back to, remembering how his coat and cane were discarded to the side immediately so he could kneel down and take over icing your muscles, soothing hands kneading the stiffness from your calves, insisting that you start eating while he take care of you. 

How could you ever get over that? The gentleness with which he touched you? 

Wanting him felt like oxygen, just as normal as breathing and inevitable as falling asleep, his kisses tasting of hope and something sweet. Things felt different now that Alfred was in your life, the good kind of different, the exciting kind and it almost felt silly to be unsure if you could lean into this but the more you thought about it, the more clarity you came away with. 

There was a reason he spoke to you with such respect, his thoughtfulness about your feelings present in everything, and god the way he looked at you with so much fondness, how his expression could go from sweet to simmering in seconds, leaving you aching, feeling special and adored at every turn, it had to mean something. 

Lost in the web of your thoughts the chime of your phone’s alarm nearly startled you, the time letting you know you had to get ready for rehearsal, your focus now pulled in a different direction and you reasoned with yourself it was best not to overthink this if you could help it. 

The pattering of rain hitting the windows made you wish you could stay in instead, a daydream already forming about curling up with Alfred on the couch, snuggled under the blanket, napping together for the whole evening. 

Rushing out the door before traffic hit you couldn’t help but gaze out in the direction of Wayne Tower, wondering what he was up to, hoping his day was going okay and already counting down the hours until you could hear his voice again. 

Just across the city, staring out at the winking lights of traffic on the streets below, Alfred paced the floor of his study, his thoughts and emotions a tangled mess. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way, or felt this much about someone, realizing that he’d gotten swept up in it all, reality washing over him like ice now. 

The past week had been stressful to say the least, things were already busy with certain projects and due diligence with investors and financial advisors at Wayne Enterprises, now this fear toxin attack had taken center priority as well, he and Bruce already starting to work around the clock to get a handle on things. 

That meant there was less time available to be with you and even though it had only been a handful of days so far, and despite his frequent visits he still felt distant.

He missed you terribly when you weren’t around and it didn’t take much to see that his feelings for you were really entering serious territory. 

He should be happy about that, he knows he should be, but all there is for him in the moment is fear, because this could only ever end one way and he knows it.  

It was foolish to think he could have something proper with you, something not tainted by secrets that weren’t his to tell, tainted by a dangerous obligation he’d taken on to be at Bruce’s side in his mission as Batman.

That was an obligation he would never ever regret, all of it done out of love it’s just that most of his life had been spent with some proximity to danger and there had been many close calls.

Far too many tragedies had already happened he couldn’t let that become the case for you too. He wouldn’t allow it. 

You were too important to him already and he couldn’t drag you down into all this, especially not now with this Scarecrow figure coming out of the woodwork. 

It did hurt though, just the mere thought of ending things, his heart lurching painfully, not wanting to entertain the thought of letting you go for a single second.

A door he once thought was closed for good had opened the day you met and he let himself get close, captivated in every way, each time hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he would see you.

He was awestruck by how quickly you disarmed him, seeing him so clearly and the fact that you wanted him as well, that you wanted his attention?

He was helpless to do anything except be swept up, but now he had to understand he’d never be able to have that. 

It’d be alright, it would rip him open but this wasn’t the first time he’d chosen duty over feelings, he’d have to find comfort in knowing he had experienced this with you no matter how brief it was, already knowing he wouldn’t quite ever forgive himself for hurting you this way. 

“What’s wrong?” 

The question catches him by surprise as Bruce makes his entrance out of Alfred’s peripheral, still drying the rain from his hair. 

Perfect. Just in time for dinner. 

“Nothing, just working on some numbers in my head. How did it go?” 

His own question had been a deflection, one he’s not proud of but he just needed a second to get his bearings, to screw his head back on straight after thinking of you. 

“Went alright. They don’t have much to go on, Gordon says they’re trying to get a read on the chemical mixture in the gas but that could take awhile. I’m going back to the diner tonight, I have to try and find some clues, whatever I can get.” 

A rough hand passes over the scruff of his jaw as he considers the information, nodding after a moment. 

“I’ll be on standby if you find anything. I’ve been doing some digging myself, nothing concrete so far but there may be more security footage we haven’t seen that could identify him.” 

There's a moment after where it’s quiet, the two men moving around each other in comfortable silence before Bruce caves first, a light chuckle let loose, almost mixing with the downpour of the rain. 

If Alfred were any older he was sure he wouldn’t have heard it but he did, flicking one of his pointed looks at the young man. 

“Seriously, Alfred, what's wrong? Something’s on your mind.” 

He resisted the urge to brush it off or get defensive, softened at this offer to discuss, treasuring these moments of depth with Bruce whenever they came.

All he had to do was say your name and Bruce was nodding, his heart tugging at the sound of it, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose before explaining further.

“I think I may have to end things. I-I’m worried about keeping her safe through this and ultimately she’s just better off. I’d have to lie to keep her from finding out, from getting involved and I don’t want to have to do that, it’s what’s best.” 

More silence, his heart sinking now that the words had been said out loud, the crushing reality setting in just a little more. 

“But you don’t want to let her go right? You do have feelings for her?” 

Alfred can sense the careful line of questioning, deciding to be truthful as vulnerable as it made him feel, nodding a yes. 

“I do, I have feelings for her.” 

“Good, I don’t think you should end things then.” 

Oh that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

“Bruce…it’s not as simple as that, she doesn’t know, she can’t know, that could put her at risk, you at risk, we don’t know when there could be another attack, I can’t let-“ but the words are falling short with a placating hand.

“Look I see the way she makes you feel and I don’t think you should let that go. I can’t let you do that actually, you shouldn’t have to sacrifice that, Alfred,” there’s a moment in between, a look that says he wants to say something else but finding the words is hard, “I never actually told you this but before Selina left town, I met up with her, saw her one last time. She wanted me to come with her and I-”

Alfred’s eyes widen for a moment, a sympathetic nod given as the sentence trailed off because he understood now what he always suspected but never pried about.

He figured Bruce had feelings of some kind for Miss Kyle but of course, his boy had chosen duty over feelings, just as he was contemplating doing himself. 

It was a clever way of calling him out on it he had to give him that. 

“I know you’re worried she’ll get hurt and I know you’re scared she won’t want anything to do with us when she finds out but I see how much you trust her, so I trust her and I think she’s safest close to us. You don’t have to lie to her, tell her just enough for now and we can keep her protected from it for as long as possible, you can tell her on your own terms.” 

His heart quickened, mulling it over, pacing again without realizing, struck by the sincerity in Bruce’s words.

The weight in telling him he didn’t need to make this sacrifice, carefully guiding a stubborn old man out of his head and setting him straight again, because the answer could be that simple for once even if everything else wasn’t. 

He’d be an even greater fool not to try just because it might be hard, knowing already that he’d regret not giving you every bit that he had to give out of fear and his own self doubt, so with a cautious nod he was agreeing, ribs loosening with a breath he felt like he’d been holding in for ages.

Nightfall was approaching now and Bruce had since snuck off after a little more discussion and a flat toned promise to eat dinner before going anywhere else, leaving Alfred sat at his desk with a newfound clarity to things. 

This made sense to him now, the swirl of thoughts racing through his brain. 

He knew how he felt about you and could admit he wanted to be with you, hands buzzing as he racked his mind for how to tell you, because it had been weeks now and he didn’t want to waste anymore time, he needed you to know he was serious and wanted a relationship and by god he hoped you felt the same. 

An idea came to mind on the tail end of his thoughts, Bruce’s earlier words echoing as he pulled out a few pages of his favorite writing paper, adjusting his glasses quickly before he picked up a pen and began writing.

The first snowfall in Gotham was just beginning to blanket the streets, snowflakes melting against the frosty windows while you got bundled up to go out on a date!

A small window of time opened up over the weekend and Alfred had taken the reins on it, telling you he wanted to take you out again, properly and his pick this time, promising to plan something he thinks you’d really enjoy.

You swear your heart skips when you see his sleek car pull up outside your apartment, feet already carrying you down the steps to meet him outside. 

“Hello, love. You look beautiful!” that smooth, accented voice causing your cheeks to burn despite the chill of the snow falling around you. 

Running into his arms he embraced you tight, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before getting you tucked into the car.

“Thank you, same to you, handsome. I missed you.” your wistful sigh came softly as you put your seatbelt on, already trying to figure out where he was taking you. 

“I missed you too, more than you know. Ready?” His warm hands caressed your knee for a moment, squeezing as you gave him an answering nod. 

The car rumbled to life and you were off, the heat turned up comfortably while you slipped into an easy conversation that continued until he was pulling into a parking spot, one of the quieter downtown streets lit up and glittering through the window. 

“Are you treating me to pastries and hot chocolate right now? Is that the date because if so please say yes!” your excited shiver earned you a laugh when you step out, his cane in one hand and your own clasped around his arm, squeezing his bicep as you walked towards the sweet smelling cafe up ahead. 

“As many pastries as you’d like, darling…I also may have ordered us a special dessert ahead of time too.” his sheepish grin warming your heart. 

He was so impossibly sweet there were times where you wondered what you ever did to deserve him.

“Ooh that sounds fancy, are we celebrating something?” the innocent question hung opened ended as he got the door for you. 

“You could say that, yeah.” 

-

Later, foamy whipped cream lined the edge of your lips from sipping on the hot chocolate you’d taken to-go, Alfred kissing away the sugar quickly after even when you giggled out a protest against his lips.

Rounding the street together, it felt so nice to be this close and receiving his affection, holding hands as you walked.

You found it so cute how he checked to make sure no one was watching before he ducked down for another quick kiss.

Just as cute as when he sat next to you at the cafe, a reassuring hand resting over your thigh, absentmindedly playing with your fingers and the hem of your outfit while you indulged your sweet tooth.

That special dessert he ordered turning out to be one he used to love when he was younger, his wish in sharing it here to make a new memory of it with you.

Oh, he couldn’t be real.

That effortless charm was getting him everywhere and the delight didn’t seem to stop because now you were in front of a quaint, cozy looking bookstore, his arm already at the small of your back guiding you inside. 

The smell of ink and paper filled your nose, a homey feeling in your chest browsing over the shelves; your first bookstore date together.

You couldn’t have been more excited, glancing at Alfred every few seconds, all smiles and bright eyes pointing out familiar titles and old favorites, reading the descriptions of interesting looking novels together, a real and definite shift in the air. 

Something in the eye contact was different…heavier, a weight to it that made you feel short of breath.

Almost achingly so, your body was acutely aware of his closeness to you, the soft wrap of his hand over your waist, how his shoulder bumped into yours when you wandered over to the romance novel section, it made you feel like your chest was caving in, and you weren’t even afraid.

No, you were happy to let yourself collapse into the feeling.

The bookstore made you feel a little like you were in a romance novel yourself, faded patterned rugs draping the wood floors, soft fairy lights hanging above you and the rows of books and haphazard stacks laid out in armchairs all felt whimsical, romantic; perfect for two bookworms turned lovers.

“This is part two of my date plans, you know. Whatever books catch your eye, I’ll buy for you, my treat.

As if he didn’t aready have the key to your heart. 

“Even if the book is an erotic novel?” you beamed back at him, smiling at the one he’d picked up off the shelf you were peering at, recognizing the cover anywhere.

“Oh especially if it’s that.” 

“How crass, Mr. Pennyworth, I would have thought you to be more of a Shakespeare guy!” you joke and pluck the book from his hands, thumbing through a few pages.

“I most certainly am but I do have skills in other areas too, darling. It’s important to be a well rounded reader.” 

He says it with an edge to his voice that leaves you speechless, your brain lagging just a second behind as he leads you further into the store, a beeline made to the poetry section. 

-

A short while later and both of your arms were balancing a stack of books each, you trailing behind Alfred as he lead him you to a secluded spot in one of the reading corners in the store’s second level so now you were sitting side by side, musing over your book picks for each other. 

True to his words, he’d bought you all the books of your choosing along with some he’d gotten just for himself too; a photobook of the English countryside, another about hand to hand fighting and then a few books about chemical compounds finding their way into the mix too.

You didn’t know he had an interest in chemistry but didn’t question it, forgetting about it a moment later when he pulled out a book he found of different black burlesque dancers through history, a little gasp filling the quiet space when he told he got it as a gift for you.

As if you needed anymore reasons to fall for him further, all this was taking the cake.

- 

Hours had gone by, the two of you huddled together sharing stolen kisses in between the last sips of hot chocolate and the turning of pages, truly feeling like you were in a world apart with him, like whatever was happening out there in the world couldn’t touch you, at least not here. 

Heat tingled on your lips when you kissed him again, a little more soundly this time, showing him just how much you missed him. 

It had been too long.

Remembering that the last time you’d been intimate like this was the morning of the attack, part of you wishing you could be in his bed right now, spread out underneath him, taking him until you were making a mess of his sheets but the other part of you didn’t want to leave this moment in time with him, a whole different level of intensity to this all on it’s own.

You’d never felt so connected, so close in your life, so much unspoken sentiment in the way his larger hands were grasping your much smaller ones, holding them warmly before his forehead was pressing against yours.

“I have one more thing to give to you, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes fluttered open then, the gentleness in his whisper wrecking you, sitting patiently as he moved back a bit. Watching with bated breath, he fished an envelope out of the inside pocket of his coat and placed it in your hands, leaving the rest up to you. 

The way your heart was clammoring in your chest and your own anticipation kept you from noticing the nervous jitter of his hands, seconds feelings like minutes while you unfolded the paper, realizing he’d written on it, recognizing his handwriting right away.

With trembling hands you brushed your fingers over where he had written your name, words beginning to sink in as you read the letter addressed to you. 

My love, 

I fear there will never be enough words to describe how dear you are to me but I will try my best to write them all here. I’ve never felt so sure about someone before, about the way you make me feel and how vast those feelings are. The morning we met I had a feeling that there must have been a reason we crossed paths and now I know there was. You must know I couldn’t sleep that night, because all I could think about was if you were okay and if you had made it home safely. I just couldn’t get you out of my head and then there you were again at The Magpie wanting to talk to me and I knew then I was the luckiest man in the world.

Glancing up from the page you locked eyes with Alfred for just a moment, a perfect mirror of your feelings reflected in them. 

Never in a million years did I think I’d ever feel this way again but I do and I need you to know that being a man worthy of your affections is all that I want to be. You were meant to shine as brightly as you do, my darling, I never want you to feel as if you have to hide your talent or temper the big, wondrous ideas you have. They’re all I ever want to hear. You do in fact have my heart, love, as much of it as you want to take, it is yours. 

Tears welled along your lashes as you kept reading, everything in you softened by each line, your heart opening, hatching, blooming at his words, hearing how much he felt for you too. 

…things are less than ideal right now I know, and there are things you don’t know about me yet either, things in my past and certain things in the present that I want to tell you about but have to be careful of first, your safety is always a priority for me but I do plan to tell you in time. Darling, I know how I feel about you and I think and hope you feel the same about me. I cherish every second I get to spend with you, there’s so much I want to show you, so much I want to tell you and do with you by my side if you’ll have me. 

There was one more page left, filled with more words that made your stomach flip with butterflies, those tears threatening to fall because what he was saying was everything you had hoped for and then some.

And you think you understood what he meant about needing to be careful with certain secrets before he could speak about them, thinking on your own situation with Penguin—you still hadn't told Alfred those men where his that had been sent to follow you.

It was wonder how your heart was still inside your chest at this rate, a tear breaking free to fall down your cheek as you finished reading, lingering where he signed his name.

Yours always,

x Alfred. 

The letter lay in your lap as strong hands- no longer trembling- reached for you again, brushing the stray tear from your cheek. 

Your face was cupped so tenderly in his hands you almost started to cry for real, never knowing it could be like this, that you could be told and shown in so many ways that you were wanted and adored.

“I know we haven't really discussed this yet and so much has gotten in the way but I want to say it here and now, I would really love it if you wanted to be mine. Admittedly it has been some time since I’ve dated anyone and I am rusty, you’ll have to forgive me if this could have been better but I do want to be with you, I have all this time.” 

“Oh, Alfred. Yes, of course I want to be yours! I’d love nothing more. And shut up, this was a perfect way to tell me, you’re not rusty at all, old man.” 

You sniffled with a laugh, leaning in to press your forehead against his again, both of you sinking into the moment together, feeling tethered to one another now, connected in a way you hadn’t been before. 

Things had just gotten very real and for as much as you’d pondered and daydreamed of this moment, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear at the gravity of feelings before you.

Trusting in Alfred’s words, ones he’d actually taken the time to spell out to you on paper so you could keep the reminder of his devotion forever, the gesture easing any worry there might have been. 

Snow was still falling outside as you sat together for just a little while longer, Alfred pretending not to notice you sneaking giddy glances at him while you gazed over the letter one more time before stowing it safely away in your bag. 

Your hand finds his, fingers lacing together while you rest your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes contently for a moment when you feel his cheek press against you.

The odds still seemed grim, the whole city on edge with so much uncertainty left on the horizon, cause enough for isolation and the walls around people’s hearts to come up but not here, not with you and Alfred.

You felt stronger for it, having faith that whatever was coming your way in the time ahead, you’d have him by your side and that gave you all the hope in the world.

---

A/N: Soo they finally got their moment! I actually began this chapter with the ending of it in mind already, I was listening to the chapter title song in the playlist and was like oh this is where it would play, this is the moment where he admits his feelings and asks her to be his girl

There were times where writing this chapter was such a challenge but also really exciting and wholesome too! Hope it gives you all the feels it gave me and I'm giving kisses to those who pick up on all the little details in this too, thank you so much for your patience while I write this series and for all the love!

(dividers used are by the wonderful @saradika 💫 )

Let me know what you think!! Thank you for reading as always!

some tags, no pressure! @eupheme @squidlywiddly87 @the-eyes-of-andyserkis @tarabyte3 @tarrenterror25 @ozarkthedog @peachyteabuck @unrefinedmusings @aislupu @mariahthelioness29 @flamingdisputes @ayoarticulate @fluffyprettykitty @kneelforloki @allaboardthereadingrailroad @xoxovivarecs

[ryuichirou]

Can you share your rookvil headcanons with us? (nsfw or whatever you want)

Yessss, another ship that I really wanted to post headcanons about! Thank you so much, Anon, this world needs more Rook/Vil content. I am still amazed that there isn’t as much of it as I expected to be…

Got carried away with some of them, but it’s pretty much usual at this point lol. As always, the first ones are pretty much sfw, but the rest are spicier.

Here they are!

Vil and Rook are either too public or too secretive about their relationships, depending on who you ask. Rook doesn’t mind PDA, but he restrains himself a lot for Vil’s sake, so people who think they are too obvious have no idea just how much worse they could’ve been… Yes, guys, this is Rook restraining himself lol

Vil doesn’t really mind PDA all that much either, and it’s not like he’s trying to hide their relationships, he is just cautious and protective of his private life (that’s what growing up surrounded by paparazzi does to a guy). He also believes that there is a proper time and place for these things, so Rook has no business kissing his neck while he is trying to do his job as a housewarden. Vil is more flirty and playful when they are alone and he is in a good mood though.

They were much more open and reckless when they’d just started dating though, some of the other 3rd year students remember that well. It was much easier to catch them making out back then. Nowadays Vil thinks that that was immature of them, and Rook just shrugs and says something about young love being spontaneous, passionate, full of exploration, chemistry, all this stuff. Guys, you’re still teenagers…

They actually go on dates when they have time for it; and their go-to is usually to go to a theatre and watch a play or an opera or a movie when they’re in a mood for those. They spend a lot of time discussing whatever they’ve watched afterwards. Geeking out about theater is a huge part of their relationship.

Their first time happened when Rook was still a Savanaclaw student. It was during a period of time when he started visiting Pomefiore dorm quite often, so it easily could’ve happened in Vil’s room, but it was still quite spontaneous. They stayed up way past the curfew though, so Rook had to leave through the window.

Vil isn’t too loud during sex, for the most part he’s breathing heavily and only starts making some noise when he’s very aroused. What drives him nuts though is that Rook, who is usually super talkative, suddenly shuts up whenever Vil feels like moaning. Rook is very attentive to Vil’s reactions, so he knows when to listen carefully, and he wants to catch every single sweet sound that Vil is going to make. It goes straight to Rook’s internal audio library~

Rook always makes it seem like he is all about pleasing Vil, but he is kind of a beast and can be quite selfish. One moment he is sweet and gentle, showering Vil’s body with passionate kisses, and then, as he gets really into the whole thing, he starts grabbing Vil’s waist, moving him around the way he wants, squeezing his wrists, leaving lots of marks, moving very intensely. Vil grumbles about it sometimes, but he really doesn’t mind it: Rook’s wild nature was one of the things that made him attracted to him in the first place. Vil also enjoys not being treated like a porcelain doll, and Rook fully takes advantage of that, he knows Vil is very tough and can endure a lot. But if you were to ask Rook about his intimate time with Vil, he’d definitely act coy and imply something about a beautiful dance of love, which is definitely not what’s going on in their bedroom.

Rook has a lot of wild fantasies about Vil, and somehow, after being together for quite some time and doing some of the things he used to fantasize about, he only gets more and more hungry and eager to try more stuff with Vil.

Rook is into oral stuff, Vil – not as much. He allows Rook to do whatever he wants for the most part though, and Rook chooses to eat his butt almost every time they go down that route. Vil does suck Rook’s dick from time to time, but it’s definitely more of a treat than a regular thing.

Rook is very attentive to Vil’s body, he monitors how he’s healing after rough sex, he notices all the tiny unusual details. And he’ll definitely address them. For example, he’ll totally notice if Vil masturbated earlier in the day, because the way his body reacts is completely different from Rook’s perspective. Vil can’t hide anything from this man.

[prettyrealm]

pedro pascal mini personality reading

positives + negatives

+ positives

I immediately get the feeling he is an open minded person and sees things with “fresh eyes,” he’s willing to try anything at least once and isn’t afraid to look silly, a self starter and isn’t afraid to do things first, he isn’t afraid to ask for help, he isn’t too concerned with or upset about aging, but I do think he tries to “keep up with the times” and keep aware of what the younger generations are doing and thinking as not to upset people, also just to connect to others easier, confident and won’t be bullied - confrontational, has a lot of interests and hobbies he wants to pursue and is okay with not being amazing at everything - again, he isn’t afraid to try things out, a fairly easy going and kind attitude, values family and friends and tries to spend all lot of time with them - he cherishes the happy times and the sad times. though I can see he’d be pretty good at it, he isn’t much of a networker at this point in his career and is content with the connections he has - he’s genuine, charming and knows how to attract people in many ways (what to say, what to do, how to act), ambitious and has a lot of drive and it almost seems like magic the way opportunities spring to life around him because of it.

- negatives

manipulative and tries to manipulate the masses (maybe his image is kind of contrived, or he’s purposely and strategically pushed for people to perceive him a certain way), doesn’t really care how others feel as long as he gets what he wants, holds power over people and may use his charm or status to get them on his side. is super bossy, might even be a bit of a bully, selfish and retreats when it’s time to help others, he might be quite hateful in private (big shit talker, has a lot of negative thoughts about others), knowingly takes opportunities from those who need them more, easily peer pressured and does things to fit in, kind of rebellious without a cause - again wants to be what people want (I think he’s more genuine in his interpersonal relationships than anywhere else), struggles with monogamy - I don’t think he cares very much about true love or finding a soulmate connection, he also can be overly confrontational at times & pretty unforgiving.

[hebuiltfive]

::boils the kettle::

by your side: [character] is sick and wants company. Penny

This one was actually quite fun to write! I could have kept going but these are only supposed to be drabbles and it's already way too long. Hope you enjoy it @janetm74! 😊

By Your Side (feat. Lady Penelope)

She had always seen her ability to be as courteous and as generous as she was as a great, defining trait. Perhaps to some people, they’d might have seen it as more of a downfall. For once in her life, Penny was starting to think that maybe they were right.

Parker had only been gone ten hours when Penelope finally realised her mistake. When he’d first mentioned his idea of a trip to Scarborough for a long weekend, Penny had practically cheered him on. Even during the previous night, when her symptoms had begun to worsen, she happily waved him off as the taxi took him down the drive. No part of her had thought of asking Parker to cancel his trip because they didn’t seem fair. He worked so hard for her, the man was owed far more than a little trip to the Yorkshire coast, so she let him go without so much as mentioning her illness. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. 

Except now, Penny had wished she had been a little selfish, just this once. 

She had awoken from a very restless sleep at six, feeling far worse than she had done the previous evening, and had only made it two hours before she found herself calling John. 

He answered almost immediately, which came as no surprise to Penelope. John was always on the ball.

The smile he had upon answering her call, however, fell the moment he took in her image. “Lady Penelope, are you alright? You look—”

“Is Gordon busy?” She asked straight away. In her mind there was no point in beating around the bush. 

“Gordon?” John seemed confused, clearly still a little thrown by her appearance.

In only extreme cases, such as this, did Penelope not make an effort to look somewhat presentable. She could only guess what was running through John’s mind. With her hair still plastered to her forehead, with sweat still clinging to some of her clothing even though she’d already changed into fresher items twice this morning, Penelope knew she wasn’t looking too great. Her lips were dry and chapped, her voice weak and slightly croaky. She hadn’t yet had her morning tea, but finding the effort to actually go and brew one seemed like far too much for her. No, she’d much rather stay put on the couch.

“I wanted to ask you if he was busy. I don’t trust he’d be truthful with me.” Especially given the way she was currently presenting. Penelope had no doubt in her mind that Gordon would have raced over to her in an instant, regardless of whatever he was busy with.

“He’s.. uh, he’s not busy, no. Do you want me to patch him through?”

Penelope paused before shaking her head. She was never one to directly ask for something, especially if it was help. Having grown up in her world of high society and constant gossip, Penny found it difficult admitting when she was out of her depth. In the past, many men and women had used any kind of openness as an opportunity to take a strike, making her see her honesty as a weakness for others to exploit. That paranoia was still deeply rooted.

John understood exactly what the shaking of her head meant. Not only was he apt at being able to read people — given that was his job, it was no surprise he was good at it — but he was also one of Penelope’s closest friends. Words weren’t needed often to express what the other was feeling. Some days, when one wanted to hide a certain feeling, it might have been seen as a curse. Today, it was a blessing.

“I’ll ask him to come over as soon as he can.” John clarified. “Get well soon.” He then signed off the call.

Penelope sighed, thankful that the worst part was over for now, and allowed herself a moment to rest her eyes. She didn’t fall asleep, she only dozed, but the doorbell ringing after what felt like only a few seconds, had her jumping awake. She peeled herself off the couch, silently cursing the way her head span with dizziness as she stood. It took a moment or two to leave the drawing room and make her way to the front door. The bolts were unlocked, the security system deactivated and Penelope opened the door to the face of a very concerned Gordon.

“John said you were sick. I got Scott to drop me off.” Gordon began rambling, pushing himself past Penelope to enter the manor. 

If she wasn’t so sick, she’d have playfully reprimanded him for his lack of manners, but her head was pounding far too violently to even consider any words beside, “You’re here.”

Gordon wheeled in a suitcase that he’d brought with him, sliding it along the marbled-floor entryway and parking it up to the side. “Of course I’m here. Did you think I wouldn’t answer the call?”

The heavy oak doors were shut. The sound of the wood coming to rest against the frame of the entryway echoed dully throughout the otherwise silent manor. Penelope swayed a little on her feet as she turned. Gordon caught her elbow, his eyes searching her face for answers.

“Jesus, Pen. John wasn’t kidding. You need to go and sit down.” He began to guide her back to the drawing room, his hand still gently gripping her elbow for support. “Where’s Parker?” He continued, as they entered the ornate space.

Penelope practically collapsed back down into the plush cushions, her fingers massaging both her temples at once. “He had holiday planned and left last night. I thought I’d be fine until this morning came.”

“I’ll go and get you some medicine.”

“No.” Penny reached out to catch his arm before he could leave. “Stay?”

“Have you even eaten anything this morning?” Gordon asked, though he didn’t move an inch.

She shook her head. Perhaps she would have felt guilty had her stomach not churned at the thought of food. “I couldn’t keep anything down last night and this morning… Well, this morning has flown by, I haven’t had the time to try and get anything.” Her free hand tapped the space beside her on the couch. “Sit. Please?”

There was a debate raging within Gordon, Penny could tell from the apprehension in his eyes. Part of him probably wanted to go and fetch her some breakfast, maybe a drink or some medicine, but part of him probably couldn’t bare denying her the simple request she asked of him.

In the end, he gave in and took the spot beside her. “Only for a minute.”

She could live with that. Her arm looped around his as he sat, hands joining and fingers intertwining. She lowered her head to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re burning up, Pen.”

“ ‘M fine. ’S just… ‘M fine.” She tried to convince him, but words were hard to form when she was so tired and his shoulder made the perfect pillow.

“Are you sure? I brought a med-scanner with me, I can—”

Penelope held him firmly in place and Gordon found himself unable to move without disturbing her. He ceased trying to reach his bags. “No. Just… stay.”

From his sigh, she could tell he was reluctant to give in once again, but he did. He unhooked their arms and looped his over her shoulders, pulling her in for a tighter embrace. “Okay.” Gordon softly spoke as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“I feel awful, Gordon.”

“I know. I know. It’ll pass, Pen.”

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Gordon gently hushed her. “You’re never a burden, Penny. Now, try and get some rest.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

my special day (ao3)

Dean never liked his birthdays. For a day that was supposed to be about him, it never was. Until one person decides to do exactly that.

           I never liked my birthday. Worse, I didn’t have a good reason not to.

           Sure, January wasn’t the best month out of the twelve. But that never bothered me. Nothing traumatic had ever happened to me on my birthday that made it different from any other; my life was a Frankenstein of bad days that somehow wouldn’t quit. Nobody ever forgot my birthday, either.

           On the contrary, everyone seemed to remember it. Which was why I hated my birthday. For no reason other than I was born, every eye would turn towards me, and the intensity of their focus made me wither like some flower left defenseless against the harsh, unyielding sun. Birthdays took on a life of their own. They became less about you, and more about the people around you.

           Dad would try and do something for my birthday if he was in town. When he wasn’t, it’d always be the day after he came back. He’d pick some odd activity he scraped enough money together for and take me and Sam, because it couldn’t just be me, and then we’d pile into Baby and drive off while every five seconds he’d try to catch my eyes in the rearview to make sure I was enjoying myself. Dad wanted to see me smile. He needed to know he had done a good job, that he was able to cram good parenting into one day. Dad wanted me to have good memories on my birthday. Which was the problem, really. It was only a single day. How was I supposed to smile knowing tomorrow I’ll probably wake up to a scribbled note and a wad of cash, hamstrung by loose rubber bands, on the nightstand? I was a hostage to his whims, and the ransom was recognition that he could pretend to be normal when the situation demanded it. Sometimes I wanted to cry, to throw a tantrum, to go blue in the face from holding my breath so long I faded into the darkness and didn’t wake up until the twenty-fifth.

           I wasn’t that brave. I always managed to force any type of smile onto my face, whenever he looked my way. It was easier that way. Besides, he was the least of my worries. There were the kids in school, who couldn’t understand why I never handed out swag bags of candy wrapped in see-through cellophane and tied with the kind of ribbon you have to curl using scissors, and invitations to a party at the most popular cash vacuum in town for every kid in class, because you had to invite everyone otherwise the teacher took you aside and asked ‘did you forget to give Dean his card?’ Then, as we get older, the assumptions changed. Word gets out about your birthday and people ask if your parents are going away, can you host a party, do you want me to host it I think my parents are visiting family out of town that weekend, are you getting a car, you look old enough can you buy booze, can you get a fake ID – always asking what you could do for them, for permission to celebrate themselves in the guise of doing it for you. We keep getting older, and I learned to adapt. I tried to steal as much for myself during my birthdays while the people went about their selfish whims. I’d casually mention it was my birthday at bars and the drinks start coming to me. People were less angry when you take their paycheck on an unlikely hand when you say you’ve had birthday luck on your side. They promised that the sex would always be special, despite dressing me down in bathrooms or truck beds or behind dumpsters like I’ve had many times before. That helped me survive my birthday in my twenties, but it was unsustainable. Duct tape over a bullet hole.

           I had a crazy idea that maybe, if I stopped going out, I’d be able to kill my birthday once and for all. It could’ve worked, but there was always Sam. He meant well. Cupcakes. Diners. Roadside attractions. Things he researched between cases he thought that I’d like that I had to pretend to because he was exactly like dad even though he’d never admit it. I would have liked them more, for real, had we done them any other day. On my birthday, I just went through the motions.

           But it’s not like Sam knew about my feelings towards my birthday. Nobody knew. I didn’t need to deal with everyone’s concern, their judgments about why I would hate my birthday and who was to blame. Any declaration I made against my birthday would be seen as a challenge and make the ordeal ten times worse than it already was and already had been. I swallowed my truth with a too-big bite of pie and some Southern Comfort and played the part of the beaming birthday boy with practiced ease. Until Cas.

           I didn’t mean to tell him. I should be used to it by now, staring at him, thinking of what I wanted to say and then saying nothing of the sort. I had to mess up at some point.

           He asked me if I was excited about my birthday coming up. Birthdays are exciting for you, aren’t they? Cas hadn’t meant me. That ‘you’ was a wide net cast across the planet. Maybe I was disarmed because of how he asked it, with a flash of teeth which had become a more common sight these days and the crinkle around his eyes that made me forget the power thrumming beneath the surface of his body. Perhaps I’d been on edge the past few days as I counted down to my birthday, the date riding up on me like a tight pair of shorts. Or, most likely, I was tired. I hadn’t withdrawn to my bedroom yet, lingering in the kitchen nursing a lone bottle of El Sol, all that was left since I put off running to the market. I fought sleep, knowing that the longer I denied unconsciousness the farther my birthday would stay. Cas found me with my knuckles denting my cheek and my eyes fluttering every few seconds. I needed rest. Cas was as good as that, maybe more. Which was why I set my head down and rumbled out, Maybe for other people. Not for me. Of course I had to explain myself after that. Fucker skewed his head to the side and asked me what I meant. I’d already started. Might as well finish digging my grave. Cas stayed silent once I hit the necessary six feet, undoubtedly taking this new information and comparing it with all the other generalities he’d learned over the millennia. When he did speak, it was to ask me a question I’d never heard in my life. What do you want for your birthday?

           What did I want? I hadn’t thought of it, let myself the luxury of considering my own wants. Especially on such a day. I watched Cas tease the seam of his mouth with his tongue, and suddenly I could picture exactly what I wanted. That wasn’t what I ended up telling Cas. I want it to not be my birthday, I said. I want to wake up like nobody had been born, especially me. I want tomorrow to be like any other day, where I can just do my own thing, by myself. Again, Cas considered my words. He dedicated more time to it than I did, the El Sol in my hands nothing more than an empty glass by now, making the fog that flooded my mind denser. The brand was weak, but given my state it was like drinking whiskey straight. I was half asleep when Cas responded. He startled me. Go to sleep. I didn’t fight him.

           Not a second passed between when I closed my eyes and opened them in the morning. I glanced at my bedside clock. It was too damn early, but I was up. I couldn’t linger there and tempt Sam to make me breakfast in bed. Instead I dragged myself out of my covers and went about getting ready for the day. It was like pushing a boulder up a hill. I got it to the top of that damned hill in the end.

           Except, as I entered the kitchen, I noticed it was empty. I went to the library. Nothing. The main room. No one. After checking a few more rooms, I made a beeline to Sam’s and knocked on the door. Formalities. I barged in without waiting for a response. Everything from his bed to his closet to even his personal toilet looked sterile.

           I raced out of his room and towards the exit, keys burning a hole in my fist. My phone was out, thumb rapidly dialing Sam’s number, when Cas met me halfway on the stairs with bags in his hands. He wouldn’t budge. Cas, Sam’s missing. Cas frowned. He’s not missing, I sent him away. You sent him away? Why? So he wouldn’t celebrate your birthday, Cas explained.

           By then, I’d pocketed my phone. I glanced at the bags Cas carried and noticed they were packed to the brim. I went to the grocery store, so you didn’t have to. He guided me to the nearest table and set the bags down atop it. Cas reached inside and grabbed a six-pack, ripping one free from the cardboard for me. It was Margiekugel. I don’t understand.

           What’s there to understand? Cas blinked at me, owlishly, as if waiting for me to look away for him to spin his head in a full circle and signal my brother, wherever he was hiding. Because he couldn’t be gone. It couldn’t be that simple. You said you wanted to spend your birthday by yourself. Which was true, in the moment. When I told Cas that. So you kicked Sam out for me? I gently suggested that maybe his energies would be better spent elsewhere.

           Cas reclaimed the bags. It sounded like there was a lot of weight to them, with how they slammed into the table. He carried them as if they were stacked with cardboard silhouettes of groceries. I followed him into the kitchen. And you got me groceries, too? Cas shrugged. You said you wanted to be by yourself. Going into town might defeat that purpose. Except, I drawled, leaning against the fridge, peeling the label off my half-drunken beer bottle while Cas replaced the bags on the counter, I’m not by myself. Cas grunted.

           I watched him work with keen interest. I could help, but I was curious. I wasn’t sure if he knew where everything went. It’s not like he ever needed to eat. I expected him to pick an item from the bag, stare at it, squint as if he could smite it into the correct pantry, then ultimately surrender and turn to me. He never did. And, more surprisingly, he had gotten every purchase into their respective places. Cas finished by returning our reusable bags to the cabinet underneath our sink, then stood with another grunt. I’ll be on my way now. Cas passed me, not bothering to even peek in my direction, as though he assumed I wanted that. If he had, I’m sure he’d have noticed my pout. You’re leaving? You said you wanted to spend your birthday by yourself. Cas finally turned his blue gaze onto me, a little furrow creasing the ridge of his brow. I’m fulfilling your birthday wish. I scoffed, Yeah… well…

           It was my turn to surprise Cas, by taking his hand in mine. His lips pinched as if he were tasting a flavor he’d never tried before. Mine tingled with the sensation of one I hadn’t tasted in years. Maybe I don’t want to spend it all alone, now that I know I can. That was the best I could offer. All my confidence went to my hands. Cas didn’t need more than that anyway. If that’s what you want?

           I thought about it. I thought of making breakfast, teaching Cas how to cook scrambled eggs. Of cocooning ourselves in my parlor as we binge a marathon of whatever happened to be on until my stomach roared with hunger. Then, after lunch, bringing Cas into the garage so he could fiddle with the portable stereo I left there while I mess around in Baby’s guts. There wasn’t any denying this. It’s exactly what I want, I told him. He nodded and squeezed my hand.

           I still hated my birthday. But Cas helped me hate it less.

[motownfiction]

cottonwood

Daniel drives Rosemary home from a birthday party on a Saturday night. One of her friends at school celebrated her thirteenth birthday at a roller rink. As he and Rose back out of the parking lot, Daniel chuckles and says he can’t think of anything more eighties than a birthday party at a roller rink. Rosemary rolls her eyes.

“It’s not ‘eighties,’ Daddy,” she says. “It’s just roller skating. Not everything belongs to the eighties. You know that, right?”

Daniel laughs a little harder.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he says. “Hey, Little Miss Y2K. Why don’t you hook up that iPod I got you for Christmas to the cord I got in here?”

“Daddy! No!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my music! Don’t you think music should be private?”

“I think if music was private, we wouldn’t have anything fun to do.”

Rosemary sighs. They come to a stop light, and Daniel tightens his grip around the steering wheel. He looks toward the sky through the windshield, just a little bit.

I know, he thinks. I know what I sound like. I know who I sound like, too.

“I don’t want you to make fun of the songs I like,” Rosemary says as she sheepishly takes her lime green iPod out of her purse.

“What?” Daniel says. “Rose. I’d never make fun of you. You know that, right?”

“I guess.”

“Where’d you get an idea like that? Who’s making fun of you?”

“Well, when we had to see Uncle Charlie at Christmas, he asked me what my favorite song was. I told him it was ‘Perfect Situation.’ He told me to listen to Buddy Holly.”

“The song or the guy?”

“There’s a song?”

“Mmm-hmm. Weezer. Same band as ‘Perfect Situation.’”

Rosemary throws her hands against her face, a perfect homage to Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. Daniel smiles as the light turns green.

“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing I kinda liked all that old stuff,” she says. “‘Peggy Sue’ and all that. It’s not bad.”

“No, it’s not,” Daniel says. “Are you gonna stop stalling and play me a song from your iPod?”

Rosemary groans but hooks up the iPod to the car, anyway.

“Fine,” she says. “This is a song I’ve been listening to a lot lately. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’ll never make fun of you.”

Rosemary looks at him like she believes him … looks at him with eyes that look so much like his own. If Daniel wasn’t behind the wheel of this car, he might just cry looking at her.

The song begins. Some ethereal sound, the kind that teenagers seem to be really into these days. It doesn’t sound bad. Just nothing like the music he grew up with.

Good, he thinks. It doesn’t need to be like then.

He hears Rosemary lightly singing along with the lyrics.

Will you say to them when I’m gone / “I loved your son for his sturdy arms?”

Daniel lets out a long breath. He knew he’d been holding it. Just didn’t know how strange it would feel to let it go. He looks at Rosemary out of the corner of his eye. She doesn’t seem to hear what he’s thinking. Daniel almost can’t believe it. Almost six whole years since they buried Sam, and it’s like the kids barely think about him anymore. Daniel exhales again. Are they lucky not to be thinking of him all the time? Or are they selfish? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, but before he can catch up with himself, he’s laughing.

“What’s the matter?” Rosemary asks. “You’re laughing like the Joker.”

“No, I’m not,” Daniel says. “This is just making me think of Cottonwood.”

“What’s Cottonwood?”

“Cottonwood is the place your Uncle Sam and I made up when we were … oh, a little older than you. Fifteen, I think. It’s the place we said we were going to go when it got too cold and too boring around here, back at home.”

“I thought that was Beech Grove.”

“Ah, no. That’s the place your mom and Lucy made up. They told us we weren’t allowed there. So Sam and I made our own place, and we called it Cottonwood.”

“What about Will?”

“Will was allowed in Beech Grove with the girls. Lucky bastard. Anyway, we had all these ideas for what Cottonwood was going to be like and look like … and then we found out it was just this boring city in Arizona. So kind of like Beech Grove in Indiana.”

“Yeah. Seems like it.”

They drive in almost silence with the song in between them. It sounds almost nice. Like nothing Daniel’s really used to hearing. He asks Rosemary where she heard the song, and she blushes an awkward shade of pink before she says she can’t remember. Daniel, then, takes it to mean the unspoken truth: She must have heard it in one of those videos that makes Lilly and Oliver from Hannah Montana seem like they’re a couple. He doesn’t say anything. Just smiles.

If Sam were here, poor Rose wouldn’t have to get her musical recommendations from Hannah Montana fans on the Internet. He’d teach her and the boys about micro-genres he made up, just like he did for Elenore when she was young. But he’s not here. He’s not here because he’s dead; because stupid Charlie, who makes fun of Rosemary’s musical taste in the middle of Christmas, couldn’t be bothered to get a license or remember to bring the kids’ presents to the party. And now, Daniel’s left to pick up all the pieces … to figure out where Sam would have started.

The song ends, and Daniel turns the radio back on.

“What are you doing?” Rosemary asks.

“I’m gonna teach you the first thing about Cottonwood,” Daniel says. “It has a very specific soundtrack, and you really have to listen for it.”

Rosemary grins. And in that grin, Daniel sees that Sam’s still there. That he’s still there, too.

It’s a good feeling, he thinks, to know you’re not going anywhere. It’s a good feeling to know that you live in the gleam of your daughter’s eye.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day xxv! another busy day, another day where i’m behind)

[jodilin65]

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1990 I’m still laying here in bed trying to suppress my desperation to have a child. Although I’m thrilled to go see my new niece I’m just so envious. I wish there was such an ability to make my desires come and go. If I could do that I’d not want to have a child and I’d not want to be a singer.

My parents really piss me off. Who the hell are they to judge people and tell them what they should and shouldn’t do? First, they raise their kids to accept people for the way they are (kind of), then turn around with this marriage and money is the only answer if you want a kid. And this shit that if a single parent has a kid they should all be taken away. Where should all these kids be taken to? Tammy was single when she had Lisa, but they were right there behind her all the way.

And Tammy pisses me off too, saying if Andy’s involved she’ll take the kid away. Then she turns around calling him a fag, but it’s ok that I’m gay. You just can’t kidnap your sister’s kid and say to the police or whoever that you did it cuz the father’s gay and that you’re pissed cuz he won’t drive your sister to your house. So I guess for both my sanity and physical safety and in order to save the kid in the same way, I just won’t have a kid.

Later…

Yes, of course, I’m still wide awake. Today I have to go get pig food and also for Gremlin and go to Food Mart. But first I have to go to SIS, not only to withdraw money but to also bitch about my ATM card. It hasn’t been working. Every time I go to use it, it gets spit back out at me. I tried to clean it too, like I was told but that’s not working. Maybe it’s scratched up.

Another thing I want to do is get something for Brenda for her b-day which is 10/2. She’ll be 31.

Also, I want to get something for the baby, like diapers or something.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1990 Today I went for my audition and I bombed. It figures my allergies had to act up and I also was nervous and it showed. Brenda said that although I was a little nervous, I still sang well. She also said that the guy seemed a little high.

We met at the piano player’s house (Karin) who was so nice and looked very butchy, even though she’s married with kids. Also, one other girl auditioning that I met Monday night sounded even worse with allergies, too. You could tell by her just talking, but I didn’t hear her sing. The other girl I met last Monday night didn’t show up unless she came after I left. I left first cuz I was the first one to sing. Pat seems to really, really like this girl, too. He said he’d call me in a day or two, that I have a nice voice, but I’m not stupid. They usually never call back either way and of course he’s gonna say I have a nice voice whether I sucked or was great.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1990 I had therapy today and a very odd, but interesting day last Monday. Well, Bill and I were sitting out on the back porch and he said he spoke to Arthur, his husband, who along with himself, decided I should be paid. When he was at Dunaeff, the Dunaeffs got a percentage of his pay. I don’t know how much I’m gonna get but he says he’ll figure it out and every week I’ll get a lesson and some cash. I told him any bit won’t hurt but at the moment I’ve nothing better to do and I love music. Andy felt that was great of him cuz most people would be selfish and keep all the money for themselves. He is so honest and trustworthy and it was so nice of him to take his time out (one of his students didn’t show up today anyway) to write directions for Brenda who took me to Haydenville.

Bill and I were looking in the Advocate when I saw this ad saying cabaret performers were needed along with people who could sing country music and were versatile. Over the phone, it turned out that Bill knows this guy whose name is Patrick. He’s a nice guy with a nice home, too.

Brenda took me to his house and two other girls were there, too. He showed us videotapes, publicity photos and well, there’s so much to explain so I’ll make it brief. They travel the east coast and do musicals at clubs in Northampton and sometimes cruises. He said the more abilities you’ve got, the better, such as Spanish, sign language, and the guitar. I could write forever about this, and while I’d rather be the singer with the band, this may be a good start and lots of fun. I love musicals cuz it’s so versatile with singing, acting, and dancing. I have to audition tomorrow, so again I’ll say that yes, it is a long shot if I get hired, but at least I’m trying rather than saying, fuck it, I won’t even audition.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1990 It’s always up and down, never one or the other. It’s back and forth between feeling good and feeling like shit. Physically, I mean. I’ve been feeling pretty shitty with congestion lately in the mornings. It’s pretty fucking scary, too. I feel trapped. Yes, you know I mean the ciggies.

I saw Dr. McGovern when Brenda had to get her shot. He said that despite the way my lungs feel, I look healthier than ever. He always thought I was attractive and he is a nice guy. Maybe he feels I look better cuz I’m still 5 pounds heavier than I’ve been in ages. 5 pounds is usually no big deal but, when you’re this short it sure is. It shows.

Mom and Dad are gonna be here on 10/12 and I’ve got plenty of other things to write about, but at the moment I’m just way too tired.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1990 What a great change for the better I’ve had since last Sunday night. I’m writing this as I wait for Martha, so I may have to stop soon when she comes down to get me. The argument me and Brenda had was basically about our differences in opinions about relationships, but now that I look back at it, it really was so stupid. I also had PMS I guess and I still haven’t had my period yet, but I feel good mentally. I think that’s cuz I feel so much better physically.

The weather has been extremely cool. Fall’s here very early so maybe that means we’ll have a rough winter. I hope it snows a lot. Anyway, I can breathe!! What a relief.

The GYN went ok, but it hurt a little bit cuz I was tense and had only slept 4 hours the previous night.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1990 I am so fucking tired it’s amazing. Me and Brenda had an argument last night, but it was my fault. I’ll write more about it later. Meanwhile, my lungs are killing me. I’m so congested that it’s scaring me to death.

I’m also a little nerved up about the fact that I’ll be visiting the good old GYN soon.

I’m downtown now. Brenda’s seeing her therapist who’s up above Johnson’s Bookstore. She has an appointment at the same time I do.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1990 Well, I mailed my police exam application with my waiver fee. The exam’s on October 27th, but where and what time I do not know. Supposedly they’re going to mail a letter with the time and place listed. I sure hope it works out for once and I can truly say that I am really looking forward to this.

I’ve thought about this on and off and of course, I want to sing 10,000 times more, but as you can plainly see I’ve given up music. You just can’t make it without connections, money, and sex and I don’t have money or connections. Of course, sex is out of the question.

But would something like this, full of adventure and excitement, be meant to be any more than I once thought music was? What if they somehow do discriminate against me cuz I look so small and naïve, and cuz of my past? It did say on the instructions that they can dismiss you if they feel they don’t like you or that you’ll be no good. I know I’d be good at it, though, and so do other people who are gonna try to put me down and out big time, but if I get in that academy, well, they’re just not going to succeed.

Later…

Guess what! Early this morning my niece Sarah Elizabeth was born. That’s great, and I love all my nieces, but am I ever going to have one of my own? I doubt it. If I ever do, though, I’d have to abandon my whole family. That means move, get a PO box and a new phone number, etc. I don’t want to do all this till me and Brenda have been together a while and are married and we have the money to move and to start off with. She insists that with both our incomes combined we can easily survive. She’s going on disability, but she’s still gonna drive the cab. So that would be $1,040 of SS and SSI, plus her cab fares, but if I am in the academy at the time or working wherever doing whatever, then I’ll have to work around that. The reason for dumping my family is that if Mom wants to disown me, I’ll have beaten her to it. Also if they pull any shit with the state I’ll be avoiding that, so I can keep my health and also my mental sanity.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1990 Yesterday I was fairly productive and I decided to put this cab thing on hold till I know what’s going on with the police officer exam I’m gonna be taking on October 27th. Filling out the application was fairly easy and what’s neat about it is that they have a waiver form that Brenda’s getting from City Hall which I forgot yesterday for $20. That’s the application fee. I know the test is gonna be 3-4 hours long and I only hope I don’t flunk it if they ask questions pertaining to math or something like that. If they ask something I either know nothing about or never understood then I’m doomed. They never tell you what’s gonna be on the test. I hope it’s multiple choices. It said that if you know other languages or have unique skills it’ll help your eligibility. I hope that wherever they’re having the test I can get there and I hope that if I ever did get into the academy I’ll have no problem with transportation. Also, I hope they’ll accept that I’ve only driven a few times since I got my license and that they’ll be patient and work with me on that.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1990 Yesterday morning I called Fran who called Nervous at the Bucket of Suds where he’s now working. I didn’t say anything, but I got a hell of a great tape and made some super edits from it. Now both sides are complete of the edit tape so that’s 90 minutes of great edits.

Andy and I wish to hell Tracy would call us. We know she’s still living with these two gay guys she recently moved in with. Andy, Fran and I all got calls where this dirty song was playing and we know it was Tracy who knows all 3 of us. Also, both Fran and I have unlisted numbers.

In the early afternoon hours of yesterday, I spent a little time with Brenda, and Steve took out both my air conditioners. Thank God the temperature’s dropped.

They got a guard put in their cab which Kevin leases by the week cuz he got robbed and other drivers are getting robbed left and right. Brenda drives to support her kids and leases it from Kevin. Kevin drives at night and on weekends and he wants someone to drive on weekends for him. The thought of driving is scary even though I do know how. I’ve only driven a dozen times or less since I got my license when I was 21. Brenda can only train me for two weeks, then she’s not allowed in the cab with me. What if two weeks isn’t enough? Driving on the highway scares me and what if I had to drive all the way to Hartford like she did? I don’t know the roads as well as most people either being a passenger so long as I have. However, I really do want to conquer this fear as I know I’d be extremely proud of myself if I did, and God fucking knows I need the money. It’s under the table and I’m going stir-crazy just sitting here, and my sleeping schedule is really bizarre. I want to try to kick this fear. I’d feel so proud and productive and I know the longer I sit around the harder it’ll be, but I’ll make it.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1990 Yesterday, Paula rang me at around 2pm. I was asleep but she left me a note saying to stop by cuz she wants to talk to me. I hope it’s nothing to do with money or her asking a favor of me that I really can’t or don’t want to do. Maybe she just wants to shoot the shit about life. You know, her son, her family, guys, her life. She mentioned something about moving. Or maybe she’ll come out and tell me she’s gay. Fat chance, but for some reason, I still, up to this day, wouldn’t be surprised if she is. Even Brenda suggested it. She is kind of masculine and if needed, ill-tempered, even though otherwise she’s feminine and pretty - her hair, her skin, her teeth, her eyes.

The night before last, me, Andy and Fran called Joe D, Nerv’s neighbor, and really got him, his niece and her fiancée going well. I made some fantastic edits out of them. So now I have side A and most of side B of a 90-minute tape filled with edits of a few strangers, me, Andy, Fran, Nervous, Tracy, Bobbie and my uncle, too.

Last night Brenda and I went to see The Exorcist 3. I never saw parts 1 and 2, but I wish I did.

Jai’s officially moved out and may God be with me and grant me yet another great neighbor as good as Nancy and Jai were and Steve and Brenda are. I hope it’s either a straight woman or a gay man. I don’t have to say why I don’t want a straight guy, but I don’t want it to be a gay woman that may, God forbid, be attractive that I can’t have or be ugly that wants me. I highly doubt either one could ever happen though cuz not too many ugly ones want me or if they do, they’re not usually a problem. Like men. Being persistent I mean. And as far as an attractive one - there are none.

[bouwrites]

Show Your Fangs: Chapter 7

Trust

First, Previous, Next.

Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Michael doesn’t come back to bed. After the hushed whispers between him and Anthony end, and the two boys both leave the room, Michael doesn’t come back. Harry just sits there on Michael’s bed, petrified.

Michael knows. Michael knows now that Harry has been deceiving him this whole time, that the cat he so adores is actually just a scrawny, speccy git who is too selfish to give up feeling loved for once in his life to do the right thing.

Michael knows that Tiger really will leave and never come back. The one thing he says he’s not afraid of, anymore, and Harry snatches that away from him.

He deserves better than Harry. And even after all that, even reeling from seeing Tiger change into Harry… Michael still believes him, still helps.

Seriously, Michael is too good for anyone at this school. Especially Harry.

That’s not even starting on the dread in Harry’s gut as he wonders whether Anthony’s dad reaches Mr. Weasley in time. Because neither Michael nor Anthony come back to bed, so Harry gets no word.

The dawn breaks the darkness. It comes through the windows, and Harry has to change back into his cat form or risk Terry and the others waking and seeing him sitting there in Michael’s bed, but still Harry doesn’t move from his spot. Michael tells him to stay here. Harry… trusts him. He trusts Michael more than anyone at this point, and he can’t bring himself to let Michael down again.

So, if Michael tells him to stay, he stays. His skin crawls, his mind threatens to drive him mad, he still feels ill, and his head still throbs, but he stays sitting right there in that spot. It feels like he’s awaiting judgement, just passing time until the blade falls, but he doesn’t move a centimeter.

“Anthony and Michael are already up?” Terry comments as he crawls out of his own bed. “That’s odd.”

Stephen and Kevin are also leaving their beds, but Terry is the only one who peeks up and sees Harry. He freezes for a moment, taking in Harry’s miserable appearance, then quietly encourages the other two to go on without him.

When they’re alone, Terry climbs up to Michael’s bed to attempt to look Harry in the eye. “What’s wrong, Tiger?” he murmurs. “Did something happen with Michael? Anthony, too?”

Harry just stares at the blanket underneath him.

Terry bites his lip. “Did you eat this morning?”

Harry hasn’t. Michael leaves in the dead of night when Harry wakes him up and he doesn’t come back, so Harry doesn’t have breakfast.

Harry is usually an expressive cat. Michael, Anthony, and Terry all know perfectly well that he understands them, and he always does his best to communicate back without seeming too human because kneazles can so he can get away with it and frankly pretending not to understand would make his life very boring.

That’s why Harry just not responding to Terry’s questions raises even more red flags than his miserable appearance in the first place. Terry’s gut sinks. He knows something’s up. He’d like to go hunt down Michael and Anthony and demand answers, but…

Instead, he grabs a bowl of food for Harry and tries to gently coax him to the floor to eat.

Harry’s stomach growls. He is hungry. But it’s like there’s a sticking charm on his butt – he won’t move from this spot. He can’t.

Terry lets out a distressed little whine, worried for the cat. Harry winces dully, feeling only worse that now he’s worrying Terry as well. But after trying to get Harry to move with treats just out of reach, Terry finally gives in and just puts the bowl of food close to Harry on the bed.

“You’ve got to eat, Tiger,” Terry says quietly. “You’ll make Michael worry if you don’t.”

Will he, though? Will Michael even care, after this? In one nightmare-induced act, he rips Michael’s cat away from him and makes him complicit in harboring a fugitive. Whatever love Michael has for Tiger… There’s no reason he should have it for Harry.

Harry doesn’t get that kind of love. He never has.

(But he hopes, if nothing else, that Mr. Weasley is okay. If Harry will never be loved, at least let this sacrifice mean that the Weasleys don’t lose their father. It’s all Harry can pray for.)

Harry doesn’t eat. He doesn’t think he can keep it down even if he does.

Terry sighs, climbs fully into the bed, and sits down right next to him. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even try to touch him after Harry squirms away from his pets as best he can without moving from his spot. He just sits there quietly, waiting with him.

Harry appreciates it. At the same time, he wonders if Terry will do the same thing if he knows that it’s not really a cat he’s sitting with. If he knows how Harry betrays Michael.

He probably won’t. He’ll be right not to.

-----

Anthony comes back after an eternity of waiting. Harry’s heart falls when he notices that Michael isn’t with him.

Strangely, Anthony doesn’t question Harry or Terry’s position at all. He just climbs up onto Michael’s bed, too, taking Harry’s other side, sitting together. He slowly wets his lips, arranging his words before him. Terry gives him a questioning look but doesn’t prod. He knows Anthony will tell him what he can.

“Michael woke me up last night,” Anthony begins. “He said he was playing around with some divination and saw Mr. Weasley being attacked by a giant snake somewhere in the Ministry.”

Terry lets out a heavy breath. “That sounds like you’re leading into a bad joke,” he murmurs. “I guess he was right?”

Anthony nods. His eyes are unfocused, somewhere else. “I thought he was joking, too. Or, no, I didn’t think he would joke about that. I thought he was mistaken. Not like he has any talent in divination, right? But he was panicked and the only way I could get him to calm down was to ask my dad to go look.”

“Flitwick’s floo?” Terry asks.

Anthony nods. “Umbridge found out. She’s not happy we contacted someone outside the school, even though we didn’t even talk about her. She saw us contacting someone in the Ministry as an attempt to… usurp her or something. I think she’s planning on locking down all the school’s floos now. Maybe even check our mail. Wouldn’t put it past her. She has it out for Michael since he started defending Harry in front of her.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, Dad did manage to get back to us.”

“Is Mister Weasley okay?”

“We think so. Dad found him and he’s at St. Mungo’s now. It’s too early to say for sure, but they said they think they can fix him up.”

Terry deflates. “Good.” Both boys take a long time to just process what happens and breathe. After forever, Terry finally says, “But what was Mister Weasley doing there in the first place? Was he near his office? Even so, in the dead of night…”

That’s a very good question. More secrets. Anthony lowers his voice. “I asked. He was outside the Department of Mysteries,” he answers. “And I don’t need Dad to tell me that the Unspeakables will be having the same question.”

Terry frowns. “Curious,” he murmurs. “And do you really think Michael learned about it by playing around with divination?”

“Not in the slightest,” Anthony says immediately. Harry wilts even more, appreciative but guilty that Michael lies to his best friends to protect his identity. “Flitwick bought it, but we both know he’s pants at divination. He knows that, too.” He shakes his head. “But he lied about it anyway, even just to me. There’s more to it. It’s bothering him.”

“I think it’s bothering Tiger, too,” Terry says softly. “He won’t move, won’t eat… won’t even look at me. He’s just been sitting here, like this, since I woke up this morning.”

Anthony bites his lip. “Should we… ask him about it?”

Terry is quiet for a long time. He watches Harry shrewdly, considers Michael, then slowly shakes his head. “No. Give him time. You had his back on the divination thing, right?”

“I pretended we were doing it together,” Anthony says. “That I saw the same thing. Figured Flitwick and Dad both would take it more seriously if it’s both of us.”

“Yeah, well, he obviously knows you covered for him,” says Terry. “Give him space. He knows he can come to us if he needs us. I think if he hasn’t… it’s just something he needs to work out on his own.”

“…I don’t know, Terry. You’ve seen him the last few weeks. He’s…”

“Reckless, cagey, angry…”

“And he’s still hiding his hand!” Anthony hisses. “I can’t help him if he won’t-”

“Yeah, I know.” Terry is soft. He understands. “But we just got to trust him, Anthony. As much as he might act like an idiot, he’s really not. If he lied to you without anyone else there to hear it… it’s just something that he can’t or won’t talk about.”

“I know that,” Anthony huffs. “But… he somehow knew that Mr. Weasley was attacked by a giant snake deep in the Ministry. How did he know that? I’m worried…”

“Me, too,” Terry admits. “I hope he’ll tell us sometime but pushing him won’t help any of us. You know how he is. Let him work it through. He’ll come to us when he’s ready.”

Anthony runs a hand through his golden hair with a sigh. “I hope so,” he murmurs. “I’m really worried about him.”

-----

The three of them sit there for hours. Terry and Anthony occasionally chat quietly, but not one of them moves from their vigil on Michael’s bed.

When lunchtime comes around, they try to feed him, try to get him to drink some water, at least, but Harry just sits there, staring at the bedsheets, awaiting his judgement. He doesn’t move a muscle. He can’t.

Terry and Anthony get into a hushed argument about it. They both go crazy with worry over their best friend and their best friend’s cat, but they don’t agree on what to do about it.

Terry says that they should wait and let Michael come back on his own. Anthony puffs up and growls that that’s well and good if Michael is only responsible for himself, but Tiger is hurting himself over this and Michael will march back up here and fix things or so help him-

They’re still arguing when the door to the dorm opens. Michael, looking just as dead as Harry, steps inside. He looks at Anthony dully, then his eyes slide over to Terry, then finally they fix on Harry.

For the first time in so many hours, Harry lifts his head. His ears fall as if to make up for it.

Anthony starts trying to talk to Michael, but Terry’s eyes are fixed on Harry. Terry bites his lip for a moment, then finally shifts, jumps down off the bed. He steps up to Michael, looks him in the eye, glances back over his shoulder at Harry. “We were just keeping Tiger company,” he says blandly.

Michael winces. So does Harry.

Terry notices this and pauses. “…Do you want us to stay?”

Michael’s voice sounds… raw, vulnerable, when he says, “No.”

Anthony clenches his jaw but, after a pointed look, he follows Terry’s lead. The pair of them leave the dorm, so it’s only Michael and Harry.

They look at each other from where they are. Just staring. It feels like so many more hours just staring into each other’s eyes. And then Michael turns his gaze down. He breaks that spell that hangs over them, sighs, climbs up to that his head pokes up over the frame, so they’re on an even height when he stops and stares for just a little longer.

“I just need you to tell me one thing,” Michael says. Harry’s breath catches. Anything. He’ll tell him anything. Michael bites his lip, looks away, then decides he can’t bear to ask and not see Harry’s face and purposefully fixes his gaze there. “Was it real?”

Harry blinks. Was what real? What would-

“Tiger,” Michael says. “Is he- Is he a character, or… or is that just Harry? Was it you, or an act?”

Oh. That… Harry can answer that honestly and without guilt. He lifts a paw, brings it to his own chest. It’s me. And it’s true. Harry might act in ways he never would as a human, but that doesn’t mean it’s not him. The cat is as much him as the human is, as he suspects McGonagall can attest to (and he knows Sirius will agree). Harry never thinks of the human and the cat as different people or even different faces. Only different situations. He’s still himself.

Michael’s eyes turn to the bed. He gulps, nods, shakes his head, sighs. “Okay,” he says finally. His eyes lift again, and they don’t look quite as heavy anymore. “Okay. I… There’s a lot we’re going to have to talk about.” He glances over his shoulder at the door. “But it’s going to have to wait until we have a location we’re sure is secure. Maybe at home over the winter holidays. But- But Harry- Tiger…”

He sighs again with frustration. His brow furrows and he growls at the bed, not at Harry. “…Honestly, there’s so much going through my head, and I don’t even know where to start with it,” he admits. “I guess… you need to get some food in you. Anthony mentioned you didn’t eat. Come on.”

He reaches out, hooks Harry around his middle, and pulls him unprotestingly off the bed. Harry’s food and water bowl are checked (Terry and Anthony already fill them, obviously) and then he’s put down next to them.

Harry gulps. He looks at the food, then back up at Michael. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

“Eat,” Michael orders. Harry obeys, slowly nibbling on the food set out for him. He is hungry, anyway.

Harry nearly jumps out of his fur when a hand brushes along his back. “…I love you, Tiger,” Michael murmurs. Harry freezes. That’s… the last thing he expects to hear. “I don’t know that I should, but I do. I’m feeling a whole lot of things, and I don’t even really know what all it is, yet, but I know I love Tiger. If you’re telling the truth, if that really has been you and not just your attempts to… trick me? I don’t know. I figured you wouldn’t have any reason to put on an act, but I just couldn’t stop thinking- Ugh…”

He shakes his head. “What I’m trying to say is… I know there’s a lot we’re going to have to talk through. But as far as I see it, you’re still Tiger. Or… maybe you don’t want me to call you that? But I’ll have to to keep up the ruse at least until break. Sorry.

“I’m so bad at this.” He growls again, passing his hands through his hair in his agitation. “Basically: all the fun we had, all the trust we built… that doesn’t just go away. I don’t want it to go away.” He gulps, closes his eyes. “Please don’t take it away…”

Harry watches, dumbfounded, as Michael swipes his arm over his eyes, then subtly grasps the back of his hand. The one that’s wrapped up in bandages.

Harry throws himself at Michael. He jumps into his chest and purrs frantically, climbing him and nuzzling into him desperately. Harry is petrified this whole time that Michael will take all that away! How can Harry ever suffer to do that to him?

“Tig- …Harry…” Michael’s shock, his relief, gives way to determination. “I’m going to trust you. I’m going to trust you, because trusting you… because you… because… because you haven’t let me down, yet. Not like Ginny, or Umbridge, or even those prissy older girls in my house that bully Luna. Not like the Ministry, or the Hogwarts staff. So, I’m going to trust you.”

Harry might cry with relief. He doesn’t deserve Michael’s trust. He knows he doesn’t. But he won’t break it. Not for anything. Not when Michael is the only one to stand by him. Not after Michael shows him so much love. Not after Michael hides his identity before even thinking about Harry pretending to be a cat all school year. Not after Michael trusts him and goes to find someone who can save Mr. Weasley’s life with no good reason at all to take Harry even remotely seriously.

“I can guess at a fair bit of why you’re here,” Michael murmurs. “I know it wasn’t by choice; that’s why I didn’t really think you were trying to trick me or anything. Hell of a coincidence, though, huh? That you’d end up back in Hogwarts, anyway. And you did try pretty hard to convince Mum not to let me buy you.” Michael smirks. Harry thinks it’s a beautiful sight.

“That’s why you kept trying to escape, too. But Tiger…” Michael takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to escape. I’m not saying to be my pet cat forever, either, but- well, you know- I’d like to help.” Harry blinks. He- really? “I believed you from the start,” Michael says. “You should know that by now. And I do really like you. Not just because you’re cute like this as a cat,” Harry warms and ducks his head, “but because you’re fun. You said you didn’t put on an act, so that’s just you, and I really like hanging out with you.”

He gets quiet again for a moment. “I think… I think I need a little bit of space. I’m still processing everything, and I need to figure out how I feel about it all before we really talk once we’re home for the holidays. But- I know I want to help. I’m with you, Harry. I promise that. You can count on it, so just… give me a little bit of time. I’ll be back, just like you came back to me.”

Harry stares at Michael with wonder in his eyes. Part of him, the part that still hurts from Ron and Hermione and everyone else up until now, doesn’t believe him. But Harry is going to count on it, anyway. He’s going to trust Michael, because he wants to and because he thinks he might need to a little, as well.

He needs allies, anyway, if he really wants to stay safe from the Ministry. So, Harry nods determinedly, licks Michael’s chin, and lets him go.

(Michael looks back just long enough to make sure Harry is eating again.)

-----

The following days are slow and long. Anthony gets updates on Mr. Weasley. He’s recovering well, to everyone’s relief, though all the Weasley children are released from school early so they can be at home together with their family and support their mother.

Other than that, the days are quiet. Michael doesn’t take Harry with him anywhere, though he does make sure Harry has food and water and checks that he isn’t ever locked in the dorm so he can come and go as he pleases. Otherwise, they barely see each other. Even at night, when Harry would ordinarily curl up with Michael on his bed, Harry takes instead to using the cat bed on the floor just in front of Michael’s closet.

It's incredibly lonely. Even Terry and Anthony, both obviously noticing the change between the two, can’t fix it despite how much time they spend entertaining him.

Terry and Anthony… really are great friends. Time with them makes Harry’s heart so full it hurts. They want to help so badly, but they recognize that Michael needs to work through things on his own. They trust him enough to let him go through things on his own.

Harry is honestly half convinced that Terry has him completely sussed out and only isn’t saying anything out of that ride-or-die loyalty and trust to Michael. Because he also figures out that Michael knows, of course. And Anthony is never the first to offer cuddles or even company, really, but he’s always, always the one checking that he doesn’t need anything, that he’ll be alright on his own, and that he’s still socializing even if not so much with Michael anymore.

It's Anthony who drags Luna to the dorm and asks her to take Harry out into the castle to do something, because he’s worried about Harry being cooped up.

They are probably the only reason Harry makes it through those several days before winter holiday. Them, and the promise that Michael makes to him.

But those long, slow, lonely days do pass, and Harry finds himself being brought back aboard the Hogwarts Express. The ride to King’s Cross is quiet, overall. Michael is the rowdiest of the three boys, but he’s dark and subdued the whole time. Much of the train ride is spent simply looking out the window, totally lost in thought.

Anthony pointedly looks at Michael’s bandaged hand, but he doesn’t push for Michael to reveal anything he doesn’t want to. He only silently makes clear his desire and willingness to help. Terry spends most of the ride looking between Michael and Harry with a small frown on his lips, like he’s trying to solve some kind of puzzle.

When the Patil twins join them partway through, things return to more of a veneer of normal, but even they are affected by the atmosphere, and especially Michael’s near unresponsive state just staring out the window with a slight pinch in his brow, and no one can really convince themselves that things are truly okay.

When they get to the station, Harry has a moment, looking around, where a thought unbidden comes to his head. This is when he would have escaped. Or, at least he would attempt to. Given his lack of any real attempts for a while, Michael might even be complacent enough that Harry would be successful.

But that’s not going to happen and the thought itself is unwelcome. Escape is the last thing Harry wants right now. Even if his plans aren’t thrown to hell in a handbasket by that stupid dream and him revealing himself to Michael, even if Michael doesn’t promise him that he doesn’t need to escape because Michael wants to support him, Harry doesn’t think he would.

He doesn’t think he can bring himself to.

As it is, Harry doesn’t even pretend to try. He’s practically limp in Michael’s arms as he greets his family. The other Corners, who really only know Harry for a few days when he’s a lot more standoffish than he is now and through Michael’s stories, aren’t as bold about trying to pet him, so he ends up left pretty much alone except for the welcome backs and the questions to Michael after his health.

That first day back is a usual one. Michael’s sister is too distracted by having her brother back to notice, but his parents definitely exchange looks at how distant he and Harry are. But it’s not until the next day that Michael can slip away to talk to Harry without risk of his family overhearing.

He approaches Harry early that morning, looks at him so significantly that Harry knows it can only mean one thing, and then silently picks him up and heads for the door.

They walk down the muggle street so different from Privet Drive. The houses are all suburban dreams, but they’re not identical, and one is even painted blue for some reason, but it definitely makes Harry smile.

They come up to a park not at all different from the little one in Harry’s neighborhood, and Harry knows what Michael’s idea is.

So long as they speak quietly so as not to be overheard, none of the muggles would think twice about some kids at the playground. And no one will be looking for Harry here, so the few people that might be about this early in the morning won’t recognize him.

It’s hiding in plain sight.

The two triple-check that the coast is clear, and then Harry changes back into his human form, joining Michael on the swing set too small for their teenage frames.

“I think I’ve pretty much figured out the story,” Michael says. “The dementors in your neighborhood, that attacked you. You defended yourself and the Ministry expelled you and called for your wand. Obviously, you weren’t going to just let them disarm you especially considering You-Know-Who is back, so you ran away in your animagus form. How’d you end up in the Magical Menagerie?”

Harry’s cheeks warm. “I thought to go to Gringotts to get money and maybe a way out of the country. Lady at Madam Malkin’s found me in the alley, took me there.”

Michael snorts, but he doesn’t comment on it. Not yet, at least. “So, you made a bunch of trouble for them trying to escape, and when I walked in with that bag from the joke shop, I was just another opportunity for you.”

While that’s true, Harry hates it being put like that. An opportunity. It feels… manipulative and exploitative.

“But of course, I thought you were the coolest cat in the world for setting off that prank in the middle of the shop.” He smiles, maybe for the first time since Harry wakes him up to go save Mr. Weasley. Something in Harry’s chest teases loose, a knot of tension coaxed unbound by that little smile. And so Harry smiles back.

Michael turns his eyes away. His cheeks pinken slightly. After just a single more moment of pause, he says, “The only thing I’m confused about is why you stopped trying to escape. Basically, from the moment we made it to Hogwarts I could tell all your ‘attempts’ were really more just pranks.”

Ah, right. “I figured Hogwarts was the safest place I could be,” Harry admits. “The Ministry wouldn’t be looking for me there, and frankly I fancied my chances better with you than wandering the Scottish Highlands.”

Michael hums. “That’s… not exactly true. The Ministry was looking for you at Hogwarts.”

“They were?” Harry blinks. Why? How do they think he even gets there?

“Umbridge seemed to think Dumbledore was hiding you. Why the Ministry thinks he has any say in you or your life is beyond me, but she was pretty obvious.”

That’s… actually a good point. Harry never considers just why Dumbledore has so much say in his life. It’s just Dumbledore. “I think,” he says slowly, “it’s just because Voldemort is after me. He’s trying to protect me.”

Michael flinches at Voldemort’s name, but otherwise frowns quietly, considering Harry’s perspective. “If he’s trying to protect you… why didn’t you go to him? Once we got to Hogwarts, it would’ve been easy. He doesn’t know you’re an animagus, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.” Harry sighs. “I thought about asking him for help. But…” He shakes his head. “Michael, I became an animagus to escape my aunt and uncle. It wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with anything in the wizarding world. I didn’t even tell Ron or Hermione.”

“I did wonder about that. Hermione never recognized you.”

Harry hugs himself, rocks on the swing a little. “My aunt and uncle hate magic, so they hate me. They’re tolerable most of the time, but… well, summers are better if I spend most of my time out of the house.”

Harry does not look at Michael, so he cannot see the grim fury overtaking his face as he processes the implications.

“So, I became an animagus partly to get out of there, and partly because my dad was one and it made me feel… connected to him, a bit. It’s personal. I didn’t think anyone else had to know. Although I probably would have registered like I’m supposed to if…” He sighs.

“Dumbledore is the one who put me with my aunt and uncle. I get that I don’t have any other family, but… he’s very concerned about my safety. Especially now that Voldemort is back, he would see sneaking out as a cat to be very reckless. He’d stop it.”

“Best case,” Michael murmurs, “you’d be back to square one with them.”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Worst case… well, changing into a cat sometimes isn’t exactly normal. If Dumbledore told them about my ability so that they could watch out for it… I don’t know how they’d take it.”

“Harry.” Michael’s voice is thick. Harry is taken off guard when his hand is suddenly snatched. There’s a gentle rattle of chains from Michael moving the swing to reach him, but their eyes fix together. “Are you really safe in that house?”

Harry’s gaze drops. He can’t face the intensity in Michael’s eye. “I’m safe there,” he says. And he does mean it. He’s hit sometimes, and he knows that’s not normal, but he’s never in danger. It’s definitely an unpleasant place to be, but it is safe.

For all that matters.

Michael seems to understand. He frowns but doesn’t push on it. “You know,” he says, “as long as no one knows you’re an animagus… we could probably get away with you coming here to be Tiger over the summers.”

Harry would love that. He grins. Being offered that out is the last thing he expects, but he’s so, so thankful that Michael would even consider it. “I don’t think it matters unless we get the Ministry off my back but thank you. I’d… really like that.”

Harry squeezes Michael’s hand, trying to show his appreciation. Michael rubs his neck with his free hand, then Harry lets go and they return to their respective swings.

“Anyway,” says Harry, “point is, I’d really prefer Dumbledore not know. As long as no one knows and I never change back outside the house, I don’t see how I’m at that much more risk, anyway, but I know he’d insist.”

“He really has no right,” Michael says. “I get that he’s trying to protect you, but he’s not your guardian.”

“He is my professor,” Harry says dully, “and he’d be informing my guardians of something I did behind their backs.”

A low growl sounds in Michael’s chest. “Still stupid.”

Harry smiles and shakes his head. He really wishes it weren’t the case, but at least about that, Dumbledore wouldn’t be wrong to do it. It’d be the “responsible” thing to do, even Harry can admit that. It just doesn’t fully consider the reality of being there.

“And Ron and Hermione…” Harry hums. “I considered telling them, but… I don’t know. It’s not for them. And besides that, while I’m sure they’d keep it secret under normal circumstances, the moment something like this happens and they don’t know where I am… well, Dumbledore would be the first to know.”

Michael scrunches up his face. “Your life’s weird, mate. Why in the hell would Ron and Hermione go to Dumbledore? Yeah, he’s trying to keep you safe, but…”

Harry bites his lip. He really shouldn’t say, but frankly? They clearly don’t trust him, anyway, telling him next to nothing. Most of what Harry can share is either speculation or learned entirely from Mrs. Figg’s cats. Not to mention how the whole thing ruins Michael’s relationship with Ginny. He deserves the truth.

“I don’t know any more than you do,” Harry says. “Not for sure, anyway. But I think Dumbledore is putting together some sort of resistance to fight Voldemort.”

Michael blinks, furrows his brow, taps his chin. “That would make sense.”

“Ron and Hermione sent me letters all summer.” He swallows thickly, knowing that Michael will make the connection right away. “They told me basically nothing, only that they couldn’t tell me where they were staying or what they were doing or why they couldn’t tell me… They said Dumbledore says it’s too dangerous.”

A sharp inhale. “The Weasleys are part of it,” Michael says. “Dumbledore’s little resistance. The whole family must’ve been…” He forces all the air out of his lungs, closes his eyes for just a moment. “I see. Thanks for telling me. That explains a lot.”

Yeah, it does. Harry gives him another minute of silence before continuing. “Dumbledore also had guards around my home. Invisible. Watching the house, watching me. They had shifts. I could tell by the sound of apparition.”

“You’re sure they were Dumbledore’s?”

Harry nods. Michael relaxes even before Harry elaborates. “Our neighbor Mrs. Figg, her cats told me. I can sort of understand them when I’m an animal. Of course, Mrs. Figg has been our neighbor my whole life, but it’s only after talking to her cats that I found out she’s a squib.”

“He’s been watching you the whole time,” Michael concludes.

“That’s all I can think of,” agrees Harry. “Too much of a coincidence, otherwise. Or she’d have made some sign of knowing me like everyone else in the wizarding world.”

Michael bites his lip. “Do you think… was Mr. Weasley at the Department of Mysteries for Dumbledore? Some mission for his resistance?”

Harry doesn’t think about that, but if he does, “I think it’s likely.”

Michael slowly nods. “Okay… so… what happened that night?”

Harry doesn’t have to ask what night he means. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve been having these dreams… about that corridor, that door. I didn’t know it was the Department of Mysteries. I didn’t even know it was the Ministry. But I’ve been dreaming about it over and over again, I keep trying to get to it, but I never manage to open it.”

He shakes his head roughly. “That night was the first time it was different. I wasn’t just approaching the door, I was- I was the snake. I could see Mr. Weasley under an invisibility cloak – I guess his body heat? Maybe? Or just his scent? And…”

“But it obviously wasn’t an ordinary dream,” says Michael. He doesn’t show any sign of being bothered by Harry’s admission of just what point of view he has in the dream. If anything, he seems sympathetic. “Do you often dream of things that’re happening? Are you an oneiromancer?”

“No,” says Harry immediately. “I don’t think so? No. The only times I’ve ever had dreams like that…” That poor groundskeeper, Voldemort talking to Peter Pettigrew… “It always has to do with Voldemort. My scar hurts when I wake. Only this time, it was excruciating.”

That alarms Michael. “It has to do with him? And your scar hurts? Isn’t your scar where he…?”

“From when he tried to kill me, yeah.” Harry shrugs. “The first time.”

Michael’s shrewd eyes narrow in thought. “What else can you tell me about it?”

“I get, uh… feelings. Like when he’s torturing someone and is really happy, I can sort of sense it…?”

“Even when you’re awake?”

Harry nods. “Sometimes. I don’t get, er, visions, when I’m awake, though.”

Michael glares off into the distance as his mind works. “Harry,” Michael says slowly, “I think we should tell Anthony about you being Tiger.”

“What?” Harry struggles to figure out just what brings Michael to that conclusion. He’s not entirely against it – he trusts Anthony and Terry both – but what takes Michael to that conclusion? “Why?”

“I know you’d prefer no one knows,” Michael says, “but if there’s some kind of… connection between you and You-Know-Who… maybe your scar is cursed somehow, I don’t know, but… if you’re connected to where you’re dreaming about him… do you think he might be dreaming about you, too?”

A surge of terror rips through Harry at the thought. If Voldemort is having similar dreams, who knows what he sees? Maybe he already knows that Harry is an animagus. This cat form of his might already be useless to protect him. He might know where Harry is. Ron and Hermione, Harry’s best friends, are protected in Dumbledore’s hideout, wherever that is, but Michael is just as important to Harry and isn’t. He and his family could be at risk if Voldemort decides to use them to get to Harry.

“Can we stop it?” Harry asks desperately. “Does Anthony know a way to make sure he can’t look into my head like that?”

Michael nods slowly. “I think so. I can’t be totally sure, since I don’t know what exactly is causing those dreams, but Anthony’s family has legilimens in it.”

“Legilimens?” Harry echoes. “What’s that?”

“Mind readers,” Michael says with a little shrug, as if it’s not a big deal. “That’s super simplified but I don’t really understand it, either. All I know is I met some of his extended family once and his grandaunt, or grand- cousin or something, I don’t know what the proper term is, she kind of couldn’t… shut it off? Some use a spell to use legilimency, most of Anthony’s family can do that, though many wizards can’t do it at all, but very rarely there’s someone like her who just does it. All the time.

“So, naturally, the rest of her family learned counter-legilimency. Anthony called it occlumency. It’s the opposite, meant to shield the mind from intrusion.”

“So, if I learn occlumency, I might be able to keep Voldemort out?”

“Maybe,” Michael says. “If there is something connecting your minds, though, Anthony might even be able to learn something about it by using legilimency on you, if you’d trust him to.”

“I trust him,” Harry says immediately. “And he’ll teach me occlumency?” Even without this connection with Voldemort, Harry doesn’t feel okay knowing that some wizards can read his mind. He has no doubt that, even if they aren’t connected somehow, Voldemort is capable of using the spell at least. Not to mention Dumbledore.

“Definitely. We just have to explain why you want to learn, but he’ll help.”

“Then we’ll tell him,” Harry says. It’s the easiest decision he ever makes. If Anthony can teach him to protect his mind, even better if he can stop the dreams… although… it’s only because of those dreams that Mr. Weasley is alive.

“It’s not worth it, Harry,” Michael says, reading the look on his face. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not worth it. If You-Know-Who doesn’t know about that connection, you know it’s only a matter of time until he figures it out. Once he does… who knows what he can do? You wouldn’t be able to hide from him for sure. He might even be able to attack you through it. It saved Mr. Weasley this time, but it also hurt you, and next time it might be worse. You said it’s never been that bad before.”

That’s true. Harry just isn’t used to thinking that selfishly. If it saves someone else’s life… doesn’t he owe it to them, no matter how much it hurts him?

But if Voldemort can get information on Harry through it like Harry is – and Harry has a hard time believing that the connection is so conveniently one way – then not doing anything about it puts Michael at risk. Harry can accept the risk to himself, but not to his friends. He has to learn occlumency.

And if someone like Mr. Weasley dies when he might otherwise have been saved… then on Harry’s head be it. He’s making his choice. The choice to protect Michael.

Harry sighs. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“No, I get it. I’d be tempted, too.”

Harry takes a breath. That’s done. Michael’s right and it would do Harry well not to dwell on the possibilities. “I want to tell Terry, too,” he says, instead of lingering on the subject.

Michael’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. He’s one of your best friends, and I trust him, too. Especially if we’re telling Anthony. He shouldn’t be left out.”

“He’d understand… but thanks. I don’t want to keep secrets from him.”

“Speaking of.” Harry eyes Michael’s bandaged hand. He wants to ask why Michael doesn’t say anything to his friends about what Umbridge makes him do in detention, but he knows that’s not the best approach. “You know they’re worried about you.”

Michael’s good hand moves to cover his bandaged one. He pinkens a little and ducks his head. “…I know,” he admits. He slumps, a little groan on his lips. “It’s just been one thing after another. Bullies in our house – as if the teachers aren’t bullies enough – then Ginny broke up with me, and then this,” he lifts his bandaged hand, “and then the whole thing with Mr. Weasley and you… I just focused on revenge because it’s simple, and because I didn’t know how I felt about anything else. Everything’s complicated, but… punishing someone who deserves it isn’t. I guess… I just didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t, not really.”

“It is complicated,” Harry says mildly. “But I’m on your side. Anything you need me for.”

Michael shakes his head. “You shouldn’t go near Umbridge.”

“What’s she going to do? No way she figures out I’m an animagus.”

A sharp gaze tries to silence him. “That doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous all on her own.”

Harry only laughs. “Michael, you do know who you’re talking to, right? Honestly, making it all the way to the winter holidays without my life being threatened? I think it’s a new record.”

Michael’s frown twitches. He tries valiantly for a moment to stay stern, but the smile is too powerful for him. “I don’t think that’s true. The Ministry tried to kill you before school even started.”

“That’s summer.” Harry waves it off. “That’s an entirely different tally.”

“I hate that,” Michael chuckles. “And I hate that I’m laughing at that. Wow, your life sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

The two share a laugh that fades into a comfortable quiet. Harry thinks they cover most of the pressing issues, and he feels comfortable and safe with a friend, an ally, and a plan to protect himself and his friends.

Michael is good with him. He seems comfortable, as well, though he keeps glancing at Harry’s face almost like he can’t believe Harry is really there, which Harry can’t blame him for. Even so, even though Michael seems fine, Harry has to ask, “And… you’re really okay with this? With me… being Tiger?”

Michael goes quiet for a moment, looking away, trying to find the right words. “…Are you comfortable being called Tiger?” he asks in response.

Harry blinks. “I- yeah, I suppose so.” It’s sort of like how Sirius takes the name Snuffles to stay undercover as a dog, or even just his nickname Padfoot. It’s not really a pet name or even a wrong one so much as a pseudonym. “You could have named me something a lot worse.”

Michael snorts. “Oh, trust me, I was going to. Thank Rosie for that one.”

Harry doesn’t know how true that is, but he laughs regardless.

“Anyway, I don’t…” Michael trails off. He worries his lip. “You’re still Tiger, aren’t you? Sure, you’re not my pet, but you’re still my friend. I don’t see there’s much of a loss, except maybe that once the Ministry isn’t after you anymore, we won’t be able to be together as much. I’m glad we met. I’m glad I convinced Mom to let me buy you.”

Harry winces. “I’ll pay you back…”

Michael just flashes him a bright smile. “You already have.” His eyes find the horizon again, far away. “I admit… I was a little angry at first, but that’s part of why I asked for some space and some time. I was able to think about it and… that’s where I’ve landed. You’re still my friend. You’re still everything Tiger is to me. I just… learned a bit more about you.

“I care about you, Harry. That’s real. It doesn’t much matter if you started out as a cat, because that feeling is still there. And you didn’t really lie to me, or betray me, or anything. You had a choice to keep your distance and keep trying to escape. And even if you didn’t escape, you didn’t have to be my friend. You didn’t have to… be there when I needed you to be there. But you were. That matters more to me than everything else.”

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’m… I’m really glad we’re friends.”

The boys share a small, secret smile, and know they’re okay. They’ve got a lot to do when they get back to school, and a lot of planning to do before then, but this unexpected shift doesn’t break anything. They’re still okay.

[biwarlockofglitter]

What if Nandor uses one of his two remaining djinn wishes to do something about Guillermo becoming a vampire?

[onsunnyside]

:deep breath:

college football player!Ari and cheerleader!reader can have so many hurt/comfort tropes alongside the shmut, in this essay i-

ok but for realsies, injuries!! reader could get dropped during a halftime routine 🥺 ari getting asked out by sorority girls right in front of her 😖 quiet moments where everything's overwhelming but they try to comfort each other even though they get on each other's nerves for days

oh yes !! (drabble below)

your arrangement was exclusive to an extent. both of you were too proud to admit your feelings, which led to some jealous fits (on his part) and tantrums (on your part). you're constantly chased by some lovesick people, and he just has to sit back and watch, and you have to do the same too, especially when he's asked out by the sorority girls.

ari notices the littlest things: aka you limping off the field, trying to hide it with your loud cheers and gleaming smile. since there's a game going on, he can't just drop everything to see if you're alright, but he does keep his eye on you for the rest of the night. he even asks the water boy, jake to get you something to drink.

and after the game when you bring up his act of kindness, well, he just rolls his eyes bc "I'm just saving you the embarrassment and myself from the distraction—even though everyone already knows you can barely take care of yourself, miss spoiled little princess."

he says that as if you didn't grow up the same.

(bc i love frat!ari) he's in a fraternity on campus and lives with the rest of his frat bros while you’re at home with your parents in one of those rich and fancy neighbourhoods. oh, and his family lives next door to you, so you see him over the weekend and holidays, and when he invites his friends for winter/spring break.

it's even worse bc your parents are friends with his, and they constantly have barbecues and brunch, those days you just have to grit your teeth and pretend to tolerate their son, the disgustingly hot, selfish and irritating football captain.

being neighbours leads to several midnight talks, with his window right across from yours, you can see him doing homework at his desk or lying on his bed. perhaps it's because you've known each other for years, but he can read you like an open book.

"Are they fighting again?" He asks, referencing your visiting grandparents downstairs, stirring up arguments with your parents. It was the same every visit, and this winter break wasn't any different.

"Is it that loud?"

"Well, you're in your sulking t-shirt and fuzzy socks." He leans over the railing, the midnight breeze flowing through his balcony doors. "The last time you wore that, you and Andy broke up."

You cross your arms, "We were never together."

"Right, you were just going on dates and fucking in his car."

"And his family's boat." You wince as a loud slam echoes downstairs, followed by several other incoherent shouts. Embarrassment floods your body, all families fight, but you just hated Ari being a witness to your dysfunctionality. Who knows if he’d stoop that low and use it against you?

You've always held your own, and this stupid fratboy isn't an exception.

"No yacht or fancy summer lodge? You're downgrading, princess."

You stare at him for a moment, a wicked smile crawling onto your lips. "You know that one night after you won the home game, and you guys threw a party?"

"And I made you come seven times."

"Yeah, he broke that record."

Ari's smirk falls, a deep furrow settling between his brows. "That prim and proper asshole made you come even once?"

"He did, eight times to be exact. And I couldn't even walk, I had to stay in his big, comfy bed until the afternoon the next day."

"You think being a liar is gonna make me jealous?"

“I’m not lying, but you do seem awfully jealous.”

He clenches his jaw, his unbuttoned flannel flutters open, exposing his hairy, muscular chest. "We’re going for a drive."

“Excuse me?”

"It's either a drive or I hop in through your window again." He leans closer, his voice deep. “Or, you come over and I keep you until your horrid grandparents leave. Your choice, princess.”

[whyrubuyingclothesatthesoupstore]

hey guys wanna see how much I can talk about Sou Hiyori

Anyway it’s pretty obvious that Shin’s weakness is one of the reasons for Midori’s obsession with him, but I think a big part of it is also that Shin was probably the only person to genuinely admire Hiyori. like ever

Everyone else Hiyori was acquainted with either hated his guts or only liked him because they didn’t really know who he was (Shin kind of didn’t either but I’ll get to that). The other participants only knew him for a short period of time, and for half of that time they wanted him dead. The other floormasters were probably more-or-less his equals and had no reason to look up to him. Maple’s love was not only forced onto her, it was also completely blind judging by how she kept talking about how kind Hiyori was and ignored his flaws (the mass murder) entirely.

(I guess the Shin AI also counts as someone who admired him but I don’t think Hiyori cared about him as much as the human counterpart, plus his admiration of Hiyori is almost the same as human Shin’s)

There’s technically also Hinako, but right now the only thing we know for sure about her relationship with Hiyori is that she trusted him enough to think he wouldn’t get her killed. Maybe she hated him and just didn’t think he’d lie to her, maybe she considered them equals, maybe she did look up to him and just wasn’t as fun to mess with as Shin, unfortunately nankidai did not tell me personally. Thought I still don’t think she really thought of him as a role model.

So Hiyori wasn’t really looked up to unless he hid his worst qualities, or unless someone decided to overlook these qualities. But with Shin, he could be more-or-less himself, at least enough for Shin to know he was kind of a creep. And Hiyori’s flaws (not the mass murder. yet) never ended up driving him away. Shin knew Hiyori was a selfish person that enjoyed making him uncomfortable, and probably knew Hiyori was a manipulative bastard as well, but he still stuck with him, not in spite of those flaws, but partially because of them.

Shin didn’t gloss over or ignore anything about Hiyori (except maybe his weak spots), it’s just that even his worst qualities seemed like something that should be admired because they were a sign of strength (which is a sentiment you can see in the game pretty much since the beginning). And I honestly can’t imagine how much that must’ve inflated Hiyori’s ego to have someone who saw him basically as he was, sadism and all, and proclaimed him an anti-hero

(by the way, anti-hero characters are also loved because of how flawed they are)

And the thing is, even after learning who Midori really was and seeing the worst of his flaws (yes, the mass murder), Shin still goes by Sou and wears Hiyori’s scarf. He can’t fully let go of his admiration, and can’t deny Hiyori is an incredibly intelligent person that taught him a lot, even if the lessons that weren’t in programming ended up doing more harm than good.

But here’s another thing, and it’s that the human and AI versions of Shin view Hiyori a bit differently, which is why I think he values the human more. Shin became a lot more bitter as he grew up, and that’s something that the AI is just too out of date for. Because of that, for human Shin there’s a lot of hatred mixed with the admiration. He doesn’t even seem to be bothered when Hiyori dies. It’s not that he’s hiding his emotions, he’s freaking out, but freaking out about the possibility of Keiji getting killed, so by that point the hatred is probably bigger than the admiration. And what did Hiyori say about hatred?

It would actually just make him more invested in messing with Shin! Hiyori wants to be feared, hated, admired, and Shin is probably the only person in the world to give him all of that, and in incredible amounts too, since it’s really easy for Hiyori to get a reaction out of him.

Hiyori “cares” about Shin because of how much Shin cares about Hiyori. He made himself so unlikeable that anyone seeing him as a role model is bizarre even to him.

[yandereshingeki]

Milk, Honey, and Sugar

Yandere Eren x Reader

Milk, Honey, and Sugar Masterlist

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Word Count: 4.6k

Content: Yandere Content, Slight NSFW, Eren obsessing over Reader, Bird Owner Eren, HitchAnnie + Yumihisu + Arumika(?) if you squint

Content Warnings: Yandere behavior/content, M! masterbation, Obsessive behavior, sort of minor theft(?), Eren being kind of a creep in general

Summary: Eren has been with you since childhood, and you’ve always considered him one of your closest friends. He however, sees you differently. Much differently.

So sorry if this seems a little rushed or if i dragged some parts on for too long ;; I promise it will get more interesting as chapters continue!

Chapter 1: Obsession

Obsessive.

Selfish.

Possessive.

Eren didn’t want to admit it but, that’s what his love for you was. Obsessive, Selfish, and Possessive. He knew it was. He always knew it was, ever since that quiet puppy crush he’d had on you since middle school began to blossom into what was practically an addiction to you. It had become more obvious too, the older he got.

In high school, he would steal your chewed-up pens and pencils, claiming he’d give them back later but never following through with his promise. He’d learned the kind of perfume you liked to use, and bought some for himself just so his pillow could smell like you at night. He’d even gone as far as stealing a small tube of chapstick from you, just so he could use it knowing that your soft-looking lips had once done the same.

His obsession with you continued—all through highschool—while you stayed oblivious, not realizing the way his eyes had seemed to always light up around you, or the way his hands had always seemed to linger far longer than what would be considered normal. You also never noticed the way his eyes would flicker down to your lips sometimes when you talked to him, sometimes even lower.

Today was no different, his eyes watching your every move while you turned the steering wheel of your car to enter the fast food drive-thru. Mikasa and Armin sat quietly in the back seats, scrolling through instagram while they waited for their food. Eren sat in the passenger seat in the front, next to you. He eyed you while you leaned slightly out of the window, ordering the same thing that the four of you always got for lunch during school days. He let his eyes wander downwards until reaching your thighs, only stopping because you had moved your head away from the window and began to drive again to reach the pick-up window.

You drove around the corner of the building, pulling up, grabbing the grease-stained paper bags, and then placing them on Eren’s lap. He gave a quiet “Thanks” before reaching his hand into one of them, pulling out a soggy french fry and eating it whole. In the back, Mikasa pouted and scolded him, “Eren, don’t eat everyone's fries again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never done such a thing.” He spoke in a sarcastic tone, pulling out another fry and popping it into his mouth. 

“Yeah, sure you wouldn’t.” You said, rolling your eyes at him and letting out a small giggle at the childish pout he now had on his face.

“Hey!” He pouted, looking into the back seat, “Armin, have I really ever eaten all of our fries before?”

Armin nodded, too focused on whatever the hell he was doing on his phone to look up to him. 

“No! I always leave a few fries for everyone else!” 

“Yeah, like 3.” Mikasa spoke with sarcasm.

“Of course, one for each of you” He said, sticking his tongue out at Mikasa like a toddler.

“Alright kids, stop arguing or i’ll turn this car around and give the food back.” You interrupted right before Mikasa was about to retaliate. She sighed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head before looking out of the window. Eren kept pouting like a child, then deciding he wasn’t done eating the fries either. 

You drove into the campus parking lot, parking underneath a tree and putting the car in park. The car engine sputtered to a stop as you pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened the driver’s side car door to get out. Eren got out holding the greasy and now almost completely fryless bags. Mikasa and Armin got out after, walking to the back of your car to get their book bags out of the trunk.

An old oak wood picnic table was drilled into a slab of concrete, seated nearby the same tree you parked under. The four of you took your usual seats at the table. Eren and You on one side, Mikasa and Armin on the other. The paper bags of food were emptied out, two of the three fry cartons were empty, the only one remaining being a medium sized container. Four paper-wrapped burgers were laid out, only after you lazily skimmed the small paper labels taped to them. 

You checked your phone as you unwrapped your burger, holding it tight with one hand while you used the other to tap away at your device. “Class starts in like.. 2 hours i think,” you paused, taking a bite out of your lunch, “That should be enough time to drop by the library, right?”

Armin nodded his head, biting into his burger as well. “What d’we need to go to the library for?” Eren chimed in, his mouth full of food.

“Armin asked me yesterday. He wants to check out a book—somethin’ about ocean stuff.” 

Armin frowned at you, “It’s a book about the Bathypelagic and Abyssopelagic zones.” You raised an eyebrow at him and he glanced down at his half eaten burger, “they’re the Twilight and Abyss zones in the ocean.”

“You’re such a marine biology nerd, min.” You said with a smile. The wooden table creaked as you reached forward to ruffle his hair, sitting back down. “Says you, Veterinary science nerd.” he retorted, pushing his glasses up.

The two of you stuck your tongues out at each other, making Mikasa giggle. You picked up a french fry and tossed it at Armin, the fry hitting him in the face and landing on the table. 

While you and Armin quarreled, and Mikasa watched with amusement, Eren watched from your side. Elbow propped up on the table, and his head held up on his hand, he looked between you and Armin. As much as Armin was his best friend, him acting this friendly with you always made his blood boil. It made his blood boil when anyone got overly friendly with you. He wanted you to be his. Why couldn't you be his?

He wanted to be the only one you could see, the only one you could touch. He wanted to be the only one around you. His thoughts drifted, losing focus on the real world around him. He imagined how it would be, to be the only one to hold you, the only one to kiss your head and sleep next to you at night. And in return, you’d be the only one allowed to run your hands through his hair, the only one allowed to braid it and play with it to your heart's content with your oh so soft hands. It would be perfect. The two of you, in your own world. He wished you could see that. He wanted you to see that.

“Eren?”

Just the two of you.

“Hellooo? Eren? You there?”

Forever.

“Eren, stop spacing out dumbass!” you pinched his nose. He blinked once, and then twice, snapping out of his daydream and returning to the real world. He hummed at you as confirmation that he was listening. 

“We’re all done and ready to go to the library.” You motioned to Mikasa and Armin, who had already thrown their left over trash away. “You done eating?”

‘Shit. How long was I in dreamland?’ He thought to himself. “Yeah, I'm done.” 

He crumpled up the paper wrapping that had previously held his cheeseburger and tossed it to a trash can nearby. 

“Amazing job, captain of the highschool basketball team, lets go now.” You said while standing, stepping out from where you were trapped between the wooden bench and table and placing your hand on top of Eren’s head. You took out your keys and unlocked your car as Mikasa and Armin made their way to it. Eren hesitated, but got up anyways. He used his hand to cover a majority of his face to hide how red he was turning, finally making his way to the car with you following close behind.

At the library, Mikasa and Armin went off to search for the books that Armin was looking for. You and Eren went a separate way, seating yourselves at an empty table. Eren had placed his backpack on the table toyour right, his arms wrapped around and resting his head on it. You sat next to him, scrolling mindlessly through instagram while you both waited for Armin and Mikasa to finish looking. 

After a painfully long 5 minutes, Eren decided to pass time in a way other than napping. He placed his shoe on top of yours, looking at your face to see a reaction. You glanced at him for a moment before placing your foot on top of his. Eren only placed his foot on top of yours again. 

The two of you continued your childish and slightly aggressive game of footsies, until an unfamiliar face interrupted by clearing his throat and sitting down at the table you were both at. You gave him an awkward smile, unsure of how to react. Eren only glared.

The stranger moved his chair closer to yours, “Hi there.” He placed his head on his hand, elbow pressed into the table with his body turned towards you. 

��Um—Hi.” You glanced at Eren, confusion present on your face. Eren gave you the same confused gaze, with his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the stranger. You moved your chair closer to Eren’s, leaving barely an inch between the two of you. It made his heart flutter, and filled his tummy with butterflies.

The stranger acknowledged your antisocial behavior, but pushed on anyways. “Sorry if I was interrupting anything. I just wanted to say that I think you're really pretty.” He gave you a small grin and moved the hand he was resting his head on to the back of his neck.

You smiled awkwardly in return and let out a quiet “oh, thanks.” 

Eren, although looking calm on the outside, was fucking fuming on the inside. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and he glared at the stranger with irritation. He stretched back, one arm in the air and the other holding it behind his head. Whenhe lowered them down, he took the chance to wrap an arm around you. This time, when his hand gently squeezed your left shoulder, he didn’t feel any butterflies in his stomach. All he felt at the moment was possessiveness. 

The stranger glanced at Eren’s arm around you, quickly interpreting it as a sign that you were taken by him. He gave a small wave to you, saying that he has to get going. As he walked away, Eren let his shoulders untense and his expression soften. Relief. He felt relieved. That is, until you leaned your body into his and whispered a small ‘thanks.’ Then, the butterflies started again.

Just when he was mentally preparing himself to make a bolder move on you than he usually would feel comfortable doing—moving his hand to your waist—he felt a hand on his right shoulder. Armin and Mikasa were back.

As much as he was disappointed, part of him was eager to leave. Leave so you won’t run into any more strangers. 

“Ok, we have a half-hour until class starts, so i'm just gonna drop everyone off.” You told everyone, standing up and moving away from the table. Eren nearly pouted at your now absent touch as stood up next, lazily tossing his backpack over his shoulder. Armin nodded and went to check out his books, while the rest of your group made their way to your car.

Eren sat in the back of the lecture room, as close to the door as he could get. As much as he had a passion for neurology, his major, all he could think of at the moment was you. His professor’s ramble became nothing more than a white noise as his focus turned more to his daydreams. 

As always, his daydreams focused on you. His long hair fell into his face and his head rested on his hand, eyes unfocused and staring down at the white board while he imagined and fantasized about a life with you.

“Pay attention, Jaeger.”

He snapped out of his thoughts, focusing down at his professor who happened to notice his particularly spacey look. His professor turned herself back to the whiteboard, continuing to lecture about whatever it was she was lecturing about. Eren let out a small sigh, pulling his phone out of his pocket and making sure it was hidden from his professor. He needed attention from you.

At the moment, you sat in class, typing away at an essay about the bacterias in a dog’s mouth. When you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you pulled it out and unlocked it, smiling when you saw Eren’s name in the notifications.

‘hi’

‘hey, Ren’

His heart fluttered in his chest. He always loved it when you called him that nickname.

‘I’m bored’

‘that sucks, i’m trying to write an essay’

‘entertain me, im more important than some end of the school year busy work, arent i? :(’

You smiled down at your phone. This was something he did quite often. Texting you in the middle of class because he was “bored” was always his excuse, but you could always tell that there was more than just that single reason. Especially because he always chose to text you instead of someone else. 

Always you instead of Connie or Sasha, who usually spent this hour of the day at home battling each other in video games or trolling people on internet forums. Always you instead of Mikasa or Armin, who’s professors gave mercy to them and decided not to give them any school work after finals. You never bothered to ask why. It wasn’t much of a problem, so why bother?

‘if you stop bothering me, i’ll let you come home with me after classes’

‘rlly? u promise??’

‘promise. Mika and Armin can come too’

‘❤️❤️’

You exhaled, putting your phone back in your pocket and continuing to type on your laptop. To be honest, you thought his clinginess was cute. It was something he’d kept throughout his entire childhood and into adulthood. Even if it meant that you would have to deal with him being at your side almost all of the time, you were ok with it. It was nice to have someone else there at times.

You don’t exactly know why he insisted on being with you all the time though. You’ll find out soon enough though.

When Eren decides he’s had enough of you being far too distant from him for far too long. 

Classes couldn’t have been over sooner for Eren. The second he heard the sound of the bell, signaling the end of the hour, he was gone. He rushed out of the back doors and nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran excitedly to meet you by your car. Just the mere thought of being near you always made him giddy like a little kid.

Once he laid eyes on you, he was over the moon. He was always able to hide it well but the butterflies you always gave him just from being with him was an addicting feeling.

You met eyes with him and gave him a wave. You were leaning against your car, scrolling through your phone while you waited for him. When he ran over, you unlocked the car to allow the both of you inside. Now, you just had to wait for the other half of your quartet. 

You continued scrolling through your phone, ignoring the very obvious emerald green boring through the side of your head. 

“Is there something you need, Ren?”

Your question left him flustered and stumbling on his words, realizing he’d been caught red handed. “I—no, no, i’m just—trying to see what you’re looking at is all!” He sputtered out, his cheeks turning a light shade of red. You giggled at his embarrassment, turning your phone to show him that you were just scrolling through twitter.

He smiled nervously, looking away when you turned your phone again and gave your focus back to it. 

If it wasn’t obvious, he most definitely was not staring at your phone. He often got distracted by you, staring at your face, eyes tracing over your cheeks and lips. No matter how many times he saw you, he couldn’t get enough. 

He just wanted to take you away and lock you away where only him and him alone could see your pretty face.

The two back doors of the car opened, and Mikasa and Armin greeted the both of you. You twisted your body around to face them and gave them a smile. A little while after you had finished texting Eren, you texted them about the plans and they agreed. So now, here the four of you were, on the way to your apartment that you shared with Hitch, Annie, and Historia. 

Thankfully for you, Historia was often at her girlfriend’s dorm, and Hitch and Annie often left to either hang out with Reiner and Bertholdt, or go on small dates with each other. That meant you more often than not had the apartment to yourself, which worked out perfectly with how often you had your small friend group over.

A few minutes later, after a short car ride with whatever song decided to play when you put your music on shuffle, you arrived at your apartment. You lived more in an apartment house rather than at an apartment complex, so you were able to park nearby. 

The four of you exit the car, everyone following you to the door. You took out your keys and unlocked the door, opening it wide and waltzing inside and kicking off your shoes. The other three followed in suit, then following you to the living room where you sat on your cheap second-hand couch. 

As always, Eren sat next to you. Mikasa sat on your other side, while Armin opted to sit on the floor and lean his body against the couch. You grabbed the TV remote, turning it on and switching to HGTV so that Armin and Mikasa could critique the way that people would “flip” houses—which is something that they did quite often, surprisingly. You handed the remote over to Mika, choosing to lean onto Eren while you browsed through your phone. 

Eren’s heart nearly lept out of his chest when he felt your body lean into his. He lifted his arm up and draped it over your shoulder, allowing you to rest more comfortably. His eyes trailed from your phone to the top of your head, and he decided to rest his own head on yours. You smiled, relaxing into him. 

A few hours passed, Eren eventually pulling out his own phone and you occasionally joining in on Mikasa and Armin’s debates about how a house should have been revamped instead of the way the professionals on TV did it.

While you were in the middle of critiquing how one of the houses looked compared to when it began, Eren excused himself to the bathroom.

He walked down the long hallway that had 3 doors on either side. 4 bedrooms, 1 closet, and 1 bathroom. He walked past the bathroom and to your room instead, quietly opening the door and stepping inside. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but it was so difficult not to when the opportunity to have something small of yours was right there. 

You didn’t know, but he did this a lot. Every other time he came to your house, he always left with a “souvenir” in his pocket to add to his ever growing collection of small things and knick knacks that came from you. Sure, you noticed he’d borrow things but then never return them, but you didn’t know he was really stealing things. 

He looked around your room, his eyes flitting around your room as he searched for something to take. He walked up to your desk and eyed all of the different items scattered across it. Sitting close to the edge was a small hair tie, still with some of your hair tangled into it. He picked it up, pocketing it and leaving your room almost as quietly as he had come in. 

To make sure he didn’t seem suspicious, he went into the bathroom and waited a few minutes, before flushing the toilet and washing his hands quickly to give the illusion that he really was just using the bathroom. After he finished, he left the room and made his way back to the couch, seating himself right where he was before with his arm around you.

You smiled and let yourself lean on him again, continuing to watch what was playing on TV with Mika and Armin.

Several episodes later, you finally peaked at your phone to see that it was currently 4:54. Jesus, you had gotten way too distracted. 

“Guys, it’s almost 5.”

Mikasa nodded and turned her head your way, “It's getting kind of late. We should go home then, I guess. Right?” 

You nodded at her, “Annie, Hitch, and Hisu usually get home around 5:30, so I have time to drive you home if you need.” 

Next to you, Eren nodded and stretched his arms up above his head. Armin stood up, stretching his arms behind his back as well. Mikasa stood up next and walked to the front door where all of your shoes sat in a messy pile. Armin followed behind her, kneeling down to put on his shoes. You and Eren were next, the two of you putting on your shoes rather quickly. 

The four of you walked to your car and sat in their designated seats. Eren next to you, and Armin and Mikasa together in the back seats. 

The drive was rather quiet this time, the car radio turned down so that you could just barely hear it. Mikasa looked out the window, Armin looked at his phone, and Eren looked at you.

First, you reached Mikasa and Armin’s apartment complex. Mikasa had asked Eren if he wanted to come inside and join them for dinner, but he declined, saying he had to get home to his bird, Jiyuu. They bid you and Eren goodbye and walked to their shared apartment.

The next stop was Eren’s house. The house his parents had helped him pay for. His driveway was long and confusing, so you parked on the street close to his door. He waved at you as he stepped out, feeling his heart sink as he watched your car drive away from his home. 

He walked inside, hearing a loud squawk come from Jiyuu, welcoming him home. He walked to his cage, opening the door and letting him come out. He kissed his feathery head and moved his hand to scratch at the bird’s crown. Once Jiyuu was satisfied, he flew off to one of the two large tree stands on either side of the living room.

Eren smiled at his bird and walked to the kitchen. He was tired, and didn’t want to cook anything that would require too much effort. Jiyuu began to make popping noises from the living room, giving him the idea to just make popcorn for himself. Sure, it wasn’t the healthiest, but it was still something. 

He swung his pantry door open and grabbed a flat bag of microwave popcorn out of the larger cardboard box it was stored in. He tossed the bag into the microwave and started it. In the other room, Jiyuu started to mimic the sound of the microwave button beeps.

After 4 minutes of listening to the soft hum of the microwave and the popping of the popcorn, the microwave beeped to signal that his “meal” was done. He pulled the bag out and opened the cabinet up that held all of his bowls. The bowl he chose was blue and plastic—to him, it was his “designated popcorn bowl.” 

The bag of popcorn steamed when he opened it and poured it into his bowl, all of the still unpopped kernels falling to the bottom. He took the bowl, throwing away the paper bag and walking to the living room. He sat down and pulled his phone out, scrolling through his instagram while he took handfuls of the buttery popcorn to shovel into his mouth. 

Jiyuu flew to where Eren was on the couch and silently begged for a piece of popcorn. He rolled his eyes, picking out a piece of popcorn that seemed to be the least buttery and salty, and gave Jiyuu a small piece of it. The bird munched on the treat happily, holding it with both his beak and foot to make sure he ate every bite. 

After the popcorn was finished, Eren went back to the kitchen and placed the bowl in his sink. He stretched, cracking his back and leaving the kitchen again to go to his bathroom. 

He stripped out of his black hoodie, grey sweatpants, and white boxers before turning on the shower. As he was picking up his clothes to place them in the hamper, he remembered the hair tie he stole from you and pulled it out of his sweatpants pocket. His cheeks turned red almost instantly.

The affect you had on him was so embarrassing. The way that just a hair tie from you could make him so hot and flustered. 

He placed the hair tie on the bathroom counter and stepped into the steaming shower, letting his hair get soaked and stick against his face. He looked down at himself, now realizing the fact that he had a fucking hard on. He let out a sigh, contemplating whether or not he should fix his “problem” or not.

His thoughts of you began to spiral out  of control, thinking about how pretty you’d look underneath him in his bed. He couldn’t help himself as his hand moved further down towards his v-line. 

It was so unfair, how many times he’d done this while thinking about you. It was unfair how many years he’d spent pining after you just for you to remain fucking oblivious. To be honest, it was starting to get annoying. He did so much for you, and all he wanted in return was for you to feel the same. For you to stay with him, be with him. 

He let out soft moans while he practically fucked his fist to the thought of you. Just as he was beginning to feel himself tip over the edge, an idea popped into his head.

Maybe he could have you. All to himself, forever.

Just the thought of it did push him over the edge. He covered his mouth and let out what was almost a relieved moan into his hand. He let go of himself, panting slightly and looking down at the shower floor.

Even though his body was tired out, his heart was beating out of his chest with excitement. 

If he wanted to have you, he’d just take you. The idea sounded simpler in his head than he knew it would be if he actually carried through with it, but still. You could be his. 

You could stay in the room down in the basement. He rarely used it. Stay there because he knew you wouldn’t be too fond of having every freedom you had of seeing your friends and family ripped away from you, but you could get used to it, right?

All it would take is a little bit of getting used to. A little bit of “training” maybe. Then you’d be all his. 

Forever.