#kinda tempted to just take a break entirely

[parab0mb]

I wanna change something about my artwork but I don't know what exactly and it's honestly been frustrating me for like months now.

[thekissofaphrodite]

Can you do a smut part 2 for “Waterloo” where clarisse gets really jealous and tells reader that if she breaks up with her boyfriend she will ✨reward✨ reader so reader breaks up with her boyfriend after some contemplating. When clarisse found out that reader actually broke up with him she drags reader somewhere and smut pursues.

THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINED IT??!??! HOLYSHII

Take a chance with me

Clarisse La Rue X Daughter of Aphrodite!Reader

PART 2 OF WATERLOO

Summary: After the incident in the bathrooms, Clarisse decided she had enough of your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend.

Warnings: (Light) SMUT. Cursing and cheating, misogynists (Remind me if i missed one!)

Author's note: THIS TOOK KINDA LONG SINCE THIS IS A COLLABORATION WITH MY BESTFRIEND, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS! (i added a little twist in the end)

Collab with -🍵 <33

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It was another painful day with your boyfriend, Keith. Camp Half-Blood was still in its normal route, Daily Practices, Bonfire singalongs, Games, But there's someone who you can't stop thinking about.

Clarisse

Her chapped lips moving in sync with your soft ones while your lipstick smudged. It was all tempting.

But now here you are, With you boyfriend's gang, trying not to cringe every time they made a bad joke, You could only stare at Clarisse from afar, while she trained with her siblings, Yelling at them at the same time.

I love charlie, But you aren't mine.

"How 'bout you, Y/n? why're you here? shouldn't you supposed to be in tea parties making friendship bracelets and painting your nails?" Asked logan, One of Keith's friends. Then, all of them started laughing, You looked at your boyfriend, trying to spot any signs of empathy, But he, himself laughed along with his friends.

That bitch.

Then you snapped.

"The only thing that you should be doing right now is to keep that pretty little mouth shut" They walked towards you, Your boyfriend, Keith had the same look they had, Rage. You wondered for a second, Why was he looking at you like that? Why was he siding with the people who wronged you?

"How about you? Logan? Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on your Godly parent since you haven't been claimed yet?" You raised a brow at him while looking stern, "I'm certain any God would be embarrassed to have you as their son. Hence being unclaimed for almost two years straight" Your lips curled into a small smirk as you watched his eyes widened in fury.

The gang then stood up and looked at you, eyes fuming with anger as if it could eat you alive. You never meant it, You even felt sorry for the poor boy, But you couldn't help it, They were like this every time you were with them, Is it so bad to stand up for yourself?

You stepped back, carefully analyzing their faces, keeping an eye for any upcoming blows or attacks, As they slowly walked towards you, You bumped into someone.

She held her head high, towering over you even though you were only two inch shorter than her. Seeing Clarisse, you felt relief wash over you, internally sighing, You let your guard down a bit, but not entirely.

Shit. You thought. Your mind panicked thinking that you got cornered by them and on instinct you immediately thought of using your charm speak, trying to find an escape route. Yet determined to fight against them you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the amount of people you're about to fight.

As you were trying to find the right words to use against them, You felt a strong body behind you, you quickly turned around and saw none other than Clarisse La Rue. Her usual intimidating demeanour still plastered on her face as she glared at the group of boys.

"Is anything the matter?" She asked, Her eyes darting from you to the group of boys.

"None of your damn business, La Rue. Let us do our thing" One of the boys, Yuan, said.

" By 'thing' you mean terrorizing MY 'friend' her to death?" Hearing those words you refrain to sneak a glance at Clarisse, As if she didn't just fucked you inside the camp bathroom days ago.

Someone scoffed, It was Keith. Looking at Clarisse with a judgeful look.

"She's MY girlfriend, La Rue. Therefore my property." He said with a boastful look. "Who are you to stick your nose around our business? You're just an outsider in this.. —" Registering Clarisse's words, he sent a scowling look towards you, Forgetting the current situation he turned around to face you fully. "L/n." There was it again. The use of your surname and that warning tone he uses whenever you two argue.

You loathed moments like this. Every argument you had with him you always felt belittled while trying to fight for your rights, but it always ends up with Keith shifting the blame to you every.single.damn.time. "What? Levine." You answered firmly, But this time, You aren't backing down this war of words.

Your expression changed, Your eyes says it all, But you kept your head high. When Clarisse was about to defend you, you quickly stretched out your arm to refrain her from doing anything rash. "You've got the nerve to say that when YOU'RE the one who's following them around, doing EVERY SINGLE THING that they asked for!"

Keith then sneered at you, He was never used to you talking back, But here you are, standing proudly, ready to defend yourself. But of course, he bites back. "Friends? really? Impossible, You know your mother and her father had relations, Long story short, Fucking. Plus, look at La Rue, Compared to her, You're just an attention seeking lapdog"

At that moment, Clarisse was ready to pierce her spear into your shitty boyfriend's head, Thinking about it.. the sight of him with his head pierced pooling with blood made her quite satisfied.

Keith's expression changed, He knew what was gonna happened, That's why he stepped up and approached you, Trying to hold your hand.

"I'm sorry baby" He whispered,as he got a hold of your hands. "You know I didn't mean to insult you like that, I love you Y/n, you know that right baby? I love you so much Y/n". Clarisse raised her dark brows, Looking at you, waiting for your response.

"Okay...I forgive you.." You whispered, Your breathing became normal and you didn't know why, You didn't know why you always give in his sugar coated lies but you couldn't refuse his touch and those doe eyes of his. You could've easily be more mad at him but you knew better than adding fuel to the fire when a lot of people are watching.

Not long after hearing your response, Keith then smiled 'sweetly' as he hugged you. Pressing his nose against your soft hair as he inhaled your sweet scent.

Clarisse's POV

Clarisse stood there awkwardly, Watching you with careful eyes wondering, Why the fuck you forgave him and why the the fuck were you still willing to be with that sick bastard.

__

I clutched my spear in hand, whilst watching Y/n from afar, Already with her pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. It had been a week since that incident in the mess hall happened, I wondered why she would submit easily to his will, Just a simple apology wouldn't make the cut.

Then, I saw her kiss her boyfriend's lips before getting up, the sight of keith's lips touching her was enough to make me gag. I wanted to talk to you, shooting one last glance at my half siblings, I slipped away and followed Y/n.

Y/n was heading towards the Amphitheatre, I suppose she was there to meet her friends, But before she could even reach the steps, I pulled her aside near the armory, When her back hit the wall, I slammed the door shut and opened the small light switch.

She was about to scream, But as soon as the light illuminated the room and revealed me, She closed her mouth and sighed.

"Clarisse..What—" Before she could even answer i cupped her cheeks and looked into her eyes, Her brows furrowed, Her eyes darting to my eyes and lips.

Then, I kissed her, Not because of passion, Because i was mad at her, Because she was still with the boy either of us hated, Mad at her for kissing him every stupid arguments when she was supposed to be mine. I kissed her hoping that this is the final time I get to kiss her in the shadows. "Break up with him." I said to her in a whisper as I pulled away from the kiss, her eyes widened in shock, lips quivering nervously or was it excitement?

I waited eagerly for her response, Imagining all of the things we could do together without her boyfriend sticking his nose into our business, wanting her back while she's still in my arms. My trance was broken when I saw her face deplete in a disagreeing expression, I immediately pecked her lips before whispering in her ear. "Because if you do, I might just give you a special reward in return"

I winked at her, My arms still gripping her waist, "What kind of reward?" She asked, Her eyes beaming with hope. I then caressed her cheeks "You'll have to find out"

That sentence made her think for a moment, I watched her carefully, Praying to the Gods that she will agree, So that I can finally hold her hand and kiss her right in front of everyone. Loudly and Proudly.

After a moment, I was rewarded with the sight of her nodding in agreement, "Yeah, I'll do it" I smiled, so widely that my cheeks hurt, But I couldn't care less, She also smiled, Making my heart melt as i felt her lips touch mine.

It was now the next day, the day after that talk you had with Clarisse in the armor room and the day you'll finally dump your shitty ass boyfriend. Making you way through out the camp you walk towards cabin 9, opening the door you welcomed yourself into your boyfriend's- well soon to be ex boyfriend's cabin. As you were about to call out his name you heard a noise, "What if someone sees us, Honey?" You heard a female voice say — It was between a moan and a gasp.

__

You walk into the room more careful not to disturb their "love making", you cleared your throat. "Excuse me?" you said in an uninterested tone, you watch the two quickly pull away from each other, Keith even pushed the girl away, making her yelp as her body hit the cold ground.

You peaked through the small corner that seperated you and— well, Keith and and his lover. The girl that Keith was kissing sat on top of the counter you onced sat, Her hands roaming around your soon to be ex's body, Followed by his groan. "Then let them see my love, let them see how much we love each other" Keith said to his lover while letting out a small breathy chuckle.

At first you wanted to back down from all of this and break down in your cabin but then you remembered Clarisse's words.. 'Break up with him. Because if you do, I might just give you a special reward in return'. That's when you realize you're not going to lose anything except a little bit of face and reputation,but you'll be free from your shitty boyfriend's manipulation, you'll be free from the toxicity of this relationship, you'll finally be with Clarisse.

"What was that for?!" She yelled, her hair disheveled, But keith ignored her, Stuttering and trying to find right words to explain what you just walked into.

"Sweethea-"

Before he could even explain, You slapped him, Fast and Sharp, He tumbled lightly, But thanks to his muscular body, he managed to keep his balance. Keith clenched his jaw.

"Save it, Keith. I don't wanna hear excuses coming from your mouth that once touched mine! You're disgusting"

You glared at the girl, ready to attack her, but your instinct stopped you, You looked at them with red eyes one last time before leaving. You didn't care if they started kissing again, You didn't care if they talked shit about you, All you cared about is that you're free.

After storming out of the hephaestus cabin, Your first thought was Clarisse, There was no more plotting on how to conduct your affair without him seeing, for the Gods see everything.

You then ran around camp, trying to spot your lover for you had missed her so dearly, craving her touch every second that passes by.

Then, You noticed every camper huddled into small groups, heading towards the camp fire, the ares cabin slowly emptying itself, But Clarisse was nowhere to be found, You felt disappointed but there was a little hope inside you, That's why you walked towards her cabin, You could've sworn you saw her silhouette, Peaking, You saw her sitting on the edge of her bed.

She looked- Nervous...? But her face changed when she saw you, The Ares girl stood up and ran towards you.

"Well?" She asked breathily, Waiting for the response that can change your lives.

"We're over, Him and I" Clarisse felt like a big heavy boulder has been lifted up her shoulders, She then proceeded to cup your cheeks, Her eyes glistening with love.

"Good, He doesn't deserve you" She whispered before kissing you, Pushing you into her bed, You groaned and ran your fingers through her messy curls as she bit your lower lip. You let out a small moan before feeling her palms going in your inner thighs, She pushed you, until you felt your legs touch her bed, She laid you down, straddling you. Clarisse pulled away, taking the matters into her own hands, she undressed you herself, revealing your red bra, It lifted your breasts, That made her smile, watching it rise up and down.

You then tugged on her shirt, Desperate to see her, Clarisse smiled and undressed herself, Her bra was a black one, with laces, But it didn't held your breasts up, It seems like her bra was merely a decoration.

It all then happened so fast, Clarisse's sweaty body pressed against yours as you two moaned, Legs intertwined, moaning each other's names. Her peppering your neck with hickeys mercilessly while her legs rubbed between your thighs creating unimaginable frictions, Her fingers inside you, Curling themselves. Clarisse watched you carefully, gasping and moaning gripping her sheets for dear life, She didn't care if her fresh sheets were stained, as long as it came from you.

Clarisse pressed her lips against your red ones, Gripping the back of neck, pressing you closer to her, she whispered "He doesn't love you like I do, Honey.." She then proceeded to kiss you, trailing her lips down to your breasts.

You two were so lost in eachother you didn't even noticed it, An invisible golden net dropped down the ceiling, You screamed as Clarisse fought against the net, But it was so strong and thin, No matter how hard Clarisse looked, She couldn't even see it. You and Clarisse both thrashed and fought against the metal, Until a shadow emerged from the doorway.

Keith.

He looked quite broken, seeing the scene before him, his face said it all, He had not want to believe it, and it hurt him...To the core.

For a second, Clarisse almost felt sorry for the wrench...Almost. But then his face hardened and he burst into a fury. He cursed obscenities to you, And then called out into everyone to see the shameful scene. And in their hoards, they came running. Clarisse turned to you and shielded you as best she can from their prying eyes. Courses of laughter ran out around us and The Hephaestus Boy looked satisfied.

He called out mocking words, and threatening to keep you and Clarisse naked and trapped for all eternity as a punishment.

But Clarisse held her head high and spoke;

"If i had a choice, There is no place i'd rather be...Trapped with the love of my life? What a punishment indeed..." Clarisse mocked him, Then all of the Demigods started laughing...But this time, at the little fool, Keith. And he shrunk in on himself, he turned red in embarrassment.

No one knew that you and keith had broken up, That's why you and clarisse were the hot gossip.

The Hephaestus boy stormed out, as the fit of laughter became louder, dragging with him the net that had trapped you two, But Clarisse couldn't care less, She demanded the door to be shut and be alone with you, so the campers did left.

As Selene crossed the skies with her silver chariot, You laid with Clarisse and dozed of, Still bare from the activities you guys had done.

And when Helios crossed the skies in the morning, Clarisse wrapped her arms around you and inhaled your scent, Knowing that you're hers...Loudly and Proudly.

A/N: HOLYSHI THIS TOOK SO LONG. I ADDED A LITTLE TWIST SINCE I WANNA MAKE THE 'The history book on the shelf, is always repeating itself' ACCURATE! WHATCHA THINK ABOUT IT? SORRY THIS TOOK LONG! <33 I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS!

-🍵

[kislnd]

platform roulette - arthur hill~

synopsis: y/n needs to pick the boys up after filming platform roulette, but it is made all the more difficult by a drunk & clingy arthur.

notes: while i write requests here's a lil something for the arthur hill girlies 🫶

warnings: mentions of alcohol, pda

word count: 1.3k (kinda short this time)

masterlist

dragging herself out of such a warm and cosy bed at close to midnight was not exactly y/n's idea of fun, nor her favourite way to spend a friday evening, but it had to be done if she wanted to make sure her boyfriend and friends, arthurtv and george, arrived home safely in their drunk states.

at this time in the morning not much thought was being put into an outfit, the only thing on y/n's mind was collecting the boys and ensuring they were dropped off safely home before clambering into her shared bed with arthur. she settled on one of his hoodies, knowing she would be grateful for its warmth as she stood on the platform later, and some random bottoms she found slung close to her wardrobe. she mentally cursed the boys for choosing to come back on one of the final trains of the night, although she did doubt they even knew the current time.

//

the harsh screeching of the train pulling up to the platform snapped y/n out of her thoughts as the doors open and floods of weary people dragged themselves off the train and stumbled towards the exit. she empathised with them, but felt grateful that her travel to the train station had only been quite short in comparison to their train ride.

naturally, she heard the boys before she saw them - "y/nnn!" arthur shouted across the platform, completely oblivious to the people around him. she giggled softly, they were definitely drunk, it was always quite amusing to see how outspoken and chatty they became after a few drinks. "you didn't leave us for dead!" george grinned cheekily as they approached her. "it was quite tempting actually, my bed was really comfortable so you're lucky i made it," y/n laughed but stopped abruptly as arthur enveloped her in a tight hug, resting his entire body weight on her. it was a miracle her bones hadn't been crushed with the sheer force of the hug. nevertheless, arthur's hugs were one of her most favourite things in the world, even the ones that smelled faintly of beer like this one. his embrace was so warm and comforting - safe would be the perfect way to describe it, like all of her worries melted away in his arms.

"i missed you," arthur mumbled into her shoulder, his grip on her never loosening. "i missed you too," y/n smiled, rubbing her hand along his back soothingly. she let him cling to her for a few seconds, soaking up his warmth before breaking the silence, "let me just say hello to the boys," she spoke softly, hoping arthur would be willing to let go of her. "do you have to?" came the slightly slurred reply from arthur who was looking at her with big, adoring eyes. "yes-" a small smile formed on her face, "i do." her boyfriend groaned - it was almost theatrical, like something of utmost inconvenience had just happened. despite protesting, arthur eventually obliged and unwrapped himself from her, struggling to stand upright himself without swaying slightly.

"honestly he is one of the most dramatic drunk people in the world," arthurtv let out a small laugh, his cheeks were slightly rosy from the alcohol and he was dressed in only a t-shirt, evidently drunk enough to not feel the crisp breeze circulating the station. "and he doesn't shut up about you," george added, "i am never getting drunk with him again,' he joked, laughing to himself. "hey! if you had a pretty girlfriend you wouldn't shut up either!" arthur defended himself as y/n gave george and arthurtv a quick hug, exchanging thank yous (for picking them up, for not leaving arthur for dead, for taking him off their hands).

"right, come on then," y/n began walking out of the station in the direction of the car park, "if we don't go now i will turn into an ice block and we won't make it home." this spurred the boys on to pick up their pace as much as they could without falling on their faces. arthur made an extra effort to reach y/n and draped his arm around her shoulders upon reaching her. "hello again," she smiled, fishing in her pocket to retrieve the car keys. "you're so pretty," arthur paused, "have i already said that?" he asked in a quieter voice, his soft expression replaced by one of confusion. it was impossible not to love it when he was drunk, he became so clingy and extra loving, it was irresistible. "why thank you," y/n giggled, opening the car door for arthur, who was still firmly attached to her shoulders, "mind your head on the way in," - drunk arthur typically also meant clumsy arthur.

after everyone had piled into the car, they began the short journey home, it wasn't too long before everyone had been safely dropped off (especially since the cold air had sobered them up a little) and y/n was helping arthur out of the car and all the way to their shared apartment.

she could see he was no longer at the chatty, bubbly stage of being drunk - his eyelids were heavy and his movements sluggish. "come on," y/n spoke quietly as not to make too much noise or exacerbate the headache she presumed arthur was developing. he nodded and gave her a small smile, allowing her to lead him towards their room. "you get changed and i'll grab you some paracetamol." he obliged, of course, and plopped himself down on the bed so he could remove his shoes.

y/n returned to the bedroom, armed with a glass of water and a box of paracetamol, to a one-shoed arthur perched on the edge of the bed with his head was hung miserably and his eyes shut in defeat. "arthur was right, you are so dramatic," she laughs quietly to herself, she knew arthur was not as good as the other boys at holding his alcohol and with all the running around and general silly antics that they got up to during a platform roulette she could understand why he would be a little worse for wear. "here," y/n popped two pills out of the packet and held it out with the glass for arthur to take.

"thank you," he mumbled, taking them and gulping down the water. after some convincing from y/n, he mustered up what little energy he had remaining and changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms. once done, he reassumed his original position on the edge of the bed and waited for y/n to finish her night routine and tidy the room up a little. "is that my hoodie?" arthur grins, surprisingly seeming slightly better already. "maybe it is," y/n grins back, "that's beside the point, shouldn't you be getting into bed?" she raises her eyebrow at him more playfully than sternly. "it looks better on you than on me, you should keep it," he continues hopefully, not willing to move.

y/n laughs softly, "save your flattery for the morning, it's time to sleep," she quickly replaced her clothes with pyjamas and slid into the bed under the duvet, prompting arthur to do the same. "so now you want to get in huh?" y/n smiles, flicking off the lamp that had been casting a gentle orange glow across the room and shuffling down in the bed to get into a comfortable position. "well yeah, it's different when you're here." arthur hums, immediately pulling y/n closer under the cover so that their bodies touched, the warmth radiating off each of them meshing into one. "thank you for taking care of me," arthur whispers, stroking her hair. "that's what i'm here for," y/n smiles into the darkness, arthur's embrace lulling her to sleep.

[reidingandwriting]

Lover (Steve Harrington’s Version)

Chapter One: It’s Nice to Have a Friend

“Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand”

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Fem!Reader, some cursing throughout, references to Steve and reader having not so great parents.

A/N: I have churned out this entire series within a week LOL. Shoutout Stranger Things brainrot for returning, I think I’ll be writing a lot more Steve centric fics.

Next chapter

You weaved your way through the crowds, the cool not-quite-spring air hitting you as you walked further from the school. You smiled as you heard your name called, and you immediately turned in his direction to wave. You walked a little faster, apologizing when you brushed someone a little roughly as you passed them, and you beamed up at Steve when you were close. Wordlessly, the two of you began to walk towards his car.

You lived on the same street as Steve Harrington, so naturally the two of you became close during your childhood. You were only a few months younger than Steve, but he had gravitated towards taking on a protective role towards you as you grew up. During middle school, he walked you home every day and now that you were in high school, he continued taking you home- just in a car this time.

“Are we going to mine or yours?” You asked as you tucked your hands deeper into your jacket pockets. You had overslept this morning and forgotten your gloves in your rush to get ready, and you were regretting it as the wind picked up.

“I was thinking yours? If that’s cool. My parents are supposed to be home tonight,” Steve said with a slight frown and you nodded. Steve glanced at you and dug into his pockets before he held his hand out. You eyed the bundle of brown fabric in his hands and you smiled graciously at him as you took the gloves.

“Thank you. And mine is perfect. My parents are on some trip so I’m alone for the rest of the week.” Steve frowned when he realized it was only Tuesday. He didn’t like the idea of you being alone that long, but his and your parents were similar in many ways- they were both fans of the absent parenting method. You and Steve were both happier with your parents gone, as fucked as it was. “Wanna stay over tonight?”

“I should go home,” Steve drawled as he opened your car door. You climbed into the seat and shut the door behind you as Steve went around to the driver’s side. “You sure you don’t mind?” You hummed your affirmation while Steve settled into his seat and you leaned forward to turn up the heat. You laughed as Steve swatted at your hand before you pouted.

“It’s freezing!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Steve said as he pulled out of the parking lot and began the drive home.

“Not all of us are human furnaces.” You huffed and Steve scoffed, turning up the radio and you grinned as you recognized the song. “Ooh, love. Ooh, lover boy. What to do tonight?” You sang along with the radio and missed how Steve rolled his eyes fondly, humming along with your singing. Later that night, you and Steve sat on the couch, pizza boxes discarded on the coffee table as a movie played on the television. You had a book in your hands, and you groaned as you closed it.

“Need a break?” Steve asked and you fell to the side, hitting Steve’s shoulder with an ‘oof’ and Steve shook his head. “You’ve been reading for a while, movie’s almost over.” You looked at the screen, watching for a moment until you recognized the scene. The Shining, one of your favorites. You didn’t answer and Steve poked your cheek. You turned your head, lazily pretending to bite at him and Steve felt some of his worry start to fade away. “You okay?”

“Stressed,” you said simply and Steve sighed as he leaned back against the couch.

“Yeah, me too.” Steve ran a hand through his hair and you watched, tempted to run your own hand through the luscious brown locks. A beat of silence passed until Steve spoke again. “Have you been sleeping okay? You look kinda tired.”

“Dick.” You scowled but your word had no heat to it. “Not really,” you admitted after a second. “My parents have been fighting more lately. College. Dad wants me to stay in Hawkins, but Mom wants me to go somewhere else. Somewhere… bigger.” Better had been the word she used, which had led to an argument where your dad accused you of thinking you’re better than Hawkins and the life he gave you wasn’t good enough, blah blah blah. You didn’t understand why you had been brought into it when you were literally sick in the bathroom, but whatever. Everything was always your fault when it came to your dad.

Steve worried about you. Your parents may have been more physically present than his, but they emotionally were just as absent. They only cared about you when it came to their reputation, and as long as you weren’t ruining the family name, you didn’t exist in their eyes. Your mom… she tried to be better, but with how your dad was, she chose to silently support you with money snuck to you when they’d be gone on long trips. Quietly slipping you information about colleges far from Hawkins, far from Steve. And you deserved better, you deserved to leave Hawkins and accomplish things no one in this small town could ever dream of achieving. But selfishly, Steve wanted you to stay. You were his best friend, he needed you home. When you were little, you had always joked about running away together. Now, he honestly considers it every day.

“Have you decided what you want to do? For college?” Steve asked and you blindly reached for his face, patting until you found his mouth and covered it while you loudly shushed him. “Mature.” Steve’s words were muffled by your hand and you squeezed his face before dropping your hand.

“Don’t wanna think about it. Don’t wanna think about anything,” you said. Steve leaned his head to the side, your hair brushing against his cheek. “How are the kids? We still taking them to the rink Saturday?” Steve welcomed the topic change and he hummed.

“If you still want to go, yeah. Dustin will probably be all pouty if you can’t make it, but he’ll deal.” Dustin had taken a strong liking towards Steve, so naturally he had grown closer to you as well. “Still can’t believe this is how I’m spending my Saturday.”

“You love them,” you said and Steve didn’t have time to defend himself before you yawned.

“Come on sleepyhead, you’re delirious now. Bedtime.” Steve carefully moved you off him and you fell back over with a whine. Steve said your name and you huffed before you sat up, groaning like the task was the hardest thing you had ever done. Together, the two of you took the pizza boxes to the trash and turned all the lights off. You double checked that your door was locked before you turned to Steve.

“Stay?” You asked as you and Steve walked towards your bedroom and Steve nodded. “Thank you. I don’t, I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

“No need to thank me.” The nickname that fell from his lips made your cheeks feel warm and you were grateful for the darkness to hide the smile on your face. You settled into your respective sides of your bed, the moonlight illuminating your features just enough for you and Steve to see each other. “Goodnight.” Steve whispered and you smiled as you closed your eyes.

“G’night, Stevie.” Steve watched you for a minute after you had drifted to sleep, the tension in your body finally melting away. Steve felt himself start to fall asleep and he slowly reached out, brushing his hand against your own as he slept. Neither of you had slept that well in ages.

-

“I need a break!” Steve called as he less than gracefully skated towards the exit of the rink and you passed him quickly, giving him a double thumbs up as you continued to skate. Steve was grateful when he sat down in the booth and Nancy looked over at him, amusement in her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing! Just enjoying seeing them happy.” You had all been through hell and back and it was moments like these that Steve remembered that Dustin and all his friends? They were just kids. Kids who had saved the town twice already, kids who had fought things Steve never would have imagined could be real. Watching the group of them skate, playing games in the arcade… he hoped they would have more moments like that. Steve busied himself with retying one of his skates as Nancy spoke again.

“You should tell her. Before graduation.”

“Not like it matters much,” Steve scoffed. “I didn’t exactly have colleges fighting to have me. I’ll be in Hawkins for god knows how long. But,” Steve trailed off as he watched you do some trick that had his heart leaping into his throat. You caught his gaze and you thrusted your fist into the air as you skated by, proud of yourself. “I can’t let my feelings change her decision.”

“Shouldn’t that be her decision?” Nancy asked, voice gentle, but things otherwise fell into a comfortable silence between the two of them. You came by a minute later and you took a seat beside Steve, grabbing your soda from the table and chugging it.

“Dude, slow down! You’re going to make yourself sick.” Steve scolded and you stuck your tongue out at him once you had set your drink down. “Cool trick out there.”

“Scared him to death.” Nancy added and Steve glared at her. Nancy shot Steve a smug look before he looked back at you.

“Dustin said I was bluffing about being able to do it, and I can’t lose a challenge to a child.” The three of you looked at the rink, seeing the kids all waving you over, and you turned to Steve. “Do you want to skate some more? Or is it break time?” You looked between Steve and Nancy.

“I’ll be back out in a minute,” Nancy said and Steve agreed. You started to stand back up and Steve grabbed your hand. You both froze and Steve swore the touch was electric, his hand tingling from the contact.

“Be careful, yeah? Between you and Max, I’m going gray.” You smiled and saluted.

“Scout’s honor.” And with that, you were off back towards the rink. While Nancy teased him about his ‘mother henning’, Steve missed out on the teasing you were getting from Max.

“Just friends, my ass.”

“Do you want to walk home, gremlin?”

[powerfultenderness]

Hello there author! I know you're taking your time writing the chapter 2 but may we have Neighbor!König visiting y/n to her office, where könig drop off her things or she kinda forgot her lunch something. Thank you for the hard work you put into your fic! WE LOVE IT!

Ahh, i'm sorry! I guess I needed a little time off from writing, but I'm back! And thank you very much!

Lol idk what Reader does for a living, but it sounds nice! I hope you like it!

(Rated T+)

It wasn’t until an hour after your shift started that you realized you’d forgotten your lunch in König’s truck, and it was only because he texted you. You sighed and shot off a quick response, telling him not to worry about it. You can just walk across the street to one of the fast food joints and grab lunch there. You thought nothing more of it and got back to work. 

And you would have continued to think nothing more of it until you saw more than one security guard making their way to the front. Odd. You glanced at the clock, it was still a few minutes before your lunch break, and thus a few minutes before you could be nosy and check out what was going on. Well, at least that's what you thought just before your desk phone rang. 

“There’s a man here for you,”  the receptionist sounded a bit anxious. “I’ve got security keeping him in the lobby, but he’s insisting that he see you.” 

Oh! No! 

“Let me guess, big guy, like, absurdly big. With a scary looking mask?”

“Yea. Should I call the police?”

“Oh please don’t! He’s…harmless.” 

“Are you su-”

“I’ll be down in a sec!” 

Ok, you weren’t entirely sure he was harmless. He had told you stories of his time fighting in war zone conflicts, and though he never said it outright, you’re pretty sure he has a kill count that’s higher than one. But in this particular scenario, just visiting your office, as long as no one tried to fight him, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t do anything. (The thought never crossed your mind that the only other situation in which he’d react violently is if you were threatened in any manner). 

By the time you reached the lobby, there were three security guards standing a few feet from König. Two of them were very clearly nervous. They’re not at all in any kind of shape, one of them is on the elderly side and the other on the pudgy side. The one young man that is in any kind of fighting shape honestly looks so small compared to König. 

“Oh, you can let him through, he’s with me!” You spoke up in a loud, clear, and forcibly cheerful voice. 

You were glad for the time it took to get to the lobby, it’d given you just enough time to think of what to say to security. You weren’t entirely sure on where you stood in relation to König. What were you supposed to refer to him as? At this point he was more than just your neighbor. You could say he was your friend, but somehow that didn’t feel like enough either. Yet to call him your boyfriend or partner felt like a stretch. (He was just a really nice neighbor, who was also a good friend, who you maybe sometimes had a little bit of a crush on). So, for now, he was just “with you”. 

König was used to having his orders followed. It had been years since he had been denied access to anything and these small men that pretended like they could stop him, all while shaking in their boots, were beginning to…annoy him. Just when he was about to push past them, he heard your voice declare that he was with you. 

It was you who slipped past security as you lightly ran up to him. “König!” You smiled and, much to his surprise, pulled him into a quick hug. 

Just like that he forgot about the way dealing with these civilians that worked with you had made his anxiety flare, how he wanted something to fight, to put his physical energy into. It all melted away as his world shrunk to just you. Your body flush against his for a single moment, the soft touch of your hands on his back. He was so tempted to lift his hood and bury his face into the crook of your neck, to inhale the intoxicating aroma that haunted his dreams. He almost whined when you pulled out of the hug, one of your hands moving to the bag that he was carrying. 

"I thought I told you not to worry about it?" 

Before he could stutter out some excuse, you turned around, to the little audience in the lobby, and he had the urge to pull you behind him, to shield you from their eyes. They didn't deserve to look upon you, and certainly didn't deserve your attention. 

Perhaps you thought this too (not quite) since you turned back to him and motioned back to the entrance. "Let's go sit outside, it's nice out." 

He would follow you anywhere, especially when you looped your arms around one of his like that. You led him to a side patio, where a couple of picnic tables and benches were set up under comfortable shade. There were already other people seated in the area, but one look at him and they returned to their business, better to ignore the frightful stranger than to antagonize him. 

You chose a picnic table furthest away from others and took your bag that he had still been carrying and set it down. "Do you have to leave right away?" 

“No.” He shook his head as you sat down on the bench facing outwards.

“Good, then, want to join me for lunch?” 

He sat down next to you, glad that he didn’t have to try to squeeze his legs under the table and probably bang up his knees in the process. He realized, a soft smile pulling at his lips, as you turned to start digging through your bag that that was probably the reason you sat this way, for his comfort. 

He shook his head when you offered a share of your food. "I don't want you to get hungry later." 

"Please, you've seen me buy car snacks, you really think I don't also have desk snacks? I would be just fine even if you hadn't brought my lunch, which, thank you, by the way. This is really nice of you." When was the last time someone had been so thoughtful? 

"You're like a squirrel." He laughed as he accepted the offered food.

"Psh." You playfully rolled your eyes and softly bumped your shoulder into his arm. "If I'm a squirrel, what does that make you?" 

He was silent for a moment, head slightly tilted to the side, before he looked at you, eyes crinkled under his hood in a way that you’d come to recognize as a smile. "A dog." 

"A dog?...But dogs are always chasing squirrels!” You then gasped dramatically, "don't tell me you want to eat me!" 

König fought down the sudden surge of heat brought on by the memory of a dream. It made his responding laugh a bit too loud, a bit too awkward and forced him to attempt to cover it up. By growling and leaning down quickly to nip at your shoulder. 

"Ah!!" You half shrieked and half laughed as you leaned away from him just enough to get out of his silly attempt at biting you through the hood that covered his face. "Stop!" You finally managed through giggles. 

He pulled away with another playful growl and snapped his teeth at you twice. "One day I will catch you, Squirrel." 

"Yea? Then what?" You laughed again. 

He was quiet for just a second too long, eyes boring into you a bit too intensely. He even dropped the playful tone in his voice, now deeper and rougher than you were used to hearing. "I'll eat you." 

It’s a good thing that you weren’t eating or drinking anything at that exact moment or you would have choked at the way it sounded! He certainly couldn’t have meant it like that! You chuckled and looked away from him, hoping he could not tell that your thoughts were less than appropriate. 

Finished with the main part of your lunch, you opened the packed snack cake and portioned it in half, once again intending to share with König, but he shook his head. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like this particular snack, not that he’d ever go out of his way to buy the like either, it’s just that he knew it was your favorite. Though, you must have sensed that, as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him.

You portioned an even smaller piece, “not even a little taste?” And held the piece of confection up at level where you assumed his mouth was.

König froze, if you were offering to feed him…

You reached for the edge of his hood and pulled it forward, giving you room to slip your other hand under it without revealing his face. The backs of your fingers lightly ghosted across his chin until you held the treat near enough to his mouth. Though he remained stock still, eyes never leaving yours, his lips wrapped around the offered treat and his tongue barely brushing against your fingers. 

It was hardly a bite, and his lips and tongue had hardly touched your fingers for half a second. You smiled, hot in the face, and pulled your hand back, “good?” 

He hummed and nodded. “Very good. Sweet.” 

As if your face wasn’t burning enough! 

You looked down at your portion of the sweet treat to realize there was a dab of cream on your finger still. You glanced back at him, not completely titling your head back up, casting your eyes in a coquettish shadow, and licked your finger. “Good.” 

König quietly grunted, one of his hands landing on your knee as he leaned in a little closer to you. He didn’t know why. He just needed to be closer to you, needed to feel you. 

Your breath hitched but you pretended not to be affected by his touch as you quickly finished off your lunch while his fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. You then grabbed his hand, gently squeezing before you pushed it off your knee. “Unfortunately, I am not a general that can dictate my own break times.” 

“What?” 

You cleaned up what trash was left from your lunch and tossed it in a nearby bin. “My lunch is just about up.” Sure enough, an alarm on your phone sounded just as you returned to the table.

König frowned, it felt like he just arrived! How could your lunch be up already? “Oh, let me.” He stood up and grabbed the bag you had stored your lunch in. An excuse to visit you later.

“Thanks.” You started to walk back to the office, him right beside you again. “And thanks again for stopping by. Can you still pick me up after work?” “Yes. Five?” “Yep!” 

König is practically walking on air after lunch, though eager for the end of the day. He couldn’t wait to see you again. 

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@warrior-of-justice  @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout

[hummingbee-o0o]

Armand Molloy's Vampirism Course for the Gifted

Apparently, Daniel is something of a vampiric prodigy.

He’s a very efficient and neat killer, sure, but that’s not it. It’s about The Gifts, or whatever. Well, one gift, for now, but Armand is so hopped up on it he’s going full Montessori on Daniel’s ass. He apparently wants to make up for being an absentee maker at the start there, and he’s determined to nurture Daniel’s talents.

It started a couple months ago, when Daniel casually set a shitty book on fire, and even he was surprised at how easily it came to him. Armand then said something weirdly erotic about his blood being inside Daniel, and the whole incident got them both so horny they repeatedly had sex about it for a week.

And now Armand is of the opinion that Daniel should try branching out into other gifts as well.

Except…

You know how some birds of prey will deliver a kill that’s still wriggling to their nest, so the young can learn to deal the killing blow? Yeah, that’s pretty much Armand’s teaching methodology.

Only it’s not about killing, because Daniel, disturbingly, never had problems in that department. No, this is much more complicated, and Daniel is kinda regretting watching that David Attenborough documentary with Armand last night, the one about the European golden eagles lifting entire-ass goats off cliffs, because he’s pretty sure that’s the bit that inspired Armand’s current teaching efforts.

There’s a cop standing in front of them, staring straight ahead with the creepy, vacant stare of an antique doll. They’re in the middle of an abandoned construction site, the kind that really ticks Daniel off, because the housing crisis is a real thing, but at least there’s nobody to see them; and if anybody comes along, well, Armand can do what he’s done to the cop.

Which brings Daniel back to his predicament.

“Come on, babe,” he tries. “Can’t we do it some other time? I’ll blow you if we go home right now.”

Armand laughs, beautiful like a goddamn midsummer night. “That’s a very tempting offer, beloved, but we both know you’ll do that anyway.”

Yeah, he’s got Daniel there.

“Try lifting one of his arms.”

“God, can’t we just drain him?”

“You just ate,” Armand reminds him, and that’s true, there’s even still some blood in the corner of Daniel’s mouth; he licks at it pensively, staring at the cop. “Go on.”

Thing is, Armand is really so fucking calculated. He’s orchestrated every detail here like the ultimate theatre kid he is: he knows that choosing a cop will remove any sympathy inhibitions Daniel may have otherwise had for a technically still-living subject, and he also knows the cop will trigger Daniel’s fight-or-flight responses, because you can take the boy out of the drug den, but you can’t take the junkie out of the old man.

The empty construction site, the open space and illusion of isolation, and the goddamn stretched-out t-shirt Armand is wearing, the one with a neckline that droops well past his collarbones, because he knows Daniel is weak with horniness when he puts that on.

(Look who’s bartering with desire now.)

“Fine,” Daniel finally breaks, as they both knew he would. “Fine. But don’t get disappointed if nothing happens.”

“You’re my Daniel. I could never be disappointed in you.”

Well, shit, and then he goes and says stuff like that. And he means it too, it’s right there in his eyes. Daniel doesn’t know what to do with him, other than love him.

-

(continue reading on AO3)

[sentientgolfball]

Same Old, Same Old

if you couldn't tell I've been possessed by these two recently

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Zephrit

Word Count: 3730

Tags: pup as a nickname, Zeph is kinda(?) mean...a little?, so much nipple

Summary: Ifrit takes a trip down memory lane by playing dress up with his old uniform. Zephyr catches him and makes the most out of it.

A bored ghoul never meant anything good. Ifrit had been sitting in his room all day, bored out of his mind. No chores to help with, no Siblings looking for him, no call to action. He laid in bed for an unreasonable amount of time, alternating between texting Zephyr and scrolling on his phone. Another hour passed before he huffed and tossed it on the bed next to him. There were only so many cat videos he could take. 

He heaved a sigh before standing, stretching with a pop in his shoulders. He figured a walk will do him some good, anything to get his blood pumping. Fire was an element of energy and Ifrit could not stand the thought of staying still any longer. Maybe he would even find something to do while he was out and about. Even if he did not, at least he would not be laying around anymore. 

He thinks about where he will go as he changes out of his pajamas. His phone buzzes, another text from Zephyr. From what Ifrit could tell, they have been having a day. They have been helping a new Sibling tasked with sorting through the older books in the library which is not a problem on its own, it is a certain Sister. Sister Gracie. She has been the problem in all of Zephyr’s workday stories recently. She checks out hoards of books and keeps them well past their due date. On multiple occasions, Zephyr has had to go directly to her and ask for them back. They were at their wit's end for today though. Apparently, she actually returned the stack she checked out on time, but when Zephyr went to collect them from the bin they had been damaged. All of them were either soaked or had some mystery stain on the pages. So all day it has been running between helping the new Sibling, talking with Imperator and Sister Gracie, and trying to salvage the books. 

Another ping from Ifrit’s phone. 

If I see her in here ever again after this I will be more than tempted to break that stupid human rule they can send me back to Hell it’ll be worth it to claw her eyes out

He stares at the message and quickly decides he will make the library his destination for his walk. It was on the opposite end of the Ministry from the ghoul den, so surely it will be enough to get some energy out. Plus seeing Zeph right about now sounds nice, for both their sakes. He sends them a quick text telling them he is stopping by before lacing up his boots and leaving the den. 

The halls aren’t as filled as they usually are, he passes a few pockets of Siblings and ghouls filtering about but that’s it. He greets them all with enthusiasm, a bright fang filled smile. It seems to be a lazy day for the entire Ministry, though the heat from the late spring sun might have something to do with that. 

He decides to take the longest way possible to the library, taking every twist and turn he can. He can feel his fire crackling just under his skin. Now that he’s finally moving around he feels ready to burst. When he passes the doors to the practice room he pauses though. He stares at the metal doors, out of place against the stone architecture of the ancient building. It’s been a long time since he’s gone inside, since he’s been on this wing of the Ministry. He hasn’t needed to, when Dew changed guitars Ifrit took the fantomen to keep in his room. When he gets that itch to play all he has to do is take it off the wall. 

He opens the door just to peek inside. When he sees the room is empty he figures a quick trip down memory lane won’t take too much of his time. He steps in, lights and air conditioning coming to life when the sensors pick up movement. He takes a deep breath, it smells of artificial cold and polish. Underneath all that though, the dull scents of various ghouls filter through. Quintessence and fire smell the strongest. Ifrit briefly wonders which combination decided to lock themselves in here for a few hours. Omega and Alpha? Dew and Aether? Phantom and Dew? Or maybe it was Swiss? The multi ghoul’s scent was always hard to pinpoint unless it was fresh. 

Ifrit shrugs, not too concerned with the details. He bounces around the mini rehearsal stage; eyes closed to let muscle memory take over. He bends backwards, throwing a hand into the air to show off to a ghostly crowd. If he’s quiet he can almost hear the cheering. He misses the energy of performing, misses the pleasant ache in his body after a ritual. Even so, he would not go back. Nothing would stop him from being where Zephyr is. Nobody had asked him to leave, but when Zephyr said they couldn’t  handle it anymore it wasn’t even a question. Reliving the memories is enough as long as Zephyr is with him. 

Oh shit Zephyr!

He pulls himself back to the present with a shake of his head. He already took too much time by stopping, Zephyr is probably waiting for him outside the library doors. He jumps off the mini stage, bounding towards the exit when a light catches his eye. One of the soundproof practice rooms has a light on. He thought he was alone. He can’t help it when he turns, heading down the short hallway. He peers into the window when he’s close enough only to find it empty. Well not empty, all of the spare practice rooms were being used as storage while the band wasn’t actively preparing for a tour, but there was no one inside. 

He goes to open the door, but it hadn’t been closed all the way. He pushes it open and steps inside, surveying the space for any signs of who the mystery ghoul may have been. Whoever they are, they left in a hurry. Uniform bags are open, a mask box sitting on one of the few chairs in the room. Ifrit moves to clean up the small mess, but seeing the glint of the mask has him stopping. It’s not one of the helmets like he was expecting. Its silver, no opening for a mouth, curling horns, and sculpted hair. Empty eyes stare up at him. His eyes. His mask. 

He doesn’t think as he takes it out of the box, bringing it up to his face to look into the eye holes. It’s surreal to hold it again. The only one who stills wears this version is Omega; feeling the cool metal feels wrong but almost right in a strange way. This was his face for his first few months Topside and now it just sits in a box. 

An idea crosses his mind. One that would surely get him in trouble if he was caught. Whoever was in here before him clearly thought the same thing, only Ifrit didn’t stop. He put the mask back into the box, closing the lid and picking it up before his conscious could catch up to him. His eyes quickly scan over the rack of costume bags until he finds the right size. If he was going to steal pieces of Ministry history he needed to do it quickly before someone else wandered in. 

He shuts off all the lights in the practice room before slinking out of the metal doors. He figures if he goes the short way back to the den he’ll make it to his room before running into trouble. The library is all but forgetting as he scurries back with his contraband. He won’t have it for long, just the evening. He’ll return it first thing in the morning before anyone notices it’s missing. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this uniform, he just wants to taste it again. 

He makes it back to his room in the den with no trouble, suddenly very thankful for the slow, lazy day. He has the uniform out of the bag; still on the hanger but laid across his bed. He stares at it. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” He runs a hand through his hair. 

Despite his conscious finally catching up to him, he shrugs his leather jacket off before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He discards his pants next, adding to the pile of clothes next to the bed. He stares at this old uniform in nothing but his underwear for a moment long before grabbing it. He puts the pants on first. It’s a little tighter than he remembers, meeting a bit of resistance as he pulls them over his thighs. After a bit of tugging he gets them all the way up to sit around his hips. The waistband slightly digs into his skin. The top comes next. He unbuttons it with practiced ease before sliding it onto his shoulders. 

“Oh shit,” he says with a mix of surprise and panic. 

It’s already tight around his shoulders and he hasn’t even rebuttoned it yet. He turns to look at the floor length mirror that sits in the corner of the room. The fabric is pulled taut and he briefly worries about the seams bursting if he moves too fast. He didn’t risk stealing this for nothing though. He begins to close the buttons one by one. It becomes a struggle once he’s halfway up his abdomen. He has to suck in deep breaths of air just to be able to pull the edges close enough to slip the button in. It’s a fight once he gets over his chest. No matter how he moves he can’t close it. He breathes, he relaxes his shoulders, he hunches forward, yet nothing gets him closer to his goal. Did he really get that much bigger since his summoning? 

He stares at his reflection, the uniform so close to being all the way on. If he could just get the buttons over his chest closed. He ponders any possible solution, so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the door open. 

“So, this is what you did instead of coming to see me?” Zephyr leans against the doorframe with their arms crossed. 

Ifrit whips around, a slight flush to his cheeks as he tries to stammer out an explanation, “Zeph! No you see I was coming to see you, swear on the Lords, but I…well you see it’s funny really—“ 

“Save it,” Zephyr holds up a hand “I can see you’re having lots of fun playing dress up. Please, don’t let me stop you.” 

They watch him, waiting for him to continue. Yellow eyes look him up and down expectantly. Ifrit almost flinches under the intensity. 

“I can’t.” He bows his head, looking at his feet. 

“What? Too shy now that you’ve got an audience? Come now Ifrit, I thought you loved the spotlight.” 

He shakes his head. “No that’s not…I can’t Zeph.” 

He tries to pull the buttons over his chest once more, showing Zephyr what he means. They watch him struggle for just a moment before it clicks. Their eyes scan over his figure again, only this time they notice how tight the uniform is on him. It's clinging to him, no wrinkles or extra space in sight. The way his chest bulges out of the unbuttoned front. They can see the outline of his nipple piercings. They can see everything. When the silence stretches on for too long, Ifrit lifts his head to look at them, guilt and shame written all over his face with how deep that blush has gotten. Suddenly Zephyr couldn’t care less about having to walk back to the den all by themselves. 

“Poor little pup can’t fit into his old uniform?” Zephyr pushes off the doorframe, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them. 

Ifrit’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the tone of their voice. Zephyr stalks over to him, running their hand over his shoulder and down his arm. They can feel the muscle ripple under the featherlight touch. They can’t help but squeeze his bicep, feeling the solidness through the fabric. Ifrit shudders, watching a small grin appear on their face. They meet each other's eye for a moment before Zephyr slips one of their hands into the opening of the uniform to grab at one of his pecs. 

“Why bother trying to button this thing? Leave it open so everyone can see your perfect tits.” 

Ifrit chokes on air when Zephyr pinches one of his pierced nipples harder than what could be considered pleasurable. 

“This is certainly an improvement. Could never touch you like this backstage.” They fondle his chest, squeezing as much of him as they can with one hand. 

Ifrit allows himself to be pushed until his back hits the dresser, hand shooting out behind him to keep his balance. Zephyr presses themselves tight against him, standing in between his legs to cage him in. He stares down at them as they start to mouth over his chest. The whiplash of Zephyr catching him to having that cool tongue gliding over heated skin makes his head spin. He isn’t sure if he should stop them, telling them to wait so he can take it off lest he rips it, or let them continue to grope his sensitive tits. 

When he feels them bite close to his nipple his brain shuts off, hand flying up to stop the whimper that catches in his throat. Zephyr does it again. And again, and again, and again until his chest is covered in purple. His hips grind forward against them when their other hand tweaks his nipple at the same time they suck the other into their mouth. They squeeze their tail around his waist to stop the movement of his hips. 

“Not yet pup, I want to take my time with you while you’re like this. Don’t want it to end too early.”  

“Zeph, Birdie. Come on, we…you’re going to rip it,” he struggles to form a coherent thought with the way they’re rolling that sensitive bud between their teeth. 

Zephyr pulls off of him slowly. They stand from their hunched position to stare at him, hands still roaming over his chest. “Are you telling me no?” 

“‘No!” He says in a hurry “, that’s not what—“ 

“Then shut your mouth. You’re the one who wanted to play dress up, so let’s play.” 

Zephyr steps away from him before reaching up to wrap their hand around one of his horns. They drag him to the bed, tugging and pulling at him to get him to lay flat on his back. Ifrit’s helpless to it, he allows them to move him however they want with nothing but the grip on his horn. When he’s down, Zephyr straddles his hips. Ifrit stares up at them with wide eyes, waiting for them to make a move so he can figure out how to not burst every seam on the uniform while they use him. 

They tilt their head smiling at him; something sweet and simple before spitting directly onto his tits. Everything moves quickly after that; they unzip their pants just enough to pull their cock out, jacking themselves a few times before sliding up farther on Ifrit’s abdomen. They reach into the uniform to squeeze his chest together, moving their hands in quick circles to smear the salvia around before letting up on the tension just enough to shove their cock between them. 

They squish his tits together until they’re hissing with satisfaction before slowly rocking their hips. He itches to replace their hands with his, do something other than stare slack jawed up at Zephyr, but every thought dies when he sees the tip of their dick peek out from his cleavage. His hips twitch up searching for friction when he watches a bead of pre drip so close to his chin he could lick it up if he craned his neck just a bit more. 

Zephyr laughs at the hazy look in his eyes, at the way he’s just staring at the way their tip glides closer and closer to his face with each roll of their hips. The laugh is cut off when his brain finally catches up and he flicks his tongue out to swipe over the slit, drinking down the pre pearling at the tip. Zephyr shudders with a groan, hips bucking forward to get closer to the heat of his mouth. 

“Not as dumb as I thought you were.” They huff, resuming a more rhythmic grind albeit it faster than before. 

Ifrit is craning his neck to keep his tongue out, licking over their cock as they fuck his tits. He can feel the drool running down the side of  his mouth, dripping onto his collarbones only to slide down and pool in his cleavage. 

“Making a mess of yourself pup,” Zephyr groans. 

Ifrit doesn’t respond, doesn’t have the brain power to. His senses are flooded with the taste of them, with the sight of their flushed cock, with the breathy little sighs that fall from their lips each time Ifrit flicks his tongue. He wants to get them in his mouth, properly suck them off until they cum down his throat. He moves without thinking, trying to grab their hands and surge forward to flip their positions. He doesn’t get that far. The moment he lifts his shoulders a deafening pop accompanies the sound of skin gliding on skin. Ifrit is slammed back into his body when the tension around his shoulders suddenly feels lighter, less constricted. 

“Birdie shit wait. Stop, I think it ripped.” He panics, squeezing Zephyr’s wrists. 

“How is that my problem? You stole it now you’ll live with the consequences.” They huff, doubling down. They squeeze his chest tighter, rocking their hips faster. 

Ifrit could easily throw them off, truly ask them to stop, but he can’t find it in himself to move. He’s paralyzed by the realization he damaged the uniform, but also by the ache between his legs and the weight of Zephyr on his chest. Caught between his want to stop and his need to continue. 

His mind is made up for him when a particularly hard thrust from Zephyr pushes the tip of their cock against his lips. His hands fly to their hips, urging them to do it again. They oblige, pressing closer to his face. Ifrit shifts just enough to be able to wrap his lips around the head, sucking and licking over it. Zephyr’s head falls forward, cursing under their breath. Their thrusts turn into quick little grinds, shoving more of their cock into that hot, wet mouth. 

Ifrit lets the weight of it rest on his tongue as drool runs down his chin. The awkward angle makes it difficult to take more than an inch of them, but he doesn’t care. He’s content to run his tongue over them, licking at their slit and the sensitive spot on the underside. Ifrit sucks, working his lips around them and Zephyr is unable to stop their talons from digging into the meat of his chest. Ifrit moans, eyes fluttering and hips bucking into the air from the prick of pain. 

Ifrit does it again. Instead of talons tearing tendering flesh he feels Zephyr go rigid. They cum without warning, coating the inside of his mouth. He instinctively swallows around them and they shudder as another glob squirts over his tongue. Ifrit suckles on his dick until it’s too much and they’re pulling away from him in overstimulation. They’re both panting, staring at each other with flushed cheeks while they catch their breath. When Ifrit runs a hand through the mess on the chest Zephyr groans. 

“Get out of that thing before I ruin it.” Zephyr slides off of him, knees cracking when they stand. 

Ifrit sits up to sit on the edge of the bed, turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He runs his hands over the deep marks littering his chest. His brain supplies him with memories from backstage closets and hotel rooms as his eyes rake over the disheveled uniform. That is, before he remembers where he’s at. Why he has the costume to begin with. His head snaps to Zephyr who’s just smiling at him. 

“Don’t worry I’ll fix it before someone has your horns.” 

Ifrit sighs a breath of relief. “Thank you birdie.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time and I certainly hope it isn’t the last,” they press a kiss to his temple ,” now strip.” 

He stands, taking off the top as carefully as possible to not make the tear worse. The seam on his right shoulder is ripped down to the armpit. He cringes at the sight, handing it over to Zephyr before shucking the pants. Zephyr nearly doubles over at the sizable wet patch on the front of his boxers. The fabric clings to him, outline the shape of his now soft cock. They palm at him, squeezing him through his underwear and smearing the mess around. Ifrit shudders at the feeling. 

“Filthy,” Zephyr muses. 

“You’re one to talk,” Ifrit huffs a laugh. 

They shrug, gathering the discarded uniform and folding it neatly before putting it on the desk to work on later. 

“You’re the one who put it on. I’m not to blame for my actions.” 

“Hm,” he thinks for a moment, “maybe next time I’ll wear the mask.” 

“Oh so suddenly you have no reservations about stealing Ministry relics?” They eye him with a grin, something dangerous glinting in their eyes. 

He grins back, “Not when it makes you like this, birdie.” 

They hum, pressing kisses along his jawline “Good.” 

There’s a moment of silence before Ifrit feels their hand wrap around his throat, “But if you ever leave me waiting like that again I’ll make sure you suffocate, understood?” 

Ifrit swallows and nods. He shifts the weight on his feet, feeling his cock try to kick back to life. Zephyr grins at him. With the uniform gone he had no protection from their talons. He almost hopes they’re still upset with him. 

[taffycandyqt]

hey so We know leo is a mother hen sometimes so what he do when he is shivering because he is freezing and his so just scoots inbetween his legs with two cups of spicy ginger tea and gives him it and takes away whatever he was previously holding with a grin. They are not going to move for hours. S/o is incredibly hot so it’s tempting. S/o isn’t mother henning him, but he kind of getting a taste of his own medicine while s/o thinks they are funny? “Ah. Is this seat for me? Appears so”.

Can I just say, I feel a sort of kinship with you. We may not favor the same turtle but I feel like we understand each other's infatuation with our respective turtle.

That being said! I hope you enjoy😌

Cold Cuddles

2003 Leo x reader

Leo's a bit chilly since the heating system broke in the dead of winter.

Warnings: none

Fluff, established relationship

We all know this stubborn sucker has a hard time accepting help. Especially before his little journey to the Ancient One.

And well, this is something so small to him.

Is he cold? Yeah. But like, he'll survive. He's been cold before.

At least that's how he's trying to play it off.

When the thermostat broke in the middle of winter at the lair, it wasn't as much of a little problem as Leo told you it was.

You get to the lair and it feels like one of those Costco fridge rooms, but as a freezer.

Mikey had been quarantined to his room because he couldn't stop complaining and Raph was going to hurt him.

Raph went to his room to be alone in his misery.

Donny had been tasked with fixing the heater so he and April were currently topside getting the proper tools.

Which leaves Splinter who was drinking warm tea in his room.

Leo had also retired to his room to meditate.

He had lit a couple of candles and was trying (like a dumb dumb) to meditate the cold away.

Or in his terms, have complete oneness in mind and body.

He doesn't even have any blankets. No one's forcing him to do this either. Bro is just suffering for the sake of it.

He'll insist that he's fine but come on. We both know that's a lie.

Because he won't actually admit that he's cold you'll just have to step in and help him out.

Walking into the lair that day, you had been daydreaming of having bundled up cuddles with your boyfriend to combat the biting winter day. Upon actually entering the lair however, that dream was quickly crushed. The place was absolutely FRIGID. Not to mention entirely empty. Unsettlingly empty.

"Hello?" You barely managed to speak out. You watched as your breath puffed out in front of you. It almost felt like anything above a whisper would shatter the dense silence of the place.

"Oh, y/n." Master Splinter said, finally breaking the illusion of foreboding stillness.

"I wasn't aware you were stopping by today." He said while adjusting the blanket around his shoulders with one hand while keeping his tea kettle stable in the other.

"Uh yeah, sorry bout that, I kinda just dropped in."

"No apologies needed, you are always welcome here. Though now might not be the best time. The heater is broken so this place isn't exactly the most comfortable right now." He told you as you walked with him in the direction of his room.

"Thats why it's so cold in here!" You rubbed your arms while you spoke.

"Yes. Would you like some tea? It'll warm you up."

"Nah that's okay. Do you know where Leo is? I actually came by to hang with him."

"Ah yes of course," Splinter smiled to himself. He was truly happy that at least one of his sons got to experience romantic love.

"He is just in his room, probably battling the cold like the rest of us."

"Gotcha! Thanks!" And with that you were off.

---

You knocked on Leo's door then opened it. He had expressed the importance of waiting for and answer before coming into the room. You didn't particularly care though. It's not like he ever wore pants, so you not gonna walk in on him changing or anything. Besides, as much as he tells you about it he doesn't really mind. It just seems pointless, to him, to knock if you come in right after.

That being said as you walked in you noticed Leo meditating. He had candles all around him and was visibly shivering, yet he didn't move.

"Dang. If I had known you'd try and romance me with candle light I would have taken out the heater way sooner," you joked. This got Leo's attention.

"That was you!?" he looked at you in slight surprise and slight disappointment.

"No," you snickered. He rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing anyways? Aren't you cold?"

"No not really," he responded and immediately after a strong chill racked his body.

"I'm fine," he looked at you pointedly as a way to convince you of such. You weren't buying it. However you also knew that trying to get him to do things for the sake of his own well being didn't really work. So you were gonna try a different method.

"Well I'm not, so I'm gonna go make us some tea," you decided.

"You don't need to make me any," he told you.

"Then I guess I'm making two mugs of tea for myself," and with that you closed the door to his room and made your way to the kitchen.

On you way there you had run into a shivering Mikey who begged you to make him some coco after he knew what you were doing. You honestly felt bad for the guy. He looked like a wet cat and a kicked puppy had a turtle baby. Though your not sure how much of that was actually him being cold and how much was just typical Mikey theatrics.

When you gave him the coco he took a large swig and called you an angle. You just rolled your eyes and patted his head before grabbing yours and Leo's mug and heading off.

You had picked spicy ginger tea and it was working wonders for you, you were still cold but if felt more manageable as you drank it. You can only imagine what it would do for the guys. Them being reptiles and all. When you finally made it back to Leo's room you had finished about half your mug.

Since you couldn't knock with your hands you just said, 'knock knock' before entering.

"Why do you insist on doing that?" he said with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Why do you insist on me not doing that?"

He chuckled at this. Leo had always enjoyed your company. Your silly attitude never failed to make him smile.

He returned to suffering meditating while you set your mug next to his futon mattress. Walking over to him you set his mug down off to the side of him. Then, you reached your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder while you cuddled slightly into his back.

"You need something dear?"

"Not really," you said, mimicking what he told you earlier.

"I am trying to meditate. You know that?" He told you while slightly leaning into your touch.

"Really?," you teased, "is this position not ideal for your spiritual focus?" you purred into his ear jokingly.

He blushed at this, but refused to yield.

"Not really no."

You let him go and pouted. Why's he gotta make it so hard. You had started to get colder so you chugged the rest of your tea before grabbing his mug and making you way in front of him. His eyes were closed as you did such, still shivering.

"Awww, did you save this seat for me?," you put your hand on you chest pretending to be touched, "You shouldn't have."

Before Leo could open his eyes and question you however, you had already made yourself comfortable in his lap.

"y/n?" he looked at you curiously.

"Leonardo." You responded, satisfied with yourself.

"I'm meditating?" he told in a gentle tone.

"I know. That's why I moved, to make it easier!" you told him sweetly while giving him your best innocent eyes you could.

Leo sighed. He really wanted to keep meditating. But at the same time he was way to friggin cold to focus. He thought it would be good endurance training but the only thing he's having to endure now is the desire to cuddle you. You were liked a hearing pad and the tea was radiating warm steam right into his face.

He looked down at you and his resolve completely crumbled. Your big eyes staring at him, mouth in a slight pout, and you hands cradling a cup close to your body. He had been meditating long enough right? Maybe a break was in order....

And with that he scooped you up and set you down on the futon with your mug. When he saw the empty mug next to it he looked at you.

"you actually made yourself two?" he said smiling to himself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," you shrugged, "I haven't drunken from this one yet though, so if someone were to take it from me...."

With that Leo sat down in front of you. He wrapped his hands around your hand that held the cup and the mug itself. As he lifted the mug to his lips your arm moved with it.

"Thank you," he said softly as he finished his sip.

"Don't thank me yet," you responded just as quietly. With that you handed him the mug and left the room. Not without telling him you'd be back though.

You gathered the biggest blankets you could and rushed back to Leo's room. When you got back Leo was sitting on the mattress sipping on his tea, still shivering but his condition had improved.

You took one blanket and wrapped it around both of your guys' shoulders and then grabbed the other and pulled it over your laps. Leo held the mug in one hand while he wrapped the other around you. You placed your legs horizontally over his and cuddled into his side while you rested you head on his collar bone. You pulled the blanket up to you chin and Leo wrapped the other blanket around you both almost entirely.

You closed your eyes and a satisfied sigh left your lips.

Leo finished his tea and leaned over slightly to place it next to your empty mug. Now that he could properly wrap both arms around you he locked you in a firm embrace of blankets. The blankets were soft, and now, warm to the touch. The orange glow of the candles gave the room a sleepy atmosphere. It was so comfortable Leo wondered why he ever wanted to meditate in the cold. He looked down at you and kissed the top of you head. You giggled and he smiled at you.

"I'm so lucky to have you." He sighed and leaned back into the wall.

"Hmmmmm. Yes you are," you lifted you head to look at him, "and I'm so lucky to have you."

With that you kissed him. It was a soft kiss on the lips and it was perfect.

So I guess 'crushed' was the wrong word to describe your cuddling daydream of the day.

_______________________________________________

While I was writing this 'Supermassive Black Hole' by Muse came on and it was quite the combination of vibes.😵‍💫

Also, I looked up pictures of the guys' rooms and I kid you not Leo legit sleeps on a futon mattress. No pillows, no sheets (as far as I could tell), no blankets, NOTHING. Like all the other guy have got beds of some sort and Leo's just like, "I guess I'll sleep on the floor🤷‍♀️" and everyone was like, "get a bed" and he went "this is bed enough right?". Having a floor bed isn't even a problem it's just the fact that the mattress is literally all he's got. Like dude😩.

[mantis-clan]

do you have any tips for making a clangen blog? this is getting me back into clangen and i'm now tempted to make one

FOR SURE!! here’s advice that would have helped me :3 these are all coming from an organisation-obsessed guy so they’re kinda leaning towards that end of the spectrum lol.

the most important rule is discard any rule that is making it unfun for you! wanna wing the plot entirely? not bother to write down important events? go for it! having fun is the most important thing

start small! i started with the minimum number of cats i could and keeping the clan under one page long really helps increase ~drama~ and interesting stuff!

i’m big into organisation so i recommend having a format for your updates, whether it’s just the idea of what stuff you cover every moon (such as covering important relationships but ignoring small injuries) or a checklist you tick off each time you update.

this helps me, but have a way for people to keep track of your updates! whether that be a masterpost or just a cohesive tagging system.

only do what is fun for you updates-wise! only have enough energy for a small sketch every moon? just do that. don’t push yourself :)

dont feel the need to draw an entire comic for each update! work with what suits your workflow best.

keep a written record of all important events and when they happened. this doesn’t have to be super detailed, it can just be a bulletpoint list in your notesapp or making sure all important events are documented on the blog.

and most importantly

REMEMBER THIS IS ALL FOR FUN!! if at any point it starts becoming a chore? stop! take a break! your cats will still be there when you get back!

some more practical suggestions!

make your first post an introductory one covering the clan founders and maybe even write a little blurb about each of them if exploring interpersonal relationships is something that interests you. i still need to do this lol

keep a constantly updating allegiances post!

consider opening character asks to get to know your cats better!

i’ll add onto this if i can think of any more advice!

[steddietogo]

I had so much fun writing this for the @steddiesummerexchange!! @steddieasxshegoes hope you like this!

Word count: 8.9k

Read on ao3

— — — Steve finally turns to glare at Robin when one of the sunflower seeds she’s been throwing at him comes dangerously close to taking an eye out.

“Stop staring, dingus,” Robin laughs at him.

“I’m not staring,” he protests. Steve was merely glancing at the hot metal head on a leather couch at the back of the bar, nursing his drink all alone. “If you stopped paying attention to me for a second you’d have noticed the blonde making eyes at you from the bar,”

“Where?” Robin asks, whipping around embarrassingly fast.

“Rob! You don’t just–”

“Oh my god, she’s hot,”

“You’re so obvious,” He hisses back. “Go talk to her,”

“What? No way,”

“Hey, maybe you have more game in Rome–” And the next sunflower seed bounces straight off his forehead but before he could retaliate, there’s movement at the corner of his eyes.

“Shit, she’s coming over,” he says and watches the absolute panic taking over Robin’s face. “I need another drink, good luck.” He narrowly misses the kick aimed to his shin, slipping away to give them some privacy because, dear god, Steve knows he would never hear the end of it if Robin doesn’t get laid at least once during their entire trip to Italy.

The bar is cozy, decorated to look like the inside of catacombs with picture frames lining the walls and chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling. It's much better than the ones Robin brings them to, back in LA, almost entirely lit by neon signs and plays music a little too loud for his taste these days.

But here in Italy, Steve is not confined to the rigid schedule he follows to keep himself rested and alert enough for emergency situations. Steve makes his way to the counter and orders himself another drink, settling back to people watch– definitely not just to discreetly ogle the lone metal head looking entirely too bored to be sitting in a nice bar in Rome.

— — — Eddie can feel the eyes of the fluffy haired man on him from across the bar. Nothing he isn’t used to though. He might even be flattered by the attention if he wasn’t too busy feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t plan on sitting in a bar all alone, on what was supposed to be his honeymoon vacation, sans a ring on his finger. But no amount of being desired by the masses on stage has made his love life any better. No amount of admiration saved him from his cheating ex. He’s not heartbroken, just tired; that relationship was long over before the cheating even started. Rick was only ever concerned about the fame and attention he’d get throwing Eddie’s name around.

He would just be rotting away at home if it wasn’t for Chrissy refusing to let him cancel the whole trip and basically dragging him to the airport by his ear. He suspects it’s also to keep him far away from the whole press circus his ex no doubt started to stir by now. He just hopes they’d leave the boys from the band alone. He’d hate to drag them down with him.

Since landing in Rome the day before, Eddie had slept, ate, slept again and landed in a bar for a drink or two, trying to feel some semblance of normal again. Maybe Chrissy thought the Italian sun would magically reset Eddie to the optimistic idiot he once used to be, but he owed it to her to try at least. From where he’s sitting, two weeks felt like it’s an eternity away.

Eddie watches as the man leaves his seat and walks over to the bar by himself. He likes the way his button up stretches over his shoulders. He’s conventionally attractive in the boy next door kinda way. Pretty, even. Eddie hasn’t slept with a stranger since the beginning of his career when he’d gotten caught by paps doing the walk of shame back to his place. Since then he’d been a lot more careful with everyone he’s been associating with.

This one is cute though and Eddie may be tempted to break a few of his own rules. There is something about being alone and depressed in Italy that makes him want to throw caution to the wind and just do something impulsive. He’s feeling a little too restless and itching for some human connection. Very tempted to buy the cute guy a drink and see if he would follow him back to his stupid big honeymoon suite.

Besides, wasn’t that what Chrissy wanted for him? To forget Rick and to enjoy himself? She’d also say that it's not healthy to throw himself at the first pretty thing so soon after a breakup, but whatever, she’s not here with him.

Eddie feels, more than sees, as the stranger’s gaze lands on him one more time. The blonde that he came in with looks cozy sharing a couch with another woman, so no harm no foul, Eddie decides. He sweeps up his jacket and makes his way to the bar.

“Hi,” Eddie says. The cute guy startles at his sudden appearance by his side but his grin is nearly blinding. “I’m Eddie,”

“Hey,” he replies. “Steve,”

Steve, he learns, is on vacation with his best friend. After speaking to him for a bit, Eddie is about 70 percent sure Steve has no idea who he is. Just the way he prefers. He buys Steve a drink and they flirt a bit. Eddie likes the way Steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and how he constantly runs his fingers through his hair like Eddie makes him nervous. Unfortunately, before he can make a move, their little party is crashed by Steve’s companion. Eddie can’t help but feel a tiny bit annoyed.

“Oh my god, I need a drink,” The woman comes barreling between them.

“You okay there buddy?” Steve asks her and she grabs him by the shoulders and shakes.

“Oh shit, sorry, did I interrupt?” She asks, finally noticing his presence, funnily enough.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves her off.

“I’m Robin,” She stuck her hand out.

“Hi Robin, you have lipstick on your face,” Her eyes widen and she scrambles to fix herself using the reflection in the mirror behind the bar, frowning when she finds nothing on her face.

“No I don’t,”

“Made you look,” Eddie grins.

She narrows her eyes at him. “You’re good,”

— — —

They get another round of drinks, Steve buys this time, and they move to a bigger table. Robin sticks to them like a cock blocking barnacle but after a while later, Eddie doesn’t mind anymore. She’s weird and funny in a refreshing way he doesn’t get to see everyday. Plus, Steve looks more at ease when she is by his side.

“So, Eddie,” Says Robin, “What brings you to Rome?”

“Well, you can’t call it a honeymoon if you don’t marry your cheating fiance, so,” Eddie shrugs, watching the slight alarm on both of their faces. “Guess its a solo trip now,”

“That sucks, man,” says Steve.

“It's whatever,” he shrugs.

“You know what? Fuck that motherfucker,” Robin says, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “You’re gonna have the best solo honeymoon ever and he’s gonna be soooo jealous of you!” Robin is kind of a light weight, but it's nice to see someone else enraged on his behalf.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Fuck him,” And then he buys a round of shots. This isn’t the way he saw his evening going when he approached Steve, but Eddie isn’t complaining.

“This is so stupid, we’re gonna regret this in the morning,” Steve giggles, slumped so far down his seat only his face is visible above the table.

“Shit! I forgot!” Robin exclaims.

Eddie frowns. “What’s happening in the morning?”

“We’re going to Tuscany!” Steve says and Robin gasps suddenly, repeatedly slapping Steve on the arm, her eyes wide as dinner plates as she looks at Eddie.

“You should come with us!” She exclaims. “There’s enough room in the air bnb i'm sure, you can bunk with Steve,”

“Come with you to Tuscany?” Eddie asks, puzzled.

“Or Steve can just take the couch,”

“Hey!” Steve protests. “But yeah, it’ll be fun,” he says, turning his big hazel eyes back to Eddie looking so hopeful and expectant; and maybe a little too gone on the alcohol too.

So, really, you can’t blame Eddie for saying yes to a half baked plan that probably wasn’t even going to happen. He’s drunk and a pretty boy is asking him to follow him across Italy. Most likely, the two are going to wake up the next morning with no recollection of the night, or they're probably not even going to make it to their train anyways.

So Eddie says, “Fuck it. Let's do this!”

— — —

Turns out, a drunk Robin is no less a planner than a sober one. Eddie is woken up with his phone incessantly ringing at 10 am on the dot, his presence being demanded at breakfast. At least he feels a little bit better after seeing the other two looking as bad as he feels. Robin is wearing two sunglasses stacked on top of one another.

Packing is no hassle, thankfully, as Eddie never bothered to unpack in the first place. Being hungover for more than an hour on a train isn’t really fun. He eyes Steve and Robin happily curled up and dosing away at their seats as he spends the better half of the train ride to Florence trying not to yak up the cup of coffee and pastry he had choked down at breakfast. Wanye would have laughed and told him he has been spoiled by all the soft mattresses in his fancy hotel rooms. And he wouldn’t be wrong.

They spend twenty minutes ambling around the city, looking for a specific hole in the wall Steve was determined to visit, then fall face first into plates of pasta in ravenous hunger. It's chaotic, better than being holed up in his room with nothing to do. Eddie might even admit it was fun if you ask him tomorrow.

Once their plates are just short of licked clean, robin rummages through her cross body bag and pulls out a paper map, unfolding it into a cartoonishly large piece of paper. “Do you not have GPS in your phone?” Eddie asks, eyeing the map.

“You’re in a foreign country, Eddie, what if you lost your network? Do you want to die?” Steve says in a scarily accurate impression of Robin, then gets a bony elbow to the ribs.

Robin clears her throat dramatically, points at a part of the map and says, “We’re here right now,” Here, Eddie assumes, is Florence in the map since the lettering was so small and crowded together it was almost impossible to read. “And we’ll be taking a cab to an airbnb here, about thirty minutes away. It's like a big ass villa we’ll be sharing with a few other people and there’s like a big ass pool there too, so we can chill out over there. Then at seven, we have a wine tasting-slash-dinner at a vineyard.”

“Oooh we’re getting drunk again?” Eddie asks.

Robin enthusiastically replies, “Yup! We’re on vacation, baby!”

— — —

The villa is gorgeous. It’s up on a hill overlooking rows and rows of vineyards and trees and has a huge breakfast nook, living room and outdoor dining place and his first thought after stepping into the place was damn, Chrissy is going to be so jealous. The host is a friendly middle aged man with an accent so strong only Robin could mostly understand what he was saying.

The pool is a nice idea too. After their initial tour of the property, they change into pool-side appropriate wear and make their way downstairs. Eddie tosses his hair up and sinks into the water, letting his fingers prune in one corner with his shades on, watching Steve and Robin splashing about like a couple of toddlers. He doesn’t understand where those two get their unchecked energy reserve from, Eddie is so close to dozing away.

He turns to the woman a couple feet away trying and failing to read her book in the ruckus the two are making. “I don’t know them,” he says, though she probably saw them arrive at the pool together. She gives him a polite smile and goes back to trying to read.

The vineyard they go to for dinner is a walkable distance away, or so Steve says, and then it takes them half an hour to walk there. Which both him and Robin complain about, a lot. There’s a small group taking a short tour with them walking around in the vineyard, taking a few pictures. He sends some to Wayne and gets a thumbs up emoji back, which was the equivalent of a heartfelt hug from him in text.

Dinner is good, the food and the company. They are given tiny wine glasses and get refills as often as they want. Everyone takes full advantage of it. He even makes polite conversation with a few of the others in the groups. Steve looks especially pretty in the firelight with a rosy tint to his cheeks.

Eddie feels relaxed and so much lighter than he had in months when they stumble back to the villa, swaying and leaning against each other, giggling about stupid things. “I’ll see y'all bitches in the morning,” Robin bids them goodnight and Eddie and Steve crash into a pile on top of the two seater couch in their room.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “I really don’t mind taking the couch you know,”

“What? No way, Steve. I don’t mind sharing, I can keep my hands to myself, you know,”

Steve snorts, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘if only’.

“What was that,” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, nothing,”

Eddie absentmindedly draws patterns over a knee thrown over his lap, the heat of his skin like a furnace under his palm. He can’t look away from wine stained lips and flushed cheeks as Steve smiles softly at him, inviting. His hazel eyes drop to his lips then back up again.

Eddie didn’t realize how close they are, their noses nearly brushing– Steve almost fully on top of his lap– it would be so easy to kiss him. He just has to tip his head up to press their lips together, so he does it.

Steve’s mouth feels as warm and inviting as it looks. Eddie lets him press his tongue between his lips, big hands cupping the back of his head keeping him there. Eddie takes it as permission to get a little more handsy, slipping his hands under Steve’s shirt.

Eddie feels himself melting into the cushions as Steve tilts his head into the kiss. He pulls back and Eddie has to stop himself before he does something pathetic like whine, or maybe chase after his mouth. “You wanna move this to the bed,” Steve asks, sounding as breathless as Eddie felt.

“Yeah, sweetheart,”

— — —

Eddie wakes up fully nude under the covers feeling warm and satiated. He listens to the birds chirping outside the window and the soft snores from the man stretched out beside him. He flips to his side, watching Steve sleeping on his stomach, his ribs expand and contract with each breath he takes. His back is littered with moles and freckles and Eddie with his sleepy brain wonders how long it would take to trace every one of them. Some of them disappear under the scar tissue twisting over the side of his torso, starting at his hip and spreading almost all the way to just under his rib cage. He leans in, lightly brushing his fingers just over the shiny, raised skin.

"It’s from a fire a few years ago," Steve says, slowly blinking sleep out of his eyes. And at Eddie's raised eyebrows, he elaborates, "I'm a firefighter. Robin too.”

“Shit,” Eddie replies, suddenly feeling more awake. “You just got like ten times hotter,” Steve snorts. “You have to wear a uniform right? Do you have any pictures?”

“What am I? Just a piece of ass to you?”

“A very hot piece of ass,” Eddie says, pulling himself up on top of Steve. “Don’t sell yourself short, Stevie” And he leans down to kiss him, morning breath and all. They get distracted for long enough that Robin comes thumping on their door to get them out of bed.

— — —

Breakfast is once again a steaming cup of coffee, fruits, and a fresh croissant. Eddie has had more fresh fruits in the past two days than the entire year combined. He was also having a very nice time happily appearing in public without fear of camera flashes or crazed fans. Feeling the sun on his skin, living his best life, as the kids would say. Eddie was wearing one of Steve’s shirts open over a band tee and canvas shorts. His usual wardrobe, consisting mostly of ripped jeans and leather jackets, wasn't the most comfortable in the sun.

There are only two other couples in the outdoor dining area of the airbnb. A pair of retirees and the other two possibly honeymooners by the way they were all over each other. Eddie briefly considers how if he hadn’t been with them, Steve and Robin would’ve also looked like a heterosexual couple, not codependent platonic soulmates having a vacation together. The thought makes him huff a laugh into his coffee. Steve raises his eyebrows at him in question from his seat beside him, and he just shakes his head.

Robin drops the folded paper map on the table once she’s done studying, steals a sip from Steve cup, then winces. “That's the one toxic dude bro trait you have,” she says, glaring at the offending cup of black coffee with no cream or sweetener in it. Eddie has to nod his head in agreement. Even Eddie doesn’t drink his coffee black.

“What? It's not that bad,” Steve tries to reason.

“It’s actually really horrible, you just don’t have taste buds anymore because you burnt them off, apparently.” Eddie chimes in.

“Nuh-uh, you aren’t allowed to team up like that, no way,” Steve protests. Robin sneaks a sip from Eddie’s cup.

“Holy shit, there is no coffee in this, it's just milk and sugar!”

“No, its not,”

“Yes, it is!”

“Okay, calm down, children. Robin, weren’t you just gonna tell us the plan for today?” Steve interrupts.

“Fine,” Robin huffs. “First we make a ten minute walk from here to the rental place for the Vespas, then were going to go to Pisa, then Siena, then San Gimignano if we have the time,”

“We’re renting Vespas? That’s the most touristy shit I’ve ever heard,” Eddie says.

“Eddie, we are tourists,”

“But like, couldn’t we just rent a cab or something?”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t have a motorcycle license,”

“That’s fine, you don’t need it,” Steve chimes in, “It's just like riding a bike,”

Eddie grumbles under his breath, stuffing another piece of bread in his mouth. Steve exchanges a look with Robin.

“Eddie,”

“Hmrph?”

“You know how to ride a bicycle, right?”

“I- I just never learned to, okay?” Robin snorts.

“That's okay, you can ride with me,” Steve smiles, nudging him.

Later on Eddie sends a video to Chrissy of the sprawling vineyards and him on the back of a ridiculous red Vespa and matching helmet, clinging tight to Steve as they sped down a cobblestone road.

— — —

Pisa is nice. There is a lot more climbing involved than Eddie had expected, and is grossly underprepared for it. The view from the top of the leaning tower is cool. Cool enough to climb up and down multiple narrow stairs? Eddie isn’t sure. Steve and Robin barely break a sweat beside Eddie who is fighting for his life– maybe he should listen to Chrissy and cut down on the cigarettes– the damn firefighter stamina.

They take many dorky touristy pictures of them trying to hold up the leaning tower which he knows would make Chrissy laugh. Eddie does his best to occasionally answer the barrage of questions thrown his way after Chrissy sees his messages. She’s mostly just happy that Eddie’s having fun and isn’t alone. She also has a few questions about the sandy blonde hair woman in the pictures with him.

Before they set off to Siena, Steve pulls out a bottle of sunscreen and insists everyone reapply– then acts all affronted when Eddie says he wasn’t wearing any to begin with. His ass feels just about flattened after the almost two hour ride to Siena. They have lunch at another nice spot, walk around taking a million pictures of the Duomo, and climb more stairs to Eddie’s dismay, which Robin finds hilarious.

— — —

“So,” Robin says, “Eddie.” Steve groans. “That bad huh?”

Robin and Steve are sitting in the shade of a nice big tree in a park, Eddie having gone to hunt down food and water for them. His spirits are still high for someone who looked so close to passing out at the top of the leaning tower.

“He’s only the hottest, funniest dude I’ve met in like years probably, no big deal,” Steve throws an arm over his eyes. “Face it, Robs, I’m just cursed to never find love.” Robin rolls her eyes at his dramatics.

“Just ask for his number, dingus,” She says, like it's obvious.

Steve sits up. “I can’t, it’s probably like, just a fun vacation fling for him. And–” He continues before Robin can interrupt. “He just got out of a serious relationship, I can’t ask now, it's too soon,”

“It does even have to be like, ‘I wanna date you please give me your number’, It can be like, ‘we should keep in touch, let's exchange numbers’,” Steve makes a face in response.

Thankfully before Robin can attempt to change his mind further, Eddie comes trudging across the park towards them. “M’lady, M’lord,” he offers the paper bag of pastries to them, on one knee.

“M’dork,” Robin replies and Eddie throws himself backwards on the ground, pretending to get shot.

“Why do you wound me so, fair maiden,” He wails rolling around in the grass, making her snort and Steve complains about getting grass stains on his shirt.

— — —

Eddie almost falls to his knees and begs for mercy when he’s rudely awaken at 5 fucking am and Robin tells him that they will be spending yet another four hours on a train to Rapallo to yet another airbnb. He tells her that she and Steve are single handedly funding the entire organization. Robin tells him to shut up and drink his milk.

“There isn’t much walking,” Steve promises him as he coaxes Eddie from bed. “We’ll just swim in the ocean, drink and relax.” After breakfast they make their way to the train station. Thankfully, this time Eddie manages to pass out for a good amount of time during the train ride only waking to blearily change trains.

He’s well rested by the time they make it to their airbnb. They get ready for a beach day, then it's Vespa 2 electric boogaloo as they rent a couple for the day to get to the beach and back. Eddie shouts “Liar!” from the back seat when Steve tells him the beach is twenty minutes away. Steve argues, technically he wasn’t lying since they aren’t walking.

The beach, unfortunately for Eddie, is a lot more packed than he had expected. It puts him on edge, makes him feel like he might get recognised. He hadn’t realized how Steve’s shirt felt like armor the day before. No one was expecting Eddie Munson to be wearing a striped button up and canvas shorts. But having his tattoos out in the open feels like he was asking to be caught. So he swipes Robin’s orange cover up with little pom poms on the hem the second she discards it and tucks his hair under a sunhat.

The wonder twins are busy in the middle of a sandcastle building competition– which they asked Eddie to be the judge of– like little kids. He sits back and watches people with their friends and family, the two dorks in front of him fighting for sand at the same place like there isn’t sand anywhere else on the beach. He spots boats docked on the other side of the beach and gets an idea.

“Hey guys, I’ll be right back,”

— — —

Steve lays on his beach towel, eyes closed and listening to music on his headphones. Robin was off fucking around in the water with another cute woman she struck up a conversation with.

Eddie rushed off saying he was going to get them something to drink but Steve gets the impression that it's just because he wasn’t one for crowded places, though he didn’t seem too uncomfortable yesterday when they were going around Tuscany. He seemed to shrink into himself when they reached the beach, looking vaguely nauseous when he was sitting under the umbrella all covered up.

He wonders if he should go look for him and make sure he is doing okay, he’s taking a little too long for Steve’s comfort. Or maybe the queue is just really that long since the beach is crowded and Steve is being an overbearing mother hen like Robin sometimes reminds him that he has a tendency for.

Steve starts to slowly doze listening to the chattering all around him and the sound of the waves in the background of his playlist when he feels a shadow descend over him. He opens his eyes to find Eddie standing over him, still in Robin cover up– sans drinks– looking a little too pleased with himself. “Pack your bags,” he tells Steve. “And get Robin,”

Steve scrunches up his face in confusion. “Pack up? We just got here,” Steve yanks on Eddie’s hand and catches him on his lap when he goes down yelping, the sun hat knocked off his head.

“We have much better places to be Stevie, believe me,” he says cryptically, throwing his arms around him.

“You’re not making any sense, dude,”

“I rented us a boat,” Eddie says, grinning.

“A what?”

“A boat. You know? Those things floating over there in the ocean?” he points like he’s explaining to a child seeing a boat for the first time. Dick, Steve thinks fondly.

“When did you do that?”

“Like five minutes ago,” Steve wants to wipe the stupid grin off his stupid face so he leans in and kisses him. It doesn’t really work, Eddie’s still high on his new boat procurement adventure. He tugs in Steve’s hair, pulling him back.

“Come on, we’re losing daylight,” he insists.

“It's not even noon yet,”

— — —

Robin seems very excited by this new development, basically bouncing all the way to where Eddie leads them to a big boat. She brings along her new friend from the beach with them, a curly haired Spanish brunette– Go Robin, Steve thinks– though the boat Eddie had picked had a capacity for more than just four people.

The captain is a funny middle aged guy who’s happy to let them play music as loud as they want. He shows them around the coast and then stops further into the ocean where there are other boats and yachts some distance from them. Steve, Robin and her new companion waste no time jumping into the ocean and Eddie finally looks relaxed.

A little while later, Steve clambers back into the boat in his swimming trunks, sea water dripping from his hair. His shoulders are already turning a deeper shade of tan. He joins Eddie lounging under the sun, laying his dripping head on his shoulder. Eddie traces a finger through the droplets doting his arm.

"Enjoying yourself?" Eddie asks and Steve hums happily.

"Kinda feel like I'm seventeen again," He says.

"Oh? You were galavanting around Italy in high school, Stevie?” Eddie grins at him, teasing.

"Mhm. Summer after junior year, I got brutally dumped,” He explains. “Kinda deserved it though, I was a little bitch in high school," Then there’s a glint in Eddie's eyes like he’s imagining Steve in a preppy outfit and the ridiculous way he used to style his hair.

"My parents brought me along for their trip and their friends has a gay son, though I don’t think they knew he was gay or they wouldn’t have let me hang out with him otherwise," Steve thinks of Andrew sometimes and all the awkward fumbling they had done when they would sneak into each other’s rooms at night– something Robin calls his ‘Bi-awakening’. “So yeah, I left for the vacation straight and came back bi,”

"That is so trust fund baby core, holy shit," Eddie says, and Steve snorts.

"Was a trust fund baby. Past tense," He clarifies.

"Hm, what happened then?"

"I mean, I already knew my parents were homophobes but hey, at least they waited till I finished high school to kick me out,” He shrugs, feeling embarrassed the second he finishes spewing his whole story.

“I’m sorry your parents suck,” Eddie throws his arms around Steve and squeezes him until he laughs. Steve has always been an oversharer, a trait that had put off a lot of his past partners, unfortunately. Eddie is a good listener. He doesn’t seem too bummed out by his little trip down memory lane. But then, when did Steve start thinking of Eddie along the same line as the people from his past relationships?

“Whatever. They were really just cramping my style,”

“Yeah, I bet you looked real bad in those starched shirts and designer suits,” Eddie says, sounding like he really doesn’t mean it.

"Come get in the water with me," Steve says and Eddie whines in protest. "What? You don't know how to swim too?"

"I know how to swim!" He exclaims a bit too defensively. "I just don't want to get my hair wet," he pouts.

"You don't have to get your hair wet," He pulls Eddie up, "I’ll protect your hair, come on,"

Steve dives in first, watching Eddie carefully lower himself into the water just enough to keep his head above. "See? All good,"

He wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders, pulling him in for a salty kiss.

"CANNONBALL!"

"Rob, wait!" It was too late. Robin crashed into the water, way too close to them, sending a huge splash into the two, drenching them to the tip of their heads.

"Noooo," Eddie moans, looking like a drowned rat with his bangs plastered to his forehead. Robin's maniacal cackling reaches them as she surfaces. "She's so mean to me," he whines, hiding his face in Steve's neck.

"Aww poor baby," Steve coos, trying to hold back his laughter. "I'll help you wash your hair later, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise,"

— — —

Steve does help wash Eddie’s hair, though showering together ends up wasting more water than they were supposed to be saving on accounts of wandering hands. When they step out of the bathroom clean and loose limbed, Robin is on the couch with the TV on full volume, takes one look at their faces and says “Yuck,”

Eddie points at her and says, “Homophobe,”

They decide to order in for the night. Robin hooks up her (Steve’s actually) Netflix account to the TV and they argue on which movie to watch until their dinner arrives, then pass out in a puppy pile twenty minutes into the movie.

— — —

Thankfully, their train to Milan the next day is at a much more reasonable timing. Eddie still whines about having to move again. They make it by mid day and explore the city some more until it's time for dinner.

Eddie feels a pang when he thinks that he’d be saying goodbye to the two in less than a day. Which is dramatic, even for him. He’d barely known them for a week, yet he feels himself clinging to Steve harder and starting arguments just to annoy Robin more often.

When they go to bed, he falls asleep with Steve curled over his back and their fingers intertwined.

— — —

In the morning, Steve joins him on the couch in the balcony where Eddie is people watching through the railing with a cup of coffee. Steve and Robin are leaving soon to catch their flight back home and Eddie’s all packed up to get back to his luxury honeymoon suite in Rome, all alone. The prospect of another week alone in a foreign country feels more daunting than it had been in the beginning of his trip.

Eddie feels like the end of the week snuck up on him. He didn’t expect to like being in Italy so much, though he suspects that has more to do with the company than the country itself. Steve sits so close to him that he’s almost fully leaning on Eddie's shoulder, he’s going to miss his weight and his warmth, the easy way he holds himself near other people like he belongs in everyone’s space.

“So,” Steve says, their position reminds Eddie of the first night he kissed Steve, tipsy on wine, heart fluttering in his chest like butterfly wings. He wants to pull him in and kiss him again.

“So,” Eddie parrots.

“I guess this is it, huh?” Eddie hopes he isn’t imagining the hint of melancholy gleaming in his hazel eyes, he wants selfishly for Steve to miss him too.

“I had fun,” Eddie smiles. It takes effort.

“I’m glad,” Steve says, sounding so sincere. He tucks a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear, leans in to slot their lips together one last time. Eddie takes it eagerly, opening his mouth to him and happily goes along when Steve pulls him into his lap.

They say their goodbyes after breakfast and Eddie watches them get in a cab and drive away from him forever.

— — —

Steve stows their luggage away in the overhead compartment and plops down onto his seat, Robin engrossed in looking through the inflight movie list beside him. He drops his forehead on Robin's shoulder. “You doing okay over there?”

“Mhm,”

“It's okay to not be okay, you know,”

He lets out a watery laugh, feeling pathetic. “Its so stupid,”

“No it's not,” She pokes his forehead. “Don’t be mean to my best friend,”

“I think maybe I should’ve just sucked it up asked for his number,”

Robin huffs, “See, I can’t even say ‘I told you so’ when you look so sad,”

“Yeah, whatever, it's too late now. He didn’t ask either,” Steve reasons with himself.

“Hey, maybe you’ll run into him one day and he’d be like, your next door neighbor or something,”

“This isn’t a movie, Robs,” He sighs. “And I know all my neighbors already,”

“There, there,” She says, patting his head.

— — —

Eddie naps for a few hours, then gets a cab to take him to the train station. Time moves at a glacial pace. Eddie slumps on a bench and scrolls through instagram to pass time. Somehow his feed is full of cats running around causing chaos, cats in silly outfits, funny cat meme edits. And he thinks maybe he should get a cat. A black one, and he can name it Ozzy. Or Aragon. Maybe a cat would make him feel less lonely.

Eddie is about to close the app and go get something to eat when he sees it. It's a blurry picture of two men kissing on a balcony. The angle looks like it was taken from street level, but the tattoos and long hair is unmistakable. Fuck.

The picture already has more than half a million likes. He loathes to think how many other pages it has graced. And the comments were worse.

g3rry_ Hasn’t even been two weeks since the breakup news came out and he’s already with a new guy…

parkouch_ Smells like infidelity hmmm

gin_titanic Poor Rick :(

Corrodedjeff He should just leave the band at this point smh

RickWorld00 Anyone know who the other guy is?

Dusty_Hen05 What the fuck what the FUCK

— — —

He calls Chrissy in a panic.

“Did you see it?” is the first thing she asks him. He doesn’t answer as much as he lets out a high pitched noise like a kettle.

“Chrissy, what the fuck?”

“I know, I know,” She whines. “I’m trying to do damage control here, but Rick fucking posted a tweet saying he’s ‘taking time off from the public eye’ during this ‘trying time’ and now everyone is siding with him,”

“That bitch,”

“How’s Steve taking it?” Chrissy asks.

“I wouldn’t know, Chrissy, he’s on a plane right now on the way back to his real life,” He huffs. “Shit, he’s going to be so blindsided by this, I don’t think he even knew who I am,”

“You didn’t tell him?” she asks. “Shit, Eddie,”

“Book me flight babe, I wanna come back as soon as I can,” It takes some arguing and pleading to make Chrissy book a different flight straight from Milan. But she does it in the end and Eddie hopes he hasn’t screwed things up forever.

— — —

Eddie goes straight to Chrissy’s place from the airport. He has a hell of a time dodging camera flashes and finally makes it to the car she sent in one piece. He falls into her embrace as soon as she opens her door.

“Aww, Eddie, you okay?”

“Ahuh, never better,”

His eyes feel dry and sand from the lack of sleep. Chrissy shoves him into bed and threatens him to get some rest before they can have a serious conversation about everything. Eddie sleeps fitfully, but it's better than nothing. The sun is setting when he shuffles back into the living room. Chrissy hears his stomach grumbling from all the way across the room and they order take out.

“So, Steve,”

Eddie sighs heavily. “I fucked up Chris,” he says, stuffing a springroll in his mouth.

“Someone took a picture of you through your balcony, I hardly think that's your fault, babe,”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know who I was, Chris. Like, how jarring is it going to be for him to just wake up one day and find out some people out there are accusing him of being a home wrecker just for kissing a random dude on a vacation?”

“It is a fucked up situation, I’m not going to lie, and Rick’s really been enjoying playing the victim,” she grumbles. “You know, it really would’ve helped if you had gotten the guy's contact details.” She didn’t need to tell him that twice. “We need to release a statement as soon as possible but we really just need to wait it out. There isn’t much we can realistically do,”

“I feel horrible,” he groans.

“Again. Not your fault Eddie,”

“I think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find him somehow,” Chrissy snorts.

“Dick that good, huh?” She snickers.

“Gotta admit, Chrissy, it was a pretty exceptional dick.” Eddie sighs wistfully and Chrissy giggles.

“How are you gonna find him?”

“Maybe a PI? Is that too creepy? How many Steves are there in the US do you reckon?” He’s only half joking. Chrissy rolls her eyes and kicks him out of her house so he can go get some proper sleep.

— — —

Eddie takes a hot shower once he gets home, then is immediately reminded of Steve in the shower with him and his big hands holding him against the cold tiles. Then the quick shower turns into a much longer one.

Once he’s changed into his pjs, he pads down to the kitchen to make himself a hot cup of tea then settles in bed with his phone. He isn’t tired enough to go to sleep yet so he switches to a random channel on his TV and scrolls through the pictures they had taken in Italy, zooming in on Steve’s face more times he can count like a love sick– love? Really? –dumbass.

It's 2 am when he hears the sound of his front door opening and shutting that puts him on alert. With shaking hands he grabs his baseball bat from the closet (which Wayne left behind, Eddie wasn’t a sports kinda guy) making his way to the staircase, hoping and praying he’d imagined the whole thing and he’s not actually getting robbed. Or worse– someone has leaked his address online and someone broke in to see him.

It's too dark to see properly, but a figure is climbing up the stairs towards him, a little too fast for his comfort. Eddie swings, his bat connects with the stranger’s face with a crunch and he goes tumbling down the stairs with a pained shout. Eddie rushes to get the light switch and–

“EDDIE!” Rick was on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose. “Shit, I think I broke something,”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rick?” Eddie screeches. “How did you get in?”

"What are you doing here, aren’t supposed to be in Italy, enjoying our honeymoon,” He spits back. The fucking audacity of this dude.

“Have you been breaking into my house all week?” Rick stays quiet and that's enough of an answer for Eddie. “I’m calling an ambulance,” The 911 operator tells him not to move him, not that Eddie would touch him with a ten foot pole.

“Who was that guy you were with?” Rick asks from the floor, still clutching onto his knee.

“I’m sorry, how is that any of your business?” Eddie snaps back, full of ire.

“Because,” Rick says, his expression pleading in the way Eddie just realizes he always looks like when he’s about to tell him how sorry he was and how nothing was his fault, actually. “I still love you, Eddie,”

Eddie laughs in his face, getting a tiny bit of satisfaction from the way Rick’s face falls. “Seriously? You broke up with me because I was too clingy to open our relationship and you see me with another dude one time and you can’t take it, huh?”

“I made a mistake–”

“Yes you fucking did, now deal with the consequences. You’re not my problem anymore,” The doorbell saves Eddie from the crocodile tears welling up in Rick’s eyes. How did he even put up with this for two years?

However, Eddie isn’t done with surprises for the day, it would seem. The door swings open, and there stands Steve– who looks just as shocked to see him standing at the doorstep– with Robin and another older dude he doesn’t recognise.

“Hey!” the older dude exclaims, pointing at Eddie. “It’s the guy!”

— — —

Steve has had a hell of a time since he and Robin had touched down. The second he had switched his airplane mode off he was bombarded with hundreds, possibly thousands of notifications. 72 missed calls from just Dustin and more cryptic messages from the party group chat– something about coffins? Did someone die? Steve didn’t understand.

Dustin hadn’t been much help when he called him back, babbling something about a front man of a rock band for some reason, but that was only until Robin pulled up a picture of him and Eddie kissing. Except, it was posted on some random instagram page he had never heard of instead of her camera roll, with the caption ‘Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson spotted in Milan, Italy with his new beau’. And then it clicked.

His notifications continued to flood for the rest of the day, friends and coworkers were asking him about it. His high school acquaintances suddenly wanted to know how he was doing and wanted to catch up for ‘old time sake’. Yeah right, Tommy. The worst part was probably the comments nitpicking everything about his appearance and the random threatening DMs he’d receive occasionally.

Robin was quite most of the ride back home, but that was only because she was doing a deep dive into Eddie Munson and his band’s history. The only thing she said to him was, “I know many of their songs, Steve, and Dustin and Mike literally have a poster up like every wall in their house. How did we not know this?”

He slept fitfully, the adrenaline and confusion seemingly overriding the jet lag. The last straw was when his mom tried to contact him the next morning after eight whole years, just to berate him about their family name. “In public Steven? Really?” Steve didn’t have the energy to argue that a balcony is not a public space. There was little satisfaction in hanging up on her mid sentence.

He called up Argyle and begged to swap with his night shift so he'd at least have Robin by his side when dealing with all of it. Not that he thought any of their co-workers would be mean about it, he and Robin aren’t even the only queer people in the station. Besides, Captain Hopper wouldn’t let homophobic behavior slide given that he has a gay step son of his own that he loves very much.

Steve had tried and moderately succeeded in getting some sleep before his shift. Night shifts were moderately less hectic than morning ones– though sometimes it just depends on the night itself– so it opens up more time for ribbing from his colleagues

He had even walked in on the rookie Chance showing Dmitri, the Russian dude Hopper had history with (what kind? Nobody knows), videos of Corroded Coffin singles and performances, and Steve had turned on his heels and walked away.

The call had been a welcome distraction as he buckled himself in the back of the ambulance that Dmitri drove, with Robin. “I like your new boyfriend, he’s loud,” Dmitri had called back at him.

“He’s not my boyfriend, man,” Steve had sighed.

“But he does wish he was,” Robin the traitor had chimed in and then sat unperturbed by his glaring. That was merely minutes before he had rung the bell to the house he’s currently standing before, Eddie on the other side of the threshold.

“W-we got a call about someone getting hurt?” He stutters out, remembering his training and Eddie quietly steps aside to let them in.

— — —

Eddie barely processes shit. His monkey brain is just going Steve! Steve is here! In his sexy firefighter uniform! Stevie! Until Rick spots him and loudly goes, “Man, really?” Which clearly confuses Steve as his face does the whole, brows jumping up and eyes widening look that conveyed the message ‘What?’ without him having to say a word.

“Rick, shut up,” Eddie snaps. If Steve recognises that name, he doesn't show it.

Robin checks him out and splints his ankle, ruling out any serious injury in his hips or spine, except for maybe a nasty bruise from rolling down a flight of stairs. They load him on the gurney, then the back of the ambulance, working quietly as Eddie stood around fidgeting. He really just wants to talk to Steve about the whole thing, apologize for the whole mess.

“H-hey, Steve?” Eddie says and then almost falters when Steve’s attention is on him. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing man, you don’t deserve all that,”

“No, you don’t have to, it's not your fault,” Steve chuckles humorlessly. “Honestly, I just feel kind of stupid about it now that I think about it–” The older dude claps a hand over his shoulder, interrupting him.

“We gotta go buddy,” He says in a heavy Russian accent.

“Do you want a ride to the hospital?” Steve asks.

Eddie notices Rick looking at him expectantly from inside the ambulance. Ew. But he could bear it for Steve. He just needs to talk to Steve and Eddie’s scared that if he lets him go right now he might never see him again. So he gets in.

— — —

Steve wishes he would stop apologizing. Eddie would say ‘sorry’ and his brain would automatically translate it to ‘sorry people think we’re dating’.

“It's okay Eddie, I get it,” Steve sighs. “It's not even like we’re together, is it? I’m sure everyone would just forget about it in a while and you can move on–”

"I don’t want to forget about you," Eddie’s face is all scrunched up, “Shit, Steve I thought I was protecting you from the shitstorm that’s my life, since everything I touch turns to dust anyways, I thought maybe I could spare you if I left you alone,” He sighs, “But I failed in that regard too, I guess.”

"But–" Steve's jaw feels like it's on the floor, "Eddie, you don’t need to protect me, okay? I can take care of myself,” Eddie looks like a kicked puppy, all sad and hurt. Steve just wants him to smile again. “I mean, the amount of times we actually kissed in public, I’m just really surprised that was the picture that ended up online,” Eddie barks out a laugh.

“I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you, Steve.” He says, his gaze intense and pleading. Steve is rendered speechless. “I grew up in a trailer park with my uncle. I sold weed in high school and played dnd. It took me three tries to even graduate highschool. I'm not a good person, i'm nothing special, I don't run into burning buildings and rescue kittens from trees or whatever, and I know I kind of ruined everything before it even started but please, please just give me one chance, Stevie–"

“Are you seriously doing this right now? In front of me?” Rick interrupts, and Steve is not a bad dude who’d hurt people who can’t defend themselves but he really wants to smack the disgusted look on his stupid face. Robin flaps a hand shushing him, watching him and Eddie like they’re on her TV screen instead. Even Dmitri is quiet, no doubt listening in.

“Would you like to go on an actual date with me? Please?” Eddie finishes.

Steve is stunned to say the least. He had been distracted for most of the ride, he didn't even realize that they had stopped until the door of the ambulance swung open, startling Robin too. Then he’s being pulled away to do his job, leaving a distraught looking Eddie behind.

— — —

Eddie paces hidden behind the ambulance bay, burning through his third cigarette of the hour– which once upon a time wouldn't even be worth noting, but he's trying to do better here, goddamnit— thinking of what an idiot he'd acted like.

What was he thinking? Asking Steve, a good guy with a normal life, without paps shoving cameras in his face, to be with him. Eddie Munson, the wildcard, the drama.

Eddie can’t go anywhere without someone criticizing everything he does. Ironically enough, that was one of the main reasons he was so anxious to leave his small town home behind. So much for anonymity. The constant judgment is the one thing he hated so much about constantly being in the public eye. He’d love to say that he doesn’t care and that it never bothers him, but the truth is that it gets fucking exhausting how people already have preconceived notions about him everywhere he goes. He doesn’t want that for Steve.

He's never known peace a day in his life. Why would Steve willingly through his life to the wolves just to be with him? It was selfish of Eddie to even ask that of him. He’s put him through enough shit as it is with the picture and all the harassment from his so-called fans. He hates it. This was nothing like how he dreamed his life would be at just twenty eight when he was in high school.

Eddie knows he’s spiraling. He’s being over dramatic and catastrophizing, as Chrissy would say. God, he wishes she were to talk some sense into him. Yet he can't seem to move away from that spot, waiting for Steve to come out through the doors, he can't leave without seeing this through. If he gets brutally rejected, so be it. But on the off chance Steve might still want this? The idea that he might be worth giving up a little bit of peace for, seems way too tantalizing.

The doors to the ER open. Steve spots him and jogs over, the look of relief clear on his face. “Hey, you’re still here,” he says. “I was hoping I wouldn’t miss you,”

“Yeah, um, everything alright in there?” he asks– he doesn’t really care.

“Sure, yeah, Rick’s going to be okay,”

“So, um,” Eddie trails off, suddenly at a loss on what to say.

“Are you going to give me your number then?” Steve asks.

“What?”

“You did ask me on a date, right? Unless you weren’t serious about it. In that case–”

“No! No, I was serious, I swear.” Eddie can’t keep the disbelief off his voice. “You’re saying yes? After everything that happened?”

“Eddie, I really like you,” says Steve. “And I’ve read so many shitty things people have said about you,” Eddie cringes a little, he knows how vile those tabloids can get. “But that was not the man I had known this past week and I want a real chance to get to know you, if that’s okay,”

Before he can stop himself Eddie is careening into Steve, crashing their lips together in a desperate kiss that Steve reciprocates with the same intensity.

“That is so okay,” Eddie breathes. “Love that plan,”

“So,” Steve grins. “Number?”

———

[littlesislovesyou]

And it's okay if you didn't reply right away lol I passed out and had work to do later but I'm happy if you read it and had fun with it~ It's kinda cute watching your mind lose sense of time and awareness of whether or not you replied because your brain has been fuzzy and blissfully lost due to you being horny and furiously masturbating to my asks...and I hope you had a wonderful day as well sweet girl <3333

And that's completely fine! We all need breaks now and again 🖤 don't ever feel bad for that but that makes me happy! I wanted to talk to you as well <333

I hope it was for you! Mine was okay but I am genuinely exhausted and I hope my body takes me out for the next 12 hours before I gotta go out again lol but with you around it's always a good day 💓

Perhaps you don't have to say it out loud but...the thought of me sneaking in and stalking you until the moment you wake up and knowing you're wet and horny the moment I hear you start moaning and fingering yourself and I take a peek and find you staring at your phone...I'd love to catch you off guard by moving into your line of sight when you least expect it and making you jump in your soaked sheets when I boldly crawl into your bed and pin you down~ Asking what's got you so soaked sweetheart...? Maybe...getting off to the filthy things sent in the other day? And I'll pull you into my lap and force your phone out your hands as you briefly struggle and then seeing that you were rubbing your needy cunt to all the dirty things I sent you last night would get me immediately hard and poking against your irresistible ass as I slip my fingers inside of your cunny, making you whine and squirm against me and offering my assistance...knocking you out by forcing you to sniff a rag with substances all over it and pushing it against your mouth until you quit struggling and go limp on my arms...

Then slowly finger fucking your holes and groping your amazing chest and sucking on them and pinching your nipples, giving your tits a slap as I mark all over neck and then collaring it to cover it up~ Then laying you down and fucking your boobs between my needy cock until I cum all over your pretty face...giving you a facial and slapping my cock on your face before lowering myself lower and kissing your cunt before worshipping it and eating you out. Throbbing painfully hard all the while as I make it my mission to force you to cum in your sleep...and when you violently cum all over my face you'll groan in discomfort, pleasure and disorientation as you let out a confused 'huh?' At being unable to move your legs at all and your entire body is in disarray as I use the opportunity to force my cock deep inside of your tight and overstimulated cunny~ Making you gasp and scream as you try to struggle but I choke you out and hiss at you to take it all you fucking slut...be a good bitch in heat for your owner and take every last drop of cum in your cunt as I breed you nonstop and get tempted to fuck your tight ass after so I can mark my territory on my pretty puppy in every way...aside from carving my initials onto your ass, the back of your neck or onto your arms or legs... maybe even near the tits, hm? And reminding you that getting fucked by me nonstop as I rape you feels just as good as me describing what I'd do to you if not slightly better 🤭🔪 at least I'll prep your body and mind for me to be in a state to get your brains fucked out and leaking through your pussy as I make you personal fuckpet 🖤

Yes, pet? I am indeed your God and there's no one else you'll be worshipping harder than me~ <333 But I'm glad my perverted and fucked up thoughts stuck in my brain get you going sweet girl...and trust me, my darling baby sis...we both know you were never innocent from the very beginning...but we both can pretend you were so we can play up me corrupting you and turning you into your brother's personal whore...you telling me straight to my face that I'm so gross for feeling this way towards you as I grope your ass and I can feel how soaked you are from me wanting using your body for relief...as I whisper, "Then why the fuck are you so fucking wet at the thought of your big bro splitting your cunny open on his cock, huh?" And before you respond I'll push your panties aside and force myself inside while you're too embarrassed and flustered to respond as it turns from ahhing and uhming to crying out my name and title as I rape and use my pretty little sis once more...let's be real sweetheart...this is what you were made for. Dad made you so you could be my personal fucktoy and lovely wife~ 🖤

And it is isn't it, slut~? Me treating you, my perverted little sister as my partner and wife in public while everyone looks on and gushes and calls us cute together as we kiss and I'm groping you and slipping my hand under your top and panties when no one's paying attention until you're soaking wet and crawling into my lap as we get on the train or bus to ride home and you leave a wet patch right on the crotch part of my pants from you humping and grinding against my bulge in the less crowded part of the transportation while I tease and whisper to you if you're gonna cum all over your brother and you take that as a challenge and leave my pants a mess of your orgasm on our way out...

And I take that as a challenge too. To fuck a few more orgasms out of my bratty, slutty sister that got off all day to us acting like a horny couple in and out of public...💕

Awww that's so sweet I'm happy to help inspire you and stoke your horny flame because hey someone has to~ And I very much enjoy doing that for you. Your concepts inspire me to both become a little worse but also to feel more comfortable with being into this having a safe space in you and it really helps me let it all out (preferably on you) and you never complain or say I'm too much which I appreciate alot. Thank you so much and I hope I can help you cum and feel good and happy in exchange 😘

Well I wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything you know...if I sent you home half naked, bruised and leaking cum everyone will know something is up...instead they'll see you in new clothes and suspect you of having a boyfriend and your eagerness to get away is just you being shy (definitely not to hide the filthy things I did to your irresistible body and still soaking wet because your mind is secretly imagining you crawling back to your masked stranger, into the exact same situation. But surely you would never enjoy being used like a rapetoy by a masked stranger like me right? You wouldn't be such a fucked up little thing for me willingly...yeah? But seeing you on your knees or at my car's tinted door and knocking with a blush on your cheeks and wearing my clothes I gave you casually. Perhaps snuggled into it and my scent and how it comforts you as much as it arouses you and it'll be the last thought you have before you're tossed into my trunk and raped on the country side when I let you out~ <3333

I appreciate you most 😌🥰🤫 my dirty little secret...🖤

Mine~🖤🖤

🖤🖤🖤

AGHHHHH god 🥺🥺💗 you outdid yourself, you drive me absolutely crazy you know that? ;’)

I’m sorry to answer back late ah, I had to be up early today, my shifts are usually 8-9 hours :’( 💗 also I saw your last ask you definitely weren’t too much at allll 🥰😚 I absolutely loved it so don’t worry about that cutie💗 god, every part just had my thighs squeezing together~

Also you better have gotten some rest!>:) 💗💗

And thank you for your kind words💗 again I appreciate you a lot, I hope you know whenever you’re ready to I’d still love to message with you anytime<3 my beautiful stalker hehe💗💗💗

God you should see me when I’m touching myself too them~ all whiny and moaning, just touching and teasing my pussy to all your filthy words;’) 🖤 I absolutely love it<333

I really missed you I hope you have a wonderful day 🥺💗

Do you know how both hot and beautiful that sounds? You fucking your hand to the thought of me?;’) 💗💗💗💗djhsbsksdk you make me lose my mind~

It’s both flattering and hot, just the fact you imagined you were fucking my face, how sweet of you hm?🥰💗

And the one where you knock me out with the rag? 🥺🥺 how can you get me so wet before work? 🥺You’re torturing me over here<333

I bet I’d be so tight around your fingers when I’m passed out 💗☺️ or just tight around any part of you~ my tight passed out body unable to do anything to fight you off, I just have to lay there and take it hm?😚 god if I can be honest my brains are already leaking through my pussy and it’s your fault 🥺

Saying such dirty, sick things to your little sis~ 🖤🖤

Also I was actually thinking about getting one of those toys soon 👀🖤 maybe you could have control of it hm?<333 hehe

ah I wouldn’t have it any other way though~ you’re so depraved anymore, I can feel is just making each other worse heh and I absolutely love it, I wouldn’t have it any other way 🥺💗 your pretty mutual missed you more💗💗

And agh honestly I haven’t been wanting to be on tumblr as much the past like day or two;’( , if I can be honest the only reason I have been on was to talk to you💗💗

As always yours,

💗

[seancekitsch]

Wow, I can get sexual, too: an Adrian Chase x Reader fic- chapter 5

series masterlist here

warnings: eventual smut, masturbation, twitter nude culture, the very slightest dub con but not really just saying this to be safe, mutual pining, idiots in love, perv!reader but also perv!adrian, light exhibition, manhandling, oral sex, sweet sex, smut with feelings but its still kinda dirty

a/n: here we go!! its the final chapter!! we have finally reached the smut!!! its finally done, unless there's enough interest for an epilogue or a little drabble series with adrian and this reader character!!! thank you so much to all the people who have read this series and enjoyed it, and especially the two anons (123, and 4) who inspired the whole series!! you guys are the best!!

Adrian practically throws you up the stairs to his apartment, anytime you move slower than he wants you to he grabs you by the hip and boosts you up a few more stairs. Eager, eager, so incredibly eager for what comes next. He dodges around you on the last few steps and jams the key into the door to open it for you, allowing you to step into his dark apartment first.

“Well, here’s where the magic’s going to happen!” Adrian announces, and you step further into the living room. It looks… messy. The blanket you were using the other night is still on the couch, haphazardly flung and rumpled like. Oh right. He laid there jacking off with it under him that night. You feel yourself shudder as you hear the door click. There’s no turning back now. 

Quickly again though you’re in his arms, this time he kisses you like a snow squall, rapid and covering the skin of your face, smearing your make up with his lips. He kisses like he’s trying to memorize the details down to the pore, to leave no centimeter unexplored or felt. You kiss back as you can, managing to catch a cheek or a chin or a corner of a lip when you can but you can’t keep up, his affection a tidal wave against you. All you can do is melt into his touch, firm and strong but wildly gentle. 

You’ve never been held like this. Held like you could break, sure. Held like you’re a rag doll to throw around, also sure.

Adrian is the perfect combination of the two, so gentle and careful like you’re something to worship but his fingers dig into your scalp and your waist like squeezing the apple that tempted Eve, squeezing so hard it could bruise. You hope it does.

He leads you carefully further into the room, until your back hits the counter of his kitchen island. Adrian wastes no time pushing your jacket down your shoulders for you to shrug it off and throw it onto his kitchen floor, not even breaking the kiss through the entire action.

His greedy hands then travel to your thighs, pushing up your little skirt until it reaches the bottom of the curve of your ass.

“Wait-,” you stop him before he can pull it up any further.

He pulls back, a question clearly painting his expression.

“Not like that! Let me take my shoes off, these things are killing me,” you reassure him, and he visibly untenses in relief. He releases you from his tight hold, not completely though, finger light touches of his hands still on you as you move past him to take off your boots at his front entryway.

Alright, time to slut it up, you think, and you bend over almost completely to unzip the shoes. You know what Adrian probably sees, your skirt pulled up too high and giving him a full view of your ass and panties. Briefly, you wonder if he’s the kind of guy that likes upskirt photos. 

You'd send him one, definitely, or as many as he would ever ask for. You'd send little videos too if he wanted. Anything really, you're realizing. Damn, you think, down bad doesn't even begin to cover what I feel for him. 

Adrian can't resist from touching though, and as you step out of your boots he puts his hands on your hips again, squeezing before they slide down slightly, letting his palms feel the soft skin of your ass, before moving back up again. His motions like a question, asking for more. He repeats the motion again, and this time you wiggle your ass a little in his grasp, prompting the quietest of chuckles from him under his breath. 

You straighten back up and lean into his touch, starting to fall in love with the feeling of his hands on your hips.

“I have maybe an un-sexy question,�� you broach, the thought bugging your mind since before he picked you up.

“I don’t know how that could be,” Adrian says, and presses up behind you, “Everything is sexy coming from you.”

He punctuates that by grabbing your waist and a grind of his hips against your ass, letting you feel every inch of him behind the denim that rocks against you. Fuck, how are you gonna even do this without losing your mind?

“How did,” you cut yourself off with a low moan, letting yourself lean back into his grasp, “how’d you get a hold of my set? Well, the bottom half.”

He looks at you for a moment, and then his eyes widen in recognition like he had already forgotten the conversation in the car. 

“My panties? Black satin with teal stitching?” you further supply. 

“Oh yeah, I mean, you don't lock your windows,” he replies, “You really should, unless that's like a thing for you and you want to do this again and you want me to come in through them or something.”

You try to hide how concerned that statement makes you, seeing as you didn’t realize until now that you didn't lock your windows. How long have they been unlocked? Is that like some kind of potential security breach for the task force? Your bedroom and office are full of weaponry and classified files that you really thought were more secure than they apparently are. 

“Good to know,” your tone falters a little, but you continue to lean back into him, loving how his jeans feel against your bare legs. 

“Is that weird?” he asks.

You feel like the answer should be yes, but you can't say that word. 

“Let me blow you,” you offer instead of an answer. You pull yourself from his grasp begrudgingly and turn around again, and you hear him whisper

 ‘Cool. Not weird.’

Under his breath while you reach for him again. This time you lead the kiss, pulling him in as you teasingly bite his bottom lip. Sure enough, he opens his mouth and his tongue darts out to tangle with yours, each tasting each other and trying to pull one another deeper into each other. 

You kiss feverishly, all hot and all encompassing, both trying to be as close as possible and all over each other.

“Ugh, I just wanna touch you already!” Adrian exclaims as he pulls back breathlessly, his fingers roughly raking up your satin underwear. God, his calluses feel amazing mixed with the sensation of how smooth and soft your panties are. He pants as he tries to regain his breath, his hands never leaving contact with you as your skirt just gets pushed higher and higher. 

“Just wait,” you giggle, slowly lowering yourself to your knees, “I wanna touch you first. Been thinking about what's under these jeans for a few weeks now.”

He looks a little shocked as you say this, but his hands move quickly to undo his belt and button of his jeans for you. You unzip his jeans and push them down over his ass the rest of the way, and he stops you momentarily. You wait, a little awkwardly, while he steps back and pulls his sneakers and jeans completely off, leaving only his boxer briefs as he takes his place again in front of you, nodding at you to let you continue. 

“What do you think about when you make those tweets?” you ask, your right hand coming up tentatively to test the waters and cup his length over his underwear. 

Adrian sucks in a breath, basically hissing at the contact as his eyes fall shut; so sensitive to the touch. You massage him, feeling around for what you're about to get. You've seen it more than once, but seeing it on twitter and actually seeing and feeling it in person seem like two extremely different things. You can tell just by your hand he’s long, and heavy. He's going to be a handful. And a mouthful.

“You,” he gasps out, and he sounds strained, “I think about you.”

“Like this?” you ask, and then stick out your tongue to flatten it against his clothed cock. He moans and his head falls back already, fully giving in to anything you'd do to him. How easy would he be to dominate? You briefly wonder, as your tongue works its way up his length. Your hands make their way to his hips, then to the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“Is it like this?” you ask as you pull your mouth off of him, and your hands start to pull his boxer briefs down. 

He nods, finally opening his eyes and looking down at you, his pupils blown wide and face flushed. Adrian’s gently puts his hand on the back of your head; it feels like he’s afraid to thread his fingers between your hair or push your head down on him as he lets you take your time.

You have to break eye contact to look at him, even more handsome in person than on twitter and he’s not even fully naked yet. 

“Take your shirt off,” you whisper, and he obliges you.

You take his shaft in your hand, not tightly, just barely, and you kiss him where his hips and his left thigh meet. You kiss him again, and then rest your head there for a moment. You revel in the feeling of your skin on his, the feeling of him and you connected. You breathe deeply and then kiss the patch of skin again, before moving towards the head of his cock. 

You give the head a little kiss, a little exploration of what's to come. Salty precum dots your lips, tasty and light. You kiss it again, and once more again, before you open your lips.

Gently, you ease your lips farther and farther down the head, then even more down the shaft. You let Adrian adjust to the heat and wetness of your mouth before you hollow out your cheeks, only doing so after getting yourself most of the way down his shaft. You take the time to slowly push yourself up and down his shaft, letting yourself feel every inch and letting him feel every centimeter of you. You don't stop pushing against him until he pushes at the base of your throat, and then you slowly pull back, and then in again.

His hand now finally travels to the back of your head, guiding you and holding you still as you bob up and down on his cock, letting your tongue swivel on the underside of his cock. He moans loudly, openmouthed and tries to keep eye contact as best as possible- but Adrian keeps closing his eyes, keeps squinting and screwing his eyes shut as he winces and pants under your tongue. 

“Please,” he whispers, a little lilt of a moan to his voice, as he tightens his grasp on you scalp slightly.

“Please.”

You take this as your sign to pick up the pace, working him faster and trying to take him deeper and deeper. You feel pride swell in your chest when the tip of your nose just barely brushes his pubes at one point, you’re proud you can do that on him specifically. You've never been one to specifically want to give a blowjob, but with Adrian you want to give the best blowjob in the world. Briefly you wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob because of his twitter but you push the thought away quickly because you don't want to think about it. Somewhere deep down you want to be the only one. 

That only invigorates you to work harder, to push yourself further down on him, to hollow out your cheeks more, to-

“Get off— shit,” he gasps, roughly pulling himself out of your mouth, “don’t wanna finish there, wanna— wanna give you…”

“Got it,” you confirm, rubbing your jaw that’s sore from use.  You can't deny that it's a little disappointing he won't let you finish him in your mouth, but you trust Adrian. 

Immediately Adrian drops to his knees himself, taking over for your hand and replacing his fingers with your own. His thumbs rub tight circles against your jaw muscles, massaging out any kinks or pains that would ail you come morning before they can even take root. This has, never ever, never been your experience. You've never sucked a guy off and then immediately been cradled and massaged so gently, never have you experienced Adrian's big beautiful eyes staring at you with the craziest amount of admiration and care that you've ever seen. The tiniest smile grows on his lips, and you try to match it despite him massaging and mashing the muscles in your cheeks. 

“Okay… I have maybe an un-sexy question myself,” Adrian says, breaking the sweet silence that hung between the two of you.

“Shoot,” you encourage him, hands coming up to meet his hands on you. 

“Okay so…. So when we watched Fargo,” he trails off. 

You already know where this is going, you already know what he’s going to say but you have to let him get there on his own. 

“When we watched Fargo and you kept staring at the mirror, were you thinking of my tweets?”

He lets the question hang in the air, and so do you, opting to move your head ever so slightly and kiss his thumb before you answer him.

“Full honesty?” you ask, lips still against his thumb. He nods. 

“I came to one of them seconds before you texted me to hang out that night,” you admit.

His expression clouds and darkens, but doesn’t harden. He still looks at you with the utmost admiration but there's something else there, something strong and lustful in his gaze. 

“Get in front of the fucking mirror,” he whispers, authority in his tone. 

You stand up immediately, stopping about three feet in front of the mirror, about as far as Adrian stops in his videos. Adrian behind you kicks off his socks and boxers and comes up behind you fully naked, the beautiful image from the tweets finally completed because this time you can see his face.

He makes eye contact with you in the mirror, smiling wide at you as his arms come around you, first as a hug, but then his hands start to play with the hem of your top.

“May I?” he asks, as if his dick wasn't just in your mouth. You nod, and he wastes no time pulling your top over your head. He freezes after he throws it on the ground, however, when he finally spots your bra. You can see in the mirror as his eyes pull themselves back and forth across your chest, taking in as much of you chest as he can in this bra, the black satin and teal stitching and your cleavage pushed just perfectly by the cups. 

“Do you like it?” you ask, feeling emboldened and not shrinking under his gaze. He nods wordlessly, still transfixed on your chest. 

“I got this set because it reminded me of you,” you admit. It matches his uniform perfectly, and it was crazy the set did so while fitting your personal style so wonderfully. It was all comfort while still sexy and matched his signature colors. 

Adrian freezes, eyes going wide at your confession, he finally looks at you instead of your chest with an unreadable expression. He turns you around in his grasp, still unspeaking and wide eyed. 

And then he kisses you again, tender and romantic and a completely different way than he was earlier tonight. When he pulls away, it’s only to start kissing the top of your chest that he can reach over the bra. Adrian licks and sucks at your chest, pulling sighs and whimpers from you as he leaves not even a centimeter of skin untouched, Adrian himself reveling in the reactions he can cause.

“Fuckin’ love it,” he mumbles against your chest, his fingers finally raking themselves over the cups of the bra, thumbs tracing over the teal stitching.

“Love that you were thinking of me,” he continues, and then bites down on your collarbone, not enough to break skin but certainly enough to make you yelp.

“Fuck, Adrian,” you whine; his teeth drag along the collarbone until he drops his head down again to press a kiss to your cleavage, and then slowly traces his tongue down your sternum. His hands travel lower and now start to push your skirt down instead of up, the stretchy material giving under his pressure and dropping to pool at your feet. His mouth returns to your neck and your jaw, kissing sloppily as both of his hands go straight to your ass and squeeze. His hard cock presses against the black satin of your underwear, and all that goes through your mind is the thought of him staining them with cum.

“See what you fuckin do to me?” he asks, as he thrusts himself against the fabric, “Feel it?” 

You nod, and sigh as you practically fall into his embrace. Your hands travel up and down his chest, which you’ve touched and even stitched up before, but you’ve always wanted to touch it like this. Your fingers play with the little smattering of chest hair he has, and dance across pert little nipples. They trace along scars and feel his muscles. He squirms when you reach his ribs, pulling back slightly to wiggle away.

“Sorry! Fuck, ticklish,” he admits, trying to regain his composure quickly.

You laugh, and then wrap your arms around him again, careful to not tickle him again. The hug doesn't last long though, and his grip on you turns rigid again. 

“Face the mirror,” he demands, and you once again turn in his grasp to face the mirror. You take in his appearance as well as your own, already looking messed up and wild despite the fact he hasn't even touched you yet, and the fact that he looks like the adonis he is in all of his twitter videos. 

His hands work their way around to the front of you, and quickly push beneath the elastic lace confines of the sides of your panties. His left hand working at the hip and his right delving under the satin that hides the apex of your thighs.

“I’m gonna make you get off in front of this mirror,” he whispers low against the shell of your ear, not in his normal voice, but in the one you recognize as Vigilante about to kill someone. You shiver. 

“Maybe next time we’ll film it,” he whispers, and dips his hand lower to finally make connection with you. You gasp as his middle finger slides so easily through your folds, you should be embarrassed how wet you are without even being touched, but the noise he makes has you swelling with pride instead. Adrian moans, loudly and uncontrolled, and drops his forehead down against your shoulder.

“Feel what you do to me?” you throw his words back at him, a challenge given how fuzzy your brain is from just this alone. He nods against you, and then continues his movements. 

He slides his fingers back and forth, getting them nice and wet and slick. You watch his knuckles in the mirror, stretching and bulging the satin fabric until they disappear, his middle finger pushing into your heat. 

You sigh deeply at the feeling of his thick finger splitting you open, one of the thick fingers you've spent time watching and studying from the scarring from being Vigilante to the calluses from being a busboy. Fuck, how you've daydreamed about these fingers specifically.

He thrusts once, twice, and then adds another finger. From the way he shifts his hand, it has to be his ring finger. He slides into you so easily, like you were made for taking him, so wet and ready. You can't help the way your mouth falls open, the way you lean back against his strong frame; you're practically putty in his hands, he can mold and manhandle you in any way he wants. Your hands reach back to run your fingers down his hips and thighs, gentle, slow strokes of your fingers.

He picks up his pace thrusting his fingers, in and out in and out, His free hand groping from your hip now to your breast, caging you in against him and holding you in place. He lifts his head up from your shoulder and starts kissing your neck again, whispering and sighing against your neck. He laughs when he’s pressed his lips against your throat at the same exact moment he pulls a loud moan from you with his motions.

“You wanna come for me, cowgirl?” he mutters, switching the angle of his hand to push himself deeper and allowing himself to rub the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your body jolts the second his thumb comes in contact with you, shaking as if you've been electrified.

“Please,” you beg, “Please, Adrian. Make me…”

You trail off, instead giving him another moan as his thumb circles your clit. He picks up the pace, sending you higher and higher pushing you close to the edge. He bites at your neck again sharply and you yelp pitifully; this time you're sure he has to have broken skin.

You start to shake, knees buckling as you know the end is coming, and now you're gasping and mumbling half words, chest heaving under his palm. Adrian speeds up again, his hand almost losing its rhythm as his trusts go harder, deeper…

And then nothing. Just nothing. Emptiness. You whine at the feeling of Adrian’s hand pulling itself from your panties, his other hand still holding you in place and keeping you standing.

You pout when you make eye contact with him in the mirror, and he smiles devilishly while he licks the fingers that were just inside you, until his resolve break and he moans on his own fingers.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but something about his tone tells you Adrian isn't sorry at all. 

You arch your brow at him questioningly.

“I just figured, I don't know,” he mumbles again, and you turn yourself in his grasp. He’s still rock hard, cock brushing against you as you move. 

“I thought I could take you to bed and do this right.”

Oh.

Oh you really like the sound of that, more than anything dirty he could say at this moment. You don't even mind the fact that he just teased and edged you like that.

But words fail you, instead you nod and kiss him sweetly on the lips, and he immediately leads you backwards to the bedroom while his arms are still wrapped around you. 

He only stops to fumble with the door handle, jiggling it before he can get it open before continuing to guide you backwards, his mouth not leaving your lips or face at all until the backs of your knees touch the edge of the bed. Adrian breaks the kiss only long enough to pick you up, lifting you in his strong arms and throwing backwards onto the bed. You gasp as you bounce against the mattress, his soft duvet cushioning your fall and puffing up around you, plush and full.

The bed dips as Adrian props a knee up onto the bed, giving him better leverage to reach for your underwear, finally pulling off the offending piece of black satin that's kept you from being bare for him this whole time. He pulls the garment down your legs so quickly, there's that Vigilante precision, and throws them up into the air behind him.

Adrian crawls the rest of the way onto the bed and between your thighs before they can even fall onto the rug behind him. He presses his body against you fully, resting most of his weight on you as he slowly rocks his hips again. His cock catches between your folds a few times, and he gasps each time. When the head of his cock bumps against your clit, you whine, pathetic and needy.

“Adrian, please fuck me,” you urge, “Need you so bad. Need to feel you.”

His head drops down close to yours, and stares into your eyes, intense and long. Then, he surprises you. Adrian tilts his head to kiss the tip of your nose, gentle and deliberate. 

“Anything for you,” he whispers, and pulls away from you to reach for his bedside. He digs around in it for a moment, and you sit up under him.

“Oh, you don't need to. I’m on the pill,” you offer, seeing as it's clear to you he’s struggling to find a condom in his messy bedside drawer. Which is comforting. If he was banging the people that replied to his tweets he'd know exactly where those condoms would be. It's good to know that it's only you. You haven't had sex in months before this, since before you joined the team really. Since that one weird date with a Scarecrow henchman back in Gotham that you keep trying to scrub from your memory. God, especially right now. This moment is… the last possible case in which you want to think about that date. Gross.

“You trust me?” he asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised as he stops pushing around charger cords and what looks like receipts and takes his glasses off to keep them safe. You nod eagerly, reaching for him to pull him back down on top of you. He readily lets you guide him, and he props himself on his elbows, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he kisses you again. 

“You're gonna be my downfall, like Superman and Kryptonite, or the Flash and being a fucking weirdo,” he mumbles against your lips, and you smile against him.

“You're mine too, then,” you agree, and he grinds his hips up into you again. He grinds again, before you adjust the angle, reaching down to guide his cock into you, squeezing the base as he slides in with the same ease as his fingers did, despite his size. Thimble is the funniest nickname for him, you think. You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you by the time he bottoms out in you, full and stifled by him. You feel your chest heave as you adjust to him, and he pauses to give you time. His hand comes up to your ribcage, thumb running along the underside of your chest soothingly, and you nod, giving him the okay to move.

He thrusts into you roughly, as hard and deep as he can possibly go, barely pulling out before thrusting in again. Quickly you can feel your high approaching again, Adrian stretching you out and filling you so totally and completely, the friction between your bodies feeling like the closest thing to heaven you'd believe in. You gasp out his name over and over like a prayer, arching into him to chase your high.

Adrian himself seems like he wont last long either, the way he’s sweating and groaning as he practically wraps himself around you while he fucks you, his rhythm already faltering with his enthusiasm. 

“I like you,” he groans, “So. Fucking. Much.”

Your head falls back at the confession, a high pitched moan leaving your lips. He takes that as all the encouragement he needs, his hands reaching down to grab your legs at the knees to pull them up, his thumbs pressed into the back of them as he pushes your knees as close to your shoulders as they will go, and speeds up.

“That's right,” he says, “Let me have it, let go.”

The change in position does it, and you practically scream as your orgasm comes crashing down around you, like the floodgates opening, and stars explode behind your eyelids. Everything is Adrian, Adrian, Adrian.

Adrian follows quickly after, pulling out to release on your stomach, hissing at the cool air when it comes in contact with his cock. He releases your legs, letting them fall down against the duvet, your whole body shaking as you come down from it all. He props himself up on his knees as he moves to push your hair away from your forehead and kiss your face. His hand moves between the two of you, to your stomach to try to wipe his mess off of you. You stop him from reaching for tissues with a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Lemme taste,” you mumble, and Adrian looks at you with a face full of shock. 

“You really are going to be my downfall,” he remarks, but his hand starts to move up your body and closer to your face anyway. 

“Can you blame me? I wanted to earlier but you wouldn't let me,” you say with a pout, before taking his fingers into your mouth.

Adrian lets out a stuttered moan as you start to lick and suck, his taste salty and warm on your tongue. You take the digits into your mouth as far as you can, not unlike you did with his cock earlier. Honestly, you'd get addicted to it if he would keep making that noise. You lick his fingers clean, and he pulls them from your mouth gently. 

“You are…” he shakes his head, “You are something else.”

“In a good way?” you ask, teasing him, a wry smile starting to grow on your face.

“Yes. Of course,” he replies, completely serious. You let him help clean you up the rest of the way with tissues, and then immediately you pull him back on top of you, this time to cuddle. His head finds his way to rest on your chest and your hand finds its way into his hair to play with the curls. Normally, you'd find this part of it a little gross. You're tired, he's a little sweaty, you both kind of smell like booze; but tonight this is welcome, wanted even. 

“I like you too, by the way,” you whisper before pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “If that isn't obvious.”

“I was hoping,” Adrian admits, reciprocating the kiss by pressing his lips to your sternum. Conversation peters out to nothing. You both lay there in silence, moonlight bathing the room in blue, both minds and hearts racing equally, but the four walls humming in quiet stillness.

What now? Does Adrian even do dating? Shit, you hadn't even thought of that, and you can't even think about how you'd navigate this if he doesn't. Maybe you could have saved face if this was just a hookup, but you said it. Your feelings were out there. But his were too, weren't they? I guess it doesn't matter if he doesn't date, you think.

Adrian’s head shoots up from its place on your chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice full of concern. You sigh deeply.

“I’m just thinking.”

You look up at the ceiling; since childhood, you'd play a game where you look at the ceiling and try to find patterns. Sometimes you would just trick your brain into seeing something that isn't there.

“Are you regretting this?” concern is laced in his voice, you don't even want to know what his face looks like right now, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You shake your head immediately.

“No, Adrian,” you sigh, “I don't.”

“Then what is it?”

Adrian lifts himself up, resting on his elbow to look at you. His hand comes up to touch your cheek awkwardly, not completely comforting, but you lean into the touch anyway. 

Fuckit, you might as well put all your cards on the table. 

“Will this go anywhere?”

“You mean like… this?” he asks, and you finally look at him as he’s pointing between the two of you. You nod, feeling like you want to hide. 

“Cowgirl, look at me,” he commands, the hand on your cheek guiding your face towards his.

“Let's make a verbal agreement right now to only kiss each other, and I’ll be the best boyfriend ever, and we’ll have hot hot sex every night and watch Fargo together every week from now on.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I’d like that.”

Adrian smiles widely, and lets himself fall back on top of you, hugging you tightly. 

“Fuck yeah,” Adrian half-shouts, muffled by the pillow near your head. He squeezes you tightly, and then lifts himself back up. 

“Gimme ten minutes and I’m gonna rock your world again, babe,” he says, all giddy smiles. 

An idea pops into your head, and you take his face in your hands.

“Why don't we make it a video?"

[walpu]

awe child!reader is actually such a funny concept. Imagine Welt and Himeko gotta go take care of some official stuff so they leave reader with the trio(TB, March and DH) but literally 5 minutes in and they lost them. All hell breaks loose, March is contemplating whether they should call Welt and Himeko or deal with it on their own. Dan Heng is already on his way to report them as lost while TB is having a mental breakdown.

"You WHAT?!"

"We uh...kinda...sorta...lost them...?"

"HOW DO YOU LOSE AN ENTIRE CHILD?!?"

The express spends the entire day searching for them with no luck. Meanwhile reader is just hanging out with Misha and Clockie or smt lol

(also congrats on being freed from the shadow realm!)

THIS IS SO CUTE

Imagine them getting lost frequently so every single person, even the one who are not particularly close with the astral family, bringing reader back to them.

Ratio returning them, lecturing March about being more responsible.

Aventurine dropping by with reader after buying them toys and other small gifts.

Gallagher ruffling their hair and calling them a good kid before sending them back to Himeko.

Even Sparkle returns them in one peace saying that she was tempted to bring reader to the tavern and making them her protege

(THANK YOU I WAS LOOSING MY MIND OUT THERE)

[cheshiresense]

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

Character or Ship: Hadrian from CLV, I love Hadrian/Orion but that might not work here so it's totally up to you!

AU/Trope: I'd love to see an AU where instead of the CLV dimension, Hadrian is sent to a universe still with BWL!Neville but more similar to canon. Maybe with Slytherin!Hadrian and Hadrian taking some of the other Slytherins under his wing? I just really like the idea of a world where the "good guys" win and instead of (or in addition to) Orion it's the Slytherins who need Hadrian in their corner. Doesn't have to be all of them, whoever you prefer writing is fine. I am also down for bashing if you need to work that in. Thank you!

Tags: CLV AU, Slytherin!Hadrian, Canonical Prejudices, Draco Malfoy Bashing, kind of?, tbh this is more or less how I see him in canon lol but I know he's a fan favourite so fair warning, he's not the CLV version here, at least not yet.

-0-

Author's Notes: Hello, it's been a while since I've worked on these. I think I mentioned before that my tumblr inbox got glitchy so I actually couldn't find the other 6 requests from the last batch of 10 you guys sent in for 5+ Headcanons. So I set up an airtable form instead and got someone to test it, and this was the one they sent. It works, so in the future, I'll toss out a new post with the form link for more requests, and maybe I'll get through them in a timely manner lol.

If you're not in the UraIchi server, then you might've noticed that I've sort of been MIA on the writing front for a while now, the last time I wrote and posted something was like back in May last year, and honestly I've been kind of tired and burnt out ever since, and real life is kicking my ass a bit, so when I do have spare time, all I feel like doing is reading fics or webnovels and sleeping. But the winter hols were a nice break for me, and I've started on a couple new fic ideas and added to some wips on and off over the past few months, so I'm slowly getting back into it, and this 5+ Headcanons prompt was one of the things I've been working on. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into posting fics soon.

ANYWAY, on to the stuff you actually care about: Slytherin!Hadrian, so basically amp up the hardened war vet and dial down the friendship magic XD Way back when I first started CLV, I did consider Slytherin for his House but it felt like everybody did that, plus the politics I would have to get into gave me a headache and I felt like I couldn't do it justice anyway, so I went with Hufflepuff. Slytherin does give me more options to play with a powerful Hadrian who has less morals about flinging that around to get what he wants though since he would be viewed as a halfblood at best and he'd need that currency to make sure nobody messes with him, especially if this universe is more canon than CLV (lbr, almost everybody is at least 50% nicer in CLV lol). So okay, let's give this a spin.

(AO3 Link Here -- I’ll add this to the collection fic on my AO3 to make it a round 15 but this one will be the last for that. If I do more, I’ll start a new fic.)

-0-0-0-

1.

Hadrian ends up being a Hatstall. He sits on the stool for a full seven minutes as the Sorting Hat sifts through his bloodstained memories with a silence so grim Hadrian is tempted to comfort it. Then it proceeds to send back memories of its own, the major points of recent Hogwarts history that would best help Hadrian fit in - Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived; an image of Hadrian's counterpart and an entire family still alive; Quirrell vanquished in first year, a basilisk slain and a diary that bled itself to death in the second, Remus teaching in the third but no Pettigrew in sight; Neville at odds with Potter, Gryffindors at odds with Slytherins, and Death Eater children who hadn't managed to come out of the last war as financially and politically secure as families like the Malfoys, subtly shunned for their parents' sins, while children from the Light side, the winning side, with parents who'd openly defied Voldemort, can do almost no wrong. On the surface, everything looks bright and happy. Beneath it, malcontent and despair bubbles and brews with hardly anyone the wiser, and those who are, are glad to look away.

The Sorting Hat offers no opinions of its own after it is done, only continuing on to extol the virtues of all four Houses while making an argument for why Hadrian would be perfectly suited for each of them in equal measure, before finally leaving the decision in Hadrian's hands.

"Even I cannot be certain where you would do the most good," the Sorting Hat tells him. "Nor do I know which House would do you the most good. There are many children in this school who could use a helping hand such as yours, and likewise, you too would benefit from the same. Who am I to decide which is more important? Perhaps it is most accurate to say that no matter where you end up, who you will help, and who you will allow to help you, a new future will unfold, one made possible only by your existence. Yours is a fate that demands change, Mr. Evans, for better or for worse. But when peril looms on the distant horizon, when our society insists on blind stagnancy, and its people have long stood divided, change is exactly what this world needs. Thus, I leave the choice to you. Where do you wish to go?"

Hadrian says nothing - thinks nothing - for a long deafening minute. The mounting whispers in the Great Hall are easy enough to tune out, and within the confines of his mind, the Hat too remains patiently silent.

The truth of it is - Hadrian is tired. Even now, in this moment, in this place, one year and an entire dimension and seven years away, he still feels like he does on most days— as if he's just walked off a battlefield at the end of one of those kinds of days that can break a man even when you think there's nothing left to break, yet still hyper-alert for the next enemy, the next fight, the next death, because he doesn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything else. On all the rest, of course, it feels as if he never left the battlefield at all.

He is tired, and he honestly doesn't feel like he's capable of helping anyone, not children, not the reflections of his loved ones, and certainly not an entire world that's rapidly revealing itself to be as stuck on a one-way train to hell as his original world had been.

He doesn't want to be a hero, doesn't know how to be one even after all these years, even when other people had always so desperately wanted him to be. A hero, until he'd proven unable to meet their expectations, and then he'd been their villain, right up until they'd needed a hero to stand in front of them again, and round and round and round they'd gone.

The only thing he could never be was just Harry, just himself, and now even Harry Potter is no longer his to claim.

But maybe that's not so bad, not when Harry Potter has always been more story than reality, a patchwork fairytale portrait of a boy, a man, a weapon, a sacrifice, stitched together by every hand except his own.

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

Gryffindor feels too much like repeating history, and Hadrian would rather not be forced to stare at the majority of those long dead to him day in and day out. Hufflepuff is too prone to crowding together for his liking, persistently eager to be friends with their own members even if they're quick to turn on those who aren't, and Hadrian doesn't think he can bear the overenthusiastic socializing that would require.

 Ravenclaw might be best, a House where even the most introverted can find a home if they have a thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, for a lot of them, once they latch on to a question unanswered or an opinion that doesn't fit their worldview, they won't let go until the question is exhausted or the opinion has conformed to what they consider acceptable, and Hadrian has too many secrets and no more patience to be what others what him to be to fit in with those sorts of people anymore. Besides, he's never quite forgiven that House as a whole. Marietta Edgecombe had been Ravenclaw. Quirrell and Lockhart and Trelawney had been Ravenclaws. Every single one of Luna's bullies had been Ravenclaws. He'd worked with members of that House over the years, taught them back when the DA had been up and running, and even been friendly with some of them beyond just Luna, but generally speaking, he has no positive emotions regarding Ravenclaw. He knows that he isn't being entirely fair, because Voldemort had been from Slytherin, and Pettigrew had been from Gryffindor, and the worst of the lot who'd spearheaded the damaging gossip and baseless accusations incriminating him - first for the Heir of Slytherin debacle in second year, and then the Cup nonsense in fourth year - had all been from Hufflepuff, but still, Ravenclaw simply stands out as that one House that holds no appeal for him.

That really only leaves one place he can go though, and Hadrian finds that he minds that a lot less than he once would've. Slytherin will have its own problems, him being a halfblood at best with a very obvious muggle surname, but Slytherins also respect power, and most of them have the sense to back off if they realize they're picking a fight with an opponent they can't beat. And once that's dealt with, Hadrian will most likely be avoided and left to his own devices, with only the occasional curse to his back to worry about. From a bunch of schoolchildren, that's a negligible issue.

In his head, the Sorting Hat chuckles. "Very well then. If you're sure, better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Mr. Evans," the Sorting Hat says in the seconds before it's removed from Hadrian's head. It sounds thoroughly amused. "Do not be so quick to underestimate your own heart."

And with that last ominous statement imparted to haunt him, Hadrian stands to lacklustre applause and makes his way to his new House as his tie settles into green and silver stripes.

The briefest of glances over the stretch of the Slytherin table tells him that none of the students seated where most of the fourth-years are gathered have moved to make room for him. That's fine. Hadrian would rather not be boxed in anyway. He takes a seat at the end of the table, smiles at the suspicious first-years around him, and then waits for Dumbledore's opening speech to finish so they can start the feast.

Fifteen minutes later, one treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice is all he can manage. He sips at some water for the rest of dinner even as he wishes it was something a lot more alcoholic. He speaks to no one, and no one tries to speak to him, although plenty of prying eyes and sneers of disdain find their way to him throughout the meal.

It makes him feel, Hadrian thinks with some humour, almost nostalgic.

Near the end of the evening, he thinks about going over to the Gryffindor table to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione. But he's in Slytherin now, so he doesn't know how they'll react, and after another moment of contemplation, he decides against it. Not much can embarrass him anymore, but he'd still rather not be put on the spot if the Golden Trio rejects his overture of friendship. It won't help his reputation in Slytherin either if he ends up making a spectacle of himself like that. There's plenty of time tomorrow to see how they'll feel about maintaining ties with a Slytherin without too big of an audience watching, and if they're against it, then, well, it's not as if Hadrian hasn't been living as a recluse over the better part of the past year anyway. He sees no problem carrying on exactly as he has.

Fate sent him here against his explicit permission but she sure as shit can't make him dance.

-0-0-0-

2.

Hadrian ends up shuffled into a dorm room with five very familiar Slytherins - Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. He gets the remaining bed that's presumably been empty since the others' first year, and a very pointed silence coalesces at his back as he starts unpacking his clothes into his wardrobe.

He ignores it. Instead, he absently begins a count of how long it will take for someone - he's betting Draco - to put their foot in their mouth first. He casts a glance at the floor-to-ceiling window next to his nightstand; like the Gryffindor dorms, the room is circular so everyone has a view to the outside, but here, instead of winds and open skies, it's lake water that shimmers against the glass, with the shadows of passing aquatic life flickering by. It's not bad, just different; the ambience of it is almost soothing.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hadrian hangs up his winter cloak before moving on to his books. They each get a desk too, complete with a mini bookcase, which the Gryffindor dorms don't have. They have to do their homework on their beds or in the common room. How unfair. But at least Hadrian gets to benefit from it now.

Someone clears their throat again, louder this time. Hadrian smothers a twist of a smirk and bends over his trunk again to fish out his towels and toiletries. His more personal belongings can remain inside, although he'll have to ward everything to the nines anyway.

A displeased noise that comes out gilded with that distinctly familiar Dudley-esque whine of a child who's been spoiled since birth and has never known hardship reaches his ears, and then finally-

"Are you deaf, Evans?!" Draco demands, and oh, look at that, Hadrian wins the bet.

He straightens and turns, idly fiddling with a packet of quills as his gaze falls on the blond standing puffed up and bristling by the bed opposite Hadrian's on the other side of the dorm. He looks him over, looks at Crabbe and Goyle bracketing him with twin expressions of oafish scorn, looks at Zabini standing a ways away, watching the whole room with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, looks at Nott who doesn't look at anyone at all.

His attention returns to Draco, considering him for a moment longer before asking mildly, "Did you say something?"

Draco's cheeks flush pink even as he draws himself up and snaps, "You should at least have enough manners to introduce yourself!" His face narrows into a sneer, and Hadrian can almost predict his next words. "But I suppose even that might be too difficult for a mudblood to learn."

For a second, Hadrian wonders if he should tell him he's a halfblood. Then again, it doesn't really matter, and also some people consider halfbloods to be mudbloods too. And now that he thinks about it, the person he is in this world might actually be a muggleborn. But he was homeschooled so at least one of his fictional parents had to have known magic, right? Then again, they could've just been related to a witch or wizard but were muggles themselves. Who knows. Certainly not him since Fate couldn't be bothered to inform him.

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

Hadrian blinks out of his thoughts. "Yes, I'm listening, what is it?"

Draco glares. His features are so… pointy at this age that the expression doesn't really carry the impact he's probably going for, but Hadrian figures it would be unnecessarily mean to mention it, so he doesn't. Instead, he quickly reviews everything Draco has said, and there wasn't actually a question anywhere in there, as far as Hadrian can tell, but maybe Draco really does want an introduction. Seems like a waste of breath though.

"Is there a point to introducing myself?" He asks. "Everybody heard my name at the Sorting. You even just used it so it's not like you don't know."

Draco splutters as if that wasn't what he expected Hadrian to say. He recovers after a moment and opts to glower harder instead, as if that would hide the way the pink in his cheeks is slowly turning red. Poor bastard. That's what you get when you have a pale complexion and fluster easily.

"Are you actually a mudblood then?" He demands contemptuously.

Hadrian honestly doesn't know, but he can't say that, so he volleys back, "Does Slytherin accept muggleborns?"

He knows they take halfbloods, but he can't remember any muggleborns in Slytherin, although if there are any, he doubts they would be willing to broadcast it, even if it means inventing a magical parent in their family tree.

"Of course not!" Draco refutes, sounding scandalized.

Hadrian can't tell if that's actually true, or if that's just Draco's own belief, but it does make things easier. "Then…" He shrugs. "If you already know, why are you asking?"

A beat of silence passes, then two. The red deepens in Draco's face as he hisses dramatically, "Are you mocking me?"

Hadrian suppresses a sigh. He probably is being too flippant for someone as high-strung as Draco, but it's still a far sight from mockery. He can definitely do better if he wants to taunt someone. Had his world's Draco been this easily riled up? They hadn't even really gotten into any exchange of insults yet. "I wouldn't say I'm-"

He stops.

Across the room, Draco has pulled out his wand, and when he realizes that Hadrian's broken off mid-sentence, the flush recedes from his face, and a triumphant smirk instantly takes its place instead.

"Since you've been sorted into Slytherin," Draco announces, raising his wand with a ridiculously showy flourish that makes Hadrian twitch with the desire to correct his posture. "You should know your place. Mouthing off to your betters is a good way to get cursed around here, especially when you're in the presence of someone like me." He sneers down his nose even as his chin tips up, all peacock proud. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Even the likes of your kind should've heard of my family." He looks smug, as if a mere surname can protect him from anything when it comes down to it. "You'll be staying here for the next four years, Evans, and I guarantee you'll have a miserable time of it if you get on my bad side. But today's your first day at Hogwarts, so I can be generous. If you apologize, I'll let you go just this once."

An expectant hush falls as Draco finishes his little speech. Hadrian doesn't say anything right away, still turning over the packet of quills in his hands, still waiting. When nothing happens after a good five seconds tick by, and the silence gradually becomes strained, Hadrian finally nods at Draco's wand, "So are you going to use that or not?"

The stunned look of outrage on Draco's face is gold.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Evans!" Draco snarls, jabbing out with his wand. "Oscausi!"

Hadrian has time to arch an eyebrow at the choice of a pseudo-silencing charm before he's flipping a quill into the fingers of his left hand. A swipe of his thumb leaves a chain of runes glittering along its shaft, and then he brings it up, catches the oncoming spell with the tip, and swats it aside with a flick of his wrist, all in one fluid motion. His right hand doesn't stay still either as his wand slides neatly into his palm, and a single wordless modified Expelliarmus darts out and attaches itself to Draco's wand.

The white light of the Mouth-Sealing Charm is sent soaring across the room, shattering against the door in a shower of harmless sparks, and in the heavy silence that follows, Hadrian smiles.

He thinks it's a very bland smile, if he does say so himself. At the very least, he's careful to not look too intimidating or too unhinged, the way he can sometimes get, if some of his dead friends were to be believed, back during the war. Nevertheless, it still makes Draco blanch white, makes Crabbe and Goyle shrink back, makes Zabini lean further back into a convenient shadow and Nott go utterly still from where he's sitting on his bed.

Hadrian glances down at the remains of his writing utensil, most of the barbs now burnt black. It was a regular quill after all, not exactly made to withstand so much magic. He looks back up, at Draco who has a white-knuckled grip on his wand, and with his own wand, he gives the other's a tug, just enough to make Draco's eyes go wide with something like panic, but not enough to actually disarm him and - considering the sheer amount of honed intent in the charm that even Draco can undoubtedly sense - most likely bend the wand's allegiance.

Hadrian holds it for a moment longer, and then lets go. Draco staggers back a step, jerking his wand down and reflexively pressing it into his chest as if he's trying to protect it, or maybe assure himself that it still belongs to him.

Hadrian tucks his wand back up his sleeve before stooping down to pick up the rest of the quills he'd dropped. The burnt one goes in the bin by his desk.

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

"That took you almost five seconds," He begins almost conversationally as he opens a drawer to stash his remaining quills away. "From when you decided to fire that spell to actually firing it. And that's not even counting all the time you wasted saying the stuff before that, after you already took out your wand. It's stupid. When you draw with the intent to harm, you shouldn't give any warning at all. And the spell itself was slow. You should work on that."

He pauses, and there's still no response, which he supposes makes sense. He doubts anybody here wants to listen to him preach. He should just wrap things up since the plan is moving along so neatly.

"Anyway, this is pretty unfortunate," He switches gears and smiles again, as fit-for-public-polite as he knows how to be. It doesn't seem to make anyone feel better, but he also doesn't feel like he was that heavy-handed earlier, was he? Ah well, can't change anything now, and it's still in line with what he wants so it doesn't matter.

"I wasn't really expecting to make any friends since I know the average Slytherin's views on blood isn't exactly in my favour," He continues in light tones. "But I was hoping that we could at least remain on civil terms and get along as schoolmates, if only because we'll be living together for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. Since that doesn't seem to be possible anymore though, how about we just go with the simplest solution?"

Hadrian surveys the room and smiles some more. "You ignore me and I’ll ignore you. You attack me and I'll retaliate. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Everybody just needs to mind their own business, and there won't be any problems. That's fair enough, don't you think?"

His gaze settles once more on Draco. "Since you're the only one who's said anything so far, I'll assume you speak for everyone in this dorm. Draco Malfoy, right? So then, do we understand each other now?"

Across from him, Draco shivers imperceptibly like a rabbit caught at the wrong end of a predator's line of sight, but he also swallows and nods and gingerly puts his wand away. It looks like it costs him, but - at least for now - he seems both too shocked and too afraid to try anything else.

"Great!" Hadrian says cheerfully before cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, right, one more thing."

He lets his smile fall away. Lets his expression smooth over into marble. And then he lets his magic flare, lets the pressure of it roll across the room like the black merciless depths of a storm-tossed ocean, lets it eclipse them all like death come to call, and then he brings it crashing down, not most of it, not even half, because he hasn't forgotten that these are children, that they're still young, and they can learn, they can be better, and Hadrian doesn't actually want to traumatize them permanently.

But he also remembers Draco - his world's Draco - telling him once, in a fit of aggravated exasperation during one of those times when they'd devolved into insulting each other's House traits yet again because they still hadn't understood what made the other tick, but they had also reached a point in their friendship where they'd started trying to, and kept trying.

"Slytherins respect power," Draco had said, not for the first time, but then he'd also added, for the first time, and haltingly as if he hadn't known why he'd had to explain it at all, "How else are you going to know they're worth your time? Or I guess worth befriending, in your Gryffindor terms."

"You don't decide whether or not to make friends based on how powerful someone is."

"Slytherins don't have friends. I only said friend because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand anything else."

"Fine, you don't decide whether or not to associate with every single person you come across in your life based on how powerful they are either."

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

"How else would you know they're strong enough to stand with you? Or competent enough to protect themselves? Power is a good starting line. If they're powerful enough, then they won't be afraid to face your enemies with you, and you can trust them to be capable of keeping themselves safe without having to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. Only brainless Gryffindors prefer doing things like throwing themselves in the line of fire and dying dramatically for each other and calling that a win. Let me tell you something, Potter - it's not a victory when you're forced to suffer a loss. You haven't won anything if you're not around to enjoy the aftermath. So the best allies must be ones who are powerful enough to not only achieve their goals but also survive them."

"…"

"Well, I will grudgingly admit that I didn't put quite that much thought into it when I was younger, but who did? …It's what I believe now though. Did I finally get it through your thick skull this time, Potter?"

After that particular conversation, Hadrian had understood a little better, even if he hadn't entirely agreed with it all. But he hadn't forgotten a single word, and Draco was right— as they are, these kids definitely aren't thinking that deeply, but Hadrian thinks that the core of it at least is the same. Slytherins respect power. And he has power in spades, so at the very least, he can make them respect him.

Of course, if that also happens to make them afraid of him, then, well, he was never aiming to be their friend or even ally anyway. So long as they leave him alone, it's fine.

He brings his magic to bear, allows the weight of it to fall and fall and fall, and he watches dispassionately as Draco goes grey, as Crabbe and Goyle's knees buckle, as Zabini flinches back like he wants to melt into the walls, as Nott curls into himself and may or may not have stopped breathing.

Hadrian catches Draco's eye, and doesn't let him look away. "I have no betters. Do I make myself clear?"

He'd spent half his life being beaten down by the Dursleys, told over and over that he was worth nothing, that he didn’t deserve food or clothes or kindness, that he was a waste of space and better off dead. He'd spent a good chunk of his Hogwarts career obliviously dancing to Dumbledore's tune, and then some more of it knowingly dancing to it because what else could he do with a target on his back. He'd spent over twenty years shackled to Voldemort, to his parents' legacy, to a war that had loved him a whole lot more than he'd ever loved it. And he'd been Fate's everything since before he'd ever even been born.

Some days, he wonders if he even knows what freedom is anymore. Or if he's ever known at all.

But one thing he is sure of is that he will never passively tolerate anyone controlling what he can or cannot do ever again.

Draco whimpers something like agreement, like deference, like surrender, and- that's enough. Hadrian reels it all back, all his magic hidden away again, and in the dizzying wake of its abrupt disappearance, Draco collapses, barely catching himself and his dignity with the edge of his bed. Crabbe and Goyle do crash to the ground, while Zabini has to steady himself against his nightstand, and Nott sways like he might faint.

Too much, Hadrian thinks distantly, and tries to feel bad about it because he really hadn't meant to go that far, but his lines in the sand have also long since blurred away beneath a tide of blood and corpses.

Mostly, he just feels tired, and it has nothing to do with his displays of magic tonight.

He breathes. Turns. Grabs a towel and his underwear and pyjamas and pretends everything's fine. It is fine, now. He's gotten what he wanted. "It's getting late. I'll shower first. Won't be long."

And then he's exiting stage right, straight into the bathroom, and it's a relief to close the door behind him.

Of course, that sentiment is one that's shared by probably every single person in the room.

-0-0-0-

3.

Theo is awake before anyone else the next morning. Or at least he thinks he is because he usually is. But everybody's curtains are drawn, and after last night, he doubts anyone was able to sleep right away, if at all, with the exception of their new roommate.

Hadrian Evans. Great Merlin, where had this person even come from? Even just the memory of his magic - vast and endless and utterly uncompromising - pressing down on them like the sky had fallen on their heads, makes his hands want to shake all over again. For a long, suspended, suffocating moment that could've lasted an eternity, Theo could've sworn he was going to die last night. And the most terrifying thing is that he is absolutely certain that Evans hadn't even been trying that hard.

Evans had radiated enough raw power to force all of them to their knees if he'd really wanted to. But he'd held back. He'd only given them a glimpse, just enough to warn them off. The rest of his magic had been out of reach, but present. It was there, reined in and waiting, but the shape of it and the depth of it had felt… unfathomable, as if it had no limits.

And that doesn't even account for the spellwork he had done. Theo had recognized the Disarming Charm, but last he checked, the average Expelliarmus only deprived a wizard of their wand. A more powerful one might send the target flying and even knock them out, but he's never heard of one that can… threaten to disarm your opponent at your leisure and - if Theo wasn't mistaken - force the wand to forsake its owner. Everybody knows that that's always a possibility in a real duel; if you win and take your opponent's wand, then that wand might not work for its owner anymore. But most of the time, you have to mean it, you have to set out with the intent to do it, the buildup of magic in the duel itself gives that intent a foundation, and there has to be an actual possibly life-threatening conflict of interest between the parties too, a real enmity that even last night - however excessive the exchange - shouldn't have qualified. Squabbles between students just don't count. If it did, with the Disarming Charm being taught in school, there would be a lot more students in need of new wands. The only way Theo can rationalize it happening anyway is that Evans must've been strong enough to compel the wand itself to leave its owner.

Pity he hadn't gone through with it in the end. Evans is powerful, but he's also… Theo is hesitant to call him soft, but if it had been Malfoy, if it had been Blaise or even himself or pretty much any other Slytherin, they would've done it. He's unsure of why Evans hadn't.

And then there had been the thing with the quill. Theo can't even explain that, and he'd mulled it over for half the night. He has the… incidental fortune of occupying the bed closest to Evans', so as soon as Evans had ducked into the bathroom last night, and the others had been distracted with pulling themselves together and possibly trying not to wet themselves, Theo had chanced a swift peek into Evans' wastebasket.

It really had looked just like any other regular quill, one that'd been burnt completely black and missing most of its barbs, but it had been a quill. He'd been tempted to open Evans' desk drawer to check the other quills, but - with Evans' ultimatum still ringing in his ears - he hadn't been that suicidal, so he'd refrained. But from what he could recall, the pack it had come from had looked just like the mass-produced writing utensils one could find in any stationery shop in Diagon Alley.

Whatever he'd done though, he had made it look like child's play. A quill and a Disarming Charm, so fast that Theo could've blinked and missed it. Could someone like that really have remained in obscurity all this time? Evans had apparently been homeschooled up until now, and they haven't even attended their first class yet, but by anyone's definition, after last night, he can't claim to be anything less than a prodigy.

It's… unbelievable. And not even because of any of the blood purity ideals that Malfoy likes to preach about. Theo doesn't think much of muggleborns or halfbloods, but he also doesn't think much of most purebloods, so he's fairly certain it's not high society prejudices that's driving his disbelief. It's just… He's never met anyone - not even his father, and Merlin knows Theo's been afraid of him for as long as he can remember - as effortlessly powerful as Evans had shown himself to be, and he doesn't understand how nobody has heard even a whisper of a rumour of this boy before he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

Someone like him shouldn't exist. Or perhaps there has been one, and that had been how the Dark Lord had made so many people bow at his feet or cower in their homes, but Theo had never met him in person, and so all he has is Evans' example to draw from. And not a single witch or wizard whom Theo's ever met could compare.

Has Evans just been hiding himself? Maybe his family hid him before they deemed him ready to face the rest of the world, and he's certainly proven that he can hide it when he wants to. But what kind of family can bring up this kind of wizard? Evans is only fourteen. None of them had thought him anything special before he'd revealed exactly how wrong they were. And he probably wouldn't have done even that much if Malfoy hadn't immediately taken a go at him, always so obsessed with making sure everyone knows he sits at the top of the food chain.

Well, he certainly doesn't anymore, and if Theo hadn't been caught up in the confrontation last night just like everyone else, he would've been tempted to applaud the spectacle of Malfoy being taken down a peg or ten. Before Evans' arrival, Theo was the one Malfoy liked to take jabs at every few days, and it was only partly because he'd had a halfblood mother. The Notts could've been said to be respectably rich once upon a time, but after the war had ended, with his father's political clout being almost nonexistent and most of their extended relatives either dead or in Azkaban, they'd been easy pickings for the Aurors. His father had escaped prison time with the Imperius excuse and some bribes, but that hadn't prevented multiple raids on their home and a hefty list of fines that had left their vaults near-depleted. And what little fortune they have left is reserved almost entirely for Theo's father's alchemy obsession that's more often focused on illegal research topics than not, as well as his black market dealings, although neither of those at least is widely known, or who knows if they would even have their ancestral manor left after the Aurors were done with them?

Malfoy loved reminding him of almost every one of those things as often as he could, and the most absurd thing is that - more than being born from a halfblood mother or poverty or loss of prestige - Theo's pretty sure Malfoy's biggest reason for disliking Theo is because Theo had refused to follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle back in first year.

So here they are now, and after three years, Theo had more or less become inured, not to mention it wasn't as if Malfoy only bullied him, or even bullied him the most - nobody could top that list while Potter and Weasley were around to fight for first place on it - but it had still been annoying and stressful because Theo was the only one who had to share a dorm with him. Considering the Malfoys' standing in society however, all he could ever do was stay silent and bear with it.

Admittedly, he'd been a little happy when Evans had been sorted into Slytherin, because between Theo and an unknown halfblood-at-best with no allies and no significant family background to speak of, the perfect prey in every way, Malfoy would definitely enjoy targeting the latter more, and even if the blond ponce still came after Theo, it would at least take some of the pressure off of him.

Now… well. That will still probably pick back up sooner or later, but Theo resents it less when he thinks about how it will take at least a few weeks before Malfoy will be able to strut around again after last night's humiliation. And also…

He thinks again of last night, of how Evans had basically smacked Malfoy down like he was nothing more than an unruly upstart getting above himself, and of that quiet oath too - I have no betters - and it hadn't even been pride or arrogance or superiority, only stone-cold certain fact.

He thinks of the fear he'd felt, but behind that, beneath that, more than that, there had also been nothing less than a breathless, heady, wondrous sense of reverence that had settled itself behind his ribcage, in his lungs, in the sudden hungry swell of curiosity that he'd just barely managed to lock behind his teeth, and it had only grown stronger after a night of fitful sleep.

He wants to see that magic again. He wants to know what else Evans can do.

And most importantly, he wants to know if he can do it too.

-0-

Ten minutes later, Theo hears Evans pull his bed curtains back. Very cautiously, he twitches his own curtains open half an inch to watch Evans get up, stretching languidly and scrubbing a hand through his messy black hair before gathering up his toiletries and a change of clothes. Like this, he looks completely normal, nothing at all like someone who could flatten all five of his roommates with a thoughtless flex of his magic. Even his eyes are just green now, no longer glowing like the light of a Killing Curse.

Of course, then Evans waves a hand at his window curtains, which obediently sweep open in response, and… yes, why not? Wandless magic seems par for the course for Evans, even if Theo has only ever heard of a handful of seventh-years capable of some very basic wandless spells if they concentrate hard enough.

Evans leaves for the bathroom as if casual uses of wandless magic is an everyday occurrence for him, and only after the door has closed does Theo let himself relax.

Evans had never even glanced over, but somehow, Theo thinks the other boy had known he was being watched anyway. But he'd said nothing, hadn't even given any indication that he'd noticed, let alone minded. Theo still isn't sure why he'd let Malfoy off so easily yesterday - because on hindsight, when it came down to it, all Evans had really done was scare them and scare Malfoy most of all; despite the verbal abuse and even the Dark charm Malfoy had shot at him, Evans hadn't actually hurt any of them in return - and Theo doesn't get it but maybe part of it is just because Evans doesn't take offence easily.

It seems unwise to Theo to not at least dole out some injuries as a reminder when that offence had been as insolent as Malfoy's, but perhaps Evans has his own measure of such things. Besides, Malfoy's known to say worse. Theo's looking forward to what happens if Malfoy forgets himself and says something even more loathsome. It's not impossible. Malfoy has been unchallenged since he came to Hogwarts. He's used to saying and doing whatever he wants, even to the upper years and those outside his own House. Most people ignore him when they can and indulge him when they can't, or otherwise manage or placate him with their own methods, but the one thing no one has ever done is tell him no, tell him to stop and make it stick. Potter and Weasley tend to give as good as they get, what with how short their tempers are, but they're louder and more obvious about it, so they get caught more often, which just makes them even angrier, so it never actually feels like they win, even when Malfoy doesn't either. Certainly, no amount of lectures or point loss has managed to deflate his ego.

But now there's Hadrian Evans. Theo doesn't need a second demonstration to know that Malfoy is outclassed in every way, but funnily enough, Malfoy himself might need it.

Theo eyes the bathroom door for a moment longer before finally getting up himself. He's barely set his feet on the rug before Blaise - in the bed on Theo's other side - also whips open his curtains, looking far more alert than he ever has this early in the morning.

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence. And then - because he isn't sure if the other three boys in the room are awake yet - Theo pitches his voice even lower than usual and says, "He said Malfoy spoke for us."

Blaise blinks twice, and then something like distaste curves up at one corner of his mouth. "I heard."

Theo nods. They're on the same page then. Neither of them is particularly keen on this opinion that Evans has regrettably formed, Theo because of obvious reasons, and Blaise because he's Blaise.

Blaise has always been strange. He's the type who gets along with everyone and gets along with no one. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone - biased Gryffindors aside - who would say a bad word about him, but they'd probably have to think a while if you asked them to describe something of personal significance about him too. It's not that he's average - he's never failed a class, and he's especially good at Potions - but for all that he can carry a conversation in a way that makes everyone feel comfortable and included, and he could probably talk rings around a politician without making them feel stupid, he also never lets anyone close enough to actually get to know him. He's approachable, but only when he wants you to approach him. He's generous with his smiles, but sometimes, it feels a little like he's laughing at you. He might say something condescending or spiteful to you one day, but he has the kind of charisma that makes you forget that the very next. People might call him friend and invite him over for a chat or a game of chess, but most don't make any attempts to go beyond that. And if you know what to look for, as Theo has learned to do, you would realize - Blaise views the world like it's one big boring joke, and his estimation of most of the people in it is probably somewhere around the level of dancing clowns.

Theo doesn't mind. The two of them aren't friends either. They're also not enemies though, and occasionally, they can be allies, but only when Blaise feels like it. Sometimes, the other boy will distract Malfoy from messing up Theo's potion in class or launching yet another diatribe on all of Theo's deficiencies, but Theo will never ask him to because he has nothing to repay Blaise with.

It works for them. Blaise does what Blaise wants, and even Malfoy can't control him. Theo is secretly envious of that— with the Zabinis' seat of power in Italy, it means they don't have that much clout in Britain, and yet nobody messes with Blaise, not even the few who don't buy into Blaise's charm or simply hate him because he's a Slytherin. Not even Malfoy messes with him, and even Theo can't tell if it's Malfoy's self-preservation instincts kicking in to ensure that he isn't about to go insulting someone with a black widow mother like Blaise's, or if Malfoy genuinely hasn't noticed that Blaise doesn't respect him at all no matter how pleasant his words can be. Honestly, when it comes to Malfoy, there's a decent chance of either option being true.

With all that in mind though, it's not a surprise that Blaise isn't pleased with being slotted in as one of Malfoy's lackeys, especially by someone as impressive - or, as Blaise might put it, entertaining - as Hadrian Evans has swiftly proved himself to be.

"It's fine," Blaise says next, rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. He's already regained his typical lazy slouch, as if he hadn't been just as terrified as the rest of them last night. His eyes slide to the bathroom, then away, unreadable but more focused than Theo's ever seen them. "We live in the same dorm, and we'll attend at least most of the same classes. He'll see soon enough that we don't share the same opinions as Malfoy."

Theo watches him dig into his wardrobe. "And then?"

"Then?" Blaise tips a more familiar look of knowing amusement at him. "Then you do what you want, and I'll do what I want, and at the very least, we'll have the good sense to not throw ourselves straight onto a hippogriff's talons like dear Draco."

Theo smothers a snort and rises to his feet. Neither he nor Blaise take Care of Magical Creatures, but everybody had heard of Malfoy's idiocy last year. The phrase "my father will hear about this!" had reached a record high by winter's end. Not much had come of it, not when Hagrid had had the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore championing him. Even Lucius Malfoy would - and had, more than once over the years - find it difficult to contend with the British wizarding world's vaunted war heroes when they join forces. In the end, Hagrid could continue teaching so long as he did it alongside a second professor hired by the school, and even the hippogriff got to live. Malfoy had not been happy, and he'd made sure everybody knew it too, but at least he'd also whined less about it once Slytherin House had learned to snigger about it where he wouldn't hear.

But 'throwing oneself onto a hippogriff's talons' had become rather popular vernacular ever since, subtle enough that even Malfoy couldn't call anyone out on using it without embarrassing himself, but funny to everyone who understood, and nobody could even say who'd started the phrase. Theo's money would be on Blaise though.

The bathroom is spelled so that nobody outside can hear anything when the door is shut, but they can hear the lock click open just fine, and almost in tandem, he and Blaise both immerse themselves in picking out their outfits for the day as if it's a task that requires every last bit of their attention.

Evans walks out. True to his word, he ignores them completely, neither greeting them nor sparing them a glance as he moves back to his section of the dorm. Theo watches him out of the corner of his eye as the boy folds his pyjamas away before proceeding to pack his bag. He catches a glimpse of an Ancient Runes textbook, and his mind abruptly flashes back to the quill. But… that can't be right.

Evans shuts his bag, pulls on his robes, and toes on his shoes. Like this, there's something vaguely familiar about him that Theo can't place right away, and the thought is gone again as Evans slings his bag over his shoulder and strides for the door.

He still doesn't look at any of them, and he's gone from the room a moment later. They might as well have been empty air.

Theo's fingers tighten around the shirt he's holding. Somehow, he-

-doesn't like it.

-0-

Malfoy gets up two minutes after Evans is gone, moving around with an exaggeratedly unaffected sort of poise that makes Theo want to roll his eyes. At least the blond doesn't try to make conversation until Crabbe and Goyle wake up as well.

Evans aside, Theo is the first out of the room, as per usual, although this time, Blaise accompanies him up to the common room and out of the Dungeon. It takes no time at all to arrive at the Great Hall, and this early, most of the four House tables are still empty of students, although more and more are gradually drifting in in groups of threes and fours.

Unlike the other Houses who like cramming into whatever space they see, Slytherins are more political about it. The end seats are left to the outcasts or first-years who don't know better yet, while the midway point of the table is typically reserved for the most influential students, such as those with the best grades or the largest range of social connections or the strongest family background, or some combination of the three. And everybody else arranges themselves between the two extremes accordingly. The only time that changes - from what Theo has heard - is when someone is so magically powerful that they can overwhelm everyone else. Then it doesn't matter what grades or connections or background they have because magic is respected most of all, although they would usually have some qualifications in those other areas. But either way, they would be given reigning place of pride in the middle with their chosen followers around them, and everybody else would sit where they're told to sit, regardless of their accomplishments.

Someone like that hasn't come along in fifty years though, not since the Dark Lord was still at Hogwarts.

So it's jarring to see Evans seated at the very end, furthest away from the High Table, with a book open in front of him and a steaming mug in one hand, but Theo supposes it shouldn't be. He's newly transferred in, and a halfblood besides, so he probably doesn't know about the traditional seating arrangement, and since it's still just the second day of school, it's not as if anybody else outside their dorm knows that Evans is anything but the unfortunate fourth-year with a muggle surname sorted into Slytherin, so he really can be considered an outcast.

Theo exchanges a look with Blaise before tentatively taking a seat at their usual spot a few feet away from the halfway point of the table. It doesn't feel right to… go over Evans' head like this, but it's not like they can really do anything about it at the moment. Theo in particular is technically sitting above his station, but his family is still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter how far it's fallen, and he gets decent grades in almost every class. He's also on friendly terms with Blaise, and the fact that he shares a dorm with Malfoy is a double-edged sword. Malfoy has the status to sit near the middle ever since he was a first-year, and it wouldn't look very good for him if he's seen completely spurning a Nott in his generation. So Theo is largely left alone so long as he looks like he's nominally part of Malfoy's group during mealtimes.

Theo spends the next five minutes sneaking sidelong glances down the table. Blaise does the same, and neither of them is obvious about it so nobody comes up to ask them any questions. Other Slytherins begin filing in, and more than one wrinkles their nose or sneers when they pass Evans, as if they've smelled something repulsive.

Theo has to make an effort not to wince every time it happens. Blaise watches with a shallow smirk hitched across his face and something cold and callous and thoroughly amused in his eyes.

By the time Malfoy - with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him - sits down across from them, about half the table is full, plates of breakfast have started appearing, and Evans still hasn't looked up from his reading.

Malfoy - much less subtle - shoots something sulky and resentful with just a dash of fear down the table and mutters, "Doesn't even know how to sit properly."

Theo really does roll his eyes this time, although he makes sure to do it down at his scone. Before anyone can say anything else though, Evans unexpectedly straightens, his attention finally lifting from his book. Malfoy immediately stiffens as well like he thinks Evans had heard him from all the way down the table, which Theo wouldn't put past Evans's ability but also doesn't think that Evans thinks that Malfoy is worth that effort to eavesdrop on.

Evans looks around, but not at any of the Slytherins. He cranes his head over one shoulder, seems to catch sight of whatever he's looking for, and gets up, shutting his book and tossing it back in his bag. Then he's making his way across the Hall, past the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, straight over to the Gryffindor table that's only partially filled at the moment but is also hosting the Golden Trio, who had just come down for breakfast.

 Evans stops a few feet away, and Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger turn to face him. What Theo can see of their expressions indicate that they're surprised and a little wary, but they also seem like they know each other. They converse about something, Weasley makes some exaggerated hand gestures, Granger smacks him, and then Evans says something else that makes the Gryffindors burst into laughter, startled but bright.

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

Longbottom and Granger are smiling, and even Weasley - with his hatred for everything Slytherin - seems fine with it, going back to plating more food for himself while passing some sausages over to Evans.

In Theo's peripheral, Malfoy's face has lost so much colour that he could pass for a ghost. Theo can't tell if he's just that offended or if he's actually managed to comprehend the fact that he's already alienated possibly the most magically powerful student at Hogwarts from Slytherin House, to the point where that student doesn't even want to eat at the same table as them, and classes haven't even started yet.

Theo can't tell, nor does he care, but if he'd ever needed any more reasons to despise Draco Malfoy, this would be it.

He averts his gaze from Evans, even if the mere thought of him preferring a bunch of Gryffindors - and those Gryffindors at that; the only ones worse would be Potter's lot - over his own House is… grating. But staring isn't going to win Theo any favours and might just tick Evans off. Besides, there are plenty of others who have noticed a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, and they're staring enough for ten of him.

He starts on his breakfast. School has just begun. There's plenty more time in the future to observe Hadrian Evans.

-0-0-0-

4.

Within the space of a week, Theo is cautiously pleased to find that he shares all nine classes with Evans. The core subjects are mandatory of course, but in addition to Ancient Runes, Evans also takes Arithmancy, both of which Theo is also studying, and after three weeks, he gets a slightly more detailed picture of what Evans is capable of.

In class, Evans doesn't stand out, or at least not in a way most people would notice. He doesn't take the initiative to answer questions posed by the teachers, and his spells and potions aren't particularly dazzling when they're assigned practical classwork.

But every time a professor calls on him, Evans always answers correctly. Every time they have to practice a new spell, Evans doesn't clamour to be the first to show off, and he isn't the one who produces it with the most eye-catching burst of magic, but when he's asked to show his progress, he always does it exactly the way the teacher demonstrated it at the beginning of class. Even in Potions, all he does is work discreetly in the back corner on the Slytherin side of the room. He never finishes early, but he also never finishes late, never failing to turn in a textbook-perfect potion ten minutes before class ends, and a couple times, Theo catches Snape watching Evans with an inscrutable expression after the boy quietly hands in yet another flawless potion.

After three weeks, Theo can conclude that while Evans doesn't deliberately dumb himself down, and in fact is performing spectacularly across the board, he does it in such a reserved, inconspicuous manner that even most of the professors probably aren't going to notice until they've graded a good few months' worth of homework and tests.

He does it for every subject. Every single one, except Ancient Runes, and Theo is convinced that that's less because Evans didn't try, and more that… well, some brilliance just can't be hidden.

In the third week, when Babbling hands back their first assignment - Acceptables and Poors all around of course; some days, Theo isn't sure if he wants to strangle Babbling or himself, just to put himself out of the misery that is attempting to understand anything their Runes professor says - she holds Evans back at the end of class, and half the students snicker like they think he's in trouble or did so badly that even Babbling can't stand it, and it's the best joke they've ever seen. But two days later, some papers that Evans has left out on his desk while he's off doing something else, probably with his Gryffindor buddies, catch Theo's eye while he's on his way to his own desk. More specifically, the symbol of the Department of Magical Education stamped on them catches Theo's eye, and after some very hasty and very undignified neck-straining and squinting from a prudent five feet away, he more or less understands.

Babbling hadn't held Evans back because he was doing badly. Babbling had held him back because he was doing so good he would be sitting his Ancient Runes O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams on the twenty-third of October.

Three minutes after that revelation, Theo's still sitting somewhat dazed in his chair when Malfoy returns, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. The blond also spots the papers on Evans' desk and - after suffering day after day of, in Malfoy's increasingly belligerent opinion, being disgraced by Evans due to all the time he was spending with Gryffindors, and even three of the ones Malfoy hates most - practically lights up with a malicious sort of glee at the opportunity to get a little revenge.

He seems to have already forgotten that first night's lesson, and it hasn't even been a month yet. Sometimes, Theo is honestly baffled by Malfoy's Sorting into Slytherin. What ambition is there in a boy whose solution to everything in life is to fall back on his father and surname and family money? What cunning is there to speak of when he so often acts without even considering the option of leaving himself a way out, just in case his taunts and schemes backfire on him one day?

Or perhaps the real mystery is how he's managed to go this long without anyone telling him that the world won't always bend to his demands.

"O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?" Malfoy says loudly as he wanders over to read the papers. He scoffs. "No matter how much magic he has, there's no way that's possible. He's just a fourth-year. And a halfblood! I bet he paid Babbling to sign him up for them. Everybody knows she's not all there so Evans wouldn't even have to pay her a lot to persuade her."

Theo flicks a glance at Blaise, who'd brought up the rear, a few seconds behind Malfoy, and had entered on near-inaudible footsteps in time to witness this latest snowballing disaster. The taller boy's lip curls, and his next words come out in such a nonchalant drawl that it takes a moment for Malfoy to register the bite of them, "Why would he do that though? He's not you."

Malfoy flushes an unflattering shade of red. "Zabini! That's not funny!"

Blaise's insults are always taken as jokes. Theo thinks that's the only way Malfoy can weather them, because he doesn't truly dare to cross Blaise, so even if he does know better, he still has to feign ignorance.

"It can't be possible," Malfoy repeats, turning back to the papers. "Otherwise, why hasn't he said anything about it? If it were me, I'd let everyone know! Obviously, he knows he'll fail, so he doesn't dare to spread it around."

Theo tries to wrap his mind around that logic, fails, and gives it up as a bad job.

"Then, why is he taking them?" Crabbe suddenly pipes up, blinking with a befuddled air in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Obviously, Crabbe, it's to impress the Boy Who Lived. You've seen how Evans is constantly fawning over Longbottom." And there's the jealousy leaking into his voice even as it strengthens as if he's gaining confidence in his conjecture the longer he speaks. "He's still just a vulgar halfblood with subpar upbringing after all. He needs political connections if he wants to make anything of himself in our world. And Longbottom's a soft touch, and an idiot besides at everything that isn't digging in the dirt. Just trying to take the exams is probably enough to make him think Evans is a genius."

He takes another step forward, almost hovering over the desk now, childish spite tarnishing his features. "Let's see what the rest of Slytherin thinks of this. We are in the same House so Evans should look for support from real purebloods. I'll help him out."

Malfoy reaches out, and Theo goes still, staring, avid and unblinking.

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

Malfoy's hand lands on the papers, and it's as if a miniature explosion takes place. There's no warning as the desk ignites with enough interlocked, interwoven, bloody intricate runes to send anyone reeling. It blankets the entire desk in layers of circles and lines and eye-watering spirals, before even those disappear in a blaze of brilliant silver light that pulses once before bursting outward and knocking Malfoy clean off his feet.

Malfoy screams as he's sent flying across the room in a tangle of flailing limbs and flapping robes. Coincidentally - or not? - he lands on his bed in a graceless upside-down heap, the bag he's still wearing smacks him in the face, and the momentum tumbles him straight over the far side of his bed and onto the floor with a final muffled thump that cuts Malfoy's shriek to a yelp.

The light disappears, along with the runes. The room goes eerily quiet, and for a long moment, nobody moves.

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

It's enough to snap Malfoy out of his stupor. The blond scrambles to right himself, pushing to his feet, fury and humiliation writ large across his face as he opens his mouth to shout, "Shut up, Zabini! Wait until my father hears about this! Evans will regret-"

There's a clatter. The door opens.

Malfoy shuts up so fast Theo wouldn't be surprised if he bit his tongue.

Evans steps inside, and then stops. He looks around, looks at his desk, looks at a still dishevelled and increasingly pallid Malfoy, and then he shuts the door behind him and heaves a very deep sigh.

"Seriously?" He asks in rhetorical tones. "I just went to borrow a library book. I couldn't have been gone for more than thirty minutes."

Nobody says anything. Evans sighs again before striding over to his desk. He raises a hand and combs his fingers through the air— or perhaps something only he could see, and that's proven correct as a runic array shimmers into existence, swirling together before reshaping itself into-

-a memory.

Specifically, it's a replay of everything Malfoy had said and done as soon as he'd gotten within three feet of Evans' belongings, complete with sound and colour. It's basically a pensieve without the pensieve or the removal of memories to supply it.

Theo wants so badly that his teeth ache with the leashed desire to ask a million questions immediately.

Patience, he reminds himself.

"Hm," Evans says once the memory's run its course, and the runes wisp away once more. Theo is both surprised and not when the other boy proceeds to pull out his chair, sit down, and dig out his library book, clearly intent to continue his work.

Behind him, Malfoy seethes, and before he can think better of it, or he simply doesn't think, he barks out, "Do you think you can treat me this way, Evans? Do you know who my father is? When I tell him about this-"

"Tell him then," Evans interjects, leaning back to slant a cool look at Malfoy. "Tell him you tried to steal my things, and my wards tossed you onto your bed, and the only thing it really bruised was your ego. Or you can lie and make up something that would make you more of a victim, and big bad mudblood Hadrian Evans bullied you terribly. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?" He huffs a laugh, and as far as Theo can tell, the thread of mirth that laces the sound is astonishingly sincere. "Malfoy, I don't actually care. I don't need Hogwarts."

He really doesn't. Worse comes to worst, which other school would be daft enough to not scoop him up if they see what he can do with runes? And that's not even getting into everything else he can do. Any school would accept him in a heartbeat and then laugh themselves to tears if Lucius Malfoy actually managed to get him ejected from Britain's sphere of influence on some trumped up charges just because his son went crying to him. Besides, since Evans had been previously homeschooled, he could always just return to that as well.

Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it, and he does that a couple times, eyes wide in his face like he's never met anyone who has stonewalled him this way, who has challenged his authority so directly, more than once, and yet remains utterly unintimidated and untouchable.

Evidently, he never has.

Evans regards him for a few seconds more before sighing once more. "I thought I was clear enough that first night, but apparently not. When I say 'attack', I don't just mean with a wand. All my things are off-limits unless I say otherwise, so if I were you, I would keep my hands to myself. You don't want to know what my wards will do to you if they sense intentions worse than just petty theft. I hope you won't forget again."

He holds Malfoy's faltering gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his books and papers. Malfoy stumbles back a step as if he's been physically released, and he looks like he wants to pitch a temper tantrum but also doesn't dare. In the end, he storms out of the room without even straightening his robes or smoothing back his hair, and nobody tries to stop him or go after him, not even Crabbe or Goyle, who've both retreated to their beds, shoulders hunched, almost bowed, angled almost in Evans' direction.

Evans is already poring over his library book though, quill in one hand, inkwell set out, fresh parchment beside it. It's clear he's done interacting with the lot of them.

Theo almost lets it go, as he has every other time he wants to speak to Evans, to ask him questions, to know. He's already biting his tongue and swallowing down the words and opening his bag to fish out his homework.

Except-

It's been three weeks. Theo can be patient when he has to be, but more and more, it's… starting to feel like he doesn't have to be. He's had an entire childhood's worth of practice at dissecting emotions, at looking at a person's face and words and actions and taking all of them into account to figure out how they really feel, if they're angry at him or upset with him, if they're about to lash out even when they're smiling, or if there's still time to appease them even if they look like they're about to go for their wand.

Evans is harder to read than most, but at the very least, Theo can tell that he doesn't get angry often. In fact, there's only ever been that one time, that first night, and even for most of that incident, Evans had only acted to secure his own safety in their dorm once it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise. None of it had been driven by rage, not even when he'd nearly drowned them in the undertow of his magic over that particular handful of words Malfoy had jeered at him. And ever since then, Evans hasn't done anything except go about his business while ignoring theirs. That went for the rest of Slytherin too, and even some students in other Houses who don't like the fact that he's a Slytherin. Sometimes, they make snide remarks, usually behind his back, sometimes within his hearing range, and to a man, every student in their House has openly shunned him since he went to sit with the Golden Trio that first breakfast, but Evans has never given them a second glance, or really even a first glance, not out of anger or embarrassment or distress, and certainly not out of any desire for them to accept him, which just seems to offend them even more. But Evans is simply… indifferent to it all.

 Most importantly, as much as Theo has been able to conclude, Evans isn't prone to violence. He always seems calm and easygoing when he's with the Golden Trio, and quiet the rest of the time. And from the very beginning, he's never done anything to harm any fellow Slytherins, not even Malfoy. Even his wards seem to have some kind of function worked into them that would rate the level of threat first and only respond with the same degree of damage.

Actually, not the same— if Malfoy had been caught taking another Slytherin's documents without permission, important or not, it wouldn't be too much even if they cursed his hands in return. They probably wouldn't, because it's Malfoy, and people are used to being more lenient with him, but normally, even Malfoy wouldn't do something that gauche anyway. No matter how much they've spoiled him, his parents have at least taught him pureblood etiquette. He's never even tried to rifle through Theo's belongings.

 Admittedly, Theo had committed a slight faux pas as well when his curiosity had prompted him to read those Ministry forms, even if they were laid out on Evans' desk - unintentionally seeing them in passing was fine but the polite thing to do would've been to keep walking - but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to get too close, let alone put a single finger on them. Malfoy really only has his own poor impulse control to blame for going too far yet again, and Theo has every right to judge him for it.

 Although since it was Evans, Malfoy had probably categorized him as someone who doesn't deserve a pureblood's courtesy.

Even then though, Evans hadn't retaliated with anything more than the ward equivalent of a watered down Knockback Jinx, which is basically a common prank amongst rowdier students. Malfoy's pride had - once again - been hurt, but nothing else, even when it would've been Evans' right. And he hadn't gotten angry this time either.

Of course, Theo isn't foolish enough to think Evans isn't capable of violence when he wants to be. If he's pushed far enough, Theo is certain that the other boy could and would inflict some significant damage that would at least end with a visit to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was his magic, the relentless weight of it that said it wouldn't hesitate to crush them if they proved themselves a real threat. Or perhaps it was Evans himself, who looks at Malfoy after each stunt like he's putting up with a recalcitrant child that he has to go easy on because said child is too young to know better, except the detachment in his gaze also says that he's weighing Malfoy's age on a scale and waiting for the day his youth will no longer be able to compensate for his actions.

Frankly, Theo hopes that day will come soon. But that's his pettiness talking, and Malfoy in general is none of his concern. What Theo really wants is to learn all those things for himself. Well, not all, he's more than self-aware enough to know he's nowhere near as powerful as Evans, but some of those things - the spellwork, the runes - surely those things can be taught to others even if they don't have incredible amounts of magic? Even if it's slow-going and difficult, Theo isn't afraid to work for it.

So long as he learns even just a little of what Evans knows - and he clearly knows so much, knows the things that can actually be useful in real life - then perhaps, one day, maybe even before he graduates Hogwarts… escaping his father won't be a fool's hope anymore. And if there's a chance that he can do that, then no matter how exorbitant the price Evans names, Theo would be willing to pay it, even if it takes him the rest of his life to honour the debt.

But nothing's going to happen if they're not even on speaking terms. It's been three weeks. Already three weeks. Only three weeks. Maybe it really is still too soon, but at the very least, Theo doesn't think Evans will do anything worse than say no.

 At his back, he can feel Blaise's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around.

 "Is that-" His voice doesn't crack, thankfully, but it comes out croakier than normal, giving away his nervousness. He bites back the urge to hex himself and tries again. "Is that taught by the time we graduate?"

 Evans… doesn't react, doesn't even look up. For several tense and increasingly awkward seconds, Theo thinks maybe the other boy will just continue ignoring him, or maybe he even thinks Theo is speaking to one of the others, not him.

 But then he writes something down and flips a page of his book, and then he raises his head and shifts away from his desk to face Theo.

 It's a little daunting, to suddenly have that piercing bright green regard aimed straight at him, but there's also no hostility that Theo can see, and that settles some of his nerves.

 Evans looks at him, then frowns, then asks in return, blunt, but amazingly, willingly enough, "You mean the wards?"

 Theo nods carefully, making sure he doesn't look too eager or too demanding. Masters of their trades are always rightfully reticent about their knowledge and skills to anyone who isn't their own mentor or apprentice, unless they're a teacher. Evans may not be a master signed and sealed and authorized to practice, but nobody who can write the exams at fourteen can be considered an amateur.

 Evans shrugs. "I haven't exactly flipped through the Ancient Runes syllabus of every year so I can't really say. If it continues at the same pace as third-year and fourth-year though, then probably not. You'd maybe get to the point of basic wards, but not much more than that. Compound wards like these-" He raps his knuckles against his own desk. "-put crudely, requires the use of runic coils to weave together multiple basic arrays, on multiple levels, in varying sequential order depending on how multifaceted you want the wards to be. It's not that difficult once you start getting some practice in, but from what I hear, you guys don't even begin practical work until after your O.W.L., which… I don't really get, but maybe Hogwarts is big on theoretical learning. But yeah, at that rate, I don't see how you could be constructing something like this by graduation."

 Theo's head is spinning. He didn't understand… anything in that summary except perhaps a general idea of "basic arrays". It's rare for him to feel so stupid.

 Evans is still watching him, and he doesn't seem impatient for their exchange to be over, or irritated that it's taking place at all. He looks like he's waiting for Theo to reply, so Theo hurries on to keep the conversation afloat.

 "So you didn't learn Runes following the Hogwarts curriculum when you were homeschooled," He surmises. "Does that mean the standards here fall short of the international schools?"

 It wouldn't be the first time. Britain's educational requirements have been growing more and more lenient for years. Correspondingly, their elective options have also been reduced to four due to budget cuts and lack of interest in anything harder than petting animals and making up death predictions. Every year, more second-years choose to sign up for Care and Divination than they do Arithmancy or Runes. It's one reason why the number of incoming students has been gradually declining and consists of more muggleborns than purebloods. Foreign schools are strict about accepting any children outside of their designated countries, but those in Great Britain and Ireland who want better for their kids and can afford the higher prices tend to prefer sending them to one international school or another instead of Hogwarts.

 But Evans shakes his head. "I wouldn't know that either. I didn't really follow any official curriculum when I was learning." He pauses a beat, like he's thinking about how much to reveal, or even why he's revealing anything, but then he seems to decide it doesn't much matter. "The person who taught me was a bit… unconventional about it. He was a very good teacher, but he wasn't actually a teacher with the degree and whatever else you need to be a Ministry-approved professor, so he didn't really care about following some checklist of what a student attending a magical school was supposed to learn. Plus he was kind of a genius at runes. Ward-cracking and disassembly in particular since that's what he majored in - he was a Curse-Breaker - but he was pretty good at almost everything else too, which meant he found the basic stuff pretty boring. So when he taught me, and he realized I didn't have any trouble getting the foundations down, and I could mostly keep up even when he skipped ahead to more advanced stuff, he basically ended up just jumping between the subjects he liked most, filled in any gaps along the way, and gave me free rein to research whatever I found interesting. And whatever topic I picked was the one he lectured on, or helped me look up if it was one of the few areas he didn't know much about."

 His expression turns wry, if only for a moment. "Apparently though, according to Babbling, that means there's nothing left for Hogwarts to teach me. But I don't know how I would compare to students in other schools."

 He finishes and falls silent. It's the most he's said since that first night, and it's clear as day that whoever this Curse-Breaker tutor was, Evans respects him a great deal, great enough to ramble on about him to a roomful of near-strangers, and considering what he'd had a hand in molding Evans into, he deserves every bit of that respect too.

 Theo envies it. He is oft a creature of envy, and it hollows him out a little more every time it rears its head, but he's resigned to it. He wonders why Hogwarts can't have a teacher like Evans' instead of the whimsical mess that is Babbling, who can never get through a single class without her train of thought wandering away like an untrained dog off its leash.

 "Then," Theo continues, carefully neutral, carefully watching for any signs of displeasure on Evans' face. "Once you pass your exams, will you simply have an extra study period slot? Or will you be required to attend another elective?"

 Evans blinks at him. "The first, I think. I might see if it's possible to take an owl-distance university course or something, but spare time in my day isn't bad either."

 "Then," Theo forges on, watching as Evans's mouth twists a little, like he knows that this is what Theo has been aiming for from the beginning. Theo can't tell if he disapproves though - he doesn't think so - and it's too late to divert his course anyway. "What do you think about tutoring?"

 Evans cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything for several anxiety-inducing seconds, just scrutinizing Theo with a face blank enough to rival Snape's when he bothers to stop sneering. The quill in Evans' hand taps-taps-taps against his desk before the boy swings around in his chair completely to face Theo.

 "Tutoring," He repeats. "You want me to tutor you in Ancient Runes?"

 And at least he doesn't sound derisive, nor does he put any particular emphasis on any part of that question. It does make it harder for Theo to gauge how he should respond though.

 "Yes," He confirms, because straightforward seems to be what Evans prefers. He thinks, briefly, of including Blaise, but he doesn't actually know if Blaise would like tutoring as well, and even if he does, Blaise can ask for himself. Theo isn't that charitable, and Blaise might even take offense if he tries to be.

 "I can compensate you for your time," He adds, because he's poor by pureblood standards, but not so poor that he can't afford decent education, especially with the nest egg he's been secretly building on the side since he turned eight and realized his inheritance was only going to get smaller at the rate his father was drawing from it for his… extracurriculars. His seven years at Hogwarts at least have already been paid for, robes and supplies and even some pocket money included, because even Silas Nott isn't going to let his son go into public at even more of a disadvantage than he already is. So as long as Evans doesn't ask for a huge sum of money, or even if he does, and he's willing to take part of that payment in favours, then Theo should have enough from his own funds to cover the cost.

 Evans leans back in his seat and doesn't say anything about payment. Instead, he looks almost puzzled as he asks, "Why do you need tutoring though? Even if you want to learn stuff like this," He motions at his desk. "I wouldn't be able to even start teaching you how until you got at least the basics down, and that's what Hogwarts teaches, so is there any point in getting more of the same lessons from me?"

 For a moment, even Theo can't come up with a way to say 'yes, because Babbling can't teach worth a damn, and I don't actually know how I passed last year but I definitely won't this year with the way her lectures keep getting lost somewhere between class and Atlantis every bloody week' but in more polite terms, if only because Evans might not appreciate anyone badmouthing her since she's obviously the one vouching for Evans' qualifications in order to let him take his exams so early.

 Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

 "Have you seen the way Babbling teaches?" The other boy enquires in his usual lackadaisical tone, just aggrieved enough to sound invested, but mild enough to leech the provocation out of it. It also gives Blaise a foot in through the door, drawing Evans' attention to him without making it seem as if he's interrupting.

 Theo glances behind him at where Blaise is now lounging in his own desk chair, emptying his bag of textbooks and papers even as he glances over to meet Evans' gaze, and his expression has eased into an invitation to commiserate over Babbling's questionable teaching methods. All of it is designed to look casual and cordial, to keep this fragile first exchange lighthearted, if also full of a resigned sort of exasperation, funnelled together in order to lower Evans' guard.

 And it seems to work too, like it does with everyone Blaise turns his charms on. At the very least, the way Evans' mouth quirks in response looks reflexive enough to be genuine.

 "That's fair," Evans concedes, a wry sort of humour suffusing his voice. "She's not the best at… staying on topic."

 Theo has to suppress a snort, but something of it must show on his face anyway because Evans' eyes snap back to him, and a moment later, a quicksilver grin flits across the other's face, bright in a way that lights up his whole face, and perhaps Blaise will have to try harder after all because Theo realizes that this is what genuine looks like on Evans.

 "Okay, I get why you might want a tutor," Evans acknowledges. "But isn't there anyone better for that?"

 Theo blinks at him. "Better than someone who's ready to take his exams in a month?"

 Evans' eyebrows go up briefly, and something in his eyes sharpens. "No. Better than someone who's a halfblood orphan in Slytherin, stuck in a one-sided grudge-match with a pureblood brat who has all the maturity of a toddler and isn't going to be very happy if his friend starts hanging around the guy he wants to curse into the Hospital Wing."

 Orphan? is Theo's first thought, followed by, I wish Malfoy was around to hear that. But all of it is superseded by a defiance that bursts out of him before he can curb it, "We're not friends."

 Evans waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Slytherins don't have friends. What I mean is-"

 "No," Theo says, wincing internally at how he'd cut Evans off mid-sentence. "I mean, we aren't friends. Normally, we aren't even civil acquaintances most days."

 Evans eyes him for a long moment like he can hear all the things Theo isn't saying. Theo's pretty sure Evans doesn't know about his family's circumstances - How would he? Why would he even care to look it up? - but he seems to be able to glean at least the gist of it in a single glance because he seems to accept it easily enough, and the next thing he says is, "Alright, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still not going to be happy about it."

 "Good," Theo says, once again before he can stop himself, and with more relish than he should convey. Even if he's often thought that anything that made Malfoy unhappy was a good thing, he's certainly never expressed it out loud. He doesn't know what's come over him, only that there's something about the way Evans is watching him, patient and without judgement, that makes him… bolder than he normally would be.

 And since he's already opened his mouth, he might as well keep going.

 "So long as you're willing, I don't mind what other people might say," Theo says as firmly as he knows how to be. "I need to raise my grades for Ancient Runes before I take my OWLs next year or I'm never going to pass. I would appreciate any tutoring you can spare the time for." He hesitates, but only for a beat. "If you want, in addition to monetary compensation, I can also snub Malfoy at dinner somehow. And you would know it wouldn't just be some show we put on either. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to be humiliated in public, even as a stunt."

 It's far more outspoken and far more audacious than Theo is accustomed to being, and he can feel Blaise's eyes on him again. But he gets the impression that if he doesn't put his cards on the table - that he really does want to learn from Evans, that it's his main motivation, even if it isn't the only one - then Evans might think Theo is playing some kind of trick on him, possibly on Malfoy's orders, and that's the last thing Theo wants him to believe.

 Besides, this is also an opportunity. Theo had been resigned to living under Malfoy's temperamental rule for the duration of his Hogwarts career. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be doing more of the same as an adult, after all. Considering the difference in their social status, Theo would still have to bow his head, and jump when told to jump, and remain courteously - or at least forbearingly - deferential in front of Malfoy whenever they see each other. At least this more childish version at school is giving him plenty of practice for the future.

 But now, there is Hadrian Evans, whose existence no one had expected and no one thus far can control, who isn't afraid of Malfoy, whom Malfoy is afraid of instead, and Theo honestly can't see that changing. Of course, the real world is very different from some squabbles between teenagers, and Theo has only known Evans for less than a month. But… call it instinct. Even if one day the Malfoy family can really make it so that Evans can no longer live well in Britain, Theo gets the sense that the other boy would rather up and move to a different country than ever submit to anyone.

 People with inborn power like Evans won't bow. They don't know how to.

 And if Theo can get even a fraction of that protection that openly siding with Evans might earn him, then the choice is obvious. He's long known that he isn't powerful enough or ambitious enough or even brave enough to stand on his own. That in order to thrive, or even to simply live a satisfactory life, it would be best to choose someone's shadow to settle in. Preferably, that someone would be willing enough to leave Theo alone most of the time and wouldn't ask too much of him, but he already knows he wouldn't be able to get that from his father or Malfoy.

 Then, there's no point clinging to either of them. Before, there had been no other choices, and between his father and Malfoy, Malfoy was the better bet, though it wasn't as if the blond ponce could've gotten him out from under Silas Nott's thumb either. But at least being - loosely - affiliated with Malfoy would, in the future, offer Theo some protection from his father's obsessive tendencies. It wouldn't do for one of Malfoy's circle of acquaintances to disappear under mysterious circumstances after all.

 Now there's a new player on the field. Of course, Evans probably doesn't see himself as one, and wouldn't care even if he knew. But that doesn't change the fact that his shadow casts a long and looming line, and somehow, it feels more like a refuge than anyone else's Theo has ever come across. Evans might not be willing to protect him, if only because he would have to make himself known to do so, and if there's one thing Evans has shown over the past few weeks, it's that he much prefers staying in the background. But even if he isn't willing to protect Theo, at the very least, he can teach Theo how to protect himself. So, Theo might as well take his chances with Evans, and the first step in doing that is to make it very clear to all and sundry that he's throwing his lot in with the halfblood Slytherin transfer.

 He hadn't quite been prepared to go this far when he'd first decided to speak to Evans today, but doing things by half measures doesn't bode well for him either. Prevaricating or at least being vaguer about his intentions might leave him an extra hand to play, a way to retreat in case associating with Evans becomes too dangerous one day, but no one likes a fence-sitter.

 In Slytherin, every decision is a power play, whether it seems like it or not. An insignificant word or action might result in large consequences that aren't always obvious until the waves and ripples have settled. And Theo's never been much of a gambler, preferring safety over potential riches. But the things he can learn from Evans are too tempting to pass over. Put in plain terms, he's technically using Evans as a means to an end, which no one in Slytherin wouldn't approve of, but for a good chunk of this House, Evans' blood would definitely outweigh any usefulness he might have, especially since he hasn't publicly proven himself in any way at all. And the way he spends all his free time with Gryffindors hardly helps.

 Still, it's a risk Theo's willing to take. And now the Quaffle is in Evans' hands, and all that's left is to wait for his answer.

 Of course, if Evans says no, then Theo can only hope Blaise is feeling magnanimous today and won't go spreading this little story around. Then again, there's Crabbe and Goyle too, and they'll definitely tell Malfoy, so it will get out either way.

 Such is Slytherin, where the only shared secret you can trust to remain a secret is when all other parties are dead.

 In front of him, Evans only raises his eyebrows for a moment before amusement quirks one corner of his mouth. "Well you don't have to go that far."

 Theo can't tell if the other boy understands the implications of publicly cutting ties with Malfoy, but he's relieved to hear it anyway. He'd do it if it's a condition Evans sets, if only to alleviate any concerns Evans might have of being played, but it's not as if he wants to do it. He would happily see Malfoy humiliated any day of the week, but Theo is at heart an introverted person. Open confrontation of any kind will always make him uncomfortable.

 Evans studies him for a while longer as if weighing his sincerity. Eventually, he says, "I'm not opposed to tutoring. Actually, I'm already doing that for Hermione every Wednesday and Saturday. Adding one more doesn't make much of a difference. It's just that I don't love tutoring so much that I want to do it more than twice a week. So," He smiles, and this time, his expression is one of a sharp sort of curiosity. "If you want me to tutor you, then you'll have to be okay with Hermione. And I don't just mean tolerating her presence enough to sit at the same table as her. I mean if you say one bad word about her blood, I'll take that as an attack on me and react accordingly. Understand?"

 Theo blinks once, twice, digesting that ultimatum with something like disbelief because- "Is that all?" And then, because it couldn't possibly be that easy, he hastily tacks on, "How much would you like to be paid?"

 Evans blinks back at him, looking like he's re-evaluating Theo on the spot. Then he makes a dismissive gesture and says, "I'm not short on money. Also I don't make Hermione pay so it wouldn't be fair if I made you pay." He sits back with a finality that starts bringing an end to their conversation. "Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4-6pm in the library. I know we share all the same classes so that shouldn't be a problem for you. Showing up isn't mandatory, you can just come whenever you want, and I'll tutor you in whatever you need help with. My only condition is that you treat Hermione with basic respect. Of course," His mouth twists into a strange smile. "That goes for her too. And her friends if they happen to stop by."

 Theo has to suppress a grimace at that, but it's mostly out of reflexive distaste. Even if Weasley starts flinging insults, he's sure he's heard worse than anything a Gryffindor could come up with, and his tolerance is high, so it doesn't much matter whether Evans can prevent it or not. Actually, it's already pretty novel that he would try at all. This is by far the easiest and weirdest deal Theo has ever been offered, which only makes him that much more suspicious, but Evans also adds no other terms, so Theo is forced to conclude that this really is all Evans wants from him.

 The sheer unfairness of what each party is bringing to the table is jarring. Does Evans not understand what's happening here or is he seriously willing to offer up his time and knowledge on a silver platter at basically no cost?

��Part of Theo wants to ask again, to make sure Evans really doesn't want anything else, but since they've come to this point, even if Evans were to ask for something in the future, Theo would have no obligation to give it. It's admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, to receive so much in exchange for giving back so little when he wasn't even the one manipulating Evans towards this outcome, but at the same time, wouldn't he just be stupid if he keeps pushing the issue? Complaining about not having to spend any money or owe any favours seems rather counterproductive, and even though Theo is willing to pay for a chance like this, that doesn't mean he wants to if he doesn't have to. Of course, he supposes it isn't very honourable of him to not at least insist on some form of compensation, but that's why Theo isn't a Gryffindor.

 So then.

 "Very well, I agree to your terms," Theo says, letting himself relax a bit more when Evans' expression doesn't change. And because even a Slytherin should acknowledge genuine goodwill, he shoves past his own discomfort and manages, if a bit stiffly, "Thank you, Evans."

 Evans makes a face that's something left of embarrassed. "It's just tutoring, you don't have to be so formal. Besides, you're still the one who's going to have to put up with Malfoy pitching a fit once he finds out."

 Theo almost shrugs. That's not anything new. He might have to field some curses hurled his way once other Slytherins realize he's no longer under Malfoy's "protection" and is seen spending time with a halfblood, but it's not as if he has no way of protecting himself from most spells that a student can get away with using in public at Hogwarts. He already has a few family wards set up around his bed too, so Malfoy can't get to him while he's asleep, and the only time he spends in the Common Room is when he's crossing it to leave the Dungeon or return to his dorm, so his Housemates aren't likely to be able to corner him there either. So long as he's careful, he'll be fine.

 Blaise's voice cuts into his thoughts, speaking this time with the lightest touch of concern seeping out from behind a thin veil of indifference that would've fooled even Theo if Theo didn't know the way Blaise can change his approach like he's changing clothes depending on his assessment of the person he's talking to. "You sure you don't need to ask Granger first before letting a Slytherin join your tutoring sessions? She might not be too happy to have Theo there. And her friends definitely won't."

 Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

 The room is quiet for a beat.

 Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

 Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

 "Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

 Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

 (And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

 "Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

 Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

 If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

 It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

 "You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

 Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

 Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

 Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

 At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

 "Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

 At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

 Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

 He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

 Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

 Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

 It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

 Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

 And no one likes a fence-sitter.

 -0-0-0-

 5.

 Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

 Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

 But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

 Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

 It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

 It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

 Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

 And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

 In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

 They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

 To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

 Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

 They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

 So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

 Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

 Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

 He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

 In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

 If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

 A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

 "Cool, thanks, let's go."

 Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

 Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

 (Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

 Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

 The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

 Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

 Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

 Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

 Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

 Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

 Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

 Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

 Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

 "…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

 Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

 Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

 So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

 "Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

 A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

 Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

 Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

 Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

 They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

 He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

 -0-

 Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

 They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

 Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

 It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

 When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

 Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

 A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

 Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

 In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

 He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

 By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

 (In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

 But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

 Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

 It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

 Except-

 Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

 It's a strange new world.

 In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

 Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

 The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

 And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

 Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

 The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

 The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

 Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

 The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

 They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

 Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

 He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

 Not that these two are friends of course.

 He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

 "Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

 He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

 "I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

 Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

 Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

 "Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

 "Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

 Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

 Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

 They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

 His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.

[soft--dragon]

Taking A Break

Words: 1,794

Warnings: None

This is my first Supernatural fic!! I started the show a few months ago and I'm on season 15 now (lord help me) Hope you guys enjoy <3

This is all entirely platonic, I do not ship wincest. Do not tag it as such. Wincest shippers do NOT interact with this post.

This was inspired by this absolutely adorable fanart by @carrie-tate . Go show her some love!! His work is incredible :D

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Now, Sam wanted to go on record to say that he was grateful for Dean being his big brother. He had looked up to him ever since he was a kid, trying to be just like Dean - having a strong heart and an even stronger sense of loyalty. Where their dad had failed in their youth, Dean had picked up the shattered pieces left behind and made Sam's childhood as good as it could be. He'd sacrificed everything for Sam, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Hell, Dean had practically said those words himself.

Sam was lucky to have Dean. He knew that.

However, right now, he really, really wanted to be anywhere but stuck in a motel room with his big brother.

“Stay away from me, you dick!”

“C’mon Sammy, you can’t seriously still be ticklish can you?”

“I said stay away!”

Sam’s face was split into a wide, nervous grin, shifting his weight from foot to foot on his side of the dining table the motel room had. Dean was almost entirely leaning over the damn thing, a toothy smile on his face with that same spark in his eyes Sam had often seen when they were kids. He honestly didn’t know what spurred Dean into such a playful mood, and he knew what was surely coming along with it.

“We were in the middle of researching!” protests Sam, trying to divert Dean’s attention to the more important task of hunting the latest creature of carnage.

Dean merely scoffs. “Nope. You were researching and acting like you had a stick up your ass, I’m simply helping you balance work and living.”

“The work kinda is our life, Dean-”

“And there you go again.” Dean sighs impatiently. “Could you liven up at least a little? The motel room feels even sadder than usual when you get broody.”

Dean suddenly lunged around the table and advertently kicked Sam’s fight or flight into overdrive, a rather undignified squawk leaving the younger man’s mouth in fear of the speed his brother tore around the furniture. He bolted around the table to stop at the opposite side, mirroring his brother, who was grinning even wider.

“Stohop!” Sam pleads, a breathless laugh weaseling into his words and only egging Dean on more.

“Why? You’re laughing, aren’t you? That’s good!”

“Dean, I am going to kill you,” Sam swears, trying to look serious - but with his anticipatory smile and bright eyes, it was difficult to seem threatening.

Dean snorts. “Uh-huh, sure.”

Then, with the engrained speed of a trained hunter, Dean fakes out a fast step to the right and causes Sam to take off to the left around the table - straight into Dean’s awaiting trap. Realising his error immediately, Sam yelps and tries to backpedal in a panic, but Dean leaps forward and wrestles him onto the carpet before he can even hope to escape.

“Goddamnit!”

Sam’s outraged shout only made Dean laugh harder. “You gotta stop falling for that, Sammy,” he comments playfully, grabbing his little brother’s swinging arm and forcing it to the floor. In a split second, Sam’s yells of annoyance morphed into fast-paced pleads as he registered being pinned.

“No- no, Dean, listen- I’ll take a break, okay? I’ve been a stick in the mud, and whatever else you think. We’ll go out and get a drink somewhere. Sound good? Great. Fantastic. Now lemme up.”

Dean smirks in amusement as Sam bargained like a crossroads demon desperate to get a sale - paired with a nervous grin and hands held up in defense. As he pauses to take a breath between his rambled offers, Dean hums, effectively making Sam stop short.

“Tempting offer, but I think we'll both be entertained by this, bud.”

With the hand not holding his brother's wrist captive, he starts to poke along Sam's midriff, grinning when his younger sibling flinches away from it with a strangled noise.

"Dean!"

"Mhm?" Dean hums innocently, delighting in every involuntary jerk and muffled squeak Sam gave at the light prodding.

"Cut it out." Sam hisses through tightly pressed lips, eyes crinkling with his wobbly grin as he fruitlessly tried to avoid Dean's probing fingers.

Dean almost looked offended. "Cut it out? Dude, I haven't done this to you in years. Let a big brother be nostalgic."

Then, without any warning, he quickly squeezed at Sam’s sides, causing a shrill yelp to suddenly pierce the air. Sam dissolves into fits of laughter instantly, wriggling on the carpet in his mirth from childhood instinct.

“Aaaa~nd there it is," Dean snorts, his unforgiving nails digging into Sam's side and delighting in the familiar hiccuping giggles pouring from his brother's mouth. Even after all these years, his laugh hadn't changed a bit. "Always gonna be a little brother."

Sam's legs flailed wildly, shoes scuffing the floor in a repetitive motion to not kick Dean in the back. Though it was growing tempting the longer his big brother kept scratching at his damn sides.

"Dehehehean!" He protests through tumbling laughter, pressing an arm against Dean's chest to shove him away, but he hadn't grown out of his childhood habits. His strength was being sapped by the tingling sensation plaguing his body.

Dean notices and chuckles fondly. "What? Got something you wanna say, little brother?"

"Ihihim twehehenty fohohour!"

"And yet here you are on the floor giggling like a child. Something doesn't add up here, Sammy."

While his hand journeyed to squeeze up and down Sam's ribs, causing the man to be honest-to-god squeak in laughter, Dean got a rather mean idea. He lifts his hand above Sam, wiggling his fingers, and instantly, Sam curls into himself with wide eyes. The hand pressed against Dean's chest swiped out to snatch up the older man's wrist.

"Nonononono- nohoho Dehehean!" He pleads, his bright laughter unbridled in a way Dean hadn't heard in far too long. "Nohohot thahat!"

"Aww, why not? You loved this growing up."

Sam's face burns with warmth, suddenly glad he was already flushed from laughing, because he knew Dean wouldn't let him live that reaction down. "Ihihi dihidn't!"

"Liar, liar, Wendigo on fire," Dean scoffs, prodding Sam's stomach with his free hand and smirking as the man did his best impression of a folding chair, his giggles melding with snorts. With little difficulty, he tugs his wrist from Sam's grip and returns to the wiggling motion above his little brother.

Sam's nervous giggles increased as Dean kept his hand suspended, watching with wary eyes as it seemed to circle above like a vulture. Though, with Sam's eyes locked to the overhead threat, he didn't see the second wave coming until there was a sudden flurry of feather light touches ghosting over his neck.

"W-Wahahait! Crahahahap!" Sam squeaks helplessly, shoulders rocketing to his ears to block Dean's fingers from tormenting the soft spot. It had been a favorite of Jessica's when she wanted to mess with him - a delicate kiss or soft fingernails were enough to make him fold into himself in seconds. It was something she had used against him constantly when they were dating.

"Dehean!" Sam whines, pressing his head against his shoulders alternatively when his older brother starts targeting his ears.

Dean's heart melted slightly at Sam's childish noises, his smirk slipping into a fond grin without him realising. "Did you get more ticklish since you left for Stanford?" he asks, half teasing - half genuinely curious as he sneaked a few fingers into the gaps of Sam's top ribs, dangerously close to his underarms that were ridiculously sensitive.

Sam instantly jack-knifed in reflex, an embarrassing yelp pulling from his throat as he tried to protect his infamous soft spot. "Nohot thehere, Dehehehean! Uhuncle!" He cries out, half rolling onto his side and swatting at Dean's hands that place gentle pokes up and down his ribcage. As much as he was enjoying messing around with Dean, he wasn't sure he could handle that spot being tormented.

Thankfully, Dean hears the weary notes in Sam's voice from laughing so much. He chuckles fondly and pulls his hands away from the sensitive skin, observing his little brother, who is becoming one with the floor. The younger man gulps air into his worn-out body, holding his stomach that was slightly aching from laughter.

"J-Jesus," he gasps, wiping at his eyes that had gathered moisture from mirth. "That was brutal."

"Be grateful I didn't actually go for your worst spots," Dean snickers, "think we would've got a noise complaint with your screaming."

Sam kicks Dean's shin with his signature 'resting bitch face', but the lingering smile on his lips took away the effect. "Jerk," he grumbles.

"Bitch," Dean says right back with a warm grin.

He starts to get up from his crouched position on the floor, when Sam suddenly grabs his arms and yanks him straight back down, rolling Dean onto his back smoothly with practiced form. Dean's grunt of alarm was cut off by his own high-pitched shriek as it felt like electricity bolted through his hips.

"Don't think I've forgotten about your weakness too, Dean," Sam laughed, his thumbs making quick work in reducing Dean to nothing but a ball of loud laughter.

"Y-YOHOU DIHICKHEHEAD!" Dean yells out through hearty laughter, twisting on the floor for escape, but Sam wasn't giving him an out. He'd forgotten how quickly Sam could recover from these attacks.

"Sure, I'm the dickhead for getting revenge on you when you attacked me first," Sam rolls his eyes, then shifts his thumbs to massage along the tops of Dean’s hip bones. The older man throws his head back with a screech that could raise the dead, kicking his legs out and arms desperately trying to shove Sam away.

“Christ, Dean, you're the one that's gonna get us the noise complaint if you keep that up,” Sam snickers, yet he didn’t shift from that little bundle of nerves that was making Dean shriek with laughter.

Dean couldn’t formulate a snappy comeback. Instead, he just smacked Sam wherever he could reach in retaliation. Was it a well-thought-out counterattack? No, absolutely not, but it was better than doing nothing.

The motel room was filled with Dean's bright laughter for a good while, after all Sam had a retaliation mission to complete and years' worth of revenge to cash in. Though Dean didn't make it easy for him, managing to reverse their roles a few times throughout the ordeal - knowing how to take Sam down from growing up together.

The research lay abandoned on the table for the rest of the afternoon, ignored by the brothers duking it out - curses and laughter thrown around the room. The monster of the week could wait a little while longer. The boys deserved the break.

[violettavonviolet]

Tim Drake fic recs part 3

All of these fics are finished and amazing! The word count progressively goes up and all the ratings are noted, but def do check the tags for any triggers. all fics that have been stuck in my head since I read them are marked with a star.

Batfamily genfic's

Gotta Roll With The Curveballs

justapoorboy

Summary:

“How’d you cry so easily?” Duke asks, still entirely too awkward because no matter what Steph says, Duke still thinks Tim is kinda cool in a weird way. A really weird way.

“Oh, I classically conditioned myself over winter break when I was eleven. All I have to do to tear up is pinch a certain point on my arm. See?” Tim viciously pinches a spot on his inner forearm. Immediately tears start to well in his eyes.

Or: Duke Thomas dealing with Tim Pod-Baby Drake and what exactly that entails.

4.5k crack gen

A Matter of Trust

KelpieCodyne

Summary:

When Damian learns of an unexpected list of Batman contingencies, he's forced to go to Tim to vent.

And in doing so, might help the two of them find some common ground.

5k tim & dami gen

Days I Have Held (Days I Have Lost)

sepia_stained_sunset

Summary:

“You’ve outgrown me”

Damian frowns when he meets Tim’s gaze. He doesn’t say or do anything that warrants the feeling of loss that crawls up his arms and settles in his bones.

Then Tim is leaning towards him, on his toes, hands automatically going to his hair and mussing up his locks like he can’t fully miss the chance to annoy him. Still, his grip is gentle and his smile is real and Damian is more than glad to pretend that his eyes are devoid of their bitter sadness.

Or, Damian outgrows Tim. It shouldn't change anything, really, but it does. It does.

9k tim & damian gen

Satisfactory Bonding Activities

raven_of_hydecastle

Summary:

“Look, Dick and I had no idea how to be brothers either," Jason said, "but we made an effort to spend time together. If you and the demon brat aren’t sure where to start, maybe you can decide on some things to kick start these bonding activities.”

“Like what?”

“Hell if I know. Play twister, do an escape room, take over the world, learn to knit, I don’t care. Just pick something you can both agree will keep you busy for an hour or two and it’ll be fine. Now hand me that Molotov, these guys are going down.”

12k gen, tim & Damian

So...Rock, Paper, Scissors?

Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

Summary:

His smile widens. “You will pick one to kill. I shall give you ten minutes to decide and say your goodbyes. If you have not killed one of your brothers when the time is up, I will kill all three.”

Jason feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. This was supposed to buy him time, not give him a literal deadline.

“You see, little blade? I have made it so easy for you. You aren’t even really killing one. You are saving two. Your time starts now.”

24k angst mature

i can't let go when somethings broken

pennneminem

Summary:

the sky is blue, the earth is round, dick and bruce fight.

tim wishes it was a little easier sometimes.

or: tims crash course in the remains of childhood, rose colored glasses, and the economics of brotherhood

28k gen angst

Bludhaven Police Department

Lady_of_Lorule

Summary:

Sgt. Amy Rohrbach learns that her partner, rookie cop Dick Grayson, is not what he seems. Or how Amy finds out that Dick Grayson is the heir to the entire Wayne fortune, the vigilante Nightwing, the leader of the Titans, and meets some of the Batfam and the Titans along the way.

31k gen humor

right place, wrong time

Valkirin

Summary:

Twelve-year-old Tim Drake has homework to finish and dinner waiting at home. He even has an invitation to spend time with Bruce before patrol the next day reviewing toxins and antidotes. It doesn't matter that Bruce prefers to keep things all-business and down in the Batcave. Having Robin again is helping, Tim can already see that, and it's always a relief to know when he's invited back.

Sixteen-year-old Tim Drake decides that he'd rather keep his distance from the tempting research project Bruce has across two work tables. It's archaeology and time travel all at once, even more interesting than usual after Bruce's long trip through time, but Bruce probably won't crack that in one night. Getting involved in the project will eliminate Tim's chance to escape to his apartment for a quiet evening rather instead of struggling through an awkward dinner with Jason and Damian and Bruce.

When the Tims suddenly switch times and places, twelve-year-old Tim has an invitation to dinner and sixteen-year-old Tim knows just what kind of ripples someone can leave from the past.

38k teen angst

Say Uncle

Megaerakles

Summary:

Tim is prepared to take the steps necessary to ensure that Bruce will not feel obligated to adopt Tim when a comatose Jack Drake inevitably dies. But what could be better than preventing Bruce from ending up with a son he doesn't want? Bringing back the one he does.

Jason agrees to the Replacement's stupid, stupid plan to invite some strange adult man he's never met to come live with him, if only to keep the idiot alive long enough for him to serve his purpose in the Great Red Hood Revenge Scheme.

Might this new roommate situation have an impact on either of their worldviews? Surely not...

46k teen

Vultures, Squirrels, and Other Flying Menaces

AstraEllis

Summary:

He used to think that Batman needs a Robin. 

Now, Tim’s pretty sure that Robin was only ever a band-aid. 

He never tried to learn Batman’s identity, but he knows it, and Tim has no idea what to do next to save Gotham from Bruce Wayne’s violent rage. 

He becomes Batman’s shadow – never sidekick – trying to clean up the wreckage he leaves behind. 

A vulture, trying to remove decay before it has a chance to poison everything. 

Tim’s quest to save Gotham from Batman leads him to the most obvious victim – the man’s first Robin. But Dick Grayson’s grief is complex and deep, and not something the twelve-year-old has a fix for. 

What Tim Drake does have, however, is the know how to make money difficult to trace and a certain phone number.

51k dick & Tim & jason found family

Option C

CasualGeek

Summary:

Jason had to make a choice.

Enact his vengeance by killing the Joker himself.

Or

Forget Gotham and stay with Talia.

However, there was an option C.

One that could end with the Joker dead, with Bruce proven wrong and with Gotham changed for the better.

Jason took Gotham to court.

78k teen

cards on the table

wesslan

Summary:

Tim's parents faked their deaths and fled the country years ago, but neglected to take him with them. He spent some time on the streets, and now at 16, he makes a living as a fortune teller, stalking and hustling the shit out of Gotham's elite by telling them eerily accurate fortunes based on the information he gathers about them.

His life is peculiar but he wouldn't change a thing. When he gets booked for the big Wayne Halloween party, however, he finds himself getting all tangled up with the Waynes, and the more fortunes he tells, the tighter the snare becomes.

or: Tim just wanted to scam Gotham's elite, not end up on the Batfamily's watchlist. But it seems they just won't leave him alone..

69k not rated

Bruce Wayne

there but for the grace of god

TheResurrectionist

Summary:

From a tumblr prompt. 

AKA, "A Justice League fic where everyone argues about who's the most beautiful and intimidating sexy from the Big Three and everyone has valid points."

3.7k crack not rated 

Aliens Made Us Do It

FabulaRasa

Summary:

Bruce and Hal run into a little bit of cultural difficulty on an off-world mission. This was really, really not supposed to be Bruce Wayne's wedding day. Consider this story the traditional fannish "oh no we have to get married!" with a BatLanterny twist at the end

25k explicit hal/bruce

Acid Rain and Black Umbrellas

heartofhush

Summary:

Clark Kent hates Gotham. The people are weird, it's always raining, and nobody will give him a straight answer about anything.

He's certain that these people know who the Batman is, but nobody is talking. He just needs to find one of them willing to spill the secret. Any one of them. Seriously, there MUST be at least one.

His teenage son-clone-whatever is losing his powers, and Clark is torn between finding a cure, flirting with Bruce Wayne, and trying to figure out who the hell the Batman is under that cowl. 

Maybe this Tim Drake kid knows something useful.

39k bruce/clark timkon

Friends - Definitions May Vary

Slades_Snowflakes

Summary:

Bruce Wayne and Lex Luther are not friends.

However, Bruce Wayne's persona Brucie is about to re-define what friends means. And due to a series of weird and random moments, Bruce is about to learn that Lex Luthor could be a friend. Whatever that means.

154k Bruce/Lex