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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

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go the distance

(will you) go the distance

— You’re perfectly content in life except for the fact that you are not dating Deku. When his best friend won’t help you out, you turn to the dark side to get what you want.

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pairing: pro hero!midoriya izuku x bad villain!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, manga spoilers, pro hero!au, villain!reader, ofa usage for sex lol, size difference, manhandling, public sex, slight degradation and praise, deku eats his cum outta ya pussy, big dick deku, corruption but make it opposite, deku is a pervert change my mind

word count: 12,715

a/n: well, yall already knew I wanted to make this fic a reality, so here it is for bnharems villain collab!! check out all the already amazing stories if you haven’t already. thank you to kara, sky, and jo for reading this for me because lmao im ass rn. I’m gonna go to bed because I partied a bit too hard last night.

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your quirk: distortion – can make afflicted persons vision shift 6 cm to the left or right at the cost of having their own vision shift the same way

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“Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcasted rumors of a villain running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures, and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning.

“Road maintenance endeavors to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

“Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

“Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved, but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city, please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary. One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.”

The female reporter closes her eyes, despite still being on the air, her eyebrows furrowed as she exasperatedly sighs.

“Was that good enough, Mirage?”

You look at her with a pout, your eyes then clenching shut as your lips move with unsaid words as you motion for the cameras to stop rolling. You tilt your head right and left, muttering a bit.

“Did that seem better to you this time? I don’t know, I don’t think it was scary enough...”

You open your eyes to see the exasperated reporter looking at you as if she personally sought to end you right where you were sitting.

“You are the worst villain I’ve ever encountered,” she deadpans, and you laugh in agreement.

You weren’t really a villain.

If you must put a label on what you were, you would say that you were the best PR head any hero agency could ask for. You were, after all, the top student graduate from UA’s Business Course and had been ushered into a condensed agency the moment you were finished taking your graduation pictures.

And well, if you are actually curious about the… villainy, you would like to uphold and continue to stress that you weren’t a villain! You were just a public nuisance – like those stupid YouTubers – with the ability to garner Pro Heroes’ attention! People had no reason to scoff at what you did on the daily.

You took both of these jobs very seriously!

It was like being straight out of a comic for you!

A simple – hopefully should the heroes you’re in charge of not be stupid – nine to five job by day, and a badass, crime-committing, sexy as shit villain by night! How could anyone ever hate you for your lifestyle! How could anyone ever hate you?!

But we are all noisy people, and everyone wondered just why you became a villain because you had a beautifully stable job with an impressive salary! Why would such an amazing woman such as yourself dabble in the evilness of humanity?

Well, you did have an answer for the public.

“Why do you engage in evil, villainous schemes?” the reporter deadpans, absolutely and utterly not being paid enough to humor you in this forced interview.

The public loved drama, pizazz, a little showmanship even from what they deemed humanities worst! So, you told the world why you chose to be evil instead of good:

“Because I want to be!” you grin, flashing a pose as you make your away from the interviewer you had very much illegally forced to interview you. “And because a hero killed my cat!’

Of course, that was a lie! Why would you ever hand over the real reason as to why you decided to become a villain! You’d be laughed right out of Japan, possibly be murdered by a horde of fangirls!

For you see, there was one reason and one reason alone as to why you decided to take your place within the villainy hall of fame. Why you chose to do more in your day outside of your already demanding job.

And that one reason was: Pro Hero Deku, civilian name Midoriya Izuku.

Now, trying not to come off as some creepy, weirdo, stalker fangirl, you could fully admit that you were in love with the stupidly large hunk of a man that debuted as an official pro a year before you graduated from high school.

You remember how the world was finally recovering from the year-long nightmare that had ensued. To be honest, you were stupidly surprised you had even managed to graduate, given that most of schooling had become somewhat of a joke.

FIVE YEARS AGO, MARCH, 2XXX:

It had been in the evening, the clear blue sky becoming ruby red and blood orange as you made your way out of campus. The air somehow smelled of sweet hay and gasoline, but you didn’t mind. There was hardly anyone out at this time, most students had made their way home already, and the only sounds were the moving cars of businessmen just trying to get back home.

There really wasn’t any reason to suspect anything to go wrong, this was a simple daily walk back home after school that wasn’t like any other. But then there had been a loud pop, an ever louder screech, and finally, you managed to whip your head in time to see a car tumbling through the air straight at you.

There was hardly any time to think, even less to react, and the only thing you knew was that you were not going to survive.

You braced yourself, eyes clenching and body curling, your mind screaming because this was not going to be the way things ended. But before it could happen, before the car could come down upon you and squish you like a bug under a shoe, something picked you up and you were weightless.

Waiting for an impact that never came, the tears that were endlessly streaming down your face were suddenly stopped by rough, warm fingers smoothly wiping them away.

“Hey, it’s okay! You’re safe now!” a voice says softly to you, endearingly warm and comforting. “I’m here, don’t worry.”

“Am I… did I die?” you whisper, unsure if you even want the answer, your eyes remaining closed because you refused to open them up to some angel that could confirm your death. “God, what an embarrassing way to die!”

“Oh – um, no! You’re not dead! I promise!” the voice laughs brightly, just softly enough that you believe him and not be entirely horrified by the amused reaction. Your eyes crack open slowly, just barely peering back into the world, still half praying you weren’t dead. But all you saw was green.

Green eyes, green hair, green clothes.

You blink, once, twice, realizing only then you were staring into the eyes of a boy about your age.

He had curly hair, freckles littering his face, and eyes that easily pierced through your very soul.

Without meaning to, your breath stopped, frozen in your lungs as you were captivated by a handsome man with a curving, beautiful smile.

“See, I told you it was okay!” he teased you, head cocking to the side as he grinned largely.

The action itself seemed to strangle the strangest noise out of your mouth as you realized suddenly and immediately that your face was burning and all you could think was:

A cute hero rescued me, a cute hero rescued me, a cute hero rescued me, acuteherorescuedme!

“Sorry about that scare! I would’ve caught that car sooner, but I wasn’t paying attention to who was around!” the green boy apologized, bowing deeply in front of you in his apology. “There’s a commotion just up ahead, so I recommend you take the next road over.”

You nod numbly, unable to conjure even the slightest hint of your voice again as he stood up to his full length. He was average in height it seemed, taller than you, but still not towering. The hero looked behind his shoulder, those big green eyes focusing onto the distance, onto something you couldn’t even begin to imagine – or see, really. He blinked and turned back to you, smile gone but the gentle aura to him remained, but now his face, his mouth, was underlined with a sense of urgency and engagement to whatever sent a vehicle tumbling your way.

“Which train do you take home?” he asked, eyebrows relaxing from his stern position, as his smile picked up again. “I’ll take you closer to your station!”

“B train,” you manage to wheeze out – unable to be the reason why he was held up but also confused as to just what he could do to get you closer to the station that was at least a mile away from here.

“Perfect! I know where that is!” he laughs for just a moment, and before you could even ask if this was going to be some escorted thing – because you definitely did not need it – his arms were fastly secured around you, and suddenly you were weightless.

A cold wind rushed against your face, nipping at your nose, cheeks, and ears, sending your hair flying around – into your mouth! Oh, you were screaming! You were soaring through the skyline, being held by some hero you couldn’t name, and you were screeching at the top of your lungs.

Making the mistake of looking down, your arms were suddenly around his shoulders, your voice growing even sharper and louder as you squeezed against his body and refused to let go. His hands, despite the gloves, were warm on your back, and his soft chuckle warming you from nose to toes as he secured his grip on you.

“I got you,” he spoke, “I won’t let you go, I promise.”

Those words don’t exactly ease you, but there’s a comfort to the genuinity to his words. You nod nonetheless, your face buried deep into his neck. The cold wind continues to whip around you, the only thing sounding in your ears is the cruel whipping wind and quiet city below.

“I’m landing now,” he informed you, body shifting in the wind, and reflexively, you clung even tighter to him, expecting the similar stomach dropping motion of a roller coaster going straight down. “You’re – ack – c-choking me!”

The knowledge of that, hearing the strain and entirely unhidden sound of him choking against the current chokehold you had on him, you released him entirely with a shriek of your own. Was it a smart move? No, definitely not because you were how many hundreds – if not thousands – of feet in the air with a quirk that could not, and would not save you.

“It’s okay! I’m fine!” he quickly said, his arms shifting around your waist as you felt your body weight drop just the smallest bit. To which your focus landed to the concrete floor so far down, and you began screaming again. He panicked just a bit too. “Y-You’re okay too! We’re landing! We’re landing!”

Soon, but not soon enough, the concrete floor came underneath your feet, and you practically felt your knees buckle underneath you. The train station behind you was practically invisible, and you felt the floor come in contact with your knees, and you collapsed onto your hands and knees. You could feel the tears streaming down your face as you wheezed and panted, unable to move from your position.

“Hey, look, we made it!” he laughed gently, probably being said in hopes that you would feel better. (It did make you feel slightly better, his laugh was light and pretty to listen to.) You could feel him approaching you, iron covered red shoes appearing before your vision. Looking up, you saw that the young hero was crouching, his face holding a wobbly smile that was earnest, worried, and full of unspoken hope. “I do need to get back, but before I do, are you good enough to be left alone?”

You blinked your soaked eyelashes at him, still largely unable to say anything at the cute hero in front of you who had a few scratches on his cheek, right below his freckles.

“Y-Yeah, um,” you say, your tongue cotten and lead in your dry mouth. “I-I’ll be fine, I think.”

The green eyed hero nods, offering you a hand and assisting you to your trembling legs, “That’s good to hear!” he chirped, his wobbly smile becoming a grand, bright grin. “You were really brave! I was impressed!”

Now, you were an idiot at times, but even you could spot a stupid lie. Still, hearing it said with such honesty, as if this hero who was no taller than five foot eight truly believed it, made something bubble in your chest, and soon you found yourself laughing.

“No need to lie to me, h-hero,” you manage to speak between stammering breaths, “thank you for saving me, though. I appreciate it.”

You grin crookedly at him, and to your utter delight, he reciprocates it.

“It’s the least I can do. I’d offer to take you home but… I’m not quite finished yet,” he says, and you can only nod, the conversation obviously reaching its last strides. You watch as he floats up, his eyes looking at you, but somehow focused how many miles away from where he had brought you from. “Stay safe?”

“I’ll try my best,” you agree to his question, hands clasping before your lap. “Finish the job quick, hero?”

He grins, “I’ll try my best.”

You feel a breathless sort of laugh escape you as you watch him beginning to shoot back up, but a sort of horror shoots through you as you rush forward, running right after him, hands cupping around your mouth as you scream:

“What’s your name?!”

The blur of green in the air freezes, and you stop running as you see green eyes and freckles focusing back onto you.

“Deku! My hero name is Deku!”

You stop at the curb of the street, eyes focused on the sky as the green eyed hero named Deku grins one last time before shooting off at a speed probably much faster than when he held onto you. The wind blows around you, and you can only feel the heat sitting on your cheeks and the way you’re smiling as you stare after his figure that's long, long gone.

“Deku...” you whisper to yourself, ignorant to the world of commuters beginning to appear at the station. “Thank you.”

And thus came the very apparent and obvious day in which you fell head over heels for Pro Hero Deku.

Now some people called you a stupid fangirl, obsessive stalker, and sometimes, yeah, you were obsessive and weird about your slight infatuation with a stranger. It was strange, you knew that! But you also knew that you had practically no chances of ever being able to woe the man behind the image of Deku because Midoriya Izuku practically existed as Deku 24/7.

After you graduated from high school, you were put into the same agency that was currently holding Deku. Without tooting your own rom-com obsessed horn too much, you fully expected to walk in and be handed Deku’s file as his PR manager and be able to thank him for not only saving you all that time ago, but also eventually sweep him off his feet.

But your reputation preceded you well, probably too well, because the first day you entered the office and was handed your list of three clients to work with, neither one was for Deku. Being a PR manager for heroes was hard, a job that practically held no set hours because, unlike your typical celebrities, heroes had no type of privacy or protection. They were constantly under the spotlight, being viewed by adoring fans and scornful critics. Your job served as the first line of defense for heroes against the public, and there were some heroes that were quite hilariously easy to work for because they were genuinely good.

The older PR managers typically held the quieter, easy tempered, or less combat heavy heroes. These heroes typically never had a bad thing said about them, their job was a glorified PA job but even less because there was no expected demands from the heroes they had to take in. Unless, of course, a hero wanted to do some sort of public event they hadn’t considered.

But there were the louder, quick to temper, or the heavy combat heroes that while made you an insane amount of money, also brought you a near 120 hour work week because there was so much to do, so much to consider, so much to keep your eyes on. There was the constant slander, the people who hated the louder, quick to temper heroes because they didn’t like their attitude, completely disregarding that they had been unsafe and a liability the entire time the hero was dealing with them. The talk shows that took months to convince to allow for an interview because they heard false rumors, and so you have to practically wrestle a boa constrictor to get a measly five minute interview done. And then the combat-heavy heroes… no one would ever shut up about building damages and how this hero broke his nose while he was stealing a store!

Not to mention having to have every single piece of social media on your phone, set to notify you whenever your clients names were brought up so that you could look at it. You’ve seen more than enough lewd drawings of your clients to last you a lifetime, enough fanfiction, and fan edits that left you with blazing cheeks and the need to never look at your client ever again. But mostly you checked each and every update because you were their first and only line of legal defense on these sorts of things.

You’ve taken down leaked nudes, fake news, and qualmed rumors and speculations.

It was hard.

So when you were shown to your desk on your first day and three files were handed to you, you were shocked to see the hero names you would be working with.

Dynamight

Phantom Thief

Shouto

Somehow, without having yet to speak with a single one of your now current clients, you knew that you were going to have your work cut out for you.

“Good luck newbie!” the woman who gave you the initial tour chirped, clapping you on the back. “You got this!”

Good lord.

Without much to do other than reading through the three’s files, you realized that you already knew a bunch about two of three of your clients. DynaMight and Shouto were two heroes that you knew teamed up with and hung out with Deku a lot, both on-field and off-field if any of the out of costume pictures said anything. Because of their connection with Deku, you had at one point learned a bit about them.

You knew that Shouto was a crowd favorite. He was tall and sweet and a complete airhead at the best moments despite him being smart. Controversy still surrounded his character, despite all the good he did, because of the past history that was brought out about his father Endeavor and his brother Dabi. The country couldn’t figure out where they stood in terms of that reveal. Endeavor did a lot before the reveal, and continued to rise up to everything in his path despite the skeletons in his closet being thrown out for the world to see. They neither forgave him, nor hated him, they only watched and waited. Then Dabi, of course, was seen as a could-have-been version of Shouto, and many tried to ask if he was really a hero and not actually siding with the League. After all, why on Earth would he be defensive of his father too?

The public had an unmoving image of Shouto based on anything but who he was as an individual, and you decided immediately that it would be your job to fix that. He was also, after all, a dear friend of Deku, so you’d do anything.

Phantom Thief was your easiest of the three clients. A relatively well mannered man who was kind and a bit weird in a fun way. He had a great sense of self and was a reliable person on the field. He made a great hero, but you could see the way his spirit blazed with an unspoken rivalry between him and the other two of your clients. Well, it seemed like he was the best until his former self appointed rivals came into the picture, but that was hardly ever, and according to Shouto, he was way worse back in their first year.

The greatest scandal he’s had so far in your three years of working at their agency was the one time he was lied to about a quirk and accidentally copied a woman's quirk that gave her the ability to change her cup size. Safe to say that Phantom Thief accidentally broke a few buttons on his shirt and was unable to stop civilians from snapping pictures.

But of course, the one that had you practically crying yourself to sleep nightly for more than one reason was Dynamight.

You’d known about him the moment you looked up Deku on your phone.

They were practically a hero duo in everything but name. They were always seen doing the same things together, whether that be on patrol together or maybe getting dinner, most of their top recorded fights were done with each other by their sides. You had also learned that they were childhood friends, and you practically vibrated at the thought that even though Deku was not your client, the chances of meeting him were still astronomically high.

There was no way you wouldn’t not meet Deku!

But you were wrong, so very, very wrong.

Turns out the hero duo in everything but name meant that Dynamight refused to let Deku be anywhere near him in the agency – the very small amount of time they spent in here. The few times they were in the same room, Dynamight absolutely refused to be interrupted because that was their paperwork hour. You had only ever been blessed with seeing green curls turning the corner as Dynamight gripped your forearm, refusing to let you follow.

“Like hell I’ll let you distract the shitnerd,” he stated simply, his red eyes narrowed as he stared down his nose at you. You opened your mouth, ready to defend your not so innocent intentions. “I’m not stupid, so don’t pretend like you won’t try anything.”

Your jaw snapped shut.

Safe to say that you couldn’t do anything about Deku so long as Dynamight was around.

But Dynamight as a client was exhausting to put it kindly.

There were so many opinions and thoughts and issues and praises coming from everywhere. Hell, even the fucking Americans and westerners had caught wind of the Wonder Duo at one point and while you were well knowledgable on their opinions on Deku, the ones on Dynamight were the ones that you had to focus on now.

People still called him a villain, so many unhappy with the fact that he still screamed and cursed and threatened. There were many conspiracy theories that he was working with the long dead League of Villains. They turned their nose up at the fact that he was childhood friends with Deku, claiming that no way an asshole like him could have ever been friends with him. And of course the bullying revelation that had come out shortly after your debut.

That had been a trip, one that had you even shocked as Dynamight approached the table in front of the media, his body calm and composed. You had watched as he simply said he owed nothing to the media, that he had already done all that he could to deserve his atonement and deserve Deku’s forgiveness. He had spoken clearly, concisely that it wasn’t any of their damn business as to what he did, and if he apologized to them, the unaffected, the ones that had nothing to do with his early years of bullying Deku, of his previous weakness and insecurity, it would be a waste of his breath.

It isn’t to them he should ever be apologizing to anyways.

You had watched as he stood up, face calm, and hands shoved into his pockets as he stood and walked away despite the screaming reporters. You had wanted to stay longer, have your own hand in damage control, but a swoop of green came in and Deku was at the microphone eyebrows furrowed as he pointed a finger at them all and said that his past with Kacchan was between him and Kacchan only, and his decision to forgive Kacchan were his and only his.

You didn’t hear the rest, didn’t even get the option to hear the way the hero you loved defended the hero you worked for – his childhood friend.

No.

Dynamight had grabbed your elbow and dragged you out of the room with him, the metal doors clanging closed the moment fierce green eyes met yours.

You watched in the company car as Dynamight looked outside the window, one elbow on the doorframe holding his chin; his gaze focused sharply on nothing but the passing sidewalk. Had it not been for the way the hand on top of his lap trembled, you would have thought he was perfectly okay.

Neither one of you talked about that again.

But just because you didn’t talk about it again, didn’t mean the world was the same. People claimed he brainwashed Deku, others demanded that Deku beat the shit out of Dynamight. You knew that Dynamight would want nothing to do with this, but you would stay in the office (an almost useless, empty office as most PR managers did their business at home) for hours long after you were supposed to be gone, practically arguing with someone who only existed behind a screen and didn’t even care that much – but you couldn’t stop.

Seeing Dynamight’s shaking hand had really done a number on you.

“The hell are you still doing here, eyelashes,” Dynamite asked from the dark entrance of the floor. “Go home already, don’t waste your time.”

You had startled at the initial intrusion, but you immediately relaxed seeing the smudged paint around red eyes and blond hair. You barely kept your gaze on him before turning back to your computer and continuing your argument.

“I’m not wasting my time, I’m doing my job,” you remark, eyes squinting at your keyboard because your vision is definitely blurry. “I’ll be heading out soon anyways.”

“God you’re fucking annoying and stubborn!” Dynamight barked, the heel of his hand slamming into his forehead. “This is exactly why I won’t introduce you to the fucking nerd!”

“What?!” you shriek, suddenly looking at your client as if he had personally attacked you – and in a way he did. “What do you mean you won’t introduce me to Deku because of that?! I’ve already met Red Riot, Chargebolt, Cellophane, and Pinky through you!”

“Yeah, because they’re not stubborn idiots too!” Dynamight accuses, jamming a gloved finger at you as he begins stomping your way. You startle, your chair shooting backward as the explosion hero makes his way towards you at alarming speed.

“What are you—?!” you shriek, hands flailing about as he grabs you by the collar of your distressed shirt.

Dynamight lifts you up to your feet as if you were a sack of flour and you grasp onto his forearm.

“I might tell you that you’re the most annoying and stubborn bitch in the world, but you’re not worse than fucking Deku,” Dynamight sneers, his red eyes narrowed and stern. “I’m not going to let you meet him until you learn how to give or you’ll hurt him, and I’m not going to be part of any reason as to why he gets hurt again.”

Your jaw dropped, clearly offended, but you closed it just as fast; the weight of his words made you a bit sad, even for just a bit.

“You’re kinda cute when you care for Deku, you sure I’m his biggest fan?” you tease, grinning at the hero to which he rolls his eyes.

“Shut the hell up and go home already; it’s annoying seeing you fight a losing battle that’s none of your damn business,” Dynamight simply said, putting you back onto your feet and blocking out your desk.

“I’ll go home on the condition that for my birthday you at least consider introducing us!” you say, unwilling to move from your spot. “I’ve been working for you for three years! You’ve kept me away for three years!”

Dynamight’s stare didn’t even shift the slightest millimeter, his red eyes unamused as you groaned in grief and annoyance.

“I’m stubborn? Have you met yourself?!” you grumble snatching your jacket and purse from the hook on your cubicle and shoving them on. “My names God of Explosion Murder: Dynamight and I am Stubborn™ but will never admit it.”

You continued mocking your long time client and most definitely friend if you dared to say so, and dragged the heel of your foot all the way to the elevator to which you were joined by Dynamight. The trip down the elevator is silent, and you keep your gaze locked on the closed doors, unwilling to even look at the hero next to you.

Soon enough, the elevator reached the ground floor, and you got ready to walk out.

“I’ll consider it,” Dynamight said as the elevator doors opened. “Also, fucking stop calling me Dynamight, Bakugou’s fine.”

He walked off the elevator with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants.

“Thank you, Bakugou!” you shriek, your lungs failing you at the thought of finally being introduced to Deku! You hadn’t moved from your spot from the elevator, your chest hammering with the thought of getting to meet Deku.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you’re still irritatingly stubborn,” Bakugou merely calls over his shoulder before lifting his hand in a halfhearted wave before stepping out of the glass door.

That brought you back to reality just a bit and you scowled, knowing you would have to go beyond and above to prove that.

But you see, there were many reasons to cry about having Bakugou as your client. Besides the stinkhole of his previous bullying, people just were not understanding his typically prickly exterior. You had to go head to head with reputation tarnished, had to slap fangirls away who demanded that Bakugou degrade them where they stood. It was hard to not be stubborn as not only his PR manager but his friend, and in less than a month, still plenty of time before your birthday, you had already grown irritated of the meeting-Deku-card he waved over your head.

“Mei, if I have to go any longer than this, I will die and hope I am reborn as Deku’s new guardian angel,” you pouted, chin pressed against a cold metal tabletop. Your hands being used as glove models for one of your best friends Hatsume Mei. “It’s first of all impossible getting anywhere near him with his guard dog Bakugou literally stopping me whenever I’m within a ten foot radius! And then I’m not even sure what will happen when we do meet again! Would I even be able to talk to him?!”

“Why wouldn’t you? You talk to all my babies with me! There’s practically nothing you can’t do,” Mei laughs, smacking you against your back before returning her intense gaze back to the gloves. “Deku’s uh… I actually can’t remember him but I’m sure he’s a great conversationalist! I think he helped me with the Sports Festival my first year.”

“That was Iida,” you laugh, wiggling your fingers as Mei demanded. “You’re so bad with names and faces, I’m impressed you know mine.”

“You saved my baby, of course I remember you,” Mei turned her grin towards you, “but come on, why can’t you get with him besides this Bakugou guy?”

“Well, he’s just like Bakugou! He’s practically married to his job! Their schedules basically match together perfectly! There’s literally only three hours a day while they’re on the job that they’re not together! And that’s when they patrol their own parts of town because there’s hardly any activity they don’t need to be attached by the neck.” You explain and rant, your cheeks puffing as you stand up and allow Mei to run further tests on the glove.

“Sounds like you gotta become a villain to woo this hero guy, huh,” Mei spoke, eyes focused on the glove as you pointed a finger at the far wall and watched as a beam exploded from the fingertip and pierced through the steel wall like butter. “Too bad you’re a goody two-shoes or else I could make you some serious villain gear and make you a fearsome villain to then prove that Hatusme Mei’s babies and creations are untouchable and the best in the world! Muah-ha-ha-ha!”

You know her words are more joking than serious, but that doesn’t stop your eyes from widening. Your body shifts over to where she was standing and you screech pointing at her and just narrowly missing setting off the laser again.

“THAT'S IT!”

“What’s it?” she asked, completely confused.

“You have to make me a villain!” you exclaim, rushing over to Mei, who is eagerly waiting for her babies returnal especially since it ran perfectly. “You have to make me near-invisible gear that can keep me going toe to toe with Deku until I can seduce him!”

“You want to turn evil?” Mei questions, finger pressing quizzically to her chin. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“I am definitely not villainous to pull that off, but like I pretend to be a villain so that he talks to me and we can like get to know each other!” you exclaim, you’re unable to keep from hopping up and down on your feet, your grin unfathomably bright. “It's practically a romcom in the making!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Mei laughs, altering the band of fabric around your waist. “You do know heroes and villains hardly speak? It’s more like… ‘I’m more powerful,’ ‘No me!,’ ‘No, ME!’”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but whatever! I’ll figure out a way!” you continue on unaffected because this plan was genius! Especially if you had Mei in your corner?! Her recent development of not using such… steampunk designs made her creations elusive and dangerous to own. Hence why she was an extremely sought out manufacturer, by villains and heroes alike. “And if I can go toe to toe with Deku of all people, you’ll know that you and your babies are the undeniable best!”

“Hm, that is promising,” Mei agrees with a nod as she forces you around. “Is this Deku guy all that good?”

“He’s the one you made the iron soles for!” you chirp and watch as the recognition and challenge spark immediately in Mei’s yellow eyes.

“Oh,” Mei chuckles, turning away from you and looking at her pile of made babies. “This would be good.”

“So we have an agreement?” you grin excitedly.

“Give me a month, and we’ll have your debut!”

Fuck Bakugou for thinking you weren’t good enough!

You hadn’t expected the initial phases of villainy to be quite as hard as it was, if you were being honest. The late nights at Mei’s personal lab made sure to keep your plans a solid secret, but you had to prepare for the wild range of what Deku’s quirk entailed.

There was smoke, something you were already used to working in because of Bakugou and his quirk. You’ve navigated quite a bit in his smog, and as long as you knew where you were, you would be fine.

There was also that danger sense, which allowed him to know when things were coming – something that shouldn’t be too big an issue considering you weren’t actually attempting to extract danger onto him.

Blackwhip was a big issue. How far or how much could you do if he even grabbed a hold of you. With sleuthing and the help of Mei having files on everyone's quirks, you were able to find information that blackwhip was a creation made of energy. Meaning that Mei was now making some type of destructing material to lessen the energy of the quirk, allowing for you to escape should he attempt to capture you this way.

Float was stopped by having most of your fights occur within a confined area, which was needed for you anyways! You didn’t need to be caught by anyone else but him! You didn’t actually need to land in jail – you would prefer to not be handled by anyone but Deku, actually.

Then of course the stupid superstrength and superspeed, both of which you knew you could handle with your quirk. You’ve been head to head with people with quirks similar to that before, and you knew your quirk was tricky enough that you’d manage to slip right past his fingers just fine. After all, you knew full and well that the Deku who took down S class villains was worlds quicker than F class villains – aka you.

You would be fine.

But today was day one, first of how many days it would take to get Pro Hero Deku, aka Midoriya Izuku to fall in love with you.

You were dressed in a black and purple bodysuit that was definitely not inspired by Shego from Kim Possible’s costume. Your hair was dyed purple by a special spray Mei created that would be washed out by the end of the day, but wouldn’t ever give away that it was fake. You wore a mask over your eyes, and grinned seeing that you couldn’t see a fleck of color on your irises.

Perfect.

And with far too much confidence, nauseating excitement, and unjustified attitude, you marched down towards your first spot, ready and adopting the identity of who you were about to become.

Mirage.

It was time to act. Deku and Dynamight were on different patrol routes right now, and you sent your threat, readying for the moment for the man in green to come in with the desire to stop you. With the very real threat of stealing every puppy within the tristate area being broadcasted within the area unless and hero bests you, you waited for your savior to come and stop you.

“I am here to stop your villainous acts, you villain!” a voice shattered the silence just as it shattered your heart. You looked over your shoulder to see some hero you couldn’t name standing at the other stairwell entrance with his fists clenched and ready to fight.

You groaned, shoulders crumbling with your well hidden disappointment.

“I wasn’t looking for you!” you exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the flabbergasted hero who was just trying to figure out what was happening. “Where’s Deku?!”

“He’s – he’s not here yet,” he stammers, eyes wide. “It’s not his day anymore to patrol this area?”

“Aw fuck!” you complain, pouting at the realization that you had messed up. “Okay, I’ll be back later, please don’t come back. Bye!”

With a small wave, you easily stepped through the door to the stairwell next to you and left, your threat empty and the hero victorious despite not actually stopping you. And unfortunately, although you had wished and prayed even, this was not the last time a screw up like this would happen.

At the threat of destroying all the cats in the area, you had another hero show up, not Deku, and you groaned and left before they could even finish their call of stopping you.

You then threatened to poison the watering system, to which you found out that Deku was held up at another major villain threat in a different city. You groaned and stomped off after that.

Then there was the time you swore you would increase the overall temperature of the city per one degree celsius should your demands not be made. Shouto answered that one and you immediately walked away the moment you saw the familiar head of red and white coming your way.

Time and time again you kept being caught by heroes you could not care about, being confronted by no names and nobodies. It was tiring, and Mei was beginning to sigh just the smallest bit whenever you showed up to try yet again.

But you weren’t a quitter!

You would win!

This was your last attempt at getting Deku to notice you.

After threatening to wrap all the citizens in the area with a giant froot by the foot, you were almost sad to say that the heroes ignored your cry for chaos and no one had come to check on you.

You sat outside the building you used as your trap for Deku, pouting into a hot dog that the neighborhood's grandma gave you because you looked like you needed something to eat. It’s a good thing you weren’t actually a villain or else they’d be fucked, you bitterly thought as you took another bite of your food.

It had been a month of empty, no Deku appearances, and you were going to bite the bullet and pretend to be not stubborn just so stupid Bakugou of all people could introduce you.

You kicked your feet as you sat on the staircase, humming as you watched the empty streets bend with the wind. It was quiet, beautiful, peaceful.

“YOU!” a voice shrieked to your left, and you watched a pudgy, red nosed man racing over towards you, a flash drive clenched in his hands. “TAKE THIS! RUN! DON’T LET THE HEROES TAKE IT!”

You gawked at him, feeling the small plastic device being shoved into your hands as the man collapsed at your feet. You squeaked when you heard a voice yelling stop and you bounced to your feet, turned into the building and raced in.

Your breathing was erratic, heart in your throat as you raced up the stairwell, unable to begin to imagine what the hell the information on the flash drive held. You were practically hyperventilating as you reached the floor you had come to know extremely well, and you stood near the window with shaky hands and legs.

What did you take?!

“I’m going to need that back, I’m afraid,” a low smooth voice said from behind you, and you froze immediately. Old anxiety overcome by a new anxiety, one that made your stomach flip and blood burn.

Turning around, you felt awestruck to see the one man you’ve been waiting for… for fucking years now, really, to appear before you, finally be there. In the flesh, completely, entirely. Your jaw dropped, your gaze looking down from your clenched hand that held the USB to the way that Deku looked at you with warm eyes that were underlined with steel that made you want to drop to your knees, confess everything, and beg to be his. God, he was so fucking tall. He had only been about five foot eight the last time you had actually talked, and now he was at least a foot taller. His teenager haircut was long gone, now replaced with his curls trimmed at the nape of his neck before filling out on top – not quite an undercut. He had more freckles now, surely. His skin just a bit tanner, a scar trailing from his cheek to his jaw. You knew there were more scars, just as you knew that there were dimples when he smiled.

You wanted to have him between your legs while you begged for mercy, holy shit.

Tucking the USB into your pocket, you tilted your head as you will yourself to relax.

“I went through all the trouble of getting it... I think if I’m going to hand it over quickly, I deserve to know what’s on it, no?” you tease, your confidence coming out of nowhere while a smile spreads ever so largely over your features. Deku’s eyes widened just a bit, shock overcoming his green eyes.

“I’m sorry, but that’s confidential,” Deku stresses, taking a step forward toward you. You click your tongue, taking a step backward while grinning.

“I don’t think that’s what I asked for,” you giggle as you watch Deku’s face go through an array of emotions before settling onto one – curiosity.

“What do you want?” he asked, apparently entirely ready to discuss any and all terms and conditions with you.

“Honestly?” you reply, tapping a gloved finger to your chin as you ‘think.’ Deku, however, nods. His stance relaxing, becoming one of preparedness but not the takedown he had previously entered with.

“A date with you.”

You watch as Deku’s eyes slam wide open, his jaw dropping immediately and he stammered. Oh, how your heart soared and how you felt giddy and wonderful as he seemed to slip and slide on his own tongue!

“A-A date?!” he ends up almost shrieking, his head shaking left and right. “T-That’s a total lie! You can’t possibly – well, no! Please tell me the truth!”

But you were giddy, practically drunk off the fact that you were making the most powerful hero in the world blush like a little schoolboy. You suddenly were on the offensive, stepping towards your hero who was much larger than you with power and drive behind each step. And it must have been the way you stared him down, the way you walked towards him at blank range with such brimming confidence that Deku takes a step back. But it’s something that makes you want to laugh as the heel of his foot gets caught on a raised tile, and you watch the mountain of a man tumble to the floor.

You’re on top of him immediately, hands pressed to his shoulders, knee settling near his crotch with most of your weight so he got the idea to not do anything funny. The USB sits between your fingers, and you lean over his flushed face that looks up at you with wide eyes.

“Actually, I changed my mind, I know what I want,” you say instead, nose ghosting over his. “Everytime I decide to do something… naughty… I want you to be the hero on the case to stop me. You and just you.”

You lean in closer, so close that you could see the specks of gold in his green, green eyes.

Deku hasn’t spoken, and you’re pretty sure his chest isn’t moving as you press your breasts against his.

“Understood, De-ku?”

Your teeth tug at his bottom lip and let go as he nods.

“Good, good,” you grin, sitting up on his chest and taking the USB in your fingers and slipping it into his utility belt. “Take good care of that for me, I’ll see you next time, hero…”

You had only managed to flash a quick wave before disappearing through your usual door, hoping and praying to god that whatever the hell possessed you would continue until you reached Mei’s. It wouldn’t hit you until much, much later than you had stunned Pro Hero Deku speechless within the first meeting.

Hell, you thought giddily as you answered Bakugou’s call about how he probably just got into a bit of a messy situation, maybe you do have the potential to woo him like this.

Thus truly began your descent as the villain Mirage.

It was quickly accepted and discovered that the moment you stepped into that costume and colored hair that you were the prey for Deku and Deku only. Most of your interactions with Deku occurred within buildings, and you used Mei’s gear to gain the final laugh each and every time to allow for you to escape. There were times, however, where you could be seen racing through the sky. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop as Deku followed after you, leaping, tumbling, and even catching you at times.

You flirted with him heavily, allowing yourself to be caught so that you could bat your pretty lashes and press your chest against his. It didn’t matter how professional he was, how good at his job he was, Deku was a pervert – so obviously a pervert it made slipping away almost too easy.

But because you had the world-renowned, world known Pro Hero Deku as the only hero on your case, soon the small block who had to play victims to your horrendous crimes became only a small percentage of people who were watching your crimes. These near daily crimes (or inconveniences/botherings as the people on the internet say to defend you and your actions) are becoming both a worldwide sensation, and so, it took nothing for you to continue having Deku at your feet and the world chipped in. So you agreed to do interviews, forcing uneager reporters to do segments on you so that the hype behind you and Deku’s relationship grew.

You didn’t want him to leave you, not until you got what you wanted, and unless you were an idiot, you were nearly positive you were almost there.

Why would you say that?

Well, a few reasons.

The first came about a week after you had first met Deku again.

You had joyously gathered the means to create a machine to shave down an eighth of an inch of everyone's shoes in the entire country of Japan without their knowledge. You had ever so evilly explained that the point of this was to ensure that for a full day, everyone would feel off and unbalanced but would not know why.

You had said this, grinning widely as you turned around to see Deku standing there attempting to fight off a very amused smile.

“I don’t think that would be all too evil, Mirage,” he called out to you, arms folding across his chest as he watched you set up the machine to do exactly what you said you would do.

“Mm, that’s what you say now, but just wait until you’re one of the losers stumbling around,” you say back, grinning as you turn around for just a second, wagging the knife at Deku from the distance.

“Well, regardless, you know I can’t let you do that,” Deku laughs just slightly, and you grin, standing up.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, so I’m going to have to ask you to stop right there.”

You giggle.

“Make me.”

You’re not sure what happens, but there’s dodging and weaving, spinning and sliding. You’re practically wheezing from how hard you’re laughing as Deku can not manage to land a finger on you with the help of Mei’s items and your quirk. It all comes to an end when instead of dodging, you throw yourself right at him, and Deku has not anticipated that.

His eyes are wide open and you fiercely grin as he falls back onto the floor, unbalanced and only slightly frantic. You have the knife pointed at his neck, the dull blade sitting gently on his skin.

“So, Deku,” you taunt teasingly, your teeth burying into your bottom lip for just a moment at the sight of the dark flash in his green, beautiful eyes. “Tell me one thing, or I’ll continue on with my vile plans.”

“O-Okay?”

“Are you single?”

The second attempt came a few many weeks later.

You had gathered about 75 tons of glitter bombs and were in the current process of making them one. You had plans of setting it off over Tokyo so that for practically the rest of eternity, the entire city would have glitter everywhere. The only thing is that you did have to glue the glitter bombs together because, well, no one made super giant ones.

“This is so annoying, there’s glitter everywhere, and I’m only ten glitter bombs in!” you complain to the ‘empty’ room but knowing full and well that Deku had appeared through the broken window at least five minutes ago.

“If it’s annoying to you, then shouldn’t you stop?” Deku replied and you grinned.

He really couldn’t stay quiet, huh?

“Well, if it’s annoying to me, then that means every one of my victims will also find it annoying. Win-win situation.” you say, turning around towards him and winking. Facing back towards the glitter bombs you scowl, “stupid fucking glue gets everywhere, too!”

“Regardless, you know I can’t let you do that,” Deku said as leveled as he could although you swore you heard a laugh in his voice.

“Just try and stop me,” you reply back stone cold.

You stand up and watch as Deku stands up from the windowsill and sighs just a bit too heavily.

“Guess I have to,” he says and shoots out before you’re well prepared.

Typically, and probably in any other situation, this would have been the end. Pro Hero Deku had come at you with the speed and power as he took out any other Class F criminals, but unfortunately for him, and definitely fortunately for you that glue was EVERYWHERE.

Deku’s hand was stuck onto your arm, and your chest was glued to his stomach, and you swear you never quite got the strawberry Deku references until right now.

The perverted hero burned scarlet, his face practically simmering with heat as your body became undeniably stuck to his. You had to fight off the vindictive smirk, the practically snarling grin as you could feel something hot and heavy twitch at your hip.

“Fuck,” Deku wheezed.

“Fuck, yeah,” you grinned.

“WHAT?!”

Deku could not look you in the eyes for about 10 more interactions following that, but you counted that as a win. But undoubtedly, your starred and favorite memory of it all was something that occurred just last week of the current present events.

You had stood on top of a building, threatening the entire government of stealing (i.e., cutting off) the aglet of their shoes and sweaters and then removing all the laces so that it would result in their wasted time and entire humiliation!

“I don’t think most people even know what aglets are, to be honest,” Deku said from behind you. You turned around to see that he was standing there with an unsuppressed grin. “It’s not a good enough threat.”

You go unfazed by his judgement, choosing to instead bat your eyelashes and push your hair behind your ear.

“Not a good enough threat, and yet, you’re still here?” you tease, enjoying the way pink flushes to his cheeks.

“Where else would I be?” he says, and you have to ignore the way your stomach fills with butterflies.

“You’re not cute when you flirt back,” you deadpan, biting your tongue harshly when he says ‘hey!’ “Enough chit chat, let me kick your ass now and then do what I need to do.”

Unlike probably what is 95% of the time, you made the first move today.

You were on the offensive, jabbing and weaving, sweeping and punching. Deku’s green eyes were nearly black as he watched you, analyzing and taking in your movements, countering them all without so much of an issue.

“I still don’t get your quirk,” Deku grunted as his hand swiped at the empty air. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“So then you can turn me in to the government who are still salty about their aglets? I don’t think so!” you say with a laugh, rolling out of the way as Deku lunges forward. “Try again, baby, I have full faith that you’ll get it.”

Deku puffed out a chuckle and lunged again, his huge gloved hand swiping at you, with nearly accuracy despite your quirk being on. But… he wasn’t exactly perfect.

RIIIIIIIIIP!

Cold air hit your breast and your jaw dropped as your very exposed breast appeared before you and Deku. Pro Hero Deku had torn the breast of your costume, the costume that you purposefully did not wear a bra for because you had wanted this exact scenario to play out.

“DEKU!” you screech, pretending to be modest and covering your tit as Deku finally yanked himself out of staring at your breast and whipped around.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I didn’t think that was going to happen! I didn’t even mean to look at your boob! It just sort of all happened too fast and it was very shocking! N-Not that you have an ugly boob or anything because actually I think you have a very great boob! But oh my god, I need to shut up please ignore me!” Deku spoke so fast in a matter of five seconds, and you couldn’t even tell him to come back as he sprinted away.

His ears burned red and you swore even as he was gone, you could still see the red of his ears illuminating the sky.

You laugh.

“What a perv.”

And so, we are back to the beginning.

Back to how you forced a local news channel to read your demands so that you could hopefully take your final bow as Mirage forever.

With the threat of having a machine that would make dogs bark at a frequency for hours on end until humans eardrums broke then bleed. You made your way to your typical building and hummed as you waited.

The world outside was the same as always.

There were a few people out, a few cars driving through the street, and a few birds chirping here and there.

It was peaceful.

“Don’t you think the new reporter thing was a bit dramatic?” Deku chuckled from behind you.

You were used to him approaching like that, used to him trying to portray being elusive and cool. In your opinion, it just made him dorky.

“No such thing as being dramatic when I’m trying to go head to head with the greatest hero ever,” you respond back effortlessly. You spin on your heel and look back at Deku, who is leaning against a doorframe that he most definitely is slouching on so that the top of his head doesn’t hit the frame. “Hi, Deku.”

“Hi, y/l/n,” he says with a soft smile, one that's slightly victorious, one that makes your stomach knot in a pleasant way.

“Ah, you discovered my secret identity,” you observe, grinning as you begin approaching Deku. “Should I be scared?”

“Probably not, I don’t think I could do anything to you,” Deku sighs, pushing off the door frame and walking towards you too. “You’re pretty amazing, y/l/n.”

“Let’s prove that then,” you grin while zipping forward.

As if the both of you knew that this was the end of the line, the final confrontation, the battle this time was different. It was showy, flirty, full of spins and side steps, playing a game of cat and mouse while dodging and weaving. You laughed as blackwhip dissolved around your costume, and you frowned as he began using more of his power to get from point A to point B much quicker.

You’re not quite sure how it happened, what exactly you did wrong, or maybe Deku just finally figured out the pattern you used for your quirk because suddenly you were being tackled from behind. You shrieked as the two of you went down, his body flushed on top of you, his chest pressing to your shoulders.

The both of you were heaving, panting, completely out of breath from the five minutes you took playing around. He holds your wrists in one hand, pinned above your head, and the other one is on your waist. You were trapped beneath him, unable to move the absolute unit of a man above you, arms and hips weak to his weight. You shoved your hips up, attempting to shift some of his weight off you, but you froze as he choked on a breath by your ear.

Your ass was pressed against something hard, thick, and hot.

Oh.

Ohhh fuck.

It was happening.

Holy fucking shit.

Your breathing hitches as you thrusted your ass up again, confirming you were grinding on what was definitely Deku’s hardening cock. And once again, Deku makes the prettiest, most embarrassed gravelly grunt at the back of his throat and you feel like every strand of resistance and strength snaps.

The hand on your waist pulls you even closer against his crotch, and there's lips pressing against your neck, and you absolutely lose it.

He kisses your neck sloppily, teeth nipping at your exposed flesh, and you grind against him, moaning and thrusting back as your body feels like it's on fire. He wanted you! He wanted you and your plan to woo him worked!

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you keen breathlessly. “Wanted you so badly, Deku.”

“Fuck,” Deku curses, his hips thrusting back against your clothed ass with power you couldn’t fucking wait to feel. “I wanted you too. Wanted you so badly, but didn’t think – holy shit.”

His hand that pins your wrists lets go of you, and moves to grab your jaw. You nearly fucking melt as his full lips slam against yours, and you moan as his lips move against yours. There’s something indescribable about how he’s kissing you, the want, the need, the months of suppressed tension bursting through every move and curve of his mouth. It doesn’t matter to you that you’re pressed up against the concrete floor, you feel like you’ve been placed into another world, an area where you can never come back.

Your arm reaches behind you and buries into his soft curls, you tug at them as your ass circles against his thrusting hips. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you whine at the hot, wet muscle in your mouth, and it sends your head spinning. You can’t take it anymore, you need him, want him flushed against your front.

“Can I fuck you?” Deku asks swollen lips pulling away from yours, his mouth frantic and trailing kisses up your cheeks and down your jaw. “Please, I wanna fuck you so bad. Wanna fuck you on the floor and against the wall. Can I make you mine?”

You nod your head frantically, unable to come up with the words to say in order to tell him yes.

Deku laughs breathlessly and flips you over so that it’s your back against the floor now.

And just like you want him to, Deku comes down to reclaim your mouth. Hot, open mouthed kisses, teeth tugging at your lips and hands grabbing your waist. His hands are huge against you filling up the space between your hip and your waist without an issue. Your legs wrap around his waist, feeling entirely small underneath him, but entirely ready to be fucked by him.

His lips move expertly against yours, teeth nibbling at your lips, mouth then sucking on your tongue. You can’t keep the continuous moans from leaking out, can’t keep yourself from staying quiet as your eyes flutter open and see green eyes so dark they look black, staring down at you with the intensity of a predator.

You were his prey, and you would present to him at the drop of a hat.

His body is hot, heat rolling off of his hero costume in waves, making you feel like you were near burning against him. And the heat between his thighs sits at the bottom of your ass, thrusting up and grinding against you so that you don’t forget even for a moment that you are making him this way.

“I always knew you’d have such a pretty moan,” Deku mumbles as his fingers find the zipper to your costume and begin to tug it down. His lips trail down your neck, biting and nipping at the newly exposed flesh. “Knew you’d look so pretty under me, waiting to be fucked into submission.”

The words spark something within you, your eyes fluttering as your hips grind just a tad bit faster and you whine.

“Aw, is that what you wanted this entire time, y/l/n?” Deku asks, his grin pressed against your collarbone. “Wanted to be stretched out and fucked until you can’t anymore?”

“I want it,” you gasp, your fingers burying deep into his curls. “I want you, I want it, I want your dick in me already!”

“Not into foreplay?” Deku chuckles just a bit, tongue then tracing up your neck.

“Oh I am,” you snap, fingers finding the zipper of his own costume. “You can find out later how much I’m into it, but right now, I have been wanting you for years, and you will not make me wait any longer!”

Deku only nods frantically, and it's a mess of limbs, sloppy kisses, and clothes as the both of you strip to nothing.

Deku’s in between your legs, one hand pressed to the back of your knee, the other gripping what you believe is his dick because it makes everything in the world freeze as you see it. It’s huge, so thick that his hand wraps around it in a nice grip, and it long, curling up to his abs, curved and veiny.

“Holy shit,” you squeak, your cunt already clenching at the thought of taking that in.

“Are you ready?” Deku asks, the hand on your leg moving away for a moment as he cards his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t have a condom, though.”

“That’s fine, I don't care,” you dismiss his words, eyes too focused on the flush cock in his hand. “I don’t think I’ll live after you kill me with that anyways.”

Deku laughs just a bit, his dimples flashing as he leans in and kisses you deeply. You tremble underneath him, feeling so small pressed up against him, and you mewl when you feel the head of his cock pressing between your folds.

“Put it in,” you gasp, leg lifting and wrapping around his waist, “put it in! I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk, do you understand?!”

Deku nods, and with a sense of frantic need, his hand guides his cock into you.

It feels like you’re splitting in half. The girth of his cock stretching your walls out to the max, and he’s only going in. You scream loudly, both in pain and pleasure because it hurts so good.

“Take it, baby, take me all in,” Deku pants, his hips pushing out small, tiny thrusts to ram his cock further and further into your twitching cunt. “That’s i-it, holy fuck, that’s it! You’re taking me all the way in. F-Fuck… you’re so amazing! So fucking perfect!”

Tears are pouring out of your eyes, and your nails are tearing into his back, you sob slightly overwhelmed with his cock and the absolute pleasure of finally getting what you want and it being so much better than you thought. Your cunt throbs almost violently as Deku’s cock finally hits your cervix and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrusts in further, lips attempting to claim yours.

“Fuck me, Deku,” you beg, hips beginning to slam and fuck up onto his cock. “Please! I need you!”

“Such a desperate little villain though,” Deku sighs, teasingly, giving you one strong thrust for good measure. It goes a long way though, the power behind his thrust and thighs promising you a bruised ass, thighs, and cunt makes your mouth water for more. “I need you to promise to never do anything like that again and be a good little manager for Kacchan.”

“W-Wha–”

“Be good and stop being Mirage, or else you won’t be fucked.”

There was no hesitation.

“Okay.”

And just like that, Deku’s soft smile curves into a knowing, fierce smirk, and you can do nothing as his hands press to the back of your knees and he begins thrusting his hips into you. And it takes you completely out of control.

It’s a messy, frantic dance, your body holding onto his, your lips pressing against his, desperate and needy for his, and he is basically trying to imprint his body onto yours, the concrete, and the walls. Your bodies are so foreign to each other, and yet, when he fucks into you just a bit hard, just a bit faster, you come undone, back arching and toes curling as you sob his name.

It’s overwhelming to know that he can read you this well and for you to have never fucked him before. It’s empowering to see that he likes every forced and involuntary squeeze and clench of your cunt. He loved when your nails dug into his skin, raking their existence against the plane of broad muscles and scars.

Deku curses your name as you clench around him, his hands moving to your jaw so that he can lift your face to kiss him just so. He kisses you with a heated passion, a need that strips your entire being bare, and his hips slam so loudly against you, the slicked wetness is squelching and slapping with every grunt and moan.

In and out his cock goes, and you praise him and his cock.

You praise him for making you feel so good, for stretching out your pussy with that fat cock of his. You beg for more, and more, and more. You want every snap of his hips to send new colors to your vision, and every echoing squelch of your meeting, sloppy sexes only adds to the blabbering, unmanaged sentences from your lips.

“Harder, faster, more!” you beg, practically wailing against his shoulders, needing him more and more. The concrete hurts against your back, but you don’t care. You don’t care if he breaks your back, it’s a fall you’ll take. “Don’t hold back! Don’t you dare hold back!”

“Fuck, you’re crazy,” Deku gasps, his sweaty brow burying into your cheek. “I won’t though, I won't. Be ready, I’m not sure if you can take it.”

Before you can snap back that you can in fact take it, Deku’s weight falls heavier onto you and the angle shifts just slightly, and your words are ripped right out of your throat for a pitched, window shattering screech. Deku fucks into you with a new power, some untapped strength as greenspark falls from his skin as he ruins you for anyone ever again.

Your voice begins to scream out, the feeling of his vicious, thick cock snapping into you, shoving your shoulders further and further into the concrete was sending your head spinning. Your body is convulsing as he fucks you with new vulgar need and strength. But before you could scream your praises, Deku’s fingers shove into your mouth, and his other hand wraps around your neck, silencing your words and noises as he fucks up into you again and again and again.

“So loud, angel,” Deku smirks, fingers stroking and pinching your tongue as saliva pours endlessly from your mouth. His voice isn’t strained however, doesn’t have any indication that he’s out of breath or ready to tap out and that nearly makes you go insane. “I can’t wait to see everything that makes you look like this… you’re so pretty when you’re getting fucked.”

Your head is spinning, the heated tightness in your core clenching and throbbing as his conquesting cock never once stops or lessens. It just grows and grows and grows. His cock twitches in you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he lets out a deep moan.

“Such a good and wet cunt you are,” Deku gasps as you gag against his fingers that press roughly against the back of your tongue. Your vision feels hazy, but you feel like you’re on cloud nine as his hand on your throat opens and closes, demonstrating his power over you. “I’m so glad you went through all this hard work to get me to fuck you.”

You can’t speak, so you nod desperately, you were so happy you did this too.

Your hips buck up into him with sheer stubborn drive to get him to toss his head back and moan, you wanted to see him unhinged too. Your eyelashes flutter, as his hands remove themselves from your face, and they move to your hips to help you out. But the building tightness and demanding need in your cunt was growing louder, hotter, completely undeniable. Your teeth sinking against his skin as you whimpered loudly, absolutely pathetically as you shifted faster, fucking against him harder.

“I-I’m so close,” you manage to moan out, and a sharp escape of air comes from his nose at that revelation.

Deku nods, his head moving so that his forehead rests against yours as he looks deep into your eyes. “I need you to look at the way your belly bulges while I fuck you before you cum, I want you to watch it bulge as you cum.”

You whimper, the strain in your neck almost insufferable as you peer down at your hastily exposed stomach, and you nearly faint at the pornographic, near-insane image of your stomach bulging with his hammering monster of a cock. And just like that, the tight heat in you snaps without a hitch, and you come tumbling down from the heights of your building orgasm. White heat and light spread through your body, your jaw slacking as you moan loudly, screaming his name as you convulse against him, body entirely limp. Deku, who was barely hanging by a strand, completely loses it when your core clenches like a vice against him.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from his cock, his heavy, shaking gasps the only thing you can hear as he fucks into you once, twice more for good measure he collapses onto his forearms above you. It’s hot, almost too hot as he lays on top of you, the sticky fluid of his cum radiating against your already blazing walls, and for a bit, there’s silence.

Deku is the first to move afterward, and you whine as he pulls his cock out of your sore, abused pussy. You make a noise of curiosity then fear as Deku spreads your legs even more open and moves so that his head is face to face with your cum filled pussy.

“What are you–?!” you screech as Deku takes a lick out of your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, this does taste good,” Deku smirks as he once again licks your overstimulated pussy and you sob. “Besides, who said we were done?”

bonus!

“Everyone, this is my girlfriend y/l/n y/n!” Izuku happily introduced you to his group of friends.

“What the hell?!” Bakugou screamed, thrusting a finger at you and all you did was laugh.

So much for not being stubborn, huh.

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya smut #bnha #bnha x reader

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millenniumblog · 3 years

Photo

[ID: A chart describing the core values of each of the nine Enneagram personality types with YuGiOh characters correlated to each of the types.]

YuGiOh Enneagram Analysis, Part #1

Please note that this is the “boring” informational post about Enneagram with the Types listed and explained as well as a few other things. The next post is what has the actual, in-depth character profiles promised!

Introduction & Motivation

Over the past several months, I have been trying to analyze my strengths and weaknesses as a writer and learn more. I have been writing fanfiction since I was a little kid, making my first FF.net account in 2003 when I would have been twelve years old. Even before that, I was a lurker and wrote fics to share with my childhood best friend on paper or floppy discs.

YuGiOh came into my life at some point shortly thereafter. I know this, because I spent my thirteenth birthday in a comic book shop, mostly watching some of my male friends play the trading card game. I had some of the cards, but I was never much of a player, unable to keep up with the seemingly rapid rule changes. Besides that, I was always way more interested in the story and characters than I was in the card game. I remember I even wanted to call “YuGiOh cards” “Duel Monsters” instead to make it seem a little closer to tween-y LARPing.

Eventually, I gave up on collecting cards or trying to ply the game. I felt that while my male friends didn’t mind me being around when they played, they weren’t extremely interested in helping me learn or keep up. I felt I had other strengths, so I started carrying around a notebook even more than I already did. I started my fledgling forays into online fandom. And YuGiOh was a big part of the beginning of that.

I can’t remember posting any YuGiOh fic in particular, and I’m sure that if I had it would make me cringe now. What I do remember is reading some and also spending a lot of time lying on my bed, headphones plugged into a small purple stereo, listening to the first of the two American-released CDs with YuGiOh-inspired music on them. In particular, the last three tracks were pieces of music from the original score composed for the 4Kids dub, which is - for some reason - different from the original Japanese music.

During that time, I would fantasize and conjure my own YuGiOh plots in my head, most of which were focused on the Ancient Egyptian and more spooky, spiritual, and horror themes in the show. I was really fascinated with the reincarnation angle, though my understanding of and opinions on how that works have grown with time.

Years went by, and I didn’t think about YuGiOh much at all. Then, something happened in 2018. I don’t know what got in my head, but it was like all the joy I once found in thinking about the YuGiOh characters came back in a giddy conversation with my childhood best friend. Then, for a little while, it wouldn’t leave me alone.

I started writing for the fandom then, and after several detours, I’m trying to get back in the groove of it.

My approach to the tone of YuGiOh-fanning is that it’s a bit serious, but it’s also with a tongue placed in my cheek because of how incomprehensible or silly the plot can be on a meta level. Sometimes, it almost brings tears to my eyes by being so over-the-top about something that, in the real world, would make no sense at all. But the drama, in the context of the universe, somehow rings true.

I think that’s all owing to how most of the primary characters are just... really freaking great characters.

It has often puzzled me. Like, did Takahashi do all this layering on purpose? Is it really there, or did earnest fanon just make it seem like it? And, as a person, I am always here for a good fan-and-canon symbiosis.

This post is going to be, from here on, an effort to match the YuGiOh characters to the 9 Enneagram Personality Types. I am writing this for my own benefit as I continue to work on my pet YuGiOh fanfiction project, It’s Always Sunny in Domino City, which is a mixture of YGOTAS-vibes-and-concepts taken seriously and a sincere take on fanfiction for the actual canon. It’s dramedy about a sizeable chunk of the main cast a few years post-canon with some canon divergence such as the Memory World arc not yet and possibly never-happening. If that sounds like something you’d like, I would humbly request you check it out!

Either way, this will be an in-depth character analysis cheatsheet for all of the characters above, based on my observations, opinions, and feelings. I invite discussion, but it’s fine if we need to agree to totally disagree!

If you are interested and enjoy what’s below the Read More and in the coming second post, then you are welcome to utilize the character analyses to aid you in your own fanwork!

Enneagram

What is Enneagram, and why am I using it?

Enneagram is a personality categorization system that one might compare to the somewhat better-known MBTI. However, in the words of excellent writing-advice YouTuber, Abbie Emmons:

MBTI shows us how we behave.

Enneagram shows us what we believe.

I will be referencing Abbie’s video Using The ENNEAGRAM To Write CONFLICTED CHARACTERS and her free Enneagram-cheatsheet, available in the description of the linked video. Whether it’s before you continue reading or after, if you’re interested in writing, I would highly recommend you check out her channel!

The Enneagram system has nine basic personality types that overlap and interact in really interesting ways. It is not a hard science, and it’s not a horoscope. Instead, it’s supposed to be “based on conventional wisdom and modern psychology.” All I can say is that with every set of characters I’ve tried it with, it works! Once you get the hang of it, it feels kind of like ~✰~magic~✰~!

Below, I will list Abbie’s simplified definitions of each of the personality types, in order:

Type 1: The Reformer

The Rational, Idealistic Type:

Principled, Purposeful, Self-Controlled, and Perfectionistic

Basic Fear: Of being corrupt/evil, defective

Basic Desire: To be good, to have integrity, to be balanced

Key Motivations: Want to be right, to strive higher and improve everything, to be consistent with their ideals, to justify themselves, to be beyond criticism so as not to be condemned by anyone.

Type 2: The Helper

The Caring, Interpersonal Type:

Generous, Demonstrative, People-Pleasing, and Possessive

Basic Fear: Of being unwanted, unworthy of being loved

Basic Desire: To feel loved

Key Motivations: Want to be loved, to express their feelings for others, to be needed and appreciated, to get others to respond to them, to vindicate their claims about themselves.

Type 3: The Achiever

The Success-Oriented, Pragmatic Type:

Adaptable, Excelling, Driven, and Image-Conscious

Basic Fear: Of being worthless

Basic Desire: To feel valuable and worthwhile

Key Motivations: Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others.

Type 4: The Individualist

The Sensitive, Introspective Type:

Expressive, Dramatic, Self-Absorbed, and Temperamental

Basic Fear: That they have no identity or personal significance

Basic Desire: To find themselves and their significance (to create an identity)

Key Motivations: Want to express themselves and their individuality, to create and surround themselves with beauty, to maintain certain moods and feelings, to withdraw to protect their self-image, to take care of emotional needs before attending to anything else, to attract a "rescuer."

Type 5: The Investigator

The Intense, Cerebral Type:

Perceptive, Innovative, Secretive, and Isolated

Basic Fear: Being useless, helpless, or incapable

Basic Desire: To be capable and competent

Key Motivations: Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment.

Type 6: The Loyalist

The Committed, Security-Oriented Type:

Engaging, Responsible, Anxious, and Suspicious

Basic Fear: Of being without support and guidance

Basic Desire: To have security and support

Key Motivations: Want to have security, to feel supported by others, to have certitude and reassurance, to test the attitudes of others toward them, to fight against anxiety and insecurity.

Type 7: The Enthusiast

The Busy, Variety-Seeking Type:

Spontaneous, Versatile, Acquisitive, and Scattered

Basic Fear: Of being deprived and in pain

Basic Desire: To be satisfied and content—to have their needs fulfilled

Key Motivations: Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain.

Type 8: The Challenger

The Powerful, Dominating Type:

Self-Confident, Decisive, Willful, and Confrontational

Basic Fear: Of being harmed or controlled by others

Basic Desire: To protect themselves (to be in control of their own life and destiny)

Key Motivations: Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation.

Type 9: The Peacemaker

The Easygoing, Self-Effacing Type:

Receptive, Reassuring, Agreeable, and Complacent

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

Basic Desire: To have inner stability, "peace of mind"

Key Motivations: Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them.

Now that you’ve seen all those, what do you think your favorite character is? In YuGiOh or anything else! It works great for original characters and even yourself and your loved ones.

The actual Character Profiles will be in coming post(s), but continue reading if you want me to explain more about how and why the Enneagram is a great personality typing system. #nonspon, or whatever.

The Enneagram Chart

Now, you could just go to the Enneagram Institute’s page on How the System Works, but below I’ll cut it down to only the parts I’m interested in and explain those in a way that helps me.

Unlike in astrology or MBTI, which are both more restrictive in different ways, the relative position of each type matters a bit on the Enneagram chart, because it can be used to visualize a lot of things about a person!

The Basic Chart

The Types are shown in a clockwise fashion with “1″ in the 1 o’clock position on an analog clock. The interior lines mean things, but I have trouble reading it without further delineation.

Centers of Response

Below are two small charts, displayed side-by-side. (If it’s too small, try right-click, open in new tab!)

The chart on the left shows the three “centers.” The “centers” indicate the first ‘processing language’ a person would use to respond to stimuli.

Type 8, Type 9, and Type 1 respond first based on instinct (primal, gut-feeling). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the id.

Type 2, Type 3, and Type 4 respond first based on feelings (social or personal desires, the heart). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the ego.

Type 5, Type 6, and Type 7 respond first based on thoughts (analytical rather than emotional, the head). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the superego.

Remember that, of course, every single type and person engages their instincts, their emotions, and their thoughts at different times and to different degrees, and some of these are learned or changed behaviors. This is about what their innate drive toward that would be.

Likewise, the same “centers” can also be used for the chart on the right. You will notice that all three of these are defined by what is typically considered a negative emotion. This is because this is about a person’s instinctive, not particularly conscious emotional response when they are backed into a corner and deprived of something that is core to the needs of their personality type.

Type 8, Type 9, and Type 1 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with anger/rage.

Type 2, Type 3, and Type 4 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with shame.

Type 5, Type 6, and Type 7 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with fear.

Stress vs. Growth

We all know that there are times when a person isn’t acting like themselves, for better or for worse. Usually, “You’re not acting like yourself,” means that a person is behaving badly. Of course, it’s way easier to withdraw and bristle and defend rather than growing in the midst of adversity. However, it is certainly possible to experience character growth in response to experiences, good and bad. Unlike a lot of other personality typing schemes, the Enneagram has a way to display and predict what stress and growth do to a person.

The Enneagram never suggests that any Type is an island unto itself. Every person contains multitudes, but a person’s Type is likely to remain relatively stable throughout their lives, once they have had a chance to develop any personality at all. This means that when a person is stressed or growing that they do not become the type they emulate. Rather, they are more highly expressing that aspects of their personality that reflect those drives and desires but in a way that is either fraught, sickly, or unwell (in the case of stress), or aspirational, flying-high, and incorporating the hard-lessons into who a person is going to be going forward (in the case of growth). The latter, especially, isn’t a sustainable mode, while a stressed person can become more entrenched in their bad habits and defensive coping mechanisms.

Stress

Note the white, directional arrows. Each number has an arrow point pointing to it and an arrow leading away from it. The point indicates that this is the stress manifestation for the Type at the origin of that arrow. The origin of each arrow indicates the Type being described.

Confused? Let me finally give you a YuGiOh example.

When I was trying to identify the Types of the characters, defining Marik was difficult, because he has a “Yami,” or Dark Side, which has its own personality and will but which is not its own separate soul or person than Marik himself. Rather, it’s a kind of fantasy/magic-assisted personality splintering where Yami Marik is a full manifestation of the negative traits Marik needed to embody to survive.

So, for reference:

When stressed, Type 1 behaves more like Type 4.

When stressed, Type 2 behaves more like Type 8.

When stressed, Type 3 behaves more like Type 9.

When stressed, Type 4 behaves more like Type 2.

When stressed, Type 5 behaves more like Type 7.

When stressed, Type 6 behaves more like Type 3.

When stressed, Type 7 behaves more like Type 1.

When stressed, Type 8 behaves more like Type 5.

When stressed, Type 9 behaves more like Type 6.

Alternatively, you can use these sequences to follow the stress lines:

1-4-2-8-5-7-1

9-6-3-9

Growth

Think of the above-explanation in reverse.

The sequence:

1-7-5-8-2-4-1

9-3-6-9

As a Type 1 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 7.

As a Type 2 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 4.

As a Type 3 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 6.

As a Type 4 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 1.

As a Type 5 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 8.

As a Type 6 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 9.

As a Type 7 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 5.

As a Type 8 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 2.

As a Type 9 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 3.

Wings

The final thing to know about the Enneagram chart for my purposes is about wings. The wing of your personality traits accounts for the complementary and contradictory aspects of your personality. They are the inconsistencies that make you human, predicted and jumped in. Typically, a person is not thought to have both possible wings but one or the other. A wing is one of the two adjacent Types to yours, the number before, or the number after, and it is annotated, for example:

Type 1, Wing 2: 1w2

Type 1, Wing 9: 1w9

Link to Part 2 Here!

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 125

I am so sorry that this is posting late today!! I didn’t realize my queue ran out, or that I didn’t load these in there.

Thank you, every day, to everyone who helped me hang in there as long as I’ve been lucky enough to write this story. As much fun as the weapons expo was, I swear we are working towards everything else that has changed in the time skip! I would love to hear what y’all are most excited to find out about.

Shoutouts always go to @baelpenrose, @charlylimph-blog, and @the-raven-fae for all your encouragement, plot bunnies, and beta-reading.

The day after the weapons exhibition, the air on the Ark was still crackling with excitement. Every time I overheard people chattering over a specific performance, I smiled to myself. That particular event had been the first that Parvati and Hannah planned without my help, and hearing the overwhelming approval for it was something I would be all too happy to convey back to them. They really had done a great job.

Sebastian ended up bowing out after the first year, because he was unable to balance the demands of the mentorship and the Undine. As the only one of the three who could not just change their job responsibilities, he had chosen his passion - which absolutely no one was upset about. Parvati had even joked that we had backup Councillors, but only one Undine.

The response I received from my mentees when I shared what I heard, however, was underwhelming. Hannah gave a small smile and nodded, while Parvati waved off the praise with a scoff. “We were essentially following a template,” she pointed out.

Hannah nodded at me with a rueful expression. “Unfortunately, she’s right. There wasn’t much of a challenge, there.”

Just as a full pout was settling into my chest, Alistair breezed in and took off his scarf - for once, I couldn’t tell myself it was just for dramatic effect, as the climate controls in public areas were phased in to mimic what was projected for seasonal changes on Von. Currently it was the cold season, and Alistair was miserable about it. “Of course it wasn’t a challenge,” he scowled. “You both have been assisting Madam Reid since the exhibitions began. However, it is profoundly rude to ignore the feedback you received.” He glared at Parvati and Hannah, who managed to look sheepish. “One of you will be Councillor one day, and your responsibility will be things just like this. You should be pleased with a job well done, not resting on your laurels.”

I nodded and didn’t bother hiding my grin. “He’s right, you know. Besides, don’t forget that this is when the hard part starts.”

Two sets of eyes widened at me, with Hannah adding a gasp of horror. “Oh gods. The feedback…”

“Yep.” I popped the last letter as I took my seat and the coffee that Alistair offered, noticing that he did not retrieve any for my mentees. Apparently he was really miffed by their attitudes before. “And, along with coordinating the event on your own…”

“Sophia, you’re joking,” Parvati glared.

“I am most certainly not,” I shook my head. “Every event, you have to read the feedback. You can filter it all you want, narrow down the categories, whatever. But I strongly recommend that you read all of the negative feedback if nothing else.”

“But you’ve always had help,” Hannah pointed out calmly.

“I did,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t mean I ignored or delegated the important parts. Having people who you trust to do a pulse check of what is being said unofficially is an extremely valuable tool. However, at the end of the day, the performance of the events, or the projects, or the staffing balances, comes right back to this office and only this office. I can listen to Tyche, or my partners, or other Councillors until my ears fall off. But if something went wrong, or could have been done better, I’m the one who catches fault for that. Which means, eventually, it will be one of you.”

With a deep breath, both women nodded and opened the files in question. After simply staring and scrolling for a few minutes, Parvati sat back and tapped the side of her chin. “Can we filter out all comments under five words and comments with only positive adjectives that do not contain a conditional statement?” She glanced at me and I nodded my approval.

That seemed to spark an idea in Hannah. “Prioritize comments including the words ‘dangerous’, ‘barbaric’, or synonyms of.” When her co-mentee gave her a quizzical look, she shrugged. “It’s good to have at least a count of people who object to the weapons exhibitions, and if they are just a small number at least there are guaranteed to be a few in there that are pretty funny.”

Parvati still looked like she wasn’t convinced, so Alistair spoke up. “If you do not enjoy the weapons exhibitions, why are you attending?”

“Ahhh,” she smiled. Clearly the thought had never occurred to her, which was entirely unsurprising. Parvati hadn’t dated Xiomara as long as she did by harboring a secret grudge against self-defense and proper applications of force.

Now that they found a starting point for weeding through the feedback, it was clear they were engrossed in gathering information. Periodically, I would hear one make a considering noise before jotting down a note to come back to later. I quietly moved to my desk and observed how differently they handled the process - When I went through feedback with Alistair, we shared it on the table emitter so both could see. Parvati and Hannah, however, sat across from each other, on their singular data pads, flicking particular pieces of information back and forth to each other without even glancing up. The partnership they had developed over the last four years of working with me was astounding to watch.

“What you are feeling now is exactly what it feels like to watch you and Tyche,” Alistair murmured, startling me out of my reverie. When I glanced at him, he simply lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Even after working with you both for so long, there are moments where it is clear you both are working on some sort of wavelength the rest of us are not aware of.”

“Charly is pretty tuned in to it. And Arthur, when he wants to be.”

“Miss Harper is a force unto herself.” The corner of his mouth lifted in one of his rare, fond smiles. “As for Farro, I am beginning to believe that Reidish is one of the languages he learned for historical manuscripts.” Snark dripped from his tone out of old habit - if there had ever been any animosity between the two, it was long gone.

Although, apparently the hypothetical existence of ‘Reidish’ as a language was still bopping it’s merry way around the Ark.

“Noah,” I pointed out. “They understand us perfectly well.”

“Yes, let us all congratulate you two, not only on the fact that a mind-reading alien understands your communication better than your own species, but also on the fact that you have tainted them with your mannerisms.” The sarcasm would have stung, had he not felt the need to demonstrate by tipping his index finger and thumb over his eye in imitation of an eyebrow with one hand, while making a sock-puppet nod with the other - both of which were gestures Noah used as filler for human body language. The contrast between his words, the gestures, and the absolute deadpan expression on his face sent me into hysterics.

I didn’t realize we were being watched until Hannah’s voice broke through my laughter. “Derek actually taught them the eyebrow one. That wasn’t Sophia or Tyche. He started doing it because he can’t just lift one eyebrow, and Miys started mimicking him when they saw how useful it was to convey tone.” When Alistair only stared at her in disbelief, she huffed and turned to her datapad before flicking a recording to the table emitter.

Sure enough, there was Derek, adjusting Miys ‘fingers’ and repeating the gesture for them to imitate. After several adjustments of where the vomu was held, Derek seemed satisfied and flashed a double thumbs-up, which was returned in triplicate. As the recording ended, Hannah turned back with the smuggest expression I had ever seen on her gentle face.

“I’ll be damned.” Alistair’s voice was soft with surprise and a hint of admiration.

“Hannah, how do you have that?” I asked, concerned for Derek’s privacy.

She waved me off. “Zach was doing routine security sensor testing, found that in the process, and asked Derek if we could keep a copy of it. Derek said it was okay, and asked for a copy for himself.” She shrugged. “I’d never seen him voluntarily touch someone that much before, and even without that, it was adorable.”

“I’m glad he knows you have it,” I sighed in relief. “But yeah, it makes sense, honestly.” Hannah nodded in agreement, while Parvati and Alistair were clearly waiting for an explanation. I started ticking off reasons on my fingers. “Miys is very careful of personal space because they know how large they are, and Derek hates having his space invaded without permission. Miys is never ‘too loud’ for Derek, or touches without permission, or even speaks to him without Derek speaking first. There’s no pressure for eye contact, even just in Derek’s head, because Miys doesn’t have eyes.”

“Your mind is a strange and wonderful place,” Alistair stated drily before turning to Hannah and Parvati. “I hope you two have been taking notes on it. I happen to know what your next event is, and you’re going to need that level of insight.”

Arching an eyebrow at him, Parvati did not even look away to pull up her calendar, dragging it into her line of sight. Her eyes widened suddenly.

“You have three months,” I pointed out.

She reached out and shook Hannah’s arm vigorously. “Han.”

A quick glance and a second horrified expression looked at me from the table.

“Three months.”

“Sophia.”

“You’ve both helped me with it, for at least the last four years. And you said you wanted a challenge.”

They both groaned comically, but I struggled not to smile at their antics. I knew they weren’t really as worried as they pretended to be.

Alistair leaned over the whisper again. “I thought Tyche was the evil one.”

That did get me to smile.

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#the miys #humans are weird #found family #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #survival #apocalypse #aliens #haw #hfy #humans are space fae #science fiction #scifi #original scifi #original writing #my writing

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frangipansi · 4 years

Note

Hi! If your inbox is open, I'd like to request a scenario with all (or any) of the demon brothers, + undatables reacting to a blind MC? Like, none of them expected to have a blind human and Devildom and they have to revamp everything to make it as safe for MC as possible. Can be she/her or they/them pronouns for MC. Bonus points if MC is extremely talkative and won't shut up lmao. Thank you!

OKAY! So, finally got this one out. I’m sooo sorry for the wait, but I wanted to try and do this right, not just some Daredevil nonsense, but I didn’t want to make the mistake of a ‘helpless blind MC’ either; because they’re not helpless.

I am also lucky enough to have a regular customer at my work that happens to be blind and she has been very happy to give me a helping hand to make this ask more real. She’s such a delight and her guide dog is beautiful and I could ramble on with our interactions, like one time she scolded us for moving the fixtures because she had just memorized the layout of the store then told her guide “you’ll earn that pay check today!”

SO! With her in mind, more so from her younger days that she reminisced with me; I have decided to work this piece around this customer’s condition specifically so I’m not just pulling shit out my arse.

To give you an idea, this MC suffers from Retinitis pigmentosa; their symptoms being tunnel vision and night blindness. So while they are legally blind, they can somewhat see. They use a cane when going out, use their hands and/or cane when inside a place knew to them – that happens to be in poor light (Devildom) – until they have the layout in their mind and move more confidently.

This also took a while because I couldn’t get a fic/scenario to work cohesively and hc was just not working either! But I’ve hopefully gotten it now, and I do hope you like it. I’ve also placed this under the cut because I’ve waffled on here.

Diavolo:

Interested. Anyone within the Devildom without eyesight, are generally the souls of the damned who aren’t permitted to move freely. Heck, he’s removed some of their eyes himself.

He wants to know instantly if there is anything he needs to change and improve to make sure MC’s stay is not only comfortable but enjoyable.

Absolutely loves how open MC is. He’s amazed at the resilience of humans; delighted to hear MC say how capable they are, though he does insist on one of the brother’s remaining her escort for the duration of their stay. Capable or not, he is well aware of how demons would use MC’s lack of sight to their advantage.

Really wants to ask how amplified their other senses are; disappointed to know most things depicted in movies are – for the most part – an over exaggeration.

Organises a tablet for them with all RAD textbooks uploaded so they have that ability to zoom in so they are able to read the text at their own comfort. Other systems such as braille, text to talk etc are also implemented if that is something MC prefers to learn by.

Lucifer:

Considers Cerberus as a guide dog? Impossible, the human would be eaten alive. Perhaps another smaller hellhound? Goodness no, they’d still be eaten.

Asks MC about their condition –on behalf of Lord Diavolo of course – so he is aware of anything that may help their stay in the Devildom.

Very pleased to see how receptive MC is, very talkative and informative about her condition; he’s surprised to learn the varying levels of visual impairment. Consults Diavolo on brighter lighting to improve her movements around RAD and already planning on improvements within his own home.

During MC’s first few nights in Lamentation, Lucifer appears on edge; always keeping an eye when they’re moving about on their own. Enjoys watching how they learn to memorize layouts, quietly telling themselves how many steps it takes from one room to another, touching hallway objects.

Ready to run to their side that one time MC walked into the wall; turning into the kitchen a little too soon; until he hear them chuckle to themselves and ran their hand along the wall until they found the doorway and walked through it. No damage done. He’s learning to leave them be, understanding that he doesn’t need to dote on them.

Mammon:

MC is blind? Ooh yeah! The things that boy could swipe to make some quick Grimm, and right under their nose. It was gonna be too easy!! Completely stunned when they still catch him out. “How’d ya know it was me?!”

Watches them narrow their eyes as if trying to spot him before coming up beside him and close the drawer he was just rummaging through. The nerve this human has to threaten The Great Mammon by saying they’ll use their cane to whack him.

Surprised at MC’s explanation on how they knew it was him. They recognised his scent; not only did he have his favourite cologne – which he didn’t think he wore that much of – they noted how he had a metallic smell, like the kind you get when touching coin constantly.

Likes to watch MC move around their room; at first using their hand to remember the layout and then moving as if they saw as well as he did. Considered rearranging things to see what would happen.

Okay, so MC isn’t helpless… but, other demons don’t know that. Considers using MC as bait; distract idiots so he can rob them and sell their things for a little Grimm. “I, The Mammon, am a genius!” “No, Mammon.”

Levi:

Couldn’t even imagine being in their position; all that manga he couldn’t read, anime they couldn’t watch… never knowing what Ruri-Chan looks like!!! Gasp! No way. Poor MC!

Really confused when he sees them one day, curled up on a chair in the common room, wearing a pair of glasses and a book in hand. Wanders over and looks over their shoulder before questioning what was going on; nodding when they told him that with reading glasses and preferably larger font, they could indulge in many a storybook.

As their relationship blossoms, he has a dedicated reading nook in his room for the two of them, including a lamp to brighten the area to help improve what sight they have. Likes that they’re happy to listen to him read to them his TSL series. He thinks about writing to the publishers for the next editions to have larger fonts; that way he could buy MC a set of their own.

He likes to sit and watch them bring things close to their face to inspect them better; his figurines which they – to his relief – handle with great care, or his manga comics to see which characters he’s fawning over.

He secretly loves that MC likes to chill by his fish tank wall. Why? They state that while there’s too much distortion for them to actually make anything out, they enjoy the ambient colouring and light; the two eventually just listen to music together like that as a means to relax.

Satan:

Of course he is utterly curious about MC’s condition and is glad to see how open they are to talking about it. He’ll look things up himself in his own time but nothing like hearing it from someone’s own experience.

Asks if those romance and crime novels are accurate; “so, do you touch people’s faces so you know what they look like?” finds it interesting that for the most part, this doesn’t happen; but it makes sense, he wouldn’t be too thrilled by someone he barely knows putting their hands onto him.

Writes down notes that he considers most important from the board during lessons and offers them to MC should they need them for their studies.

Another one who likes watching MC learn their way around Lamentation, like how they touch cupboard handles until they find the one they need while grumbling about how crappy the lights are.

Shared appreciation for just lying on the ground whenever a cat is near them, all responsibility out the window as number one priority is giving adorable little hellcats their undivided attention. Loves that MC is willing to con Lucifer into believing a cat makes a wonderful guide animal.

Asmo:

Oh poor MC, unable to see just how beautiful he is… Oh, they can kinda see? If he gets real close? Oh he can definitely do that! Bummed that MC promptly puts in some boundaries but once their relationship develops they do enjoy the closeness with him.

Learns – albeit slowly – that his looks aren’t going to win MC over, and instead begins to better understand the value of personality and getting to know a person. Should MC like Asmo, it’s because of who he is and not for all the fluffing he does with his looks.

Whenever he happens to be the brother escorting MC, just know he’ll always detour to the main hub; treating the two of them to manicures and pedicures, facials, all that fun stuff.

When shopping, he loves how MC feels the fabric of things he grabs for them and has an even bigger appreciation for how things feel on him. Absolutely enjoys offering explanations whenever MC would ask about colour or cuts if they can’t make them out should the lighting be too poor for them.

Will starting looking around for ‘fashionable’ canes. Yes, he knows it’s about practicality and he’s not going to take that away from MC, but what’s wrong with wanting to match their cane with that gorgeous outfit he’s picked out from them?

Beel:

Having no experience with a visually impaired human, he’ll ask MC if he should carry them places; it’s no big deal, they looked pretty light after all. Apologises if they happen to get a bit defensive so keeps close while they walk together, worried they may walk into or trip over something.

He’ll be curious about whether or not other senses are heightened due to the loss of another and is lowkey disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to hear someone in the kitchen stealing his food when they’re somewhere else in the house.

He loves cooking with them; the tastes of what he creates seem to be more balanced and they’re more than happy to sneak him a few snacks while Lucifer is occupied elsewhere. They’ll fool around, tasting things to see who can pick up more notes.

Things turn into a game between the two of them; if he spots MC in a room he’ll sneak up and try and get to them before they realise he’s there. “Too heavy on your feet,” or “you were giggling,” is something he hears a lot when trying.

Though MC can’t really see while he’s training or playing a game, he really appreciates that there still there to cheer him on; he’s taken to wearing a bright headband in hopes that they’ll be able to spot him out a bit better. They don’t half the heart to tell him they still can’t find him.

Belphie:

In the beginning, he’ll use MC’s lack of sight to their advantage; sly and manipulative to lure them in. Watches how they react to his voice, how their eyes or head move in the direction he’s in, learning how they work their other senses.

Tensions between the two would be tight after that moment and he’ll feel tremendous guilt for what he did to them; keeps himself at a distance, afraid they’ll recoil if they sense he’s too close and understands if they would.

Amazed that they find it in them to forgive him and help mend bonds between him and his brothers, and will spend whatever time he’s able building up trust with MC; whether that’s being their escort around Devildom or just being there for company.

He loves – when trust is established – that MC is just happy to lay with him while he star gazes and talks about what he sees, trying to paint a picture for them while they huddle up together in a fluffy blanket, sharing his cow print pillow.

Simeon/Luke:

They’re angels; their job is to look over and protect humans. So they are already well aware of how capable MC would be – Simeon more so than Luke since he’s younger and more interested in Michael – but they will still offer their assistance should MC need it.

They’re also the sort to take notes down during class that MC may not be able to see on the board; but they’ll ask before assuming.

Simeon has taken to writing a little bigger if it’s something he’d like MC’s opinion on his work; the two forming a bond through fiction and history. The two can be found losing track of time and just talking about any given thing.

Luke enjoys cooking with MC; asking them what they think of the taste of something he creates and asks how he can make it better. He’d love to be able to wow Michael upon his return to the Celestial Realm and MC will always critique his work rather than sugarcoat like Simeon would or just outright scare him like demons would. With a little push from MC, he takes lessons from Barbatos.

Solomon:

Quite unphased; he’s dealt with various impairments before seeing as he is still human despite being a very powerful sorcerer. He doesn’t offer assistance but will give it should MC ask him for help.

He has many a spell in his books that could quite possibly cure or ease symptoms of various impairments and is very tempted to bring this information to MC; but decides on holding back until he can figure out how to approach the subject. He’ll ask them how they feel about their situation and go from there.

Would also offer heightening other senses should MC want them; even temporarily if they’re just a little curious. “Let’s see what’s so crash hot about being Daredevil!” “My thoughts exactly MC.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me gn!mc #obey me blind!mc

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delusion-of-negation · 3 years

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top 10 (ish) ridiculous or annoying FAQs:

(click at your own discretion)

1) "kids today rely on others to do everything"

ah yes, damn those participation trophies! if it wasn't for them my hands wouldn't be fucked, and I wouldn't need people to write for me. but seriously, stop reading boomer comics, and go outside to meet some actual young people.

2) "sus that a non-american says mom"

yeah, because it's clearly the superior version, and I'm not too patriotic to concede a defeat.

3) "sweaty, the victims of abuse by catholics are real people, stop appropriating their pain just because you want to hate catholics; plus teachers abuse people just as often anyway"

so firstly, I don't hate anybody. and secondly, regarding the fact that victims really do exist, [insert "of course I know him, he's me" meme here]; although I don't often talk much about the abuse I went through or what my religious beliefs are. but, more importantly, statements like "survivors are people" can be phrased like "some people are survivors", and when you're unable to act according to the latter (like when you don't even consider that somebody might be one) then you display a failure to recognise the former - you're projecting; a survivor can't be appropriating their own pain, but you can be appropriating it to silence one. and thirdly, teachers do abuse - the problem isn't and has never been purely religion, rather that abuse is often done by somebody in a position of trust, power, and familiarity; and that the lack of a global minimum enables totally legal abuse on top of the illegal stuff. people with access and respect have more opportunity to abuse than those without, and that goes for teachers too. but, once again, you can be appropriating the pain of survivors to deflect and silence people. please remember this before you say that shit.

4) "get help/therapy"

way ahead of you - years ahead of you. but it's not magic - people who say this often act as if you'll start behaving differently overnight. not only are some things simply beyond the ability of talking therapy to completely rectify, it also takes time and has to be selective. you've got to pick your priorities, and that's definitely not whatever ship or joke you're mad at me about today. therapy is a slow, arduous process that can't guarantee results - it isn't "anti-recovery" to recognise that, it's honesty. while I've been in therapy for a long time, it is not necessarily going to change whatever you don't like about me - whether that's because it can't, because my focus now is on more important or urgent things, or because I don't want to change that.

5a) "tell your family you ship incest, see how that goes; normal people find it disgusting"

actually, some know, and they're fine with it. in fact, one prefers sibling pairings in fiction to all other dynamics because, to paraphrase, "it's a deeper level of messed up co-dependence". so unfortunately for you, my remaining family (by which I mean those not dead or cut out of my life after abuse and so forth) actually are able to distinguish between fiction and reality. plus, my reasoning for caring if they find it gross or not pertains only to recommending books and such - their opinions do not dictate my tastes.

5b) "don't sexualise/appropriate incestuous abuse" and "I bet you enjoyed being raped" and other attempts to upset me over 5a

firstly, as I've already said here, survivors can't be appropriating ourselves. in addition, you're not owed people's history or trauma - it's not okay to require people's personal information, or else you'll send anon hate and accusations of appropriation. secondly, I'm not sexualising our abuse (not just because I write horror, and so a lot of my writing is intended to be creepy, not sexy); these stories aren't about us, they're not us at all. entire dynamics/people (fictional or otherwise) aren't all going to be applicable to us or identical to us, just because they have something in common with us; they're not us and they're not accountable to us. thirdly, the fact that people send this stuff (attempting to trigger people's trauma over ships) is so much more worrying to me than somebody making our communal imaginary friends kiss. you're trying to hurt people. and finally, to the "I bet you enjoyed it" crowd (if you're at all serious): do you think you'd enjoy being in a real zombie apocalypse, alone, afraid, and really at risk of being eaten alive? a fictional scenario does not feel remotely the same as a real one. this isn't rocket science - things that look like you aren't you; fiction isn't reality; don't send anon hate. (edit: comparable "just leave me alone, I'm not hurting anyone" sentiments for yandere stuff, and anything else you decide I'm naughty for.)

6) "you'll be sent off to do manual labour once your communist revolution happens"

while I don't know why people think that I'm a communist, a dictatorial regime probably isn't going to want me to do manual labour. they're more likely to just shoot me; I'm useless and a liability. call me crazy, but something tells me that "ah yes, we shall give ze deranged cripple ze power tools" isn't the communist position.

7a) "they/them can't be singular pronouns"

yes they can, and they're used as such in both shakespeare and the bible. but you don't have to say this - I'm also okay with he/him, so you could've just used those and chilled out. also, do I look like somebody who views the rules of grammar as fully immutable and imperative?

7b) "enbies/aros/pan/etc aren't valid"

do you really think that you're going to change any hearts or minds by putting that in my ask box or under my funny maymays? chill out, it's not worth the effort - you could be planning a party (in minecraft) and having fun instead. it isn't worth my time to rant at everybody who's saying something isn't valid, updating how I'm explaining it as my opinions grow and general discourse around it evolves; I'm just who I am, somebody else is who they are - why bicker in presumptuous ways about if that's enough? it ultimately is valid, in my opinion, but that isn't an invitation to keep demanding that I debate. (edit: old posts of mine probably don't phrase things incredibly, on this or anything... I tried.)

8) "what are your politics?"

my politics are informed first and foremost by the knowledge that I'm not cut out to be some kind of leader - I don't want to be the guy who tells everyone else what to do, I just offer what seem to me like valid criticisms of how we are doing things now, and general pointers on the values and ethics that I would prefer to move towards. things like individual freedom, taking the most pacifist route where possible, trying not to give excessive power to small groups of people (governments or corporations), helping those in need even when they're not palatable, and letting me suck loads of dicks. but please refrain from decreeing me something - there's not enough information in what I said, so you'll just be filling in the blanks with assumptions. (edit: workplace democracy seems cool to me; benefits are good; fair fines and taxes; and the "sperm makes you loopy" saga: 1, 2, 3, and 4.)

9) "you're a narcissist"

no, I don't meet the diagnostic criteria. joking on the internet that you're hot doesn't make a person a narcissist. the fact that I've chosen to keep my actual self-esteem issues to myself is not proof that they don't exist - you're just not entitled to that information about me. but it's also not narcissism to really like how you look. (edit: don't throw labels around carelessly too.)

10a) "kin list?"

the fabric of the universe, a zombie, dionysus, maned wolf/arctic fox hybrid, a comedian, big gay, big rock, ambiguously partial insincerity. (edit: kin list may or may not be incomplete.)

10b) "kin isn't valid/that's just being insane"

haven't we established that I'm deranged, and that sending stuff like this on anon is simply a waste of your precious time? besides, I do not care if it's invalid or insane - it's fun, I'm happy. (edit: see 7b for my opinion on sending me yet another ask with "that's invalid" in it; I'm not in the mood to discuss the nature of validity.)

bonus: "it gets better" and "trigger list?"

as I've said before, things just don't always get better for everyone - sometimes things can't be cured or even treated, sometimes they kill you; in some cases it could get better if not for a blockade or lack of time. the world is messy. it needs to be more normalised to reassure or comfort people without relying on saying that their issue will get better or be cured. it does suck to be this ill, but it also sucks to be made out to be a lazy pessimist, just because I have the audacity to not play along. and as for the trigger list, I don't like providing people with an easily accessed list of ways to hurt my feelings or harm me - upsetting me is supposed to be challenging, and thus rewarding. if you want a cheat sheet then you're out of luck, I'm afraid.

bonus #2: "FAQ stands for frequently asked questions, it doesn't need that s at the end!"

yeah, I know, I just enjoy chaos and disarray.

bonus #3 (edit): "what are your disabilities and how exactly are they incurable and/or deadly?"

again, I don't tell the internet everything about me, especially when it poses a risk, especially not as an easily accessible list for you to refer back to whenever you feel inclined to hurt my feelings. that is understandably a sore subject. (edit: that includes physical health issues btw.)

bonus #4 (edit): "so we shouldn't be critical?"

if it wasn't clear from my answer about politics or my post in general, you can have opinions about things, and you can voice that. it's just not realistic to exist at extremes: to think that you alone should dictate what exists in fiction, or to think that people shouldn't be expressing disdain or criticism of any calibur. say how you feel about things, that's fine, but it's also fine if people find that they don't value your input. plus we're all flawed, we can all be hypocritical from time to time, we all get bitchy, and we all make mistakes, or even knowingly fuck things up. that's important to keep in mind, whether we're talking about the one being criticised or the one doing the criticising - poor choices of words, imperfect tone, or contradictory ideas are inevitably going to happen occasionally.

congrats on reaching the end! if you have, at any point, said one of these to me, you owe a hug to your nearest loved one (once it's safe).

edit: might add more links/bonus points in the future when I think of things, but it's late now. (sorry for links where prior notes in the thread have my old url, that may get a tad confusing; also, not all links are my blog or my op, since it is to illustrate points/vibes, not to self-promo.)

#don't take life too seriously #nobody gets out alive anyway #tw abuse mention #tw csa mention #tw incest mention #tw for any tws I missed #idk why I did this

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cxmetery-gates · 4 years

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OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER THREE: A GOOD SCARY STORY

SUMMARY: With teases and friendly banter, Lynn can’t help but fall under Mr. Hiddleston’s charming spell. WORD COUNT: 2.1k NOTES: Thank you to everyone reading! Dark!fics get a lot of criticism and though the story has not turned into one ((yet)), I’m very humbled by all the likes and reblogs :) WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

"I'M NOT ONE FOR COMPLAINING," I pant– while simultaneously lying with a straight face– dragging my feet up another flight. "But can I ask which floor your room is on?"

Only a step ahead of my slow pace, the male teacher smirks. "Not fond of stairs?"

I shrug. "Not really fond of anything involving exercise."

"I would agree," he glances back, a grin marking his face. He makes a huff, more than likely on my same page, but perhaps better off. He appears to be fit so I'm doubting three flights of stairs is killing him like it's slaughtering me. "But, a morning run isn't the worst way to start the day."

My nose wrinkles. "So you're one of those guys? Gotta make those gains, hm?" I'm not sure where my overly confident attitude is coming from. It's not like me to make comments like these to my teachers, Mrs. Gibbons being the exception but even then I am reserved. Something about being close to Mr. Hiddleston has completely altered my professionalism around people of a higher authority. Hopefully it doesn't last long and I don't run into the principle any time soon.

Finally, after what seemed like climbing Mount Doom, we reach the last step. Pausing, Mr. Hiddleston looks down to me. "You've got quite the nerve talking to your superior like a classmate."

It's obvious he's teasing, so I go along. "My superior? What, because you're a hundred thousand dollars in debt thanks to a fancy piece of paper and you've got a couple more decades on your shoulders?"

"'A couple decades?'" He repeats, quite amused.

I shrug with sass coating my entire being. "Give or take. What are you, forty? Nearing fifty?"

His gives a chuckle. "Try thirty-three."

"Really?" I ask doing a small run down while he looks away. I don't find myself in the company of thirty-somethings all that often but I can't lie; he's looking really good, especially from the backside. Mr. Hiddleston hums, and I'm not sure if that was a positive or negative sound. "You sure? Because I could have sworn I saw some grays up there."

"Oh, ha ha, you're so clever," he mocks, voice suddenly raising just a couple octaves. It causes me to jump but I giggle, feeling a strange girly feeling arise from my stomach. All I can do is tell myself not to throw up from nerves, over and over in my head.

Feeling just as confident, I reply with a whisper. "Shh! There are classes in session! You're going to get detention!"

He shakes his head. Mr. Hiddleston attempts to be serious but there's humor and teases filled between each word. "Funny you mention that: I happen to be the teacher in change of detention this week. And don't think I won't put you there because you're helping me: any other teacher would have landed you a weeks worth just from your comment on my age."

My eyes roll. "As if. You're too nice."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," I reply, a smirk hanging on my lips.

He looks down, given my lack of height, and I move my face towards him comically. There's a smirk playing on his thin lips, the corners desperately trying to form a smile. Eye contact remains steady, but I see it more as a funny, friendly game of domination. A moment passes before he looks away, a small sigh parting his lips. "We'll see about that," Mr. Hiddleston retorts, causing me to chuckle.

From his belt, he wears one of those mini extendable cables that can hold all sorts of keys and chains. I'm honestly not quite sure what they're called. Fumbling with the keys, Mr. Hiddleston flips through several before find the the right one and pulling it towards the door, a thin wire keeping a hold on the instrument. When I was much younger, my mother would wear one clipped to the pocket of her scrubs, but hers was smaller, only allowing another clip for her RN tag. Each night consisted of me as a toddler pulling on the name tag and watching the cord return to the circular piece of plastic, unable to see the thin cable coil within. The small piece of nostalgia sets a comforting warmth in my chest.

Despite the insignificant memory, I snicker at his device. The sight of such a young and handsome man keeping his keys together with such an instrument is dorky, and definitely cute.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he sighs, flipping the fluorescent lights on. I follow him in while getting a look around his classroom.

It's relatively simple and mundane, surprisingly enough. Not like I was expecting red velvet walls or a jacuzzi, but maybe something with a bit more personality. The walls are neatly littered with the typical English teacher posters, from "Best Shakespeare Quotes" to the differences between "to," "too," and "two." There's a blank white board in front of rows of desks and a projection screen pulled down over it. Across the room are a few book shelves consisting of dictionaries, thesauruses, and books worth reading. From the distance I can easily spot several of my own favorite books, instantly earring couple brownie points from me.

I follow Mr. Hiddleston who takes a left, as a wall with a pencil sharpener blocks the right. We walk parallel to a wall which is entirely ceiling high cabinets, all closed to the curious eye. His desk sits catty corner and is much like his classroom: mess free and boring. I consider making a comment but stop myself when I notice a few photos on the filing cabinet. One is him with a graduation cap and gown, his hands bearing a diploma. The next looks like a guys night out with Mr. Hiddleston wearing a (distractingly tight) black shirt and two other men accompanying him. And last, and the one that is set before the others, is a picture of the teacher with an older woman. I can only assume it's his mother. This causes a heart warmed smile to etch across my face. It's always lovely and precious to see older men respecting and appreciating their mothers. My own tells me "mama's boys" are the worst type of man to date because in her mind, they are still children who cling to their mothers for support, emotion and financially. I have to remind her that it's not the case for every man, just for the guy she chose to marry.

"Please, set the books wherever you like." My random tangent gets interrupted by a voice, causing me to jump six feet. Mr. Hiddleston places his stack of books on his desk. I would follow suit but looking at the small space, I decide to give his personal bubble some room and I move to the nearest student desk.

Brushing my hands over my black jeans, I turn around. While the teacher shuffled through stacks of papers, I awkwardly and silently stand close to his desk. Only a few second pass do I actually realize my situation: me with the hottest teacher, all alone. I can only imagine all the jealous teenagers clawing at this chance. However, I have a job downstairs waiting for me. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Hiddleston?"

His eyes quickly shoot up. "Oh, uh no. No, thank you." Mr. Hiddleston pauses a moment to set his papers down. "I'm sorry for keeping you. I was looking to see what hour of the day I have you, but it appears there isn't one."

My eyebrows knit together at his comment. "Well, you'd have to look for a "Carolyn" if that were the case." I pause for a moment, confusion riddling my face. "Wait, whaddya mean?" Almost instantly, I'm repulsed by my southern slang, despite myself not having any drawl to my words. My voice is basically that of an incoherent cave woman compared to his smooth, charming accent. Aside from this, I feel myself floating; he's looking for a time to see me again. I have to contain a girlish squeal just as reality sets in. He's probably just curious if he actually has me or is considering making a "see you at this time" comment. Nonetheless, my heart skips a beat or two.

"Most seniors take my course as their final English requirement. Are you not a senior?"

I feel myself dimming at his comment. Unfortunately, it would appear reality strikes again. But it was honestly quite ridiculous for me to even consider the reason why he was looking for my name was for something other than educational. However, I simultaneously feel my body lighting up. "Oh, no, I definitely am a senior. I chose the writing class for my English elective. I, uh, want to be a writer so I figured it would help in the long run."

Mr. Hiddleston seems interested in what I have to say. Most tell me writing isn't a career or I have a one in a million chance in making it big. Well, if George Lucas can write the three prequels all alone and still make bank, I think I've got a pretty good shot. "Fascinating! What is your preferred genre?"

With some hesitation, I blurt out, "Fantasy, but also some horror and thrillers. I've tried sci-fi once; didn't work out too well."

"I love a good scary story," he comments, giving me a wink. I take this as a small gesture, but my insides are literally screaming. Never has a friendly wink turned me into a flustering mess. Part of me say he knows what he can do, and if that's the case, he's quite the cocky bastard.

Playing along, I give my shoulder a shrug and coolly reply, "Perhaps I can run a rough or final draft by you."

"I wouldn't mind that at all."

How does such a small statement cause all my organs and two hundred and six bones to turn into jelly?

Brushing my long hair from my face, I peek over at the clock. It's been a bit longer than I expected, the hands informing me I have five minutes left of my first class period. "Well, I ought to get going if there isn't anything else I can do for you?" I make sure to say this in the form of a question. I wouldn't mind being late to my next class just to see a gorgeous face a while longer.

Mr. Hiddleston's lips part for a moment just before clamming shut. The look in his blue eyes tell me he wants to say something, but doesn't. I'm not sure what would constitute such a hesitation; initially, I thought he would have asked me to help shelve the twenty-or-so books. The look is intense, or appears to be, just for a flash, less than a second. My own anxieties begin to shake just as a kind smile grows along his lips. "No, but I do appreciate the offer. Thank you, Carolyn."

I visibly cringe at my legal name, this look not going by the teacher so easily. He bursts a small laugh. "Not a fan or your name, are we?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No particularly. It's a bit vintage. Well, not terribly so, but I'm not over the moon about it." I pause awkwardly, my flustered nerves getting the better of me. I croak out some sounds before finishing my tangent. "I go by Lynn, though."

"Lynn it is then," Mr. Hiddleston announces. "I'll let you get going then. The bell will ring soon and I don't want you to be late on your first day back because of me."

I smirk while crossing over to the door. "Nah, I don't mind." Instantly I want to smack the back of my head. To anyone listening it would sound like I had been flirting with a teacher. Well, to be fair it would have sounded like it not matter what time someone were to jump in at. Even so, this comment I naturally came up with put me in a case of "oh fuck." With reddened cheeks, I take a look over my shoulder so see Mr. Hiddleston unfazed by my comment, thank the holy lord, except a ever growing smile. He takes his eyes off the paper in front of him, meeting me with his pretty blues.

"I'll see you around, Lynn."

"Likewise." And with that, I part down the hall, this time invested in taking the elevator.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

TAGLIST:

@khadineberry

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#obsessive teachings #dark!tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfiction #teacher!tom hiddleston #loki #high school #stalking #obsessed love #obsessive #dark!fic

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vynnyal · 5 years

Text

dumping my random thoughts, comic ideas, and wildly misinformed theories abt hk onto my victims: part 2!!! p clear what I was doing in some of these, lmao

btw if you have any input im very, super interested please feel free 2 share

"So who's the mother?" Grimm: "Mother? No, there was no mother." "Then how--?" grimm: "Mitosis, obviously." Cut to two panels of the person dissociating over what they imagine the process to be.

FUCKIN... ASEXUAL PRIDE GRIMM

Hornet yelling shaw instead of yeet or koby.

Hornet yelling git gud at inappropriate times in place of like... Actual Advice. Alt: jdghghf or when she gets nervous, as a distraction.

Her thinking of something cool to say while waiting outside the black egg temple. alt: her thinking so hard she almost misses her cue, making her flub; aka the reason she says somn more like "geddun" in-game. alt alt: thk and ghost sharing a blank look (mid-battle) and thinking "she flubbed" in disbelief.

Hornet and something with the "spidersilk paper" lemm mentioned, maybe using it to """document""" her day when she has time to spare. She insists it's not a diary, so don't even try.

Hornet grieving the little weavers.

(speedrun) "You wanna fight? Huh? Huh? Well I dont, bye"

Zote "I only saved you for the money" joke.

Quirrel pretending not to understand modern slang.

Quirrel... Dad jokes... Holy shit

FUCKIN... DAD BOD???

conifer appearing in increasingly absurd locations.

Quirrel playfully commenting on the uh... "information"... The tablets display. alt: he can actually read it just fine, but is coy abt telling ghost what it says.

rather than just appearing, Quirrel and ghost walk through the archives together, the mood bittersweet.

Hollow knight passing the time in the black egg lightheartedly.

Wyrm and root trying to argue but the height difference just makes them both laugh.

ghost appearing before Root, expectant, only for them to slowly realize she doesn't actually... care about them. or any of the vessels, really. she expects them to do their duty, her claims of shame apparently not deterring her away from the fate they were created for. alt: she acts like that not out of any kind of malevolence, but out of pure ignorance. It doesn't occur to her how much it costs the little vessels... Or that they even have anything to lose, at all.

Cut to the future after the bad end, as yet another fragile vessel appears before the queen, far too late to save anyone now.

Godmaster traitor lord battle, ghost walks in looking very nervous. Traitor looks smug, asking if they're afraid (of him), only for the next panel to show ghost sweating profusely as they have Fragile Flower Flashbacks. alt, they're imagining/being pressured by the ghost girlfriends glaring at them/wailing "WAIIII" in tendem.

Ghost asks how thk got so big, only for them to reveal their body is still the same size, and they're just controlling a big suit of armor like false knight. Jdbfjfgjr

its been pointed out the bee knight doesnt... actually have any wings to buzz with. the noises are entirely vocalized. The reason buzzy baby makes buzz noises is because he felt left out when he was a kid; the queen, seeking to comfort him, explains how he can create his very own buzz sounds using an alternative method, instead. Despite his battle prowess, his mind never matured, continuing up to his very last moments to make the habitual noises of his childhood.

(godmaster) having soul left over and fuckin SCREAMING in the faces of the nail masters just before the bench.

Defeating bee boy by one mask, relaxing for a sec, before realizing the bees are stILL COMING ACTUALLY,,,,

The aftermath of the sheo fight, ghost just DRIPPING with rainbow-colored paint.

ze'mer and her lover meeting in their dreams.

flower lesbos hanging out with the thorn husbos (nailmaster/sheo hfshh)

Team cherry hid the gays behind some of the hardest missions because, let's be honest, no homophobe would put that much effort into anything.

Quirrel saying "I've only had ghost for a day, but if anything happened to them I'd -" Cuts to ghost, shade over their body Quirrel: "..."

Messing with the hot springs... geysers? Idk 3 heads things. whats in there? How were they made? By the ancient civilization, maybe pale king? alt: finding quirrel relaxing casually inside one of the eyesockets instead of in the spring, lmao.

"I'd sure like to be a shade, like heck- they can fly, they can do that weird teleport thing, and they have-", turns to it, "- ALL MY MONEY!!!"

Ngl I still don't fully understand the relationship between ghost, their shell, and their shade, and should prolly read up before blabbing, but what is it that separates ghost's body from their shade? Or their shade from ghost, themself? We see in the dnm ending they can very much "control" their shade, as they voluntarily rip off their shell to release it. Or... Oh shit am I dumb? Did ghost kill themselves right then? Oh fuck did ghost die to let their shade kill the radience. Please tell me I'm wrong I'm really upset now yfjfihrufhgi

Gonna be honest the previous one was me trying to contextualize the concept of ghost being able to fly like shades do but now I'm just thinking abt ghost, fuck. Still. Imagine ghost n thk just, like, hovering towards people with their funky tentacle legs. Or better, no tentacles, they can just Do That. Establish your dominance, little vessels.

Ghost doing the superman "ripping off your shirt to shift into super-mode" thing except they just tear apart their shell. Alt: hornet: "that looks painful"

Broken vessel was stuck. Out of all the dead vessels we see- the one in greenpath, those hung in nosk's den, the floor of the abyss, even ghost themself- not one retained their body after death. Except, that is, for broken vessel. Something, somehow, was anchoring their shade to their shattered shell and keeping it there, unable to seep away and reunite with their siblings below. They weren't just another corpse. That was ghost's sibling.

Just what is a vessel's coak? From what I've seen of the sprites, it's clearly attached to their shells; some in nosk's den are even hung from them, with their shells dangling below it. It seems biological- by which I mean, not some sort of clothing or ambiguously god-based substance- which makes its selective decay rather odd. On one hand, in greenpath, nosk's den, and some specific corpses within the abyss, their cloaks have stayed firmly attached. On the other, we have countless shells left naked all over the place- even ghost's shell is like this. Of course we have to keep in mind ari prolly just didn't wanna animate that, but that's no fun. I don't really have a prompt or theory here, as nothing I come up with quite fits the bill... Just more of a thinkpiece, I suppose.

Nyooming past quirrel at blue lake, freeze frame of ghost and q sharing a startled look.

Ghost distracting sheo by making him gush over his artwork. alt, "winning" the battle by showing him something they made, and/or just having a paint-off. Ghost wins no matter what, obviously.

Ohhh... Ghost learning to express themselves through art...

Lurien secretly has multiple eyes, fit neatly in the one socket.

Appreciating the genius of the mimic grub room (the real grub's location is hard-coded. im still mad)

Hearing Hornet say "get down" instead of "git gud" and the connotations of that. alt: hearing "git gud" when she's actually saying "get down", being offended or otherwise reacting to that, before being promptly smacked in the face by whatever she was warning them abt.

Hornet doing weird, obscure spider things.

Ghost: WHAT is THAT?? uumuu: uumuu emoji face

Where does the shade get its sword? Is it a void-sword? Did they scavange it? Did they make it???

The actual guttural horror of falling into the centipedes in deepnest.

The irony of feeling incredibly sad and hurt at thk's pain, but absolute bloodlust for pure knight.

What was written upon the journal found with the corpse in ash at hollownest’s edge. Alt: h. how did ash even get up there.

#blabbing.txt #Thonking abt hollowknight #FDhbfjfhf I had to cut this post in half #Only true chads make long texts posts on mobile and of them I am king #Sorry abt the angst lma o.... idk whether to include them r not #I am so melodramatic and idk how not to be help

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atamascolily · 4 years

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AND ANOTHER THING

So I’m putting together a timeline for the Star Wars Sequel trilogy based on Wookiepeedia, and I noticed some things:

5 ABY - Ben Solo born (conceived after Battle of Endor, yikes). 15 ABY - Rey born. 10-year-old Ben Solo begins training with Luke.

28 ABY -Ben is 23. He learns the truth about his heritage when Leia is ousted in a political scandal. Destruction of Jedi Temple. Ben turns to the dark and becomes Kylo. Luke goes into exile (???). 34 ABY [six years later] - Events of TFA. Rey is 19. Kylo is 29. TLJ picks up where TFA leaves off.

First of all, Ben isn’t a child when he and Luke have that kerfuffle; he’s a grown-ass adult. I don’t believe Luke Skywalker would try to murder his nephew, even though canon insists that he does, but I have zero sympathy for the manchild we see in TFA and TLJ who ought to know better and doesn’t. If he were Rey’s age, I’d be willing to cut him a lot more slack.

Luke standing over him with a lit lightsaber is traumatizing, yes, but Kylo doesn’t even ask, “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” either before or after he reacts. He just blasts Luke away, sets the place on fire, and runs. (It’s unclear in the films if he deliberately kills the students or if their deaths are accidents. It’s also unclear in the films if the students he takes with him are kidnapped or if they’re co-conspirators / turn to the Dark themselves. Given how cavalierly Kylo murders people in TFA and TLJ, however, I find TLJ’s decision to suggest, “hey, you were wrong to jump to conclusions about Kylo” is... odd. Even if he wasn’t evil then, he chose to become evil. That wasn’t Luke’s doing!!! Rey is right on the money when she tells Luke that “Kylo failed you”.)

Keep in mind that the OT never tried to justify Vader’s crimes ex post facto by saying he was misunderstood. Vader is presented as genuinely evil, right up until the point where he saves Luke, and it’s a surprise for everyone because there’s literally no warning that it’s coming. That act doesn’t undo all that’s come before. It just shows that there was room for him to be different. That’s different from what I see TLJ trying to do.

I’ve noted the age gap between Kylo and Rey before; it’s one reason why I am personally squicked by a romantic relationship between them. Though they would both be considered legal adults in the US, there’s a big age and experience gap between most 19-year-olds and most 29-year-olds, and so while a relationship could work in theory, it would likely be an exception rather than the rule. (Per XKCD, the general rule of thumb for age gaps in relationships is [half your age + 7] - so Rey is 2 years younger than the rule suggests is appropriate.) Rey is exceptionally mature for her age; Kylo notably less so--I don’t see it working out.

Of course, the age gap isn’t the only reason this pairing doesn’t appeal - the torture/mind rape sequence alone would make this a NOTP for me - but it really doesn’t help.

Also, as an aside, please note that 28 ABY was a hell of a year, and there’s barely any information about it in canon, despite the fact that it’s so freakin’ pivotal in shaping the ST’s world. There’s Bloodline, which is about Leia’s heritage becoming public (which I have not read, so I’m super-fuzzy on the details) and the Rise of Kylo Ren comic series... and that’s pretty much it.

But the reason I mention the age gap is because The Rise of Skywalker decided that Kylo and Rey were two halves of some mystical “Force dyad” (try saying that with a straight face!) and I... have some questions. Like was Kylo always one half of the dyad for ten years, just hanging out all by his lonesome until Rey finally popped into existence to “complete” him (ugh) or what? How does that even work??

(Wook says The Rise of Skywalker: Expanded Edition includes a bit about how Palpatine tried to make a Force dyad with Vader and I just...how would that even work?? Please stop, you’re embarrassing yourself.)

The only way the stupid Force dyad business could even possibly make sense is if Kylo and Rey were Secret Twins--but the age gap makes that impossible. Literally all of the stuff that the narrative uses to establish them as Star-Crossed Lovers would make just as much sense--if not more--if they were Secret Twins, but they can’t be Secret Twins because of the age gap. And I suspect the age gap was deliberate, precisely to rule out the prospect of Secret Twins in the first place because... the OT already did it? (I dunno, they didn’t have any problem re-creating most of the stuff from the OT into the ST, right down to superweapons and Emperor Palpatine, so I honestly don’t know why they drew the line at the Secret Twins thing, which would have at least made sense.)

But you know where else we see this kind of age gap? Let’s roll over to Legends, shall we?

7 BBY - Kyp Durron born.

9 ABY - Jacen and Jaina Solo born. Kyp is 16.

11 ABY - Events of the Jedi Academy trilogy by Kevin J. Anderson: Kyp Durron turns to the dark side based on the urging of a Sith ghost, fights Luke, destroys the suns of several systems, and is brought back to the light by Han Solo. Kyp is 18. Jaina is 2.

So there’s a slightly bigger age gap between Kyp and Jaina, but everything else maps out so perfectly between those two and Kylo and Rey that it’s just... blindingly obvious the writers were trying to have it all ways by mashing a Kyp/Jaina storyline with the Jacen vs. Jaina storyline, plus mixing in the Dark Empire plot in for good measure. In my opinion, it does not work.

Also, lest you call me a hypocrite because I admit to shipping Kyp/Jaina on occasion, let me be clear: I don’t ship this pairing when Jaina is 19 and Kyp is 35--not only because of the age gap, but because Kyp is her teacher at that point, and that is is a major squick for me. But when Kyp is 50, Jaina is 34, she’s not his student anymore, they’ve both matured, and the creepiness equation cited above is in their favor. Context matters.

Anyway, I don’t understand how a Force dyad works, and I don’t think the writers do either, because none of their explanations make any sense. The only reason Rey and Kylo are a dyad is Because The Writers Said So. That’s it. It’s the Soulmates trope taken up to 11 because in theory everybody should have a soulmate, but there’s literally only one Force dyad ever, because they’re just That Special.

And the whole business was even more offensive once I realized that Anakin was allowed to be the Chosen One all by his lonesome, but Rey is only complete when she’s bonded with Kylo as a Force dyad (despite someone being able to embody All of The Jedi At Once without him). What, and I mean this literally, the fuck.

Anyway, in my fix-it fic, things are a little more straightforward: Kylo tried to mind-rape Rey in TFA, as per canon, and when Rey fought back and pushed him out of her mind, the trauma triggered a lot of her latent Force powers. Each of them picked up stuff from the other’s mind as a consequence of Kylo’s unskillful digging, and it left them with a lingering connection that shows up in TLJ’s “Force Skype” conversations at unexpected intervals, which Rey believes Kylo to be doing on purpose.

Legends!Luke postulates that Rey is unable to keep Kylo out because of her own internalized self-doubt and trauma and works to change that as he works with Rey. The culmination of that arc is for her to deliberately set her boundaries and defend them successfully with skill and control, rather than pure instinct--basically, to revisit the trauma in TFA and change the ending.

#star wars #WHY DISNEY WHY #tlj fix-it

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hillnerd · 5 years

Text

The Wonderful Won Won - ch 5

ff.net A03 tumblr Chapter word count- 11524 [PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[start at the beginning]

BIG, GIANT, HUMONGOUS THANKS TO @diva-gonzo- for being so kind and being my beta/editor for this! It was a GIANT chapter to go through!!! Go and check out their work!!! Diva is an amazing writer!

Trigger warnings: cursing, hospital, medical injuries (brain damage, memory issues, agraphia), negative thoughts about one’s own disabilities

====================================================

CHAPTER 5- Bedpans and Broomsticks

The first few days awake in the hospital wing were bleary ones. Ron had difficulty remembering all the various daily moments without consulting an ever-growing stack of parchments with reminders. Any lapse in memory was fine though, as he had Hermione there to remind him of anything he forgot. He forgot quite a bit, considering how much Hermione had to remind him.

Ron felt exhilarated to see his friends on a weekday. It was excruciating being remanded to the hospital wing, waiting for people to come to him, and with very little to do. He loathed sitting still for too long. Sure he loved to laze about, but it’d be with the knowledge he could do anything he liked later. At home having the freedom to read comics, eat some ice mice, play chess or go for a fly made even a lazy day where he did nothing but sleep and do chores pleasant.

Having nothing to do in a hospital wing was a different thing altogether. Enforced laziness wasn’t fun. Harry had brought him his chess set, and a couple of chocolate frogs. Ginny brought him some Quidditch magazines. Hermione brought him loads of homework and her highly detailed notes from their shared classes. He couldn’t do the work, though. Not that he didn’t try. The moment he’d start reading an assignment by the end of a paragraph he’d have forgotten most of what he’d read.

He tried taking notes, but holding a quill and controlling it enough to even ink the quill made his whole arm spasm within five minutes, and the concentration it took to process words and spell them made him rage with frustration. He wasn’t a genius like Hermione but he’d always been bright enough that school wasn’t that hard for him and he could float by without much effort. Now it took all his willpower to write his name legibly and he even struggled to spell it. Pomfrey called it Agraphia, or the inability to process words to write them, and assured him that this would all come back, that it was all temporary. It was of little reassurance when experiencing the strange fear and crazed feeling of being unable to spell and write your name, a task he’d been able to do easily since he was four years old.

His family had all written to him, sans Percy, with Mum sending a few follow ups when he hadn’t replied. They sat unanswered. There was no way for him to reply. He could barely sign a letter, much less write one. He kept trying to will his way through them, but all it lead to headaches and fatigue.

Despite spending all his days in bed, the hospital wing thoroughly exhausted him. No matter what activities his friends brought him he was unable to enjoy them, and it wasn’t relaxing in a hospital. He was in pain or at least uncomfortable all day and night. Pain potions didn’t help much and when they did, he slept. Every night he was awoken a few times as Pomfrey came to administer spells and potions, or just check the room. What sleep he got was light and restless, plagued by nightmares of choking to death or being unable to control his body. The fear would jerk him awake and it would take hours to fall asleep again.

“How did you sleep?” Pomfrey asked, as she did her early morning round, waking him a good hour earlier than he ever woke on his own.

“Fine,” Ron lied, sitting up fully in bed as she spelled the bed to support him. “I think I can manage class today. I’m feeling good, now.”

She looked at him with a hint of agitation. Maybe he gave it away by not looking at her directly. She knew he was exaggerating, but Ron couldn’t help but hope she’d let him out of his prison, even if for an hour or two. He saw a hint of a smile on her face before she squared up in front of him.

“Oh? You’re ‘feeling good?’ Well let’s test you just to make sure. Please raise both your arms straight in front of you.”

Ron quickly complied. That was easy enough. They almost immediately began to ache as he held them aloft. He was so weak he could feel them imperceptibly begin to shake.

“I am going to press down on them, and I need you to push back to keep your arms in the same position.”

Ron nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on keeping his face neutral, and his arms firm and unshaking.

She gently pushed down on his arms. He forced himself into keeping his arms aloft, but his head began to swim, and they were quickly pushed down to his lap by the Matron.

“I’m sorry, Mr Weasley. You haven’t regained the strength and stamina needed to attend your classes. Just getting to one of them right now would be too much for your body.”

Ron nearly cursed and wanted to throw something, but he was too exhausted to do it. He hated being weak like this. It wanted to bash his brains in, feeling so useless. He always felt a bit useless, which he hated, but at least he could combat it by just being there for people. He might not be the smartest, the most talented, good looking, or even useful but he had grit, and he was good at just being consistently present. At least, he tried to be that. Maybe he wasn’t even any good at that. He’d had a pretty bad track record of being there for Hermione, and his falling out with Harry their fourth year. And now he was sitting in the hospital wing unable to help them with anything at all.

He hated to admit it, and flat out refused to tell Madam Pomphrey, but he was utterly spent. Blimey! He’d toss Harry off the top of a tower to get a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Not sleeping wasn’t helping his memory issues get any better.

He swore if he had one more friend say they’d said something to him already he’d scream!

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and Ron feigned sleep, just in case it was Lavender. He knew the moment he paid her a lick of attention the newfound peace he’d found with Hermione would vanish, and Ron really didn’t know if his heart could take losing Hermione again. He would surely mess it up all on his own eventually, but he’d be damned if he’d let her slip away today. The footsteps sounded like the fast little rhythm of Hermione’s, but he didn’t dare open his eyes until he heard her laugh.

“Ron, I know you’re not asleep!” she said with a bit of a giggle that made him smile in turn as he opened his eyes. He’d never take her smile for granted ever again.

“How’d you know?” He sat up slightly in the bed.

“Because you snore every time you’re asleep for more than a minute or so.”

“What? Naw, I don’t. Not all the time.”

“Believe me, you do,” she said with a smile. “Harry’s mentioned it too, and he gets far more of an earful than anyone else, I imagine.”

“Is it loud? I don’t sound like a dragon rattling the timbers or anything, do I?”

“No, I'd say your snoring is something akin to the sound a bear makes.”

Ron flinched in embarrassment.

“A smallish bear,” she added with a small smile. “Well, now at least. You’ll probably have it get worse as you get older. I don’t envy anyone sleeping with you by then.”

Ron’s mind flew to a vision of he and Hermione settling into bed, an old married couple, her poking him in his back as he snored. It was the most domestic, and least sexy thing he’d ever imagined about Hermione in his life, yet somehow his cheeks began to burn what was surely a deep red.

“Oh don’t worry,” she said, eyeing his red face and taking a seat on his bed as she had for the past two mornings. “I’m sure there are lots of solutions for it; silencing spells or something. At least you don’t have sleep apnea.”

“I’ve no clue what that is.”

“It’s a condition where you stop breathing in your sleep for a moment or two. Mum and Dad have a fair few patients with it and the Muggle devices for it are ridiculous. They put a breathing apparatus with long tubes on your face, and you have to do it every night. It’s quite mad, really.”

“Where do the tubes go?” he asked, horrified.

“It’s a face mask that sits around the nose, and sometimes mouth area.”

“Sounds thoroughly miserable. I’m picturing it like the pipes in the bathroom going up the nose.”

“No no, it’s plastic bendy tubes. More looks like a jellyfish sitting on your face than a metal pipe.”

The two of them smiled as he budged over a bit more so she should sit with her back supported by the inclined bed.

“Are you able to come to class today?” she asked.

“I wish. And it’s Herbology then Potions today, right?” He asked looking to her to confirm. She nodded and he let out a relieved sigh. His memory was slowly improving, though not fast enough for his liking. He’d never been a Hermione, able to memorize books of information, but he’d always been pretty good at recall. The poisoning had left him struggling to remember innocuous details, and was easily distracted as he lost sight of what he was doing. He’d almost lost in chess a few times.

“I thought I could maybe do class today, but Pomfrey did a test on me, and I’m still… Well I’m still pretty useless right now.”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said, holding his hand. His hands at least had gotten well enough that he could hold her hand almost normally again. “You’ll be better soon, and then you’ll be back to outstripping us all with your long legs, coming to class and playing Quidditch.”

“Yeah…” Ron said with a sigh. “I’m hoping they want me back for Quidditch. I dunno if I’ll be cleared to play again. I hope so. McLaggen’s replacing me while I’m out, and he’s a really good Quidditch player so— ”

“He’s not as good as you.”

“I dunno.... He seems pretty damned confident about his skills and did really well at tryouts.”

“But he didn’t beat you, did he?” Hermione interjected. “Plus he has the personality of a skrewt. Trust me, no one will want to keep him around.”

“You were able to keep him around for Slughorn’s party,” Ron said before her could stop himself.

“Well… That was only one night. And it was rather awful, if I’m honest. That’s why I left the party early as I did.”

“It was? You didn’t ‘finish the evening’ another time?”

“Definitely not.”

Ron felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“You really think he’s a berk?”

“Yes.”

“And you… You didn’t go out on another date with him?”

“No.”

Ron was positively beaming. She wasn’t involved with McLaggen. He had a slight worry about the team preferring that arse, but the one person whose preference most mattered didn’t like McLaggen at all. Instead she was sitting in a hospital wing, on Ron’s bed, holding his hand. He found his other hand coming round to draw circles on her hand.

“Would you like to play some chess?” Hermione asked, a little flush working its way across her cheeks.

“Naw, I’m fine doin’ this,” he replied, unable to catch her eye as he was content to stroke her tiny cold hand. Her hands were always so cold, like little ice packs, but it felt wonderful when she’d take one and put it against his overheated face. He’d never appreciated fever fudge more than when it got Hermione to check his temperature fall of fifth year. He’d blushed almost purple between her touching him, and the effects of the sweet.

“I wish you could come to class,” Hermione said quietly.

“I’d be more useless than usual at them,” Ron said with a snort. He hadn’t told Hermione how he couldn’t really write. He was fine with her thinking he was procrastinating, because at least he’d have a semblance of pride. “Plus, me being gone isn’t that big of a change for you, is it? We weren’t exactly spending that much time together in class the past few months.”

“No we weren’t,” she said, worrying her bottom lip. They hadn’t spoken about their months long rift, and Ron didn’t feel capable of truly broaching the subject with her, even if part of him wanted to. “But still, you were there.”

She clutched firmly at his hand.

“You’re always there, even if things aren’t going well, and I don’t like looking over to find you’re not there. Plus Harry looks so lonely without you next to him.”

“He gets on fine without me, I’m sure.” His ears gave away his lie.

“No he doesn’t,” Hermione argued back. He wished she’d said she couldn’t get on without him either, but it wasn’t in Hermione’s nature to lie. She might not like Ron missing or whatever, but she certainly didn’t need him. No one really did, not even Harry.

Harry was awkward with other people, but he could get on without him in the picture. This year, at least, half the school were drooling to get a piece of Harry, so it’d be easy enough for him to find plenty of new friends. Much of the time it felt like a matter of time until Harry would move on to better friends than him. Sometimes he thought the only reason Harry kept him about was to have an in with the Weasley clan, and have the loving family he’d always deserved.

He didn’t resent it most of the time. He was happy to give his family to Harry. They might all be perfectly mad, and more than half of them annoying, but they were a brilliant family most of the time. They preferred Harry to him anyways, and after everything Harry had done and been through, he had little inclination to become territorial over them. He didn’t have much he could share with his best friend, but he sure had an overabundance of family.

Dad loved to corner Harry to learn about Muggle things, Mum would go out of her way to fatten up Harry and croon over his newest accomplishment, Charlie and Bill had immense respect for him, the Twins shared all sorts of secrets with Harry and even gave him free merchandise and Ginny seemed to have grown rather close with him too the last few years. The only Weasley who didn’t seem to prefer Harry over Ron was Percy, but that was only because of the Ministry. Ron was certain it was only a matter of time until Percy joined in too. It did hurt at times knowing his family liked and admired his friend more than they ever did him, but there was no use in mourning it. It was just one of those things he had to accept, like being poor, maroon sweaters, or corned beef sandwiches. Hermione seemed to like and admire Harry more too. He couldn’t blame her on that. Ron knew how grumpy and argumentative he could be, and how Harry excelled at everything and was ‘fanciable.’ Well…

“You alright?” Hermione asked, drawing him from his ponderings.

“Yeah,” he said, removing his hand from hers and giving a stretch. It wasn’t all that rare for him to get lost in thought, but since the poisoning it was a lot easier. “Might be up for that chess game after all.”

“Oh! I can fetch it for you.”

She hopped down from the bed and the lovely sensation of her pressed to his side was gone.

They began to set the chess pieces up on his wheeled overbed table. Ron’s hand spasmed as he put a knight in place, sending the pieces spilling and clacking across the table.

“Bleeding fuck! Sod it!” Ron snarled pushing the table away and covering his face in frustration. A few of the pieces cursed back as they picked themselves upright.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“Don’t bother, I doubt I can even play properly! I can’t do anything anymore!” he lamented, looking to the ceiling.

“You’re getting better every day! You can even feed yourself now, and—”

“Oh there’s a big achievement,” he cheeked. “Ron Weasley can finally feed himself. How bloody spectacular! Next we can have people line up to watch Ron wipe his own arse. A real treat, that! What a useless sod I am...”

“You know what?” Hermione admonished. “Since you’re feeling useless, why don’t you reply to your letters or do your homework? They’re really piling up and— ”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, honestly! I know it’s not fun, but you need to see to your responsibilities, and it will give you something to pass the time. Here, I’ll get your textbooks and papers. Professor Snape’s Defense essay is quite grueling really, and it will take some time to do it. I spent hours just picking the books to use for my research, and I don’t think he’ll give you an extension, even with being poisoned. I’ll just fetch them, and we can make a rough outline of what research we want to use.”

“I’m not doing it now, so don’t bother. You really don’t need to!” Ron protested, hoping she wouldn’t open his satchel and see the sad attempts he’d made at the essay already. He’d been able to hide the child-like ink scribblings for days, despite her being drawn to his parchment and books like Dobby was drawn to socks. She pushed ahead though and started rifling through his bedside table. The idea of her seeing what an imbecile he’d become made him reel in panic.

“Really, don’t!” Ron said, scrambling out of the bed. He got one leg to the floor before it shook and gave out, pitching his whole body onto the side table with a loud crash as the lamp and all the other contents fell to the floor. Hermione narrowly avoided his shoulder crashing into her face by leaping out the way, and he struggled to hold himself from falling to the ground as the table precariously clacked against the flagstone floor.

“Mr Weasley! What are you doing?” Pomfrey cried out at the calamitous sound. She bustled over and got him back in the bed. “You aren’t supposed to leave the bed without help, and you know it! What were you thinking? If you had smacked your head in its unstable state you could have seriously inhibited your recovery!”

“Sorry,” he miserably gritted out between his panting hard breaths.

“Attempt it again and I’ll tie you to the bed, young man.”

“I won’t! I won’t!” That was the last blow to his dignity he could take. He huffed as Pomfrey and Hermione silently gathered everything that had fallen to the ground, and willed himself not to throw anything or cry in front of them. He couldn’t even stand. Pathetic. His whole body was trembling like he’d been running through the Department of Mysteries. With Hermione looking at him with concern, he turned his body away and it automatically collapsed in on itself like a quivering fold-away cot.

“I’ll have some breakfast for you soon,” said Madame Pomfrey rather quietly, before leaving his side.

He errantly nodded in response, unable to speak. He could hear Hermione shuffling the papers together behind him. If she had papers in her hand, she was reading them. She’d see the childish scrawl, the holes his quill had pressed through the paper, and multiple attempts to write his own name.

“Where would you like me to put these?”

Ron gave a weary sigh.

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere. Burn em. Useless, aren’t they?”

“We don’t have to do any homework now. You’re tired. I will go.”

“You don’t have to go,” Ron muttered into his pillow before slowly turning towards her.

Hermione carefully perched upon his bed before holding up his papers.

“Were you going to tell me you’re having trouble writing??” she asked with affected calmness. He could tell by the hunch of her shoulders, the tension of her neck, and the small scrunch of her brows she was anything but calm.

Ron shook his head and she sighed in return.

“I wouldn’t have pushed you if I knew!”

“You also wouldn’t know I’m currently an illiterate halfwit!”

“Only currently?” Hermione teased.

“Yes, hex me when I’m disarmed. Real nice, that,” Ron groused and she made an effort to suppress her smile.

“You’ll find a way to cope. This is all tempor— ”

“Temporary? It’s bloody humiliating, is what it is! Knowing it’s temporary doesn’t suddenly make it a treat, Hermione. Mum and the whole lot keep poking me to write back, and all this work is piling up- meanwhile I’m— I’m…”

Ron swallowed roughly.

“YOU try not being able to spell your own fucking name. Let’s see how you’d ‘cope’ if anyone knew. And you wonder why I didn’t tell you... It’s cause who wants to tell the smartest girl in the world they can’t write or spell because their brain is broken. I wasn’t going to tell you that, and if you weren’t so bloody nosy, I could have a shred of dignity left for myself, but I guess that’s off the fucking table isn’t it?”

Without a word, Hermione primly rose from the bed, and walked away, her quick little strides making a beeline for the door. Ron swore under his breath. He knew he’d ruin things with her as he always did, but he thought he might get a bit more time than a few days.

“Wait, please don’t go! I’m sorry!” Ron yelled after her as best as he could. Her strides didn’t slow down at all, but instead of going through the doors she made a detour for the supply closet. He could hear her rattling about in the cupboard, and a series of metal clanks, before she strode over to him with a bedpan in hand.

“Er, I don’t have to…” Ron began, looking at her with incredulity. Surely she didn’t expect him to use the loo in front of her!

“Put the parchment in it,” she said, a bit cooly.

“What?” he croaked.

She rolled her eyes, and thrust the bedpan at him.

“Put the parchment in the bedpan.”

He did as she commanded, warily eyeing her, unsure of what her game was. She wasn’t going to conjure up birds to peck at him again, he was mostly certain.

“You can set fire to it either with a wand or matches. Which would you prefer?”

“What?”

“You said you wanted me to ‘burn them.’ So we’re doing just that. Now, wand or matches?”

“Pomfrey will freak if I use my wand.”

“She doesn’t have to know. It’s your choice, either way,” Hermione said, her eyes fervently boring a hole into him. She could set fire the parchment with just that look.

“I’ll… I’ll stick with matches… Haven’t tried any wandwork yet. Don’t want to set fire to the bed ‘cause I can’t do the movement right...”

“I’m sure you would do fine either way, but I agree it’s safer to do matches,” Hermione nodded. She shifted through her book bag for a while and found an old quill. She snapped it into a few pieces then transfigured them into matches and a striking surface.

“There! Ready when you are,” she said with satisfaction, before throwing a hint of a smile his way. “Are there any more papers to burn?”

“Got a few stuffed in my potions book. Feel free to burn the book at the same time, if you like.”

He knew it’d prickle her to hear him speaking of burning any book, and was rewarded with her familiar foreboding glare.

“If it was Harry’s potions book I would add it to the pyre,” Hermione sniffed. She gathered all the offending parchments and jammed them into the white bedpan. Ron grinned at her, still incredulous at her sudden bout of pyromania.

“You do the honors,” she smiled again, handing him the matches.

He had trouble grasping them, and fumbled the first two matches so poorly the tips turned black without producing any fire. The final match he managed to strike in a straight line, and it burst into a small glowing flame. He and Hermione shared a smile, the kind of private breathless smile they had enjoyed after she lied to McGonagall in first year, or after she had slapped Malfoy, or after she had kissed his cheek last year. The flames were almost to his fingertips, but he dared the flames to stay back a moment longer, just so he could continue to look at her warm brown eyes and the flicker of fire in them.

“Don’t burn yourself,” she whispered to him, before glancing down at the match.

He licked his lips then let go of the match, smiling with satisfaction as the parchment slowly lit up. They sat and watched the flames flicker before growing a deep orange that ate away at the papers, eviscerating all evidence of Ron’s struggles.

Hermione cuddled up beside him, her small hand working its way into his pale freckled one for the second time that morning.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered.

“About the writing, or you being a pyro?” he said, trying to keep a tender look off his face.

She gave him a nudge in the ribs then put her head on his shoulder. Her bushy hair tickled his nose a bit, but he’d gladly have a whole handful of her hair choking him if it meant he had even one more moment of her to himself like this. He’d never thought a bedpan could be entrancing, but Hermione could make anything entrancing really.

The flames grew too high to stay safe so Hermione finally moved from his side to extinguish them.

She had to leave, eventually, to make it to class, but in her absence, his pleasant fiery morning with Hermione kept a smile on his face for hours.

She'd promised she'd being Pig later and would help him compose some letters. "We'll just say you can't do small motor movements yet," she'd assured him when he opened his mouth to protest.

Hours later, while everyone was at class, Ron contentedly napped on and off, thinking of Hermione and the shine of her eyes as she helped him set his parchment aflame.

However, he still had his problem. Each time the doors made a noise he’d open an eye to see who it was. Harry came by before lunch, mood looking foul.

He marched into the hospital wing, a prodigious frown on his face. The air around Harry seemed to frizzle with fractious energy when he was angry, and today was no exception. His green glare pierced its way across the hospital wing, and Ron cautiously sat up, wondering how he could help Harry calm down a bit.

Ron tried to school himself into a nice neutral mood for Harry, but it was difficult to hide his own light mood as his friend stomped over.

“What’s got you in such high spirits?” Harry irritably inquired. Ron knew not to take it personally. He might have been in a snit, but it was rare Harry could see through his own mood to ask Ron about his. Being an invalid had its perks, he guessed. Harry flopped onto the foot of Ron’s bed, throwing his book back to the ground with a great thump. “Feeling any better?”

“A bit, yeah,” said Ron, biting back a grin as he eyed the charred bedpan in the corner.

“Good! You’d better recover quickly. I can’t take another moment of McLaggen!”

“Oh yeah? How’s he shaping up?” Ron asked, nervous to hear the answer.

“He’s a complete disaster. His Keeping is fine when he stays in position and minds his business, but fat chance of that.”

“Oh?” Ron sat up taller. “What’s the bellend done now?”

“What hasn’t he done? Harangues me nonstop about Quidditch strategy wherever I go. It’s this constant stream of terrible advice! But he’s even worse at practice. He keeps interfering with everybody and trying to direct the way the practice runs and tell people how to play their position.Makes for absolute chaos on the field. I could barely Captain and he barely let anyone else play their positions either. If he’s not grabbing Coote’s beater bat, he’s vying for the snitch, or he’s hogging the ball as if he’s a Chaser to hold demonstrations on how to play.”

“Oh I bet Ginny doesn’t like that!” Ron said with barely contained glee.

“No she doesn’t.” Harry had fond look on his face. “Had to stop her from hexing him about five times. Finally missed her once practice was over.”

“Did you actually miss, or did you let her do the dirty work for you?”

“As Captain I would never condone someone hexing another team member,” Harry said with mock solemnity, but his wry smile was showing through. “I told her which specific spells I didn’t want to see any team members inflict on one another. How was I to know she’d use one of those very spells on him not minutes later?”

“Oh yeah, no one could have predicted that! What’s a Captain to do?” Ron laughed along with his friend. “What spell did she use?”

“Waddiwassi. Shoved the snitch right up his nose. He’ll probably drag himself in here soon enough since I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to remove it for him, the prat.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that,” Ron beamed.

“Maybe they’ll shut the school down and then I won’t have to deal with this shit anymore,” said Harry, laying back on the bed to glare at the ceiling.

“Why would they want to shut it down?”

“Oh Hagrid was going off about what’ll happen if students keep getting attacked.”

“Well either you me or Hermione has nearly died every year and I’ve not gotten so much as one holiday for it, so I think that notion is a load of bollocks,” said Ron, wobbly putting his arms behind his head. “Even if Dumbledore himself got chucked, there’d be old McGongall and the rest of the staff to keep it together well enough. Even Snape wouldn’t want Hogwarts to shut down. Then he’d have to spend all his time with the Order, who he hates. That or face being a full-time Death Eater.”

“Maybe he already is one,” said Harry darkly, not giving any more information. Ron gave him an expectant look, and finally Harry relented. “Hagrid told us he heard Dumbledore and Snape having an argument the other day. A bad one. Snape was saying he ‘didn’t want to do something anymore,’ and Dumbledore said Snape had ‘promised to.’ He was really ticked at Snape, it seems.”

“Cor! I’ve always wondered if Dumbledore thought he was as big a prick as we did. What do you suppose Snape’s trying to avoid?”

“Investigating the Slytherins properly. He’s protecting Draco somehow.”

And they were at that again.

“Look, I know Draco wants me as dead as anyone,” Ron began, “but he wouldn’t have been after me—”

“There was no way he could have targeted you with the mead, I know that. All of this is tied together though, and Draco’s been up to something. And after what we heard between Snape and Draco this holiday… Snape’s trying to help Draco. Perhaps he’s trying to cover up Draco’s involvement?”

“Hmm…” Ron answered vaguely, looking to Hermione’s charred bed pan again. As interesting as it was to hear about the happenings of Dumbledore and Snape, he wasn’t sure how good it was for Harry to be obsessing the way he was.

Harry had a tenacious mind. While Ron quite admired him for it, and would always back him up, he knew Harry needed time to be a kid and do stupid shit. Ron couldn’t tell him that though. If he did his friend would probably explode on him. No, it was best to humor him, but bring the conversation to a close. “Well next lesson with Dumbledore see if you can wheedle something out of him. If you have a moment alone he might have some correspondence on his desk or something you can read and get a clue from?”

“Good idea,” Harry said stoutly, as he rose from the bed to gather his book bag. “For now I’ve time to watch the map a bit while I get lunch. Maybe I’ll see if Draco or Snape are doing something different than usual.”

“Or you could get food and come back to play chess with your invalid friend,” Ron said with a smile.

Harry paused before he looked Ron in the eye for a moment.

“You’re pretty bored in here aren’t you?” he said, looking a bit shame faced.

“I mean, I have the marvelous views of bedpans and Madame Pomphrey,” Ron said with a shrug. “And Hermione was in this morning, so that was nice.”

Harry nodded contemplatively.

“Well, I have Potions after lunch, so I’ve not a lot of time to get to the Great Hall and the East Tower…”

“Don’t sweat it, mate,” Ron said immediately. He was trying to distract Harry from Draco, not make him guilty. Harry had enough guilt and suffering on his plate for a lifetime, and Ron wasn’t about to pile on.

“Maybe if I skip lunch—”

“You’re scrawny enough! You’re not missing meals on my account,” Ron insisted.

“I’ll see if I can come after dinner then? But I have practice… Well maybe after Charms, if he lets us out early. I could skip dinner then go by the kitchens on the way to practice.”

“If you manage to come by you’re welcome company, but seriously don’t even think of skipping a meal for me.”

“Fine fine, no skipped meals!” Harry relented. “Sorry I haven’t had much time to stay with you, though.”

“If it were reversed I’d never visit you. It’s boring as hell in here.”

“You’ve always managed to visit me loads when I’m in here,” Harry said with a knowing smile.

“Well that’s because I’m a better friend than you,” Ron teased. He feebly tossed a pillow at Harry, who didn’t need to bother blocking it. It barely made it to the foot of the bed. Harry’s mouth became a firm line as they stared at the pillow.

“You’ll be well soon enough, and then it won’t matter.”

Harry was pathetic at bolstering spirits and this was no exception. Ron understood, though, because of those bloody Muggles. The wooden smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the stiff way he held his body, and his inability to fake enthusiasm were a perfect combination to thoroughly depress a person.

“Yeah…” Ron replied tightly. He knew he was supposed to be well soon, but of all the times he’d nearly died, this one felt the most real, and the consequences were much more frightening. He wasn’t sure how many more close calls he could take. “Well, get on out of here, you skinny git. If you pass out at practice from lack of nutrition Ginny’ll have my head.”

“When I have you back on the field I’ll make you pay for all the jokes about my size today!” Harry laughed as he left the hospital wing. Just as Harry reached the door Ron heard Lavender greet his friend. Ron quickly slammed his eyes shut and feigned sleep. In moments her footfalls, along with someone else’s, were next to his bed.

“He’s asleep Lav. Let’s get going. Firenze is still considering doing a workshop, and I really think I can convince him if he sees we’re interested!”

“Oh, Parvati, I can’t! I’ve not visited Ron since yesterday!”

“But he’s asleep! He won’t know the difference.”

“He will, I just know it,” Lavender said stoutly before approaching the bed. He could feel the bed give as she sat on it and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

“Hello Won Won,” she whispered. He didn’t know why she thought she had to be quiet now, when she’d been at a normal volume not two feet away from him moments ago. “I don’t want to wake you of course, but I’m sorely tempted. I’ve got some new robes I want to show you again. I was wearing them on your birthday but you were on that horrid love potion then, so I don’t know if you properly saw them. I’m sure you’ll like them!”

Ron knew he should open his eyes and compliment her— make her feel wanted and admired, especially after he’d rejected her to find Romilda the other day— but he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye and lead her on. It was a whisker width to outright lying.

Ron was a lot of things— poor, jealous, freckled, a right grumpy git— but he wasn’t a liar.

“Ok, Lav, you’ve been staring at him for like two minutes. He’s not waking up. Let’s go,” Parvati said, with much more patience than Ron would have in the same ridiculous situation.

“I suppose…” Lavender mumbled, a wobble to her voice. She slid off the bed and made her way to the door. “I can’t believe how much he’s sleeping! She must have him on an awful lot of potions!”

The door closed behind her, and Ron gave a great sigh of relief.

“Mr Weasley.”

“GAH!”

He bolted straight up, hearing Madam Pomphrey’s voice so close to him. His head felt woozy at the quick change in position, and little spots swam in front of his eyes.

“I have your lunch,” she said, setting the tray down on his table. Ron looked towards the clock.

“A bit later than usual,” Ron mused.

“Well seeing as you were working so very hard to feign sleep, I thought I’d not give you a reason to wake in front of her.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, flushing in embarrassment.

“Hmm…” she said, giving him a beady look, put out his usual potions on his over-the-bed table, and whisked herself from the room. She normally hung about a little to inquire about his health, but he supposed she didn’t want to associate with such a cowardly arse.

Before he’d been poisoned, Lavender’s company was like a warm salve after the burning pangs of jealousy he felt over Hermione. Her touch, smiles, and comforting supporting were so easy and able to fill part of the void he’d felt in Hermione’s absence. He felt wanted and whole at times with her. The way she looked him… like he was the one person who made her heart lighter. He’d never in his wildest dreams be able to look back at Lavender that way. He wished he could. He’d tried his damnedest to get over Hermione, but he couldn’t hack it no matter how he tried.

It was time he resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting over Hermione Granger. Not any time soon at least. Until his infatuation had blown over, he really couldn’t date another girl. He’d have to wait, and surely eventually he would stop fancying her. That or he’d fancy her until he died and ended up alone and bitter and turn into a sad bugger like Snape.

Well, he’d never be able to stop being her friend, so he wouldn’t be completely alone. There was the errant hope that maybe she could fancy him back, but that was too much in the realm of unreality to fathom.

Even if she never fancied him back, he needed her in his life, even if it was only as friends. Maybe he could end up better off than Snape and turn into a Dumbledore sort. He’d never be great or powerful, but maybe he could be a weirdo obsessed with sweets and grow his beard far too long. Yeah, that was doable.

That evening Hermione brought Pig down to him so he could write his parents, and get to spend a bit of time with his silly pet. As ridiculous as his owl was, he cared about the little blighter something fierce. He might be pathetic, but he was all his.

Hermione sat beside him on the bed, and she patiently wrote out his letters as he dictated them, stroking Pig’s little wings. He wished he could always have her write his letters. It wasn’t just for the convenience of it— though he had to admit, it was nice to avoid ink stains and hand cramps— but it was because he was at complete leisure to watch her writing as he’d never dared to before. It was better than when she fed him the other day, because now she wasn’t aware of it. He could stare at her eyelashes as they fluttered down, the way her brow would give a tiny quirk when she finished a sentence, the way she’d bury her face behind a curtain of hair and she’d get a cute little double chin for a moment. Everything about her really was worth staring at.

He knew he shouldn’t think about her like this and his gut squirmed in guilt. It was all kinds of wrong being entranced with one girl all the while avoiding his girlfriend for days. He was rotten and didn’t deserve either of them in his life. Inexplicably they still kept visiting him. He’d perk up and feel downright merry when Hermione would visit, and he’d pretend to be comatose whenever Lavender visited.

Madam Pomfrey still had him on loads of potions, but had added in some little exercises for him to do in bed. They’d be simple tasks like ‘straighten your leg and tense the quad muscle here and hold for ten seconds’ or ‘take your hand and bend it back and hold it.’ They all seemed ludicrously easy and silly as she went through them with him, and they were easy the first few times he did it. He’d be shaking and sweating by the time he’d done all the little reps though.

The rest of the week dragged on, but by Saturday he was almost feeling himself. He was still sluggish and not back to full form composing papers, but he felt markedly more whole. He could get out of bed and walk to the loo unassisted and his memory was pretty spot on at this point, as long as he wasn’t too anxious or tired.

He had finished putting on some clothes when Madam Pomfrey walked into the wing and gave a loud exclamation.

“What are you doing, Mr Weasley!”

“I wanted to go watch the Quidditch match.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t make that long of a journey, plus the overexcitement of the game alone could cause a serious backslide for you.”

“What? How?” Ron angrily asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stood head and shoulders above the Healer but she stood her ground.

“Let me put it this way— remember when you injured your leg two years ago? You wouldn’t want to force yourself to walk on it when it was that badly broken.”

“I did walk on it,” Ron interrupted.

“Oh yes! I quite remember,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I normally can heal a broken leg in a trice, but you made it much worse it by walking on it, compounding your fracture, creating some real messy issues with your muscles and tendons— that’s why you were here much longer than a broken leg would take.”

“But I won’t be doing anything at the game! I’ll just be sitting there!”

“To an injured brain, almost anything beyond sleep is stressful and taxing on it. A Quidditch game to a boy like yourself? That’s like running a marathon for a brain. It’s simply too over-exciting.”

“This is completely mad! I’m fine! Catching up on studies is a hell of a lot more ‘stressful’ and ‘over-exciting’ than any match could be.”

He knew he was acting out of line, but there was no stopping his protests.

“We’ve already pushed your brain through enough stress as it is. I’m not about to let you go to today’s match and hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself?” Ron scoffed. “It’s walking to tht pitch and back.”

“When you’re stressed or excited you have more frequent headaches, your memory deteriorates and your motor skills decrease. Imagine tripping coming back and hitting your head. You might be in St. Mungo’s for good if that happened.”

“It’s not that bad…” he weakley protested.

“Do you remember when you could barely speak? Do you want to backslide to that?” she asked, arms akimbo.

His breath caught in his throat. He vividly remembered it. He still had nightmares about it. Low blow, Pomfrey… but effective.

He gave a moody shrug and sat back down on his bed.

“I’m sorry to have to be so harsh, Mr Weasley,” she said, sounding more kindly than usual, “but that’s the reality of this situation. I know you’re frustrated.”

He nodded, before toeing off his trainers and pushing himself back onto the bed.

He was mulishly staring at the wall when Harry came to visit, firebolt broom over his shoulder, dressed in his Quidditch uniform and looking far more at ease than Ron ever had before a game. Part of Ron was relieved he didn’t have to play, but after he’d done so well last game he thought he might be able to handle the pre-game jitters better this time.

“All right?” Harry asked as he sat on Ron’s bed.

“No,” Ron bit back. Harry raised his eyebrows, prompting Ron to try to control his temper. “Pomfrey won’t let me go to the match.”

“What, why?”

“Says it might ‘overexcite me’ or something…”

He understood it was a bigger deal than that, but there was no way he would reveal how bad things were to Harry. Harry had been rather oblivious to Ron’s worse symptoms, and Ron was happy to keep his friend in the dark.

“Bollocks, you’d only be sitting there!”

“That’s what I said!” he complained, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I hate being an invalid… How’s McLaggen shaping up?”

Would the bastard take his place on the team?

“Still a complete knob head.”

“Good— I mean, I want you to do well at the game of course. And that Smith character will be playing, so I’m hoping you kick his arse round the field a few times.”

“We’d perform a lot better with you there,” said Harry. It was a complete lie, of course, as Ron knew he was a shit player more often than not, but it was a rather nice lie. “I can’t keep losing my star players, though. If it weren’t for Ginny and Demelza our team would be complete shit today.”

“You’re alright too,” Ron said with a small punch to Harry’s arm.

“Thanks,” he replied, giving a dismissive shrug. “Won’t count for much if we’re getting scored on every ten seconds.”

“Oh? McLaggen not shaping up too well?”

“No…” Harry said, eyeing Ron. “You sure you’re doing alright?”

“M’fine. Should be out of here soon. No blood spewing, can walk about and everything. Definitely capable of watching a match,” he huffed. It was bad enough being endlessly trapped in the hospital wing and not getting to play— but it was downright miserable having his place filled by McLaggen. Hermione had said there was nothing between them… Then again she said that about Krum too… She never badmouthed Krum, so at least there was that. Perhaps if McLaggen did poorly at the match it would cement her disdain for the troll permanently. She might talk loftily about how little she cared for Quidditch, but she had a track record of dating really good players. She’d said as much back in December before her date with McLaggen. The thought made him wring his hands.

“So how’s McLaggen shaping up?” he asked, nervously fidgeting with his duvet cover. Harry made a grim face.

“I’ve told you,” said Harry, a bit slowly. Bugger. He’d forgotten he asked. Perhaps he was a bit anxious… Maybe skipping the match today wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“He could be world-class and I wouldn’t want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play every position better than the rest of us. I can’t wait to be shot of him. And speaking of getting shot of people,” Harry added, rising from the bed to shoulder his broom, “will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She’s driving me mad as well.”

“Oh,” said Ron, looking away. He hadn’t realized anyone knew he was feigning sleep beyond Pomfrey and Hermione that one time. “Yeah. All right.”

“If you don’t want to go out with her anymore, just tell her.”

“Yeah ... well ... it’s not that easy, is it?” said Ron.

Ron boggled at what awful advice that was. Harry hadn’t ever had to properly break up with a girl. Hell, he’d barely dated anyone. Cho and Harry’s relationship, if you could even call it that, consisted of one horrible date and one kiss under some mistletoe. They never spent time with one another, and he was reasonably sure Cho had never really looked at Harry the way Lavender looked at him. If anything, it was the opposite. Cho was still hung up on another person… he never thought he’d sympathize with Cho Chang, but perhaps Hermione hadn’t been too off when she was overanalyzing the girl last year.

He was so confused, fancying Hermione, but genuinely caring for Lavender. He didn’t fancy her, but he liked her. And there was a sense of safety knowing he could turn around and have a girl cheering him on, no questions asked. Then there was that horrible guilt he couldn’t escape that kept gnawing at him. He felt so much he thought he might explode. He wished he could sit down and have Hermione help overanalyze himself a bit. There was no way to have her help him since she was one of his main concerns, but he couldn’t help wishing it. He hadn’t seen her this morning at all, and he was feeling a bit wobbly for it.

“Hermione going to look in before the match?” He couched this very smoothly, he thought. Just the right sort of casualness that Harry wouldn’t be able to catch on how much longed to see Hermione.

“No, she’s already gone down to the pitch with Ginny.”

“Oh,” said Ron. This was a right shit day. “Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag — I mean, Smith.”

“I’ll try,” said Harry, shouldering his broom. “See you after the match.” With that Harry was racing out of the ward and Ron was left, once again, stuck by himself in the hospital wing with no company.

The window was open, and if he strained his ears he might be able to make out what the commentator was saying. He waited in equal parts anticipation and dread for the game to begin. He paced a bit, but found it too tiring to keep up.

He laid back in bed wondering what to do with himself when Madam Pomfrey brought a small box that looked like an ancient wizarding wireless and put it beside his bed. It was wooden with little brass knobs and speaker.

“Now, if you promise to stay relatively calm, I’ll leave this here for the entirety of the game.”

She waved a wand over it and he heard Luna Lovegood come onto the wireless.

“The sun has been shining through the clouds so very prettily. I saw one cloud that very much looked like a Horned Hodag today, and I think we all know what that portends for a Quidditch match.”

Ron hadn’t the foggiest what it could mean to see something like that in the clouds, but he gave a hearty laugh, the first good guffaw he’d had in weeks.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!” he enthused, settling deeper into his covers. She gave him a warm smile before leaving to do whatever it was she got up to in her office.

What barking lunatic had thought to give Luna a microphone and a platform to speak from? Oh this was going to be glorious.

“The Hufflepuff team are all in their uniforms of yellow and black. I think they look more like bumblebees than they want to. Especially the big one. Yes he looks very much like an angry bumblebee, especially now that he’s glaring at me like that.”

“The other team is Gryffindor, of course. I like them a lot. Hufflepuff are known for being friendly, but the Gryffindors have all been a lot more friendly to me. There’s a big player standing in for Ron Weasley today, but he doesn’t look as friendly or red-haired. I think it’s Tarmac Blaggins?”

“Cormac McLaggen!” McGongall corrected, sounding very unamused. Ron beamed, wishing he could see the two of them interacting.

“Oh no, there’s no remembering that. I’m just going to call him the Gryffindor Keeper… He was very loud at the Christmas party I went to, and is not very funny.”

The game began, and from what he could tell from Luna’s wandering commentary, McLaggen was as useless as a bag of bludgers dropped in a bathtub. Ron knew he shouldn’t root for his replacement to fail, but he was only human. His cheeks began to hurt from smiling.

“Zacharias Smith is not very good at holding the quaffle for long. Perhaps he just isn’t good at holding things in general? Or it could be a case of — oh wait, he has the ball perhaps— oh dear, dropped it again. Yes, I’m quite certain that he has contracted a very bad case of Loser’s Lurgy…”

“Oh look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats. I don’t think that’s very usual for this game. And— oh dear!”

Ron could hear the whole audience at the pitch give a terrible sound of alarm, and even McGongall gave a great yell he could hear over the wireless.

“The Gryffindor Keeper Porkluck McFloodle hit a bludger right into Harry Potter’s head! My, he fell off his broom from very high up. The Gryffindor Beaters have caught him though. There is an awful lot of blood… What a strange strategy to employ at this point in the game.”

Ron heard a sound from Pomfrey’s office, and a moment later she bustled into the ward a determined look on her face.

“Ginny looks so upset. The Gryffindor Beaters Ceakes and Poot are busy moving Harry, but the team hasn’t called a time-out. The Gryffindor Keeper let the quaffle through. Oh no! Without a captain they can’t call a time-out can they… The Hufflepuffs are scoring quite a lot of points now. Even Smith has managed to hold the quaffle a bit, despite his Loser’s Lurgy.”

Demelza and Dean managed only one goal each, while Hufflepuff trounced them soundly and the match ended with Hufflepuff mercifully catching the snitch..

Harry was brought into the ward on a stretcher not long after the team lost. Ginny, Hermione, and McGongall were marching behind it looking rather stricken. Harry did look a mess, all pale and lifeless— but Ron figured it was no big deal compared to some of the other things he’d faced, right? Ginny looked rather close to tears as Harry was spelled off the stretcher and onto the bed.

Pomfrey waved her wand and diagnostic spells hummed around his head and neck, lighting his pale face before she closed the curtains around Harry.

“Oh Merlin,” Ginny moaned, moving over to Ron’s bed. He put an arm round his sister.

“He’s got a hard head,” Ron offered with a smile.

His smile fell as Hermione stayed beside Harry’s bed, biting her lip and watching with worry. A fleeting terrible thought of Hermione fancying Harry darted through him. He’d entertained the thought before, and like always he quickly swatted it away.

“That stupid McLaggen. I want to hex him into oblivion,” Ginny growled, wiping at her eyes. “The whole game was a complete shitshow. Ron, if you aren’t back on the team next week, I might quit.”

“He’s that bad?” Ron tried to say with sympathy, but he knew he was failing miserably given the punch he received.

“Oi! How am I supposed to be back on the team if you attack me when I’m healing!” he said, rubbing at his arm.

“I ought to hex you for making us get stuck with him in the first place.”

“Ah yeah, sorry about that. I’ll try really hard not to get randomly poisoned next week. That do?”

“I suppose it must,” she said with dramatic flair, before sitting in Hermione’s usual place at his side. For a moment he wanted to kick her out so he could entice Hermione to cozy up with him, but he could sense his sister was a bit rattled and needed some support.

Hermione finally left Harry’s side to join them.

“Pomfrey said it’s a cracked skull, but she can heal it easily and he’ll be fine by Monday. He’ll be staying here at least overnight,” she informed them.

“There, see?” Ron said to his sister. “It wouldn’t be a proper school year if Harry wasn’t hospitalized unconscious at least once.”

“Well I am quite tired of the two of you getting injured all the time,” Hermione fretted.

“Here here!” Ginny agreed.

“You’ve been hospitalized a good bit too, Hermione,” he reminded her. She’d had plenty of short stints, but there were three long ones she’d endured that he would never forget.

The first had been when she had the accident with Polyjuice potion and had turned into a human-cat hybrid. She’d been trapped in the ward for almost a month. That hadn’t been so bad. He missed her during the day, but it was nice to spend time with her alone, helping her to catch up on her studies. He’d ever had better notes before or since.

The second time she’d been petrified by the basilisk. That had been pure torture seeing her usual expressive face frozen in shock. He visited her quite often, despite the lack of interaction, and talked to her about all sorts of things. It was like talking to an imaginary friend. He knew how she would have reacted, and could see it quite clearly in his mind. He’d always wondered if she could hear what all he’d said, but never had the guts to ask her. It had been bad, but there was a cure on the way, and somehow death just didn’t seem like a possibility for them. He used the news that she was ok to power some of his earliest patronuses.

The third time was the worst. The fight inside the Department of Mysteries had been the closest to death he had ever been. He was covered in the ugly scars of it and still haunted by nightmares. When he finally woke up in the hospital wing Hermione was beside him and she looked so pale and still that he was convinced she was dead. He kept checking her pulse, and was reassured by the medi-witch she wasn’t dead— but it had been too close a call for him to feel comforted. She’d nearly died! They’d all cheated death, a bunch of kids against full-grown Death Eaters. It almost felt like death himself would swoop in to chastise them like the Three Brothers in the old fairy tale. Death felt tangible and real. He supposed it had already felt that way for Harry since Cedric died, but it really sank in for him how very mortal they all were.

Ron chose to put his life on the line a fair number of times and figured that would be his role in it all. He would be a shield for the real heroes, like Harry and Hermione. And he was fine with that. It’s not like he wanted to die or anything, but he wasn’t particularly surprised when he’d had another close call. That was just part of it. He had to do his duty and keep Harry and everyone else safe.

It shook him to have others going out there doing the same thing. When he’d been running through the department of mysteries he had lagged behind his sister and Luna, doing everything he could to shield them from the onslaught of spells. Hermione wasn’t supposed to be a shield or wand-fodder like he was. She was supposed to go on to do great things, like Harry. He couldn’t fathom a world without her, and wished he had a way to convince her to stay safe in a library somewhere instead of following him and Harry into danger all the time. A world without Hermione was unthinkable. He didn’t want to live in a world without Hermione.

“Yes, we all spend too much time here,” Hermione said with a sniff. “I’m quite tired. I think I’ll go take a nap. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ron.”

With that she practically fled from the hospital room. Ron looked to Ginny for answers, and she gave a shrug.

“It’s been a tough week. First you, now Harry… It’s enough to make anyone feel overwhelmed.”

He had a feeling Ginny wasn’t just speaking for Hermione.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be out of the hospital wing and driving you mad in no time.”

“You manage quite well even from the hospital bed,” she said with a grin.

“Tell me about the game, then. Luna’s version, while spectacular, was a bit hard to follow.”

Ginny went into all the details of the game, doing a great impression of McLaggen that left him in stitches, and nearly got her kicked out by Pomfrey.

“He gave a terrible speech before the game like he was captain when Harry was running late.”

“Late? Harry left here with plenty of time to get there.”

“I don’t know. He barely made it for the kick off, though.”

Ron would have to poke Harry about that later. Ginny gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head before climbing off the bed.

“I’m off to shower the stench of losing off me before it sets in. Don’t want to get Loser’s Lurgy!” she smiled.

“Check in on Hermione, will you? She’ll be lonely without Harry.”

“Or you.”

“Well…” he began, but Ginny gave him a hard knowing look. “You’ll check on her?”

“Of course. We are friends you know. I might not be in your little ‘secret trio club’, but I do talk with her.”

“Secret trio club?” Ron asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’ve not the patience to get into that today. Break the news of our loss to Harry easy.”

“Will do,” he said with a salute to his sister.

He was glad to spend time with her like this. As children they’d been joined at the hip, being the youngest. He didn’t necessarily want her company at times, as the Twins gave him so much grief for it— but it had been such an easy companionship. He wished they could have that easy of a time now. She was just so prickly with him. He missed how sweet she’d been when they were knee high to gnomes and climbing over the cobbled walls together. Now there was always so much attitude towards him, as if he was a stand-in for everyone who had ever annoyed her. He didn’t mind it most of the time, but it would be nice to not have her teenage rebellion aimed at him every time they talked.

As much as he had enjoyed their short time together, he was still a bit miffed she’d made him miss out on his time with Hermione. He was hoping Hermione would have stayed with him as she’d been doing every day. He looked to the corner and saw that the bedpan Hermione had burned his papers in was still sitting in the corner, charred as ever.

How had the meticulous Pomfrey not noticed it?

He glanced over at her and saw she was still wrapping Harry’s head in about a million meters of tape.

As inconspicuously as he could, Ron slipped from the bed and went to the corner to inspect the bed pan. He poked it, and it stayed firmly in place,most likely held by a sticking charm. There seemed to be a subtle shimmer to it as he looked— whatever the spell it kept Pomfrey, or anyone other than Ron, from noticing it. It was like a little monument to them.

Ron felt warmth course through him all over at the thought.

In moments like those he could pretend she was his girl, and not just his very good friend.

He caught himself daydreaming that often enough. Whenever she’d sit close to him in his bed he’d been quite unable to escape the thought, with their legs touching, her elbow resting a bit on his stomach as they crammed together on the bed. If she were his girl he’d be able to put his hands in her hair, and lean in with his face right against hers. He could nibble on those little ears he’d never touched before. He’d be able to toss the letters to the side and kiss her until his head was swimming from lack of oxygen. He’d be able to laugh and hold her hand any time he liked. He’d lean in and whisper in her ear how much he fancied her and she’d tell him how much she loved him back, saying - “

“Oh no!” Ron let out, jerking himself upright from the bedpan.

Shit! He loved her. He didn’t fancy her. He loved her!

His stomach lurched and he thought he was going to be sick from nerves.

“Are you quite well Mr Weasley?” he heard Madam Pomfrey ask from Harry’s bedside, looking up at him with concern.

“Spiffing! Just had a small cramp. I’m fine!” he lied, letting out a slightly hysterical sound that might have resembled a laugh. He wasn’t sure.

He loved Hermione!

Maybe it was the clarity that came from having almost died, but he now knew with certainty— this wasn’t just a crush he had on Hermione. It was that real deal, want to throw yourself from the astronomy tower, write poxy poetry, bolts of lightning, do anything for them kind of love.

This was too much! He wasn’t supposed to love her! He wasn’t even supposed to fancy her!

She’d barely shown a sign she might welcome any sort of advance from him, let alone allow him to love her. He was so crap, and she was so great. How did one keep a secret like this? It felt a bit like when he’d been love potioned. He wanted to tell everyone. He wanted to tell her!

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell a soul. God, if he didn’t watch it, he might blurt it out accidentally. That was a horrifying thought.

It was the absolute shittiest thing that could ever happen in the history of wizardom. And why? Why did he have to realize it now? He had no right to it! None at all. He had a girlfriend. A really nice, if a bit silly, girlfriend. And Hermione? She had no interest in him like that at all.

This was the most mental thing that had ever happened. And there was nothing he could do about it at all. Well… fuck. It was a hopeless situation.

He thought back to Harry’s advice to just end things with Lavender. That would be easy enough, wouldn’t it? But then again… the thought of making her cry made him ill. He couldn’t very well tell her ‘I have an unrequited love for Hermione, so kindly eff off? But I hope we can still be friends!’

He’d tried earlier that year to pull away from her a bit and let her just naturally lose interest. Perhaps he could just drop a hint here or there and let his actions speak for him. He knew for a fact he didn’t have the words.

He’d have to carry on as usual, even though he felt a bit like doing the conga and offing himself all at once. At least he had a few moments to himself to process it. It’d be hours before Harry was awake, most likely, and Pomfrey would be holed up in her office soon enough.

Resigned, he lay back in his bed, turning himself away from the little charred bedpan in the corner.

==========================================================================================================================

Author’s note: Sorry this took so long to get out- hope you found it was worth the wait!

If you liked it, please give it a reblog and/or comment! :)

They give me such motivation to write more! :D

#the wonderful won won #writing #fan fic #ron weasley #romione #hermione granger #harry james potter #harry potter

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loxxxlay · 5 years

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a4 spoilers below

okay seeing all these posts this morning, im getting upset so im gonna explain where im coming from:

im not mad that thor is fat now. i actually went through 3 phases once i read the spoilers about it:

one, briefly mourning the biceps that we all know i love.

two, GETTING SUPER EXCITED AT THE POSSIBILITIES. i definitely headcanon thor as becoming an alcoholic and losing touch with his physical health post-IW. i have like 3 fics lined up to read that deal with thor being overweight post-iw. i also have considered changing a post-iw fic im writing to include thor as being overweight too. i fucking love this idea of thor in canon showing signs of the huge grief and depression hes gone through. finally!!

and then three: i found more info, and while plotwise it might have been set up this way, thematically it seems to be insensitive. hes shamed by the people he loves--which Im well aware is a common experience, more on that later--but rather than for realism, it seems to be for COMEDY. so basically his weight gain is the butt of the joke. his suffering, his depression, his coping mechanisms are the butt of the joke.

okay more on my personal experience. i am not currently overweight, but i used to be throughout high school. and i got a really fucked up self image because of a few things ppl said. in college, i did ballet and basically starved myself for 2 years and became so thin that everyone started worrying about whether i was annorexic (i dont think i was but the fact is i did become underweight). that was a long time ago. ive finally regained my sense of hunger lol, and i am a decent weight right now, if a little chubbier than im comfortable with. many ppl call me "thin." however, even now i still binge eat during spikes of depression. im also very close to a family member who is currently overweight and used hard drugs and alcohol as coping mechanisms during one of their brutal depressive episodes.

in my weight now, i know i am privileged. but that doesnt mean i was always this way and that i dont understand the reality behind thor's experience. and its really frustrating that i feel i have to self-disclose all this information about myself simply to be able to say "i dont want to risk seeing fatshaming of a beloved character in end game"

like, this doesnt even add to the fact of gamora's treatment in IW. i saw DROVES of people who said that they thought the russos were very respectful of her character and the abuse she suffered. while i respect those ppl's opinions and their enjoyment of the movie, i INTENSELY disagree. and because of that, i dont trust the russos anymore.

and so just because now, loads of people are saying thor's mental illness and weight gain were treated respectfully* doesnt mean i will agree???? like ive read the comments characters made to thor. i know about the "go eat a salad" line. and whether i ultimately agree with ppl or not about whether it's respectful, im too emotionally vulnerable to risk being in a crowded room for 3 hours unable to escape while listening to ppl laugh at a line--a line that has been said again and again to *my* family member when *i* was the one to rebel against ppl who would laugh and *i* was the one to reassure her and make her feel better about herself because she hates that she is fat. if i have to relive these kinds of things during the movie, then there is absolutely no way i will enjoy it. im fucking sorry for not being willing to risk it -_-

so yeah, in short, to all the posts im seeing today trying to imply i (and ppl like me) are fatphobic for not wanting to go see and potentially not liking endgame: it's not that thor is fat. quite the opposite. it's that i dont trust fatshaming used as comic relief, esp in the hands of the russos.

just like, it's not that gamora was abused. as u can see by my focus subjects in writing, quiiite the fucking opposite. it's that i dont trust a representation that has her killed by her abuser, thus validating her abuser's "love" for her.

*i respect every overweight person or every alcoholic person (or anyone who used to be either) if they enjoyed this movie and/or thought thor's experience was respectfully depicted. i, in no way, want to rob you of your much-desired representation. it makes me super happy for you to know you felt fulfilled. ❤❤ all that this post is asking is that you respect me for my opinion.

p.s. i have not seen endgame yet. my opinion might change when i do. the premise of this post is that i dont want to see it right this moment because, based on the knowledge i have, the risk to my mental health is too great.

NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO ARGUE WITH ME OR CONVINCE ME IM WRONG. ive read like 5 million different opinions on thor being fat before i made up my mind, and i am WELL-VERSED on anything u could possibly say. (at least as much as i can be without seeing the movie.) i dont want hear it anymore. i dont want to defend my feelings anymore. i already had to like literally 50 times yesterday and im ooooverrrrr itttt. 😭😭😭😭 let me be upset and unwilling to go see endgame at this time. i promise you, despite my opinion, the world will keep spinning. your own enjoyment will stay strong. ❤❤❤❤

#a4 #a4 spoilers #lox talks personal #a4 wank #iw wank #long post #lox whines

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justanothersecretfangirl · 6 years

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His

A/N: This is set in an AU where you stop aging when you turn 18 until you meet your soulmate so you can live out your lives together, which I am sure you’ve heard of. It’s set sometime in the future, but the exact time doesn’t really matter. I know AG Artists is in NY, and I know there are a couple of other things that aren’t exactly 100% accurate, but it’s an AU. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Reader

Warnings: it’s very fluffy? All the fluff

Word Count: 5103 😯 (holy cheese nips. what?)

Y/N was perfectly fine being alone. When all her friends were out dating and going to clubs, she was studying at the most prestigious university in London. They found their soulmates and most of them are in their 70s or 80s by now. You hadn’t consciously tried to avoid finding your soulmate, but it just hadn’t happened, and you honestly didn’t mind. There was so much pressure to find your perfect match and you would much rather stay in and watch movies and eat popcorn than go out on dates. Besides, it seemed that all the good guys were taken.

You were currently sat on the couch, watching your guilty pleasure, Entertainment Tonight. Another celebrity was in rehab. A senator woke up 20 years into being married and realized she hadn’t aged a day, while her husband looks 20 years older. Another snobby pop star said something stupid. The usual. Towards the end of the broadcast, the reporter was standing in front of Island Records in downtown Hollywood.

“And our last story of the night, folks. Andrew Gertler is looking for a Head of Marketing Operations at his company, AG Artists. AG Artists is, most notably, the team that manages International Pop Sensation Shawn Mendes. Their former Head of Marketing, Justin Sterling, was let go following allegations of sexual misconduct last week. Gertler has stated they are looking for something pretty specific, but if you are looking for a job, head over to their website for more information. Back to you in the studio.” The screen flashed back to the studio, but you were thinking about what I would take to move to Hollywood.

Your entire life was in London, and had been for almost 100 years, but there wasn’t much left for you here. Your friends all had their own lives, and, if you were being honest with yourself, you hadn’t had friends in a long time. You bought your flat a few years ago, and you were the Marketing Director of a company headquartered here in London. But you lost passion for it a long time ago. You sighed, but opened your laptop to look for apartments in LA. They were expensive, but not any more so than your current flat in downtown London. You flipped over to the AG Artists website, and navigated to the careers page. The first one listed was for the Head of Marketing Operations, so you clicked on it. Reading through, it seemed like a fairly typical Ops level job, and the pay was a little increase from what you were making now.

You filled out the application, and attached your resume. You looked down at the clock and realized it was about midnight, so you decided to turn in. You closed your laptop and walked it over to your charger. You decided to make a cup of herbal tea before bed, then brought it with you to bed. You snuggled into your bed, sipping your tea as you read a couple chapters of your book. You fell asleep with your book on your chest.

The next morning, your alarm woke you from your dreams. You stretched comically, before walking over to the bathroom in your room. You took a quick shower before quickly drying and curling your hair. It was Friday, and you were so very excited that it was. Your walk to the office was quick, but it was mid January, so it was cold. You were bundled up, but still walked pretty quick to get back to the warmth.

Your work day went fine, but you were surprised when you received an international call about the time you were getting ready to leave.

“Hello?”

“Is this Y/N Y/L/N?” the pleasant sounding woman asked on the other side of the line.

“It is,” you responded kindly.

“My name is Elizabeth Sanders. I am Andrew Gertler’s personal assistant. We received your resumes last night and would like to set up a video interview with you.” You were surprised by the quick turnaround, but with the time difference, you realized they had probably received your application before they left the office yesterday.

“That would be great. I would love to talk to Mr. Gertler about the position.”

“Great!” she said, “What time would work best for you? I know you’re located in London, and that is 9 hours ahead of us.”

“Any time Monday works great for me.”

“How does 10 AM our time work for you?” You calculated it would be 8 PM your time.

“That works great. I look forward to speaking with him on Monday.”

“Thank you so much for your time! I will send you over an email with some information, and the link for the video conference.” You smiled to yourself.

“Thank you so much for your time.”

“You’re so welcome,” she said before saying goodbye and hanging up.

You finished gathering up your belongings and said goodbye to your coworkers. You made the short walk back to your flat. The warmth and cozy feeling of your apartment was a welcome feeling.

Your weekend went by smoothly. You went to the grocery store and ran a few other errands. Soon, it was Monday and you were jittery all day. You ended up leaving work early, unable to focus on anything for long enough to get much done. You walked home and, knowing you were video chatting with Andrew later, stayed in your work clothes. You did pull on a King’s College hoodie while you were making and eating dinner.

Too soon, the time came when you were to log into the video call. You were rushing to get your computer hooked up and loaded onto the video conference page. You plugged your earphones into your computer at 7:58, just as Andrew logged in. You smiled when his face came into focus.

“Hi Y/N!” You smiled at him.

“Hello Mr. Gertler,” you waved awkwardly, immediately kicking yourself.

“Please, call me Andrew. I am pretty casual, and I don’t want this to be awkward. I just want to get to know you better.” You smiled at him.

“That sounds great.”

“So, tell me about yourself.” You hated this question, but you had come up with an answer a long time ago.

“Well, I was born and raised right here in and around London. Hence the accent,” you smiled and Andrew chuckled. “I did both my secondary and postsecondary studies at King’s College here in London and I have since gone back and did a few certifications after my Masters degree in visual communication and digital marketing. I am currently the Artistic Director for a London based marketing company, and I have worked in a variety of industries, including medical and legal. While I have really enjoyed learning and growing here in London, I’d really love to dig into an industry that I haven’t worked in, and in a country I have only visited. I bring a lot of experience, and a unique perspective of the foreign markets that I believe will be an asset to your team.” You finished your monologue and noticed Andrew was nodding.

“I do see you have all the qualifications we are looking for. You certainly have the most experience of any of our applicants. And, as you know, we need to fill this position very quickly. I have only one additional question. Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” You immediately knew he was asking indirectly about the fact that you had not found your soulmate.

“Well, Andrew, I am no psychic, so I don't know for sure. But I hope to be working at a job I enjoy and that pushes and challenges me. I am always searching for more and that usually means advancing myself in some way, whether it is in my job, or in my education.” Andrew was grinning at you.

“When can you be here?” You smiled at him and grinned.

It all happened so fast after that. It didn’t take much to find a replacement at work, and you were so happy with the choice to promote from within. The young girl who replaced you had worked very hard since she was hired and you were happy she was getting her chance.

The only thing that didn’t happen was an apartment, but your flat in London sold much, much quicker than you anticipated. So you packed up your entire life, reserved a storage unit in LA and hopped on a plane.

Part of the benefits you had discussed with Andrew was a stipend to help with your moving expenses and you figured it would cover a few weeks in a hotel while you tried to find an apartment or condo. You got settled into your suite in an LA hotel the night before you were to report to the office. Jet lag was still very much a problem and you were dreading getting up in the morning but forced yourself to sleep.

You were up and ready long before you needed to be, and you were increasingly grateful for the availability in the hotel just a block from the office. The weather in LA was so different from the weather in London, and you just put on a cardigan before your walk.

You walked into the lobby of the building and were greeted by the receptionist. You smiled at her, explaining who you were.

“Oh! We are all so excited for you to be here. Follow me and I’ll take you up to Andrew’s office!” the chatty woman said then scurried down the hallway behind her desk to the elevator. She pushed the up arrow.

“How are you liking LA?” she asked. You smiled at her.

“I am loving the weather. I left 1 degree weather in London to come here to 15 degree weather.” She looked at you like you had grown a second head. You realized it must have been the difference between Celcius and Farenheit. “Oh, that’s Celsius. I keep forgetting I’m in America.” You giggle and she laughs out loud.

“That makes more sense! The weather here must be much different than the weather there though. Do you have snow?”

“Not too much,” you said as the door opened and dinged. “Usually just have freezing rain.” The receptionist shuddered.

“That sounds cold.”

“It definitely is.”

“I love your accent,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I rarely remember I sound different, but I have gotten so many comments on it.” You laugh. “I guess that’s what happens when you’ve always lived around people who sound just like you.” The door slid open and you followed the receptionist out into a large room with a few tables. People were sitting at them, clicking away on keyboards or listening to their computers through large headphones. You followed the woman through the room to an office with glass walls. She knocked quietly on the open door and a man you recognized as Andrew looked up. He smiled at you and popped out of his seat.

“Y/N! We are so excited you’re here!” He walked over to you and shook your hand. “Thank you so much for bringing her up here, Savannah.” The receptionist, Savannah, smiled and walked out of the office.

“So, how was your trip out here?” Andrew asked, motioning you to the chair near his desk.

“It was pretty crazy, but I’m here and that’s what is important,” you said with a smile.

“That’s great to hear,” Andrew said as his phone dinged. He glanced down at his phone. “So, we’re going to jump right in today. We have a meeting this morning. But before, let me show you to your office and I’ll let you get settled.” He stood up and looked back down at his desk quickly. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He opened one of the drawers in his desk. He pulled out a box with an iPhone and a box with an macbook. “These are yours. We have already loaded most everything you’ll need on each. Your work email and calendar are both synced onto there, as well as all the phone numbers you’ll need. Work with Savannah to get you a case you’ll like for each.” He handed them to you as you followed him out of his office. You followed him a couple doors down and to another glass walled office. He opened the door for you and let you walk in before him. Along one wall was a long desk with 2 computers and drawers. The other wall had an L shaped desk with the workspace facing out towards the common area. You walked over and sat your computer and phone down on the desk.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, smiling to Andrew.

“Thank Elizabeth for that. She designed your office. We like white and clean lines here. As we had discussed on the phone, we are definitely a teamwork agency. We thought you might like to have a space where your team can work with you if you need to. They each have desks out there,” he said pointing out to the shared space, “but we thought it might nice to have a space you can work together as well.”

“That is brilliant!” you said, your British showing through. He chuckled.

“Okay, take some time to get set up. We have a meeting in 20 minutes in the main conference room.” He pointed out toward a conference room the size of half of the floor. You nodded to him.

“We are really glad you’re here, Y/N,” he said before turning and walking out.

You looked around your beautiful office before sitting down behind your desk. You thought about where you might put some of your decorations and things from home, but they were currently buried in a storage unit downtown. You chuckled to yourself before opening your phone and computer. You figured you’d need to at least know how to log in and open some sort of note taking app for your meeting. You were able to get them open and looked up just as a woman approached the door.

“Hi! I’m Elizabeth,” the woman said walking toward you, shaking your hand. You smiled at her.

“Y/N,’ you said, and she laughed.

“I could have guessed that much,” she said and you laughed. “I just came to make sure you had everything you needed before the meeting. Everyone is very excited to meet you and hear your thoughts.” You smiled at her, and looked around the office.

“I could use a water bottle? Is there a vending machine or something I can buy one from real quick?” She chuckled at you, but walked around your desk. Below the desk on the farthest side was a small refrigerator, which she opened and handed you a water bottle. You laughed as you took it from her, thanking her.

“If you need anything else, let me know. I go to Costco once a week and I can pick up anything you need.” You smiled at her, nodding. She smiled back. “It’s time to head in there. Ready?” You nodded to her, grabbing your water bottle and laptop, deciding to leave your new phone on the desk, as you hadn’t gotten it turned on yet. You followed her out of your office, which you noticed already had your name etched on the door, and across the room to the conference room. Andrew joined up with you as you approached the door. He opened the door for you, letting you and Elizabeth in the room before he walked in himself. You glanced around the table, not recognizing anyone, but that wasn’t surprising.

Andrew gestured you to the table, letting you know you can take a seat anywhere. You sat down on the side facing outside, the beautiful wall of windows showing the gorgeous LA skyline. You opened your laptop, opening Word and putting the date at the top of the page. After a few minutes, Andrew smiled and stood up. He approached a man who had just walked in, hugging him and patting him on the back. You could only see a head of curls behind Andrew’s head, but as he turned around to the room you immediately recognized him. Shawn Mendes was standing in front of you, a goofy grin on his face. He sauntered over to a seat opposite you and sat down, still chatting with Andrew.

Andrew sat back down in his chair.

“Let’s get started here,” he said. “First order of business. I want everyone to meet Y/N Y/L/N. She is our new Head of Marketing Operations. You all know we have been anxiously awaiting her jump across the pond and we are so excited she’s finally here.” Andrew smiled at you, and you were really trying to keep your attention on him and not on the curly headed superstar across the table from you. “Go ahead and introduce yourself, Y/N.”

“Oh, I, uh, I’m from London,” you said with a chuckle and everyone in the room laughed, “I have been in marketing for quite a while and I look forward to helping out and moving forward. I already know I have a lot to bring to the table and I hope to be able to learn from all of you and add my own insights,” you said with a smile, glancing around the room, finally making eye contact with smooth brown ones across the table from yours. A blush spread across his face and you looked away shyly, hoping one was not on your own.

“Lets go around and say our name and our job around here.” Andrew said, smiling. “I’ll start. I’m Andrew. I sorta run the place.” The room erupts with laughter. Everyone around the room introduced who they were and soon it was Shawn’s turn.

“I’m Shawn. I’m just a rando they let in from off the street.” The room erupted into laughter again. You realized Andrew wasn’t kidding when he said they were a casual office. Laughing and everyone seemed to be in tshirts and jeans. You immediately felt overdressed.

“Anyone have any questions for Y/N before we start?” Andrew looked around the room. Shawn cleared his throat across the table from you.

“How did you find an apartment?” he asked. “I looked for almost a year before I found anything.” The room laughed again, and you smiled at him.

“I, uh, I didn’t. I’m staying that the hotel around the corner until I can find something. I do think I saw Keira Knightley this morning though!” Everyone was laughing again and you smiled, glancing down at the screen in front of you.

“Okay, now let’s dive in,” Andrew said and started talking about Shawn’s new album. You learned it was about 75% recorded and that they had begun planning our marketing strategy. Justin had left a document that you stumbled upon on the laptop that Elizabeth must have made sure you had. You told yourself that you needed to thank her for that later. You opened it up and scanned through it. You made a few notes and then it was your turn to discuss.

“I think we need to change our approach entirely.” The room went quiet, everyone, including Shawn, looking at you with wide eyes. You chuckled. “Now I have your attention, eh?” There were a few chuckles around the room. “Okay, let’s look at the numbers. SM3 did good in most markets. We know the marketing strategy was successful. But we are also looking at a demographic of specifically girls who are reaching 18 and we all know what happens then. We need to market to a demographic of women who are looking for something in life and those who haven’t found it yet. Like me,” you finish with a quiet voice. Looking around you see a couple people nodding. It is Andrew that speaks up first.

“You know what, you’re right. Shawn is growing up and his music is growing up, so why shouldn’t our marketing strategy grow up?” The rest of the meeting went well, everyone leaving on board with your plan to mature the marketing.

“At the end of the day, they may look 18, but we don’t know how old they really are,” you had said and that seemed to strike a chord.

The next few days flew by with meetings and you were more busy than you had ever been. But you loved it. Shawn was in office almost every day, as they were really trying to nail down this plan. He spent quite a bit of time in your office, with your team working away at the table along the side wall.

As you were walking back to your office during your second week with AG Artists, a tall floppy haired boy ran up beside you. You glanced up at him with a smile.

“What can I do for you, Shawn?” you asked as you opened the door to your office. You went in and sat your laptop on your desk by your iPhone. You looked over at him, who had settled into the chair across the desk from you. You wanted to laugh at how comically large he seemed, but kept it in.

“It’s more like what I can do for you,” he said, his hands in front of him akin to the Godfather. You laughed this time.

“And what can you do for me, Mr. Mendes?” you asked, sitting down in your own chair.

“Well, I just so happen to have an extra room in my condo. And I simply cannot let a damsel in distress live in a hotel. It’s not feasible long term.” He looked at you sincerely, but you felt uneasy.

“Well, what is in it for you?” you asked, knowing there had to be a catch.

“I’ve been looking for a roommate. I am gone for long periods of time while I’m touring, and I would rather someone was coming and going than it to just sit there empty.” It did seem like a sound reason for needing a roommate.

“I would have to pay rent,” you said quietly, more to yourself than anything.

“You know it’s already paid for, Y/N…” he trailed off.

“So? I’d be living in your house. You get rent.”

“You can pay for the internet or something. Groceries.” You looked at him inquisitively. It was getting tiring living in a hotel, not having any of your things. Plus, it was expensive.

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine?” he responded. “Is that a yes?”

“I’m paying you something, Shawn. And I’ll be in charge of groceries.” Shawn jumped up and ran to give you a hug. You giggle but hugged the huge child back.

“I’ll send a car by tonight after work. We’ll go get your stuff and you can be sleeping in your own bed this evening.” You laugh at his enthusiasm, but that did sound really nice. You nodded to him and laughed when he waved and jogged out of the room, shouting behind him that he was late for a meeting with Andrew. You laughed as he tripped over nothing and almost fell on his face. You sat back down at your desk, shooting a text to Andrew asking if you could leave a bit early that afternoon. You had gotten much of your to do list done and wanted to pack up all your stuff at the hotel before Shawn helped you move into his house. He responded that that would be fine and to have fun moving that evening. Shawn must have already told him.

The next few days were a whirlwind of working and moving and you were finally moved into the condo Shawn owned in LA. He explained that once Andrew and AG Artists moved to Hollywood, he decided it would be a good idea to get a condo here. He still owned his condo in Toronto and made you promise you’d let him show you around Toronto sometime.

The domestic life was easy when Shawn was around. You’d gotten used to working around each other in the kitchen making dinner. You had your own spots on the couch and Shawn had finally figured out which tea you enjoyed in the morning and which was your night time tea. Neither of you mentioned the multiple times you had fallen asleep on the couch and woken up with your head on his lap or vice versa, and you tried to always have breakfast done for him before he left for recording, knowing the boy wouldn’t eat if you didn’t feed him.

A few months after you moved in, you were standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror. You had felt under the weather the past few days, so decided that the dark circles under your eyes and wrinkles in your forehead were from lack of sleep. You toyed with the idea of calling in sick that day, but you were getting closer to Shawn’s album being ready and it was important you nailed down a few things. You pulled on a sweatshirt that you realized was Shawn’s, but didn’t care. Your jeans were just loose enough to be super comfortable and your boots were lined with fur and were arguably the most comfortable thing you had ever put on your feet.

You walked downstairs to the kitchen to see a cup of tea on the counter. It was still steaming, so you knew Shawn was around somewhere. You sat down on the stool and took a sip of your tea, letting the warmth travel down your throat and warm you up from the inside out. You almost spit out your mouth full of tea when you heard a scream come from upstairs. You took off running up the stairs two at a time, pushing Shawn’s door open, looking around frantically. When you didn’t see anyone in the room, you ran into the bathroom, praying in the back of your mind that he was dressed, though it wouldn’t be the first time you had accidentally walked in on him.

He was standing in front of the mirror, fully dressed, to your intense relief, and his eyes were wide.

“I have a grey hair! A grey hair, Y/N!” He turned to you, his eyes wide, a single hair between his fingers. You stared at him dumbfounded. You slowly walked over to him, before punching him very hard in the upper arm. You yelped in pain, sure that had hurt you more than it hurt him. You cradled your hand.

“What was that for?” Shawn bellowed, rubbing his arm with his opposite hand.

“I thought someone was in our house, Shawn! You can’t just scream bloody freaking murder because you found a grey hair! That’s not cool!” you screamed back at him. He was still rubbing his arm, but his face softened.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N,” he said, slowly approaching before wrapping you in a hug. You snuggled into his chest for a moment before crying. “Hey, Y/N/N,” Shawn said softly, “what’s the matter?”

“I am wrinkly!” you bellowed into his chest, and you could hear him stifle a laugh. You lightly smacked his chest before giggling yourself. “It’s so stupid, I know. But I’ve been 18 for so long, why am I wrinkly?” you said through dramatic sobs. Suddenly, a thought occurred to you. “Why am I aging?” you whispered. You tears stopped all at once. You looked up at Shawn with wide eyes. “Why am I aging?” you repeated. He slowly reached up to his head, then his eyes went as wide as yours. You jumped when he started laughing.

“We’re aging, Y/N,” he said through belly laughs. You stared at him, before it dawned on you. You were aging together. “We’re aging!” he yelled out, his voice echoing through the bathroom.

“We’re aging!” you scream out, laughs racking through your own body now. He wrapped you in an enthusiastic hug. After a few minutes, you both calmed down.

“We’re aging, Y/N,” Shawn whispered, his lips against your hair.

“We’re aging, Shawn,” you mumbled into his chest. You were quietly crying again, your tears making the front of his shirt wet. He pulled you away from him, looking into your eyes.

“I love you, Y/N. I have for a long time. I love you, and we are going to grow old together.” His voice was soft and sincere.

“I love you too, Shawn. I love you,” you said just as quietly. Shawn looked from your eyes to your lips, before slowly leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own softly. You pulled away, looking up at him.

“I love you,” he said softly, pulling you back into him, kissing your hair softly.

“I am going to be late to work,” you mumble into his chest.

“Marry me,” he says softly. You pull away from him and look at him.

“Are you sure?” you ask softly.

“Of course I’m sure, Y/N! If you weren’t my soulmate, I was going to ask anyways and we were going to reign supreme immortals forever!” You laughed through the tears that had started falling down your face.

“Yes, Shawn,” you said with a smile.

“Yes?” he questioned.

“Yes!” you repeated. “Yes, of course, Shawn. Yes a million times Shawn!” He laughed out loud, wrapped you in a hug and spun you around before setting you back down. You smiled at him before standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. He immediately melted into the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist. You pulled away, a smile on your face.

“Lets go to work?” you asked.

“In my sweatshirt?” he questioned, a smirk on his face. You looked down at the hoodie. You looked back up at him and just nodded, a grin on your face. “Good,” he said. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.” You laugh.

“I’ve been yours for a long time, Shawn,” you said softly, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

Forever tag list: @embracehappy @atlas-of-a-human-soul @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @super-fire-breathing-girl @yourvoiceislikearose

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn fic #shawn fluff #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn #justanothershawngirl

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phantasticworks · 6 years

Text

Arthropods and Awkwardness Chapter 2: Arachnid Adventures

Hi! I’m back with Chapter 2 for Arthropods and Awkardness! Check out the third and final chapter! Thanks for reading and enjoy!

(PS- despite the title, there aren’t actually spiders in this part, i just wanted to keep my theme)

read on ao3

Words: 4.8k

Description: Dan and Phil go on their first date after the spider adventure they had that morning, but not everything goes the right way. Phil has a different idea about what their date means, and Dan's not sure if he's ready for the step Phil wants to take. But, hey, at least there aren't anymore spiders! Just some geese.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, non-explicit mild smut, angst

“No, because Mario is too short. If you’re going to shag one, it’s gotta be Link, definitely.” Dan’s logic may have been more than a little strange, but he wasn’t the one who wanted to discuss their sexual preferences in video game characters.

“But, just listen. Link’s all about saving the world! He wouldn’t have time to really care about you, or any of that. Mario is a real homemaker.” Phil looks seriously invested in his argument, and it’s a good thing they had finished their caramel macchiatos before starting this conversation, because Dan’s not really sure they would have bothered with them otherwise.

Phil had changed out of the cursed pajamas and was now wearing a white t-shirt with a polaroid logo on it, along with black jeans and a pair of sunglasses were tucked into his shirt. Dan had originally been a little disappointed to see the glasses go, but as soon as they’d stepped out of the building and Phil had put the shades on instead, Dan was melting. If he’d thought Phil was attractive this morning in his pajamas, this was a whole different level. He felt lucky that his heart hadn’t legitimately stopped at this point.

Dan had gone for black jeans, a grey t-shirt, and a cherry blossom-print, short sleeved button up that he left open. He had been going for a casual coffee date outfit, but he couldn’t stop staring at the ebony haired man sat in front of him. Which was comical, considering this grown man was currently debating about which animated character out of a game would make the best lover.

They’d been having a generally nice, casual chat up until then, but Dan was feeling particularly flirty today, so he decided he’d risk it. Rolling his eyes at Phil’s speech, he shifts his legs under the table, “accidentally” dragging his foot down Phil’s calf. He hides his smirk as he notices the man’s speech stutter slightly, feeling a small ego boost at the reaction he was able to get. Finally, he felt a little control here.

“I don’t know. I guess I just generally prefer a real person. Video games don’t really do it for me.” Dan says casually, leaning back in his seat, fully smirking at the way Phil’s eyes widen a little at the implications.

“Oh?” Phil inquires, mirroring Dan’s stance and leaning back in his chair as well. To add to it, and probably to make Dan’s heart palpitate, Phil runs a hand through his hair, the motion looking ridiculously well-practiced.

“Mhm. But I do have a few other… preferences.” He says, trying his hardest to sound serious around the nervousness he feels.

Phil smiles, tilting his head. Dan nearly jumps as he feels Phil’s foot rub against his leg, and his mouth nearly drops open. How dare he steal Dan’s thing? And be better at it, too? “Please indulge me. I’d love to know just what it is that gets you going.” Phil leans forward suddenly, as if they’re sharing a secret. “I bet you like to give up control. I think that’s what gets you hot. Am I right?” He raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes glimmering with mischief.

Dan swears below his breath, unable to help himself. How could this dorky guy, who was talking about corgis and houseplants not twenty minutes ago, suddenly sound this hot and seductive? It wasn’t fair. There’s no way Dan was giving in that easily, though. Sure, he wanted to get laid, but he wouldn’t just bend over for any guy with pretty blue eyes and perfect skin. And a good sense of humor. And, well, you get the point.

“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to find out?” He smirks, bringing his straw up to his mouth, chewing on the plastic as he watches Phil, who’s eyes are trained on Dan’s lips.

“I think you want to show me.” Phil says softly, his eyes flicking up to meet Dan’s. He smiles, and it’s not even seductive at this point, just happy. The thought that this date might end in something other than sex makes Dan’s heart race, and he’s not quite sure if it’s in a good way or not. After his last relationship ended over a year ago, he hadn’t dated and there had only been a few casual hookups. He wasn’t sure which way he wanted this to go, but as long as those blue eyes kept looking at him, he wasn’t sure he even cared.

“I… um…” Dan stutters, his thoughts jumbled together and keeping him from making any actual sense as he tries to speak. “Er- what?” He says blankly.

Phil laughs, shaking his head. “You’re very cute when you’re flustered, Dan. Would you like to go for a walk?” he asks, gesturing to the door. Dan nods, because of course he wants to go on a walk with this cute stranger, is he crazy?

They walk outside, and Phil takes the lead, slipping his sunglasses back on. It’s really not too bright out here, but Dan supposes that with contacts in the sun could be a little irritating. “How long have you worn glasses?” He suddenly blurts, not really realizing how much he cares about the answer until he turns to look at Phil, who’s already looking at him.

He glances up, as if the answer is in the clouds, but likely he’s just trying to remember. “I’m not sure… I found out I needed them when I was probably eighteen, and I’m thirty-two now… so, that many years.” He smiles.

Dan files that information away, then his brain catches on something else Phil had just told him. “Wait, you’re thirty-two?” He asks, not bothered at all, just curious about this new information.

Phil blushes, ducking his head as he nods. “Yeah. Is that, like, a deal breaker for you? Because I’m so old?” He asks, almost sounding resigned.

Dan would not be having that. He stops, his hand coming up to grip Phil’s wrist to stop him as well. ��No, of course not.” He smiles cheekily then, and Phil’s eyes drop to the dimple in his cheek. “I like older men anyway.” Phil rolls his eyes at this, moving to keep walking, but Dan doesn’t loosen his grip on his wrist. They take a few steps like that before Phil slides his hand up, catching Dan’s in his own.

The brunet blushes at this but looks straight ahead as if he hadn’t even noticed. “So, if you like older men,” Phil continues their conversation, swinging their intertwined hands between them. “How old does that make you?” He asks, his head tilted to watch Dan.

“Twenty-eight. My birthday’s in June, though.” He shrugs, nodding towards the park they’re making their way to. “Are we going to the park?” He asks, trying not to blush when he looks at Phil. Even with the sunglasses on, Dan can tell that the older man is looking at him, and the attention makes him almost nervous.

“Aw, you’re just a baby.” He pinches Dan’s cheek, his hand being swatted away in the process. “And yeah, the park is nice, I figured we could walk around for a bit. I’m all about picture-perfect first dates.” He grins, his tongue poking out between his teeth.

“Oh? Picture-perfect, huh? Does this mean you’ll walk me to my door and we’ll share our first kiss when we’re done here?” Dan smirks, fluttering his eyelashes.

Phil laughs, elbowing him gently. “We’ll see, if you behave.”

“I can be a good boy,” Dan bites down on his tongue hard as Phil’s head swings around to look at him in shock at his boldness.

“Jesus, Dan. I can’t take you anywhere.” He rolls his eyes, glancing around as if someone might have heard them, and Dan notices the unmistakable blush on his cheeks.

Shrugging, Dan leads them over to a pond where a group of geese are gathered. “You can take me to bed,” he teases.

Phil smacks his arm, and Dan squeaks indignantly. “Daniel!” Phil’s barely containing his own laughter, but he’s trying to be serious. “I’ll take you to bed so you can take a nap if you don’t quit this.” Dan shrugs as if that works for him, and after flashes of he and Phil cuddling and napping together cross his mind, he decides that he really wouldn’t mind it at all.

“I like sleepovers, so I’m not entirely opposed to that idea, actually.”

Phil only laughs, pushing his glasses up since they’re standing in the shade provided by the trees surrounding the pond. “I’m really glad we did this. You’ve come out of your shell a lot since this morning, and I’m really enjoying spending time with you, Dan.” He says, his voice so genuine that it nearly makes Dan trip over his own feet.

His first reaction is to make a sarcastic comment, as he typically does when faced with any form of compliment or sentimentality, but when he sees the look of fondness on Phil’s face, the comment dies in his throat. “I am too,” he whispers instead, squeezing Phil’s hand.

The older man smiles, and Dan blushes, turning away to face the pond for a distraction. When he sees the geese, he blurts out, “Do you want to know a fun fact about geese?”

Phil looks slightly taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, but he still smiles widely before nodding. “Hit me with those sweet facts.” He smirks at the way Dan’s face crinkles at his wording.

Dan opens his mouth before realizing he doesn’t even have a fact. He just blurted it out because he was nervous and needed a distraction. Great. “They’re dicks.” He says finally, trying to put as much conviction in his voice as possible.

Phil stares at him for a moment before he starts laughing hysterically. Dan grins, relieved that he didn’t just think it was weird or stupid. When he’s done laughing, he looks at Dan, tilting his head with a soft smile on his face. When he opens his mouth, Dan expects him to say something cute that’ll likely make him blush, but instead he makes an obnoxious goose noise.

Dan’s eyes widen, and it takes him all of two seconds before he’s in stitches himself, and then they’re both stood there making goose noises, holding their sides with how hard they’ve been laughing. As he’s wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes, Dan leans heavily into Phil’s side, blushing as the older man drops his hand to instead wrap an arm around his shoulders. They’re about the same height, although Dan’s probably an inch or two taller if he’d stand up a little straighter.

“Yeah, I’m really glad we did this.” Phil smiles, guiding Dan away from the pond and over to a bench. “Or, as a goose would say,” followed by more obnoxious goose noises that cause Dan to begin giggling all over again. Phil just grins at him as he laughs, clearly more than proud of himself for getting Dan to laugh so much.

“You’re a dork, did you know that?” Dan smiles as they both drop onto the bench, Phil’s arm falling onto the backrest just behind Dan’s shoulder blades, his fingers playing with the hem of Dan’s sleeve.

“I really want to kiss you,” Phil blurts, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t meant to say it. Dan’s heart races, but he tries to play it as nonchalant as he can.

“Then why don’t you?” He asks with a smirk.

Phil tilts his head before smiling, his hand coming up to caress Dan’s cheek. Dan leans into the touch, his own hands coming up to fist Phil’s shirt as he leans in. Their lips touch lightly at first, but as Phil goes to pull away, Dan makes an embarrassing sound in his throat before following him, reattaching their lips. He doesn’t even care if this is needy or weird on a first date, Phil has soft lips and he’s been looking at him with those blue eyes all morning, and Dan is more than ready to take it a step further.

Phil’s hand drops from Dan’s face to his leg, which he tugs on until Dan is facing him fully. The older man brings his hands back up, one holding Dan there by the back of his neck while the other hand cups his jaw. The brunet basically swoons at this point, sighing into the kiss, which allows Phil to tentatively trace his lip with his tongue. Dan hurriedly moves his mouth to allow Phil the freedom to explore, but before it can go that far, he pulls away, keeping their foreheads pushed together.

“What’s wrong?” Dan whispers, feeling Phil’s breath against his lips and aching to close the gap again. He doesn’t, however, because he doesn’t want to overstep Phil’s boundaries.

Phil sighs, shaking his head slowly. “Nothing, just… Maybe the park isn’t the best place for this.” He answers.

“Oh,” Dan responds. His lips quirk into a smirk. Emotions and the cute hand-holding part of a date may be a little out of his comfort zone, but when it comes to the sex part, he feels that he’s pretty well-versed. “We can go back to mine? Or yours, if you want.”

Phil nods, pulling away only to tug Dan up by the hand. “Let’s go, then.” He smiles, leading the way back to their apartment building. Dan almost makes a comment about him being in a hurry, but he doesn’t want Phil to feel like he doesn’t want this, because god, does he. He didn’t think it was possible for him to want something more than he wanted this.

Instead, he says, “Thank you, by the way.” When Phil looks at him with a raised eyebrow, Dan feels his face heat up, and he kicks at the pavement. “For the date. I haven’t done something this fun in a while… so thanks.” He smiles a little, but it’s nothing compared to the grin that lights up Phil’s face.

“I’m glad you’ve had a good time, Dan. If I had known you liked boys, I would have asked months ago.” He bites his lip then, as if that wasn’t appropriate.

Dan’s jaw drops at this. Phil had liked him this whole time? “What?” He demands.

It’s Phil’s turn to blush then, and he nods, looking at the ground as they walk. “Yeah, after the first time I saw you I really wanted to ask you out. But I wasn’t sure… you seemed like you could swing either way, but I didn’t want to get it wrong and make you feel awkward, since we’re neighbors.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, which, maybe it isn’t, but to Dan, it feels like it.

“I’m bi.” Dan says, nodding. Phil nods sheepishly as well. “But like, if you had asked me out, I would have been flattered, even if I didn’t also fuck men.”

Phil’s eyes widen comically at the crude way Dan had said that, and Dan just smirks. “Dan!” He hisses, looking around.

Dan shrugs. “I don’t care if people hear me. Are you…” He realizes he’d never asked Phil about something kind of important, and he slows his walk. “Are you out?” He studies the man beside him, wondering if he should pull his hand away.

Luckily, Phil takes away that worry almost immediately by nodding. “Yeah, I just… I’m not big on swearing, is all.” He shrugs, but he avoids Dan’s gaze.

Snickering, Dan shakes his head. “Well, you’ll get sick of me pretty soon, then.” He jokes.

They walk through the door to their building, heading to the elevator, their hands still interlocked. “No, of course not. I mean, I swear occasionally, but it just… I guess I feel weird about it when there are people are around?” He says, almost questioning, as if he isn’t really sure himself.

Dan smirks at this news, crowding Phil in the elevator when the doors shut behind them. “Yeah? How could I make you swear?” He teases, attaching his lips to Phil’s jaw, working his way down.

“You can’t.” Phil whispers, but Dan can hear how his voice wavers.

“Hm.” He hums, skimming his nose along Phil’s throat before attaching his lips to a spot just above his collarbone and sucking, letting his teeth graze the skin there. “Are you sure about that?” He whispers against the smooth, pale skin.

“Pretty… pretty sure.” Phil gasps, tossing his head back. “Dan, our floor. We’re on our floor.” He gently pushes Dan away, but his eyes hold a hunger that hadn’t been there before.

The smirk on Dan’s face doesn’t waver, and he drags Phil towards his own door, since he knew he had lube. The condom situation may be hit or miss, but as far as he was concerned, they could do it bare. Probably a stupid and reckless decision to make with a stranger, sure, but Phil was hot, and he didn’t want to let something like latex get in their way.

He shoves the door open, relieved for once to find that he’d left it unlocked. He really should lock his door, but he didn’t care enough to do so, especially when it came in handy during times like this. He doesn’t waste hardly any time before he’s got Phil pressed against the door, reattaching his lips back to where they’d been sucking a bruise into his neck just a few minutes earlier. Dan nearly groans at the sounds falling from Phil’s lips, but it doesn’t last long.

Dan’s almost shocked as Phil pushes him away, reversing their positions. He’s got a smirk on his face now, and Dan suddenly feels nervous. Phil’s so hot, and he looks so confident, and then his lips are on Dan’s neck and he’s whining, actually fucking whining as Phil sucks a spot above his collarbone.

Pulling away just slightly, Phil’s eyes meet Dan’s, and they’re full of amusement. “I knew you’d be vocal.” He taunts. He doesn’t even wait for a response, and his ministrations continue, Dan helpless against the feelings, left to thrash against the door as blood rushes to his cock, his head dizzy with arousal.

“Phil, Phil. Bedroom.” Dan grips the older man’s shoulders, gently pushing him away. Phil nods, and then he’s leading Dan to the bedroom, and Dan nearly sighs when his legs hit the mattress moments later as he falls onto his back. His shirt comes off immediately, and Phil raises an eyebrow, a small smile still on his lips. “Come here, please, god.” Dan whines, not even trying to cover up his lust.

Phil complies easily enough, straddling Dan. He places his hands on Dan’s stomach, slowly dragging his fingertips up, smirking at the way Dan shivers, then keens as Phil runs a thumb over one of his nipples. Raising an eyebrow questioningly, he repeats the action. “Hmm. If you’re making that sound now… I wonder what kind of sound you’d make…” He doesn’t finish his thought, but leans down, and Dan already knows what he’s going to do before he feels that wet heat closing around the sensitive skin.

The younger man arches up, a quiet moan falling out of his lips. He’d almost be embarrassed, but he’d embraced his loudness years ago, and Phil seemed to enjoy it as well. Phil continues with riling him up there for a few moments, before shifting to give the other nipple the same attention. Dan is panting, and his hips roll up into Phil’s involuntarily.

Phil’s mouth suddenly goes slack, and he groans at the friction Dan’s created. Dan smiles, proud to have had some effect on Phil. Without hesitating, he repeats the movement, painfully slow. Their jeans restrict them a little, but Dan find that it almost makes it hotter, the fact that they’re both almost fully dressed. He decides he needs to change that though, and tugs insistently at Phil’s shirt. “Off,” he demands.

The smirk Phil gives him before sitting up and tugging the shirt over his head nearly makes Dan’s eyes roll back in his head, and he’s so hot in here, they need to be naked, like now. Then the thoughts are being silenced as Phil brings their lips together, barely wasting a moment before his tongue slips into Dan’s mouth, licking against his own. Dan sighs into the kiss, and brings his arms to wrap around Phil’s neck, holding him there. If he could keep him there for hours, he would, the kiss is hot and wet and great, but Dan knows that if they stay like that, they can’t get to the other activities, and he’d very much like to do that.

Pulling away only briefly, he gestures to his bedside table. “There’s lube in the top drawer, maybe a condom too.” He runs a hand through Phil’s soft hair, with every intention of messing that perfect quiff up as they make out, but suddenly Phil is pulling away.

Dan can’t really describe the look on Phil’s face, but it’s somewhere between hurt and mad, which doesn’t make any sense. He struggles to think what he’d done wrong, but he can feel Phil’s cock pressing against his leg, and he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case if the kiss or the touching was just unappealing to Phil. So, it couldn’t be that. Rather than sit there wondering, Dan furrows his eyebrows before asking, “What’s wrong?”

Phil’s lips are wet and red, and they’re frowning, and Dan can’t figure out why they’re doing that, and so far away from his own. “Is that what this is about?” He asks, or demands actually, with the tone of his voice. Dan glances around the room, confused as he props himself up on his elbows.

“What?” He asks, genuinely not understanding where this is going.

“This,” Phil gestures between the two of them. “Today. Our date? And all the flirting? Was that just so you could get laid? I told you, Dan, I don’t sleep with people I don’t know.” His voice almost sounds hysterical, and Dan’s only more confused, his lust-addled brain not fully grasping why they’re talking and not kissing until Phil climbs off of him and grabs his shirt. His words process in Dan’s brain finally, and he sits up, unsure of how to handle this.

“What? No, Phil.” When Phil looks at him uncertainly, Dan caves. “Okay, I mean, maybe? Like, at least part of it was just me trying to get somewhere.” When Phil glares and tugs on his shirt, making his way out of the room, Dan shoots up off the bed to chase after him. “Phil! Wait, what the fuck? I thought we were on the same page.”

Phil spins on his heel, facing Dan with an expression of pure anger, which Dan hadn’t been prepared for at all. He cringes back slightly but struggles to maintain eye contact. “The same page? Do you mean the page where we fuck and then go back to our own lives like we didn’t?” Dan’s so shocked from his outburst that he doesn’t even think to comment on the fact that he got Phil to swear.

“No, that’s not what I meant…” Dan trails off as Phil rolls his eyes and starts towards the door again. “Wait!” Dan grabs his arm, but Phil shakes him off.

“No, Dan. I told you, I don’t just go around sleeping with people I don’t know.” Phil glances over Dan, a look of disgust, or maybe disappointment, on his face. “I’m not like you, apparently.”

Dan fumbles for his words, not letting Phil get away so easily. He was confused about why Phil was angry, but he thinks he’s slowly starting to get it. “But, you know me. That’s why we went for coffee, remember?” He tries.

Phil gapes at him, shaking his head, disbelief coloring his expression. “No! We went on one date, Dan! We barely knew each other before today, and we don’t even really know each other now!” Phil shakes his head once more before turning away. “Forget it, okay? This was a bad idea.”

The perfect fantasy he’d built in his head crumbling right in front of him, Dan grasps for straws. “I know your birthday! I know you drink caramel macchiatos, just like me. And I know that you have a brother and that you think Mario is husband material!” Dan knows he’s reaching now, but he finds that he’s not even doing it to get laid. He can’t fathom the idea that he could lose Phil over this, not after the wonderful day they just had and all they have in common. He felt like Phil could be a real friend if he would just try, and despite the fact that Dan wanted to sleep with him, he desperately didn’t want to lose his friendship, if that’s all he was offering.

As expected, Phil shakes his head, not buying it. “Those are just surface things, Dan. You don’t know my thoughts, or things that are important to me. I’ve made mistakes before, and one of them looked just like you. A boy who was everything I wanted, all wrapped up in nothing other than his desire to screw me. And you know what? I know better now. So, if that’s all you want from me, then I’m sorry Dan, but you can’t have that.” Phil’s eyes are fully of emotion, and Dan watches helplessly as he wipes angrily at a stray tear.

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispers hoarsely. “That’s not… that’s not all I want. We can be friends, too. I want to be your friend, Phil.” He’s nearly begging at this point, and he knows it’s pathetic, but he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t want to see Phil walk out the door without at least fighting for him to stay.

Phil just shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry too, Dan. I can’t offer that. I want to be your friend, and I’m attracted to you, but if you aren’t interested in a relationship, in the work that it takes to maintain that, then I don’t have anything to offer you. We can be just friends, but I won’t be your fuck buddy.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, which is disheveled from their earlier activities.

Dan just stares at him, and Phil takes this as his chance to leave, turning back to the door. It takes a moment for Dan’s brain to catch up with his mouth, but when it does, he blurts out, “I don’t think I can do a relationship… I’m not… I don’t think I’m ready for another relationship right now. But can’t we… can’t we try it?” He swallows hard, his eyes trailing away from Phil’s face for a second as he tries to gather his thoughts. “I really don’t want you to just walk away.” He whispers.

Phil studies him before shaking his head slowly. “No, Dan. We’re both adults. It’s childish and pretty naïve of you to assume that someone won’t get hurt in that kind of arrangement.” Dan opens his mouth to protest, but Phil raises a hand to stop him. “I’ve been there, I know how it works. I’m sorry, but I won’t do it. I wish you felt differently about the relationship thing, but I won’t pressure you. If that’s not what you want, I won’t try to force you.”

Dan just stares at him, wordlessly, as tears well up in his own eyes. He feels ridiculous for it, but after all the warmth he’d felt after spending the day with Phil, he didn’t think he could handle losing it all at once like this. But he can’t even think of a way to convince Phil not to leave, and it’s really not his place to ask that of him, especially not with everything he’d just shared. Dan was lucky he didn’t tell him to fuck off forever, honestly.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Phil says softly, and then he’s out the door, and for the time being, out of Dan’s life.

It takes him a few minutes of just staring at the door before Dan finally shuffles back into his bedroom, collapsing on the bed and rolling over to stare at the window. Fuck, he thinks to himself. Maybe I should have left the window open, after all. At least then the spiders could just crawl in and kill me in my sleep, so I wouldn’t have to deal with how much this fucking hurts.

Still, Dan doesn’t dare open the window. Even if everything had just fallen apart, he didn’t fancy adding the element of tiny horror beasts to his already shit life.

chapter 3 here

#phan #phanfiction #fluff #banter #angst #phanfic #phandom #danandphil #part two #non-explicit smut #heavy makeout sessions and love bites #first date #coffee shop and walks in the park #geese

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