#if you think common is his third language down the line you could even argue this is him

[ride-a-dromedary]

My favourite part of Halsin's speech pattern are the deliberate pauses he takes when attempting to search for a word or phrase, but especially when you know he's doing the work to consider what he really wants to say, and then decide how to phrase that thing as delicately as he possibly can.

[margridarnauds]

❤️ and 👓 for the fanfic asks :)

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

Most recently?

When in doubt, there was one language that Raphael understood better than Common, better than entreaties, tenderness, and professions of love, all of which were useless in the face of efficiency and its favorite bedfellow, ruthlessness. That language was none other than the language of the contract, the clean lines of infernal laid out on parchment, so simple on the surface, so tangled beneath.  

I like it because it really gets to the heart two things: (1) is that this is how Raphael works and (2) this is how Kitrye KNOWS Raphael works. She has no illusions about him at this point (younger Kitrye, some, namely because she really WANTED to believe that he was redeemable or Secretly Good because he loved her, but Duchess of Avernus Kitrye, none). She gets that the way to get him to agree to something isn't via an emotional route -- he loves her, she knows he loves her, they've been through enough at this point in the timeline that that's absolutely beyond doubt, but it isn't in his nature to prioritize that over his own sense of pragmatism -- you get him via a legal argument. Get it in writing, put it into the fine print, argue your case, and tell him how it benefits him to agree to it. She loves her husband enough to know him.

If there's one thing I want people to take away from this one-shot, which is actually intimidating since it'll be their first time really meeting Kitrye (I intend to write out their earlier dynamic, but that is EASILY going to be a novel length fic), it's that she really DOES get him. And it's sad for me on some level as the one who PLAYED Kitrye through her character development in the actual game, because like. The Kitrye that I knew in the beginning is gone to some extent, she'll never be that optimistic paladin again, but also. She's happy. \

For all time favorite lines, from an unpublished chapter of Door #2:

“Hey, everyone has their vices. Increases the appetite.” He paused. “It used to be a way for people in the village to make a little money on the side. Before every meal, they’d make a toast to Miranda, put a little glass on the side of the table for her. Waste of good alcohol, if you ask me. What the woman needs is a goddamn blunt.”  

Against his own will, Ethan laughed. He wasn’t supposed to be laughing - Rose was in danger, Mia was dead. Everything was at risk, everything. But he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, unless he wanted to count being knocked out and dragged around by Heisenberg (which he didn’t), and he’d worked enough late-night shifts to know what that did to anyone’s sense of humor.

“What?”

Ethan was able to compose himself enough to say, in the most solemn voice possible, “In life and in death, we pass the bong to Mother Miranda.” 

“Okay, now that’s just awful, even for me.” Heisenberg chuckled. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Yes I got Heisenberg's VA to sign a print with "In life and in death we pass the bong to Mother Miranda. It's one of my most prized possessions."

Anyway, in context, this is the first time in the fic where someone's actually DIED -- we're truly getting to a point of no return as we plunge into the third act. Tensions are high, there's a feeling of "oh, people might actually die in this", everyone's getting tired, and this is one of the first signs that Ethan and Heisenberg might actually be compatible with one another long-term, whether it's a friendship or a romance -- they have the same sense of humor. This is a rare lull in the storm that allows them to figure out how the other one works, and it's one of the first times that Heisenberg is really seeing ETHAN when he isn't angry or stressed (I mean...he is both. In context. But he's also so far gone down the Exhaustion Pipeline that he can't even be that angry or stressed.)

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

No focus we die like ADHDers

If I could consistently focus I would have, like, ten fics finished by now

One thing that's been useful for me, whenever I remember to use it, is a desktop-based program called 4thewords

It gamifies the writing process, incentivizing you to write both quickly and consistently, with a series of "monsters" to beat with time limits that range to something like, say, 99 words in 10 minutes to 5000 words over the course of 6-7 hours. There are a number of mini quests, where you can get some sort of reward for defeating a set number of monsters or gaining a certain amount of resources, as well as an overarching main quest which I also consistently forget about.

There is a subscription fee after a one month trial period ($4 a month), but, honestly...for ME, it's worth it. Because just about all my output for the last year's been because I had 4thewords breathing down my neck.

You write in-browser, you can organize your work into individual projects or add tags to them (I only usually do it to indicate whether a fic's completed or not, tbh), and it keeps track of both the word count and how much time you've actually spent writing on a given fic. (As you can see...the most recent one-shot has been...murdering me.)

I still get distracted, since I often go in-between fics while I'm trying to burn through my daily wordcount (444 words is what I try to do, at a minimum, each day), but it's MUCH more manageable. When I'm really focused on it and I have a fic idea I'm really into, I can burn through 30k words in a few days.

Which means...yes....when I'm not playing my RPG....I'm...writing....with a RPG.

[cosmiclove-heavenstruck]

Midnight Quidditch Games | Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x Gryffindor!Reader (written with a female reader in mind, though the gender is not stated)

Wordcount: 3800 words

Warnings: none, just fluff and friends-to-lovers

Summary: Fred and George come up with the idea of hosting illegal Quidditch Games for all four houses every Friday night. Harry convinces Reader to play with him and they end up on the same broom.

a/n: No Voldemort Au, set in Harry's fifth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (Based on a headcanon by @/ murphcooper on tumblr)

Friday was my favourite day of the week, and there were two reasons for that: One, it was the start of the weekend, and two, we played Quidditch.

Up until fifth year, the most I had to do with the popular wizarding sport was cheering at the official school games for the Gryffindor team and attending the Quidditch World Cup in 1994. Then Fred and George came up with a very illegal, yet very exciting and fun idea, which was to host unofficial Quidditch games in the middle of the night that any student could attend. Whether it were First Years who could barely fly, or simple people that never made it onto their house's team, anyone was welcome.

The twins had planned it the first two months of their sixth year together with Quidditch fans from the other houses and had created lists for every common room, which wouldn't be readable by the teachers or Filch.

“It's illegal! What if something happens? What if someone gets hurt, how do you want to explain that to Dumbledore, or worse, to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione argued as soon as Fred and George had prompted their idea to us one Sunday evening.

“I'm disappointed. Do you really think we would work that sloppy?”, Fred asked.

“The house elves are in,” George explained. “Which means free food and free healthcare, all in one!”

“Awesome,” Ron said, and he should be proven right.

The only rules to attend were the duty to remain silent and to come in your pyjamas, just for the sake of it. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws would be playing against Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, Lee Jordan would be commenting as always and because Madam Hooch wasn't available, Hermione would be our judge. This was decided unanimously.

The first two games had occurred at the end of November, and they had been a complete mess. We had to raise the number of players on each team so everyone who wanted to play fit in, which led to three Keepers, six Chasers, four Beaters and two Seekers for each house. Furthermore, there had been a dozen of first years who couldn't fly yet and who had to be taught by voluntaries.

Those first two Friday nights I had spent with Lee, Hermione, Luna and Dobby on the commentary stand, cheering and eating chocolate biscuits. Once in a while, I had thrown a biscuit in the air for Harry to catch.

Because of the bone-chilling cold and pitch-black darkness brought by the Scottish winter, Fred and George had invented glass bulbs which carried bright orange, warm fire and hovered over the Quidditch pitch.

With the first Friday of December approaching, the excitement grew bigger and it was basically the only topic during every meal. Now that the rules and positions had set and the First Years could fly, we were awaiting the first serious game – as serious as playing Quidditch in pyjamas with Hermione as a judge could be.

“You have to play, too,” Harry said to me during lunch on Friday. My friends had tried all week to persuade me to play instead of only keeping Hermione company, while I had constantly declined.

“Yes, come on,” Ron agreed. “We know you can fly, you played with us this summer.”

“No, no way.” I shook my head and pulled the pumpkin juice jug closer.

“Why not?”, Harry asked, covering my glass with his hand. I raised my eyebrows, but he only grinned, which made my stomach tingle. But I glossed over the unwanted feeling and shoved his hand away.

“Because all positions are filled. And besides that, I would be a terrible Chaser,” I answered. “Or a terrible anything, really.”

“You could play as a Seeker,” Hermione suggested and poured herself a drink. “You're good at noticing details.”

“But Harry and that boy from third year are playing as Gryffindor Seeker,” I reminded her, cutting my toast in half.

“You could fly with Harry,” She said plainly. I stared at her with wide eyes. I should had known the moment I had told Hermione about my not-so-tiny crush on Harry that it had been a bad idea. Now she did what I should had expected: Trying to set me up with him.

“No, I – no.”

“But I wouldn’t mind,” Harry said. “And if you don't like it, I can drop you off at the stands again. Come on Y/N, say yes.” He nudged my shoulder, looking at me with sweetest puppy eyes. I couldn't say no to him, he knew that. I sighed.

“Fine.”

A content smile lit up on his face. “Brilliant.”

Around half past nine, we made our way out of the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, as well as a dozen other Gryffindor students had their brooms shouldered, following me and Hermione through the dimly lit corridors.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I whispered, tapping the Marauders Map, which soon revealed Hogwarts’ grounds, ink lines flowing over the parchment. Filch was strolling around in his office, and so was Snape. McGonagall’s ink dot hovered in the East tower of the Fourth Floor. “Everything’s clear, but keep quiet,” I informed the others.

Hermione linked her arms with me.

“How are you?”, She asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Shut up. What was that at lunch?”

“Oh, come on, I just said what you were thinking. Everybody knows you have a thing for each other,” She said, and I quickly turned to make sure Harry was still talking to Dean and Ginny. Hermione chuckled. “I made a bet with Ginny that you will kiss after catching the Snitch together,” She added.

I swirled back around. “You what?”

“But Ginny thinks you'll snog in a broom closet afterwards.”

Before I could reply anything, Harry had caught up with us.

“What are you two whispering about?”, He asked, leaning closer so I could smell his deodorant.

“Nothing,” I said and was glad that the darkness hid my tinted cheeks. Hermione let herself fall back, leaving Harry and me alone at the front of the group.

“You're a terrible liar,” He said.

“Says you. Remember last year when we had detention with Snape –”

Harry wrapped his left arm around my shoulders, pulling me unintentionally closer, and placed his hand over my mouth to stop me from talking any further.

“You promised you'd take that to the grave.”

I grinned and pulled his hand away, though his arm stayed around me.

We made it out of the castle without any inconveniences, thanks to Peeves, who – on orders from the twins – created some chaos in the trophy room and distracted McGonagall.

We were the first to reach the pitch, and Harry unlocked the door under the stands with the key on the necklace around his neck, which led to the changing rooms and the spare brooms. Fred and George had stored the fire bulbs under a loose floorboard and were now freeing them so they could fly over the pitch. Hermione directed her wand towards the sky, sending out a Muffliato Charm, then winked at me and climbed up to the commentary stand with Lee.

In the meantime, the other houses arrived; the Hufflepuffs were followed by a tiny body of house elves carrying fast food on tablets over their heads. They spread over the stands, consorting with the students watching the game and providing them with hot meals and drinks.

“Welcome back everyone!”, Lee's voice echoed over the pitch and the crowd cheered. “And also welcome to everyone new here who wants to play or just likes to break the rules.”

“Hello from me too. We have some new players I want to introduce,” Hermione continued. “Marina Florence playing Keeper for Slytherpuff, Arthur Mitchell deputizing for Gryffinclaw’s Chaser Demelza Robbins, who is currently stationed in the hospital wing, and Y/N playing Seeker for Gryffinclaw together with Harry Potter.”

“That's ridiculous! Since when are we playing in pairs?!”, Draco yelled out of the crowd of Slytherin players.

“Since I'm making the rules, you daft idiot!”, Hermione called back, and laughing echoed over the field. Ron's language was clearly leaving a mark on her. “Now get on your brooms, everyone!”

“Make sure you don't slip off your broom in those silk pyjamas, Malfoy, ” Fred snickered loudly, and Draco held up his middle finger.

Slowly, the huge crowd of players on the pitch flew up into the air, positioning themselves on the right spots. I turned to Harry, who climbed on his broom. That was the part I had avoided to think about all afternoon: How would we fly on that thing together?

My heart drummed so loudly against my ribcage it was a miracle he couldn't hear it. We were friends, I reminded myself. And I would not ruin this friendship for the sake of some stupid feelings.

“Come on, Y/N,” Harry said, stretching out his hand. I grabbed it, and he helped me to climb onto his Firebolt, so that I was sitting in front of him. His fingers gripped around the broom stick, not very far from where I had placed my hands.

“You alright?”, He asked and I nodded.

“Brilliant,” I said, and he chuckled. He then wrapped his left arm around my waist before he kicked us off the ground and the Firebolt shot through the cold night air. My back got pressed against his chest, his knees squeezing my thighs, and out of shock, I held onto his arm around me.

I hadn't flown since last summer, and even then it had only been on Ron's old broomstick a few feet above the earth. This here was the complete opposite: Harry's Firebolt was a hundred times faster, and it barely took us three seconds to be the ones flying the highest over the stadium.

“I got you, everything's fine,” Harry said somewhere close to my ear as he had noticed my hand clenched around his arm, and a warm shiver ran down my spin. I looked down on the Quidditch pitch.

“It never looks that high when I’m down there,” I said.

“Are you afraid of heights?”, He asked, but I shook my head.

“No.” Not with you. I could feel his heart beating against my back and absently stroked over his hand on my waist, until Hermione's voice ripped me out of my thoughts.

“Okay, I want a fair game and no injuries, is that clear? And show some respect to the youngest players! Now ready, steady, GO!” With a wave of her wand, the trunk with the Quidditch balls snapped open and the Quaffle flew high into the air, followed by two Bludgers. For a short moment, I saw the Golden Snitch, then it rushed off into the darkness.

“So, what do we do now? Any secret strategies?”, I asked.

“No,” Harry answered, placing his chin on my shoulder. “We just wait and watch.”

A tingling warmth spread through my body at the subtle touch. Gently, Harry steered the broom around the pitch, while the others beneath us played.

“Katie wins the Quaffle – passes to Montgomery – Rick close to score, come on – YES, Gryffinclaw scores 10 points!”, Lee bellowed and loud applause erupted. “And Slytherpuff in possession – Blaise with the Quaffle – Josephine Gordon from Hufflepuff takes over, excellent Chaser that girl, and rather attractive – OW, I'm just stating facts!”

Hermione had smacked Lee on the back of his head.

“Anyways, Blaise in possession once again – now First Year Conan Ivory – Smith overtakes – and he scores. Ron, look at the Quaffle, not at Hermione – OW! – But Gryffinclaw still leads – Ginny overtakes – fights off some Slytherins – hey, careful Harry, Bludger coming your way –”

Harry quickly leaned over me and the Firebolt dropped a few meters, dodging the Bludger rushing over our heads. George (or Fred?) darted after the ball, calling a quick “Watch it, lovebirds!” at us, and hit the Bludger towards a Slytherin Chaser.

The other twin was close behind, shouting “Less snogging, more seeking!”

“Shut it!”, I yelled. For Merlin's sake, did everyone knew about my crush? Was it really that obvious for everyone except Harry? Not that I wanted him to find out – he would be embarrassed, he didn't think of us as anything other than friends.

Harry's arm slipped from my waist and he cleared his throat, but a broomstick did not provide much space, wherefore his chest was still pressed against my back and I could feel his rather fast heartbeat.

“Do you, uhm... want me to drop you off?”, He asked.

“Oh. Uh, no,” I said, trying to turn so I could face him, “I like it, but if you want to –”

“No! No, I just thought...” Harry’s eyes danced over my face like they had never before and we were quite close.

“ – Applebee has the Quaffle - and that's a score! Sixty to sixty!”, Lee called, and Hermione blew her silver whistle. I ripped my eyes off of Harry and looked down to the commentary stand. “Now, we’re gonna have a short break, because Dobby thinks you're gonna starve otherwise. All the first and second years are asked to go back to their dorms, because it's almost midnight – don't complain to me –”

Harry carefully steered his Firebolt back to the ground where he landed near Ron and Ginny. I climbed off and was glad to be spared an awkward conversation, because Ginny grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the pitch. The sudden loss of Harry's warm chest made me shiver.

“Now, have you ever thought about making out in a broom closet?”, She asked, a mischievous grin on her reddened face. I rolled my eyes at her.

“Hermione told me about the bet, so don't even try! No one's gonna make out in a broom closet,” I said.

“Except you and Harry,” Ginny replied. I opened my mouth to talk back, but was interrupted.

“What’s going on with you and Harry?” Cho had caught up to us, snatching a plate with fish and chips from a tablet an house elf carried through the crowd. “I have watched you, it's adorable, honestly.”

“First off, there's nothing to be adorable,” I said and stole a fry from her plate, “and second, you are supposed to watch the Snitch, not us.”

“So is Harry, but he only has eyes for you.” Cho smiled and tapped my nose with her finger. Ginny giggled and ate a piece of fried fish. In the same moment, Hermione breathlessly jogged up to us.

“What – were – you – waiting – for?”, She panted. I furrowed my brows.

“Huh?” Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“You were this close to kiss him, why didn't you do anything?”

“Is my love life this much more interesting the Quidditch game?!”

All three girls answered “Yes” in union.

“But he doesn't feel the same way for me!”, I argued. “We are friends –”

Ginny grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. “Do friends look at each other that way? I don’t think so.”

Harry stood a few feet away with Ron, Seamus and Dean, though he seemed not to listen to their conversations and instead stared over at us. At me. When he realised he had been caught, he waved shyly and almost spilled his pumpkin juice. I waved back at him before turning to the girls again, all of whom were looking temporising at me.

“Oh, I – I don't know. Even if you're right, I can't just kiss him out of nowhere on his broom.”

“No, you gotta snog him in a broom closet so I get my Galleon,” Ginny said smugly, and Hermione nudged her with her elbow and looked at her watch, before blowing her whistle again.

“Everyone back on their positions, break's over!” Then Hermione shot me a serious look. “Get the boy, we're all done of you pining over one another. Ron can get the other boys to crash somewhere else, if you need the dorm.”

“Hermione!”, I gasped, but she was already rushing back to the commentary stand.

“Good luck,” Cho said, and Ginny winked. I glared at them before making my way over to where the Gryffindor boys stood. I saw how Ron said something to Harry, patted his shoulder and flew off.

Harry turned to me, smiling. His hair was even messier than usual due to the wind, and he had put on a black hoodie over his pyjamas. He looked cute and hot at the same time, and I couldn't quite believe that he was supposed to like me back.

“Do you want to – or?”, He asked.

“Yeah,” I smiled and he got on his Firebolt, making space in front of him for me.

“Good. I mean –” He cleared his throat as I climbed on his broom. The next second, we were high up in the air, his chest against my back again.

“Okay, guys, game's on again! Go!”, Hermione shouted and waved her wand at the Quaffle, which flew upwards and was caught by Ginny instantly.

“And we're back – Katie passes the Quaffle to Valentina – She flawlessly dodges a Bludger – Back to Peters, almost made it onto the Ravenclaw team – and he scores! SEVENTY TO SIXTY.”

I took a deep breath and leaned back against Harry, watching the game unfold. He propped his chin back onto my right shoulder, like an unspoken routine.

“I think I'm gonna play again next Friday,” I said out of the blue.

“Really?”, He asked, sounding surprised. I smiled. The crowd underneath us cheered.

“Yes. If you save me a place on your broomstick.” I turned to look at him, and he smiled brightly at me. We were as close as earlier, maybe even closer. I held my breath, until I noticed something small and golden buzzing through the air behind Harry, illuminated by one of the fire bulbs.

“There!” I pointed at the Golden Snitch, and Harry's head spun around to assure himself.

“Do you trust me?”, He asked.

“Of course,” I replied. Instantly, his hand was back around my waist and he yanked the Firebolt around.

“ – Seamus throws the Quaffle to Dean – Dean passes Nott – and he scores! NINTHY TO EIGHTY FOR GRYFFINCLAW! And Potter seems to have spotted the Snitch, Draco, Cedric and Cho close behind – Come on, show them what that Firebolt can do!”, Lee's voice roared from somewhere deep down, but my eyes were glued onto the Snitch: It whirred through the ice cold December air and up to the left ring of the Slytherpuff team.

Malfoy had almost caught up to us; even though the Firebolt was the fastest broomstick on the market, it was obviously slower when carrying two people instead of one.

The Snitch twirled around the pole, then dropped down and headed for the floor. Harry followed, and now we where almost vertically flying downwards. Because of the sudden shift of direction, I swore loudly and clenched my hands tighter around the broom.

“I won't let you fall, I promise,” Harry called over air rushing past us.

“I know, but a warning would have been nice!”, I yelled back, and he chuckled.

The weight of two people on one broomstick also meant that we got dragged downwards way faster, which meant we were outdistancing Malfoy. The Golden Snitch took a sharp right turn and now buzzed two meters above the ground to the other side of the pitch.

“You have to catch it!”, Harry yelled.

“WHAT? No, I can't –”

“Yes, you can! I have to steer!” And hold you. But he did not say that. I swore under my breath and carefully loosened one hand from the broomstick, stretching it forward. The Snitch was inches away from my fingertips and I pushed myself up, Harry's grip around my mid tightening. The silver wings touched my fingers, I stretched my arm further and in the same moment my hands clasped around the tiny, golden ball, we fell forward.

“ – And that doesn't look – Oh, Potter and Y/L/N are on the ground. I can't really see, if someone caught the Snitch –”

As one tangled mess, we landed on the frozen lawn, rolling over one another and stopping with Harry half on top of me. My whole body ached and I would definitely get bruises from the fall, but that was something I could worry about later. I caught the Snitch!

“Shit, sorry, fuck. Y/N, are you alright?” Harry's face hovered over me, a bloody scratch on his cheek. I grinned happily and held up the golden ball.

“Yeah, more than alright.”

“Y/N caught the Snitch! TWOHUNDRED AND FORTY TO EIGHTY! Gryffinclaw wins!”, Lee bellowed and the crowd cheered and applauded loudly. Harry held out one hand to help me up, and I took it.

“I'm sorry, I know I promised, but I couldn't hold you any longer and –”

“Shut up.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. My hands found their way into his raven hair, and he hugged my waist, pulling me so tightly his fingers almost touched his own rips with the opposite hand. I kissed him, and he was kissing me back; it felt like someone had lit a firework in my heart, and for one marvellous moment, we were the only two people in the whole wide world.

Then the other players landed on the field, and we broke apart, catching our breaths. We were both grinning, and I felt drunk from the cold night and catching the Snitch and kissing Harry.

The raven haired boy bent down to kiss me once more, this time softer, and he intertwined our fingers before leading us over to our friends, where Ginny flicked a Galleon into Hermione's open hand.

“Took you long enough,” Ron said, who had both his and Harry's broomstick shouldered.

“Well, they got around in the end,” Cho added, leaning against Cedric, his chin propped on her head. “Sleepover at the Ravenclaw dorm?”, She added, and we all nodded in agreement.

While Fred, George and Lee collected the fire bulbs and Quidditch balls, and the house elves cleaned up the dirt with a snap of their fingers, we made our way back to the Hogwarts castle:

Ron alongside Hermione, followed by Seamus and Dean arm-in-arm, Cho with Cedric, one arm around her waist, Ginny carrying a tired Luna on her back, and lastly, Harry and me, holding hands.

“You know, I'm glad I agreed to play with you,” I said. Harry smiled.

“Yeah, me too.” He pressed a kiss on my cheek. In spite of the shivering cold, I had never felt more warm and comfortable than in this moment.

[bluemoon-writer]

Childhood Friends AU: Marikim part 4

In which two dumbasses fall in love

AN: You don't have to read the previous parts to understand this one, but it might add a little context. parts 1-3 are only headcanons about their friendship though, there's nothing romantic included unlike in this part.

Read them here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

-Kim catches feelings first

-he doesn’t realize it at first, but ever since Lila accused him of having feelings for Mari he started wondering what dating her would be like

-they would be doing something mundane like homework, or walking to school together, and he would start to wonder how different it would be if they were dating.

-he assumes they would hold hands, maybe give each other quick kisses when no was looking

-and he starts to think that he wouldn’t mind holding hands with Marinette or kissing her

-just as friends tho, because he totally does not have a crush on her

-but then, Ondine confesses to him

-and his first thought is ‘but I like Marinette’

-he says that out loud though

-“oh shit, I’m sorry Ondine. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t know why I said that, because I totally don’t have a crush on Marinette…”

-Kim is in denial

-Ondine is a little sad, but she’s also a total bro

-meaning if she can’t be with her crush then she’ll make sure her crush is at least happy

-Kim doesn’t make it easy though, because he’s also a bro

-once he accepts that he genuinely likes Marinette, he doesn’t even consider the possibility of them dating

-because Marinette likes Adrien

-Kim’s heart aches a little when he remembers that

-so there’s only one thing for him to do

-get Marinette and Adrien together

-Ondine agrees to help, but secretly has an ulterior motive

-which is: get Marinette to fall for Kim while Kim is trying to get her and Adrien to date

-it’s a mess

-but together they make a rough plan

-the first step is to get Marinette to actually hold a normal conversation with Adrian

-they’ll have her practice on Kim to start

-kim wanted to team up with Alya initially, but Ondine convinces him that it’s best if they work separately

-bc Ondine doesn’t want Marinette and Adrien to actually get together. Alya would take the planning seriously, while Ondine is not

-they rush over to Marinette’s house after swim practice

-Kim has a key to Marinette’s house so he doesn’t even knock

-he just pops into the bakery to hug Sabine, wave at Tom, and grab some snacks

-Ondine marvels at how close they have to be for Kim to be this comfortable with Marinette’s family

-they run up to Mari’s room

-again, Kim doesn’t knock, he just walks in and flops on her couch

-Ondine awkwardly walks in with a wave bc she doesn’t really know Marinette and doesn’t want to seem rude

-Marinette had been expecting Kim but is surprised to see Ondine

-her shipper brain starts wondering if she should help them get together?

- “We’re going to help you get together with Adrien!” Kim announces.

-Marinette collapses back in her chair with a groan

- “Ugh, not you too! Maybe I’m happy just watching him from afar.”

“No offence Mari, but that makes you sound like a creepy stalker,” Kim argues.

“I can’t even talk to Adrien properly! Much less get the courage to ask him out!”

“That’s what we’re going to help you with!” Ondine interjects. “With our help, you’ll be able to talk to Adrien without a problem!”

-Marinette’s curiosity is piqued

- “How?”

-Marinette reluctantly agrees with practice on Kim, not convinced that it’ll actually work

-they sit on the floor facing each other, with Ondine in the middle like a referee

-they tape a picture of Adrien to Kim’s face

-Kim does bad impressions of Adrien’s voice and Marinette can’t collect herself well enough to hold a conversation

-not because she’s nervous but bc she keeps laughing at Kim’s impressions

-Ondine is in serious coach mode tho

-she pretends to blow a whistle every time they mess up

“Come on team! I know you can get this right!”

-eye holes are cut in the picture of Adrien so that Kim can see

-but that just makes Marinette laugh harder

-a mouth hole is added so Kim can eat some snacks

-Kim tries to impersonate Adrien while eating

-does a dramatic hair flip and chokes on a cookie

-Marinette is sobbing from laughter and Ondine has given up on whistling

-eventually (after they run out of snacks) they calm down

-Ondine throws away the picture of Adrien

-Things are serious now

-Kim takes Marinette’s hands and gives her a gentle smile while leaning forward slightly

“Hey Marinette,” he says in a low voice

-and Marinette’s heart skips a beat. Just once.

-but there were no thoughts of Adrien in her head

-once she does think of Adrien doing this, then she turns beat red

“uh, h-hey A-A-Adrien! How’s you do? I-I mean, h-how do you? How are you!”

-Kim is starting to blush now because Marinette is just so cute

-He wants to bop her on the nose

-so he does

-Marinette blushes even harder, but it ruins the roleplay

“KIM! Adrien isn’t going to randomly bop me on the nose!

“He might! I’m trying to prepare you for all possible events!” Kim argues to save his ass

-Ondine lowkey feels like she’s third wheeling

-but on the upsides, the longer she watches Marinette and Kim interact, the more she ships them and the smaller her crush grows

-soon she’ll be a full-time Marikim shipper

-after that first instance, Marinette can’t imagine Kim as Adrien

-Kim insists that she just needs to “focus on the blonde part of his hair”

-but it doesn’t work

-their conversations turn into inside jokes about each other

-eventually hunger drives them downstairs for dinner

-Ondine is invited to stay and the conversation turns to swim practice

-eventually Ondine stops feeling like a third wheel

-the next step is to have Marinette interact with Adrien in a group setting

-so another study group is scheduled

-in the days leading up to the study group, Kim starts lowkey hyping Marinette up to Adrien

-when Marinette gets an A on a test Kim is holding it up to show Adrien how smart Marinette is

-when Marinette stumbles through a few lines in another language Kim shouts to Adrien, “Dude, did you hear that? Marinette is BILINGUAL”

-when Marinette makes it to class just before the bell rings, Kim nudges Adrien and goes, “Isn’t Marinette cute when she’s running late?”

-whenever someone compliments Kim on something he goes, “Psh, Marinette is twice as good as me. DID YOU KNOW THAT ADRIEN?”

-Adrien assumes this is Kim’s weird way on trying to become friends, by talking up one of their mutual friends

-so, he starts talking up Marinette to Kim

- “did you know Marinette is so talented that Jagged Stone asked her to design his album cover?!”

-this leads to full-blown conversations about Marinette in the hallway

-which actually leads to them becoming friends?

-through talking about Marinette, they realize they have a lot in common

-both like sports, video games, jagged stone, and Marinette

-Ondine overhears Kim hyping Marinette up to Adrien in the hallway and decides to copy him

-She starts coming over every day after practice under the guise of ‘helping Marinette learn to talk to Adrien’

-really it just devolves into the three of them joking around after an hour

-but during these ‘sessions’ she starts hyping Kim up

- “Kim nearly broke a world record at practice today! I swear he’s going to the Olympics!”

-Kim always returns the compliment tho

- “If I’m going to the Olympics then so are you! You’re just as good!”

-which further convinces Marinette that they like each other

-Finally, that Saturday is the study group

-its Max, Nino, Chloe, Adrien, Kim, and the newest addition of Ondine

-(if you want to know how the study group started read part 3)

-Marinette spends the morning nervously cooking snacks

-Kim and Ondine come over early to ‘help’

-Kim knows how to cook, but he spends most of the time stealing bits of batter

-Ondine doesn’t know how to cook, so Marinette shows her the ropes

-This helps Marinette calm down too

-Marinette is more nervous than the last time their study group met because this time she has the ulterior motive of trying to get closer to Adrien while last time she was focused on studying

-the study group gathers in the living room of Marinette’s house

-Kim and Adrien are next to each other and Marinette is strategically placed across from them

-this way if Marinette gets too nervous to look at Adrien, she can look at Kim instead and pretend she’s talking to him

-the first couple minutes of the study group are filled with laughter and snacks as everyone piles into the living room

-but eventually they quiet down to do some independent studying

-Adrien is great at science so Marinette figures she’ll ask him to explain one of the concepts listed on their science study guide

“Hey Adrien,” Marinette starts confidently, however, almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth she starts to get cold feet. She glances at Kim who gives her a subtle thumbs up and a wink. Marinette swears the blush that starts to cover her face is just from being nervous about talking to Adrien.

Adrien glances up from his book, “What’s up, Marinette?”

Marinette glances back and forth between Kim and Adrien before settling her gaze on Adrien.

“C-could you explain how the potato is used as an example of osmosis? I don’t understand it.”

-Adrien is happy to help, and launches into an explanation

-Marinette so is high of the rush of dopamine from successfully asking Adrien a question that she’s able to ask two follow up questions after Adrien is done speaking

-Nino pinches Max to keep him from intervening

-Kim is proud of Marinette, but he can’t help but also be a little sad because she’s never been that excited to simply talk to him

-however, what he doesn’t know is that after Marinette successfully talks to Adrien, she finds her thoughts not centered around Adrien, but around Kim

-She knows science isn’t Kim’s best subject and her thoughts keep drifting from questions to ask Adrien to how Kim is doing.

-she doesn’t realize it yet, but her feelings for Adrien have shrunken a little which is partly why she found it easier to talk to him

-the other reason is that she’s just become more confident in herself due to the ‘practice sessions’

-when the study group ends Kim and Ondine stay behind to help clean up

-Kim is hiding the fact that he’s bummed about Marinette and Adrien and Ondine realizes this so she tries to distract him

-she sticks two pretzel sticks in her mouth

“Guess what I am?”

“Uh, a walrus, duh.”

“No! I’m the giant spider from Harry Potter.”

Kim chokes on a laugh from surprise, “What the hell? How was I supposed to guess that?”

-Marinette watches them mess around and becomes certain that they like each other

-but now she feels…off about it.

-together the three clean up quickly

-the weekly Dupain cheng/Le family dinner is tonight, so Kim isn’t leaving after study group, but Ondine gets ready to leave

-Marinette invites her to stay for dinner though

-even though she feels weird about Ondine and Kim getting together she’s still gonna do what she can to help their relationship

-bc she’s also a bro

-also, Ondine has been around so much the past month that she’s practically a permanent fixture in Marinette’s life

-she also doesn’t knock anymore when entering Mari’s room and is on a first name basis with her parents

-Ondine is honestly glad to have become such good friends with Marinette

-After the success of the first study group, more are planned

-it becomes a biweekly event

-Ondine is worried at first that this might backfire and Marinette and Adrien will actually get together

-but she notices that while Marinette talks to Adrien more she also blushes less

-in their practice sessions Marinette has also stopped gushing over Adrien

-what convinced Ondine for sure that Marinette’s crush on Adrien was gone though was when a new exclusive photoshoot of Adrien came out and the first thing Marinette commented was the design of his outfit

-how did things get to this point?

-well, interacting as friends and focusing on becoming friends made Marinette see Adrien in a platonic light

-Marinette just doesn’t realize her crush is gone bc it was so ingrained in her that it became a facet of her identity

-she has black hair, blue eyes, and a crush on Adrien

-it’s when Marinette has zoned out while staring at Kim that Ondine decides they’re ready to move to the next step

-it’s time for Marinette and Kim to go on a fake date

-the official reason is so that Marinette gets practice before asking Adrien out

-the unofficial reason is that Ondine is 90% sure that Marinette is also crushing on Kim now, and she thinks that if they’re in a romantic setting then she’ll realize the reality of her feelings

-and so, after school, instead of going home like usual, Marinette and Kim go to the movies instead to see the newest romantic comedy

-Ondine secretly trails after them with binoculars, just to make sure everything goes well

-Kim pays and refuses to split the price, much to Marinette’s dismay

-as the trailers play, they get into a mini popcorn fight and waste half their popcorn

-a bunch of it ends up stuck in Marinette’s hair

-Kim, heart pounding, holds Marinette’s chin to keep her head still as he gently pulls popcorn out of her hair

-The darkness of the theater is the only thing hiding Marinette’s blush.

-Kim leans closer, focusing on getting all the little pieces of popcorn

-Marinette’s gaze is locked on Kim though. Their faces are only inches apart.

-Suddenly, Kim looks down and realizes the position they’re in

-He’s frozen, unsure of what to do.

-He wants to lean in and kiss her, but he thinks she still likes Adrien

-Adrien, however, is the last thing on Marinette’s mind. The only thing she can focus on at the moment is the warmth of Kim’s breath on her face.

-The moment is ruined however, by a group of people jostling past them to get to their seats

-The movie begins shortly after, but both teens are distracted by other thoughts

-They head for the park afterwards

-They’re hearts stopping each time their hands bump into each other.

-Ondine finally gets fed up and texts Kim to hold hands with Marinette

-Kim looks around in confusion, unsure where Ondine was watching them from

-But he does what she says

-Marinette looks up in surprise

-“We’re on a date, so we should hold hands, yeah?” Kim says with a blush.

“O-oh! Right, yes!”

-Both of them look away and blush

-Their conversation on the way to the park is a little awkward as neither of them are sure what to say until Kim blurts out, “By the way, I think Ondine is stalking us.”

-This launches them into a game of “spot Ondine without her noticing.”

-They fail miserably, completely unable to find her

-But they have an amazing time guessing where or who she might be

-Each time their guesses get more and more ridiculous

-Which has them laughing uproariously in the middle of the park

-This garners the attention of several people, in particular a blonde model who is in the middle of a photoshoot.

-Kim walks Marinette home, and, unable to stop himself, kisses her on the cheek before leaving

-Marinette can only stare at Kim’s back as he leaves

-Half an hour later, her mom opens the door to take out the trash, and scares Marinette out of her reverie

-Marinette is supposed to confess to Adrien the next day, but when she goes to bed the only person she can think of it Kim

-(she dreams about him too)

-The next day, Marinette asks Adrien to stay behind after class so she can ask him something

-Kim and Ondine wait anxiously outside the classroom

-Kim is torn between excitement for Marinette and heartbreak for himself

-in the classroom, Adrien gazes at Marinette expectantly

-He’s not sure what she needs from him, but he’s ready to help

-Marinette breathes in deeply, mentally preparing herself utter the three simple words.

-But they don’t come out.

-They can’t come out, and Marinette realizes with shock that it’s not because she’s nervous.

-In fact, she doesn’t feel anything at all except a sense of wrongness

-For some reason, the only person she can imagine confessing to is Kim

-her eyes widen as the realization sets in

-She doesn’t like Adrien anymore

-She likes Kim

----

AN: There we go! The long awaited Part 4 is finally up a year later. Don't worry, part 5 won't take as long. Though, it probably won't be up until after I finish finals and move home.

I didn't intend for Ondine to have such a big role, someone mentioned that I forgot about Ondine in the last part, and I slapped myself for forgetting her, so I made sure to start with her and then it just snowballed until she was part of the crew lol.

Also, I discontinued the taglist because it got too big and I got overwhelmed.

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Relationship Stahl ~ Charlie Conway x Adam Banks

A/N: Hi all, I'm on my Mighty Ducks bullshit, so sorry not sorry. This is just for fun. It's postcanon - could be canon with the show. I don't specifically go against anything. But yeah. Enjoy this fic for a movie that came out over 25 years ago. *Posts fic and runs away*

Summary: Charlie and Adam are idiots. And they finally figure that out thanks to Charlie's pen pal.

Characters/Pairings: Charlie Conway/Adam Banks, Charlie Conway, Adam Banks, Connie Moreau, Guy Germaine, Fulton Reed, Gunnar Stahl

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: Language ( I think that's it)

^True love if I ever saw it ;)

Charlie grinned at his laptop as he fired off his enthusiastic response to the latest email from his pen pal before flipping open his phone. Instead of scrolling through his contacts, he dialed the number he knew by heart.

“I literally just dropped you off,” his best friend laughed when he picked up on the third ring.

“And I couldn’t bear to be without you,” Charlie quipped back.

“What do you want, Charlie?”

Adam’s voice was undeniably fond and it made Charlie’s stomach flutter.

“How do you feel about going to the Wilds game on Saturday?”

“How’d you swing those tickets?”

Charlie shrugged even though Adam couldn’t see him. “I know a guy. So are you in? We can grab drinks with some of the ducks afterwards.”

He could practically hear Adam shaking his head and it made Charlie’s smile widen. He knew what his answer would be.

“Yeah, I’m in. Of course I’m in. I’ll pick you up at 5?”

“Sounds good.”

“Are the other ducks coming?

“I’m gonna see who’s around.”

“Alright. Can’t wait. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Charlie smiled at the question in his voice.

“Of course. I’ll call you after work.”

“Good night, Charlie.”

“Night. Banksy. Text me when you get home, alright?”

“Will do.”

Adam was wearing a Minnesota Wilds Jersey and a pair of tight-fitting jeans, when he knocked on the door of Charlie’s house.

He checked his watch. He was early.

He was always early.

Charlie probably wouldn’t be ready for another half hour, so he was surprised when the door swung open – at least until he saw Casey Conway’s smiling face.

“Adam, honey, how are you?” she cooed as she pulled him inside and into a tight hug.

“I’m great, Mrs. Conway. You’re looking lovely this evening.”

She swatted at him, but he saw her genuine smile. “Always a charmer.”

“How are you? How’s the diner?”

“I’m great. The diner is doing well. Business has really increased since we reopened after the renovations. We still have our regulars, but we’re getting more of a younger crowd too.”

“That’s awesome. And so well deserved.”

Adam could still remember when Charlie had sprinted into their college dorm room talking a mile a minute. He’d gleaned that there was a long lost uncle who’d passed and left his mother a rather large inheritance, and she was going to use that to buy out the diner that she’d been helping run for years.

Charlie had been so excited he’d nearly fell over because he forgot to breathe. Adam had spent the summer helping to paint and decorate the newly renovated diner.

“It’s been way too long since you’ve come over for dinner. Are you free next week?”

“Would Tuesday work?”

“Perfect. That’s my early night. And I’ll make your favorite pot pie.”

Adam grinned at the ceiling as he rocked back on his heels.

“You’re the best, Mrs. C.”

“Well, I won’t hold you up. I’m afraid I’ve already made Charlie late. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“See you then.”

She gave him another quick hug before scurrying out the door.

Adam sighed as he checked his watch.

“Hey, Spazaway. Hurry up or we’re gonna be late!” he yelled up the stairs.

“I’m coming! Relax, cake-eater!”

There were several thumps as Charlie hopped on one foot to get his shoe on and then a slam of his bedroom door, but by the time he made it downstairs he looked perfectly disheveled in a cool way instead of a sloppy way. Classic Charlie. It’d be irritating if it wasn’t so attractive.

“Hey, Banksy. See, 5:15 right on time.”

“I told you I’d pick you up at 5,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but we both know that at this point you tell me you’ll pick me up 30 minutes before we actually have to leave. So technically, I’m 15 minutes early,” Charlie grinned and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Adam huffed but couldn’t argue. Charlie was right. He’d learned a long time ago never to trust Charlie to be punctual, so he had started telling him earlier times in the hope that they’d actually arrive places before the events were over.

“It’s gonna be a great night.”

“Are any of the others coming?”

“Connie, Guy, and Fulton. Everyone else was busy.”

“That’ll be fun,” Adam admitted as he climbed into the car.

Secretly, he’d kind of been hoping that it would just be him and Charlie, but he shoved that thought away. It would be good to go out with some of his oldest friends.

“Yeah. It will.”

The five ducks were happily chatting and catching up, laden down with food as they waited for the game to start.

Guy was the first to notice the name after the national anthem.

“Do you think Stahl is the same one we faced from Iceland?”

“I don’t know,” Adam shrugged. “How common of a name do you think it is?”

“Remember when you had that massive crush on Gunnar, Charlie?” Connie teased before taking a sip of her soda.

“I didn’t have a crush on Gunnar.”

“You so did,” Fulton laughed, nudging. “How many hours did you spend watching tapes of his signature shot?”

“That was research,” Charlie insisted, though his cheeks were slightly pink.

“Yeah, you definitely needed to spend all that time on just Gunnar Stahl and not the rest of Iceland,” Guy faux agreed with an exaggerated wink.

Adam remained quiet. He remembered Charlie’s “not a crush” all too well. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but he’d been jealous at the time.

At first it had been, look at this shot. Or look at this play.

And then after the games it was, he’s so nice and cool. He called me ‘Captain Duck’.

Charlie hadn’t shut up about him until they were on the plane home and he promptly knocked out on Adam’s shoulder. Number ninety-nine didn’t have it in him to be jealous when he got to have a sleeping Charlie Conway on top of him.

Tuning back into the conversation after his quick jaunt down memory lane, Adam realized they were still ribbing Charlie.

“Okay, fine. I might have had a little crush on him. I was young. I was still figuring myself out,” Charlie admitted.

“Figures your first crush would be on a hockey player,” Fulton pointed out.

“Who said he was my first crush?”

Adam swore Charlie’s gaze darted to him, and he felt his cheeks heat up.

“Well you literally never talked about anybody else like that before him,” Guy said.

“Except Banks,” Fulton added.

The three of them looked at Adam and he knew he was bright red. They all knew he’d had a crush on Charlie when they were kids. And that he still sort of had a crush on him. He could kick Fulton right now, and he would have if Charlie wasn’t sitting in between them.

“I still talk about Banksy all the time.”

“I’m right here,” Adam finally managed to grumble.

Charlie grinned and nudged him with his shoulder, before throwing an arm around him.

“Are we really gonna sit here and argue over who I did or did not have a crush on twenty something years ago?”

“Yes.” The other three nodded emphatically.

Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Alright fine. Yes, I had a crush on him. But laugh all you want. You have that crush to thank for these seats,” Charlie reminded them smugly.

“What do you mean?” Adam choked out as the others gasped.

Charlie looked at the four flabbergasted ducks in confusion.

“Gunnar got me the tickets. I thought you guys knew.”

“We didn’t know that,” Guy nearly shouted.

“You kept in touch with him all these years?” Connie asked softly.

Their captain shrugged.

“We were pen pals. And now we email every few weeks.”

Adam’s heart clenched in something that felt a lot like jealousy – a lot like when he was 14. He turned his attention to the game, Stahl was on the ice. Adam couldn’t help but track his movements. It had been years since he moved like that. Another squeeze.

It was going to be a long night.

Charlie noticed the instant Adam went rigid, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, he was the one being teased for a 20 year old crush that only lasted for a minute.

He tried to nudge his best friend and get a response, but Adam’s eyes were glued to the game. That wouldn’t have worried Charlie, but the tight set of his jaw was nothing like his usual relaxed joy at the games. That was one of the reason Charlie had made it a point to go to as many hockey games with Adam as he could. He loved to observe him while he watched the game. But right now, his expression was stony.

When Gunnar managed a hat trick early in the third, Adam abruptly excused himself, saying he needed to go to the bathroom.

“What’s up with Banks?” Fulton voiced Charlie’s question aloud.

Charlie shrugged. “No clue.”

Connie rolled her eyes.

“Boys. He’s jealous.”

“Of what?”

“God, Charlie, are you that oblivious?”

His brow furrowed and he stared at her.

“What are you talking about?”

She huffed and shook her head.

“Nope. If you can’t figure it out after 25 years, you’re on your own.”

Adam was less grumpy, but still pretty sedate when he returned with only a few minutes left to go.

“You alright?” Charlie asked in a low voice as he settled back into his seat.

“Yeah. All good. Long line for the bathroom.”

Charlie didn’t believe him, but shrugged it off as the Wilds managed a late game comeback and beat the Anaheim Mighty Ducks and they were all on their feet cheering.

The five of them waited outside the side exit where the players would come out for Gunnar. The former Iceland captain signed a few autographs before he caught sight of Charlie and waved, flashing him a big smile.

“Good to see you, Captain Duck!” he shouted as he pulled Charlie into a tight hug.

“Good to see you too, Gunnar. Nice playing tonight.”

“Thank you.” Gunnar turned his attention to the rest of the Ducks. “It’s good to see you all too.”

There were various murmurs of agreement, before an awkward silence fell.

“Drinks?” Charlie finally suggested.

“Definitely.”

Drinks helped. Everyone loosened up by the second round. Even Adam, though he was not that talkative. He could see why Charlie would have kept in touch with the Icelander. He really was quite charming.

That did not help.

When Charlie stepped away from the table to get another pitcher, Gunnar slid into his vacated seat. Adam panicked for a moment. Guy and Connie were deep in conversation and Fulton had gone to the bathroom, it was just the two of them.

“You know, Captain Duck still never shuts up about you.”

“Still?” Adam asked, fixated on the word.

“At the Goodwill Games, when we spoke for the first time at the closing ceremony, Charlie wouldn’t stop raving about you. How he’d been worried about you being hurt. He even glared at Sanderson. And in his letters, he always talked about you. In every single one. I think I knew more about how you were doing than I did about him.”

“Sorry?”

Adam had no idea how to respond. Gunnar chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s sweet. I’m glad the two of you have made it this far. You’re a good pair.”

Adam’s jaw dropped and he floundered for an answer.

“Thanks?”

“Thanks what?”

Of course Guy chose that moment to resurface from his conversation.

“For saying I played well back in ’94,” Adam lied unconvincingly.

Charlie’s return halted the conversation, and Adam couldn’t help but think about what Gunnar had said. Why would Charlie be talking about him? Did Gunnar think they were together? Why did Gunnar think they were together?

His head was spinning. And it definitely wasn’t the alcohol. Per usual, it was all Charlie Conway’s fault.

Charlie was playing with the edge of his jersey when Adam pulled up to his house.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” he offered.

“Yeah, sure,” Adam agreed.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.”

Charlie had been expecting him to bail. That was what Adam did when things got tense between them, so his easy agreement caught him off guard.

He pulled two beers from the fridge and took a moment to steel himself before rejoining Adam in the living room.

“It was a great game.”

“Yeah. Ducks were smart when they got Gunnar.”

“Definitely.”

“So, why didn’t you tell any of us that you were still talking to him?”

The former captain tried to gauge Adam’s mood, but he was surprisingly nonchalant.

“I didn’t really think about it. When we were writing actual letters, I’d get one maybe three times a year. So it just never came up. And then we started emailing and it was just something I did. It never seemed like a big deal.”

“So it’s not because you’ve been carrying a torch for him all these years?” Adam asked shyly.

The laughter that bubbled out of Charlie was loud and somewhat alarming.

“Of course not, Banksy. I mean, yes, I had a crush on him. For what seems like five seconds at this point in our lives. He’s just someone I liked to keep in touch with. Another person to talk hockey with. Honestly, I thought we’d last like two letters and then never talk again.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“No. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him since we left the games. This isn’t some big torrid affair I’ve been hiding. It’s a pen pal. Who got us tickets to a Wilds game.”

“That was pretty cool.”

“Are we good?”

Adam nodded. “We’re good. Sorry, it was just unexpected.”

“That’s fair. I really thought I had told you guys at some point over the years. Sorry I sprang it on you… unintentionally.”

“No worries.”

It was comfortable for a bit. Charlie put on ESPN and they caught the highlights from the other games that had been played. Somehow he ended up leaning heavily into Adam’s side.

“Was he your first?” He asked as the commentators went over the same play for the third time.

“Was who my first what?” Charlie asked, letting his head loll to the side so he could look at Adam without pulling away.

“Was Gunnar your first crush?”

It came out in a sigh.

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess.”

“Charlie.”

“I’m serious. Guess. I’ll even give you 5 questions to try and figure it out.”

Charlie wasn’t going to admit it without a fight, and Adam knew it. Curiosity got the better of him.

“Fine. Was your first crush a hockey player?”

“Yes.”

“Someone on our team?”

Charlie nodded, sitting up so he could watch him more closely.

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“Peewees or Goodwill Games?”

“Met him in Peewees. Realized I had a crush on him during the Goodwill Games.”

“Did he go to Eden Hall?”

“Yes. I even roomed with him at one point. That’s five. Time to guess.”

He was certain he’d know now.

“Fulton?” Adam asked innocently.

Charlie hung his head.

“You cannot possibly be this obtuse, Banksy.”

“What? You met him in Peewees, he was with us at the games and at Eden hall and you roomed with him sophomore year.”

“Christ,” he huffed. “It’s you, Banksy. Not Fulton. God, definitely not Fulton. He’s like my brother. It’s you.”

“Me? You had a crush on me?”

“I mean, can you call it a crush if it lasts 25 years?”

Adam’s jaw hit the floor.

“You still have a crush on me?” His voice was small, so much like that 10 year old who’d been forced to leave the Hawks. But there was hope.

Charlie, momentarily panicked before resigning himself to his fate. It had to come out.

“No, Adam. I don’t have a crush on you now.”

His best friend deflated slightly.

“I’m in love with you now. I have been for as long as I can remember. Even if I didn’t realize it. And I know you probably don’t feel the same way –“

“I do. Feel the same way. God, Charlie. I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

“Seriously?”

Adam nodded once, resolutely before Charlie’s lips were on his.

The kiss was quick and hungry and it left them both wanting more.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Charlie demanded in a whisper as he pulled back, touching their foreheads together.

“Why didn’t you?” Adam sniped back.

“Touche. God so much lost time.”

“We didn’t lose anything, Charlie. We were together. That’s never a loss.”

“I love you, Banksy.”

“I love you too, Charlie.”

A/N: Yeah so I love them. I hope you enjoyed this. I stand by my theory that Charlie had a brief infatuation with Gunnar Stahl. Thanks for reading!

[hello-that-happened]

How She-Ra, Wrong Hordak, and I Deconverted in Six Steps

Alright y'all, it's time for my fourth essay exploring how She-Ra and the Princess of Power (SPOP) used Christian themes and parallels to provide a humanist message.

My first post named 9 major messages of SPOP that contradict Christian fundamentalism.

My second gave the historical context of how our generation and Noelle's are growing up to overthrow Christian fundamentalism after it became such a powerful enemy in the U.S.

My third discussed the parallel between Horde Prime’s rage at Hordak’s self-naming and the Christian idea that everyone is an instrument of God’s will.

Now I want to discuss how Adora's and Wrong Hordak's journeys defections from the Horde parallel my story, and potentially others', of leaving Christianity. Adora and Wrong Hordak experience many of the same stages in his journey out of the Horde as many ex-Christians experience leaving Christianity.

My own experience leaving Christianity was a journey into atheism, so I will interpret Adora's and Wrong Hordak's stories through that lens. Plenty of people who left toxic/conservative Christianity behind still believe in God, in heaven, and/or in the value of Christian communities. I do not want to minimize or dismiss their experiences, and I welcome progressive Christians as allies in the fight for LGBT+ rights and social justice generally. But when I watched Adora and Wrong Hordak leave their belief in The Horde behind, I saw myself leaving Christianity behind. I want to tell my story through/alongside theirs. I hope some of you can relate, but it is okay if you cannot, regardless of your religious beliefs or lack thereof.

Deconversion in Fast-Forward

Adora, Wrong Hordak, and I escaped from the organizations that raised us and its worldview in six somewhat-distinct stages:

Multiple major characters' arcs in She-Ra begin with rethinking their loyalty to The Horde. Wrong Hordak and Adora both lose their faith in The Horde after a lifetime of indoctrination into its ideals and goals. Their journey away from The Horde mirrors many young Americans' away from Christianity, with at least one notable exception: time. Deconversion takes multiple years for most ex-Christians, but only takes a few days for Adora and Wrong Hordak. Their de-conversion basically represents a speed run of most ex-Christians'.

Full Breakdown of Each Stage

(tw: mention of depression and suicidal ideation)

Adora takes delight in pretending to beat up an imaginary princess in the show's first scene, and later calls princesses "violent instigators who don't even know how to control their powers." She believes in the ideals of The Horde, and feels excited to rise through the ranks to become Force Captain. Obedience to Horde authorities comes fairly naturally to her, and she even chides Catra for being "disrespectful."

Wrong Hordak consistently repeats his loyalty to Horde Prime throughout his first episode and beyond. Even while being attacked by his fellow clones, Wrong Hordak affirms that "We serve Horde Prime's will." Unprompted in the next episode he happily announces, "I believe in Horde Prime!"

I felt proud, as a kid in Sunday School, that I could answer more questions about the Bible than any of the other kids. My church's youth group was the most enjoyable part of my middle school years especially because I got to hang out with the guy I only recently realized I'd had a huge gay crush on. I started viewing "feeling happy" and "feeling the presence of God" as identical. I wrote in my 2011 "Faith Statement" for my church's Confirmation that "I fell in love with God," and that "I thank God that I was born into a good Christian family and was raised to honor God."

Adora is kidnapped by the Horde's enemies and taken away from her home, separated from all of the voices reassuring her that The Horde is a good organization with a just mission. Shadow Weaver is not around to give her orders or map out her future anymore, leaving her alone with her enemies and her thoughts.

Wrong Hordak's connection to the hive-mind he knew for all of his life is severed. "I am…alone?" he asks in shock, then breaks down and cries, "I am alone!" For someone who grew up living in the same mind as his entire communal "family," suddenly losing that connection to everyone he knew would be traumatizingly shocking. The best equivalent I can think of in human experience is being suddenly ripped away from your family and community and then never seeing them again.

I kept conflating happiness with my faith in God for years, even after my crush moving away drove me into suicidal ideation for a couple weeks in 2011. My mental health recovered for a year before settling into a long-term depression in 2012. Because I conflated happiness with the presence of God, my depression felt like something had taken away the presence of God.

Adora defends the organization that raised her by quoting her highest authority: "Hordak says we're doing what's best for Etheria. We're trying to make things better. More orderly." Glimmer argues against Adora's worldview by showing her (1) that princesses are just people instead of dangerous violent monsters, and (2) what The Horde has done: first the ruins of a village destroyed by The Horde, and then that the village of Thaymor which she was told to attack was peaceful, innocent, and happy.

Wrong Hordak grabs Entrapta by the hair for the crime of "trespassing," and enjoys saying, "Prime shall hear of this, and his punishment shall be merciless." But once Bow’s arrow disconnects him from the Horde’s hivemind, he is simultaneously stranded away from the people who constantly reinforced his belief in Horde Prime’s goodness and stuck with a group of people opposing Prime. For a long time, Wrong Hordak simply pretends that the Best Friend Squad™ serve Horde Prime just like everyone else he ever knew. Every line of his dialogue in “Taking Control” is a quick, snappy motto he took from Horde propaganda, like “I believe…in Horde Prime” and “True nourishment comes from the favor of Horde Prime.” [see footnote 1]

I was well aware, growing up in a progressive suburb, that plenty of my high school friends were nonreligious. After my depression sunk in, I found myself arguing about religion with a brilliant but very smug British friend who consistently refuted my arguments in ways I could not dispute. Searching for arguments to support my pre-existing beliefs, I started reading Christian apologetics, but found nothing my friends could not easily refute. [see footnote 2]

Adora sees the ruins of the site of a Horde attack while with Glimmer and Bow, and at first rejects what Glimmer tells her about what she sees to preserve her worldview: "This doesn't make any sense. The Horde would never do something like this…You don't know them like I do." But when she sees The Horde attack Thaymor, the belief system painstakingly constructed by The Horde and drilled into her over 15 (or so) years comes crashing down. At first she can rationalize away her experiences to preserve her beliefs, but when the evidence of her own senses becomes overwhelming she cannot resolve the cognitive dissonance between her belief in The Horde's goodness and her direct experience of The Horde attacking the innocent town of Thaymor. Her worldview cannot explain what she experienced.

Wrong Hordak keeps his belief in Horde Prime's all-powerful nature for a long time after joining the Best Friend Squad. However, when until the Best Friend Squad catches him in a contradiction. He tells them what he was told: that Krytis does not exist. As soon as they start questioning the contradiction he was fed, he becomes extremely uncomfortable. He maintains his denial of Krytis' existence even after they land on the planet, until he can no longer deny the evidence that Horde Prime is not all-powerful.

I grew up, like many of you, on the Internet. My depression began during the heyday of the online atheist movement—and by “heyday,” I mean “seemingly inescapable presence,” especially on YouTube where I hung out. I kept running into comments asking questions that I could not answer: Why does Christianity seem to promote belief based on internal feelings instead of observable evidence? Why would an all-loving god send anyone to hell forever? Why did I believe claims from Christian doctrine and doubt claims from every other religion? Why has Christianity seemed to cling to the past instead of embracing a progressive future? The questions overwhelmed me. I found myself terrified of my own growing doubts. Eventually, my belief was based entirely on two emotions: nostalgia for past happy experiences I associated with Christianity, and a fear of losing the vague hope those experiences gave me.

The first time that Bow and Glimmer met Adora, they immediately labeled her “Horde soldier!,” and the label stuck through the first three episodes. Adora has always identified herself primarily as a soldier serving The Horde, echoing the messages she has heard for her whole life: “Shadow Weaver said it didn't matter who I was before, that—that I was nothing before Hordak took me in.” The language of “I was nothing” reflects cult dynamics where a group tries to retain someone permanently by making them think of themself as nothing more than their worshipful loyalty to the group. Similarly, it is a common Christian belief that “without Jesus we are nothing.”

After realizing that Horde Prime fes him lies, Wrong Hordak collapsed into a sobbing mess. “Who am I if not an exalted brother of Prime?,” he bawled, still thinking that the only legitimate kind of identity is one based on fully devoted worship of an all-powerful authority. Per Entrapta, “It seem[ed] that Wrong Hordak has begun to question the meaning of life.” She later described Wrong Hordak’s breakdown as an “existential crisis,” which happens “when individuals question whether their lives have meaning, purpose, or value, and are negatively impacted by the contemplation.” Without an all-powerful father figure to value him, Wrong Hordak thought, who would?

I identified myself fundamentally as a Christian for my entire childhood and teen years. I found joy, purpose, and a sense of self in my religion. Leaving my religion behind felt like burning the bridge to who I was behind me. When I de-converted from Christianity, I felt like I was standing at the brink of a void. I thought that without finding goodness in God, I might find no goodness at all. [see footnote 3]

When Wrong Hordak finishes (digitally, but also emotionally) processing the Krytis data logs of Horde Prime leaving in defeat, he explicitly renounces his old loyalties and declares his opposition to the organization and beliefs that he used to believe in with all his heart: "Brothers! Horde Prime lied to us. He is a false ruler. We must rise up against him, and free the universe from his unjust reign!"

After Adora betrays the Horde at the Battle of Thaymor, she pledges her loyalty to Bright Moon in her battle against the Horde: "I’ve seen for myself the atrocities the Horde has committed against the people of Etheria, and I’m ready to fight to stop them. If you give me the chance, I know I can help the Rebellion turn the tide of the war."

I didn't have an explicit declaration statement like Wrong Hordak or Adora. However, on 5/5/15 I arranged a meeting with my very friendly and understanding youth pastor as a last-ditch effort to save my faith. I hoped that he would crush my worrying doubts. Instead, actually encouraged me to become agnostic and to look into non-Christian beliefs on the subject of religion. Rather than feeling terrified of what I might find and wishing that someone could indoctrinate me into my old belief system, I started on a path to discover the truth wherever it might lead me.

Footnotes for Context

Christian fundamentalists’ similarly simplistic snappy phrases have been labeled by ex-Christians as “thought-terminating clichés… brief, highly reductive, definitive-sounding phrases” where “Simple labels are attached to something you like or dislike, and they are the start and finish of all thought on the subject.” Such black-and-white “totalistic” thinking is common in Christian fundamentalism, especially how it labels complex political topics as somehow being merely a cover for “spiritual warfare” between the totally good/Godly side and the totally evil/demonic side.

Specifically, I started reading an “Intelligent Design” propaganda apologetics book by Lee Strobel called The Case For A Creator. A self-proclaimed former atheist, Strobel wrote his The Case For series using my same research strategy: Only do research using sources that already agree with you. Whereas Strobel exclusively talked to other Christian apologists, though, I at least tried talking to atheists. Anyway, I walked into school one day with a confident smile and a copy of Strobel’s book and sat down with some friends. One of them, another brilliant atheist but with a far subtler and humbler personality, noticed it and his face immediately sunk into the expression of someone exhausted by the topic as he braced himself for my bullshit. When I confidently asserted a creationist talking point trying to dismiss the findings of some old experiment, he not only knew the experiment but immediately dismantled my talking point. I had no reply. What struck me most was not just his swift rebuttal, but his weary tone: My arguments were not only bad, but so bad that he was genuinely tired of them.

Around the same time, I became obsessed with the character of Kefka from Final Fantasy 6. To me, Kefka represented what I feared most about leaving Christianity behind — that I would lose any sense of meaning, purpose, or morality in my life. ("Life… Dreams… Hope…Where do they come from? And where are they headed? Such meaningless things!") Edgy, I know, but in my mind that kind of absurdism seemed to be an inevitable result of abandoning my religious beliefs. Fortunately, I came to understand that there is plenty of meaning, purpose, beauty, and goodness outside of the particular religion that I happened to be born into.

[vampire--dad]

Only The Sweetest Words

Based on a prompt for the October prompt bingo - a soulmate AU.

——————

Eskel remembers the morning of his sixteenth birthday like it was yesterday— and it certainly wasn’t bloody yesterday. But he remembers it as clear as day, waking up to find his soulmate’s first words on the skin of his wrist.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Classy.

Geralt thought it was hilarious. Eskel tried to act like he did too. In truth, the connotations began to haunt him. It was because he was a witcher, wasn’t it? Somebody was going to look into his yellow eyes and be repulsed by their apparent soulmate. As the years went on, those thoughts weighed even heavier on his mind whenever he saw someone with their lover. The scars across his face certainly didn’t help. Whoever it was, they’d think he was hideous. He can’t say he disagrees.

Jaskier can’t help but feel like destiny has pulled a cruel joke on him. Up until the age of sixteen, he had dreamt of seeing the most romantic words on his wrist, a prophecy of a lifetime of romance and fulfillment. His cousins were blessed with the most beautiful words upon their skin. And what did the poet get?

“Oh, fuck. Sorry.”

His mother had almost cried at the obscenity on her son’s skin. His father had tried not to laugh for fear of his wife’s wrath, but the boy saw the mirth in his eyes. Jaskier was distraught. His dreams of romance were shattered. Not to mention it was such a common phrase that many a-times he had gone stumbling after people, asking to see their wrists, only to be turned away once again. It had made his love life quite the travesty.

———

“Geralt? Geralt!”

Eskel stands from the rickety chair in the corner of the room. That head of white hair is unmistakable. That’s his best friend. Two pairs of yellow eyes meet from across the room accompanied by grinning and delighted laughter. Geralt makes his way to the corner and practically throws himself into his brother’s arms. Eskel does not notice his travel companion, but he hears a sweet voice and the familiar sound of a lute as he and Geralt share stories of their travels and a drink.

Geralt has a more… complicated relationship with destiny. He doesn’t have one soulmate, not one destined romantic partner to see him through his years. It came as a relief to him, he was never particularly fond of the idea of romance. Instead, he has upon his wrist a neat vertical line made up of four letters— the first initial of each of his platonic soulmates. E was the easiest to decipher. It was none other than Eskel, the boy he had been raised alongside, the boy who had become like a brother to him. The next letter is L, for Lambert. At first, he wondered why the feisty young redhead was tied to him, but as he grew into a man, it became clear. He might be an asshole, but he’s loyal to a fault and would defend his brothers with his life. It took almost seventy years for the mystery of the third letter to come undone. That was when he met Jaskier. After the third time they had crossed paths across the Continent, Geralt had asked for his real name. Julian, although he despises that name, was clearly destined to walk the Path with a witcher. At first Geralt hated the thought of putting him in danger, but time and time again the bard proved he wasn’t so useless with a blade. The fourth letter, A, remains a mystery.

As Eskel recounts the days he spent tracking down a griffin just south of Crinfrid, gesturing wildly in the excitement of seeing his brother again, his arm collides with a tankard grasped by a calloused hand. Ale spills over the edge and onto a pale blue doublet.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” Eskel says.

A pair of bright blue eyes glare at him, the same colour as the doublet on the man’s chest. Jaskier has heard those words many times, hoping he’s finally met the one, but when they fall from the lips the tall, yellow eyed, absolutely dashing man before him, he knows. He knows he’s looking at the man who cursed him with such unsophisticated and painfully common words. Not only that, but he’s spilled ale on his new doublet. He never expected to be angry when he finally met his soulmate, but he’s fuming.

And then he says those words. Those words that Eskel has dreaded hearing his whole life. The first words his soulmate would ever say to him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Eskel winces and seems to shrink into himself. All of the thoughts he’s had about those words begin to form a terrifying reality. The man before him, his soulmate, thinks he’s a monster. Of course he does, he’s a witcher. Yellow eyes, riddled with scars, nothing compared to the well dressed beautiful man glaring at him. After a moment of pause, the man continues and what he says isn’t what Eskel could ever have expected.

“I have had those damned words on my wrist for fourteen years. My parents were disgusted that their little boy had such obscene language on his wrist and my cousins— sweet Melitele, my cousins howled with laughter. They’ve all got something quite poetic, haven’t they? And me, the aspiring little poet I was, I had ‘Oh, fuck. Sorry’ on my wrist. I suppose I can get them back for it, seeing as my soulmate is far more handsome than any of theirs. Seriously, you should see Darla’s husband. But that’s besides the point. You really couldn’t have come up with something a little… classier? Something a little more creative, romantic even?”

The white haired witcher scoffs.

“You weren’t exactly romantic yourself, Jaskier. Cut him some slack.”

“Shut up, Geralt.”

Eskel stares at him, dumbfounded.

My soulmate is far more handsome than any of theirs.

You really couldn’t have come up with something a little… classier?

Of all the things Eskel expected him to be upset about, it certainly wasn’t that. But never mind that, he thinks he’s… handsome? That doesn’t sound right, yet he said it with such conviction that the witcher can’t argue. There are too many things that Eskel wants to say at once. But only one thing comes out.

“Huh?”

Geralt laughs and shakes his head. He stands and claps a hand on each of their shoulders. Idiots.

“Allow me to be of some assistance. Eskel, this is Jaskier. He’s the bard I told you about. Forgive his little outburst, he’d really been hoping for something more romantic and if I’m guessing correctly, he’s rather upset that he’s spilled ale on his new clothes.”

“Well yes, I was getting to that…” Jaskier mumbles, earning him a pointed look from his travel companion. He falls silent again.

“Jaskier, this is Eskel. He’s my brother, one of my other soulmates, and he’s terribly sorry about your doublet.”

Geralt stands from his chair and places it behind Jaskier, pushing the two down into their seats.

“Try again.”

Geralt watches from across the room as Eskel and Jaskier get to know each other, a soft, amused smile on his lips. It’s an awkward affair at first, his dear brother has no idea what to say. But the bard, ever the charmer, coaxes him out of his shell and has him grinning from ear to ear within minutes. He apologises for his harsh words. Eskel thanks him with a smile.

Jaskier, having forgotten about the ale on his new doublet, is positively captivated by the man and he’s not afraid to say it, if only to see how flustered Eskel gets. The witcher doesn’t know how he can say such sweet words about a face like his, but Jaskier reassures him that he thinks he’s beautiful, scars and all.

Their hands touch for a moment across the table between them. Even through Eskel’s thick gloves, it feels like an electric shock. They both recoil. Eskel looks at his hands with alarm, but Jaskier laughs, soft and melodic. Eskel silently promises himself to do whatever he can to hear that laugh again.

“The same thing happened to my mother when she met my father,” Jaskier says. “Their hands met as he passed her a glass of wine. Of course he dropped it. She was too excited to even be mad about the stain on her dress.”

He looks down at the dark stain on his doublet.

“Destiny really is a wicked mistress…” he chuckles

Eskel laughs and without thinking twice, slips his gloves off and lays his hand over Jaskier’s. Their skin tingles and buzzes where it meets, but it’s a pleasant sensation. The witcher could stare at the soft smile Jaskier offers him all damn day. Eskel has never felt so comfortable with someone before. It’s wonderful. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide anything from Jaskier. Not his scars, not his past, nothing. He can be himself.

Jaskier finds his eyes wandering across Eskel’s handsome face as he speaks, only half paying attention. The bard can’t help but admire him. His hair brushes against his nose when he looks down at their hands. Jaskier begins to wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, how his stubble would feel against his cheek, what the scars across his lips would feel like against his own. What a hopeless romantic he is. He’s barely known the man for an hour and he’s already thinking about kissing him. But everything about Eskel feels… right. It’s only natural that he would want more.

“Jaskier?”

Eskel is looking at him curiously. He had a feeling Jaskier wasn’t fully paying attention to him, only to discover that he was staring at his lips with a dreamy expression. It’s endearing and baffling to think someone can be so enchanted by him, of all people.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaskier blurts out.

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?”

“Yes.”

“Then… yes.”

Jaskier decides this table between them won’t do. He stands, slipping around the edge of the table to take Eskel’s strong jaw into his hands and press their lips together. That same shock fizzes through his body and down his spine, but this time he doesn’t pull away. The witcher’s arms wind around his waist, pulling him closer. Their first kiss is far too short. Eskel pulls away only to stand, pull Jaskier against his chest, and kiss him again, utterly entranced by the feeling of Jaskier’s lips moving against his own. A sweet taste clings to them, the bard’s breath hot against his lips. This time Jaskier is the one to pull away.

“This is not the place for what’s going to happen next if you keep kissing me like that,” he says softly, a cheeky grin on his face.

Eskel chuckles. Geralt smiles from across the room and looks down at the letters on his wrist. Destiny can be kinder than she seems sometimes.

——————

Tags: @lovelyeskel @patchwork-doublet @jaskierswolf

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Female Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Requested by: anon x 2

Yule Ball, best friend to lovers, Ravenclaw reader, Calum (your house choice). Murder me please*

hi love could i still request? slytherin calum and ravenclaw reader, best friends to lovers, yule ball. im a hoe for hogwarts au and i hope u can still do my request. thank you 💗 (requested by anon)*

Trigger Warnings: strong language

A/N: this came out longer than I expected. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you as always to @h0tsos and @5-secondsofcolor for all the help pulling this together!

***

Having built up a solid sporting reputation during your six years at Hogwarts, this is proving to be as far from your comfort zone as possible. 

The Triwizard Tournament as a whole, is right up your alley, of course. Especially since the type of dangerous tasks that it used to consist of had long since been discontinued. These days the tournament was basically a huge sports festival, whereby the three school champions, from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, would take part in events such as magical assault courses, spectacular broomstick flying demonstrations and other athletic exercises. Therefore you’ve been excited to watch it for longer than you care to admit. You only wish that it’d been scheduled for next year instead of this one, so that you could actually put your name forward to be the Hogwarts champion. Unfortunately, only students over the age of seventeen have that potential honour open to them and you’ve only just turned sixteen.

Despite all of that, you’re excited for the contest to begin. Before you can enjoy all of the sporting festivities, however, you have the not-so-small formal tradition of the Yule Ball to contend with.

You smooth down the front of your dress robes nervously. Staring at yourself in the full length mirror doubtfully, wondering whatever possessed you to think that this particular shade of periwinkle blue, is one you could pull off. Before your inner jock can convince you to simply attend the ball in your quidditch robes, muffled voices from the Ravenclaw common room beneath your dormitory alert you to the fact that you’re running late. Most of the other girls have already headed down to the Great Hall, leaving only you and your best friends, most of whom belong to other houses, in the whole of Ravenclaw Tower.

Finally convincing yourself that you look decent enough for the formal occasion at hand, you quickly slip a glittery hair slide into your neatly curled hair, Hoping it will distract people from the fact that you look incredibly uncomfortable.

As you head downstairs to your common room, the previously muffled voices you’d heard a moment ago slowly become more distinct. 

“Does anyone know who Ashton’s date is?” 

Michael’s curious tone carries through the mostly empty space just as you reach the halfway point of the spiralling staircase. 

The mention of the Hogwarts Champion causes your insides to squirm uncomfortably and you have to stop for a moment to compose yourself.  Your last interaction with Ashton Irwin, your long-term friend and the celebrated Gryffindor Quidditch captain, isn’t one that you really want to relive, especially not right now, moments before having to endure this stupid fucking ball. 

“No idea…” Calum replies, his voice suggesting that he’s only mildly interested in the answer anyway. “He hasn’t mentioned any names to me.”

The sound of your second friend’s voice brings a subconscious smile to your face, you notice it in the dark window you’d stopped in front of but you quickly shake it off and continue down the stairs.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out if we ever get downstairs!” Luke huffs, raising his voice for the last few words to express his impatience at having to wait for you. 

“There’s no need to yell, Hemmings.” You scowl, trying to act as casual as possible when you reach the last few steps. 

All three of your friends turn to look at you as you enter the room, each of them with expressions of  varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

Michael seems to be the least affected by your somewhat unusual appearance. His look of mild surprise gives way almost instantly to a cheeky grin. “Wow, didn’t know you could scrub up this well.” He smirks, already turning towards the door, too impatient to tuck into the buffet that is waiting in the Great Hall, no doubt. It makes you smile, his love of food is rivalled only by his love for his friends but seeing as he’s eaten nothing since lunch time, you’re unsurprised that his first love is winning out.

“He’s right!” Luke grins, his pretty blue eyes drifting over your outfit as though he’s struggling to take in the sight of you in an outfit that’s so uncharacteristic for you. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where you wore anything other than your uniform, quidditch robes or those ratty old muggle music t-shirts!”

You want to argue with him and explain for the millionth time that those shirts you love to wear, are meant to have holes in them, but he’ll never understand the concept of distressed clothing, he’s a spoiled little pureblood and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. Besides, how can you focus on a mundane argument with Luke when Calum, AKA the most beautiful boy in existence is staring at you as though he might actually be seeing you as someone other than his quidditch training buddy for the first time ever.

“You look incredible.” The Slytherin gasps, his chocolate brown eyes locking onto yours as a faint smile curls the corners of his lips. He nervously runs his hand over his short hair. His fairly recent buzzcut is rapidly growing out but you’re happy to see that he’s decided to keep it blue for the time being. He’d surprised you with the daring dye job a couple of weeks ago, insisting that he’d tried to turn it green as an outward display of his loyalty to Slytherin, but something had gone wrong and it had turned a shade of blue that shockingly resembles the Ravenclaw colour instead. 

You feel the blood in your cheeks rise to the surface of your skin. He’s never complimented you like that before and your heartbeat quickens at the words. It’s ridiculous, you know that. He’s probably never going to see you as anything more than a friend but there’s a tiny bit of hope left, if the sparkle in his eyes right now is anything to go by.

“You don’t look so bad yourself” you manage to giggle, trying not to let the way Calum is looking at you trick you into thinking that the crush you have on him is in any way reciprocated. He’s probably just shocked that you even own something like this to wear. 

Calum smiles at your half-hearted compliment and gestures towards the door. “We better get going before Michael gets too hangry. I’d rather avoid a repeat of breakfastgate, if we can!”

You laugh at the memory of Michael hexing some unsuspecting third year Slytherins a couple of weeks ago. They’d wrongly assumed that their whole house had already finished breakfast, and tried to take the last remaining pastries. Michael, who’d been delayed getting to the Great Hall due to helping Calum with a homework emergency, had been devoid of patience when he aimed a nasty hex at his fellow Slytherins, that caused all four of their faces to break out in a terrible itchy rash. He’d earned himself a week’s detention for his rash actions, but he still maintains that those pastries were worth it.

“Yeah, if we keep him from food for much longer, he might even start breaking out the unforgivable curses!” Luke huffs dryly.

Calum and Luke continue to tease Michael about his irrational anger when it comes to food, all the way down to the main lobby of the castle. You join in a little bit, but ensure that you stand up for Michael too, after all you’ve never taken too kindly to being kept away from your food either. 

It’s only when your group reaches the entrance to the Great Hall that you all fall silent. The large room has been transformed into nothing short of a winter wonderland. Large, ice sculptures shaped like animals line the two longest walls. Each frozen statue is as intricate as the last and all of them have been charmed to move their limbs or revolve on their individual platforms like giant versions of the ballerinas in those little music boxes your muggle mother used to buy for you when you were a little girl.

The usual Christmas tree that sat in the corner of the room at this time of year, had been decorated particularly extravagantly for this occasion. All of its branches are covered in glittering snow whilst real candles burn prettily in fancy spiralling patterns.

A small stage has replaced the spot where the teachers table is usually situated and it’s occupied by a band playing a song you vaguely recognise from the wizarding radio show that Luke forces you to listen to every Friday night when you hang out in his dorm whilst Michael and Calum attend their gobstones club.

“Wow, look at the floor!” Michael exclaims, gesturing at the exquisite frosty patterns etched into the wooden floorboards. 

“And the roof!” Calum gasps, pointing up at the enchanted ceiling.

You take a moment to admire the wonder on your friend’s face, adoring his soft smile and the way the light reflects in his eyes, before following his gaze to the enchanted ceiling where rows of snowflake shaped fairy lights have been hung beneath the clear starry night sky.

“They’ve really gone all out, haven’t they?”

The familiar voice causes a jolt in your stomach and you curse yourself for letting down your guard so easily and so quickly. You’d hoped to avoid Ashton for much longer than this.

Calum nods in response to the older boy’s question. “It looks so beautiful! I can’t believe they did all this in just one afternoon!”

Ashton doesn’t reply, his hazel eyes move from Calum, to Luke, to Michael before settling on you. His expression is somehow thoughtful and confused all at once. You know what’s going through his mind, though and you can’t allow him to voice it.

“Yeah, it looks amazing.” You interject quickly. “Hey Cal, why don’t you go and get us all a pumpkin juice?”

“Sure.” The blue-haired boy agrees easily. “Do you want one, Ash?” He adds, turning to the Hogwarts champion with a beaming smile.

Ashton shakes his head. “My date’s just gone to get me one, thanks.” He replies, his gaze never drifting from yours.

“Oh yeah, who’d you pick in the end?” Michael questions, his tone inquisitive enough to make him appear interested in the answer. “I bet you had hundreds of offers.”

Luckily, Calum doesn’t hang around for Ashton's response, apparently too eager to get the juice you asked him for.

The raven-haired boy’s eyes never leave yours as he answers. “I chose to bring Arielle Lamer, one of the girls from Beauxbatons.” His gaze drifts over to the long row of buffet tables against one of the walls. “She was my second choice.” He looks back at you, his displaying the same hurt they had done when you’d refused his invitation to the ball a few weeks back. 

“Why did you have to go to your second choice?” Michael asks, his face twisted into a confused expression. “You’re the Hogwarts champion, who in their right mind would have turned you down?”

“Never mind that!” Luke gasps, “why the fuck would she be anyone’s second choice? She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Ashton doesn’t offer a verbal response to either of the confused boys, but his gaze is still locked on you, which unintentionally tells Luke and Michael the truth. 

Your friends stand silently beside you, their mouths agape as they stare between you and Ashton, trying to wrap their heads around the unspoken but incredibly obvious situation.

“I thought you turned me down because you had a better offer.” Ashton frowns, “but it looks like you’ve just come here with our friends, I’m confused…”

Your guilt at having refused Ashton’s offer gnaws away at your insides as your shoulders twitch in a vacant shrug. “I never said there was anyone else, Ash I just…”

“You just didn’t want to come here with me.” Ashton interrupts, the sad realisation in his eyes and voice almost breaking your heart. “I get it.”

“I didn’t think anyone had asked you to the dance.” Calum’s voice is almost too quiet to hear over the music but his shocked tone just about reaches your ears nevertheless. 

You turn to face your secret crush, your heart pounding in your chest. Calum is literally the last person on earth you would want to overhear this conversation. “I never lied to you, Cal… if you’d asked I’d have told you.”

“That’s not the point.” Calum shrugs. “You got asked to the Yule Ball by Ashton fucking Irwin and you turned him down, just to hang out with three dateless losers. Why would you do that?”

The truth almost slips past your lips, but you manage to replace it with a vaguer response before you embarrass yourself even further. “Because I just don’t see Ashton that way.” 

“But he’s the fucking Hogwarts champion and probably the hottest guy in the whole school.” Calum insists, gesturing a little too wildly with his full hands and sloshing pumpkin juice over the floor.

Before Calum can make any more mess, Luke steps forward and takes the drinks from him before shuffling back to his spot next to Michael. 

Despite your initial urge to tell Calum the truth about why you’d refused to come to the dance with Ashton, your anger at his persistence is starting to override it. “Well why didn’t you ask him to the dance if you love him so much?” You counter, trying not to raise your voice too much. 

Calum frowns, glancing over to Ashton for a second before returning his attention to you. “Stop trying to deflect, I’m asking you a simple white question here!”

“I just wanted to come here with you, okay?” You reply snappily, gesturing at Luke and Michael faintly with one hand but never taking your eyes away from Calum’s. You can only hope that your weak attempt at trying to imply that your other friends are included in the ‘you’ that you’d just spat out, was enough.

Calum opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s trying to speak but his vocal chords are refusing to comply.

Taking advantage of the continued silence from your friends, you continue your reply to Calum’s initial question. “Not that I really owe you an explanation, but; I love Ashton as a friend and the thought of coming here with him as more than that just didn’t feel right.” You turn to Ashton, the guilt that had been laying heavily in your chest since your conversation with him a few weeks ago, finally giving way to a sense of acceptance that you’d done the right thing. “I’m sorry, Ash. You know I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

Ashton nods in recognition of your apology. “I know. I think I understand why you had to say no to me.”

There’s a sickening theory in your mind that Ashton’s realised that you have feelings for Calum. That’s something that you’re just not ready to be proven right about. Knowing that there’s no way to shut Ashton down without inadvertently giving away your own secret, you take the easy option and turn on your heel before making a run for it, heading straight out of the great hall towards the open doors of the castle.

You barely notice the cold night air biting at every inch of the exposed skin on your arms and face as you stumble out of the entrance hall. Stragglers from the visiting schools were still filtering into the castle but most of them spared you nothing but sideways glances before disappearing inside.

Deciding to hide in a quiet corner until you can gather your thoughts properly, you head down the stone steps and drift across one of the front lawns. Luckily the grass is frosty and your high heels don’t sink into it very much.

You haven’t made it very far before a familiar voice yells your name, stopping you in your tracks. Part of you doesn’t really want to turn around but it’s not like you could outrun the Hogwarts champion in these heels anyway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.” Ashton pants as he jogs to a stop beside you. “It’s freezing!”

Now that you’ve stopped walking and your initial anger is wearing off, you really start to notice the chill in the air and wrap your arms around yourself as an ill attempt to protect the bare skin of your arms from it. “You sound like my grandma.” You huff, your voice already betraying a slight tremor. 

“She sounds like a smart woman.” Ashton shrugs. “I’m sure she’d think you storming out here without a coat on was a stupid idea.”

You let out a defeated huff, sparing a glance at the warm castle, wishing you’d thought to storm back to your dormitory instead. “She would have thought what I said in there was stupid, too!” You reply, dropping your gaze to the frosty grass at your feet. “I should have been more honest with you and…”

“And Calum?” Ashton interjects, his tone solemn but not at all angry like you’d have expected if he ever found out about your feelings for your Slytherin friend. “I think he’s the one you need to talk to the most. At the very least you need to tell him how you feel.”

The very thought of confessing your feelings for Calum to anyone, especially the Slytherin captain himself, sends a stab of fear through your chest. “I can’t do that…”

“If it helps at all, I think he’s been struggling with similar feelings for you for a while.” Ashton admits, his tone hesitant to and cautious. “If I think back, there’s been plenty of signs there that I should have noticed. The way you two act around each other should have tipped me off a long time ago.”

As much as you want to believe that Ashton’s telling you the truth, you can’t really bring yourself to believe that Calum likes you back. In the back of your mind, you think that Ashton must simply just be doing what he thinks is best. 

“I never should have asked you to come to the ball with me.” The raven-haired boy sighs thoughtfully, “regardless of whether I should have seen whatever it is between you and Calum, I’ve always known that you don’t really feel that way for me.”

That guilt in your chest seems to grow even more. You can’t take the sadness in Ashton’s voice anymore. “I’ve always loved you as a friend, Ash. I just…”

“You only have romantic feelings for Calum, I get that.” Ashton smiles glumly, reaching out to stroke your arm in a comforting gesture. “I hope the two of you can work something out.”

“Me too.”

Calum’s voice takes you by surprise for the second time in just a few minutes. Your face automatically snaps towards him as panic starts to flood your brain.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk things out.” Ashton announces before you can even begin to form any words. He flashes you one last smile and claps Calum on the shoulder reassuringly before heading back the castle.

Part of you wants to follow Ashton, but your legs refuse to move. “Look Cal, I don’t really know what to say to you right now.”

Calum simply stares at you for a moment as though he’s struggling with the same predicament. 

“Maybe we should just head back…”  You shrug, forcing yourself to take a step past him.

You’ve barely taken a second stride before Calum’s strong hand closes gently around your upper arm. “Please don’t take off again.” He pleads. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You ask, shivering a little at the prolonged physical contact with your crush.

Calum apparently misinterprets your slight trembling and instantly shrugs off the outermost layer of his dress robes and hands it to you. “About how I’ve been a huge wuss for the past year or so…” He suggests timidly.

You silently accept his jacket-equivalent and drape it over your shoulders. The confusion you feel must show on your face because Calum lets out a humourless laugh. “Okay.” He breathes deeply, dripping his gaze to the floor. “God, I hope you’re not gonna hate me after I tell you this…”

“Calum.” You whisper softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m starting to get worried, what is it?”

Sucking in another deep breath, Calum composes himself before summoning the courage to meet your gaze again. “At the very start of our fifth year, you waited for me on platform 9 ¾ so that we could sit together on the train, remember? Just like you always have done, since our second year.”

You nod, the memory of the bright September morning still clear in your mind, although you have no idea of its significance to Calum’s story. 

“You were wearing those tight jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair was scraped back into a loose bun and your face was twisted into an anxious expression because I was a bit late and you were worried that there wouldn’t be any empty compartments left for us.” Calum explains, a slightly dreamy expression on his face. “Just as you caught sight of me trying to work my way through the crowd towards you, some clumsy seventh year knocked into you. One of your suitcases toppled off your luggage trolley and burst open, a bunch of your books and stuff spilled all over the ground and you looked so fucking pissed off…” he chuckles, subconsciously reaching for hand as he continues. “I know it sounds weird but, that’s the moment that I knew I loved you. The way your cheeks went all flushed when you grumpily threw all your shit back into your suitcase and muttered about how much you wanted to push that dickhead onto the train tracks. Like, I’d had feelings for you before that, but I’d put it down to a silly crush because you're one of my closest friends and we have so much in common. In that moment, though, I just fucking knew that you had my entire heart.”

Your brain struggles to process everything that Calum has just told you as he runs his fingers down your arm in order to wrap them around your hand. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this sooner and I completely understand if you think I’m weird and creepy and don’t want to be my friend anymore…” Calum rambles.

“You were sitting at the Slytherin table, eating jam on toast, laughing at something Michael had just told you.” The words spill from your mouth almost of their own accord. “It was the morning of your first quidditch game as the Slytherin seeker, so you were a bit nervous. I could tell because your smile didn’t reach your eyes and you only nibbled at your toast. That’s the moment that I knew I loved you as more than a friend.”

A shocked expression colours Calum’s face in the seconds before he gasps out his response. “But that was like… four years ago.”

You can feel the blood rising to the surface of your cheeks as you nod, dropping your gaze to try and hide your embarrassment. Before you’ve recovered enough to meet his gaze again, soft fingers rise to cup your face tenderly and you automatically lean into the touch. 

“How the hell did we both miss each other’s feelings like that?” Calum asks, a sigh escaping him as his lips brush your forehead. “I’m sorry I was so oblivious and that I was too scared to tell you about my own.”

Savouring the softness of Calum’s lips on your head, you wrap your arms around his waist, curling into his strong, warm body.

“Shit, sweetheart, you’re trembling.” The Slytherin whispers winding his arms around you to keep you close to him. “Let’s get inside so we can talk more without the fear of freezing to death, yeah?”

As much as you want to take Calum up on his offer before you become an icicle, the thought of breaking away from the hold he has on you is the last thing on earth you’re contemplating at the moment and you tighten your hold on him to express your utter reluctance to let him go.

Calum giggles, stroking your back soothingly before pulling away a little. “I promise I’ll cuddle you as you much as you want once we’re inside.”

The slight shiver that runs through the Slytherin, helps your rational side to win out. “Fine…” You pout, “but you’d better deliver on that promise when we get back to the castle.”

You allow Calum to lead you back across the lawn and up the stone steps to the front doors of the castle. The fact that he keeps one arm around you the whole time, makes your heart flutter in your chest, making you feel very much like a lovesick little puppy.

Just as you enter the warmth of the entrance hall, Calum takes your hand and instead of leading you into the great hall like you’re expecting him to, he guides you to the bottom of the staircase instead.

A confused expression takes over your face before he takes your hands and swallows thickly as though he’s trying to voice something that is incredibly difficult for him to say.

In an attempt to comfort him, you cradle his cheek gently, just as he’d held yours a few moments ago outside. “Is everything okay, Cal?”

Nodding, Calum reaches up to press your hand harder against his face as he meets your gaze. “I just wanted to ask you something before we go back to our friends.” He explains, a light blush rising in his cheeks. “But I’m worried it’s gonna sound stupid now that we’re already here and…”

“You can ask me anything, Cal.” You reassure him.

Before he responds he pulls his wand from his dress robes, pointing it at the ground near your feet and quietly utters a spell. A moment later, a beautiful exotic blue flower sprouts from the floor. Calum leans down to pick it up before handing it to you. “Will you go to the dance with me, like as my date?” He asks nervously

A giant smile bursts across your face as you take the flower and slide it into your hair. “One one condition.” You smirk cheekily, a sudden burst of confidence extinguishing the last of your lingering doubt about how Calum feels about you.

Your date raises a questioning eyebrow, silently urging you to elaborate.

“Well I’m a strong believer in that whole, ‘try before you buy’ thing.” You chuckle when Calum still appears to be utterly confused. “I need to know if you're a good kisser before I agree to be your date to the Yule Ball, Calum.” You clarify, hoping that you’re not going to scare him off by coming on too strong.

Calum mirrors your delighted grin before pulling you closer to him again. His beautiful brown eyes are sparkling joyfully as he allows them to drift down to your lips. He takes a moment to build up the confidence, but when he finally leans forward and kisses you, it’s more than worth the wait. His lips are soft and he kisses with a tenderness that you weren’t sure he was capable of. All-in-all, you’re incredibly impressed and you cling onto the tail end of the kiss for as long as possible before answering your date’s silent question when he meets your gaze again. “That wasn’t bad at all, Hood. If you dance half as well as that, I think tonight will be the perfect first date!”

Tag list: @cherrycolamike @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @wildfl0wer-meg @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​ @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor @queer-5sos @babylon-corgis

[ballerinaroy]

Depressing prompt... but. Could you so a story where Ron died due to his poisoning in 6th year? Obviously Harry and Ginny would be distraught but Hermione would be devastated that she wasn't able to patch things up with him before he died.

Oof. I would apologize for how long this took me, but I just had to take breaks. Here’s to breaking your heart as much as it broke mine to write this. 

~~~

When she woke up that morning everything in the world felt a little off-kilter. It took her a minute to remember. Ron, poisoned. She’d spent a whole afternoon staring into his pale face and wishing life into it. Spent all night fretting over him waking and no one being there to comfort him. She’d always hated when one of them was in the hospital wing without the others. At least at the end of last year, Ron had been there in the middle of the night to keep her company when her wounds were too tender to sleep on.

Exhaustion pulled at her eyes as she rose, going through all the motions of dressing and gathering her things. Perhaps there would be time after breakfast to sit with him. Of course, if she was let in that meant-

Hermione glanced over at Lavender’s bed but there was no sign of her waking. Though she’d put on a show last night of sobbing and demanding comfort over my Won-Won, poisoned, she’d seemed at least to have a restful night’s sleep. Not once when she’d woken had Hermione heard her tossing and turning.

Snorting and shaking her head, Hermione slipped on her shoes and made towards the door. It was only when she was at the door that the thought occurred to her. Was that what Ron wanted? Someone to fawn and coo over him? She could do that. She could tend to him.

The common room was filled with only a few brave souls, mostly seventh years working on a particularly hard Transfiguration essay she’d heard rumors about. To her displeasure, McLaggen was among them, and though she tried avoiding his eye by rummaging in her

“Hermione!” he called, standing up “Hermione, wait up!”

He caught her arm before she could make her escape and she spun around, trying to arrange her face.

“Oh, Cormac, I didn’t see you there,” she told him, acting surprised

He frowned at her, clearly not believing her story but didn’t press her on it. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she said, “And you?”

“I heard about Weasley,” he cut straight to the point. “Terrible.”

Hermione clenched her jaw. She knew it was all an act. He’d been all too ready to insult Ron on the few occasions she’d entertained his company.

“Do you know when he’ll be getting out?”

“No,” Hermione said shortly, not wanting to tell him what she knew.

“Well, you’ll let Harry know that if he needs an alternate, I’m still in fighting shape,” He said, flashing her what he believed was a winning smile. “Just until Weasley recovers of course.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” Hermione said dryly, pulling her arm from his grip.

“Brilliant-ah, here he comes! Harry, have you-“

“Sorry, we’ve got somewhere to be,” Harry said in passing and Hermione waved McLaggen off as they launched themselves through the portrait hole.

“Thanks,” Hermione told him once they were on the other side.

“Yeah,” Harry said shortly. “He ask about Quidditch?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, struggling to keep pace with him.

“Bloody tosser, he-“ and Harry proceeded to let out a stream of curse words that would have made Ron proud.

Hermione fought to keep from smiling, not wanting to reward his behavior, though she didn’t disagree with his assessment. “Language,” she said dryly at the end of it and they stopped, staring at one another. For a second she feared Harry becoming upset with her but then he cracked a smile and shook his head.

Their moods were both considerably lighter by the time they got down to the great hall, joining the early risers in breakfast.

“Did you sleep?” Hermione asked of him.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve spent so long sleeping next to Ron it’s weird when he’s not there. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“No, it’s sweet.”

Harry pulled a face. “That’s worse.”

“How?” Hermione challenged.

“Because it’s- hello Professor!”

Hermione turned to find Professor Sprout standing behind her. “Good morning.”

“Good-“ she started and then broke off. “Mr. Potter. Headmaster Dumbledore would like to see you and Miss. Granger in his office.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried look.

“Now?” Harry asked. “Because we were going to go look in on Ron and-“

“Yes, Mr. Potter, now.”

Before they could press her on what Dumbledore wanted from them she turned, marching away, her shoulders hunched. The off-balance feeling Hermione had woken up with hit her again and the bites of toast she’d eaten churned in her stomach.

“Harry?” she asked, seeking reassurance.

“We’d better go,” Harry said, already on his feet and Hermione raced to catch up with him as he sprinted up the tables and the stairs.

Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest and it was only when they were halfway there that Hermione realized he wasn’t leading her to Dumbledore’s office. “Harry!” she called. “Professor Sprout said-!”

“I need to-“ Harry said, but didn’t finish his statement, didn’t stop his rush.

Too winded to argue with him she struggled to keep up. After all, she needed to see him too, needed to know he was alright. She lost track of him around the corner and could hear him banging on the doors before she came within the eye-line of the hospital wing.

“Harry!” she hissed.

“Let me in!” Harry said, knocking on the door. “Let me-!”

“Harry?” came another voice and Hermione turned to find Ginny standing there. “What’s going on, why are the doors locked?”

Harry paused, looking at her frantically. “I don’t know I-“

“Mr. Potter,” came a third voice, commanding. This time Hermione knew the source before Dumbledore brushed past her, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder and steering him from the door. “Miss. Granger, Miss. Weasley, you’re expected.”

Hermione walked over to Ginny who was watching the doorway that remained stubbornly shut. She put her arm around Ginny and found her to be trembling. “It’s not-“ she whispered. “He isn’t-“

Her mind refused to form around the world let alone speak it. He wasn’t, couldn’t be.  Instead, they locked arms and followed after Dumbledore, through the winding corridors and passages, past the sleeping paintings until at last they arrived at the stone gargoyle that Hermione had only stood before once prior. The end of fourth year. Harry still in the hospital and Dumbledore asking their true loyalty. The memory wasn’t fond.

Hermione’s heart sank further as they walked into a room already full. She released Ginny into Mr. And Mrs. Weasley’s arms, gripping their daughter who had already begun to cry.

“Please, have a seat,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the open chairs.

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “We saw him last night, he was fine, he’s not-“

“Have a seat,” McGonagall instructed them and Hermione’s legs carried her to the open chair, perching herself beside Harry and staring between the adults.

“Mr. Weasley-“ Dumbledore said, “Ron, passed away in the middle of the night. We are investigating the exact cause of his-“

“No,” Harry repeated, turning to Hermione and pleading to her, to Mrs. Weasley. “I gave him the bezoar, I-“

“You did everything right,” Mrs. Weasley said, letting go of her daughter and walking over to him, wrapping her arms around him. In his ear, Hermione could hear her whispering to him. “You did everything right, Harry, you did we know you did.”

“He can’t just be-“ Harry choked and behind his glasses, tears welled in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. “Ron.”

His name whimpered from Harry’s lips burst the damn in her chest. Hermione turned away her head, using her sleeve to stop the flow of her own tears. Her fingers pulled up her sleeves to cover her palms, using them to stop the flow of her own tears as her breathing quickened. Ron, not Ron. Not him. Anyone but him.

Harry nudged her and she realized that Mrs. Weasley had asked her a question.

“What?”

“Will you…would you like to come with us?”

She looked to Harry for clarification. “We’re going to the Burrow.” He said factually and he sounded completely unlike himself. “Until after-“

“We have classes,” she said, turning to McGonagall.

“Of course we’ll work to make sure you’re still getting your education.”

“We understand if you don’t want to come,” Mrs. Weasley said and then, in a quiet tone. “We understand that you and Ron had a falling out.”

It seemed so silly now. Months spent without talking to her best friend, and for what? Because of her own jealousy?

“No, I—I’d like to come.”

~~~

Hermione stared around the kitchen, touching the table as if knowing it was there could make any of this feel real. She couldn’t believe it’d been almost a year since she’d last stood here. Since the summer spent bonded with Ginny against Fleur, spent laying out in the sun and reading books in the evening light. Since she’d spent weeks and weeks speaking to Ron every day.

He was, after all, the real reason she’d come. His instance on needing looking after with her wounds from the department of mysteries. She’d been so touched that he’d been worried about her, she hadn’t even thought about saying no.

Mrs. Weasley was already at the stove, chopping something by hand, looking miserable.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Weasley?” she offered coming over.

At her voice Mrs. Weasley jumped and when she turned to respond her face was carefully arranged.

“I’m alright dear, you go and get settled in.”

Hermione nodded, withdrawing from the kitchen without reminding Mrs. Weasley that their things wouldn’t be sent along until later that evening. She wandered up the stairs, searching for something real, something that would pull her from this horrid nightmare. Without thinking, her feet carried her up and up and it was only the sight of Harry, gripping the banister, his feet planted firmly on the landing that she realized only one last set of stairs separated her from the attic. From R-

“I can’t do it,” Harry said helplessly, “I can’t go up there without him.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say staring up at the impossible task. Now that she was here she found she didn’t want to go either. As if not going, not seeing his room empty of him might mean that he was still there, hiding from them. A cruel prank, yes, but kinder than the reality she was facing.

“It’s okay,” said a voice from behind and Hermione was surprised to find Ginny there. Harry looked at her for direction. “You can sleep on the floor in our room, mum and dad won’t-“

Harry nodded, his eyes still forward, still staring up at the ceiling challengingly.

“Come on,” Ginny said kindly, putting her hand in Harry’s and giving it a small tug.

Hermione watched as his eyes darted over to her, his face more miserable than ever, and slowly he released his white-knuckled grip on the banister, turned, and followed Ginny as she led them to safety.

~~~

As the days went on the Burrow continued to fill until it felt like it was bursting with people. Friends and family. Aunts and Uncles and cousins Hermione had not yet met. She felt like an outsider, listening to their stories of Ron. Of experiences she had not known he’d had. Would she have? If their friendship had gone on long enough?

Would he have told her about the time he’d gotten lost in Diagon Alley only to be found at the ice cream parlor? Or the time his Uncle had taken him for a fly and he’d refused to get off the broom?

And following the thought each time was the sinking realization that perhaps not. They hadn’t even reconciled. And for what? Because he’d chosen someone else? Because he’d dared not to be hers? She had hoped the Lavender thing would run its course and she’d be given a second chance to show him how she really felt.

But by the way everyone crowded around Lavender and comforted her on the afternoons she stopped by, Hermione had to consider that they might not have ever broken up. That he might have actually been in love. That she should have figured out a way to mend their friendship even if it meant giving up her dreams of something more between them.

She had no real experience with grief. Her brushes with death had only ever been due to her friendship with Harry. And she had never been as close as he. It seemed only natural to seek his advice.

“When does it stop hurting?” her question was childish, she knew. She didn’t want it to stop hurting but the idea of having a hole in her chest so large for forever…

With pity Harry turned to look at her, his thousand-yard stare gone. For the first time in days, it felt like he really saw her. “It doesn’t.”

They stared at one another, tears misting her eyes, and out came the question that wouldn’t stop tumbling through her brain.

“If I had apologized?” Hermione asked quietly. “Do you think he would have forgiven me?”

She could see the conflict on his face. Hadn’t been immune to how badly their estrangement had hurt him. Perhaps it was merely wishful thinking on his part that he nodded and said, “Yes, of course, he would have.”

But Harry knew Ron, loved Ron, better than anyone she knew, and didn’t dispute him. Instead, she let the tears fall from her eyes, laying her head on his shoulder as they were both enveloped by grief.

~~~

Bleak. There was no other word to describe the world as they sat by his graveside, some unknown Uncle giving remarks. The world, the occasion, the weight of it all. Dead. Ron was dead. He lay inside the box being lowered into the ground, blue lips and grey skin beneath layers of makeup. Dead.

And as she listened to the remarks of those who had loved him, who had known a Ron that she had not, Hermione could feel her soul spreading inside her.

She blinked in surprise as Harry stood, murmurs breaking out as he walked up the aisle and to the coffin, perched above the ground by magic. He lay a hand on the wood, shutting his eyes and making a miserable face, and then took the podium.

“Ron was my best friend,” he began, jaw working. “My first friend. And his friendship was the single best thing that could have ever happened to me. When we met I was just a boy in oversized clothes, stepping into a world I had no clue about. No clue I was famous in and Ron, he never made me feel famous, but he did make me feel special. On that train ride he offered me half of his sandwich, the only thing he had, and then he opened up his home and his family without hesitation. I will never be the same because of the kindness he showed me and I will never be the same because Ron-“

He broke off, staring miserably at the coffin, and spoke to it directly. “Ron every one of my futures had you in it. I’m sorry for all the times I put you in danger, you never had to stick by my side and for that I am….”

Hermione watched as his glasses fogged with tears and still he stared, miserably at the box holding what remained of their best friend.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It was Mrs. Weasley who managed to unfreeze, her own face screwed up and miserable as she walked with determination, wrapping her arms around Harry and he trend, sobbing onto her shoulder. Greif shot through Hermione, and the pain reverberated through her with every sob and sniffle. He was dead. Ron was dead. Her world would never feel on-kilter again.

Send me a prompt!

[kareofbears]

desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—  

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He’s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, “There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”

[dinglemingle]

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy)

Chapter 5 

TW: Drug use + dealing TW: Vomit TW: Violence

This chapter contains explicit language.

Saturday mornings were not the time to be standing outside McDonald's whilst your dodgy mate dealed, but here Aaron was, freezing his arse off for a couple of quid.

To be honest, he'd hardly class Ross Barton as a mate, he'd only know him a few weeks, but he needed the money and Ross was more than happy to cut him in if he helped. A life of crime wasn't what Aaron had in store, but for the time being, it gave him enough money to not have to rely on his mum.

Relying on Chas was something you couldn't do, she'd make a promise then never see it through, or swear she only needed a fiver but somehow leave with twenty, which was of course never repaid. He did love his mum, and she tried her best, but her overbearing nature and mother knows best attitude could be a lot to handle sometimes.

He used to think he was the luckiest kid, to have Chas and Paddy, but by the time he'd hit 15 he realised how patronising they both were. Paddy had gotten worse in recent years, trying to manipulate him and overacting when he put the smallest foot out of line. Aaron knew he was just being protective, it didn't stop him from getting frustrated every time Paddy tried to control his life.

He still viewed Paddy as a father figure, still idolised him, he didn't think that would ever change, despite everything. Paddy had taken him in and loved him as his own, even now that Leo was here, he still made time. Add to that the fact that Paddy was the only one he'd spoken to about being gay

Aaron hadn't fully admitted it, not quite comfortable enough yet. He managed to confess his attraction to lads however and his curiosity. Paddy had been great, promised not to tell anyone and that he still loved him. Aaron didn't care, even telling one person had been too much, so they'd dropped the subject and never spoke of it again. Aaron preferred it that way, he didn't want all the attention that came with coming out or being the only gay in the village, still, he always noticed Paddy's watchful eye when he so much as looked at another boy

In a way, Paddy had helped him feel more comfortable, so he felt like he owed the man, couldn't write him off, no matter how pushy he could be. It was sort of an impossible situation, one he often kept at the back of his mind.

The thought however was interpreted when Ross emerged from the corner, cash in hand, grin up to his ears.

"There you are" he stuffed £40 into Aaron's hand and patted his shoulder

"Right so-" Aaron began, the ringing of Ross's Nokia cut him off

Ross retrieved the phone from his coat and gave Aaron the signal to wait

"Alright mate" Ross started

Aaron felt a bit useless, just stood there

"Outside Maccies mate, be there in a bit yeah" Ross continued, talking to the unknown source

He nodded a bit before finishing the call

"Right sound" he put the phone away and turned to Aaron

"Come on, we're picking up then dropping off" He spun back around and made his way towards the bus station, Aaron closely following behind

Bus journeys were usually calming for Aaron, not this one though, as Ross painfully made small talk, going on about which girls had the nicest tits and had Aaron got any recently? Of course, he had replied with "Yes Ross, in fact, it was your younger brother in a dingy wood."

The pick up had somehow been worse, a bunch of lads Aaron only knew from their bad reputations, who had somehow made friends with Ross in the five minutes he'd been in Yorkshire

Aaron didn't speak, just stood waiting for Ross to hurry up. He wasn't scared of the lads, but the knowledge that they'd batter him if they knew who he was made him feel uneasy

After what felt like 10 years Ross appeared from the kitchen, a shed load of drugs stashed in his coat

Soon they were back on the bus, this journey being silent, thank god, and at Tanya Holden's house

She opened the door with that sour-faced look that was glued to her like a bad stain. Her mega-rich parents were away for the weekend,so the beer bottles and bodies lying around weren't much of a surprise

"Ah babe why didn't you invite me" Ross signalled to the clear remnants of a party whilst trying to hug Tanya

"Piss off" was her response, as he pushed him away

Ross laughed and held his hands up, Aaron was still in the doorway, hating being there, feeling all the more awkward as Tanya had of course been one of the girls Ross deemed "shaggable" on the bus

She noticed his presence

"This one don't speak?" She questioned, reaching for her purse

Aaron's cheeks flushed

"Oh he's shy" Ross approached, pinching his pink cheeks

Aaron batted his hands away, rolling his eyes

Ross laughed again "soft lad"

Tanya had pulled out some money and was waving it in Ross' face

"The stuff?" she questioned

Ross didn't hesitate before producing a few bags

Coke, Aaron thought, to be honest, he didn't know, or maybe he just didn't care

Sometime between leaving Tanya's and getting the bus back to town, Ross had mentioned a party that night, he'd only been invited because he had drugs, and he thought Aaron might be up for it

Up for it wasn't how Aaron felt at all, but he appreciated the offer, and he'd grown tired of spending his Saturday's third-wheeling with Vic and Adam, so at half-past 8, he was in the back of a Vauxhall Corsa with Ross, on the way to god knows where, pockets stuffed with Ket

Midnight was fast approaching and Aaron was positively off his face. He hadn't gotten this high in a long time, preferring the odd joint over a full-on bender.

There was a time this would be his usual weekend activity, but he'd moved on from that crowd and away from nights spent in A&N with sick down his shirt.

At age 15 he'd had his stomach pumped 4 times and was already dealing and nicking anything he could find, an attempt to make a few quid quid so he could go and buy more drugs.

The life of crime had soon caught up with him, when he'd been battered by the McFarlanes for a deal gone wrong. It was after this that he packed it all in.

Yet here he was again, falling back into bad habits, stumbling through a crowd of drunk teenagers and a couple of blokes who looked way to old to be knocking back dark fruits with 16 year olds.

Before long he'd found himself in the bathroom of whoever the fucks house this was. Alone with his thoughts his mind began racing, Aaron couldn't decide if it was because of the substances or the blonde boy he hadn't seen in over two weeks.

Well, that was a lie, of course, it was, Aaron couldn't escape seeing Robert, he was constantly there, sauntering through the halls, or snogging Chrissie in the common room

But Aaron hadn't actually seen Robert, not properly. He hadn't seen him up at the farm, getting chastised by Jack, or on a night out, sat dazed in the toilets, rambling about bullshit whilst he scrolled through his phone.

He hadn't seen the cocky glint in his eye or the smug smirk. And it was bothering him

Ever since that day at the unused classroom it was like a switch had gone off in Robert. There were no snarky comments or digs coming Aaron's way anymore. He didn't want to get carried away but he could've sworn Robert was avoiding him.

Maybe he'd touched a nerve,he didn't know, and quite frankly he didn't care what the reason was,he was just pissed off.

Sure he didn't like Robert telling him to fuck off or taking the piss out of his cheap trainers, but this was awful

This, god this was so much worse.

The constant impenetrable silence, the complete of avoidance of each other everywhere they went,it was killing him. Aaron craved Roberts attention, he craved the rush of Robert calling his name or the way they'd bicker in the canteen.

Aaron hadn't realised just how much he relied on Robert to feel a buzz. Sure a part of him hated arguing with the prick,but these last few weeks he'd realised he absolutely loved it as well

At that moment, as he collapsed into an empty bathtub, ribs aching and vision blurred from aggressive strobe lights, Aaron realised he'd rather hate Robert for the rest of his life then never have anything with him at all

As if by some sick force of nature Robert Sugden himself stumbled into the bathroom,fly already down, beelining for the toilet before he wet himself and spoiled his new Ralph Lauren jeans

Aaron's eyes looked as the tall hazy blonde raced passed him and for a split second believed Robert himself was a god and that the heavens must be real

Others would say it was the ridiculously large number mushrooms he'd consumed earlier that evening

"What the fuck" Aaron's dreams of god's and angel's were disturbed by a visibly startled Robert,who was staring at him, jeans at the knees and white briefs protecting his modesty

Aaron would be lying if he said he didn't look, after all, he had to confirm if the rumours were true

"Fuck off Dingle!" Shit. There it was, just like that Aaron was sober, his eyes wide open as he realised that Robert really was there, in front of him and he desperately clambered out of the bath and through the door,which expectantly closed with a loud bang and a murmur of "for fucks sake" and "can't take a piss in peace"

Once back downstairs, though not really remembering how he'd got there, Aaron had headed straight for the kitchen for another drink, he didn't like this sudden sobriety, in a strange sort of way it left him feeling naked, vulnerable, unable to hide behind the mask of a drunk persona.

He'd downed a Budweiser,two dark fruits and done 4 vodka shots when he next saw Robert. The blonde was making his way into the living room from the garden, sweat glistening his forehead and quite clearly fucked out of his mind.

He stumbled in through the doors, leaving mud stains on a perfectly beige carpet, though at this point everyone was far too pissed to care and in true Robert fashion had gone flying into Brandon Keene, Hotten's biggest wanker, spilling his Stella (typical) all over his definitely underage girlfriend

Without a moment to spare, Robert was flying through a crowd of people and crash landing onto the couch, nose gushing with blood after being punched right in the face

Suddenly a crowd of drunken teens had formed and all began chanting fight! fight! fight!

Aaron rolled his eyes as Robert charged at Brandon, wrestling him to the floor

Aaron didn't even know why Brandon was there, he'd left college two years earlier and was known for being a nasty gobshite. Last Aaron heard he'd swanned off to Liverpool with a new modelling job. Obviously not

Within mere minutes a couple of punches had been thrown and the sweaty bodies around him had almost duplicated, Aaron decided it was too much hassle and too much noise and made the motion to leave.

Robert had other ideas,he'd looked up from being smacked by the twat on top of him and locked eyes with Aaron right as he decided to go.

Aaron couldn't quite pinpoint what it was in Robert's eyes. Fear? Anguish? Desperation? Whatever it was it saw Aaron pulling off Brandon with all of his might, and throwing him as far into the crowd as humanly possible

When he turned round Robert was already stood smugly in the centre of the living room like he hadn't just been beaten to a pulp

That's when the tidal wave of drugs, alcohol and the way Roberts nose had been rearranged from the rest of his face came over him and he threw up everywhere

The carpet was a mix of sweat, blood and tears quite literally,and now Aaron's sick

He'd never been bothered by blood and gore but the heat and the intensity of everything got that better of him and it was too late to do anything

He turned to see Robert stood there with his sick all over his shirt and shoes

Aaron felt like he'd be sick again. The music became all blurry and he vaguely caught snippets of the abuse Robert hurled his way

His fists were sweaty and his head was spinning he felt like he was losing control. The weight of the room collapsed on his shoulders as he saw the camera flashes and heard the sniggers. The air in his lungs vanished as he desperately pushed through the crowd, never having been so mortified on his life.

He'd escaped with Roberts voice echoing "you fucking freak" over and over and over again as he collapsed halfway down the street, hot tears brutally spilling from his red eyes. The night air hit him violently,he'd left his jacket somewhere in there

But he couldn't go back. No

He'd just thrown up on Robert. Fucking Robert. In Front of half of his college

Aaron physically felt his stomach churn,but not because he was going to be sick, but because he'd never felt so ashamed,so stupid, in that moment he wanted to disappear.

So he got up and ran through the streets,crying, humiliated,the cold air shaking him, and he didn't stop til he got to some random kebab shop in town, where he'd sat on the pavement,with no jacket,no money,only his dead phone and a trackie pocket full of shitty receipts for two hours before a stranger let him use their phone

And when at 1:27 am he'd buried himself in the passenger seat of his uncle Cain's car, no questions asked,he declared officially that he fucking hated Robert Sugden,but more importantly,

he hated himself.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron spent the weekend at Cain's, much to Chas' dismay but he really didn't care, he felt awful and he knew his mum would only pry

He'd charged his phone, but had avoided it all weekend for fear of seeing what people had said

It was at 1:44 am on Monday when he'd finally plucked up the courage to turn his phone on when he saw a text from a familiar yet distant number

Sorry,R

[loki-hargreeves]

Loki x Reader - You Dedicate A Song To Him (Karaoke)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, vulgar language, secondhand embarrassment, fluff? just some fun (?) content and soft!Loki for a change  Word Count: 3,000+ Summary: After moving to Midgard, Loki joins the Avengers. You’re an Avenger too and after a mission gone well, you decide to celebrate. That’s when Loki sees your drunken side. You seem to be both intoxicated with alcohol and the god of mischief himself. Author’s Note: Please know that everyone is different when they’re drunk. I wrote this based on what I’m familiar with. For once, I tried to keep angst out of this. I tried. Besides, writing soft!Loki is actually fun. Please enjoy! 😊

Third POV

The night had gotten a wild start and the chaos didn’t seem to be ending any time soon. Y/N had returned from a mission with her teammates after spending a week in the cold woods of Siberia. Once they reached their mission target and came back home, they were more than happy to celebrate their victory. After all, it felt great to be back after such hard work.

Loki was one of her teammates. He was new to the Avengers and they still didn’t trust him, nor did he believe they ever would, not completely. Despite the fact Loki had told them about Thanos, it didn’t seem to change much. Luckily, Y/N seemed to appreciate him. Even the kid, Peter Parker, dared to at least attempt to try to Loki. Even if the god didn’t vocalize it, he appreciated both of them. Especially Y/N. They had gotten much closer during the mission. They had split up and worked in pairs. Luckily, Loki had worked with her and they learnt a lot of each other. Y/N was much older than she appeared. The root of her powers was older than any living human on Midgard. Centuries ago, her family had been cursed by a witch. The rest of her family had unfortunately died, but Y/N, back then still a child, had fallen into a deep sleep. She had woken up from it after being disturbed by HYDRA. The evil organization had tried to take use of her powers. At least, she learned how to control them, but under the wrong circumstances.

That’s why she was so happy to be an Avenger. She could put her powers to good use. Besides, she felt understood while talking to Loki. He too had gone through terrible things.

So here they were, at a bar in the city that never slept.

But Peter was too young to drunk, which meant Loki would celebrate with Y/N. He did not expect the night to turn out the way it did.

The mortals had taken shots of something that smelled awfully sweet, which was why Loki had declined. Midgardian booze was nothing like the booze they had on Asgard. Unfortunately, Asgard was destroyed and the inhabitants of New Asgard back in Norway couldn’t magically get the ingredients from the destroyed realm. Alcohol wasn’t important for Loki, so he didn’t mind. He had a glass of red wine and he did his best to keep up with Y/N and the rest.

After several drinks that had burnt her throat, she began to loosen up and relax – if embarrassing herself counted as relaxation. It took a while for the alcohol to take a toll on her, but once it did, she was wild. It even surprised Loki, who had seen a lot in his long life.

“It’s my turn!” Y/N seemed beyond excited when the man called her name on the karaoke stage.

Loki had no clue what would happen. “Have fun,” he wished her sweetly, watching her get up and squirm through the people in order to reach the stage. Some people whistled when they saw her, which Loki didn’t necessarily like, but he had learned it was common in such places that were full of drunk people. People could be dirty. Some were simply dumb.

The song began to play and right off the bat, the people that recognized the song hurried onto the dance floor. For some reason, the lights on the dance-floor turned pink, making the aura of the place feel very intense, almost romantic. Loki didn’t think much of it, not yet. Although, Loki knew she would probably be embarrassed in the morning, he was happy to see her happy. When she was sober, she was definitely more closed off.

“Hey, Loki!” Y/N yelled his name in the microphone as the music blasted in the background. It threw him off guard and he tilted his head to look at her, afraid she’d say something foolish. “This one’s for you!” She continued proudly, making heads turn into Loki’s direction. Some people cheered her on.

Dear gods…

For me? He thought, confused. Was she serenading him? Was this normal Midgardian behavior?

Loki felt his cheeks heat up from embarrassment. He wasn’t used to people showing him any signs of affection this publicly. Bucky and Sam, who were nearby, couldn’t resist their laughs as they heard Y/N. The duo were good friends with Y/N and they did their best to get along with Loki. It wasn’t the worst, but sometimes they got on Loki’s nerves. Just like they did now. To make it worse, they headed to Loki’s direction and squeezed into the booth, sitting with him. They really wanted to make the most of the moment, didn’t they? They were practically gleaming!

Instead of brushing her off completely, Loki simply smiled and hid his embarrassment by taking a sip of his drink, hiding his face while doing so. Loki had fun, knowing he would remember this perfectly the next day, but he also wished he could be swallowed whole by the booth he sat in.

“I didn’t know there was something between the two of you,” Sam teased Loki a little bit, hoping not to push his buttons. Honestly, he was too drunk to really care.

Loki only shot him a cold glare, clueless as to what he should say. What lead Sam to the conclusion that there was something between them? Sure, they were close – that was undeniable, but it wasn’t romantic. Or was it? Nothing was set in stone, so Loki assumed what was between them was purely friendly banter with some innocent flirting. Alright, he had to admit he did feel for her, but he would never act on it. She was so…good.

That’s when she began to sing.

(True – Spandau Ballet) “…So true, funny how it seems, always in time, but never in line for dreams. Head over heels when toe to toe. This is the sound of my soul, this is the sound-“

Y/N wasn’t drunk; she was wasted.

Yet her singing sounded good. Loki would’ve focused more on her beautiful voice if it wasn’t for the lyrics. It had only been a few seconds, but he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. What was happening?!

“…I bought a ticket to the world, but now I've come back again. Why do I find it hard to write the next line? Oh, I want the truth to be said!” Y/N sang surprisingly clearly, never taking her eyes off Loki. It appeared the alcohol gave her a boost of courage. Loki couldn’t imagine ever stepping foot on that stage. He’d rather stay in the safety of the booth nearby.

By now, some of the drunken people had begun to sing along. Although it seemed like everyone else was having fun and ignoring Y/N’s feelings, Loki noticed it. She seemed serious, although she was drunk. He felt that she meant some of the things she sang, she basically poured her emotions into it. Could it truly just be the alcohol?

“…With a thrill in my head and a pill on my tongue, dissolve the nerves that have just begun. Listening to Marvin (all night long!). This is the sound of my soul, this is the sound-

Always slipping from my hands, sand's a time of its own.  Take your seaside arms and write the next line, oh, I want the truth to be known…”

As odd as it was, Loki began to relax a little bit. Perhaps, it wasn’t that bad. There was a saxophone break in the song and Y/N stood there in silence for a while, as a sweet smile decorated her face. She seemed to happy. Whatever it was she was doing, she enjoyed it and Loki adored that. Even if it was just a drunken thing, it was nice. Surely, it would make him question things later, but Loki would try to push his thoughts away. He was a master at that.

“…This much is true, this much is true (huh huh), this much is true, I know, I know, I know this much is true…” as the song came to an end, some people applauded cheerfully, having clearly enjoyed the song Y/N had chosen to perform. She got off the stage after handing over the microphone to the man controlling the karaoke system.

“Wherever you are, Loki, someone sure adores you!” The man said into the microphone, clueless to who Loki actually was. Just like that, someone else got on stage and another song began to play. Loki didn’t have time to think over it as Y/N returned to the table, squeezing her way next to Loki, which she had to do by crawling over Bucky and Sam. She looked a little clumsy doing so.

“I hope you liked it!” Y/N said loudly over the music and grabbed her drink, sipping on it excitedly. Her behavior fascinated Loki.  

Loki felt someone kick his leg under the table. The next moment, Bucky just smirked at him, as if he was trying to silently hint something. It was a different side from the man Loki was used to seeing at the compound. Ignoring the super soldier, Loki returned his attention to Y/N. “It was amazing,” he told her, seeing how happy it made her. Loki might’ve been cold to others, even frightening, but over time he had learned to let his guard down with her and he enjoyed it.

“That was so cheesy Y/N,” Bucky joked, making the woman roll her eyes.

“What? The song is iconic!” She argued playfully, not minding Bucky’s comment. They were friends, after all.

“If you want an iconic love song, you should try Careless whisper!” Sam butted in, almost wishing she would sing it. That would definitely make the mighty god flustered!

Sam’s suggestion seemed to thrill Y/N. “Sam, you’re a genius!” She slurred. “I should totally sing it.”

Bucky had to cut off her joy, “too late, doll. It’s too late to sign up.”

“Fuck!” She cursed, making the men laugh, and then she leaned against Loki’s shoulder, as if it was the most normal thing to do. Loki tensed up when he felt her head against his body. What was she doing? Why didn’t he mind it? He wished dearly that she wouldn’t bee too embarrassed all sobered up. “You’re soft.”

“What?” Loki spat out in shock. Bucky and Sam exchanged surprised looks, making it very clear they were drunk which definitely made them think like teenagers. How infuriating.

“Your jacket! ‘s so soft, Loki,” Y/N mumbled and rubbed her fingers up and down Loki’s arm. She seemed enthralled by the material of his clothes.

Loki looked at her drowsy smile and knew she would fall asleep soon if she stayed like that. She was quite comfortable by Loki’s side. Perhaps too comfortable, because falling asleep in a bar wouldn’t be ideal. Loki put on a tough face and acted like he didn’t care too much, “Are you tired?” He asked her. He would gladly take her to the safety of her own bed. It was getting quite late.

“Me? Tired? You must be joking!” Y/N denied the obvious truth, her cover breaking even more as she yawned. With anyone else, this type of behavior would annoy Loki, but he had to admit she was quite precious like this. It was the contrary of her Avenger self. She could be scary while in action. He had also figured out she was a skilled actress, or liar as some would say, which clearly didn’t apply to her drunken state.

“Thor and the others already left,” Bucky informed them casually. It meant that they were the only ones still at the bar.

If even Thor had left the party, it must’ve been quite late!

“I’ll just finish… er- I’ll finish this drink,” Y/N bought herself a little more time while holding onto her half-empty glass. It was fair enough.

              By the time she had finished her drink and they had gotten out of the warm and loud bar, Y/N had to hold onto Loki to stay on her feet. Loki, Sam, Bucky and Y/N could’ve called for a safer ride to the compound, but the three drunk Avengers got into a cab and Loki had to join them. He was too worried of what kind of trouble they would get into if he let Y/N out of sight. Sam sat in the front, chatting with the driver as the rest were in the back. Y/N was in the middle seat and she still leaned against Loki. He didn’t mind it. Loki had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, which made it easier to sit in the small car. It was definitely a tight fit.

“You smell good,” she kept mumbling the weirdest things. Loki didn’t show it, but her words affected him more than she’d ever know. He knew she was drunk, and it could all be drunken nonsense, but her little compliments felt oddly nice.

They finally arrived at the compound and surely enough, the alcohol had lulled her into a heavy sleep. Loki sighed once he realized he had to carry her. It wasn’t a problem for him, but he knew he would hear about it for weeks if his brother caught a sight of them. Thor was an oaf who knew exactly how to piss off Loki if he wanted to. He supposed it was just part of brotherhood.

The path was clear, which was a relief for Loki. Her body was limp in his arms. Loki wondered how many people would ever dare to put their unconscious bodies near him. It was clear to him that she trusted him, which meant more to him than he wanted to admit.

It was nearly five in the morning once Loki had put Y/N on her bed. Kindly, he took off her shoes and wrapped her blanket above her so she wouldn’t wake up cold. Knowing she would definitely have a headache in the morning, Loki decided to put a glass of water on her nightstand. Just as he was about to leave, she caught his attention once more.

“I like you…so, so much…” The woman mumbled, half-asleep.

Loki looked at her in shock. He told himself she was just drunk, but nevertheless, her words made his heart swell and blood rush through his body. It was sweet of her. Deep down, Loki wondered if she spoke the truth. If she did, he would be really thrilled about it. Nervous, too. It had been a very long time since Loki last cared for anyone romantically. “Sleep well, Y/,” He brushed his thoughts away. She had already fallen back to sleep. Then he retreated to his own quarters. Despite how strange the night turned out to be, he had a good time. Who would’ve thought? Prince Loki of Asgard had a good time in the middle of drunk mortals.

                   Morning came and Loki decided to get up. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, but he was a god, so it didn’t affect him too much. He decided to use the gym while the rest were still asleep or taking care of their hangovers. During the entire morning, Loki failed to get Y/N off his mind. He wondered how she would react to him now that she was sober. How much did she remember? Would she be embarrassed?

A ’swoosh’ sound of the doors sliding open caught Loki by surprise. He hadn’t expected company at the gym. He took a break from running and he turned to look at the door.

Y/N stood there, frozen in shock as she looked at the god – covered in a thin layer of swear, only wearing green top and black trousers.

Memories flooded to her mind at the sight of him. She faced away from him, seemingly embarrassed. “Oh…hey,” She broke the silence. Her voice was a little harsh, probably because of last night.

“Good morning, Y/N. How do you feel?” Loki wondered. He was genuinely curious to know how that amount of alcohol affected her.

She avoided eye-contact with him by playing with her water bottle. “Well, it could be worse. It’ll pass,” She answered his question.

Loki knew she remembered, possibly more than he expected her to. If he didn’t ask her about it, she would probably act like this around him for a long time. With a sigh, he stepped off the treadmill and walked closer to her. Loki was a little nervous to mention it, but he knew how to hide his own feelings. “How much do you remember?

His question made her eyes open wide and she seemed to get flustered. “Too much,” Y/N was quick to say. “Look, I’m sorry, Loki. I must’ve put you in such an uncomfortable situation. I understand if you don’t want to see me right now.”

Was she serious?

“Don’t be silly,” Loki was quick to reassure her, “I’m alright. It was quite amusing, I must say.”

A smile grew on her tired face. Loki could almost feel her relief radiate to him. He had no clue she’d be so nervous. Did it mean that she had meant the things she said? Or was she simply embarrassed?

“Thanks for getting me inside. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you either. Gosh, I was so drunk!” Y/N quickly saw the humor in the situation and giggled at herself.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to Loki? “I couldn’t just leave you, now I could I have?”

A/N: I really wish you enjoyed this! Your feedback and/or a reblog would make me so happy <3 I heard the song on my playlists and that’s where I got the idea for this fic. 

[itsnotokbutwereallright]

Oh! Oh! If you’re taking prompts from the Drabble list, could you do a #38/39?? Or your choice!!

This rambling brought to you by writer's block, margaritas, and a sudden urge to write instead of working from home.

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

"I'm just tired"

"It just...hurts"

The capacity for want had been beaten out of Natalia and the other Red Room girls early. They were taught that wanting something meant it could be used against them. Money, fame, and the attention of a beautiful woman were the most common desires of their targets; the Red Room trained them to ensure the third became the only. Natalia quickly became adept at manipulating men (and sometimes women) to succeed. They were taught first not to express wanting. If a girl wanted a specific weapon, it was used against her. If they asked for an extra portion, they went hungry. And if they asked to rest, the girl never came back to her bed. Instructors repeatedly hammered into the girls that their only desire should be to serve the Soviet state; anything else was a weakness, and there was no weakness allowed in the Red Room. The girls learned not to ask for anything, and they learned to accept what they were given. 

One time, at the end of what had been a particularly bloody mission, she caught herself wishing she had more discretion about who died at her hands. She made the mistake of asking her handler why even those in their beds had to die. Her arm was broken and she was forced to sleep in a concrete cell for a week without medical care for questioning the orders she was given. It was a painful, but effective, lesson. Wishing led to wanting.

It wasn't until a man in black with a fucking bow and arrow was chasing her through Eastern Europe that anyone brought up wanting with Natalia again. When he finally cornered her in Budapest, panting against a wall with blood in her eyes and an arrow aimed at her heart, Hawkeye asked, "Do you want to hear an offer that doesn't end with an arrow in a vital organ?" She'd been planning to catch her breath so she could break his hands. The recruitment offer had sparked a pain in her chest that she'd grit her teeth against as she nodded. 

The next few days were a blur of questioning, testing, and more instances of that chest pain than she was willing to acknowledge. People kept asking her what she wanted, so Natalia did what she had been taught to do - manipulated them into giving her an indication of what they wanted and pushing that agenda forward. It was determined she was able to be released to the SHIELD base at large after only four days. When she walked into the cafeteria for her first meal outside of a cell, all eyes were on her until she slipped on a friendly mask and went through the line. The agents cautiously turned back to their meals, except for Hawkeye (Agent Barton, she reminded herself). He studied her with those cool blue eyes and a wry twist of the mouth as she sat, then stole the pudding cup off her tray. It was a game she'd been playing for as long as she could remember, and she knew better than to show a reaction. It turned that twist into a frown, but Natalia ignored it as she ate the vegetables off her plate and diverted him with asking about the various facilities. He'd want her to take an interest in her new home.

Clint would needle her into making choices between two things - pineapple on pizza or no? Milky Way or Three Musketeers? Cats or dogs? He normally did it at a time where she was focused on something else - once, memorably, as she was hanging out the passenger window trying to blow out the tires of an SUV that was chasing them through the streets of Puerto Vallarta. She'd been annoyed about that one and took it out on him on the mats - in the middle of the night, after she dragged him from his bed. Afterwards, as he lay panting on his back, he gasped out the logic. If she didn't have time to think, if he could get her brain to turn off, it became more of a gut instinct. She couldn't play off of what people wanted to hear, he'd said while side-eyeing her. The searing pain in her chest stopped her from acting on a want right then. She'd strolled to the locker room only to collapse with shuddering breaths as soon as the door closed. Natasha resolved that she would get rid of this trigger on her own. No matter how long it took. 

Six months later, she hadn't progressed much beyond smacking Clint's hand away from her pudding cups and stealing his fluffiest blanket when she came to his room. There would be plenty of times that Clint flashed that grin at her, the one so sure of itself, that she had to step back to keep the pain from showing. The smile dimmed a little, but it made Natasha work harder for the day when she could show how she felt.

A year after that, Natasha had started stealing the cookies off his tray, and was firmly team pineapple. She was able to go to him on particularly rough nights (the hospital fire, waking up to the smell of smoke in her nose and a ringing in her ears) and ask to stay - always on his couch. He didn't ask about the bed after her first vehement rejection of the idea. 

It was another six months before she could say the words to her mirror. The day that Natasha convinced herself to say them outside of her room, she walked into breakfast to find him sitting hip to hip with an agent named Bobbi - sharing a muffin. The heaving in her stomach had never been a sign of a trigger before, so she could only blame herself. Natasha dipped her head courteously as she nabbed an apple and headed back out to the gym. Stupid girl - wanting is weakness. The faintly Slavic accent couldn't be ignored, no matter how much Natasha had changed since the Red Room. They were right all along. It would just have to be packed away and ignored. She'd done it this long, she could keep doing it.

Except that she couldn't close Pandora's box once it had been opened. Every laugh, every secretive wink, every time Clint showed up to a briefing late and flushed, it was like a dagger to her heart. Natasha pushed herself as hard as the Red Room had taught her and tried desperately to forget. The risks that she took on missions became greater; Coulson and Clint side-eyeing her in briefings but unable to argue with results. And that pain in her chest became more and more frequent, until it was just a continuous pain that made her want to scream that Clint was HERS. Still she kept quiet, though the distraction of Clint and Bobbi started causing mistakes. Little ones at first that only she noticed, but they gradually became larger. When they were panting in a warehouse in Istanbul (not Constantinople, dammit Clint for singing that on the way here) it was clear she had Fucked Up. They had found temporary cover and Clint was cursing in several languages as he tried to staunch the bleeding from her abdomen. 

"What is going on with you?! You've been in black ops for as long as you've been alive! What the hell were you thinking?!"

She shook her head. She hadn't been thinking. At least, not of the mission. She'd been thinking about the slim gold band she'd seen Bobbi Morse wearing in the cafeteria this morning. One that matched the ring on the chain Clint stashed in his locker on the Quinjet before they disembarked. "I'm just tired."

He snorted at her. "Oh, spare me the bullshit. You could beat these assholes with only your pinky toe if you had your head in the game." They heard the roaring of ATVs at the same time. "Keep the pressure on that. I'll take care of this and then we're going home to figure this shit out." She shook her head again, but he ignored her and moved to high ground to take out the gang they had been assigned to monitor. Once that was done and the emergency evac was on its way, Natasha pretended to pass out to avoid the discussion. She did actually pass out from shock at some point, she assumed, as she woke up in a white room in a med bay with fresh stitches and an IV. Clint had his dirty boots on her bed as he played an invisible drum set to music only he could hear. It was just another thing she lo- 

Sharp pain, gasping as she came off the bed. Clint jerked up and tried to grab her so she didn't run. "Tasha, Tasha, I'm here! You're safe! It's okay!" Shallow, rapid breaths as she tried to focus on something other than the necklace that she could glimpse beneath his collar. "Come on, Nat, deep breaths," he tried to soothe as he reached to jab the nurse call button. 

"Back. Up," she managed to force out as she slapped his hand away from her remote. A panic attack. God, if Ivan could see her now. Yelena would kill her in a heartbeat. Clint jerked back, more from surprise than anything else. Hurt showed in his eyes, but he stayed with her. Natasha forced her breathing to regulate. If this is what her body was forcing her to, she would have to fess up. It took several minutes to get her breathing under control, but Clint stayed the whole time. "Sit down and stop staring at me," she grumbled at him.

"Excuse me for being concerned," he snapped, but he sat. "Does this mean you're ready to explain?"

Natasha closed her eyes and nodded. "You don't get to say anything until I'm done." It wasn't worth checking for a response. "I love you, Clint. It's not fair for me to say that to you, not with what you and Bobbi have, but I can't not tell you. It just...hurts. I've wanted to say something for two years, but I was trying to break the conditioning and I couldn't even out, and then when I could it was too late, and ever since then it's just been pain and I feel so weak and I hate it," her breathing started speeding up again and she had fistfuls of the sheets as she tried to anchor herself but couldn't and she ruined everything and…

Clint placed his hand over hers. "Two years?" Natasha slowly nodded, not loosening her grip on the sheets. "What a mess," he sighed. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to cry in front of him. "Tasha, I've loved you since that day you let me steal the pudding off your tray without breaking all of my fingers. I waited for you to be ready. No one should go through what you've gone through. You survived, and you deserve to set your life on your terms. Bobbi and me? It was a bet that escalated really quickly. She's got her sights set on some British hot shot, and I've been busy pining after my partner." A tear leaked out of her eye and was brushed away, causing her to open them. "I want you, Natasha."

Finally, finally she could say the words. "I want you, too." He moved to capture her lips and she put a hand on his chest. "I also want a shower. And some food. Like pineapple pizza."

"Aw, Nat," was Clint's answering whine.

"And then? We'll see what else we find out I want."

He laughed, loud and long, and was allowed to push the button to call the nurse. "Let's get out of here."

[hopeworldfan]

summary: you and yoongi have been best friends since you were kids, being hopelessly in love with each other was never part of the plan. aka, the typical cliche.

pairing: yoongi/reader

chapter one

word count: 6k+

genre: fluff, smut, angst, college!au, friends to lovers

warning: angst, depression, self-harm, suicide attempt, alcoholism, divorce

a/n: ive been working on this for a very long time and decided i had to split it up because shes a big one. let me know what you think!

The early hours of the morning had always brought a sense of comfort with them. The world was so quiet, so still, so peaceful. Being in the last year of your undergrad meant that you were intimately acquainted with the early hours of the morning; when the sun was just starting to shine through the blinds,  the birds were just starting to chirp, the world was just starting to wake. You wished you could enjoy it, enjoy the quiet, but you were six cups of coffee deep into your Psychology of Counseling textbook and more than ready to jump off a bridge if it meant you didn’t have to take your midterm in three hours.

“You need to get some semblance of sleep Y/N, you’ll be too tired to concentrate on your midterm if you don’t.” A soft yet stern voice commented from your doorway and you sighed before leaning back in your chair -wincing as what felt like your whole spine cracked-, before spinning around and squinting at your best friend.

“Did you know that our awareness of death is the source of zest for life and creativity and that we can turn our fear of death into a positive force when we accept the reality of our own mortality?” Yoongi just continued to lean against your doorway, fixing you with an unimpressed stare and you sighed. “This chapter on Existentialism is really putting me through it, the death stuff isn’t even the worst of it. Did you know that having some anxiety is perfectly normal-”

“Y/N.” He interrupted and you sighed again, sliding your reading glasses up to where they were sitting on your head and rubbing your face.

“If I go to sleep now I won’t wake up, and I don’t have all the details of the six propositions down yet. I just know Bridgette is going to make that the essay question.” Bridgette, formally known as Dr. Coddou, had emphasized them way too much for them not to be the discussion question, and the discussion was worth half the points on the midterm.

Your best friend, however, didn’t budge, keeping his arms crossed and giving you a reproachful look. “You have work right after your midterm, you’ll be dead on your feet if you don’t get at least a few hours. I’ll wake you up on time for your test, so get in bed.”

“You’re being such a hypocrite,” you mumbled but closed the textbook regardless. Arguing with Yoongi would be a useless venture, it always was.

“What was that?”

“Nothing Yoongi-oppa.” You smiled brightly while he rolled his eyes, noticing the small upturn of his lips.

“Okay koreaboo.”

“You like it.” You sang before collapsing on your bed, disgruntling the black cat that was already sleeping there. Despite your previous protests, you were out like a light the minute your head hit the pillow. Yoongi just fondly shook his head before walking over and gently removing your glasses from the top of your head and setting them on your nightstand.

The first time you met Yoongi was in the third grade. It was one of those weird, super vivid childhood memories that seemed engraved in your brain, right along with your fifth birthday party. The school year had been well underway when he was brought into class, something that already made his presence exciting. His family had just moved from Korea to the states and he stumbled through his introduction, not quite having a solid grasp on the English language. Your classmates had laughed, finding his struggle and heavy accent hilarious. It wasn’t funny to you though, even at such a young, impressionable age because your abuelita didn’t speak a lick of English and your own mom’s heavily accented Spanglish was often ridiculed at school events. 

He sat alone at recess that day and you were the first to approach him, a bright smile on your face and the offer of friendship hanging from your outstretched hand. Yoongi had been so incredibly shy at first, but you didn’t let it deter you. Instead, you stayed stuck to his side like glue, always with a bright smile and eager to help him learn English. By the end of the year, the two of you were inseparable and the rest was history. 

Yoongi kept a diligent eye on the time while he worked on the composition in front of him. He knew he was prone to getting lost in his work without caring about the world around him, but the last thing he wanted to do was lose track of time and be the reason you missed your midterm. Especially after insisting that you sleep and promising to make sure you didn’t miss it. You would never let him hear the end of it if he this up. 

Thirty minutes before your class, he got up and gently pushed open the door to your room. His breath caught in his throat when he saw you lying there. He’d seen you sleeping more times than he could count throughout the years, saw you lying there with your mouth wide open, drool on the side of your face, and the smallest snore coming from your sleeping form. It never failed to take his breath away. You never failed to take his breath away. There were no false pretenses when you were sleeping, no sign of the cheerful mask he knew you worse to make it through the day, the hardened armor you donned to protect yourself. When you slept there was a vulnerability you showed so rarely, even to him.

Yoongi had been in love with you for years. Maybe since that first moment in third grade, before he even knew what love was, but he knew you had a pretty smile and you were the first person to make him feel like moving away from everything he knew wasn’t the end of the world. There was just something so captivating about you, so endearing, it was unrealistic to think that he ever stood a chance. When you smiled at him, eyes squinted and barely visible, he knew without a doubt that he would do anything to keep that smile on your face, and that’s why he was okay with just being your best friend because that’s what made you happy. 

Still, it was moments like this that he took for himself; approaching your sleeping form and gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. You unconsciously leaned into his touch and his heart skipped a beat. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you. The number of times he’d fantasized about it, about pressing his lips against yours was honestly ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. It was something he’d dreamed about since he was thirteen. 

You muttered something unintelligible in your sleep and Yoongi retracted his hand. He knew he had to wake up. He was being more than a little creepy and crossing a multitude of lines. The two of you were best friends, nothing more. 

“Wake up, Y/N.” He said, bringing a hand to your shoulder and gently shaking you awake. Your eyes briefly fluttered and you groaned, trying to snuggle deeper into your bed to catch a few more precious moments of sleep. Yoongi smiled fondly and shook his head. “Nope, you have to get up and go take your midterm.”

“Midterm!” You yelped, shooting up in such a panic that Yoongi instinctively took a step back. “I have to go take my midterm!”

“Relax,” he instructed calmly. “You have thirty minutes and I brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”

You sighed, letting your shoulders drop and willing your heart rate to slow. “Ay dios mio, whew, I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life.”

His heart rate spiked at your words, eyes glued to your form as you stretched out on your bed, arching your back and groaning. Less than innocent thoughts were playing through his mind and he willed them away. You weren’t being serious, it was commonplace for you to say suggestive things, but a large part of him always hoped. 

“Do you work tonight?” You asked, finally getting to your feet and rolling your neck, wincing at the distinct popping. The question broke him from his reverie and he mentally slapping himself.

“No, I tried to but I’m already in overtime for the week so Jin wouldn’t let me.”

You pouted and lightly hit his shoulder. “What did I tell you about overworking yourself? Between the two of us, we make enough to pay the bills without killing ourselves.” Your eyes softened when you took a longer look at your best friend. The bags under his eyes were an even darker shade of purple and his skin was an even more ghostly pale than normal. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your head against his chest. “You need to take care of yourself Yoongi, there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you, remember?”

The words were muffled against his chest, but the way his arms wrapped around your form was enough confirmation that he had heard. Being so sleep deprived made you overemotional, but that didn’t make it any less true. Over a decade of friendship made Yoongi a fixture in your life. When everything was crashing down, when everything was going wrong, when your abuelita and dad both died in the span of a year, when your mom turned to alcohol to numb the pain, it was Yoongi who was always there for you. He was the only stability in your life, and that was why you’d never tell him how you really felt, how you were desperately and hopelessly in love with him. 

“You’re sappy when you’re tired.” He commented dully as he gazed down at you, praying you couldn’t hear how his heart was ready to jump out of his chest.

“Please, I’m sappy all the time.” You shot back, pulling away to get on your tip-toes and place a soft kiss against his temple. He had to fight every cell in his body to keep from blushing at your show of affection because it was so common that it shouldn’t even affect him anymore. The man was convinced you were the most affectionate person he had ever met; it was something he learned early on, so he knew not to read into it. However, the temple kisses were the one thing he could never get used to. While the hugs, hand-holding, and cuddling made his heart race, there was something about the temple kiss that was so tender, so intimate, and he’d never seen you do it with anyone else.

That was because you didn’t. It was selfish and stupid, but the temple kiss was the one thing you’d allow yourself. You could sweep it under the rug of showing platonic affection if anyone questioned it, but you knew that it was different. 

“Alright gotta blast, see you later Yoongles, don’t forget to feed Noodle!” You smiled, already halfway out of the door, your backpack sling over your shoulder and a full tumbler of coffee in your hand. “Love you!”

“Love you too.” He replied softly, but the door was already swinging shut.

Relief flooded through you as you handed in your midterm, giving Dr. Coddou a polite smile before jetting out of the classroom. There were other midterms to study for, other things to stress about, but that was for a later date. The only thing currently on your mind was treating yourself to your favorite takeout to celebrate before going into work.

“Y/N!” Someone called out from behind you and you immediately whipped your head around. “How do you think you did?”

“I’ll be pretty upset if I didn’t make at least a ‘B’, what about you?” Namjoon smiled down at you, shyly adjusting his glasses.

“I’m pretty sure I made an ‘A’.”

“Of course, you did, you’re literally a genius. I really only asked in the interest of being polite,” you teased, noticing the way his cheeks flushed the most endearing shade of pink. Namjoon was cute in a nerdy, bookworm, librarian way with his wire-framed glasses, grandpa cardigans, and adorable dimples.. The two of you shared a class together your sophomore year and were partnered together for a project. You really hit it off and stayed friends, though you’d never interacted outside the context of academia. It had been a surprise when you walked into your psychology of counseling class and saw Namjoon already sitting in the front row, being that he was a Philosophy major and you were positive psychology of counseling wasn’t required for that degree plan.  “I’ve been meaning to ask, but why did you take this class anyway? Planning on doing some philosophical counseling?”

Namjoon’s cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. “Oh, uh, I mean, no uhm, I just well, I really like,” he paused and his eyes only met yours for a second before he looked away, his blush managing to deepen even more. “Psychology! I really like psychology! It’s really interesting.”

“Right!” You agreed enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the boy’s panic. “It’s all just so intriguing to learn about how people think and why. This chapter on Existential Therapy was so fun despite how much it blew my mind. I mean, our awareness of death being the source of our zest for life and creativity? Whew. Do you think you’ll end up with a psych minor?”

Namjoon just stood there with a dumb smile on his face, not realizing you had asked him a question. He’d been distracted by your rambling, the way your eyes lit up and you gestured wildly with your hands. It was the cutest thing he had ever seen. You were the cutest thing he had ever seen, and that was why he found himself in yet another psychology class that he had absolutely no need for.

“Hellooooo, earth to Joon?” You asked, staring up at him with your head tilted and one eyebrow raised.

“Oh! Uhm, yeah, I’ll probably end up with a psych minor.” He said in a rush, trying to downplay his embarrassment.

“Fun!” you glanced down at your phone and swore. “Shit, I have to get to work, see you later Joon!”

Namjoon sighed as you bounded away. Would he ever work up the confidence to ask you on a date? It didn’t seem likely.

Work was exhausting, per usual, but tips were decent so you weren’t complaining about that. What you were complaining about was just how bad your feet ached. Despite how many times you complained to Jin, he liked the uniforms the was they were, so you were stuck with stupid shoes that offered no support or comfort.

By the time you were gently closing the front door, it had to be close to two in the morning and you were ready to crawl under the overs and sleep like the dead since tomorrow was Saturday and you were off of work.

“Hey Noodle.” You greeted softly when the black cat made his presence known t you with a loud ‘meow’ before rubbing himself against your legs.

You were mid-yawn when you trudged into the kitchen, content to just drinking some orange juice because finding something eat would take entirely too much effort. It was by chance that you noticed the post-it on the microwave, Yoongi’s messy handwriting sprawled across it.

mac n’ cheese in here, just heat it up

Your lips upturned in a gentle smile. For all his talk, Yoongi was one of the softest, most thoughtful people you had ever met. His love language was in the small things. Sure, it was just mac n’ cheese, something that didn’t take longer than ten minutes to whip up, but it was ten minutes he knew you weren’t going to take. While the macaroni was heating up, you added a little something to the bottom of the post-it.

remind me to put a ring on it in the morning

Loud. That was your first thought as you were choke-slammed into consciousness. There was a very familiar, very loud voice carrying through your apartment and you groaned before grabbing your comforter and pulling it over your head, trying in vain to delay the inevitable. 

You weren’t the slightest bit surprised when your door was slammed open and the person squealed “Y/N-ie” before jumping on top of you.

“Ay dios mio, get off Hobi,” you grumbled, trying -and failing- to push the older boy off of you.

Said boy just laughed. “Not a chance! I haven’t seen you in so long. I’ve missed you!”

You stopped struggling, content to accept your fate of being squished. “I missed you too, Hobi.”

“Why don’t you ever call me oppa?” Though your head was still buried underneath your comforter, you could hear the pout in his voice and knew he was making a devastatingly cute face.

“If I call you oppa will you get off of me?”

“Yes!”

“Okay...Hobi-oppa.”

Hoseok kept his promise and promptly rolled off of you, grabbing the covers and pulling them off in the process. You knew you should probably be at least a little embarrassed considering Hoseok now had a pg-13 rated view of your body since you only ever slept in a big t-shirt and underwear, but modesty was never one of your strong suits. Instead, you rolled over in a desperate attempt to sneak a few more moments of sleep. “Nu-uh, you’re getting up and coming to get lunch with me, Jimin, and Yoongi-hyung.”

He was equally as unaffected by your lack of clothing, having gotten used to it. “Hobiiiiiiiii.” You whined.

“Don’t make me tickle you.”

That was enough to make you jump out of bed. He didn’t bluff when it came to tickling, something you knew all too well. The redhead cheered before pulling you into a tight hug.

Hoseok was the first friend Yoongi made freshman year and became your friend by association. You couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that Yoongi attracted extroverts like moths to a flame because Hoseok was the textbook definition and while you weren’t quite on his level, you were up there.

“Ah, good morning Y/N.” A serene voice greeted from the doorway and you glanced around Hoseok’s frame to grin at the fourth member of your ragtag friend group.

“Hey Chim.” While Hoseok was the first friend Yoongi made in college, Jimin was yours. The two of you shared a hellish 7:30 your first semester and bonded over wanting to die every morning and keeping each other awake during the lecture. The four of you meshed together unsettlingly well, and Hoseok and Jimin ended up as roommates before the end of freshman year. You privately thought it was hilarious that your three best friends were all Korean, maybe Yoongi was right when he called you a koreaboo.

You meandered over to Jimin and wrapped him in a tight hug before brushing past him and noticing Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. “Is Yoongi still sleeping?”

“Mhm. You know you’re the only one who can wake him up without putting him in a bad mood.” Jimin said lightly and you rolled your eyes.

“I gave you guys that spare key to use for emergencies, not to break in and force us to eat lunch with you.”

“Eating lunch with us is an emergency!” Hoseok protested.

“Ya, ya, ya.” Regardless, you were awake, and if you had to be awake, so did Yoongi.

Creeping into his room, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him lying there. He looked so content, so peaceful, it warmed your heart. You knew how deeply Yoongi hid things, how he always put his own feelings last when it came to the people he cared about. It was only through years of friendship that you were able to discern when he was putting up a front, when he was putting on a brave face for your sake. Both of you had baggage and issues and things that were hard to talk about, even with each other. However, at that moment, you knew none of that mattered to Yoongi, he was at peace, and a part of you hated to ruin that.

The other part of you wanted to jump on him the way Hoseok did to you.

That part won out.

“Rise and shine sleepy head!” You giggled, throwing your body on top of his and gently patting his dumpling-like cheeks as you straddled him. He groaned, the same reaction you had to Hoseok, and you shot him a beaming smile when his eyes fluttered open. “Good morning Yoongi-oppa.”

Something strange flashed across his face at your words but you were too busy poking his squishy cheeks to notice. “What are you doing?”

The question was entirely for his own sake because he was becoming increasingly aware of the position the two of you were in, something you were completely oblivious to. He could tell you had just woken up since you only seemed to be wearing a big shirt -one of his-, and a pair of underwear. That alone was enough to make his cock twitch, seeing you in his clothes always had an effect on him, especially when the only thing you paired it with was underwear. Then there was the way you were straddling him, knees on either side of his torso, completely unaware that your crotch was directly over his. Usually, he had self-control, he could squash down the indecent fantasies, but he was still only half-awake and all he could think about was how easy it would be to grab your hips and thrust up. He knew it wouldn’t take him long to cum, even if there were three layers -his boxers, the comforter, and your panties- between his cock and your pussy. God, the fantasy of you placing your hands on his chest and grinding down on him was too delicious. He already had an idea of what you’d sound like, the small whimpers, the soft gasps, he’d heard it all before when you thought you were being discrete late at night. He wanted to hear those sounds when he was the one causing them, when his cock was-

“Hobi and Jimin are here and forcing us to go eat lunch. You should be grateful I’m the one who woke up and not Hobi.”

Yoongi mentally slapped himself. His cock was growing harder and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He prayed to every god in existence that you didn’t decide to press down on him because there was no way you wouldn’t know his dick was hard. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

You giggled before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and hopping off his bed. “Hurry up and get ready, I’m starving and I’m pretty sure I can scam Hobi into paying.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned and danced out of Yoongi’s room, missing the way his eyes stayed glued to your barely covered ass.

“See, completely unharmed. He probably would have killed Hobi-hyung.” Jimin pointed out from the couch, happily petting Noodle and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh,” you paused, an innocent smile slipping on to your face. “Hobi-oppa?”

Said boy’s face lit up and you internally smirked. A part of you would have felt bad for scamming one of your best friends, but it wasn’t like he didn’t -frequently- do the same thing to you. When he hit you with a pout you were helpless. “Yes, Y/N-ie?”

“Well, since you’re my oppa and all, does that mean you’re paying for lunch?” You tilted your head and stuck your bottom lip out the tiniest bit in a pout. Jimin ducked his head to muffle his laughter.

“Of course, leave it all to me!” Too easy.

“This so good I am going to bust the fattest nut.” You moaned between mouthfuls of lo mein noodles.

Hoseok had decided on Chinese and you weren’t complaining, especially when it was on his dime. “I second that.”

“Here Yoongi, you have to try this.” You insisted, gathering a hefty amount of noodles on your fork and turning your body sitting next to your, expectantly holding the utensil up to his face. He gave you an unimpressed look but the smile on your face persisted and it only took seconds her him to cave and take the offered bite. “See! Amazing, right?”

“Feed me next Y/N-ie!” Hoseok pouted and you rolled your eyes before gathering more noodles.

“Here you go Hobi-oppa.” You teased and he gladly wrapped his lips around the fork.

“I, for one, still can’t believe that you can’t use chopsticks,” Jimin commented and you groaned.

The three boys were all using the provided chopsticks while you didn’t even bother opening your set. “Let me live Jimin.”

“Just saying.”

“I’m not required to know how to use chopsticks just because the three of you do! Stop peer pressuring me.”

“It’s really not that hard Y/N-ie.”

“Look, Yoongi’s mom spent many a dinner trying to teach me, I’m just hopeless!”

“It’s true, she’s a terrible student.”

You immediately punched Yoongi on the shoulder, but his gummy smile erased any thoughts about even pretending to be angry. Before anyone could say anything, your phone started ringing and you only hesitated for a second before pressing the device to your ear after seeing just who was calling you.

“Hola mamá,” you greeted cheerfully, ignoring the concerned look Yoongi shot your way. “¿Qué pasa?”

The smile on your face slipped when you heard the drunken slur of her words. It slipped even more when she popped the inevitable question.

“¿Cuanto?” You asked, trying to keep your voice even, to not ruin the atmosphere because this was the first time the four of you had been together in forever and you wanted to enjoy it. You didn’t react when your mom listed off the number, despite the sinking in your stomach. “Bueno...sí mama...esta noche...sí...te amo.”

“Back to our previous conversation, all I have to say is that learning how to lose chopsticks is a lot harder than it looks when you’re not born into the culture, and it’s also harder to learn as an adult because your brain has less plasticity.” You rambled, forcing a smile as you logged into your banking app to transfer the money to your mom’s account. Yoongi tensed and you knew he was watching you, could practically feel the disapproval radiating off of him when you transferred the amount from your savings to her checking. You knew he understood the short conversation you had; he’d picked up his fair share of Spanish throughout the years. It would be an argument later. You could already feel the headache.

The rest of the lunch was fine. Hoseok was even louder and more ridiculous than usual and Jimin kept reaching across the table to fiddle with your hands, your hair, your face, all in an effort to make you feel better, seeing right through the smile plastered across your face. They knew you too well for it to fool them. Yoongi, on the other hand, was silent, he was stewing.

“Six hundred?” He asked the minute the two of you were alone in the apartment, barely giving you time to shrug off your jacket. You just collapsed on the couch, feeling all your energy leave you in an instant thinking about how much you were going to have to work to make up the funds.

“And what about it?” You sighed, too tired to muster together any anger.

“That money is for grad school, what did your mom need it for? Couldn’t pay rent because she spent all her money on alcohol again? Couldn’t pay her light bill because she keeps funneling money into poker machines?” In a turn of events, you actually weren’t too tired to muster together any anger, because Yoongi’s cold words brought it right to the surface. Mostly because he was right.

“And so what if it is? What am I supposed to do Yoongi? Let her get evicted? Let her power get shut off? It’s my money, I can do whatever I want with it.” 

Your mom never did shake back from the alcoholic hole she fell into when your grandma and dad died and Yoongi resented her for it. It had broken you because you didn’t just lose your grandma and your dad, you lost your mom too, and Yoongi almost lost you. He’d been so caught up in his angsty teenage bullshit, hating the world because of his parent’s divorce that he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice when your smile became tight and forced. He didn’t notice when you started wearing long sleeves despite the unforgiving heat. He didn’t notice when the light started to fade from your eyes. It wasn’t until he broke down your bathroom door junior year of high school because of a goodbye text that he finally noticed.

Yoongi had never been one to cry, but he cried then, finding you crumpled on the floor, a knife in one hand and blood running down both arms from the cuts lining them. He carefully took the knife from your hand and threw it out of the room before sinking onto the floor next to you and wrapping your trembling form in a tight hug. He apologized as he cried, over and over again, for not realizing sooner, for not being able to take your pain away. It was then that he knew that he hated your mom because you were his sunshine, his light, and that was what she had reduced you to, because even then, the only thing you could manage to say besides ‘i’m sorry’ was ‘please don’t tell my mom’.

He hated that even now, even though you were so far away, she still had such a grip on your life. You were supporting yourself and supporting her. 

Though you understood why Yoongi felt the way he did, though there were times when you resented your mom, at the end of the day she was still your mom. She was the woman from your childhood who was full of warmth and laughter, and there were rare times when she still was, when the old her shined through in her even rarer moments of sobriety.

Yoongi wasn’t fuming, but you were. His anger ran cold where yours ran hot. “How much more are you going to let her take Y/N? That’s all she does.”

“She’s my mom Yoongi! Fuck! I’m not having this argument with you again!” You shouted, throwing your hands in the air and storming out. It was such a pointless fucking argument to have, the two of you would just run around in circles, getting angrier and angrier until you inevitably stormed off. The two of you didn’t argue often, you hated arguing with Yoongi, he was your best friend in the entire world, but you knew the topic of you mom would never be something you agreed on.

You weren’t paying attention to where you were storming off to, the destination wasn’t the point, you just needed to clear your head and get away from Yoongi. Somehow you ended up at a little park that you didn’t even realize was near your apartment complex, so you sat on one of the benches and groaned. It was cold outside, it was getting dark, you were alone, and you didn’t have your phone, keys, or wallet. You really were a genius.

“Y/N?” A soft voice called and you yelped, jumping up and ready to run if the person was going to try and murder you. “Sorry!”

Whipping around, you visibly relaxed when you took in the boy in front of you, cardigan and all. “Whew, you almost gave me a heart attack Joon.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again and you waved it off, finally noticing the white dog curiously sniffing your shoes. Your response was instantaneous, dropping into a squat and gently petting the dogs fluffy head.

“Who is this cute little baby?” You cooed happily, laughing when the dog playfully jumped on you, causing you to fall back on your ass while being assaulted with kisses. Namjoon was literally melting.

“Oh, uhm, his name is Rapmon.”

“Hi Rapmon,” you greeted cheerfully, planting a kiss on the top of his head before getting to your feet and wrapping your arms around your torso. It definitely wasn’t the smartest move to run out without grabbing your jacket when winter was right around the corner.

Namjoon noticed and immediately shrugged off his cardigan. “You should put this on before you get sick.”

“Ahh I can’t take that! You’ll be cold!” You protested.

“I’m wearing long sleeves, and my body temperature naturally runs high.” You wanted to put up more of a fight, but the temperature was dropping as the sun sank below the horizon, so you gratefully took the offered clothing.

“Thanks,” you smiled as the boy’s cheeks warmed, seeing you in his clothes having an enormous effect on him. “Do you live around here?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah, my apartment is right across the street actually.” He replied sheepishly and you whipped your head around to the fancy ass apartments across the street.

You couldn't keep the amazement from your voice. “What the fuck, Joon, those are so nice.”

“Ahh, my mom picked it out, they’re alright.” He said, clearly embarrassed. “What about you?”

“I think my apartment is somewhere around here, I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going.” You admitted, it being your turn to be embarrassed. “I had a fight with my best friend and kinda just...ended up here.”

“Oh.”

The two of you just stood there for a solid minute, Namjoon trying to work up the courage to say something and you just not really knowing what to say for once in your life. It was Namjoon who finally spoke. “Do you...uhm...do you want to come up to my apartment? It’s getting dark and it’s cold out, once we bring Rapmon in I can drive you home...if you want.”

He trailed off, obviously flustered and you giggled. “I’d love to come up to your apartment Joon.”

It was exactly as fancy as you expected and you had to physically stop yourself from gawking like a tourist. However, you were doing a poor job and Namjoon secretly thought it was adorable how your eyes were the size of tennis balls.

“Alright, I can bring you home now.” He said after letting Rapmon off of his leash and grabbing his keys. You hesitated though. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go home, per say, but you didn’t want to go home. Yoongi’s temper had a tendency to stick around, taking a while to defrost, and you didn’t have the energy to go another round.

“Is it okay if I just...chill here for a while?” You finally asked, nervously fiddling with your thumbs.

“Yes!” He answered immediately because he was ready to give you the world on a silver platter if that was what you requested, especially when you were standing in front of him in his cardigan.

“Thanks Joon,” you smiled, missing the blush that painted his cheeks.

You made yourself comfortable on his couch and he followed suit. It took a few minutes for the ice to break, but once it did, you couldn’t stop talking. Namjoon was hands down the smartest person you had ever met, and he had such interesting viewpoints on so many things. He was incredibly easy to talk to and you had to admit that he looked so fucking cute when he was rambling about a topic he was passionate about. It was the only time you’d ever seen him look confident about something and it was really hot. Namjoon had always been filed away as ‘cute’ in your mind, but seeing him in his element, completely at ease in his fitted long-sleeved shirt, hair in disarray from how he kept running a hand through it, well, you had a different perspective.

Almost unconsciously you gravitated towards him until your knees were touching and his cheeks were rosy, hyper-aware of the contact.

“What time is it?” You suddenly asked, realizing it was completely dark outside and you’d been talking for so long that your mouth was dry. Namjoon glanced at the watch on his wrist -it looked like a Rolex- and winced.

“It’s two in the morning.”

You immediately shot up, eyes wide in panic. Fuck. Yoongi was probably worried sick, you had stormed out without your keys, wallet, or phone and it was two in the morning and you weren’t home. “Fuck.”

Namjoon brought you home immediately, spewing apologized for not paying better attention to the time. You reassured him that it wasn’t his fault and you had gotten equally lost in talking to him, thanking him a million times for bringing you home. 

Your stomach was in knots as you climbed up to the third floor, just knowing Yoongi was going to be even more furious with you. God, you were such an idiot.

You’d only managed to knock on the front door twice before it was yanked open and you were pulled into a bone-crushing hug, letting out a squeak of surprise.

“Y/N.” Yoongi breathed and your heart clenched painfully at how relieved he sounded.

“I’m sor-”

“No,” He interuppted, still holding you tight against his chest. “I’m sorry okay. I know, I know she’s still your mom and that will never change no matter how much I resent her for the hell she put you through. I’m sorry, just please, fuck, please don’t leave like that again.”

His voice shook the smallest bit and your heart broke. He must have been so worried about you.

“Hey,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around his frame and gently rubbing his back. “I’m sorry Yoongi. It was really stupid of me to run out like that. I ran into a friend and we lost track of time, don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, sorry to tell you.”

He took a deep breath, his face still buried in your hair, and loosened his grip just enough for you to reach up and place a kiss against his temple. Just like that, everything was right again.

[always5hineee]

Hell and Back- Chapter 33: A Halfway Leap (Trials 50-60)

Word count: 3839

Chapter warnings: Mild language, strong themes, severe gore

-----      

       The Faith Trials would end up being the least favorite of hers in the bunch.

       Looking back on her own story, she never would have guessed the shit she was about to be put through. It was unimaginable, and yet, she had nothing better to do than think about it. Rushing past her, thousands of millions of entities, and yet no way to stop, all she could do was think. And what better to think about than them?

       She hated the Faith Trials because they drove everyone apart. It was the smallest little things, yes, but they would fester and grow until there was nothing left but sickness and disgustingness between them. She was no exception.

       How was one to know when a friendship was over? Is it when you're first forced to Google that fateful question? Is it when you have nothing to talk about, or the you begin actively hating each other?

       They only had three trials left incomplete. They chose two truths, and one dare. She didn't care to remember the truths. They made everyone angry. Why else would they be given to them, after all? Of course, in the course of events, someone must know what happened. The boys certainly remember what happened. The narrative does exist. However, this is Y/N's fault, her prize, her story. If she doesn't remember, there is nothing to be done. She scolded herself for forgetting. It was like deleting a few scenes of your favorite movie just because your favorite character died. It was incomplete. There was a significant difference, though. This was most assuredly not her favorite movie.

       She was elated when that fateful screen graced her vision.

        Congratulations! You have completed the Faith Trials. Welcome to Round 5, the Delegate Trials! Round 5 will consist of 8 trials for any and all players. If a player cannot continue or chooses to drop out, the trial will be null for that player and they will be penalized with the dropout fee. Other players are not affected. Round 5 will end after trial 60.

       They all slept alone the night before these trials. The Delegate Trials. Certainly a gruesome experience. It was also the shortest set of trials since the preliminaries. That didn't mean they were any better. Maybe it was the sheer visceral reaction of what was to come that made her memory so flawed regarding the trials beforehand. Their concept was simple. Each trial would select a Player. Sometimes they'd be given the option, other times not. That player could choose to complete one task, (again, obviously, chosen by the game), or force another player to do a different task. She didn't know exactly what these choices were based on, but the task was always revealed before the first player made their choice, so it was complete guilt. What a perfect game to play just after their foundations had been so steadily shaken.

       For example, Trial 53. A classic party game. All the trials seemed to start out this way, with a mildly risky, innocent game of fun. By the end of each section, they were lying under trains. In this case, they selected two players. Suho demanded a turn, as well as Kris. Once they'd been put into the app, they were offered a decision. One was to place his hand on a dartboard, (something that, as boys, they actually did own), while the other threw darts. The initial player could position their hand however they liked, but couldn't move it during arcs. They could only rearrange it between throws. No darts would be taken out of the board under any circumstances until five had been thrown, and any that missed didn't count. Their other option was to force Baekhyun and Lay to take up the same offer.

       They had argued heavily regarding this trial. Baekhyun had significantly smaller hands than all the other players involved in the challenge, so he was the obvious choice for the dartboard. In fact, he pointed this out himself, more than willing to take it on, and putting no risk on Lay. Suho, as always, had a problem with this, as he wanted to assume the brunt of the danger, even if they were all a bit on edge. In the end, Baekhyun had no ability to dictate his decision, and since Suho had requested to keep the trial, he was the one who got to put his hand on the board.

       Kris had admittedly good aim, likely from all the shitty party games he'd played in his years. Suho, inversely, was unwavering in his stance, whether to keep appearances strong for the group or simply because he'd numbed himself. He was only hit once. It was on the third dart, and his blood dripped down the wall in a beautifully tragic red stream. It was between the two tendons of his middle and pointer finger. Kris looked concerned and moved to help, but Suho only reminded him that they weren't to remove the dart. They finished. Lay healed him, with some difficulty- he was growing tired.

       Trial 54. The knife game. Again, simple, a common party game. Except people tended to use butter knives, pencils, or other relatively harmless objects. True to form, this little endeavor required a real knife. It was either Kai's challenge, or he could pass it to Y/N. She insisted that she was familiar with the game, begging him to let her do it instead, but he refused. He passed with a little nick to his ring finger, barely even bleeding. Lay had fallen asleep, so they covered it with a Band-Aid and moved on.

       Trial 55. This is where things started to get really, really serious. They were told to supply a player once again, and Xiumin volunteered. Once he received his challenge, though, he'd quickly regretted it. He was meant to stick his hand into the garbage disposal of the sink. There were four switched on the back. They would have to flip one. Even if any of them remembered which one turned on the drain, (which, none of them did), whoever was in charge of the trials had proven themselves capable of changing the circumstances. It could have easily been tampered with. If Xiumin didn't want to do it, he could pass it on to Chen.

       Chen insisted on letting him complete the trial. Even though Xiumin was older, he scared a little bit more easily, and Chen felt as if he hadn't really done much since the start. Obviously, they had all been through a lot, but he wanted to contribute, especially after Xiumin had been forced to hang from the roof of a building against his will. It took a few minutes of debating, but Xiumin finally conceded. Chen was left to do the challenge.

       He shoved his hand in the drain as Kyungsoo explained the mechanics of a sink garbage disposal. Thankfully, there weren't actually any sharp blades, so unless he stuck his hand all the way in the bottom where the bolts held the metal pieces, he shouldn't be cut badly should it turn on. Any trauma to his hand would be blunt force. That didn't do much to make him feel better about it. Out of the four switches, they debated which it could be. They figured the one furthest from the sink was a safe bet, as for wiring purposes it would be impractical to place it there.

       They had been wrong. He broke three fingers. Lay was still passed out, so even as the tears of pain rolled down his face, he wrapped his hand up and indicated to continue the trials. He could fix it later. Xiumin felt awful- that should have been him, he let a kid take his place and now Chen was in serious pain. He would have undone it if he could... But they'd lost that ability with Tao. Even then, he may have been limited- they weren't even paying attention to the qualifications at this point. She was zoning out further and further with every challenge.

       Trial 56. This was the first trial in which two options for activities were given. Activities was a shitty name for them- she didn't know what else to call them. Events? Outings? It all sounded corny and completely non-representative. Either Lay could lie on the highway for five minutes without moving, or Y/N could let one of the other members carve a '56' into her forearm with a knife. She remembered thinking to herself that this was bordering on abusive- as if it hadn't already crossed, chewed up, and spit out that line.

       Suho wanted Lay to do the challenge. He under no circumstances wanted Y/N doing anything to hurt herself, as had been evidenced in the Solo Trials. Y/N, in turn, saw that something was going on with Lay, not to mention that the risk of the highway far outweighed some light bleeding. In truth, the thought of someone slicing up her skin made her sick, but what was she to do? Out of all of them, she had done by far the least to continue the trials, and she was the one getting the reward! But... they didn't know that.

       Suho was arguing with her, much louder than she would have expected from him. He was normally so respectful, especially when it came to her, but something in him had snapped since that one round of truth. Maybe he just didn't have as much of a regard for her after she'd chosen him. Nonetheless, he couldn't do anything to stop her as she sprinted over to Lay's sleeping form, shaking him awake. He blinked forcefully, eyes tearing up at the light as he muttered something about not being able to see. She muttered that she needed him to say 'I concede'. That was it, that's all the app needed to hear. The stupid, fucking, nightmare of an app. He did it.

       Kris was the one to do it. Kai looked like he was going to throw up, turning away to face the wall. Sehun covered his ears like a baby to try and avoid hearing her hisses of pain. He used her own pocketknife, the one she'd been carrying since the beginning for the trials. It was as small as he could make it without the letters becoming indecipherable. Didn't stop it from hurting like shit. The 6 was the worst, as it was one long, drawn out, agonizingly slow cut into her skin. As soon as it was done, he promptly bandaged it.

       Trial 57. This was strangely easy- they had to select a person, for which they put forth Chanyeol on his own volunteering. He had the choice to harm him self with his own powers, or choose someone else in the group to hit him.  As someone with fire powers, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to forcefully make his body allow himself to be burnt, but he didn't really care to find out. He let Suho hit him, since Chanyeol had been one of the ones to agree that he was the most obnoxious. It hurt, but not as much as a burn. That was the very abrupt, fairly calm end to trial 57. It was nothing compared to what was coming for them.

       The fifty-eighth trial was something that would be ingrained in her mind forever. It was the sickest device pf psychological torture she had seen in her life, and although short, it was still saying something. The plot was elaborate to say the least. It took them to a location outside of the one they had been spending time in. The day was coming to a close once again, and she could barely remember how long ago they'd started this mess. It couldn't have been more than a few days, but it felt like millennia.

       The setup was in a field, a baseball field to be precise. It was lit by floodlights, but there was no one in the area, so there were likely no games scheduled. On the side with the canopy, there were four harnesses tied to ropes, all lying in the copper colored dust of the playing field. Those were hooked into the canopy, then lowered back down, with three times as many ropes as had been entered. There were also two more garishly noticeable details- a giant, rusted, yellow device, and an oversized pair of garden trimmers.

       The trial was complicated, to say the least. They had been split into two groups, not of their choosing. They would have to decide which group took the harnesses, and which took the clippers. If the group with the extra member chose the harnesses, they would all be strung up, but if the other did, they would simply have one extra harness. Once they had decided, they would be suspended over the functioning woodchipper. The more people strung up, the less ropes would be cut, as there would be less people on the ground team. However, in a worst case scenario, all of the suspended team could end up chuck. If it was any consolation, the game offered them a skipped trial for every person who felt into the chipper.

       The teams were, as far as they could observe, randomly selected. The larger team consisted of Sehun, Kai, Kyungsoo, Chanyeol, Chen, and Lay, with the smaller being made up of Y/N, Suho, Kris, Baekhyun and Xiumin. In this, they were torn. The smaller team, most particularly Suho and Kris both wanted to be the ones up in the ropes. Not because they were particularly brave, no, but more out of a sense of responsibility and pride. However, it conflicted with all of their interests to bring Y/N up there with them. Not only that, but with the larger team cutting, there was more of a chance of someone getting dropped. Kyungsoo tried to explain how this wasn't exactly true, and that the math worked out evenly, but no one really cared.

       Y/N insisted that she'd be fine in the harnesses. After all, for every one person, there were three ropes. That was only a 33% chance of getting dropped. Not only that, but altogether, the percentage was actually less, as there would be an extra harness. Sehun asked what would happen if she were to get dropped, but swallowing, she just reminded him of the rule for Player 1. That didn't sit well with anyone.

       They decided on the smaller team. It was, simply speaking, the least amount of people at risk. They all stepped into the harnesses, buckling them around their waists and tightening them to a snug fit. The app gave a warning before they started that, should they escape from the harness, and somehow manage to avoid the sharp fall, they would automatically be rewarded with the dropout penalty. She didn't even catch what it was before the screen glinted away. She tried to reach it, but Suho calmly told her not to bother, as none of them were going to drop out anyway.

       As soon as she'd selected they were ready, their bodies were flung into the air, and the woodchopper activated. She had no idea how remote these systems were, but looking down into the churning blades of the machine was making her want to scream out for someone to help her. Xiumin didn't seem to be faring much better. Baekhyun had gone into some sort of shutdown, not reacting to anything or anyone, simply staring into he void, as if he wasn't even looking at the machine below them. Kris was acting cool, and Suho seemed to be... at peace.

       She'd remember Xiumin's whimpers for the rest of her life. It was like a sick dog cornered by wolves in an alley, just barely audible over the screeching of the appliance beneath them. She heard one line clearer than crystal, though.

       "Y/N, I don't wanna die."

       "You're not going to, honey."

       Kai was the first to cut a rope. He was the boldest out of all of them, but in reality, it was out of cowardice. The more ropes there were, the less of a chance he had of killing someone. He didn't want their blood on his hands. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about it. His cut was a blank.

       Lay was still not doing too hot. He was still not doing too well, and his skin was rather hot, although he complained about being cold. Kai had given him a Tylenol, basically figuring out that it was a fever. It had helped slightly, which is how he'd been able to make it to the field to begin with. With the assistance of the other members, he made his cut as well. Blank.

       After Chanyeol made his cut is when Baekhyun started to get antsy. Kris was still holding himself strong, but he wasn't saying anything, leading her to be certain that it was all an act. As long as he could keep it up, though, she was willing to let him. They couldn't all be messes by the end of this. Chen was next, glaring up at Kris, and she wondered if he was silently hoping that he would fall in. No one did.

       Kyungsoo tried to think about it logically, calculating which ropes had already been cut and the probability of distribution. He was worried his overthinking would be his downfall. Finally, he just shut his eyes and picked at random. He wasn't a fan of chance, but in this case, it seemed to be his best bet. It payed off.

       Sehun was the last to cut. Looking at him, one would have thought that he was the one hanging from the ropes. He was trembling, although trying to hide it, as he held the clippers in his hand. Eyes flitting back and forth frantically between ropes, trying to mentally grab the one that wouldn't kill anybody. It was here that Y/N made eye contact with Suho.

       It was scary, his expression. His eyes were half-lidded, and he had a small smile floating across his face. His hands, which had been previously clutching onto his belt, were limp at his side, his body seemingly completely relaxed. He noticed her gaze, and looked over to her lazily. It was scaring her, especially after how angry he'd been all day. No matter how old she'd grow in the future, no matter how many times she thought about his next words to her, she had no idea how he'd known.

       "You know, Y/N, I was always scared of getting old." Her brows had furrowed when he said this. Then, everything went silent as his body dropped from her vision. She knew she screamed, she felt it scratch her throat and rip her lungs into shreds, but she didn't hear it. It was probably for the best. Have you ever heard someone fall into a woodchipper? She was glad she didn't. If someone had asked her before this, she would have made a joke out of it, probably say "crunchy". Not now.

       The blood splattered up past her knees, leaving the four of them basically soaked. It wasn't just the liquid, either. Xiumin was crying and screaming, torn between covering his eyes and staring into the abysmal, silver and red void of the machine. Kris, for the first time threw up, coating himself and the ground below him in nastiness. She had completely zoned out, unable to scream again through the pain, vision swimming as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Baekhyun was clutching himself and rocking back and forth from the rope as the machine turned off, the harnesses lowering to the ground, all four of them curled up in the dirt, not knowing what to do.

       The other group would have come to help them, but they weren't faring much better. Sehun had fallen to the ground almost immediately, screaming out in a mix of terror and guilt, covering the back of his head with his hands as he shook. As woodchoppers traditionally worked, one end was for wood, and the other for wood...chips. This one functioned no differently. Before anyone had even gotten the chance to realize Suho's fate, he was already spewed all over them in small, wood chip-like chunks. It was disgusting.

       There was nothing any of them could say. At least they got to skip a trial? At least Suho didn't have to face his worst fear? At least it was only one? None of it added up. That was their leader, one of the cornerstones of their friendship. He cared for all of them, no matter how harsh he could be. He would have gladly died for any one of them, but he shouldn't have had to. And now he was gone. Not only gone, but there wasn't even anything for them to bury.

       They went home in silence. They could have reported it to the police. Something gave them the sense that the evidence would be gone when they returned. Everyone needed to shower. It almost felt disrespectful, but no one wanted to go to sleep with Suho's blood on their hands, literally, or figuratively. Sehun was in a state of shock, but he was only minority ahead of Xiumin and Baekhyun. As she showered, she saw the water beneath her turn red, causing her to throw up again. She heard one of the boys knock on the door to check on her, but she didn't answer. They probably understood.

       When she made it back to the room to figure out the sleeping situation, she saw that one of the only other people done showering was Kai. They hadn't been on the best terms as of late, but she was scared, devastated, and so, so tired. Saying nothing, she sat down next to him, leaning into his chest. He didn't ask any questions, wrapping his arms around her. A few minuets later, she felt another body against her. One eye opening a sliver, she saw that it was Xiumin. As each boy returned, they joined the pile, not one saying anything. She didn't remember when, but at some point, they all fell asleep.

       They didn't want to keep going. They convinced themselves that it's what he would have wanted, but that was a cruel joke. None of them had expected this to be fatal. They needed Tao. No one knew where he was, and his name had been removed from the game. There were some injuries that Lay just couldn't fix, not to mention his sick state.

       They were able to skip trial 59, thankfully. The last one, 60, quite classically, was a game of Russian Roulette. It didn't have nearly the effect it was supposed to. They were all numb to it. She thought that everyone, silently, probably wanted to be the one to lose. No one did.

       And yet... they all did.

Go to Chapter 34

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Twenty-Eight

Table of Content or Part Twenty-Seven

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning(s): Language, Hints at drug abuse

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Once we get on the road, I glance over at Nikki before reaching for his free hand, lacing my fingers through his.

I notice him side eye me before smirking to himself.

We park a block down from the Rainbow and when I get out, I regret not wearing pants.

It's not freezing by any means, but it's in the mid 60s with a little wind blowing.

A small shiver runs through me, and Nikki's locking the car and sliding his jacket off, handing it to me.

"Thank you." I say to him, putting it on and thanking God he creates as much body heat as he does because it's like a portable heater.

"Mmhmm." He replies. "I don't know why you didn't bring your jacket."

"It wouldn't have looked good with this." I state in terms of my outfit.

"You can wear anything and still look good." He tells me flatly as if it's common sense and I rub my red lips together and hook my hand around his arm.

We get into the Rainbow and step to our booth, Vince, Tommy and Mick already laughing their asses off over something, and when we get to them Tommy's practically shoving his tongue down Nikki's throat.

"Sixxter!" He tipsily exclaims, putting his arm over Nikki's shoulders and kissing his cheek. "Fuckin' missed you, man." He tells him and Nikki chuckles as I slide in beside him, taking his jacket off of me.

There's lingering groupies as always, although there's more of them now than before the guys had a decent amount of fame.

I feel skin rub against my leg, which confirms there's a girl under the table giving someone a blow job and I roll my eyes.

Nikki orders a beer, I get a Pepsi, and a brunette groupie that's got her eyes on Nikki gets a high dose of audacity and utilizes it.

"Can I have a sip of that?" She asks Nikki when he gets his beer and I raise my brows, turning to glare at her, and then him, when he looks me in the eye, smirks, and hands her the beer.

The guys are completely silent, studying me to gauge my reaction and I roll my jaw.

"Down Kitty." Vince jokes as the girl hands Nikki's bottle back, making sure to make a show of wiping the drop of beer left on her bottom lip with her manicured fingers, not looking away from him.

"Thanks." She says, glancing at me as if to brag, and I ignore her and look straight ahead, not giving her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of me...I'll handle Devil Spawn when we get home.

I just get up, mumbling that I'm going to the bathroom.

"Baby, c'mon, it was a joke." Nikki chuckles out.

"Lick my clit." I snap at him, not giving him a second glance before stepping to the bathroom, hearing Vince and Tommy "Ohh" and "Damn" at my harsh response to him.

I get in the bathroom, tears lining my eyes, and see a mass of fluffy blonde hair standing at the mirror beside the one I end up standing in front of.

First glance, I think it's a woman...Second glance, maybe?

I take a third look, realizing it's a man touching up his foundation and I mind my own business and stop my mascara from running by grabbing a paper towel out of the dispenser quick enough to catch the pair of tears trying to leak out of my eyes.

Something falls into the sink infront of me and I furrow my brows and look down, seeing a tube of mascara.

I look at the only one that it could belong to and pick the tube back up, handing it out to him.

"You can use some when you get done crying your's off." He tells me calmly, his accent a dead give away that he's certainly not from around here, continuing to touch up his own makeup.

I go to argue but he cuts me short.

"It's mascara, not a used needle."

He's got a point and I can't help but smile a little at his response, continuing to dab at my eyes with the papertowel, drying my tears.

"I have to use the girl's room because I get in to fights any time a guy walks in and I'm putting on makeup." He explains to me. "I don't like being called a 'fag'."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." I assure him, throwing the paper towel away. "And if being a 'fag' means you wear more makeup than most women but still have chicks throwing themselves at you, then so be it."

I reapply my mascara and hand it back to him, saying an appreciative "thanks" just as the bathroom door bursts open.

"Babe, c'mon, you gotta come meet this dude, you're gonna fuckin' freak." Nikki tells me, his hand wrapping around my wrist.

"What? Who?" I furrow my brows.

"Razzle."

"Who's that-"

"Hanoi Rocks' drummer?" He reminds me. "They're touring here and we just met him, like, right after you left and..." Nikki trails off, noticing the blonde dude in the bathroom with us.

"By all means, go on." He nods to Nikki with a proud smile on his face that completely frames his high cheek bones and wide, blue eyes.

I found out in that moment I had shared eyelash germs with the one and only Michael Monroe, lead singer of Hanoi Rocks.

I'd heard their music through Nikki and  Tommy, and Duff really dug them, too.

I remember thinking Mike was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Like Axl Rose, he looked like a really gorgeous woman at certain angles, and I hated them for it because they really didn't know how freaking flawless they looked.

Michael didn't just have an abnormally beautiful exterior, his spirit, heart, and soul, were just as phenomenal and that made a lasting impact on me so much so that I named one of my children after him.

I discovered the kind of person he was in December of 1984 when tradgedy struck Hanoi Rocks and Mötley Crüe and he and his bandmate Andy McCoy stayed with me and Nikki for a little bit.

I'll get into all that soon.

I step out of the bathroom after Nikki and Michael talk a bit and exchange numbers, and Nikki guides me to our table and I hear a thick british accent before I can see Razzle that well.

He's got on a top hat with a red scarf tied around it, his sunglasses resting on the rim of it, a polkadotted tie is around his neck and he's wearing a dark red velvet overcoat.

His eyes are lined with black liner and he's showing off a mouthful of teeth with his contagious smile.

"Razz, man, this is Viv." Nikki introduces me.

"This your missus?" He asks him in disbelief, and I don't know if it's a good thing or bad thing he's asking it that way. "Oh, she's beautiful, Nikki...what the bloody hell is she doin' with you?" He chuckles at his own joke and the guys join in while Nikki laughs it off with them.

"Nah, the real star is Tansy." Vince informs him as Nikki and I sit down.

"Who?" Razzle asks and Vince and Tommy look completely offended before Vince is pulling his wallet out and grabbing a piece of paper out of it.

Once he unfolds it, it's an entire page torn out of an issue of Playboy, and I'm assuming Tansy is somewhere on it because he points to something to show Razzle and the drummer's mouth drops open and his eyes get wide.

"I definitely want to meet her." He comments and I reach across the table and snatch the paper from Vince and crumple it up.

"Viv!" He whines at me, trying to reach for it over the table and I shove it in my bra and raise my brows at him. "That just makes me wanna get it even more." He informs me.

"If you want me to castrate you with my nails, you'll reach down my shirt." I promise and him, Nikki, Tommy, Mick, and Razzle wince at the thought.

"That's fine. I'll get all I want when our girl's December issue comes out." Vince smirks, winking at me and I roll my eyes.

"Swine." I insult him.

"Prude." He shoots back before his face gets suddenly really smug as if he remembers something. "Actually..." He fumbles with his wallet again before pulling out a polaroid. "...I suppose I should stop calling you that."

He waves it, Razzle and Mick looking over his shoulder at it.

"Woah." Razzle mumbles.

"Don't be a fucking dick, Vince." Mick scolds him as Vince turns the picture for me to see.

It's me, wearing nothing but a pair of heels, on our mattress at home with my legs spread wide open, touching myself with my back arched, eyes closed, and lips parted in ecstasy.

I feel Nikki tense up beside me as embarassment and humiliation floods through me.

My face is burning red and I'm rendered speechless, glaring at Nikki, who's snatching it away from Vince.

"Where the fuck did you get this?!" He barks at him.

"The fuck are you talking about, Nikki, you fucking gave it to me." Vince argues.

"When?!"

"You were fucked up and gave one to me and one to Robbin." He adds and I snap my attention to my husband.

"You were just passing out our pictures?! What's next, making copies of our tape and tossing them into the audience at shows?!"

"You have a sex tape?!" Tommy suddenly pipes but it goes unacknowledged.

"Fucking bullshit, I've never been that fucked up where I'd willingly give you pictures of her like this!" Nikki throws at Vince.

Vince looks at him pointedly, his index finger hitting over the vein in the crook of his arm as if it were a needle and Nikki realizes he did indeed give him the picture, he just doesn't remember, because he was stoned out of his mind on smack.

If Razzle wouldn't have been Razzle, we would've scared him away and he never would've wanted to hangout with us again.

But he kept quiet and never once brought it up.

It's safe to say the Sixxes leave notorious first impressions.