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tiramisiyu · 3 years

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【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-28 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19 ♦️ ♦️ 7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

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Hang Jiahe’s House

It was evening when we got to Hang Jiahe’s place. It seemed like it was always after sunset whenever we saw her.

Hang Jiahe: Please sit.

MC: Sorry for the trouble, Miss Hang.

Hang Jiahe: Don’t worry about it – feel free.

I sat on the sofa as Hang Jiahe indicated. Marius sat beside me. My eyes shifted subconsciously to the gloves Hang Jiahe was wearing again.

MC: (Still wearing those white gloves…)

Hang Jiahe: Is anything the matter, for you to come here?

I was distractedly looking over Hang Jiahe’s gloves when she suddenly handed two cups of tea to Marius and me. As she did, I suddenly noticed a tiny split on the index fingertip of the right glove.

MC: The glove’s split…

I subconsciously murmured.

Marius: ???

Hang Jiahe: What?

MC: S-sorry, I got distracted, I…

Hang Jiahe: It’s alright – I should be thanking you instead. If not for you, I wouldn’t have noticed that there’s a split.

Hang Jiahe looked at her right hand.

Hang Jiahe: Looks like this glove design quality isn’t that great either, since it broke on me without me realizing…

Hang Jiahe: I’ll look for more durable designs.

She lowered her head, quietly mumbling.

Hang Jiahe: Please wait for a moment – I’ll go change my gloves.

Marius: Feel free.

Hang Jiahe got up and entered her bedroom. Marius quietly shifted closer, speaking in a low voice beside my ear.

Marius: This is the perfect chance – let’s see if there are any clues in here while she’s away.

MC: Yeah.

⊳ Bookshelf

MC: Marius, look at the bookshelf over there!

I pointed at the bookshelf that covered half the wall and its books, indicating for Marius to look over there.

Marius: “Respect for Acting”, “The Count of Monte Cristo”…

Marius: So many books on acting…

MC: Looks like she truly does love acting.

Marius: She doesn’t just like it – she might have a ton of acting talent.

Marius: Didn’t Wang Chunchong say that she wanted to go to an overseas acting school?

MC: True. Let’s ask her later.

⊳ Toolbox

MC: Is the thing on the ground… a toolbox?

Marius: Looks like it.

Marius and I got close to the toolbox.

MC: Hold on, isn’t this the same model as the one in Room 1001?

Marius: Yep.

MC: Then it’s possible that Hang Jiahe exchanged a handle with fingerprints on, just as we guessed before.

Marius: That’s right.

Marius: Also, a No.22 has been carved on the box.

Marius: Remember that number – it might come in handy.

MC: Sure.

⊳ Bookshelf decoration

I noticed a membership card placed near the decoration on the bookshelf.

MC: “Liqing Bank”… what is this place? There’s a bank named this?

Marius: Yeah, in the suburbs.

Marius: But it’s a membership-required bank – you can only open an account if you get recommended by someone.

Marius: Also, they don’t provide a typical cash deposit and withdrawal service – instead, they have a vault service.

Marius: Those with an account receive a personal vault for their precious items.

MC: Is that so…

⊳ Clothes

MC: (Freshly-washed clothes?)

MC: (The trench coat on top is the same design as the one worn by the star on the recent hot searches…)

MC: (Is it Hang Jiahe’s?)

⊳ Cushion

I looked over every detail in Hang Jiahe’s house. When my gaze swept over the sofa, I suddenly noticed something.

MC: Marius, look at that cushion. Isn’t it the same as the one that had skin cells on it?

Marius: That’s right, they’re the same.

MC: Then…

I thought of a suspicion I had when we were discussing with Darius.

MC: Could it be that Hang Jiahe changed the cushions for when the police were examining the scene the first time?

MC: So they didn’t notice anything strange then.

Marius: And when the bodies were discovered, Hang Jiahe switched the cushion from back then, back in.

MC: But… something seems to be strange.

⊳ Cushion (2)

MC: If we’re right, why would she do that?

MC: To frame Wang Chunchong? Then why didn’t she just let the police find it the first time?

Marius: I think that Hang Jiahe made two plans when planning this case.

Marius: Which is why she said that her information had other uses with the bar boss…

MC: Hm? What plan?

Marius: Nothing, just a guess – it just hasn’t fully formed yet.

Marius: I’ll tell you after I figure it out, so I don’t mislead you.

MC: Alright.

⊳ Ellipses

MC: Some of our suspicions are now dealt with.

Marius: But it’s not a good idea to startle her now. Be careful when talking to her in a moment.

Hang Jiahe was taking some time to change her gloves, so Marius and I had to wait for a while before she finally walked out of the bedroom. Maybe I was imagining it, but I felt like she seemed a little annoyed ever since she muttered those things to herself.

Hang Jiahe: My apologies for making you wait.

MC: It’s alright.

MC: Although, Miss Hang, why do you wear gloves?

Hang Jiahe: Ah… I accidentally burned myself when I was young, and the scars are a little ugly, so I cover them with gloves.

MC: (Are they really burn scars? Or Hang Fei…)

My mood grew heavy for a moment. But I then suddenly thought of something about the gloves, from back at the café.

MC: Miss Hang, though you said that you’d just found it at random, I feel like the symbol on your gloves are pretty well-designed.

MC: Is it referenced from something? Or did you design it yourself?

Hang Jiahe: Ah… I actually saw this symbol in a book.

MC: Which book?

Hang Jiahe: “The Count of Monte Cristo”.

Hang Jiahe: In the original, the Countess G said…

Hang Jiahe: “Did you notice two windows hung with yellow damask, and one with white damask with a red cross?”

Hang Jiahe: “Those were the count’s windows.”

Hang Jiahe: See, don’t my white gloves with a red cross look like the “one with white damask with a red cross”?

MC: You sound like you like this book a lot.

Hang Jiahe: Yes.

Hang Jiahe: I like Edmond’s tenacity and determination, as well as the retribution evil receives in the story.

Hang Jiahe: This is something that is nearly impossible to achieve in reality, isn’t it?

MC: …

As she spoke, she sat back down on the sofa. When she touched the dry-cleaned clothes on the side, she casually rolled them up.

MC: ???

Hang Jiahe: Did you two come today of any problems in Chunchong’s case?

MC: Ah… no, just some routine questioning – we’re still in the middle of investigating, so no need to worry.

Hang Jiahe: That’s good. Feel free to ask what you want.

MC: Miss Hang, we found this during our investigation.

I opened the foster care contract signed by Xu Yin and Hang Fei on my tablet.

MC: Have you seen this document before?

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe went silent for a few seconds.

Hang Jiahe: I have. When I was little, I accidentally found this when I was flipping through some things.

Marius: Then… have you read what’s on it in detail?

Hang Jiahe: I did.

MC: Miss Hang, you…

Hang Jiahe: Miss Lawyer, no need to be so euphemistic. I know what you want to ask.

Hang Jiahe: Though what’s on this contract is different from what my mother told me…

Hang Jiahe: As I said before, I felt hatred when I was younger, but I don’t anymore.

Hang Jiahe: I know that they’ve let me down in so many ways, but no one is perfect.

Hang Jiahe: As long as they honestly regret it, I will not hate them… as long that they honestly feel so.

MC: …

But do you really not hate them?

I snuck a peek at the one hand Hang Jiahe was hiding behind her back. It was tightly holding onto a corner of a sofa cushion.

MC: …

I decided to not ask Hang Jiahe about the photos we’d gotten from the bar.

Marius: Miss Hang, do you enjoy acting? I see that you’ve collected lots of books related to that.

Hang Jiahe: Yes, acting and the grand stage… was once my dream.

MC: Miss Hang, have you wanted to be an actress?

Hang Jiahe: Yes.

MC: Miss Hang, your looks are so excellent that if you were to stand onstage, I’m sure you’d be dazzling.

Hang Jiahe: Thank you for your praise, but I do not want to be an actress to dazzle others and stand in the spotlight.

Hang Jiahe: What I want is the “ecstasy” of the stage.

Marius: “Ecstasy”?

Hang Jiahe: Yes. I think that when one stands onstage as an actor…

Hang Jiahe: She can break away from herself and reality by acting as others.

Hang Jiahe: That feeling really is wondrously intoxicating.

MC: (Escape from reality…)

MC: …

Marius: With your deep understanding of acting, have you ever considered further study in it?

Hang Jiahe: In the past, yes, but not anymore.

Hang Jiahe: For one, I’m very busy with work, and I really don’t have the time. For another…

Hang Jiahe: It’s a bit shameful to admit, but I once had a chance to study at the Dionysus School of Arts. However, I lost it due to certain reasons.

Hang Jiahe: So I no longer placed many hopes here.

Marius: The Kingdom of Svart’s Dionysus School of Arts? That’s the highest-tier acting school abroad.

Marius: Looks like you’re not just interested in this – you’re also very talented.

Hang Jiahe: You flatter me, CEO von Hagen.

Hang Jiahe: CEO von Hagen, Miss Lawyer, are there any other questions you have for me?

I already had my answer about the hammer fingerprints, thanks to the toolbox. As for Hang Jiahe’s alibi…

MC: I…

Marius: We came here only to confirm that contract, nothing else.

I was just about to speak when Marius cut in.

MC: (Has Marius already figured it out?)

MC: Sorry for the trouble today, Miss Hang. We’ll head off now.

Hang Jiahe: Sure. I still have some things to do, so I won’t send you off.

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Apartment Lobby

Marius and I found a place in the corner of the lobby after leaving Hang Jiahe’s residence to rest and discuss the case.

MC: Based on our inspection of Hang Jiahe’s house and how she responded to our questions…

MC: We have our answer on how Wang Chunchong’s fingerprints appeared on the murder weapon.

Marius: Yep, as we guessed, she probably switched the handles.

MC: As long as the models are same, dual-purpose hammers can have their handles exchanged.

MC: As Wang Chunchong and Hang Jiahe were dating, it would have been easy for her to get a handle that had Wang Chunchong’s fingerprints.

MC: She then only needed to switch the hammer in the Hang house and the one in her house…

MC: To successfully create the “murder weapon” used by Wang Chunchong.

Marius: Plus, the numbering of this hammer model is carved on the iron core, so it’s very difficult for people to notice if anything’s been switched.

Marius: So our questions about the murder weapon are dealt with.

MC: Yeah. The last question is Hang Jiahe’s alibi.

MC: You didn’t let me ask Hang Jiahe about it – did you already figure it out?

Marius: We won’t get the truth from straight-up asking her. But the information she revealed to us is enough to break her alibi.

MC: ???

Marius: It’s a bit abstract saying it like that – let’s take it one step at a time.

Marius: First, to break Hang Jiahe’s alibi, you have to realize that…

Marius: The last “Qi Yu” who appeared on the night of the crime was not the real Qi Yu.

MC: Why, is there any proof?

Marius: Of course. Think about it – what does Hang Jiahe enjoy doing, and what can she do?

Marius: Also, as Captain Morgan said, what did their neighbours say about Hang Jiahe and Qi Yu?

Marius: You’ll get it when you see the links between these things.

MC: …

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START ANALYSIS

⊳ Hang Jiahe’s relationship with her adoptive parents: Per investigation, Hang Jiahe has an excellent relationship with her parents, especially adoptive mother Qi Yu. Their appearance and relationship are basically like that of biological mother and daughter.

⊳ Hang Jiahe’s special talent: Hang Jiahe enjoys acting very much, and once had the chance to go to the highest-tier acting school abroad. Her acting talents are outstanding.

MC: Hang Jiahe enjoyed acting and had remarkable talent in it…

MC: As for her and Qi Yu… I remember Captain Morgan said that neighbours deemed their figures and appearances as very similar.

MC: …

MC: Marius, do you mean that Hang Jiahe could have disguised herself as Qi Yu?

Marius: That’s right. Plus, do you remember what Captain Morgan said was in the witness testimony given by that security guard?

MC: That security guard said that Qi Yu’s actions were abnormal, and she wasn’t very talkative.

Marius: Yep, and that “Qi Yu”’s abnormalities were because she was trying to minimize any indications of her disguise.

Marius: Because, though their figure and height were similar, their voices were not.

Marius: She just needed to avoid this risk to completely become Qi Yu, and could thus mislead the police with the security guard and surveillance.

Marius: This is the prerequisite to her alibi.

MC: (Prerequisite…)

⊳ Time of death: Considering multiple factors, forensics determined that Hang Fei and Qi Yu died on January 28th, around 10pm.

⊳ Hang Jiahe’s ability to change appearance: Hang Jiahe has excellent acting skills. With her similar figure and appearance to Qi Yu, she could have disguised herself as Qi Yu.

MC: I remember that forensics used the inspection results and the apartment surveillance videos to determine the victims’ time of death as 10pm.

MC: And because of this, Hang Jiahe, who left at 7pm, had her alibi.

MC: But if this last Qi Yu was Hang Jiahe in disguise…

MC: That means that Hang Fei and Qi Yu’s true time of death wouldn’t be after 10pm on the 28th.

MC: They might have been murdered earlier than that!

Marius: That’s right. I knew you’d be able to get it.

Marius: So we just need to prove that Hang Fei and Qi Yu died before Hang Jiahe left the apartment…

Marius: Then, her alibi will collapse on itself.

END ANALYSIS

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Marius: Alright, great lawyer, what do you want to do next?

MC: I want to see the full-day apartment surveillance video on January 28th for any clues that Hang Jiahe might have secretly entered or left the building.

MC: If we’re right and Hang Jiahe did disguise herself as Qi Yu, she must have returned before 7pm to the apartment.

MC: I want to look for any clues like this in the surveillance.

Marius: No need for you to search, then. We can just take the video from Captain Morgan to the base.

Marius: The main computer at the base is equipped with data analysis tools, and it’s supported by the big data lab.

Marius: It’ll be way faster than us.

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #tot translations #lu jinghe #marius von hagen #未定事件簿

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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On This Night and in This Light (1/3)

Emma Swan knows she's pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn't the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there's a lot of paperwork, but she figures she's helping people and that's the important thing. It's structured. Calm, even.

Until. It's always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma's office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they're really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

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Rating: Teen, but I’m me, so kissing is guaranteed Word Count: About 6.5K this chapter AN: About a week ago @shireness-says sent me this post, about a job agency that specifically helped people with supernatural abilities or supernatural problems find a job. I believe my exact response was “Don’t do this to me” and then Devon probably laughed or something and over the course of the last three days I wrote about 19-thousand words. Nonsense is guaranteed, as is the kissing, hopefully some banter and a bunch of magic. The next two chapters probably Tuesday and Thursday of next week?

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

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“So, that’s basically it. The guy was cursed, super greedy and—” “—Babe c’mon, that’s my dad.”

The guy shrugs.

Which Emma figures is pretty fair, all things considered. Although she also can’t remember his name, so maybe she’s a quasi-villain in this story. She’s fairly certain it’s in the paperwork. The guy’s name, not her potential villain status.

In her defense, that one lightbulb above her head is very distracting. Flickering on and off, she’s going to have to tell Graham about it, which will probably somehow alert Regina and Emma isn’t sure she’s capable of dealing with Regina right now. It’s been a very long morning.

At— she glances at the tiny string of numbers in the bottom corner of her computer monitor, nine twenty-six in the morning.

“Jeez,” Emma mumbles, drawing the attention of both of the people sitting in front of her. Not very often that a pair comes in. She supposes that’s nice.

In an overwhelmingly, romantic kind of way.

God, maybe she’s bitter.

She’s totally bitter. Thinking anything else is ridiculous.

And if Emma doesn’t get some coffee soon, she’s going to fall asleep at her desk and inevitably offend this nameless, albeit nice-looking guy who until recently was spending his days as a solid-gold statue in front of an antiques store on Broome Street.

“Not—not you guys,” Emma says quickly, and the girlfriend’s eyes widen. Her name is Abigail. Emma’s, like, forty-six percent positive.

“You know he didn’t mean it,” maybe-Abigail says. “It was...well, Freddie was very heroic about it. Protecting my dad and—he was head of security at the building. Kids thought it’d be funny to try and break in, but Freddie was—” “—Courageous?” “Very. The kids wanted my dad’s gift, but Freddie wouldn’t let them near him. Of course that made sure he was close to my dad and he...well, he got touched by accident and....”

Humming noncommittally, Emma lets the rest of the details float into the back of her mind. She doesn’t particularly want to hear this story. Most of them are the same, anyway. Heroic deeds beget undeserved rewards, and there’s always some sort of deus ex machina fix that’s inevitably magical, and she figures that’s part of the deal at this place, but that bitterness of hers runs far deeper than she’s willing to admit. “And you didn’t want to go back to work at the cursed dad’s office?” Freddie shakes his head. “Not really all that interested in security anymore. Ya get frozen for three years and it kinda loses its shine, y’know?” “Makes sense,” Emma replies, and she hates to admit it takes her that long to realize what he just said. Maybe she should have read the paperwork closer. She didn’t have time. “Wait, wait did you say three years?” “And, uh, like fourteen days. That’s right, right babe?” Abigail smiles. That must be the answer. “We’re just looking for a fresh start. My dad is—well, maybe greedy is the right word. He doesn’t view this as a curse, it's...I called it a gift before, didn't I?” Emma nods, trying desperately to ignore the state of that light bulb. “Nothing we do is going to change his mind. He’s going to keep it, and he tries to be careful, but—one wrong move and there’s a golden something right in front of you. We don’t want to risk it again. That’s why we came here. It’s supposed to be the best placement service in the city.”

Biting back the immediate retort of it’s the only placement service like this in the city, Emma plasters what she can only hope is an encouraging smile on her face. The lightbulb stops flickering.

It dies. Completely.

She hopes that’s not a sign.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she stammers, before turning back to her keyboard and a monitor with time that must be going backwards. “So, three years removed from any interaction with society and that’s—” Her smile is making her cheek muscles ache. “What kind of skills do you have, Mr. Greyston? Any specific interests or ideas about what you want to do?”

Freddie does not have any ideas. Or interests. Or concerns besides Abigail, it seems. Who is not just his girlfriend, but his fiancée, and a rather vocal wealth of both ideas and interests, none of which fit any of the potential jobs Emma spends the next forty-seven minutes finding.

Something is wrong with each and every one. Wrong location. Too far a commute. Weird hours. Requires a uniform and—“Have you seen the width of Freddie’s shoulders? There’s no way he’d be able to wear a mass-produced jacket like that.”

Emma hasn’t been paying much attention to the width of Freddie’s shoulders, honestly.

She’s far more preoccupied with the pain blooming behind her left eye and, somehow, at the base of her skull and she’s a few seconds away from turning both Freddie and Abigail into frogs when she hears footsteps approaching her half-open office door and he actually has the gall to cross his feet at the ankle when he leans against the frame.

“What about personal training?”

Both Abigail and Freddie freeze. One of them tilts their head. Presumably in thought. Emma can’t be bothered figuring out which one.

Not with her fingers hovering over her keys, the pop of her lips as they fall open sounding far louder than it should and the stranger leaning against her door frame smiles at her.

Smirks, really. One side of mouth tugs up, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. It’s offensive, that’s what it is.

As is the overall shade of blue in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” Emma asks. Demands, honestly. One word comes out sharper than the last, drawing a soft chuckle from the questionably good-looking stranger and that’s—

No. No compliments. Just insults. Of the sharp-tongued variety.

Most curses require a sharp tongue, in Emma’s experience. And she suddenly finds herself fantasizing about the several different ways she could curse this self-assured bastard to the other side of the office.

“I think, love,” he says, leaning forward like that’s allowed, “I might be able to help you. Couldn’t help but overhear—” “—Because you were eavesdropping?” “Inevitable when your voice carries the way it does.”

Her mouth is already hanging open, so Emma can only imagine what she looks like when it feels as if her eyes are also intent on falling out of her face. Not great, if the increased smirk'ness of the smirk is any indication.

Smirk'ness is not a word.

“Personal training could be kind of cool,” Freddie muses with interest. Abigail beams. Emma comes up with twenty-nine different curse possibilities. “Don’t you need something for that, though? Like a certificate or something?” Blue-eyed bastard, fuckface chuckles again. “You do, in fact. ‘Fraid you can’t simply approach strangers and start training them. But the requirements aren’t hard to complete and there’s always a fairly high demand for trainers. People want to get in shape, y’know?” Suggesting that there’s no way this guy with his stupid sleeves could know the exact tone Freddie had used to a voice very similar question not even an hour earlier is as stupid as his sleeves, but Emma cannot rationalize any of this and she should have known he was out there.

Lurking in the hallway, as it were.

There’s always some sort of—signal. A smell. A flicker of familiarity that ripples up her spine and latches to the back of her brain and she assumes the migraine that now seems pretty inevitable is not that. It’s just painful.

Nothing else. She didn’t feel anything. She should have felt something, unless—

“No,” she gasps, and she’s got to get a handle on her audible reactions. “I, uh—I mean, no, no, that’s a great idea, actually. What do you think Mr. Greyston?”

Freddie narrows his eyes. “I...I just said it sounded cool.” “He did,” the wanker with that one piece of wayward hair hanging across his forehead says, “I heard it. Didn’t you hear it?” Nodding emphatically, Abigail is far too quickly swayed by all of this. “I did and that’s—Emma, why didn’t you think of that before?” Anger curls low in Emma’s gut. Rises in the back of her throat and threatens to scorch every inch of her tongue, like that’s something an emotion is capable of. Fisting her hands under her desk, the edges of her nails leave crescent-moon shaped cuts on her palm, but she doesn’t have another outlet for the energy running through her.

Especially if she’s right.

She’s seventy-two percent positive she’s right. Which is better than how she felt about Abigail’s name, and she was totally right about that, so.

Math, or whatever.

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Emma admits through clenched teeth. “But thankfully we’re a collaborative effort here at Mills Personnel, and it’s always good to get multiple opinions, including some from our newest—” Swallowing her tongue isn’t the most embarrassing thing Emma can do in a moment like this, but it’s starting to feel somewhere in the top five and if this guy doesn’t stop staring at her like that she’s going to scream.

Or self combust with magic.

Her magic appears to be running on overdrive.

“Killian Jones,” he says, answering a question she hadn’t actually gotten around to asking. “It’s my first day,”

“Is it just?” His answering hum isn’t as sarcastic as Emma’s was. She supposes that’s another failure of hers today. Her brain’s already started making a list. “Did you know they have an espresso machine in the break room?” “I work here,” Emma answers.

“As I can see. Just—” “—Trying to tell me about espresso?” The other side of his mouth moves. That suggests Emma is staring at his mouth, which she might be, honestly. When she isn’t wholly preoccupied with his eyes or that one strand of hair, and she can’t believe that one strand of hair exists, but she’s also a witch and Freddie was made of gold and she never did ask how they managed to fix that.

Emma’s starting to wonder if she actually sucks at her job.

“Make conversation,” Killian says. “And maybe help a little bit. That’s the gig, isn’t it?” None of the muscles in Emma’s neck are particularly interested in nodding, but her hair moves so that must mean she accomplishes at least some sort of movement and the two pairs of eyes sitting in wholly uncomfortable chairs opposite her are watching the scene with open interest. “Alright,” she says brusquely, certain Killian’s eyes get brighter, “Mr. Greyston, let’s start working on a plan for getting your certification and then we can set up some contacts with area gyms.”

She’s not sure when Killian leaves, exactly.

Only that he doesn’t try closing the door behind him and when Emma walks into the breakroom thirty-one minutes later, there’s a post-it with ridiculously swirly handwriting clinging to the espresso machine. Try this one, it says.

And that doesn’t really make sense. It’s an espresso machine, there aren’t a ton of different options. Emma’s almost charmed all the same.

It wasn’t True Love’s Kiss.

Frederik Greyston wasn’t released from his gilded prison by the most sweepingly romantic bit of magic in the world. It was water from Nostos, which Emma knows is expensive and hard to come by, but knowing the little she does about Abigail’s father, it makes sense and she’s disappointed all the same.

Six years working at Mills Personnel and still not a single person has been saved by the power of True Love’s supposed Kiss.

She’s starting to think it doesn’t even exist.

Honestly, the whole thing is Mary Margaret’s fault.

She’s the one who got Emma the job after all, and maybe that’s more a commentary on Emma’s disinterest in joining the traditional workforce or being a functioning member of society, but she’s also quick to argue that society hasn’t really done much for her lately. Not a ton of professional options for someone with a record and the tendency to glow every now and then.

So, Emma had agreed to the interview.

On a Thursday at two in the afternoon, at the office tucked into the bottom floor of a building on 62nd Street, with etched letters on the door.

Mills Personnel, it said.

And still does, really. Not much has changed since Emma first walked into Regina’s office, least of all the lettering on her door, but she’d like to believe she’s maybe a bit more confident than she was that time and—

“Regina, is this a joke?” Emma asks, not able to sit in one of the chairs. Pacing seems entirely more reasonable, even as the muscles in her calves start to ache. “Because it can’t—none of this makes any sense.” “Why not?” “Repeating myself is redundant.” Making a noise Emma can only assume is an agreement, Regina doesn’t bother looking up from the paperwork in her hands. Another client. Another problem. Something else Killian Jones can probably solve.

Nearly a week after the incident in Emma’s office, the new guy is apparently some kind of job placement wunderkind, able to match any person with their dream position while also boasting a wealth of contacts across the city. Yelp reviews have appeared in droves — sent to Emma nearly every morning because apparently Ruby has some sort of sick sense of humor, and only a few of them mention Killian’s rolled-up sleeves.

That’s insane.

Emma can’t imagine not mentioning his rolled-up sleeves.

Maybe she’s part of the problem, actually. Just like—with society, as a whole.

“You want to repeat yourself, don’t you?” Regina asks knowingly, drawing a strangled sound out of Emma that nearly makes her trip mid-pace. One should not affect the other. And yet. Everything seems to be falling apart in rather quick succession, the kind of worry that’s already taken root in the center of her and wrapped its way around every single one of her ribs, and she’s got no idea how many ribs she’s currently in possession, but she figures it’s got to be a lot.

Based almost entirely on the constant tightness in her chest.

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Regina shrugs. “Nothing’s going to happen. People love him.” “People think he’s got a good-looking face.” “You think that and—” Sputtering on her own inevitably witty retort, if only she could get it out, Emma can’t do much more than dramatically exhale as soon as Regina does lift her eyes. Leveling her with that same look she’d used during Emma’s initial interview, like she’s got all the answers in the world and will be willing to share them.

Eventually. At her leisure.

“He doesn't have magic,” Emma hisses, feeling as if she’s lost her last tether to reality. No one else is worried about this. Ruby has at least eighty-four opinions on Killian’s face. David’s not totally swayed, but thinks the guy’s at least doing a good job so far. Mary Margaret wants to invite him to game night next week.

To play goddamn Settlers of Catan. Like they’re normal people. And not witches, or some other unnecessarily gendered description of magic-users.

“He—he,” Emma continues, and now her hands have joined the fray. Waving them around her head only makes her feel more insane. “How can you think that he’ll be able to place people in jobs when he doesn’t know why they really need jobs?” Her voice cracking on the question can’t help her cause much.

But Emma needs this to stay the same. She needs consistency and maybe not comfort, but comfort-adjacent and the fucking Settlers of Catan. At some point, she’s going to win that dumb game, she’s positive.

And Killian Jones poses a very real threat to all of those alliterative sentiments.

Because Mills Personnel is not a normal job placement organization. Emma’s not even sure it’s an organization, technically. Maybe an LLC.

She’s not a lawyer.

The point is, it caters to—a slightly different sort of clientele. The kind that’s been affected by magic. Whether that’s because they’re in possession of it, or have been cursed by it, or are only spending some time in this realm while hiding from a revenge-prone dragon in their homeland, who also happened to be their mother, and need a job while they wait it out.

That last one has always been Emma’s personal favorite. Lily spent three years working for an appraiser on Park Avenue.

She was really good at it.

And Emma is good at this. At helping. At providing people with their own plan, and their own possibilities and she has got to get off this alliterative kick because—

“Hey,” Regina mutters, nodding towards Emma’s hands. Both of which are dangerously close to phosphorescent “Reign it in for me, huh?” “Seriously, how can you be so calm about this?”

“He needed a job.” “What? How did you even find him?” Squeezing one eye shut, Regina clicks her tongue thoughtfully and it’s almost enough to make her seem like a normal person. Instead of a person who can regularly summon fireballs from her palms. “Friend of Robin’s. I think you met him last solstice party, but—that’s not the important part. Anyway, we worked with Scarlet once. Or David did, helped him get a job in Brooklyn after he’d been stoned in Wonderland.” “I’m sorry, stoned in Wonderland?” “Mmhm, literally. Anyway, his girlfriend’s known Killian for years and he just moved to New York and one thing led to another and here we are.” “Here we are,” Emma echoes. “The repeating thing isn’t just redundant, it’s obnoxious,” Regina sighs, finally moving the papers. It’s not a victory for Emma. Not when it only ensures Regina can also lean back in her chair, cross her arms over her chest and tilt her head at that very specific angle that practically radiates judgment. “He just needs some money for a couple of months. He’ll be out of here before anyone will have a chance to enlighten him on what he’s actually doing.” “Giving jobs to magical people.” “Not all of them are magical,” Regina argues, “some of them have just been impacted by magical forces.” “Yuh huh. And how exactly are we hiding all of these magical forces from Killian Jones, totally mortal human being?” The head tilt’s at nearly forty-five degrees now. “You are mortal, you know that right? It’s important that you know that.”

“I know that,” Emma snaps, flickers of light falling from her fingertips for good measure. “I just—when you hired me, you made it very clear that the line between magic and the rest of the world was tenuous at best. We just...we exist and hope no one burns us at the stake, but now you’re totally cool with some inherently normal guy being here. Everything we do is going to freak him out.” “It hasn’t already. And so long as you stop sparking at regular intervals, I think you’ll be fine.” “I’m not worried about me.”

Widening her eyes, Regina's judgment reaches across the questionably originate mahogany desk, hangs in the air for all of fourteen seconds and then smacks Emma squarely across the face. In a magical sort of way that makes her skin tingle.

“Not cool,” she mumbles, but Regina doesn’t do much more than sneer. “Alright, fine, fine, you think this is a totally great idea—” “—I didn’t say it was great. I said it wasn’t going to be as bad as you thought it was going to be, and we’re doing some old customers a favor.” “Sounds suspiciously like nepotism.” “Or good business.”

Emma rolls her eyes. She’s getting another migraine. “Tell all your friends about Mills Personnel, the only option for the magical and magic-damaged to ensure they can keep paying their rent.” “Not as catchy as I’d like, but I accept that it’s a work in progress.”

“Yeah, yeah, something like that.” Having never sat down, it’s easy for Emma to make a quick and relatively drama-free exit from Regina’s office, swinging open the door and marching into the hallway and—

“Ah, fuck,” she grunts, slamming into something far too solid to be anything except another human being. Who smells suspiciously like laundry detergent and salt water.

“Swan.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Tries to remember that she is in fact mortal, and that requires a consistent stream of oxygen in her lungs. But breathing is something of a challenge now, and he’s smirking at her when she finally lifts her head. “What are you doing?” “Walking,” Killian answers easily, but there’s a hint of laughter clinging to the word that manages to frustrate Emma and do the exact opposite all at once. “Do you have somewhere especially important to go?” “No, no, that’s—why do you say that?” “Seems you’re in something of a rush.” “Or you take up way too much of the hallway.” Full-blown laughter is at least twenty-thousand times better than the clinging variety or whatever sound Emma’s managed to imagine he makes in the last week or so. She hasn’t imagined it that much. She’s a God awful liar, actually.

“That might be true,” Killian admits, taking a step back, and there’s a pile of papers resting on his hip. A pen barely stays behind his ear, that same wayward strand of hair taking up residence across his forehead and the rolled-up sleeves of this shirt appear to have some sort of floral pattern on them.

“What are—” Emma swallows. Licks her lips, Tries not to spend too long thinking about the undeniable way Killian’s eyes fall to her lips. “Where are you going?” “Back to my office. Woman in there who claims her only talent is singing, but she’s not too keen on performing. Says she doesn’t want to draw a spotlight. So, trying to come up with some other options for her.” Mind racing, Emma tries to figure out what the woman actually is or who she’s hiding from, but explaining any of that is impossible and she’s admittedly having some trouble forming sentences when Killian keeps doing that thing with his face. Having one.

“Any suggestions?” he asks, and there’s no sarcasm. No joke. Just blatant interest and possibly some veiled hope, which is not a word Emma’s all that familiar with.

That’s more Mary Margaret’s schtick, and at least this is passably cyclical. Somehow this has to be Mary Margaret’s fault too.

“What about working for a promoter or something?” Emma ventures. “You know—backstage sort of stuff. Keep her in the industry, let her work with other talent, but none of that pesky spotlight. Probably plenty of people looking for an assistant or something.”

Stunned surprise could be very insulting, as far as expression-based responses go. Luckily for Killian and his face, it’s a pretty fantastic look. Particularly when it’s directed at Emma. And mixed in with something that feels suspiciously like awe.

She’s not especially concerned with the adjectives. All she knows is it makes her magic roar in her ears, threatening to knock her knees together.

“Wow,” he mutters, “that’s genius.” “Happens from time to time.” “More often if breakroom information is anything to go by.”

On second thought, embarrassed regret is her new unexpected favorite. Color dots Killian’s cheeks, a red tinge to the tip of his ears and it really says far more about him than Emma’s powers of observation that it’s only now she realizes he’s missing his left hand.

“I, uh—” Killian stutters, and Emma can’t help the stretch of her smile, “well it’s not that I’m gossiping about you per se, just...making conversation.” “And I’m a hot topic of conversation?” “No, no, you’re just—” His inability to finish sentences is also oddly endearing, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallows back what Emma can only hope would be a slightly twisted compliment. Regarding her and the word hot. “Well, I appreciate the help. Sometimes it feels like it’s impossible to get a straight answer out of these people. None of them know what they want to do.” Cold sweeps over Emma, in the form of crushing realization and a return to a reality with starkly-lit hallways. He doesn’t know. Can’t know. About this place, or what it really does, and Regina’s surprisingly cavalier attitude aside, non-magic users finding themselves in the entirely magical world never ends well.

Someone always gets hurt.

“Yeah, no problem,” Emma says as she takes her own step back, and that shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. “If—I mean if you ever get another hard one or…”

Her face is on fire, she’s sure. Spontaneous combustion would be a small miracle, giving her a legitimate out of this conversation and the latest expression that’s now standing several feet away from her. Self-satisfied, that’s the word.

Or phrase, as the case may be.

“If you need some more ideas,” she clarifies, “I’m around. You helped me with that Greyston case, after all.” It’s not a cease fire or metaphorical hatchet buried under Regina’s questionable taste in carpet, but it’s something and if this is going to happen, then Emma reasons she might as well try and keep it all in check. Helping Killian helps everyone, really.

She’ll repeat that on mental loop for several hours if necessary.

Right after she stops obsessing over the precise way he leans forward, ducks into her eye line and says, “thanks, Swan.”

It isn’t until she’s managed to plug her phone in, exhaustion creeping up her spine and fluttering behind half-closed eyelids that Emma realizes she never once told Killian her name.

When she was twelve years old, she lit up. Like, her whole body. Light hung from the ends of her hair and circled her right wrist, wrapped its way up her arms and settled on either one of her shoulders until it was difficult for anyone to spend too long looking at Emma.

None of it was on purpose.

Magic’s always been something almost instinctual, at least for Emma, and the yelling from the living room of the latest foster home she’d only recently been shipped to had been grating on her ears long enough that she didn’t know what else to do. She reacted. Power rippled off her in perfect cadence with her frustration, and she hadn’t known all those words when she was twelve, but she’d known exactly how everyone would respond and Emma was not disappointed.

At least not like that.

Standing halfway down the steps, she’d glowed. Bright and determined, like being strong enough would protect the rest of the kids in that house, and that was never really Emma’s job, but she always felt like she could do something more, or should do something else and—

They’d sent her back the next day.

Something about a bad fit and just not right and that second thing could have been the sub-headline of Emma’s entire life.

Just not right.

Nothing about her was right. Her magic was often untempered and prone to outbursts, flashes that Emma couldn’t always control and inevitably led to lingering glances and confused stares that rather quickly morphed into fear when they looked too long.

Sometimes people pretend they’re not totally freaked out. Sometimes they tell her that she’s ok, every lie settling under her skin like it’s something she should believe in, and it’s been awhile since Emma’s allowed something like that to happen, but she imagines there’s a cliché about scars and the way they don’t always disappear and—

That’s not important.

History is just that and Emma’s not one to make the same mistake twice. Or at least make it more than twice, and she might be intrigued by Killian Jones, with his smirk and his stupid sleeves, but she doesn’t entirely trust him yet.

She can’t imagine that changing any time soon.

She nearly runs into whoever is opening the Mills Personnel front door at five-oh-four on a Friday evening.

It’s a habit Emma would like to break sooner rather than later, this trend of not looking where she’s going — although, if she’s being honest it’s also because she’s distracted, and has been since the game night announcement, and the phone in her pocket hasn't stopped buzzing for the last hour, the most recent texts regarding pre-game night plottings and alliances for Settlers of Catan or whatever else they decide to play.

She has respond to Mary Margaret soon.

Presumably after she apologizes to the woman she very nearly plowed over, and it’s almost the end of business, but this woman doesn’t look like she operates on traditional schedules and—

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma says, backing up quickly. Partially because of good manners. And the rest because of the look on the woman’s face.

Furious. A little threatening. Decidedly magical.

“I’m looking for Ms. Mills.” “Right, yeah, of course. She’s, uh—” Emma’s phone buzzes again, and she knows it’s another message about games. What she can figure out is why that particular thought leaves her feeling frozen and a little threatened and the woman’s eyes narrow at the first shift of Emma’s magic. “Still in her office, I think. I can let her know you’re here, if…” The woman doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move, really. And all Emma wants is to sprint out of that office and maybe to her couch, but she can’t seem to move any of her limbs and the clack of Regina’s heels is strangely hypnotic.

“Zelena. What are you doing here?” Rolling her shoulders back, the woman Emma assumes is Zelena only looks passably annoyed at being addressed by her first name. “We have some things to talk about.”

“That so?” “Several, I’d say. You have a few minutes?” It doesn’t sound like an actual request, hackles that are more likely part of Ruby’s genetic makeup than Emma’s rising as Zelena breezes by her. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices a muscle in Regina’s temple jumping.

“You want me to stick around?” Regina shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, but—” “—Go, Emma,” Regina finishes, and there’s no mistaking the command in those words. She nods once, not running into anyone else on her way out and hoping the sense of dread currently twisting itself around one of her kidneys is only those pessimistic tendencies of hers, instead of the warning she’s worried it actually is.

The problem is, she likes him.

Like, as a human being. Mortal or otherwise. No other reason. Nothing to do with his hair or his eyes or that dim, but still visible scar on his left cheek.

She just—

They might be friends. Emma hopes they’re friends.

Over the next two weeks she comes to realize that Killian is not only very good at his job — the siren who was certain her only talent was singing in dimly lit clubs and inevitably luring grown men to their doom, but wanted to turn over a new leaf, without telling him any of that, of course, sent a gift basket to thank him for all the help — but he’s funny, and more than capable of working the espresso machine so it doesn’t produce its usual bitter swill, and, Emma realizes, one Wednesday afternoon, a little lonely.

“Trying to find somewhere to live in this city is impossible,” he announces, slumped in one of the breakroom chairs with a stack of files splayed in front of him. “Like a needle in a haystack.” “Try finding somewhere with laundry on site,” Emma grins, “and then talk to me.” “Sounds like a palace, and that’s far too mythical for me to believe a place like that exists.”

Stomach flying into her mouth, Emma bites the side of her tongue so she doesn’t do something stupid like list all the clients of hers who, at one point, lived in a vaguely mythical palace. She can think of at least a dozen off the top of her head. “No palatial experience wherever you are now? Where are you now, actually?” “Scarlet’s couch.” “Ah, so decidedly non-palatial, then.” Killian grins. “Not as such, no. Although if you could not mention that to him, that would be great. Bastard won’t ever say it, but I've vastly overstayed my welcome and I’m pretty positive he and Belle spend their nights plotting ways to kick me to the curb.” “Metaphorical or…” “Absolutely literally,” he says, and that smile is nearly blinding in a way that isn’t quite like Emma’s magic, but feels as powerful. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty positive they want to have a family soon.” “You think I gossip about Will Scarlet way more than I do.”

His ears do that thing again. That blushing thing, that apparently only Killian’s ears are capable of, but it’s also entirely possible that Emma is just far more aware of Killian’s ears than anyone else’s. She’s also perfectly aware what a psychopath she sounds like.

“Did I apologize for that?”

“For?” “Not necessarily gossiping,” Killian says, “because it wasn’t entirely that, but—getting information on you, I guess.”

Tensing, Emma’s jaw clenches hard enough that she’s briefly worried about what it will do to her teeth. And it takes her a few moments to school her features — more than enough time for Killian’s eyebrows to lift, and the ends of his mouth to tilt down, but she’s almost confident she doesn’t look like she’s totally freaking out when she opens her mouth.

“What did you find out?” Ah, so not freaking out was a total lie, then.

Killian’s lips twist as he stares at her, like he’s considering the exact tone of her voice and how to properly proceed from there. Leaning forward, his hand inches towards hers and for one genuinely blissful second Emma is certain he’s going to cover her fingers with his. He doesn’t. He pulls away at the last moment, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter and that’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine and great and—

“You’re very popular here,” he replies, “good track record of even better work, which is why If we’re also keeping track of required apologies, I should mention I’m sorry for butting in on the Greyston case. Was an absolute dick of a move.” “Would you use of in that situation?” “I mean, I just did so—” “—You were kind of a dick,” Emma agrees, “but that was mostly because you were showing off and it totally worked.”

His eyebrows get higher. Pointier. It’s absolutely absurd. “That so?” “Don’t sound so amazed, you know it did. Freddie the former—” She’s about to say statute. The word sits on the tip of Emma’s tongue, waiting to be said because if she was talking to anyone else she’d be able to say it, but she’s not talking to anyone else and doesn’t really want to and she can’t imagine it’s very comfortable sleeping on someone’s couch for the better part of a month. “Former security guard,” Emma exhales, “is reportedly doing really well at the new gig. Ruby said she saw a bunch of social media posts advertising his recently-certified personal trainer services.” “An ambitious start for Freddie.” “Eh, you know how it is when you get psyched about something. Full-speed ahead and all that.”

“I believe that is the appropriate cliché, yes. So what do you think?”

“About?”

“Accepting my apology for being something of a dick, and because Ruby is the absolute worst gossip in this office who told me in no uncertain terms that she thought our prospective children would be very attractive.”

Emma’s not drinking anything, so the choking sound she makes at that bit of information is not really correct for the situation, but she can’t stop herself. Laughter bubbles out of her, mixing with something that isn’t quite stunned surprise, but might be a hint of put-upon frustration and the overall width of Killian’s smile is in the realm of overwhelming.

“How did you end up here?” Emma asks, and she’ll blame the state of her teeth on her inability to censor her own questions.

His smile falters. For just a moment, before it’s back and a little less legitimate than it was a moment earlier. “Worked with Belle at the Central Library in Boston. For years, actually. And you know how it is when you meet someone who...well, they’ll go to bat for you?” “Another good cliché. And yeah, I do.” “It was like that for us. She’s—it’s pedantic to suggest she’s my best friend, but that’s what it is and what it’s been and we’ve always helped each other. So, couple months ago when they cut staff, she told me to come to New York.” “She was already in New York?”

Killian nods. “Has been for a while, ever since she met Will.” “And how did she meet Will?”

If he’s put-off by her twenty question approach, Killian doesn’t show it. He just keeps leaning into her space, like there are magnets involved or several other words and feelings Emma’s wholly incapable of dealing with right now. “Strictly happenstance as far as I know. She was in New York for a library conference—” “—They have those?” “Mmhm, whole bunch of nerds losing their minds over recently stocked books and stories that fascist governments said we should burn.” “Do those normally go together?” “More often than you’d think,” Killian laughs. “Anyway, Will was working at the bar he owns now and—” “—He owns it?”

“If you keep interrupting, I’m never going to get to the interesting part of the story, love.”

Goosebumps explode on her skin. Her heart threatens to explode out of her chest. Magic rushes from the top of her hairs to the toes of sneakers that are now emitting a faint gleam, and maybe Emma should trim her nails.

So as not to keep cutting up her palm.

“Took him some time to save up the money to buy the bar,” Killian continues, “but if you know Scarlet, you’ll know he’s something of a stubborn asshole. Which also circles us right back around to the romance of the story. Suffice it to say, there were conversations, requests for phone numbers, a refusal to let time or distance damper their connection and—” He clicks his tongue. “—Two years ago, I gave a very impassioned speech regarding the power of love at a wedding that made several people cry.“

“You included?”

He winks at her. Not very well, but it’s the thought that counts or something and Emma’s starting to have several thoughts about Killian.

None of which are going to make it any easier to keep her magic a secret.

And part of her isn’t even sure she wants to. The other part of her wants to stretch across this wobbly table, some of which is deceptively sticky, grab the front of Killian’s floral-printed shirt and kiss him until neither one of them think about anything except how fantastic they are at kissing. One another, specifically.

So, really, she’s absolutely and monumentally fucked.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #on this night and in this light #not the originally advertised spooky fic #but spooky all the same #everything i write is really just devon's fault at this point

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thegoodgayshit · 4 years

Link

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Nineteen: We Play the World's Most Dangerous Game of Ultimate Frisbee

The dance floor was filled to the brim with students enjoying the music, so Luz led Amity by the hand to a more quiet spot on the outskirts where they wouldn’t be bumped by other dancers. When they got to a good spot, Luz gave Amity an experimental turn, and the daughter of Aphrodite giggled as she did a spin, and Luz saw the tip of her sword hanging just above her knees.

“Wait, you actually put your sword there? I thought you were joking!” Luz exclaimed, and Amity laughed, her cheeks flushing red as she pushed her dress back down with the hand that wasn’t tightly gripping Luz’s.

“Where else was I supposed to put it?” Amity asked sheepishly, “I’ve never needed to carry my sword while wearing a dress before.”

“I’m just surprised that the great Amity Blight doesn’t have a magically concealed weapon like I do.” Luz teased, wiggling her fingers to show off Aletheia, which was sitting comfortably on her ring finger.

Amity rolled her eyes. “Magical artifacts like that are few and far between. And not all of us are stupid enough to choose a cursed weapon like that one.”

“Hey!” Luz put her hand over her heart as though offended, but the smile stretching across her face gave away just how unbothered she was by the comment. “I love my magic sword and all its cursed qualities, alright?”

The two of them twirled around to the upbeat music together, cracking a couple of jokes and laughing. Luz couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d been this happy. Sure, she was on a dangerous quest to save Olympus and probably the entire world, but at this moment, in this stupid university hall holding Amity’s hand and spinning her while her best friends watched in the wings, Luz thought tonight couldn’t get any better.

After a moment, the song switched, and it took on a much slower rhythm. The pair’s dancing slowed, and Luz started to feel the heat under her collar. She could do the upbeat and quick dancing, but suddenly the idea of pulling Amity in for a slower dance was making her nervous.

Amity seemed to be feeling similarly, because she cleared her throat, her cheeks turning pink as she looked away from Luz awkwardly.

Exhaling nervously, Luz mustered a smile and squeezed Amity’s hand. “Would you want to um…” she gestured with her free hand to the room around her, and thankfully Amity just giggled.

“Yeah… okay.”

Luz's smile grew, and she gently pulled Amity closer to her. She gently put her hands high up on Amity’s waist, and the daughter of Aphrodite timidly let hers fall onto Luz’s shoulders. She was so close, Luz could make out the tiniest details about her she hadn’t noticed before. Her chipped black nail polish or the splash of freckles across her nose. The two swayed slowly to the music, not really following any sort of dance in particular.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Amity’s gold eyes staring at her softly, but Luz’s heart was beating way too quickly in her chest to be able to just enjoy it. The need to say something, anything at all, quickly overcame her.

“So uh, this is nice.”

Amity snorted at Luz’s awkwardness, which just made her heartbeat quicken. Amity was so cute when she laughed.

“Yeah, it is. I’ve never been to a school dance before.”

Luz swallowed hard. Her heartbeat had now sped up for an entirely different reason.

“I have.”

Amity, who hadn’t noticed the change in Luz’s demeanor, just tilted her head curiously. “Oh yeah? Was it anything like this one?”

“I… I don’t really remember.” Luz really didn’t want to talk about it, but she wasn’t going to ruin the mood just because she’d answered Amity’s question.

Amity, however, had seemed to pick up on Luz’s hesitance, and she frowned. Her hands on Luz’s shoulders tightened reassuringly.

“Luz, are you okay?”

Luz shrugged her shoulders. “The last time I went to a school dance the kids there played a prank on me and it ruined my dress. I haven’t been to once since.”

“What?” Amity gasped, her eyes widening. “Why would they do that? ‘

Luz felt her eyes beginning to prick with tears at the memory. She’s swallowed hard to force it away.

“I’m kinda the weird kid at my school. I don’t really fit in. There was a group of girls who found out about my crush on this girl and… well… it’s a long story. They picked on me all year. But the semiformal dance was the worst. They met me outside before I could even go in and threw the punch on my dress. Then I found out the girl I liked was in on it and… well, you can guess how it went from there. I just went straight home. It was mean… but I’ve dealt with worse, you know?”

Amity’s frown had deepened, and Luz wanted more than anything to change the subject off of Maya. This was supposed to be fun, and a way for her and Amity to get closer. She didn’t want to unload all her old mess on her. Amity didn’t deserve that.

“Luz, I’m so sorry. I heard about those girls from my siblings. One of them was an empousai, right? They’re terrible monsters, they like to pick on unclaimed demigods-”

“It wasn’t the monster,” Luz interjected her face flushing red. She was embarrassed to be talking about this, but it wasn’t as bad as she had thought it might be. Amity wasn’t judging her. She wasn’t faking any sympathy, she just… listened. But despite the careful and kind way Amity was letting Luz talk, the usually upbeat demigod was letting all those quiet feelings bring themselves to the surface. She was angry, and hurt… and bitter too.

“The monster didn’t come until after the semiformal. The girls who bullied me… they were just regular kids. Regular mortals who just wanted to make me feel terrible for no reason other than that I was different.”

Amity was quiet, and the two continued to sway to the slower music together, when Luz looked at her, she saw Amity’s face morphed into sad contemplation. Luz tilted her head curiously, and Amity eventually sighed.

“Luz, I owe you an apology,” she said, her voice so low that Luz would have missed it if they weren’t so close.

“Wait, wait?” Luz asked, her eyes widening owlishly.

“I do,” Amity insisted, her arms tightening around Luz’s shoulders as they continued to sway. “I was… not nice to you when you first came to camp. I’m really sorry about that.”

Luz chuckled, her cheeks heating up as she looked away. “Amity, you don’t have to be sorry you’ve made up for it enough. You saved my life back in Kansas-”

“And you saved mine first when I definitely didn’t deserve it,” Amity retorted. Luz bit her lip, not knowing how to respond. Amity caught this and reached one hand off Luz’s shoulder to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear nervously. Luz’s shoulder tingled at the loss of contact.

“Just… please let me apologize ok? Honestly, I’ve been kind of amazed at how brave you are. You’ve done things I could never do…”

Luz finally let herself laugh, maybe because of the craziness of where the conversation had turned, or maybe because Amity looked so sheepish, Luz couldn’t help herself.

“Yeah right. Are you going soft on me, Blight?”

Amity’s eyes narrowed playfully, and she smiled. “In your dreams.”

Luz laughed again, and somewhat out of reflex she pulled Amity closer to her, and Amity moved too, resting her head on Luz’s shoulder as they moved to the song. It had changed again, to a more fast-paced beat than the previous song, but their dancing didn’t change tempo, and instead, they kept swaying slowly.

Luz’s heart was beating so fast she wasn’t sure if it had stopped or was just skipping too many beats to count. Amity’s cheek was pressed against the top of her shoulder, and her arms were wrapped tight around Luz’s neck, and Luz could feel the lace sleeves of her dress tickle the skin on her neck. Luz just simply let her hold herself there for a few moments, savoring it before she remembered she hadn’t actually responded properly to Amity.

“I forgive you,” she whispered, and Amity looked up in surprise, meeting Luz’s brown eyes with her gold ones.

“You do?” She replied, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

Luz shrugged her shoulders, a bright smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah, after everything that’s happened on this quest, you’ve more than earned it.”

Amity just gaped at her for a few seconds, before the biggest smile Luz had ever seen on her stretched across her face. Luz laughed again at the sight, it was like she was a little kid opening her Christmas gifts.

“Why are you laughing?” Amity asked, her smiling pausing as though Luz was making fun of her.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Luz promised her, biting her lip to keep more giggles from spilling out of her mouth. “I just think you’re cute when you smile.”

Amity blushed, but the smile didn’t leave her face. Luz was suddenly beginning to feel bolder, taking that as a good sign as any. Her hands on Amity’s waist tightened, and without meaning to her eyes flickered down to Amity’s lips.

Amity must have seen this because her blush deepened, but she made no move to pull away. Luz’s mouth began to go dry, and she felt herself move closer and closer to Amity. Her stomach was fluttering nervously, and she couldn’t believe she was actually about to do this.

Just as the gap between them got smaller and smaller, Luz’s eyes out of nervous habit flickered to where Willow had been standing earlier, and with a jolt that felt like ice running through her veins, she reared back from Amity, her eyes widening.

Willow was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the prom quickly, and to her horror, Gus was gone too.

“Holy Hermes, how long ago did Willow and Gus sneak out?”

Amity jerked back from her quickly, her face still flushed a deep red, but her eyes widening in a similar panic. “The mission! I totally forgot!”

“Me too,” Luz exclaimed in horror, but she couldn’t help the pink that ran up her cheeks when she realized exactly why she’d forgotten. Her left hand had slipped from Amity’s waist to her hand when they’d separated, and she squeezed it absentmindedly as she started dragging Amity through the crowd. “We have to go.”

The pair pushed through the crowd of students, careful not to alert any of the security of what was happening. When Luz thought they were clear, she pushed open the side door with her shoulder and pulled Amity through it, a rush of the cool summer air hitting her in the face as they went outside.

Luz’s heart was hammering in her chest as she let go of Amity’s hand, immediately missing the warm contact. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two of the masks, tossing one to Amity. They pulled them around their faces, (nothing fancy, but it was black and covered their nose and mouth) and started walking hastily towards the classics building.

“I hope they haven’t been waiting too long, who knows what is protecting that shield,” Amity said quietly to Luz, as the two of them ran next to one another.

Luz nodded, her own anxiety beginning to climb. Gus had told Luz before that while it might appear many Greek artifacts were just out in the open, a lot of the time there was something from their world keeping them there, out of the mortal's line of sight. Luz hoped that after losing track of time Willow and Gus weren’t in any kind of danger.

When they arrived to the classics building, (Amity had been leading the way since all of the buildings seemed to look exactly the same to Luz) Amity skidded to a stop, and Luz followed suit. The door was open, with a plank of wood wedged between it.

“They’re inside, Gus must have unlocked it and left it ajar for us,” she said, pushing the door open. “Let’s move.”

Luz didn’t need to be told twice. The pair moved quickly through the halls, and thankfully Amity seemed to know where she was going because Luz would have gotten hopelessly lost.

When they rounded one corner in particular, Amity held her arm out, stopping Luz.

“Did you hear that?” She asked, terrified.

Luz paused, listening closely. She didn’t hear anything in particular, but then a loud alarm bell starting ringing, following by a banging noise. Luz tensed when that sound was followed by a yelp she could recognize anywhere.

“Gus!” She yelled, reaching on her ring to uncap Aletheia which shifted into a sword. Luz pushed through the door and past the ringing alarm bells a few feet down the hall with Amity close on her heels. When she burst into the room, her eyes widened.

“What are those?” She squeaked to Amity, whose mouth had dropped open.

Willow and Gus were at the edge of the room, holding out their weapons threateningly. Behind them, there were half a dozen metal warriors that had come to life all around them. Four of them had swords, and two had spears, and they were closing in on Willow and Gus, their faces designed into scowls, their eyes flashing a bright neon blue.

“Hephaestus left automatons to protect the shield!” Gus shouted from the front of the room. He had his own spear and shield up and ready, and next to him Willow was holding out her sword, a new bronze shield strapped to her arm.

“Help us!” She screamed, swinging at one of the spear-holding statues, who deflected.

Luz and Amity didn’t hesitate before charging into the fray. Luz lunged at one of the automatons with its back to them, and she managed to slice it right in half. Amity swung her own through the head of another, and it collapsed to the ground. That’s when the other two in front turned to the new opponents.

Luz had to hold back a yelp as one swung, and her sword collided with it. Luz was pretty good with her blade, but this automaton was no laughing stock. With its full attention on Luz, it managed to dodge and parry her attacks like a pro, and Luz had to focus all her attention on it.

“We have to go!” Willow shouted as she met the spear of her automaton. “An alarm sounded the second I touched the shield. If we don’t get away now, security will catch us!”

“How are we supposed to get past the automatons?” Amity said, her sword stuck between the automaton as she pushed against it. Gus was in a similar position, his spear stuck between his own shield and the other automaton.

Luz grimaced, pushing forward with a particularly hard strike. Her automaton dropped a few feet backward, and Luz noticed something she had missed before. Every time the automaton stepped backward, the gears in its body moved too, and it had to wait a few moments to adjust before swinging. A classic slower attacker. She looked behind the automaton and saw a row of potted plants growing against the wall behind them, and all of a sudden, Luz had an idea.

“Willow!” Luz yelled, shifting her sword back into her ring and slipping it on her finger, ducking under the automaton’s next swing. “Let’s do the thorn vault! The one we practiced for capture the flag!”

“What?” Willow exclaimed, swinging against the automaton again, narrowing missing its arm. “Are you crazy?”

“Just trust me!” Luz pleaded, already reaching into the inside pockets of her suit. She knew she had put these in there for a reason. Her hands wrapped around the leather hand buzzer, and she slipped it over her left hand.

“Okay, you’re actually crazy!” Willow said, but she got into position anyway. “Gus, Amity! Get ready!”

“Get ready for what?” Amity said in horror, and Luz could tell she was already dreading their idea. From behind her, the potted plants began to rise, getting thicker and thicker with every passing second.

Luz had to duck against the automaton’s next swing, but she slammed the hand buzzer against the bronze statue, and electricity began spilling up into the machine. It started vibrating wildly, and Luz grinned in satisfaction as it’s blue eyes flickered. She looked at her other friends.

‘Now or never!”

“I’m ready!” Gus yelled back, pushing against the automaton with his shield and putting some space between them.

“Alright!” Willow yelled, slashing her sword in the air. “Luz, now!”

The roots came flying at her almost quicker than she was expecting, and Luz jumped, landing hard on the feet of the thick vines. They were easily two meters thick, and still shooting forward. But Luz didn’t have time to admired Willow’s obvious skill.

“Heads up!” She yelled to Willow, slamming her hand buzzer against the head of her own automaton, and the machine began to fizz out wildly, just like Luz’s had. Willow reached out her other hand, and the shield flew towards Luz. She caught it in her free hand, and as the thorns began to turn and spin towards Gus, she slammed it down hard on the head of the automaton, startling it enough that Gus could run it through the neck with his spear.

“Alright!” Gus whooped in excitement, spinning and kicking the automaton’s headless body down to the ground.

“Willow!” Luz shouted, pointing to Amity. “Turn!”

Willow slashed her sword in the other direction, and Luz had to wrap her now empty hand tight around the vine as it spun towards Amity. Knowing she didn’t have another plan, she tossed her the shield, and the daughter of Aphrodite caught it, slinging it around her corsage as she smashed the face of it against the automaton, pushing it a few feet away from her.

Grinning at her opening, Luz jumped off the vine and landed in front of the stumbling statue. She slapping her buzzer against the automaton, and the whole thing began to vibrate until it collapsed to the ground.

Willow and Gus cheered from behind them, and Luz threw her hands up in the air, grinning gleefully. “Alright!”

She reached around with her non-buzzer hand and pulled Amity into a hug. “Teamwork, baby!”

“Luz!” Amity yelped, pointing behind them. Luz turned her head, and her stomach dropped. There were two mortal security guards, who were watching the whole thing with their mouths dropped.

“Uh oh,” Luz said slowly, already backing away. Now that the adrenaline had faded, all she could hear was the sound of the security alarm and the feeling of the room’s cameras on her body. This was definitely not good.

“Over here!” Gus exclaimed from behind them, and when Luz turned her head, her friends were already running towards the emergency exit against the sidewall. Turning towards them, Amity and Luz started sprinting, and the security guards seemed to finally snap out of their trance.

“Hey! You kids get back here!”

“What do we do?” Amity hissed as Willow and Gus pushed the door open. “We’re going to get caught!”

“I’ve got it!” Luz said, reaching into her suit’s inside pocket and pulling out the bag her siblings had given her back at camp. She didn’t know what this was going to do, and she was feeling terrible that the mortals were going to have to deal with it, but surely this was better than getting electrocuted by the buzzer. “Get through the door, now!”

The second her friends had pushed through the door, Luz turned her head and threw the bag against the ground at the entrance as hard as she could, praying this would give them a clean getaway.

She had gotten a little more than she’d bargained for.

The ground exploded in a fleet of purple powder, and Luz was knocked clean off her feet. She was pushed backward, rolling against the ground as she heard screaming coming from her friends behind her, and the guards on the other side. She hit the pavement with a thud, rolling a few feet, and she struggled for breath as the air was knocked out of her lungs.

“Luz!” Came a very high pitched voice from next to her. Luz blinked, coughing as she saw Amity above her, trying to pull her to her feet. “Are you alright?”

When Luz realized what Amity sounded like, she couldn’t help but chuckle through coughs as she stood on shaky legs. “Why do you sound like that?”

When she realized that she sounded like that too, she laughed again. Gods, she sounded so funny.

“I can’t believe Viney gave you a helium bomb,” Amity said exasperated, and Luz laughed even harder. “That could have killed you!”

“Did it work?” Luz asked, trying to stifle her chuckles. In hindsight, it wasn’t so funny as it was ridiculous, but for whatever reason Luz just couldn’t calm down.

“It did, but it won’t for long if we don’t move!” Gus said from next to her, his voice also unreasonably high pitched. Luz laughed so hard she thought her lungs were going to explode.

“What’s wrong with her?” Willow muttered from next to Gus, and Amity rolled her eyes.

“She was in the direct blast,” Amity replied quietly. “she’ll be like this for a little while. But we have to go.”

“I threw the bag, and it just went like… BOOM!” Luz said to them, her grin so wide she was sure she probably looked insane. “I saved the day!”

“Yes, you did,” Amity said to her gently, already pulling her along by the hand as the four of them started running. Luz’s feet were stumbling as she went, and she was slightly aware of the aching in her chest as she ran. Probably when she hit the ground when it exploded. Gods, that was soooo funny. She was snorting to herself just thinking about it.

By the time Luz was able to process where she was, they were already back at where they had ditched their bags. Throwing their stuff over their shoulders, Willow grabbed Luz’s bag as the demigod collapsed to her knees, laughing so hard tears were running down her face.

“What do we do?” Gus asked, and Luz clutched her stomach at the sound of her voice. Her laughs had become silent, as she struggled to breathe. “We can’t take her anywhere like this… and the mortal police will be here any minute.”

“She’s going to start losing it… and I mean more than she already has,” Amity whispered to them, looking at Luz in panic. “She’s probably not going to remember any of this.”

Willow was humming under her breath, looking around the building to prom with her eyes narrowed in focus. Suddenly her gaze flickered over to a mom, clearly waiting for her kids, and her eyes widened.

“Leave it to me,” she said certainly. “Just get all our stuff ready and I’ll be right back.”

“Willow, what are you doing?” Gus hissed in panic as she began to walk over, and Amity leaned down to Luz, who had now just started vibrating on the grassy floor. Luz felt a hand touch her back, and when she looked up, Amity was looking at her anxiously.

“Luz? Just try and stay calm ok? Everything is going to be fine.”

Luz caught herself choking on laughter once again, reaching up with her hand to gently touch Amity’s face.

“I can’t believe I did that, I flew like… so high into the air. Did you see it? Was it so cool?”

Amity bit her lip, nodding gently. “Yes, Luz. It was very cool.”

Luz chuckled again, clutching her stomach. She was only half aware of her vision beginning to go in and out.

“It was cool. But do you know what would have been way cooler?”

Amity frowned, leaning in to look at Luz, who was still cackling to herself, pressing her hands against her stomach, and neck, and face, in an attempt to suppress it. “What, Luz?”

Luz sighed to herself, feeling her eyes beginning to close. Was she about to fall asleep? Maybe. She was very tired after all, and her chest was aching, and her stomach was clenching so hard she was worried she might throw up. She didn’t want to do that in front of Amity.

“I would have liked to finish our dance,” Luz said, so quietly Amity had to lean in to hear it. “I was finally working up the courage to kiss you, you know.”

Luz didn’t remember much after that. Between someone hauling her limp body off the ground and yelling from all around, she had kind of zoned out. She did remember being put into some kind of car, and by that point, all she had to do was lean her head on Amity’s shoulder before she finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #shelby speaks

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Text

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 19 - Shoot The Moon

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Summer has ended and students return to King’s Cross to begin another year at Hogwarts.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

For some reason Tumblr wouldn’t take my formatting like it has with previous chapters. I swear it’s a freaking crap shoot whether it will EVERY time I poster on here. It would be nice to know how that works...

Anyways, please enjoy :)

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 18

Summer days are gone too soon

You shoot the moon

And miss completely

And now you’re left to face the gloom

The empty room that once smelled sweetly

Of all the flowers you plucked if only

You knew the reason

Why you had to each be lonely

Was it just the season?

Hermione Granger was nothing if not a punctual person. At the best of times she was fifteen minutes early and at the worst she was on time. However, she should have known that the Weasley family would want to stick true to their tradition of arriving at King’s Cross by the skin of their teeth. Tapping her foot impatiently as she stood in the busy kitchen, Hermione worked very hard at fighting off a headache. Mrs. Weasley was screaming at the twins for charming their trunks and accidentally knocking Ginny down two flights of stairs and Walburga was screaming because Mrs. Weasley was screaming. She checked her watch for the umpteenth time that morning and ran a hand over her hair. They may not even make it on time at all if they carried on this way, she thought irksomely. Especially if they waited any longer on Sturgis Podmore to show up like Moody wanted them to. The last thing she needed was to miss the train on her first day as a Prefect. Smirking to herself, Hermione stared down at the silver pin fitted snuggly to the front of her jumper and admired it. Prefect. She had done it. Just one step closer to Head Girl.

A tap at the kitchen window brought Hermione out of her musings. Looking up she saw the brilliant, snowy visage of Hedwig. Hermione sighed, striding towards the window, and throwing it open. Hedwig flew in, looking quite flustered for a bird. Perhaps she also knew they were running late. Cursing in her head, Hermione wondered if perhaps her parents had forgotten that today was the day she left for Hogwarts. Why else would they have chosen to send Hedwig back so late in the morning? She took the letter from her parents out of Hedwig’s clutch and then allowed the bird to climb onto her shoulder. The owl’s long talons dug sharply into her skin, holding on for dear life as Hermione sprinted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. On the second floor landing she spotted Crookshanks stalking a stray mouse and scooped him up as well. The giant orange beast squirmed in her arms, putting up a fight but possessing enough respect to keep his claws put away.

“Oh stop, Crooks. Honestly, you’ve spent all summer doing whatever you please. Just cooperate with me for one second,” Hermione groaned, holding onto her cat even tighter and bounding up the last flight of stairs to Harry and Ron’s room.

“Sorry Harry! Mum and dad only just sent Hedwig back,” she apologized, walking across her friends’ messy room to place Hedwig in her cage. “Are you just now getting dressed?”

“Uh yeah, I slept late,” Harry mumbled, buttoning the last button on his shirt, and moving to pull on his socks and shoes.

Hermione sighed, placing Crookshanks down on the bed and taking a moment to stare critically at her best friend. Harry had mentioned the resurgence of his nightmares earlier in the summer when she found him wandering the halls late at night. She had been on her way back to her room from another late-night library session with Fred, but of course she didn’t tell Harry that. While what her and Fred were doing wasn’t necessarily wrong, there was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they should keep it to themselves. People just wouldn’t understand.

However, looking at Harry now, Hermione didn’t need her former knowledge of Harry’s nightmares to know that he wasn’t sleeping well. He had circles under his eyes, and despite Mrs. Weasley’s cooking the past month he still looked too thin.

“How’s Ginny?” Harry asked, tying his laces.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “She’s fine. Mrs. Weasley is patching her up in the kitchen. I wouldn’t go down there right now though if I were you. It’s a zoo. Mrs. Weasley and Walburga are still yelling and now Mad-Eye’s complaining that we can’t leave until Sturgis Podmore shows up. Otherwise the guard will be one short,” said Hermione, leaning against the end of the bed and petting Crookshanks idly.

“Guard?” Harry asked, looking up from his shoes. “We have to go to King’s Cross with a guard?”

“You have to go to King’s Cross with a guard,” corrected Hermione.

“Why?” questioned Harry, standing up in an irritated fashion.

Hermione scoffed, “Why do you think, oh Boy Who Lived?”

“I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low. What, do they think he’ll be waiting behind a dustbin at the train station, waiting to do me in?”

“I don’t know. It’s just what Mad-Eye says,” said Hermione, fighting to stay calm and sympathetic. She was getting a bit tired of Harry’s moody demeanour.

Her assumption about Harry’s arrival at the beginning of the month had been correct. Harry had been irate. At everyone, but especially at her and Ron. Luckily, Fred and George swooped in at the right time, just like Fred had said they would. Bless the both of them. Hermione didn’t know how much more chastising she could take, she already felt guilty for not writing to him. She’d apologized at least a thousand times over in the last month, but Harry still had a sour mood and while Hermione had been prone to tears at the beginning, now she was just frustrated.

“Look, I’m not too happy about it either. Do you think I want to be late today?” Hermione asked snippily, looking at her watch once again.

“Will you lot get down here now?!” Mrs. Weasley’s bolstering voice boomed up through the stairwell and Hermione pushed off the bed with a sigh. She grabbed Crookshanks in her arms once again and headed towards the door. “Are you coming?” she asked once she got to the doorway.

“Yeah, right behind you,” nodded Harry, looking a bit pink in the face. Perhaps her comment had embarrassed him. Hermione smiled at the thought. It would do him good to remember he wasn’t the only one with problems in the world.

Hermione hurried down the stairs, running into the twins halfway down.

“Well if it isn’t our favourite little Prefect,” said George, reaching out and ruffling the top of Hermione’s head. Hermione batted his hand away before reaching the bottom of the stairs and placing Crookshanks in his carrier.

“I’m not speaking with you two,” she sniffed, looking away from them and instead focusing her attention on getting the finicky latch closed tightly on her cat’s wicker carrier.

“Oh? Why’s that Hermione?” the two asked in unison.

“I’m annoyed with you both,” responded Hermione in an off-handed manner.

“Annoyed?” asked Fred with a shocked tone.

“With us?” asked George, sounding equally as surprised.

“That can’t be right—” Fred leaned against the wall beside her and took the strap from Hermione’s hands, latching the carrier closed with ease “—we’re angels, we are.”

“You knocked your sister down two flights of stairs!”

“By accident!” cried Fred and George.

“Yes, well still. I hope you know that I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour once we get to Hogwarts.”

“I knew this would happen Freddie,” said George, shaking his head solemnly.

“We really should have prepared ourselves more for this inevitable betrayal,” added Fred woefully.

“Our little Hermione, a swotty Prefect.”

“No more fun.”

“No more laughs.”

“Oh the laughs we’ve had,” bemoaned George wistfully, throwing himself dramatically onto Fred’s shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous—” Hermione shook her head, unable to stop the smile from forming on her face “—I told you before. Just because I’m a Prefect doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being fun—”

“You were fun before?” asked Ron cheekily, entering the hallway with a cauldron cake in hand.

Hermione scowled at him. “Ha, ha, very funny Ron. You know, you’re a Prefect too now. You should start practicing a bit more civility.”

Ron smirked, ignoring her comment, and instead taking a bite of the cauldron cake before going over to stand near Tonks and Ginny.

Hermione turned back to the twins who stared down at her expectantly, waiting to hear the rest of the speech she’d given at least three times over since she’d received the letter with her silver Prefect pin. “Now, as I was saying. I’m not going to turn into a monster. Just realize that I have an obligation to the school first and I won’t hesitate to reprimand you if need be.”

“Reprimand, you hear that Freddie?” asked George with an impish expression.

“Sure did Georgie,” answered Fred, looking equally as puckish.

“What are you going to do, Hermione?”

“Give us a bit of a spanking?”

Hermione blushed, furiously and against her better judgement. But she was more well-versed in the ways of the Weasley twins and so her embarrassment did not stop her from responding like it might have in previous years. Instead, she looked up confidently at the two and tried to put on what she could only imagine was a semblance of seduction. “Only if you’ve been bad boys.”

The twins balked at her comment, mouths hanging open and ears tinging pink in a fashion very similar to Ron but very unfamiliar to them. Fred and George Weasley did not get embarrassed easily. If they had any kind of response, there was no time for it. A moment later, Mrs. Weasley came into the hallway from the kitchen and Harry came down the stairs. Walburga was still screaming insults from the wall, but all ears were trained on Mrs. Weasley’s instructions on who was going with who to King’s Cross and what to do with their trunks.

A whirlwind of people, crosswalks, and magical barriers and Hermione was finally on Platform 9 ¾. In a way, Hermione was glad they had walked to the train station. It had given her a sense of control on how quickly they reached the train and she had practically run the entire way, Mr. Weasley and Ron on her heel. Once the stress of getting on the train was gone, Hermione was faced with a whole slew of new worries. Sirius had insisted on coming to the station with them and had done his absolute most to stand out like a sore thumb in his Animagus form.

“He shouldn’t have come with us,” she said, watching the black dog chase the train exuberantly, as they took off from King’s Cross. The students in the train watched it laughing, and even some of the parents left on the platform smiled at the rambunctious dog. They wouldn’t be so cheerful if they knew it was Sirius Black, escaped Azkaban prisoner, thought Hermione cynically.

“Oh give him a break. He hasn’t seen daylight in ages. Just blowing off a bit of steam he is,” said Ron, continuing to smile out the window at the dog quickly dwindling in size as the train travelled further from the station.

“Well, as much as we’ve enjoyed your company these past few months, Georgie and I have some important business with people who well…”

“—aren’t you lot,” George finished for Fred, giving them a short wave before the pair of them turned and disappeared into the next carriage.

Hermione sighed, not even wanting to begin to think of the trouble they were sure to get up to. Over the remaining month they’d managed to nearly perfect their line of Skiving Snacks and have an admirable inventory at their dispense. As a Prefect, Hermione tried not to think about it. The less she knew, the better.

“Should we find a compartment then?” asked Harry, turning to her and Ron looking the most cheerful he had all summer. It made what Hermione had to say next even harder. She chanced a look at Ron who was looking equally as guilty.

“Oh…Harry. I thought you knew. Ron and I have to go to the Prefect’s carriage,” she said, watching the smile fall from Harry’s face. She looked back to Ron, hoping for some support but he was looking anywhere but Harry, focusing intently on one of the wall-mounted light fixtures as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“Oh—” Harry nodded “—right. Fine.

“I don’t think we’ll have to be there the whole time. Just long enough to get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then we have to patrol the corridors from time to time. We can still—”

“It’s fine,” said Harry, cutting her off. He was using the clipped, overtly chipper tone he used when he was trying too hard to sound casual. “I might see you later then.”

“Yeah, definitely!” Ron finally chimed in. “It’s a shame we have to go down there. I’d rather we didn’t, but…we have to. I guess…I mean I’m not enjoying it. I’m not bloody Percy.”

Harry smiled again, this time in amusement at Ron’s rambling. “I know you’re not,” he said before waving them off to the Prefect compartment.

Despite his reassurances that he was fine, Hermione felt guilty for leaving Harry there on his own.

“He’ll be alright,” said Ron, leading her down the corridor towards the front of the train where the Prefect carriage waited for them. “I’m sure he’ll find Seamus or Dean or Neville or someone.”

“Oh right…”

It was easy to forget that they all had other friends outside of their small inner circle. Especially since for the longest time, Ron and Harry were her only friends. At least, her only close friends. Neville was her friend, she supposed. As were Fay and Emmy. She might even stretch as far as to say Lavender and Pavarti were her friends as well. Well…maybe more like close acquaintances.

“Who do you think they chose for Slytherin Prefects?” Ron asked as they neared the front of the train.

“With our luck it’ll be Malfoy and Parkinson,” grumbled Hermione, reaching the door to the Prefect’s compartment and sliding it open. It was almost poetic the way the moment the words left her mouth, the opening compartment door revealed none other than the two Slytherins in question. They sat in the corner, side-by-side, looking bored and smug. Their expressions only seemed to lighten when they spotted Ron and Hermione entering the compartment.

“And I thought being a Prefect was supposed to be a place of honour—” Malfoy sneered, looking her and Ron up and down in a condescending manner “—now that I know they’ll give the job to just anyone, it takes away a bit of the prestige.”

Pansy snickered.

“Funny, I was just thinking the exact same thing,” Hermione spat back, staring Malfoy in the eye as she tried to telepathically burn him alive. If ever there was a time for emotion-fuelled accidental magic, thought Hermione, now would be it.

“How dare you, you—”

“Now, now—” cut in Roger Davies, a seventh year Ravenclaw and the newly appointed Head Boy “—leave the house rivalry for the classroom and the quidditch pitch.” Davies laughed, but Hermione could see the nervous glint in his eye as he gripped his wand tightly.

“Bloody git,” Ron mumbled under his breath. Hermione didn’t know whether he was referring to Malfoy or Davies, but either way Hermione felt like it was fitting. The rest of the compartment seemed to feel the same as her, as both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Prefects were giving Davies wary looks while trying to create as much space as possible between themselves and the Slytherins. Hermione was grateful to see that the other Prefects were familiar faces. Padma Patil, Pavarti’s sister, was the spitting image of her twin and gave Hermione a small wave as she sat down. Hermione, while having limited interaction with the Ravenclaw, found that she liked her much more than Pavarti as they had a shared interest for learning. Anthony Goldstein, the other Ravenclaw Prefect, she recognized from Transfiguration classes years prior. He also gave them a brief greeting. Ernie MacMillan was there too, and while Hermione still didn’t care for him since his spread of lies about Harry their second year, his presence was soothed by the kind and quiet Hannah Abbott who sat next to him.

“Now!” exclaimed Helen Monroe, the Head Girl, some time later. They were coming near to the end of their meeting, or at least that’s what Hermione assumed based on the agenda they had been given. Their meeting had taken much longer than either Hermione or Ron had anticipated. Ashamedly she thought of Harry sitting on his own in a compartment waiting for them. Merlin she hoped he had found someone to sit with instead of choosing to mope by himself. Maybe Fred and George had found him at the very least.

“The last thing on our agenda we’d like to address before handing out patrol and meeting schedules is an issue of favouritism,” said Monroe with a smiling face.

“Favouritism? What do ya mean?” asked Ernie, sounding affronted as if he’d just been personally accused of the offense.

“Well, in the past we’ve had issues with Prefects showing house favouritism—”

“—giving points where they’re undeserved and taking points away to give their house a leg up on winning the House Cup,” chimed in Davies.

“And we just wanted to remind you that your responsibility is to the school and it’s students first and foremost. So please try and show some sense of neutrality, no matter who is involved, whether it’s those in your house or…family members…” Monroe shot a nervous look in Ron’s direction that Ron missed but Hermione did not.

For a second she wondered if perhaps they were talking about Harry, given he was so prone to getting in trouble and then the truth of the implication hit her square in the face. Maybe she was spending too much time with Fred and George otherwise, she would have caught on immediately that that was exactly who the Heads were referring to. Hermione wanted to laugh. She almost did. Bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, she faked a cough to try and hide the bout of giggles threatening to escape her chest.

They were given their schedules after that. Hermione and Ron had the first set of patrols up and down the train, and so instead of heading straight towards Harry, they meandered down from the head of the train, peaking into compartments, and breaking up little spats between younger students. Ron seemed to take to the position of power quite well. Almost too well in some instances, Hermione having to remind him of the speech they’d just been given about abuse of power in favour of their house. He had been trying to take points from a group of third year Slytherins for being too loud – an offense that Hermione deemed worthy of a simple reminder. They were about halfway down the train, Ron trying to reverse a jelly-legs curse that had been set on a fourth year Ravenclaw by accident, when a compartment slid open and Hermione nearly collided with Angelina Johnson.

“Oh!—” the Gryffindor chaser exclaimed, stopping short “—Hermione. Hi.”

“Hi…” Hermione responded awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Suddenly she was very nervous, which was ridiculous because she had nothing to be nervous about! It’s not like her and Fred had really done anything. Intimate? Sure. But in a friendly sort of way. Nothing that when taken into context could be deemed inappropriate, reasoned Hermione. Although, if that were true then she wouldn’t have anything to be nervous about.

“How was your summer?” the older girl asked.

The question took Hermione by surprise. Why did Angelina Johnson care about her summer? They weren’t friends, and up until that point Hermione was under the impression that Johnson didn’t even like her all that much.

“Fine. I spent most of it with Ron’s family,” Hermione said, trying to push past how odd it felt to be having a conversation with Fred’s girlfriend when she was madly in love with him and had spent most of her summer nights curled up on a couch or in his bed with him. In a totally appropriate way of course.

“I thought you might have. George mentioned one time that you usually visit them during the summer,” said Johnson, nodding and looking nervously around them.

“How was your summer? I heard you spent it at quidditch camp. How was that?” Hermione asked, trying to bridge the uncomfortable silence between them with polite conversation. Why were they still talking?

“It was good. Yeah, really good. I learned a lot of…stuff.”

Hermione nodded, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement. When Johnson neglected to continue, Hermione glanced back in the compartment where Ron was patting an exhausted looking Ravenclaw student on the back, having just broken the curse. She wished he’d hurry up and save her from whatever was going on right then. Her attention was pulled back to the uncomfortable conversation when Johnson spoke once again.

“Listen, Granger. Now that I’ve got you, I was wondering…” Johnson paused, seeming to contemplate her next words. “I was just wondering whether—”

“There you are!” Ron exclaimed, exiting the compartment behind Hermione, and placing a hand on her shoulder. “You know, I really could have used your help in there. You’re much better at counter-curses than me Hermione. Oh, hi Johnson.”

The older girl seemed to go all rigid and awkward at the appearance of Ron. She shifted from foot to foot and cleared her throat before straightening her position and taking on a completely different demeanour. “Weasley. How was your summer?”

“Good, thanks. Not as good as yours I imagine. Quidditch camp! That must have been amazing!” mooned Ron, getting a sparkly look to his eye at the thought.

“Yeah, it was great. Learned loads of stuff that should be sure to put Gryffindor in the lead this year. We need a new Keeper now that Oli, I mean—” Johnson coughed “—now that Wood’s gone. Will you be following the Weasley legacy and trying out?”

Ron went red around the ears, ducking his head bashfully. “Actually, yeah. I thought I might.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing what you’ve got,” said Johnson with finality before giving them both a small nod and moving past them down the train corridor.

As strange as the interaction had been, only one thing seemed to stick with Hermione in that moment.

“You didn’t tell me you were planning on trying out for the team!”

Fred reckoned he should have known the minute Angelina neglected to show up to their usual compartment that something was up. Alicia had given some offhanded excuse of Angelina going to scout out compartments for potential quidditch recruits and Fred had bought it at face value. In the past he might have questioned it a bit more, gone looking for his long-time friend and currently girlfriend. But in a way it had been a relief for him to not have to deal with the issue of Angelina the moment he got on the train. He was much too excited to show Lee and Alicia their new products and didn’t want to sully it by breaking up with his girlfriend. It had been a long-time coming. He’d wanted to end things weeks ago but had ultimately decided that he couldn’t do it over letter. Him and Angelina had history and she definitely deserved more than a letter saying ‘Hey, this isn’t working. Mind if we just go back to being friends?’. Not to mention the girl got harder and harder to reach as the summer went on. The last letter she’d sent him had been nothing but a picture of her and the beater for the Holyhead Harpies with the words ‘Isn’t this rad? Missing you lots! x Angelina’ written on the back. And while it was cool, Fred couldn’t help but think that in a way it was a finality to their relationship for him. The two of them had never really been gossipy conversationalists, falling back more on their shared physical activities and the comfortable silence that came with old friendships, but this was a bit too sparse for him. He wanted more. He wanted something different. He wanted…Hermione.

Luckily after the reveal of their new products, Lee wasted no time in bringing other students into their compartment to show off their goods. Before Fred knew it, he and George were completely immersed in their salesmen roles and so all thoughts of girls and relationships were quickly replaced with galleons, sickles, and knuts.

By the time he and George had made it to the castle their pockets were significantly heavier and their spirits lighter than ever. They were almost completely out of fake wands, biting teacups, and spitting teapots. They had even been convinced by a group of second year Hufflepuffs to sell some of their Skiving Snack Box products – the sweets not yet fully through trial runs. Fred and George agreed but only if they were willing to report back on the effects. The students were happy to do so as it meant they got the sweets at a discount.

The next clue that went unnoticed by Fred was the fact that Angelina chose to sit at the opposite end of the table as him at the feast. But Fred had been too excited, telling Hermione all about their sales, to notice. Besides, Alicia and Lee were sitting with her and Fred and George usually sat with their family at the start-of-term feast. Still, when Fred caught Angelina’s eye at the end of the table as the last of the first years took their seats, he found himself panicked at the odd look on his girlfriend’s face. Did she know? wondered Fred feeling the all too familiar summersault in his stomach. How could she possibly know? The only person who knew he wanted to break up with her was himself. He hadn’t even told George, although he suspected that George suspected as much.

The churning sensation stuck with him all throughout dinner and resulted in him eating very little, something that did not go unnoticed by neither George nor Hermione.

“You alright, mate? You barely touched your porkchops,” said George, licking the last of his chocolate ice cream from the back of his spoon.

“Yes, and you didn’t even fight Ron for the last of the custard,” added Hermione, her comment touching Fred as she had remembered custard was the only pudding he really cared for.

“I’m fine. My stomach’s just a bit upset,” he lied, chewing on the side of his thumb as he stared down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with his eyes.

“Maybe you should go and see Madame Pomfrey once the feast is over,” suggested Ginny kindly. Fred shot her an appreciative smile before returning his gaze to the table.

“Well, now that our stomachs are full and our hearts are warm from friendly conversation, I’d like to take a moment of your time to go over the usual start-of-term announcements,” Professor Dumbledore’s gentle yet authoritative voice rang throughout the hall, pulling all attention to himself at the centre of the staff table. He went into his usual diatribe on how the Forbidden Forest was of course, forbidden, how Filch wanted to remind them that magic was off-limits in the corridors between classes, etc. etc. Lastly, he announced that there would be two changes in staffing: Professor Grubbly-Plank was back to take over his position as the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, and their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a woman named Professor Umbridge.

At the mention of her name, Fred looked down the staff table for the first time that night to see a new addition. A stout, round woman in a garish-looking pink outfit sat where the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher usually did. Despite her loud outfit she had a very unpleasant look about her, decided Fred. Although, it didn’t really make much of a difference to him. They had a new Defense teacher just about every year now and seeing as it was his last year, it really was inconsequential. They were all the same in the end.

“Hey, I know her,” commented Harry. “She was at my hearing at the ministry.”

Fred found that kind of odd. What was a ministry official doing teaching at Hogwarts?

Dumbledore moved on, beginning to talk about quidditch try-outs when the new DADA teacher did something that made her stick out from all the other defense teachers before her. She stood from her seat. Dumbledore stopped, midsentence and looked at the short woman. Professor Umbridge let out a, “Hem, hem,” and Fred thought for a second that he must be hallucinating. Was this woman really interrupting the headmaster to give some kind of speech? More gracious than Fred could ever imagine to be, Dumbledore allowed her to speak and speak she did.

Her speech was long-winded, full of comments about Hogwarts’s greatness and how the Ministry placed a lot of stake into the education of young minds. It sounded like a lot of hot air in Fred’s opinion and one glance around the room at the other student’s and even some of the teacher’s faces told him that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. When Professor Umbridge had the audacity to say that she hoped they would all become great friends Fred couldn’t help but utter a sarcastic, “That’s likely” which was mimicked in time by George as well.

Then she spoke of progress and change and how things must be done for the better and Fred felt an all-new unease take over him. An unease that radiated throughout the entirety of the room for once she had finished and taken her seat, the hall was much quieter than before.

“Well that was certainly illuminating,” Hermione whispered from beside him.

“Don’t tell me you enjoyed that shite,” said Ron exasperatedly. “That had to be the most boring thing I’ve ever heard.

“I said it was illuminating, not good,” sniped Hermione. “It certainly put things into perspective.”

“It did?” asked Harry. “Sounded like a load of waffle to me.”

“Yes, well there was a lot of important stuff in all that waffle if you’d been listening,” said Hermione, her mood turning dark. She had Fred’s attention now as well.

“There was?” asked Ron dumbly.

“All that talk of ‘progress for the sake of progress’ and ‘practices that must be prohibited’?”

Ron and Harry shrugged at her, but Fred was beginning to understand what Hermione was getting at. If Umbridge worked for the ministry and believed that changes needed to be made at Hogwarts then—

“It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts,” said Hermione, surmising Fred’s conclusion perfectly.

The room burst into applause, Dumbledore having finished the last of his announcements and then students began to rise from their seats. Ron and Hermione stood, leaving to escort the first years back to Gryffindor tower. Fred laughed with George when Hermione looked like she was about to lose her head when Ron called the first years ‘midgets’. Turning his head away from the squabbling pair, his eyes fell once again on Angelina.

Fred swallowed thickly.

If ever there was a time, it was now. He should just do it. Get it over with. Break her heart and hope that they could move on. Trying to find the bright side to it, he told himself that the sooner he ended things with Angelina, the sooner he could begin pursuing Hermione. However, that only left him with even sweatier palms. Standing up from the table, he looked between George and Angelina with the full intent to cross the room and ask his girlfriend to speak in private. But instead,

“Alright, Freddie!” he announced loudly, catching George off guard. His twin looked up from the conversation he’d been having with Ginny and looked at him curiously. “I’ll see you in the common room. I have a few things I need to take care of first.”

Before his brother had any time to question what he was doing, Fred flew from the Great Hall and past Angelina, avoiding looking in her direction as he turned the corner and headed towards an unknown direction. He had only gone a little way down the corridor when a voice called after him.

“George! Wait up!”

Fred stopped and turned to see Angelina running after him. What could Angelina possibly want with George, Fred thought for a moment as he watched the pretty witch approach him, her long braids bouncing off her shoulders. She looked nervous when she finally reached him. Her hands twisted together, and her eyes couldn’t quite meet his.

“That’s me, George. What’s up?” Fred asked, wanting to kick himself. Coward. He was a coward.

“Can I…can I talk to you for a second about…Fred?”

“What about Fred?” Fred asked, feeling incredibly stuck in the lie he’d created.

“Um, you know how I was at quidditch camp this summer?” asked Angelina, looking around them and grabbing Fred’s arm, pulling them over to an alcove away from prying ears and eyes. “And you know how Oliver was there?”

“Yeah…” said Fred, feeling the blood drain from his body. His limbs had gone all cold and his fingers all numb and tingly.

“Well, something might have happened.”

“Something? What kind of something?”

“Like I might have, I guess you could say I might have cheated?”

“Might have or did? Those are two very different things Angelina,” said Fred, speaking now more as himself than as himself pretending to be George.

“Okay, I did! I cheated!” admitted Angelina, bringing her hands up to cover her face in shame.

“With Oliver Wood?!”

“I know! I know! It just sort of…happened. Oli and I, we’re—”

“Oh, so it’s Oli now?” asked Fred, feeling his temper bubble.

“Look, I know you’re angry. I mean, Fred’s your brother after all.”

Oh, right. She still thought he was George. Well this certainly threw a wrench in things. “Don’t you think this is something you should be telling him and not…me?” asked Fred, feeling slightly confused as he tried to wrap his head around processing the fact that his girlfriend had cheated on him with Oliver Wood, and that she had no idea she was speaking to him and not his brother.

“Yes, and I want to, but George. We’re friends too right? And you know him better than anyone. I was hoping you might know how to break this to him as easily as possible,” Angelina pleaded, looking imploringly into his eyes.

Before Fred could even begin to figure out how to answer that, both his saving grace and downfall came all at once in the form of the real George Weasley.

“You alright Freddie? What are you two up to then?” asked George, looking innocently between the two of them, tucked into the alcove.

Angelina looked between George, the real George, and Fred who she now was beginning to realize was the one standing before her. Fred watched as the realization took over her and then how fear replaced confusion in her eyes before she muttered, “Well, fuck.”

The conversation at that point had been a bit stale. Fred reckoned he might have gotten more answers out of her if George hadn’t come along and blown his act, but it was probably for the best. The more Fred thought about it, the less he really wanted to know. Still, some things stuck with him. What did Oliver Wood have that he didn’t?

“I mean, it’s Wood!” cried Fred for the tenth time that night, laying face up, wrong way on his bed, head hanging off the end.

“I know mate, I know,” responded George, continuing to unpack his and Fred’s trunk. A nicety Fred figured he was only giving considering his current predicament.

“Maybe she’s bewitched or something,” suggested Lee kindly from across the room.

“Yeah, maybe she’s under some kind of potion or spell. How else could a prat like that land Angelina?” added George.

“I don’t know, Fred managed to land her just fine,” said Kenneth Towler, earning a round of glares from everyone in the room.

“Shut it, Towler,” warned George, but he had gotten Fred’s attention now.

Lifting his head till it was level with his body, Fred looked at the bookish boy with narrowed eyes. “What are you trying to say Kenneth?”

Kenneth laughed, a short and breathy scoff, shaking his head from side to side. “Have you ever considered that maybe Wood’s just better than you?”

The room was silent. Shocked at Towler’s words and more importantly in anticipation for how Fred would respond. Fred too was curious as to how he would react. Digging deep within himself he searched for anger, sadness, envy, but he found none of it. Instead, he laughed. A full body, side aching laugh that sent him toppling out of his bed and wiping at tears at the corner of his eyes. George and Lee joined in, followed shortly by Towler himself. When Fred finally calmed down enough to catch his breath he was on the floor, back leaning against the foot of his bed and one knee bent upwards to support his left arm.

“Yeah, you might be right there Towler,” he sighed, feeling better than he had a few minutes previously.

Despite his ability to laugh at the situation that night, Fred couldn’t help but mope the next day. Sure, he was planning on breaking up with Angelina as well, but it still hurts to get dumped and cheated on. Especially when the other man was your old quidditch captain. Not to mention, in a way he felt like it was slightly expected of him. In true Hogwarts fashion everyone knew the tale of him and Angelina and more importantly his mistaken identity. It had turned into a bit of a joke really and by dinner the next night people were saying things like “Just make sure it’s actually them and not their twin” when someone planned to meet with someone.

It wasn’t particularly clever, Fred thought. Surely he and George could have come up with something much better if it had happened to someone else. But it hadn’t happened to someone else. It had happened to him, and he wasn’t about to throw fire to the flame by making a better joke that would surely stick around much longer. That just wouldn’t be fair to Angelina, who was already looking about as miserable as you could. It was clear she was embarrassed and guilty. Several points throughout the day Fred thought about putting her out of her misery and telling her not to feel bad. Maybe if he had been a better boyfriend she wouldn’t have been seduced away by another man. Maybe she could tell that his heart wasn’t truly in their relationship and therefore it was easier for her to be unfaithful. Still, he had been the one who’s heart wasn’t in it and he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down Hermione’s throat all summer. This was a new fact he had unwillingly learned from a few Gryffindor sixth year girls gossiping too loudly in the corridor before dinner.

Once at dinner and knowing this fact, Fred longed for distraction. Glancing around he noticed that Hermione was noticeably absent. Of course she would be gone on the one day he needed the comfort of her ability to go on and on about whatever subject he asked her about.

“Say, where’s Hermione?” Fred asked Ron and Harry as casually as he could.

Harry shrugged but Ron answered, “Library maybe? That’s where she was last I saw her. You know how she gets.”

“Maybe I should go get her? Make sure she doesn’t accidentally miss dinner,” Fred said, standing from the table.

George gave him a knowing look. “Is that all?”

“Dinner is the most important meal of the day Georgie,” said Fred, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I thought that was breakfast,” said George back, smiling now.

“Yeah, and I thought you weren’t a huge dickhead. I guess we’re both wrong.” And with that Fred spun on his heel and exited the Great Hall.

Fred made it halfway to the library when he began to notice something very odd. The air had begun to thicken, a layer of fog soon surrounding him. Very shortly after his shoes started to make a wet splashing sound with every step. Looking down the corridor through the hazy fog, he realized that the floor was covered in water. A few steps further in and he realized that it was beginning to deepen. Something brushed his left hand and Fred jumped, spinning quickly, and pulling out his wand only to find a cattail. What was a cattail doing in a Hogwarts corridor?

“Lumos,” he muttered, the tip of his wand glowing brilliantly and illuminating the corridor ahead of him. But he did not see a corridor. Or at least not the corridor he expected to see. No, instead the hall seemed to be transformed into what could only be described as a swamp with an expanse of still water covered by lily pads, cattails, and moss-covered logs. To top it all off, if he focused hard enough and held his breath, Fred could make out the croaks of toads in the distance.

“What?” muttered Fred aloud in confusion.

“Oh no, you weren’t supposed to see it until after dinner with everyone else,” whined a voice from behind him. Fred spun, his wand illuminating the face of Hermione Granger. She stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind her back as she frowned in his direction.

“You did this?” he asked in shock.

Hermione’s frown quickly morphed into a very proud smile and she nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a portable swamp. I’ve been working on it all summer. It was supposed to be yours and George’s Christmas present – you know, for the business.”

“Why?” asked Fred, unable to really form full sentences from shock.

“I heard about what happened with Angelina and I figured you might need some cheering up. I was hoping you’d get to see it for the first time when everyone else found it, but this is nice too. At least this way you won’t accidentally fall into it. A foot further and the water depth drops to about four feet,” she informed him casually, although the smug expression on her face told him she felt very proud of herself.

Fred took a quick step away from the water and towards Hermione, not wanting to chance falling in. He stared at the witch before him, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Do you like it?” Hermione asked, looking a bit nervous now as he had yet to make any real comment on her brilliant invention.

Like it? He loved it! It was probably the nicest gift anyone had ever given him. How could he even begin to express how grateful he was? He was so happy he could kiss her. In fact…

Fred leaned down, wrapping his arms tightly around Hermione and lifting her off of the ground as he claimed her mouth. The kiss was hard and overly enthusiastic at first, but in almost no time they were swept back into the memory of their first kiss all those months ago and they melted into each other like there had been no time between them. A single continuous kiss that went on for seasons. A kiss that Fred never wanted to end as he held Hermione tightly and snogged the living daylights out of her. Unfortunately, the kiss did have to end. A distant murmur of voices sounded from somewhere near by and they broke apart panting. Hermione’s lips were red and swollen and parted in a surprised expression when he carefully placed her down on the ground. They took a moment to just stare at each other, both surprised and delighted in what had just happened. But then the voices grew louder, and they knew they had to go. Fred held out his hand, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Hermione took it firmly, smiling bigger than he’d ever seen. Then they were off, running down the corridors and away from the scene of the crime. Through the halls of stone floors, ancient tapestries, and regal portraits they ran, laughing like school children. Which in a way, Fred supposed they still were.

Taglist:

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@aoonai

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@i-d-e-g-a-f

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stellar-starseed · 4 years

Text

Closer Than That

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Changbin x fem!reader, Jisung x fem!reader, polyamory

Word Count: 2,979

Summary: Your best friends happen to be 3racha, but Changbin was your closest friend from childhood. When things start to take a different turn in your relationship, you're left wondering which way is up.

Chapter: 4/?

Other Chapters: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

Warnings: 18+; sexual content, language

Note: this is cross posted on ao3

Chapter 4

You weren’t sure whether or not you should be jumping at the chance to date your best friend. When you were younger you did used to hope it would be you two in the end. Life happened and crushed that thought altogether.

Soon enough you had to grow up and the idea of dating Changbin couldn’t stand up to your grueling adult life. You put it at the back of your mind along with dating in general.

That was until Jisung Han, with all his charm, waltzed in to your life. The first time he saw you he was hitting on you and it took you by surprise. He was generally outgoing you later realized but you had held on to a crush from that day. Changbin didn’t seem to notice, but every chance he got he was dissing Jisung in front of you.

You felt pretty selfish for wanting them both. But in all honesty you really did. Individually they were both incredible guys really, but you couldn’t decide if your life depended on it who you would see yourself with. Each time you made a decision you felt it was wrong. You cared for both of them deeply.

“What am I thinking?” You groan.

You had ignored Changbin’s attempts to hang out for a few days. You did feel kind of bad about it, but each time you did you remembered that hairstylist and the trainee and the barista. Your jaw clenched and you had to pull yourself from your anger.

You woke up one morning to your phone’s text message chime. Trying to reach for your phone, you swipe it to the floor.

“Damnit.” You groan as you push yourself up onto your elbows. You were not ready for the day. You stared at your phone that was too far to reach with a disapproving look.

“Is it even that important?” You lower yourself back into a comfortable position when your phone chimes two more times. “Seriously?”

You kick your covers off and head to the bathroom to wake up a bit. When you check your phone you have a missed call and several text messages. You had a rule that real emergencies allow for multiple calls but only real emergencies, so you put your phone down to take a shower before opening the messages. You had a feeling they weren’t going to put you in a good mood.

Your phone started ringing and you shut your eyes as the water hit your face. Nope. Not now.

“Answer your damn phone!” You couldn’t quite make out what was said but you shut off the water immediately.

“The fuck, bruh?” Chan opened the bathroom door.

“Uhm.” You peak your head out of the shower. “The fuck is right!”

“Why am I dealing with Jisung and now Changbin’s whining? They’re moping and fighting. And Changbin’s pissed at me? Me!”

“Towel?”

“Why don’t you just step out?” Chan smirked at you and leaned his elbow against the towel rack.

“Very funny. I can’t reach it from here.” You reach out your arm.

“Yeah, it’s a shame...” he giggled. You were upset with yourself for finding that cute.

“Okay, don’t hand me the towel. We can do this here. What are you here for?”

“I can’t take their bitching.” He shrugs.

“So, in dramatic Chanie fashion you blow up my phone and storm in here while I’m showering?”

“Well, I didn’t blow up your phone for the record, but yes.” He shrugs. You let out a loud sigh causing him to chuckle again he leans over and grabs your towel. He playfully starts to head out of the room when he sees the look on your face.

“Kidding.” He laughs, handing it to you. He walks out of the bathroom and closes the door behind him. “Also they’re fighting pretty bad. They’ve been getting into wrestling matches that Jeongin is definitely tired of splitting up.”

When you finish getting dressed, you find Chan on the couch with a bowl in hand. You laugh to yourself as he stuffs his face.

“I’m starving.” He shrugs. You roll your eyes and take a seat next to him. He offers you a bite which you gladly take because whatever he has concocted smelled delicious.

“You can make gold from nothing can’t you?”

“Thank you!” He says with a mouth full of food. “No one else agrees.”

You hear a knock at the door and your certain Changbin has come to mope, but Hyunjin stood there with a bag of food.

“Considering the state of these boys I thought you might want to talk.” He says pushing his way past you.

“Hyunjin-ah! I love you.” You wrap your arms around him from behind. “Can you kick Chanie out for me?”

“I heard that!” He called from the front room. You smile back at him and watch Hyunjin unpack the food he brought.

“So, you broke Jisung’s heart. What else is new?”

“I did no such thing!” You gasp. “Does Minho hate me too?” Your tone is softer and a bit defeated.

“Of course not. I mean he’ll probably give you shit, but when doesn’t he?” You nod and take the bowl of food Hyunjin prepared for you to the couch.

“So, how bad is it really?” You lift your head, pushing the food around in your bowl.

“Eat.” Hyunjin ordered.

“Yes ma’am.” You take a bite looking from Hyunjin to Chan wondering when you listened to any of them.

“Well Jisung is convinced that Changbin is sleeping with you just to claim that he got to you first.”

“Excuse me,” Chan chimes in, “I got to you first!”

You look at Hyunjin and feign gagging, causing Hyunjin to laugh with you.

“Joke all you want. We kissed on New Years the first year we met.” Chan crossed his arms over his chest in triumph.

“Does that count as getting to her first?” Hyunjin questioned crossing one leg over the other.

“Hell yeah it does.” Chan started off strong but then he saw your look and immediately toned it down. “I mean if we’re arguing about that sort of childish shit.”

Hyunjin laughed at the two of you. “I remember that.”

“Huh?” You and Chan say simultaneously.

“Jeongin found you two on the terrace that night.” Hyunjin says dramatically and his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Jisung knows doesn’t he?” Your mind momentarily plays the last day you saw Jisung before his attitude change. The day at your apartment where he told you explicitly he doesn’t think you’re a slut. You brush it from your mind. Jisung was definitely acting the opposite right now.

“Ya, I don’t know why you can’t pick one person!” Hyunjin pulls you from your thoughts with his laugh. “There’s always a new flavor of the week with you.”

“That’s true.” You add giggling. Chan pouted at you both. Chan set his bowl on the table in front of him and flopped back on the couch. Slumping over, he laid his head on your shoulder.

After your meal Hyunjin decided to drag Chan back to the dorms. It took some effort to get Chan to leave, but eventually you were left alone again.

You grab your phone and notice the text messages. After taking a deep breath you start looking through them.

09-563:

You can win a gift card! Click the link below.

Scroll

Mom:

You better be taking care of yourself

Scroll

Sammy:

Love you ;) Come see me when you get a chance!

Scroll

Binnie:

07:34 Ya! Haven’t I been punished enough?

You open his messages and scroll to the first message he sent last night.

Binnie:

19:45 I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that shit to Chan. It just felt right to call you my girl...

20:08 I also wanted to piss Chan off and I’m sorry...

20:08 Is this that serious?

23:59 Please don’t ghost me.

23:59 Please stop ghosting me*

02:27 I’m not sure if you’re reading these and not opening them,

but I don’t want to lose you over something stupid.

07:03 Haven’t slept because of this. Will you please just talk to me?

07:28 I’m sorry.

You sighed and backed out of his messages. You weren’t even sure what to say to him. You felt like shit for kicking him out and not speaking to him, but he honestly needs to stop making decisions without consulting you. You noticed you had a text from Jisung.

Jisung

09:49 Hey...

09:50 Can we talk?

Your heart skipped a beat. Who to text first? You start with Jisung and send a simple yes. You send a message to Changbin that turns out to be pretty lengthy. You let him know it’s not fair that he gets to flirt around and then claim you as his a second later.

Jisung responded immediately asking if you could meet at the usual coffee shop down the street from the studio. You were nearly through the roof. You jumped up and got dressed. It was only when you were heading out the door that you suddenly thought of all the ways this could go wrong.

Changbin paced the dorm, glancing at his phone every so often. He promised himself that he wouldn’t text anymore. He had said all he needed to say and anymore would just be pathetic, he told himself.

“Can you do that somewhere else?” Seungmin asked as he watched Changbin pace.

“He’s heart broken.” Felix appears from seemingly out of nowhere. “He refused my hug.” He slightly pouts. Seungmin shook his head.

Changbin suddenly sat on the couch and threw himself into a laying position, he was so frustrated he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Much better.” Seungmin nods with a smile.

“He’s still sad.” Felix pouts.

“He needs alone time.” Seungmin nods waving Felix along.

Changbin ran his hands through his hair and thought about the fact that he laid his feelings out on the table. He told you and the guys that he wanted more when he said you were his. Your reaction was less than ideal. He was deflated. Then again, he thought, you may have just been upset to be out of the loop.

Changbin sat up. He decided he shouldn’t give you anymore space, he needed to go over there.

“Did you really ask that?” Hyunjin asked. “Never mind I’m sure you did.”

“I feel good about it.” Chan smiles.

“She’s not going to take you up on that. She’s in love I hope you know.” Hyunjin says matter-of-factly. “Oh.”

“Speaking of...” Chan says looking from Changbin to Hyunjin with a knowing look. Hyunjin nods.

“I wouldn’t mess with him.” Jeongin warns as he passes through, eating kimbap.

“Still?” Chan sighs.

“At your own risk.” Seungmin shrugs.

Changbin ignores the conversation and pushes past Seungmin. He pulls on his hat, shrugs into a jacket, and grabs his keys before slipping into his shoes. Changbin is more nervous than he expected heading to see you. It wasn’t normal for him to be nervous around you or about you, but he found these small moments popping up lately.

“Did you know he was in love?” Chan asked Seungmin when he heard the door close.

“It was only obvious. They’re both obvious, and they’re both dumb.” Seungmin says causing Hyunjin to laugh and high five him.

“But I thought she liked Jisung?” Felix pops his head out of the kitchen to join the drama. The guys got silent momentarily and Seungmin looked towards the far couch where Minho sat watching videos on his iPad. Minho chuckled to himself and cooed at the screen.

“Cute!” He said to himself. “What?” Minho whined when everyone sat around him. Chan snatched the iPad.

“Aw, cute!”

“See. Give it-“ he whined again. Chan shook his head and turned it off.

“You know more about this love triangle than the rest of us.” Felix said pulling the couch throw over his shoulders.

“Yeah, and I think she’s in love with Changbinnie.” Hyunjin affirms confidently.

“What if she’s in love with them both?” Minho grabs for his iPad. When Chan holds it out of reach, Minho starts to pout. “Why am I an expert?”

Changbin was just starting the engine when his phone chimed. He rushed to grab it seeing a message from you. His heart skipped a beat. Changbin quickly opened it and his heart fell a bit. He was a little sad to see you were still upset with him.

He had a natural flirtatious nature, but he will admit that he wanted to make you jealous. Changbin picked his moments carefully, he wanted you to see him as irresistible and it backfired. Never did he think you would think he was playing games. He though he was innocently attracting your attention.

Changbin sat in his car for a moment, unable to come up with a response. He still wanted to see you in person. He was determined to fix this. He typed and deleted his text message to you for the sixth time and tossed his phone in the passengers seat. He put the car in to gear and decided to work up his confidence on the drive over.

When he pulled up to your apartment it still took Changbin some time to get out of the car. His attempts at boosting his confidence fell short. He tapped the steering wheel and sighed to himself a few times before he seemingly forced himself to get out.

Changbin wasn’t quite sure what to say when he got there. You hadn’t ever really been mad at him before, not truly. Deep down he knew this wasn’t something that would last forever, but at the moment it sure felt like it and he didn’t want to be without you again.

Jisung tried to stay mad at both of you. He wanted to be mad at Changbin for stealing you from him, but he knew that wasn’t true. He wanted to be mad at you for leading him on but he knew that too wasn’t true.

Jisung wasn’t sure why he was so angry. He should be happy if your happy, but this situation left him feeling left out and unworthy. Not to mention the fact that he beat himself up for never telling you how he felt before this.

Though it had been weeks since he had last seen or spoken to you, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t want to see or speak to you. Jisung eventually started bringing you up without realizing it in conversation. Anytime Changbin would mention it, Jisung would blow up. It took far too long, but Jisung came to the realization that he was being entirely too immature and he truly missed being around you.

You straightened yourself out for the third time and finally entered the coffee shop. You’re so nervous at this point you almost turn around. You suddenly spot Jisung looking directly back at you. It almost startled you, but you moved towards him trying to compose yourself as if this hadn’t been so hard on you.

When you near the table, Jisung stood and walked around to greet you. His voice was soft and he gently leaned in. It was much more awkward than normal, but you were glad to be around him again. His arms wrapped around you gently at first, then he tightened his grip. Your certain he whispers I missed you, but it’s so faint you argue with yourself over it being real.

“Hey.” He says when you both sit down. “I ordered you a matcha latte, I hope that’s okay. I know you said you liked their matcha last time we came, so...”

“Of course it’s fine.” You flash him an appreciative smile. He did know you so well. Jisung had a way of remembering the details. You shift the napkins on the table nervously, not sure what to do with your hands or where to look.

“Hey,” he starts and looks away when your eyes meet. He takes a deep breath and starts again. “So, I just need to tell you I’m sorry.”

He looks in your eyes and you feel that nervous excited feeling rise in your stomach. He fidgets a bit in his seat and you want to comfort him, but you don’t know where to start. He hurt you, and it’s hard to know how to tip toe around his feelings when you aren’t sure what they are.

“It’s okay, Jisungie.” You look down at your hands. “I’m sorry, too.”

“No,” he sits up in his seat, as his hand falls over yours. He seemed to be gaining confidence. “Please, don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for...” he sighs at himself. It takes him a moment to speak again as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve liked you for a long time. As long as I can remember knowing you, really.” Jisung was significantly more calm confessing these feelings to you than he had anticipated. It felt natural. Maybe it only felt that way because he had rehearsed it in his head so many times before this.

You suddenly felt your heart rate picking up. It was nervousness and excitement all rolled in to one and you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

“Do you have feelings for him?” He questioned and after a momentary silence, “be honest.” He added.

You looked him in the eyes and nodded. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to confirm it. But looking in to his eyes you knew you couldn’t lie.

“So, where do we go from here?” He questioned. His eyes caught yours and you felt a bit nervous . His big brown eyes were sincere and you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. You didn’t want to be without him again.

——————————————————————————

Hey, lovely! I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks so much for stopping by💞

(These chapters are so long >.<. )

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hoodwinkd1 · 4 years

Text

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 15

Ch 14 here.

Chapter 15: light hearted jokes

A pillow smacked his face, shocking Eris out of what had been an extremely pleasant dream. He almost snarled at the attack, turning onto his side, before remembering that the object of said dream was lying beside him.

“Sorry,” Rhia whispered, her eyes wide. “Did I wake you up?”

Her fingers played with the edge of the pillow still sitting between them. To Eris’ delight, she appeared to be in the process of removing the barrier, explaining the early morning attack.

“Not many people are brave enough to assault the High Lord first thing in the morning.” Testing the waters, he placed his hand next to hers, palm splayed open. The tumultuous ocean between them turned into a gentle stream as she took it.

Rhia let out a soft sigh. “Go on then, if you must. Lock me in the dungeons, imprison me for life.”

Was it his imagination, or had she shifted closer? Either way, Rhia looked entirely too tempting in the mornings. Her hair had fallen out of its updo and into complete disarray, but framed her face in a way that reminded him of cozy sweaters and falling leaves, of the brief moments he had ever truly relaxed in his life, of safety and of comfort.

He twisted their joined hands so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “You shouldn’t dangle an idea like that in front of me. I may just keep you here forever, though certainly not in the dungeons.”

She hummed in response, releasing his hand to run hers through his hair. Her fingers continued to explore, drawing the most delicious shapes over his cheekbones, his nose, his jaw, and his neck. Eris would have traded all his fire power in exchange for the fiery lines her touch brought forth.

He also would have traded his powers in an instant for nothing at all. The unpleasant memory of the night before shadowed his thoughts, reviving the roaring self-hatred and guilt at causing her pain.

“Is this why you wanted to remove the pillows? I hadn’t guessed you’d be so affectionate this early.” Eris kept his tone light. She could take his question at face value or use it as an opening to talk about what had transpired.

Rhia grimaced. “Am I that easy to read?” She pushed his shoulder lightly, and he let himself fall onto his back. Eris almost lit the curtains on fire when she moved forward so they were chest to chest, one arm slipping on the other side of his waist. He curled his hand, the arm pinned underneath her, around her back, reveling in the simple touches. “The pillows were in my way.”

“We can’t have that,” Eris concurred. He grabbed the remaining pillow, resting against both of their knees and threw it over the side of the bed. He might have aimed too low and brushed her cheek. All’s fair in love and pillow fights, of course.

“Asshole!” Rhia launched herself on him in earnest this time, straddling his waist with her insanely gorgeous legs. She let a wisp of magic loose, pulling the pillow from the floor to her hands. Eris sat up, hands flailing to grab her wrists, but she got a good smack in before he could. He caught one of her hands and--

“This is too cute!”

Eris let out a snarl that could have woken half the palace at the intruder's voice.

---

Rhia desperately needed to catch up on inter-Court politics. She was relatively confident that foreign diplomatic officials weren’t allowed to show up in High Lord’s bed chambers without invitation or announcement. And yet, Carina Archeron leaned against the door frame.

“Take your time! Just letting you know I’m waiting in the sitting room when you’re ready for a chat.” The dark-haired female sauntered out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Eris dropped her hand and pinched his forehead in frustration. “I would say she’s not usually like this, except...she is.”

Rhia sighed and removed herself from his body. She had hoped that in the morning light, maybe some activities would be marginally easier than the night before. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“I have some very choice words for her,” Eris grumbled. “No more showing up wherever, whenever like she owns the building.”

“Oh? Does she show up in your bedroom often?” Rhia raised an eyebrow.

Eris’ reaction was better than she’d hoped. The High Lord, halfway through putting on a new shirt, whipped his head around, almost ripping the fabric apart. “We haven’t, she’s not, I can promise you that there’s nothing to worry about--”

“I’m teasing, love.” She reached up and helped navigate the sleeves down his arms. “Do you have a spare dressing robe? And not one that was meant for your previous consorts?”

He bit the tip of her ear as he moved past her towards the massive closet. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Carina perked up when they finally joined her in the main room. “That was much quicker than I expected. Look, I even put up a sound barrier.”

Rhia could feel the magic buzzing, right as Carina popped it. At least she had more faith in their sex life than Rhia did.

“I’ll be brief.” She sat back on one of the golden chairs, watching as the couple settled themselves on the couch. “I am sorry for interrupting; I forgot you would stay the night. Anyway, long story short, my parents have invited Eris to come stay the week before the Winter Solstice.”

“How wonderful,” he replied drily. “My ideal vacation.”

“They’ve also extended the invitation to you.” Carina winked at Rhia. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about your hero worship tendencies.”

She glanced over at Eris, who’d gone surprisingly stiff at the statement. “Isn’t that normal? Letting a fellow High Lord bring guests?”

“Of course it is,” Carina continued. She shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Half of Prythian has heard the news of your mating.”

Eris let out a low growl. “I’m sure Rhysand has the purest of motives here.”

“Ignore him. Rhia, they stressed that you’re invited to come, even if you must come alone.”

Eris growled louder this time. “Not a fucking chance.”

Rhia whipped her head to face him, mouth gaping at the blatant demand in his tone. He never, not once, had said anything territorial or commanded her in anyway. “And who are you to stop me?”

“I would never stop you.” Eris clenched his jaw. “I just want you to see this charade for what it is.”

“Is it? A charade?” She directed the question at the Heir of the Night Court, who looked increasingly uncomfortable with every tense remark.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought it was anything less than genuine,” she insisted. “Eris, you know I’ve never taken their grudge seriously.”

He leaned forward in his chair. Rhia tracked the movement of his arms as they slid down his thigh, hands joining together and elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me, then, with complete certainty, that the Inner Circle has no plans to investigate our relationship. That they have no desire to inspect my mate for themselves. That they have no beliefs that she might be in any danger.”

“What?” Rhia almost choked on nothing. “They can’t think — they have no reason to believe that you would harm me.”

Eris looked down into his palms, searching for something in the creases that brought her so much comfort. “You know our history. Of course they have reason to believe I would treat you maliciously.”

Carina glanced between the two of them. “Yeah, so third wheeling a fight isn’t really my idea of a grand time. I might just go—“

Eris cut her off. “Answer my question or return home with our most insincere apologies.”

“I don’t know! I didn’t ask and I honestly didn’t consider it.” Carina uncrossed her legs and stared him down, intensifying her gaze. “I swear on all the stars in the sky, I only came here with good intentions.” Her eyes jumped to Rhia and her smile turned apologetic. “And if they did pry, it’s only because they happen to be the nosiest assholes in this world.”

Rhia wanted to sweep this entire conversation under the rug and never address it again. She knew that Eris, like he would with any topic, would let her do exactly that if she asked him to.

But something in her heated. Some fire in her core, some deep-seated instinct urged her to defend, to protect, to snarl at any threat with every drop of her power.

“That isn’t fair. They have no right to judge what’s ours, without proof or complaint.” Her words were quiet, but the look from Eris screamed so loudly that she blushed. “If they have any sort of motive, then I have to decline.”

Carina dipped her head. “I can send that message to my parents. If you did say yes, I would set down clear and strict boundaries for your comfort.”

“Thank you. It’s not a yes or a no at this moment.” Eris’ response was much calmer than before, drawing a soft sigh of relief from her lungs.

Rhia offered a weak smile to the other female. She genuinely wanted to bond with Carina, sought friendship with one of the few Fae Eris trusted, and this conversation had deterred her from that goal. One last question lingered, though.

“I know the history between our Courts is tense, and rightfully so,” she began. “But truly, what purpose does it serve to antagonize Eris like this? After successfully allying with him for so long?”

Carina shrugged. “They always have to be the hero. My parents and family have centered themselves in one narrative for too long, unable to really break the molds they were forced into.”

“My father grew more powerful than anyone expected, than anyone knew how to handle, all while facing scorn from both halves of his bloodline. He had to comprise his own beliefs when dealing with the Illyrians and the Hewn City, yet never could find a way to actually fix the problems. My mother was thrust into almost unlimited power and given a hyper-dedicated soulmate at 19 years old, with no worldly perspective or aged experience.” Carina bit her lip, as if holding back a grin before adding: “oh, and of course they both died for Prythian, so that really set the entitlement in.”

She waved a hand casually, wiping away the fact that she had just analyzed the two most magical beings in this world with utter candor. “Whatever, enough about them. Think on it, and send me a note when you decide. Either way, I’ll still visit and demand the latest Autumn gossip.”

She winnowed before Eris or Rhia could move, a person much too used to always getting the last word.

“How are you feeling?” Rhia leaned back into the couch cushions and placed her hand on his shoulder.

Eris draped his hand over hers and squeezed. “I don’t think I ever feel normal after conversing with Carina,” he admitted. “But I’m no longer angry. I apologize that you had to see that.”

Rhia snorted. “You’re much too calm normally. I can appreciate some rage now and again.”

“Never at you.” He leaned over to kiss her knuckles. “Not ever at you. If you’d like me to rage at someone on your behalf, however, that’s completely acceptable.”

“A wonderful sentiment.” The hand on his shoulder slid behind his neck, while its twin danced across his abdomen. “I would like to see the Night Court someday.”

Eris hummed. “I’ll make sure you see all the Courts and the continents beyond, if you wish.”

“Even Illyria?” she teased.

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?” Rhia pouted. Rhia hadn’t felt any actual desire to go to the bitterly cold mountains, but his denial struck her as a bit odd.

Eris glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well now I simply must know,” Rhia giggled. “Or I’ll assume something much worse than what it is.”

She watched him scrunch up his nose in the most adorably frustrated way. “The General and I....we don’t mix.”

“Eris,” she sighed. “You can’t let this grudge eat away at you like—“

“It’s not the grudge.” A blush crept up his neck. “It’s not me that, well, I don’t want you meeting Cassian.”

Rhia swatted him. “Is he so horrible? Or are you worried I’ll take one look at his hulking body and fall madly in love?”

A beat of silence. Another. Too much time passed, and Eris still didn’t respond to her taunt.

“No.”

He groaned and pulled her closer to him, hiding his face in her curls. “It’s not what you’re thinking! It’s beyond silly, I know, but he did manage to take not one, but two betrothals from me.” His voice went soft. “It’s silly to even think this.”

Rhia bit her tongue, trying to think of anything comforting or sweet to say. She couldn’t do it. A giggle slipped out, and Eris shot his head up.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” His eyes flashed in warning, pushing her over the edge.

Rhia gasped for air as the laughter fully overtook her. She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to be serious but...” Another laugh interrupted her sentence. “That is so incredibly ridiculous and superstitious!”

Eris glared at her. “My ego is utterly shredded right now, thank you very much.”

“I love you.” She finally calmed down enough to press a light kiss to the edge of his mouth. “I love you and we’re mates and I promise I won’t leave you for the General of the Night Court.” She kissed the other side of his mouth, punctuating her words.

He wouldn’t risk her pulling away, gripping her waist to keep her against him. She teased him with a few more pecks, adjusting her position to hover directly on his lap.

“Kiss me, you cruel, despicable creature.” His breath fanned her neck and she smiled against his forehead.

A heartbeat later and they were tangled up in each other, lips and tongues and limbs coming together as one. Rhia gasped when he bit her bottom lip and Eris purred when her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Promise me we won't be interrupted this time," she breathed, as he moved down her jaw and back to that one spot on her neck.

Eris smiled against her skin. "I've tripled the wards."

She licked her lips, drawing his attention back up to her face. Slowly, torturing them both, her fingers grazed the neckline of the dressing robe, gliding it down her shoulders, letting it fall off her arms. He looked at her with all the intensity and desperation of a drunkard on his last bottle of wine.

She leaned forward, kissing her way from his chin to his ear. "Should we try again?"

-----

thank you for reading!

tag list: @moonbeamfenrys @qamariana

#eris #eris vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjm #sarahjmaas #autumn court #you are in love

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generallybarzy · 4 years

Text

smile like sunshine iii

Monday: ~7k words

summary: After some family drama being revealed last night and a rude awakening this morning, the last thing you wanted was to spend the day stuck with your family, and Mat has the best solution for that. You run off to be alone together, reminiscing back to the summer of 2008 and each of you trying to understand and control these strange, emerging feelings.

an: Sorry it took so much longer, I appreciate your patience! Honestly not even sure if this chapter has a plot, it’s just slow burn and mutual pining at this point. Things are starting to heat up so there’s a warning for some smutty thoughts ahead ;)

It’s the summer of ‘19, eleven years after you first met Mat Barzal, and things are bound to be a little different this time around.

Usually, the first night at the beach was so refreshing after running around like carefree children in the sun the whole day, but falling asleep last night had been no easy task, not with your heart racing and your mind circling around different scenarios- both real and fake- of you and Mat. Already, all the near kisses and comfortable, lingering touches with him throughout the previous day had you feeling butterflies, nervous, and giddy, and longing around him. And after on and off sleep all night, you wanted nothing more than to lie in bed for a bit longer and fantasize, but there was one thing dampening your hopeless romantic mood.

The yelling.

There was a reason you wanted Mat to come with you on this trip. It was the same reason you approached him the first day you met, the same thing that had you thinking back to him years and years afterward. The arguing, the fighting, the tension in the house, the way you'd always end up on your own. Both of your siblings had texted you early this morning, saying they were heading out to their friend’s places, friends the three of you had made after repeated years of coming here, so you were on your own until Mat woke up.

You were at the beach, for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t your parents just hold it together? You threw the pillow over your head and groaned, just trying to drown out the noise of your parents fighting in the other room. Over what- you had no idea, and they probably didn’t know either. Well, they lasted a good 24 hours without fighting, you’d give them that.

There was a small knock on your door, and when you could do nothing but groan in response, it cracked open slightly. “(Y/N)?” Mat poked his head in, hair still soft and messy from sleep, speaking gently, carefully. “Can I come in?” He saw a nod from you and sent you a soft smile. Any other time, you would marvel at how cute and soft Mat looked right after waking up, but you weren’t in the mood for that right now. He closed the door quietly behind him and sat on the edge of your bed in silence. You knew he was here to comfort you, but you didn’t feel so comfortable when you could still hear the arguing in the other room.

Mat’s heart was aching for you. He could see how much it was hurting you to hear your parents yelling, and wanted nothing more than to hold you against him and kiss your cheeks and tell you everything would be okay. He wasn’t going to put himself into your family drama, but part of him was so, so angry at your parents for not being able to hold it together for you and your siblings. He wasn’t quite sure how to help, but he let his hand fall to your leg and rub comfortingly, and as he caught a glimpse of the beautiful scenery outside the window, he knew what you needed. “Want to head outside?”

“Please.”

It was beautiful outside, stuck in that early morning haze where it was all misty and blue and the first glimpses of soft yellow sunlight were only peaking ever so shyly over where the sun hid beneath the horizon, not yet sure if it wanted to rise or not. Waves crashed against the ever-changing shoreline, coming all the way up to lap your ankles at times. You were walking barefoot in the wet sand with Mat, toes sinking in and leaving little prints behind you. His arm was laid across your shoulders, pulling you against his side so that his cologne filled your nose. His T-shirt was all wrinkly and looked like he slept in it, and his exposed arms and legs were already looking all tan and golden even in the dim lighting of the morning. As much as you loved the comforting silence, he must be wondering. “So now you probably get why I wanted to bring someone along on this trip.”

“Yeah.”

There was a second of mutual sighing before you decided to continue.

“They’re great, ya know? I love them, I love my whole family… but separately. Not together. I hate it when they’re together. Does that make me shitty?”

“No, of course not.” He squeezed you closer into his side, tilting his chin down to rest against the top of your head, wanting nothing more than for you to smile again. “You still love them, and I can see how much it hurts to deal with that. I get why you didn’t want to be alone on this trip.”

“I’m used to it. Whenever they’re together this happens. Every year. And we all just… split up and go to our separate friend’s houses. That’s where my siblings are now, and where they’ll probably be all day.”

He was silent for a few more moments before stopping in his tracks so he could properly focus on you, hands smoothing from your shoulders down, down your arms. You gave him a weak smile, but he noticed the tears gathering in your eyes and sighed and sucked up all his courage to pull you against him, arms squeezing around you tightly and chin dropping to your head. “I can’t believe you have to put up with that every year. That’s so shitty. I can’t imagine how it feels.” He knew you probably didn’t want any pity, but he truly, truly felt so hurt for you. “I’m sorry.” There was an excruciatingly long moment where you did absolutely nothing- and Mat worried you were about to push him away- before you wrapped your own arms around him and squeezed back.

“Thanks for being here.”

“Of course.” He stayed still for a moment, just breathing against you and reveling in the feeling of your body pressed against his again like that morning you cuddled in the motel- of course, you had no recollection of that, but it was easily one of his favorite parts of this trip. So far. He was contemplating leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead- Would that be too much? Not platonic enough? She’ll hate me for it. Or she might love it- when you uncurled your arms from his waist. He let go on your cue, not wanting to make it awkward, even though it had already dragged on much too long for just friends.

He stepped back, trying to pretend he hadn’t just been thinking of kissing you, already feeling like this day- this week- was going to be magical, even if you came out still just friends. “So, it’s just us today, huh?”

“It’s just us.”

“Great. Well, I might have an idea…” He paused to think for a moment as if he hadn’t already fantasized and planned this in his head all night. “I know we only have your family’s car here, so I was thinking we could walk to this car rental place I saw nearby and get our own for the week and maybe go someplace further up the beach to be alone.” It sounded truly magical, getting to go out alone with Mat, get away from your family, and just get lost in him- the real him, and not the memory you had been holding on to and reminiscing about for years. But, unfortunately, it just wasn’t realistic.

“There’s no way I can afford to rent a car for the week.”

“I’ll pay.”

“No, Mat, I can’t let you pay for that.”

“Why not? I mean, I have the money. And it was my plan anyway.” He could see how much you wanted to fight for this, but also knew that you wanted nothing more than to get away, so he smiled and wrapped his arm over your shoulders again. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

“I thought the outfit was my early birthday present?” You seemed almost offended that he was spoiling you so badly, and it was kinda cute.

“There’s plenty more to come, (Y/N).” You smiled, biting your lip in that way you did when you were excited, and Mat couldn’t help but smile back. “Speaking of presents...” You saw him reach into his pocket out of the corner of your eye but thought nothing of it until he was reaching out a closed fist to give something to you. His hand hovered over top of yours for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, but you were too lost in the swirls of honey and green of his eyes and the warmth of his hand to notice the mischievous sparkle and the smirk on his face. His hand opened above yours.

“Ew! What the hell?!”

You may have reacted a little dramatically, shrieking shortly and jumping against Mat’s body as you tossed the dead crab to the ground in disgust, but you couldn’t help it. A dead crab??? That was so gross. You wanted to yell at him for ruining what was a really sweet moment, but hearing Mat howl with laughter beside you was like heaven. As you watched him cackle, bent at the waist with tears in his eyes, you caught a faint waft of deja vu. He had done the same thing to you repeatedly when you were younger when you were more gullible. His smile, his laugh, the early morning sunlight reflecting off his skin: this was exactly like eleven years ago when you were childish carefree and friendly. When you were best friends.

When you didn’t have to worry about being attracted to him.

Embarrassed by how easily you fell for that, and how you had been gazing into his eyes only moments earlier, you punched his shoulder. “Mathew Barzal!!! Are you still eleven?!”

“Are you? I can’t believe you still fell for it!”

“Shut up! You know I hate those!”

“Obviously.” he caught a glimpse of the smile on your face and knew you really couldn’t be mad at him. He mimicked your reaction with drama and fell into a new fit of giggles.

“I’m never going to trust you again.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You couldn’t help but smile, no matter how much you wanted to continue scolding him. Yeah, you would still trust him, and you’d probably fall for anything he tried. “You’re so stupid, Mat.”

“Maybe,” he continued laughing and pulled you against him to continue your walk down the beach. “But you know you love me anyway.”

You have no idea.

It was crazy that you were here with him- Mat Barzal, your childhood friend and NHL All Star- after eleven years. It was crazier that so much of his character hadn’t changed at all since he was young, the humor, the mischief, the childishness. Crazier than both of those things, though, was how quickly and easily you were falling in love with your best friend.

Mat was right, your trek to the car rental place was only about five minutes, five minutes of walking in the warm morning sun with Mat’s arm around your shoulder, and after some paperwork and licenses showed, you and Mat were choosing a car for the week. Originally, there would have been no way for you and Mat to escape- you’d all traveled together, crowded into the family SUV, and you know your parents would never give you the keys, and even if they did, it would be really inconvenient if you and Mat left and they needed to go somewhere. Now, it was liberating, freeing, knowing that you could go places on your own. And after all the work was done, Mat immediately gravitated towards a certain car that caught his eye.

“Oooh, what about this?” It was a classic- maybe 70’s- a powder blue convertible, sleek and long, the type of car you could imagine your parents sneaking away with, sipping milkshakes in and making out in the backseat in their teens. Despite its age, it seemed to be recently updated to include some sort of Bluetooth add-on on the dash so you could listen to your summer playlist.

“Wow, that’s, like…” Amazing? Something of your hopeless romantic fantasies? Absolutely. “It really doesn’t seem like your type, Mat.” You tried to stay realistic, but the hopeful smile on your face gave it away, and Mat leaned in closer, running a hand across the finish.

“Wouldn’t it be so cool? Like an old movie. Imagine driving down the coastline, blasting music, all warm in the sun, with the wind in our hair….” holding hands across the console, hands sliding up each other’s thighs, pulling over to lay on the hood under the stars, making out with each other desperately in the back seat….

“Okay, you make a pretty compelling argument.”

“So this is the one?”

“Let’s do it, Barzy!”

You had never, ever in your life, felt as free as you were now: flying down the empty coastline highway with Mat, wind in your hair and smiles on your face as you sang along with him to your summer playlist, searching for a place to pull over and run to the water. You sat in the passenger seat, sipping on a fruity smoothie you had convinced Mat to pull over for and laughing and smiling and feeling absolutely free. Liberated. You had the entire day with Mat, only Mat, nobody else. Nothing could touch you out here- none of your parent’s fights could get to you, no responsibilities could plague your mind right now- no, nothing could touch you but the sun. And you knew the sun would never betray you.

Speaking of the sun, Mat was behind the wheel, laughing with that beautiful, gleaming grin, his smile flooding warmth through your body just like the sunshine was warming your skin. You were flying down this empty straightaway, laughing and squealing as Mat sped up, trying to see how fast the two of you could go. His hair had grown out a little bit since the season ended, and was blowing back out of his face, looking so soft and just begging you to touch it- and you had to physically restrain yourself from reaching over to glide your fingers through the dark locks.

“Mat, turn it up!” You squealed in joy and threw your hands up into the air as your favorite song came on. Mat glanced over at you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming behind dark sunglasses.

“This is the life, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take long for the road to open off into a little rest stop: a parking lot and public changing room settled between the road and a wide, empty beach. There was nobody around, just you, Mat, and the ocean. The moment Mat had put the car in park, you were jumping out, grabbing your bag of swimsuits, sunscreen, and miscellaneous hygiene products out of the backseat.

“Shit, look at this view.” Mat was right. From where you stood in the cemented parking lot, a sandy hill sloped downwards for a bit only to flatten out onto the beach and open up to the wide expanse of ocean in front of you. Mat ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back behind his ears after the breeze had pushed it out of place. He was wearing the shirt you’d convinced him to buy, the color really making the hints of green in his eyes pop, and the top few buttons were undone, revealing golden collarbones and more below.

“It’s pretty.“ You watched, awestruck, as Mat stretched, bringing his arms high above his head, and lifting the end of his shirt list to reveal the indents of his hipbones disappearing down into his shorts. Oh, fuck. You had to get out of here before he drove you insane. “I’m gonna go change, Mat. Take the paddleboards down to the beach a while, ‘kay?”

“You got it.”

You rushed to the changing room, momentarily cringing and wondering when the last time it was deep cleaned was, and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were sunkissed and flushed red hot, obviously visibly affected by Mat. God, these feelings you had for him… were they just physical attraction, or were they actually more? He was just so hot. But he was also so good to you. He cared for you, and took you away when it was becoming too much, he was always your distraction when life was too overwhelming.

Mat was really gonna be the death of you.

You quickly changed into your favorite bikini, ignoring the twinge of self-consciousness. “Alright, girl.” You looked at yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up. “Just you and Mat today. Control yourself. He’s your friend. You can’t keep daydreaming about him and undressing him in your mind.”

As you opened the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, you were stopped in your tracks as you saw Mat down on the beach, shirtless and golden, rubbing sunscreen on himself. And you knew then that the little speech you gave wasn’t going to be enough to get you through this week. It wasn’t hard to mentally undress him when there was only one piece of fabric keeping you from knowing what laid between his hips and thighs. Who knew what was under there, right? Look away, look away, don’t stare, don’t stare.

You tried your hardest to push it out of your mind.

“You need some help there?”

He turned around in the middle of trying- and failing- to reach a certain spot on his back. “Are you offering?” He’s wearing that sly smirk on his face, and your knees almost shake at the look he gives you.

“Nevermind, I’m sure you can reach it yourself.”

“Wow,” Mat feigned a hurt expression. “I can’t believe you’d let me burn. What a friend you are.”

“Alright, you dummy. Only if you help me, too.” He hands you the sunscreen and turns around so you have access to his back- his golden, toned back. You try to ignore how warm and smooth and taut his skin felt under your palms as you smoothed the cream over him. And Mat was holding his breath, trying his hardest to ignore the gentle movements of your small hands, rising across his back and up over his shoulders. “There, that should be good.”

Mat turned, skin gleaming in the sunlight. “Let me help you now.” You couldn’t believe this was actually happening- the classic, cliche rubbing sunscreen on each other’s backs, and you almost fell apart when his big hands rubbed over your shoulders, down your back. His hands were so big but so soft and gentle against your shoulders. “That’s a pretty small bikini. Aren’t you worried it’s gonna come off in the water?”

You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or if he was genuinely worried, but you shook off the feeling that he could be looking you up and down any second. You were friends. He doesn’t look at you like that. “I’m just trying to tan today.”

“You’re not gonna come out to the water with me?” He was pouting. This 22-year-old man was pouting because he thought he’d have to play in the water by himself.

“Mat, you’re such a big baby. I’ll be in the water. Just not in the water.”

“What do you mean?” He seemed confused at first but lit up with a smile when you lifted the paddleboard.

“Come on, Barzy, let’s hit the waves.”

You waded out into the ocean together, shrieking and laughing when the water splashed up to your thighs, cold against your warm skin. One part of the beach curled in almost a hook shape, creating a little pocket of the ocean with very little waves, too deep for you to just stand in but smooth and steady, the perfect place to just lay back and relax without being interrupted by crashing waves. Mat was quick to dive in and swim around, not minding how cold it was, but you were trying not to get your hair wet. Not yet, at least. You wanted to lay back and soak up the sun, maybe daydream about Mat for a while.

Oh, daydream you did, and it was embarrassing how hot and bothered it was making you just watching Mat.

He had spent a while swimming around you in circles, and you had certainly enjoyed watching the way the water rippled over his back as he moved, the way his muscles flexed and stretched and the way his skin glowed in the sun, the way that every now and then he would throw his head back so you could see every breath in his throat as he ran a hand through his dripping hair. “Mat, it looks like you’re tanning already.”

He laughed, taking on a teasing voice. “Were you watching me?”

“Maybe I was.”

He turned to where you were laying on your stomach in that tiny little bikini, eyeing him up and down behind those dark sunglasses. “Oh, yeah?” He floated on over, letting his eyes glance across you as well. He couldn’t help the heat that curled through him as his eyes dragged over your skin: the smile on your lips, the way your legs were swinging playfully in the air, the curve from the small of your back to... He swung his arm towards you and playfully sprayed you with seawater, causing you to shriek and cover yourself up from his attacks.

“Mat, that’s cold! Stop!” You splashed water back at him, spraying him right across the face, but nothing could wipe that beautiful grin away. Damn him, he was too cute.

He grinned crookedly in a way that you knew- you just knew- that he was planning something. He crossed his arms on top of your paddleboard and leaned in, his wet hair falling over his eyes and dripping onto your arm. “Better get used to it, you’re coming in!” He put his hands on the side, tipping it dangerously close to flipping. Oh no, no, no, as hot as his smirk was, the last thing you needed right now was to be wet and up close to his body.

“Mathew Barzal, I swear to god, do not flip this board!”

“Too late.” He rocked you back and forth daringly, a smile splitting across his face and making it impossible to not smile back. He had such a dumb effect on you, he could always make you smile, no matter how you were feeling or what was about to happen. And then you were splashing into the water next to him, grabbing frantically at anything that would keep you from drowning. Of course, the first and only thing your hands could contact was Mat’s smooth, slick skin. Your arms wrapped around his bare sides as you came to the surface, rubbing the saltwater out of your eyes and gasping.

Mat was laughing, the loud, beautiful cackles that would sound obnoxious and annoying if they were coming from anyone other than him. They reverberated through his body and into yours, soaking you to the bone with happiness. He was practically vibrating against you, and you would’ve laughed too if you hadn’t just been pushed into the water.

“Mat!” You slapped his shoulder and he struggled to control his giggles. “This isn’t funny! I could’ve drowned!”

“Nah, you couldn’t have.” He squeezed you where he had one arm wrapped around your waist and the other on the paddleboard to keep the two of you afloat. His arm was big and firm and secure yet gentle. “I’ve got you, see?”

Yeah, he got you, alright. His big hand was on the curve of your waist, your legs were tangled around his, you were pressed chest to chest, feeling every little giggle and breath from him, and your hands were gripping at his shoulders. You tried to ignore the feeling of his toned abdomen up against you, pretend as if it didn’t spark something hot and inappropriate in you. And maybe it was just the way you were holding onto each other for dear life or the way your bodies seemed to mold together perfectly, wet and shivering, but something was drawing you towards his lips.

Mat wanted to stay like this forever, locked in a right embrace with you, floating weightlessly out in the ocean. You had your arms in a vice grip around him, pressing your wet chest against his. He knew you didn’t mean this in a sexy way and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking like this, but damn- being almost naked and having your wet body, soft and smooth and warm, up against his- who wouldn’t be getting turned on? He was gonna savor it. But when he caught himself focusing on the way your lips were puckered into a little pout, he knew he had to put out the fire building up in his stomach.

“Your hair is a mess.” Mat reached a hand up and pushed aside the wet locks of hair that were sticking to your face, tucking them behind your ear delicately.

You splashed him with water, making sure to target his own hair. “Oh, I wonder who’s fault that is?”

“Woops.” Mat laughed again, squeezing you as he did so and moving around with you in his arms.

You continued to splash and swim and play with Mat until he seemed to finally be worn out, and the two of you decided to lay on your boards for a while to rest and dry off under the sun.

Mat was lying next to you on his own paddleboard, his dark hair air-drying all fluffy and haloing around his head, and arm thrown over his face to block out the sun. Seeing as his eyes were covered, you couldn’t help but glance over and check him out, watching his bare chest rise and fall with each breath. You let your gaze travel shamelessly down his golden, toned chest and ribs and abdomen to where that V shape was disappearing into his shorts, and you just knew your mind was going to wander to the immaculate layout of his stretched out body when you were alone in bed tonight.

God, he was so attractive.

This isn’t love, this isn’t even a crush, you had to tell yourself over and over. You’re just attracted to him, like millions of other girls out there. He’s attractive, he has charm and humor, and good looks, that doesn’t mean you love him. It was taking everything in you to hold yourself back from jumping into fantasies of the two of you together- you wanted to hold his hand, kiss him, hug him, cuddle him, call him “baby”. But that’s only because he’s hot, (Y/N). Really, why else would you think of these things? Maybe because he had always been the one you relied on to distract you, even when he wasn’t physically there. He cared about you, he always put you first, he remembered your summer together after ten years apart. And he took you away when your family became too much.

“Mat?” He hummed in response and looked over. “I’m sorry you have to deal with my family’s shit. We’re only a day in and they’re already fighting”

“It’s fine. I’m here to distract you from that, remember?”

“Thanks.” You went back to laying in silence and thinking. Thinking about how crazy it was to be here, to be with each other again. “You know, the only reason we ever met in the first place was because my parent’s marriage was falling apart.” You glanced over at Mat to find him propped up on one elbow, his toned upper body turned towards you. “I never would’ve approached you as a kid if I wasn’t just… so desperate for a friend. For anyone to hang out with.”

“Shit,” he sighed, pushing some hair back behind his ear. “I’m sorry we had to meet under such bad circumstances.”

“Don’t be. If my parents falling out of love caused me to meet you, I can deal with it.”

He laughed, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m a star.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are, Maty.” He smiled at you and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Yeah, our story’s pretty great, don’t you think?” He sighed, soft and thoughtful as if he was contemplating something and flattened down onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. “It’s weird. We only reconnected last year but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Or for the past eleven years, at least.”

Your heart almost burst out of your chest with Mat’s words. Yeah, you did feel like you’ve known him all your life. You broke your eyes away from his and focused your gaze and the sky, finding it easier to spill your heart when you weren’t looking at him. “At that game, the night I found you, it was so crazy. When I heard your name I just… felt like it had to be you. I was trying to put the pieces together but I just couldn’t imagine that it was actually you. And my friend got me to look up some pictures, and I just… I can’t even describe how it felt.”

“It probably felt the same as when I saw you in the bar.” Mat couldn’t help but think back to that night. He had been at the bar, on his phone when some pretty girl caught his attention. “You really made it to the NHL, huh?” He didn’t know what this girl meant, and those words rang in his ears for a few long seconds, but there was something about her… the way she carried herself, the nervousness in her voice. Before he could figure it out though, she was rambling, how sorry she was, how he must not remember her, “the summer of ‘08?” And then he knew it was her.

“Did you recognize me?”

“Well…” Mat shrugged sheepishly. “Not at first, honestly. But I knew there was something familiar.”

“It was your smile that did it for me.”

“What?”

“I was looking through pictures, and I wasn’t sure if it was actually you or not. I mean, you’ve obviously changed since you were eleven years old. But when I saw a picture of you smiling, I knew. Your smile hasn’t changed a bit.” Mat’s heart pounded, ached, in his chest. Wow. He looked over again and caught your gaze, making note of your red cheeks.

God, he was so in love with you.

“Did you ever think about it, Mat?” Because hell, I thought about you constantly. “About that summer?”

“Of course I did. I mean, I did get a lot busier, but every now and then something would remind me. Summers weren’t the same after that.”

It was so strange to know that all these years you were thinking back to that childhood summer together, Mat Barzal had also been thinking about you. “You know, I was so scared to approach you. I’m glad I did. You’re just as cool as you were when we were children.”

“You’re pretty cool too.”

You laid in silence again, pleased with the little conversation you had just had, and stretched out in the sun, finally completely dry again. Mat watched as you stretched out, moving your hips a little bit and extending your legs, and had to look away to keep his composure. If only you knew what you could do to him.

“We should probably go get something for lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah, let’s head back.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of warm sunshine and joyous laughter and pictures of Mat- just Mat. Mat’s skin, his arm around your shoulder, his skin touching yours, his hair drying all fluffy and soft and dark in the sunlight. And as you flew down the empty road again, smoothies in your hand and greasy takeout food secured between you and Mat, you couldn’t help but take out your camera and snap some pictures of him sitting beside you, his hair blowing back and a smile on his face. You wanted to document this entire week. You wanted to remember this day forever.

Hours later, with full stomachs tired bodies and warm hearts, you settled back with Mat against the hood of the car as the sun began to set in the background. It was cooling off a bit, so he had thrown on his Hawaiian shirt again but opted to keep it unbuttoned. You sat next to him, fiddling with pieces of string and little shells that you were trying to make into a bracelet.

“Mat, if I made you a bracelet, would you wear it?”

He glanced up from his phone, where he was trying to take a photo of the moon beginning to rise over ocean, and let out a short laugh when he saw your work. “Of course.”

“Even after this week? When we’re back in New York?” He hesitated a moment and you laughed. “Come on, it’s not gonna look that bad.”

“No, but, I don’t know... You can’t just make me jewelry. People will think we’re dating or something.” As much as Mat wanted that to be a reality- as much as he wanted to wear that bracelet for you and hold you and kiss you and tell you how much he loved you and have you to himself- he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to constantly have a reminder on his wrist of how he fell in love with his best friend and couldn’t be with her.

“Friendship bracelets?”

Friendship. Friendship. But he pushed a smile onto his face. There’s no way he could say no to you. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Let me measure you then.” You leaned over, taking his wrist in your hands and wrapped the string around his wrist. Mat tried to ignore the way his heart jumped at just the feeling of your fingertips on his wrist. It wasn’t even romantic, it wasn’t even cute, but it was you, and you were touching him. Sometimes he hated his body, how it would react so strongly to the simplest things you did as if he was still a teenage boy in the midst of puberty who couldn’t control himself.

He watched, mesmerized out of the corner of his eye as you focused on braiding little shells onto the string, the ocean in front of them forgotten. You had no idea what you did to him. You got tired of working on the bracelet soon, setting it aside and laying back next to Mat, smiling up at the stars that were only beginning to peek out from the fading blue of the sky. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening- you were laying on the hood of a car next to your childhood best friend, the center of your attention, NHL All-Star Mathew Barzal. But none of the titles mattered when you were together. When you were together, he was just Mat. Your Mat.

“My friends can’t believe I’m on vacation with you right now.”

“Oh yeah? Am I the coolest person you’ve met on vacation?”

“I’d say yes, but I don’t want to inflate that ego of yours.” You knew he was joking, though. He wasn’t one to brag, or to boast about his accomplishments, which was refreshing to see in a professional athlete, and you weren’t expecting that when you first approached him. “Actually, I met a pretty cool guy here a few years ago. I was sixteen, and he could drive already. He might be the coolest guy I ever met.”

“Ooh, a summer romance. Sounds dreamy.” He couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy and sarcasm in his words.

“Shut up, Mat.” You laughed as he rolled his eyes next to you. "You know, I kinda wish we would've been older when we met. Like, in our teens."

“Oh yeah? Why?”

You could have told him. Told him you wanted to hold him, kiss him, lose yourself in him, and see what would’ve happened had you been teenagers that summer. But you shouldn’t. You couldn’t. “I don’t know. We would’ve had more freedom, I guess. We wouldn’t have to be hanging around our parents all the time. I just wonder what would’ve been different.”

There were a few silent moments while Mat processed what you said, gazing up at the stars above and thinking it over and over in his head. Was he overthinking? Fuck it, maybe he was, who cares? He rolled onto his side, propping himself up with an arm, the metal cool against his sun-warmed skin, and caught your gaze, searching, questions evident in his eyes. “I think I have a few ideas.” Before you could ask what he meant, he was leaning in. Your mind went hazy, unable to process the moment: your faces were close, much too close for friends, his fingers were grazing across your jaw and his lips looked so, so soft all of a sudden as he stayed there, inches from your face, waiting, your cheek encased in the warmth of his palm.

He was waiting on your cue. Waiting for you to do anything. Don’t leave me hangin’ here, babe.

You could practically hear your own heartbeat by the time you rolled onto your back. No, no, you read it all wrong. He’s not trying to kiss you. You were friends. He was leaning in to hear you better. Stupid hopeless romantic brain trying to find love where there is none. “Yeah, if we were older when we met, we would’ve at least tried to stay in touch with each other.”

“Yeah, we would’ve.” Mat rolled back over, staring up into the stars with burning cheeks and a pounding heart, hoping you didn’t realize what he was trying to do there. Rather have you unaware than rejecting him, right?

“Mat, remember when we used to mess with crabs?”

“And you were super scared of them?” He laughed as you shook your head, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping in. “Yeah, of course, I remember.”

“Wanna go recreate that memory?”

“Oh, for sure.”

So you headed down onto the beach, barefoot and way too close to each other, with nothing but your phones as flashlights in your hands.

The first time you did this together was 2008. You and Mat had snuck away from where your parents were talking together on the porch and made your way down to the beach quietly. “Shh, we can’t let them know we’re leaving.” He had whispered to you with a little smirk. You were both only ten or eleven, but already Mat had you wrapped around his finger. You followed him, holding his hand, as he led you down to the beach and announced you were going to look for crabs- the ones your parents had told you not to go near. And you looked and looked and looked, and soon you found one. It wasn’t impressive, but to your young minds, it was huge and dangerous.

You remember daring Mat to touch it, but as he got closer and closer you began worrying and begging him to stop, to the point of tears. “It’s fine” he convinced you “It’s really not that scary.” But as he approached it, it ran off in your direction, causing you to jump and screech in fear. That was the first time Mat had to console you, rushing to hush you before your parents came and found the two of you. He hugged you and promised to scare away the crabs. And that was the first time he hugged you.

The first of many.

“Woah, look at the size of this guy!” And now it was 2019, eleven years later, and Mat was the same, always there to console you and save you, even if he was the one to cause your distress. “I’m gonna touch him.”

“Mat, that’s a bad idea. What if you get pinched?”

“I won’t.”

“Famous last words, Mat…” Of course, the more you told him not to, the more he wanted to do it. Before you could stop him, he was already approaching it, crouching down and grabbing it between his fingers. “Mat! Don’t do that!”

He stood up with it in his hands, smirking and coming closer to you. The crab was flailing its big claw around and snapping, and you knew it would attack anything in reach. “Wanna touch him?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“You sure?”

“Mat, if you bring that thing any closer to me I’m gonna punch you. Put it down!”

You saw the grin shit-eating grin on his face and rethought your words. Before you could clarify yourself, Mat was shrugging. “If you say so.” And the moment it was back in the sand, it was running towards you, and, though you tried to keep your composure in front of Mat, you couldn’t help but jump and squeal in fear. That had Mat bending over at the waist, cackling and wheezing at your reaction.

“Mat, shut up!” But the more flustered you got, the more he giggled.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’ll protect you from them!” And he pulled you into his side, his arm fitting perfectly around your waist, tucking you against him and holding you firm, his laughs vibrating through your body and making you smile once again.

“You’re a dick.” But the smile on your face said otherwise, and Mat knew.

“And you’re still scared of crabs.” He laughed again and poked your side, teasing, gentle. “Some things never change, huh?”

That’s true- you both knew it. Some things never change. Like how Mat still loved to tease and poke fun at you, after all these years. How he was still the one you fell on when you needed something. Or how he still wants nothing more than to help you and keep you safe. And you still had Mat wrapped around your finger.

But some things do change.

Standing here in Mat’s arms with his giggles washing over you, the moon rising above you over the ocean, you knew. Things had changed. You had grown, matured, and so had he. And so had your feelings.

You’re not just friends anymore.

#oooh yeah the slow burn #smile like sunshine #mat barzal #mathew barzal #op #nhl writing #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #fanfiction #imagine #fic

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bitterlikesweets · 3 years

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Love Bites Ch 19

This is the nineteenth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Special | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

It would be a stretch to say that Eren and his older brother ever got along well. Zeke hated him. He had since the day they met.

"Met." Because Eren didn't know Zeke existed until he was ten years old.

When Eren was a little kid, he didn't know anything. His parents were the epitome of being in love. Every time they were together, his father would shower his mother in kind words and affection. He always made her smile. He would even bring her gifts every time he came back from his monthly family reunions.

His dad never got Eren anything, but that was okay. As long as he got stuff for Eren’s mom. As long as his parents loved each other, Eren didn’t mind. That was enough. Because it made his mom smile. And Eren’s mom loved Eren no matter what. Eren loved her no matter what, too.

She loved Eren more than usual during his dad’s family reunions.

When Eren asked his father why he never brought Eren and his mother along, Grisha Jaeger just said it wasn't time yet.

They never really explained to Eren how it all happened. Why things with Grisha's first family didn't work out. Zeke just showed up one day, Grisha's hand on his shoulder as they stood in the doorway.

"Eren, this is your older brother. His mom's very busy, so he'll be staying with us over the weekend."

It took Eren awhile to wrap his head around it. How was it possible for Zeke to be Eren's brother but have a different mom? Why was Zeke not living with them?

Why did they look so different?

Eren's mom was very patient. She explained about falling in love. About falling out of it. And how sometimes people are left behind when that happens. She told Eren he could still believe in love. That sometimes it ends, but a new one could start in its place.

"I might not be his first love," his mother said, "but I am his favorite."

His favorite? Eren believed that for a little bit. But he always wondered why his dad kept going back to visit his first love if that was really the case. It wasn't to visit Zeke. Sometimes their dad would still go to see Zeke's mom, even if Zeke was staying with them, babysitting Eren.

"If it wasn't for you," Zeke always used to say, "he would still be with us. He would be my dad, not yours."

Why? Why was it Eren's fault?

When did his parents start arguing in the middle of the night?

Zeke started getting nicer to Eren eventually. When Eren was thirteen and Zeke was sixteen, Zeke started to be almost kind. Saying that it wasn't Eren's fault after all. They just needed time, and everything would work itself out.

Turns out, everything "working out" meant Grisha going back to his first love. Which meant Carla Jaeger was not his favorite, after all.

It made more sense to Eren that love just didn't exist. Romantic love was stupid and fake and wasn't real.

His mom finally agreed with him when Grisha moved out.

When Eren was fifteen, he saw his brother for the last time. He dropped Eren off at his house after school and told Eren he wasn't going to come back anymore. That Zeke no longer had to pretend they were really family.

Eren and his mother got the news a few months later. Somebody broke into the Jaeger household—the other Jaeger household—and now everyone in that other family was dead. The police told them it was a burglary.

That's what they said about Eren's mom too, in the official reports. A burglary; a mother dead, and a son injured, but otherwise fine.

Eren should've realized it then. A burglary with nothing stolen. A report he'd already heard once before. He should've recognized the similarities.

But he didn't connect the dots because things were different then, with his dad. When it happened to Eren and his mother, it wrecked him. It still wrecks him now. It didn't feel real at all. And now he misses her so, so much.

When Eren was fifteen, finding out that his father and older brother were gone for good, he doesn't remember feeling wrecked or sad or missing them.

He doesn't remember feeling anything at all.

Seven years later, knowing who killed them, Eren feels…

Eren feels exactly the same.

Maybe he's been a little monstrous since way back then.

~ ~ ~

Eren wakes up to moonlight, rain, and the smell of smoke. He blinks up at the unfamiliar gray ceiling, unconsciously fiddling with the fleece blanket loosely draped over his body. He's too big for it; it's pulled up to his chest and his ankles stick out the bottom. It's strange though; he remembers dropping onto the couch with nothing but his sweater as a makeshift blanket. The curtains too. He swears that he closed those last night, and hey—Eren can hear rain, so why is everything so dry outside?

Eren sits up slowly, his eyes scanning the room with narrowed eyes. There are a few more things different from how Eren remembers them. The wooden knives and stakes he remembers putting in front of Levi’s small closet are nowhere to be seen, and there’s a light on in the kitchen. The rain sounds seem to be coming from there too.

When Eren gets up to investigate, he finds Levi sitting at the kitchen counter, a mug in his hands as he stares blankly down at his steaming drink. There’s a candle in front of him, and a little speaker by the wall at the edge of the counter.

Eren knocks on the wall, and Levi looks up, his gray eyes brighter than before, a bit more alert.

“Good night,” Eren says with a nod.

The corners of Levi’s quirk up for a moment.

“Good night,” Levi says, moving his mug up to his lips.

“It looks like I turned you nocturnal,” Eren says, pulling up one of the tall chairs beside Levi’s.

The smell of smoke seems to be coming from the gray candle in front of Levi—its label says “Fireside”—and when a single tap of Levi’s finger against the speaker causes the rain to stop, all of Eren’s questions are answered.

...All of his more trivial questions, anyway.

“I should make a midnight shift at the Kitchen just for you as revenge,” Levi says.

“Hmm…” Eren drops his chin into his hand, stroking an imaginary beard with his fingers. “Doesn’t sound like too bad of a deal, honestly. How much do you pay?”

Levi scoffs instead of answering, and Eren smiles, moving his chair closer so that he can bump shoulders with Levi. Levi leans against him in response.

“Thanks,” Levi says quietly. “For yesterday.”

Eren’s smile softens, and he presses his face into Levi’s shoulder.

“Anytime.”

“I…” Levi clears his throat. “I was pretty out of it. If I had known that you—”

Levi clears his throat again.

“You didn’t have to sleep on the couch,” Levi says, his ears getting a pink tint. “If I had known you were staying over, I’d have told you so.”

Eren’s face burns. He’s immensely grateful that his head is tucked against the fabric of Levi’s shirt and out of sight.

“O-oh. I, uh—Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, f-for next time.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He’s leaning more heavily onto Eren, though his head is turned away. “Good.”

And then things are quiet for a moment. Eren absentmindedly shifts his face from Levi’s shoulder to Levi’s neck, a deep sort of relaxation pooling in his chest and shoulders when he does. Something about it sets him at ease, even despite the slight throb in his fangs that comes from his close proximity to Levi’s veins.

Though his bite scars do start to itch a bit. Again.

“Eren,” Levi says.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been… thinking about some of things you said yesterday.”

An image of his blond brother’s face flashes through Eren’s mind, and he stiffens. One of Levi’s hands immediately finds its way to Eren’s back, resting hesitantly there.

“We don’t have to talk about it though,” Levi says. “If you’re burnt out.”

“No,” Eren says quickly, raising his head out of the crook of Levi’s neck and pulling away slightly. “No, that’s, uh… We can talk about it.”

Should Eren tell him? He really doesn’t want to tell him. It’s probably hard enough on Levi with that family as strangers with no other connection to him. If he finds out that that man was Eren’s dad—that the Feral King is Eren’s brother—

“Alright,” Levi says, though he sends a confused frown Eren’s way. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will.”

It’s not like it changes much for Eren either way anyway. They’ve been dead for seven years already—he thought they all were anyway—and he was never angry at that anonymous killer. His mom was devastated, and that made him sad, but…

Shit, it’s fucked up that he didn’t care, isn’t it? He was fifteen, and on TV, people were always telling their parents to go die, so, at the time, he thought it was just one of those “hormonal teenager things” that every adult in his life was always going on about. It wasn’t like he was relieved or happy when they died! He was just… indifferent.

...Maybe he should’ve taken his mom’s offer when she told him she’d take him to see a therapist if he needed one.

“That thing you said,” Levi says, though Eren’s only half-listening, “about people changing. About how not everyone does. I think that… helped a lot. For a while, I didn’t think I…”

Eren tries to redirect his brain. It’s far too late to be over analyzing his teenage brain. He thought his dad and his brother were dicks, and he never knew Zeke’s mom, so he didn’t give a fuck when they died. Is that awful? Probably. But that’s not the thing Eren’s worried about right now.

Should he tell Levi? Now that he’s thinking about it, it might be worse to keep it from Levi. If they go and try to kill those vampires who turned Eren, they’ll probably run into Zeke. Zeke will probably recognize Eren, and springing that whole “yeah, this asshole is my brother” thing onto Levi in the middle of a life or death situation is a terrible fucking idea. So, Eren definitely has to tell him. Should he tell him right now? How is he even going to explain—

“...Eren.”

Eren blinks, green eyes wide as he looks over at Levi. Levi just sighs, setting his mug down on the counter.

“I told you we didn’t need to talk about it.”

“No, no,” Eren says quickly. “That’s my bad. I don’t mind talking about it. I just… Have a lot in my head right now.”

Levi’s expression softens a little, and he reaches up to rest his hand against Eren’s cheek, the tips of his fingers settling in his long brown hair.

“We’re a fucking mess,” Levi says.

Eren can’t hold back a laugh, covering Levi’s hand with his own.

“Good thing you like cleaning,” Eren teases, and Levi rolls his eyes.

A pale thumb gently sweeps back and forth across Eren’s cheek, and Eren leans into the touch, his mind clearing a bit. His thoughts are no longer quite so fast, so frantic. It’s a bit easier not to focus on them with Levi there as a physical distraction, pulling Eren out of his own head a bit.

“What’s in there?” Levi said, shifting his hand to knock his knuckles against the side of Eren’s head. “I’ll help clean it up.”

Eren’s smile wavers, his gaze lowering.

“It might make your own head messy again.”

“That’s fine.”

Eren takes a deep breath.

“Furlan… Yesterday, when I called him, he told me the name of the Feral King.”

Levi nods.

“Zeke.”

“Zeke Jaeger,” Eren says.

Levi frowns slightly but nods again.

“I’ve… never told you my full name,” Eren says. “It’s Eren Jaeger.”

Levi’s eyes grow wide, his hand falling away from Eren’s face, but Eren hurries to grab hold of that pale hand before it can fully retreat.

“Eren—”

“Just wait,” Eren says. “Please. Let me explain.”

Levi scowls, but he keeps his lips pressed shut, even as his hand fidgets in Eren’s grasp.

“He’s my brother,” Eren says. “My older brother.”

“But I—” Levi clutches his head with his free hand. “Your… your mother—”

“No,” Eren says quickly, leaning towards Levi. “No, Levi. Not my mom. Zeke’s my half brother. We only share a dad. My mom was killed by ferals, just like I’ve always said.”

“You—” Levi shakes his head. “You talked with Furlan—You’ve known this since yesterday—why are you still here?”

“Levi, that doesn’t change anything for me—”

“Why the fuck not?” Levi snaps, yanking his hand out of Eren’s grip. “Eren, I—I killed your family!”

“Levi, no—”

Eren tries to reach for Levi’s hands again, but Levi abruptly moves them out of reach, his chest heaving.

“Don’t.”

Levi tries to wipe off his hands, his black eyebrows pulled downward into a deep scowl. Eren clenches his hands into fists, struggling to get air into his lungs.

Levi’s angry—not at him. Eren has to fix this. Levi’s hands—where are the paper towels? If he turns away, will Levi run? Does Levi even want his help? He wants to touch Levi. Levi doesn’t want that. He needs to finish explaining. He doesn’t want to go into detail about that time. Zeke, his dad—they’re haunting him like unruly fucking ghosts. He didn’t want to make Levi spiral again—He feels fucking sick, like his stomach is boiling—

“I don’t get you,” Levi snaps. “Why—knowing what I did—did to you—why are you still here?”

“Because I love you—”

“Why? Why are you siding with me over them?”

“Because they never fucking did!” Eren exclaims. “Always—it was always only my mom, just my mom—my dad never—Zeke never—”

Eren’s eyes are burning. His throat aches. He hates this. He doesn’t want to yell at Levi. He’s not yelling because of Levi. It’s because of his fucking dad, because of Zeke, because of those bastards that he was finally able to not think about after all these years—

“Why would I choose them over you?” Eren’s hands are clenched into tight fists. He feels a sharp pain in his palms and ignores it. “They never loved me. You do.”

Eren looks over at Levi, who’s staring at him, practically frozen.

“...Don’t you?”

Levi’s mouth opens and closes without words for a moment before he manages two words in a quiet, hoarse voice.

“I do.”

Eren’s eyes are still burning, aching. When his eyesight blurs, he wipes at his wet eyes. Pale hands are retreating from him when his sight is clear again—Levi reached out to him but is already pulling back. Frustration burns in the pit of Eren’s chest, and he’s reaching out before he can think better of it.

“For fuck’s—I don’t care, Levi, just get it on me,” Eren snaps, grasping Levi’s hands and covering them with his own. “It’s not like it’s going to fuck me up even more—I’m already—”

Eren goes stiff when he catches a glimpse of Levi’s face. It’s flat, masked, emotionless. Whatever anger that was in him cools immediately, and Eren quickly releases Levi’s hands, internally cursing himself for his insensitive, stupid mistake. Has he learned nothing from everything that happened yesterday? This is it. He’s fucked up absolutely everything—

“You…”

Levi’s eyes are on Eren’s hands.

“You don’t make any sense,” Levi says.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“You really… don’t care?”

Eren winces, his gaze dropping to his lap.

“That’s not what I—it was a bad choice of words—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel about me?” Levi asks, his voice a little louder, more insistent.

“N-no,” Eren says. “It doesn’t.”

“Even though it’s your brother.”

“My brother’s a murderer.”

“So am I,” Levi says, shifting his gaze from Eren’s hands to Eren’s eyes.

“Yeah, and I will be too, soon,” Eren says. “But I love you and my brother runs a murder cult that lead to the death of my mom.”

Levi stays silent, and Eren bites his lip.

“...Does it change things for you?” Eren asks. “The fact that I’m not bothered by it?”

“No,” Levi says immediately. “I just… don’t… It’s hard to believe. For me.”

“That I don’t care about my brother?”

“That you love me,” Levi says. “Because when I did that, I… I still don’t… Trust myself.”

Eren’s shoulders lower slightly, his expression softening.

“Do you want me to prove it?”

Levi frowns.

“...Can you?”

Eren holds out his hand. Levi just continues frowning at him.

“What do you see?” Eren asks. “When you have to clean your hands off like that?”

Levi’s mouth opens and shuts once before he answers.

“Blood.”

Eren's breath stutters a bit. He'd been wondering about that...

Slowly, he reaches out to grab Levi’s hand again, pulling it closer until Levi has to lean forward. Eren keeps pulling until Levi’s hand is flat against his chest, right over where his dead heart lies beneath the surface.

“Levi,” Eren says, smiling slightly in spite of everything, “I’m a vampire.”

He slowly raises Levi’s hand higher, pressing his lips against Levi’s knuckles.

“It’ll take more than a little blood to scare me away.”

“That…”

Levi lets out a deep sigh, getting out of his seat.

“That’s the cheesiest fucking shit you could’ve said.”

Eren’s face grows hot at the unexpected insult, and he drops Levi’s hand, unable to make anything more than incoherent noises of offense in his current headspace. By the time Levi has stepped closer, all Eren can manage is—

“Wha—I’m out here trying to prove my love to you, and that’s what you—”

Eren is interrupted by Levi dropping his entire body onto Eren, and Eren wraps his arms around the man’s back to stop them both from falling off of the chair.

“Levi?”

“Sorry,” Levi says. “It’s… habit.”

“You need to work on that,” Eren grumbles, burying his face into Levi’s neck again, the action immediately setting himself at ease. “One of these days I’m seriously going to get offended.”

Levi nods, still leaning heavily on Eren and showing no sign of trying to hold up his own weight.

“I hope…” Levi says quietly. “...Nothing’s able to scare you away.”

Eren smiles, holding Levi tighter.

“Nothing will,” Eren says. “I promise.”

Not the blood on Levi's hands, not Eren's dad, not the Feral King. Nothing's going to scare Eren away. He's certain of that now.

Levi sighs, and Eren’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Is anything going to scare you away?”

Levi scoffs, pulling back just enough to look Eren in the eye.

“You’re going to wish something could.”

Eren grins, leaning in to press his lips against Levi’s.

“No, Levi, I don’t think I will.”

#ereri riren #ereri #riren #ereri fanfic #riren fanfic #fanfiction #sorry this is late i forgot which day of the week it was haha

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lgbtyrus · 4 years

Text

TJ’s Playlist (Final Ep Anniversary Bonus)

So it's been a year since I cried to the finale because tyrus was canon, and I wanted to travel back in time to some of the happiest memories I had because of this show. I had a thing in Macaroni's POV, but it was a little lame and didn't want to finish it so I went this route instead. It's also always bothered me that this story ended on 19 chapters, and I thought this was the perfect chance to even it out with a perfect 20. If you're reading this, I love you very much and thank you for coming back (or getting here for the first time). Goodbye to TJ's Playlist for real now <3

Ao3 Link | Wattpad Link

TJ ran down the hall, pushing by students who couldn’t get out of his way fast enough. It was the last day of middle school, and everyone was lingering behind to say goodbye to their friends who might go to a different high school. TJ had been doing the same before remembering he had promised Cyrus he would meet him up front.

Cyrus was standing with Buffy and Marty, laughing at something one of them said when TJ caught up. “Hi,” TJ told him, bending over to catch his breath. “Sorry I’m late. I forgot how fast time can go.”

“It’s fine.” Cyrus smiled. “I wasn’t going to leave without you.” Cyrus reached over to hold TJ’s hand, making him smile.

Buffy said to Cyrus with a grin, “So yard sale?” Cyrus’s neighborhood had a large yard sale once a year, and they chose the last day of school to do it. Cyrus’ parents invited all of them to take their things to sell.

“Yes! Come by with anything you want to get rid of,” Cyrus replied. “I’m so excited. It feels like a cleanse and the first step into high school.”

“Can’t wait,” Buffy said. “I’m going to stop by home first for my stuff, pick up Andi, and meet you guys there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cyrus said and gave her a thumbs up. They said bye to Marty and Buffy who walked off holding hands, leaving TJ with his boyfriend. Cyrus turned to look at him and asked, “So. Did you think about it?”

TJ bit at the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I did.”

“And?”

“I think I’m going to sell them.”

Cyrus jumped up. “Yes? Really?”

“Just the repeats!” TJ smiled, taking a step back to avoid getting stepped on.

“Yes, that’s amazing. That’s perfect. The people in the neighborhood are going to love you,” Cyrus said. “We’ll look up the value of every single one before we set them out.”

“Already did that. That’s actually the reason why I decided to sell them.”

“Are they worth a lot?”

“Not as much as the cameras would be, but it’s a decent amount of money to pay for basketball camp.” TJ and Cyrus started walking away from their now former middle school, not looking back.

“How long would you be gone for?” Cyrus asked him.

“Three weeks. We can handle that, right?” TJ asked him, squeezing his hand. The coach at Grant High School recommended he go to basketball camp to secure a spot on the varsity team the next year, but it was a little pricey even with both of his parents working at the time.

“Of course.” Cyrus squeezed his hands back, smiling at him. “Let’s go get your things.” After going through his GG’s stuff for the first time, TJ realized there was a lot of valuable items that included comic books and vinyls. He was letting go of all the comic books because he wasn’t interested in that, but he didn’t have the desire to let go of any music. There was more vinyl’s in the attic than he realized and even though he didn’t have a player, he wanted them for the day he did have one.

Cyrus was talking to TJ about his last day of dance and how he wasn’t looking forward to regular PE at all as they headed to the Kippen’s house. “I need to have PE with Buffy at all costs next year. If not, I’ll definitely get picked last for every team.”

“You’re already stressed out for PE next year?” TJ snickered. He knew Cyrus well enough at this point to know his fear of public humiliation in PE was insurmountable “You need to relax a little. It’s summer break.”

“I know, but I tend to plan every minute of my future and PE is an inevitable part of it.”

“Let’s make a deal. You put off thinking about PE until a month before school, and I’ll let you be there when I get my report card in the mail.” TJ liked to open his report card alone considering he has done really bad in math in the past, but Cyrus really wanted to see how much TJ had improved now that he had a proper tutor.

Cyrus hummed to himself before saying, “Deal. But only because I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see how well you did.”

“My C average does bring out my best smile.”

“All of your smiles are your best smiles.”

“You literally told me my dancing to old music is my best smile.”

“It’s a little biased because you dance with me.”

“It does make me smile when you slow dance with me,” TJ admitted to him. Cyrus smiled, blushing at the comment and making TJ’s heart skip a beat. There hadn’t been a single day where TJ doubted his feelings for him.

They got to the Kippen’s empty house, Macaroni the cat waiting in the yard. He was jumping after a grasshopper before he saw Cyrus and TJ come up. He ran to Cyrus and meowed, making him grin. “Hello, friend,” Cyrus said as he bent over to pick him up.

“Needy,” TJ muttered to Macaroni as he roughly petted his ears. Macaroni swatted at TJ who pulled his hand away on time.

Cyrus held Macaroni closer and said, “You have to be gentle with him. He’s old.”

“He’s okay,” TJ said, sticking his tongue out at the cat. He went to go unlock the door while Cyrus asked Macaroni about his day. The cat simply purred in his arms.

Inside, Cyrus put him down and followed TJ without asking upstairs to his room, little footprints tapping against the wood floors. Cyrus felt like the Kippen’s gothic house was his second home. It was Halloween themed according to his parents, but he liked the charm it gave off. TJ’s parents were younger than his after all and when the air was clear, it was fun to be there.

TJ had two boxes on the floor ready to go. “Can you take the vinyl one? It’s lighter,” TJ asked Cyrus as he picked up a box.

“For sure,” Cyrus said. He got the box and looked around the room that seemed to be more crowded as TJ dug out things from the attic. It made Cyrus smile every time TJ called him with a new discovery. A new photo album from the 70s. More polaroid photos he took of TJ and Amber when they were little. A random trinket TJ thought was cool. One time he didn’t find anything of his GG’s. He found a bunch of new t-shirts from his dad’s old band and a few CD’s TJ couldn’t stop laughing at for an hour. His dad was in makeup that really did make him look like a vampire.

Cyrus said goodbye to Macaroni who rubbed against his leg before walking out with TJ and walking down to his house. Around the block, people already had their yard sales open and people from all over Shadyside were visiting there. Even though TJ lived so close to him, his neighborhood seemed to be a completely different world from his. TJ didn’t know his next door neighbors, and he had just found out a month ago that Marty had lived across the street from him practically his entire life.

They got to Cyrus’ house where his parents had set out tables. Cyrus’ old toys and clothes were out and ready to go to new homes. He gave up most of his children’s books, but he kept a few favorites just in case he ever had kids to read them to one day. “You’re selling all your Pokemon cards?” TJ asked him as he set his box on an empty table.

“There will be someone who appreciates them more.” Cyrus then added, “They’re also fake.”

“Dollar store packets?” TJ smiled knowingly.

“Yes!” Cyrus laughed. “I always wondered why the ones at Kmart were more expensive and now I know why.”

“They were still fun to play with, though.”

“I honestly never learned how to play with them,” Cyrus admitted. “I just liked looking at them.”

“That’s me with my vinyl records right now,” TJ said. “I opened every single one of them because some had notes and receipts from GG. Some silly stuff like saying to pick up my grandma from school or just lists of other singers.” Cyrus stared at TJ as he set out the records, wondering if now was the time to give him what he just bought him. He wanted to hold out for his birthday but watching TJ talk about the vinyl’s made him realize how much listening to that music meant to him.

“There’s actually something I want to give you,” Cyrus said.

“Now?” TJ raised an eyebrow.

“Think of it as the first part of your birthday present.”

“First part? Of my birthday present? My birthday that’s in July?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” Cyrus nodded. “So, do you want it or not?”

“Can it be the only gift you give me?” TJ asked him.

“Of course not. The other thing is on its way already.”

“Oh god, Cyrus. You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Says the guy that gave me a present everyday of the week leading up to my birthday.” TJ smiled, Cyrus knowing that he finally got him to give in.

“Fine. Surprise me.”

Cyrus took TJ’s hand. “Come on! I can’t wait for you to see it.” Cyrus led TJ inside his house where they walked past his parents, TJ barely able to say a full hello to them. They went into his room where Cyrus let go of his hand and dug through his t-shirt drawer where he pulled out a wrapped present.

“You already wrapped it?” TJ asked, smiling as Cyrus handed him the box.

“Had to be ready just in case you ever found it.”

“You’re the one that snoops through my things, not me,” TJ reminded him.

“Just open in,” Cyrus said impatiently. TJ put the present on the bed and started ripping the wrapper. With a single tear down the middle, TJ knew what it was and gasped.

“Cyrus,” he whispered. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Really badly.” TJ finished unwrapping the green record player and held out the box in his hands, staring at it in awe. “Now you can listen to everything your GG left you.”

“Yeah,” TJ said with a smile. “I really can.” He put the box down and went over to face Cyrus. “Thank you so much.” TJ bent down and kissed him, both smiling into the kiss.

“You are very welcome.”

TJ held onto Cyrus’ hand and told him, “Let’s go play some music.”

#shoosh star #andi mack #tyrus #tjs playlist

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wordsandshawn · 4 years

Text

Before Now - chapter 19

In this chapter ... Shawn’s sick and on vocal rest and not supposed to be in Skylar’s hotel room.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.4k

Catch up on previous chapters here

Shawn starts stirring in the bed after only ten minutes. The movement catches my attention, and I watch him wake up slowly. He spots the candle first before looking around the room and noticing me. “Hey,” He mumbles, but his voice is raspy.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, watching him carefully.

“Shitty.” He responds, keeping his answer short.

“What hurts?” I ask, moving across the room to retrieve the cup of tea I had bought for him.

He points to his throat silently, and I realize that he’s probably not supposed to talk. I offer him the tea, and he takes it. He doesn’t ask what it is, and I don’t think it needs an explanation. He takes a sip, wincing a bit, and I guess it must hurt him to swallow.

“Are you on vocal rest?” I ask, and he just nods.

Shawn continues drinking the tea, and a few seconds of silence pass between us. I grab the other cup of tea and climb onto the bed next to Shawn. Pulling my knees to my chest, facing him as I take a sip of the tea. I have so many questions, but I feel like I can’t ask them because he’s not allowed to talk.

So instead of asking anything, I sit there in silence, sipping my tea as Shawn does the same on the other side of the bed. I have all the time to think since we can’t exactly talk. The most pressing question on my mind is why is he here? Why did he come to my hotel room, and why did he stay even when I wasn’t even here? I know that he didn’t want to talk to anyone, at least that’s what Zubin and Josiah made it seem like. And I know that no one was really supposed to be talking or communicating with him as evidenced by his missing name on the list of hotel room numbers, meaning that we weren’t even supposed to know what room he was staying in. I don’t think that anyone would have bothered him, but I guess Andrew didn’t want to even take that chance. Or maybe Shawn didn’t. I’m not sure and I can’t exactly ask. The questions inside keep bubbling to the surface, but I don’t ask them. Finally, after about a minute, I can’t take it any longer. I retrieve my phone from the chair and open up the notes app. I hand the phone to Shawn, and he looks at the empty note before looking up at me expectantly. I don’t have to explain for him to understand.

“Why’d you come here?” I ask the question I have been wondering about since I discovered him here in my hotel room instead of his.

He immediately stares down at the phone, but he doesn’t start typing right away. He looks exhausted instead of just sleepy all of a sudden. I almost take the question back, feeling like it wasn’t appropriate to ask and wondering if it sounded accusatory. But his fingers start moving before I can say anything else. He stops typing and pauses before finally turning the phone, so I can see what he wrote. I didn’t want to be alone. I read the words, absorbing them, and I can feel his gaze on me. He’s watching for my reaction.

I can feel the vulnerability in that sentence, and I know the feeling. It’s why I showed up at his hotel room in the middle of the night the last time we stayed at a hotel.

“I went out to get some things for you.” I say, suddenly remembering the bag with the teddy bear in it and using it as an excuse to change the subject. The teddy bear is a miniature version of one Shawn used to have when we were kids. It was his teddy bear, but he’d always let me cuddle with it whenever I was over. I loved that teddy bear, and he never let on that he cared about it, but he also kept that teddy bear even when he was “too old” to have any other stuffed animals.

Retrieving the tiny bear, I present it to him. He smiles a genuine smile, and I can’t ignore the way that seeing him like that made my heart jump in my chest. “I didn’t want you to be alone either.” I admit. “I tried to go to your room, but I didn’t know your room number.”

He nods, his way of responding since he can’t say anything. He takes the teddy bear, gently squeezing it in his hand and holding it close to his chest. The way he’s looking at me, I know he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s not supposed to talk, and typing isn’t an ideal way to have a conversation.

His eyes drop back to my phone, and he starts typing again. I wait patiently for him to finish and show me. Sorry I came. I know I shouldn’t have, but I can’t stop thinking about the canceled show, and how many people I disappointed, and I just couldn’t stay in my hotel room any longer.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came.” I respond, honestly. I know I’ve been telling Shawn to stay away from me and to keep everything professional, but deep in my heart, I never truly meant it. Ever since I joined Shawn on tour, he’s been reaching out, trying to help me, but I’ve been pushing him away. It’s easier for me to push away someone trying to help me, but he’s the one that needs me now, and I know that I won’t push him away.

“Shawn, you’re human. You get sick. It happens, and it isn’t your fault.” I try encouraging him, but the look on his face tells me that he doesn’t believe what I’m saying, so I try again. Even though he’s not saying anything, I can already guess that his thoughts are spiraling. He’s thinking of everything he should have done to avoid getting sick. He’s thinking that people are upset with him, and that he let people down. “Hey, Shawn. Listen to me.” I say firmly in an attempt to interrupt his thoughts. “That’s not important right now.”

I put my cup down on the nightstand before taking Shawn’s cup and my phone from him, placing both items on the nightstand as well. I blow out the candle, just in case.

He sits still, watching me as I move the pillows then lean against them before reaching out to him. He responds to my body language, lying down next to me, allowing me to wrap my arm around him. His side presses against mine. This is the most physical contact that we’ve had in a long time, but I try not to think about that. Despite being much taller than me, he fits in the space next to me perfectly. “Stop. Just try to stop thinking.” I say, keeping my voice low. “Rest, okay. That’s what you need right now.”

He nods, and I run my fingers through his curls, gently massaging his scalp in a way that used to make him relax and fall asleep almost instantly. I pray it still has the same effect on him. Despite the time that has passed since we were so close, he’s still so familiar to me.

“Ky?” He questions after a few minutes of silence. I thought he was falling asleep, but I guess not.

My fingers freeze, still lingering in his hair. “Shawn, you’re not supposed to talk,” I say with a sigh.

He scoots away from me just enough to prop himself up on his elbow so that he can see my face. “I’m sorry.” He says. But his tone doesn’t sound like he’s apologizing for accidentally talking when he shouldn’t have.

However, since I can’t think of anything else Shawn would be apologizing for in this moment, I just say, “Okay, go to sleep.” I move to make more room for him to lie back down, but he doesn’t.

“No, I have to say this now or I might not get the chance.” His voice is so raspy, and I’m scared he’s about to ruin it if he continues talking.

“Shawn, don’t.” I say, mostly worried about his voice since I have no idea what he’s trying to say. For as long as I’ve known Shawn, I’ve always known him to take himself and his career very seriously. I know he’s been on vocal rest at least a couple of times before, and during those times, I had never heard him utter a single word. His voice is his career, and he knows that.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you when we dated. I’m sorry for hurting you. I really wanted us to work out.” He admits, sounding so broken and sad.

“Shawn, that was a long time ago,” I respond.

“But we never talked about it. You rarely ever came home after that. And we never talked about us.” He whispers so forcefully it catches me off guard.

I honestly had no idea that Shawn even cared. I always just assumed he was too busy dating models and beautiful girls to even have any thoughts about us ending. Especially because there were so many pictures in the press of him with other girls after we were over.

“How about we talk about this later, yeah?” I suggest, knowing he’s still not feeling well and wanting him to rest. Shawn has always been very thoughtful, and he can get into his head sometimes, which is how I know that he will stay awake thinking and deliberating and replaying any moment in his head, unless I can get him to stop and just rest.

“You’ll talk to me?” He asks, and I realize that my attempt to keep myself safe from getting hurt again has been hurting Shawn this entire time.

“Yeah, S. When you’re feeling better, we’ll talk.” I respond, using my nickname for him. The one I haven’t used since we broke up. The expression on his face changes slightly and briefly, but I know that he noticed that I called him S, not Shawn. Just like how I notice every time he calls me Ky instead of Skylar.

Shawn nods and scoots closer to me, cuddling into my side again. I close my eyes, relaxing against him, and resume threading my fingers through his curls. After five more minutes, his breathing evens out, and I’m grateful he’s not stressed or upset, even if only for a little while as he sleeps. I refuse to move, not wanting to risk waking him, so after a while of staring at the ceiling and trying to sort through what happened today, I finally fall asleep too.

I wake up to an incessant buzzing sound. It’s coming from somewhere on the bed, although I don’t know where. The hotel room is nearly dark, signaling that the sun has set outside. Shawn is still asleep next to me. I decide that whoever is on the other side of the phone can wait because Shawn looks so peaceful.

I’m trying to fall back asleep when I hear the buzzing again. When the phone starts buzzing a third time, I finally move to search for it. Shawn starts waking up as soon as I move away from him, but I continue on the search under pillows and blankets for Shawn’s incessantly buzzing phone. When I finally locate it, Shawn’s completely awake and looking around confused, although he doesn’t say anything. I see that Andrew’s name is lighting up the screen, and I offer it to him, “Andrew is calling.”

He takes it from me but doesn’t attempt to answer and it goes to voicemail.

“Aren’t you going to text him?” I ask before adding, “He called like three times.”

Shawn just shakes his head, sitting up only to wrap and arm around me, pulling me back down next to him.

“Shawn, what are you doing?” I ask, now lying beside him.

He doesn’t speak, just pulls me closer, resting his chin against the top of my head. As much as I know I should figure out what Andrew wanted or at least let him know that Shawn’s okay, the feeling of his arms around me feels too comforting for me to give up right now.

I don’t say anything else, and Shawn falls asleep again ten minutes later. After waiting for a while to make sure he’s sleeping deeply, I carefully maneuver out of his arms. This time, I make it without waking him, and I sigh in relief. Retrieving my phone off the night stand, I open my messages and create a text to Andrew. Just thought you should know Shawn’s okay. He’s sleeping in my hotel room.

Andrew replies within seconds. Have him text me when he wakes up. I let Andrew know that I will and then grab my phone, wallet and room key before venturing off to a café I remember seeing earlier today. Shawn has been only sleeping in short bursts, so I want to grab some food before he wakes again.

He’s awake and on his phone when I enter the hotel room with the bag of food. When he sees me, he sits up.

“Hey, I bought dinner.” I say, holding up the bag of food as an explanation for why I left while he was asleep.

“I got you chicken soup. It probably won’t be as good as your moms, but it’s the best I could do.” I say with a shrug, pulling the bowl out and handing it to Shawn. He’s typing on his phone, but then he looks up and grabs the food as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Shawn: Thank you.

“You’re welcome.” I say, handing him a spoon. He barely eats half of his soup before pushing it away and lying back down on the bed. Even though he slept most of the afternoon away, I can tell he clearly still doesn’t feel well.

I’m eating my sandwich in silence when a loud knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I slide off the bed and pad over to the door, sandwich still in hand.

“What’s going on here?” Andrew asks, his voice sharp and accusatory, and I can’t help but shrink back.

“Nothing,” I try answering.

“Shawn was supposed to meet with his doctor two hours ago, but we couldn’t find him. He waited around a while, but he had to go. He’s finally on his way back now to check on Shawn.” Andrew says.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t – I didn’t know.” I respond. I knew that Andrew never really liked me, but he’s never been so openly angry at me.

“It’s not her fault.” Shawn speaks up from behind me.

“You aren’t supposed to be talking.” Andrew responds, his finger pointed at Shawn. “Skylar, please go wait outside.” Andrew says, and Shawn shakes his head no, and reaches for my arm, but Andrew is standing between us now. I don’t want to risk arguing or making anything worse, so I step outside, and sit down in the hallway.

I can only hear the sound of Andrew’s voice, although I can’t make out what he’s saying. I know Shawn isn’t even supposed to be talking, so I’m pretty sure the conversation is one sided. After a few minutes, a guy who’s clearly a doctor comes walking down the hotel hallway toward me. He stops at the door, glancing down at me, “Hello.” He says, before knocking.

“Hi.” I whisper back as the door opens.

“Hi Dr. Diaz, come in.” Andrew says, sounding friendly, a huge contrast from how he spoke to us not long ago. “Again, I’m so sorry about earlier, but thank you for coming back.” I hear him say before the door closes behind them, leaving me alone in the hallway again.

I stare at my hands, wondering just how bad this is going to be. I know that Andrew has the power to fire me. I know that he didn’t want to hire me in the first place, but I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.

The door opens again, jerking me from my thoughts, and Andrew steps out. He leaves the door open a tiny bit so that we don’t get locked out, and he pulls out a hotel key card. “Here is the key to Shawn’s hotel room. It’s room 1538. You’ll stay there tonight.” I must look confused, because he says. “Shawn needs rest, not a distraction.” I swallow hard to keep my emotions at bay.

Standing up, I finally say, “I need to get my stuff.”

“Do it quickly. You have two minutes.” He responds, his face practically expressionless.

I nod, and he opens the door, letting me slip inside. When I walk inside, Shawn’s eyes are closed, and the doctor is basically looking down his throat. I gather the things I need in less than a minute. I want to say goodbye to Shawn, but he still hasn’t opened his eyes and I don’t want to get yelled at by Andrew, so I just slip out.

I make my way up to Shawn’s room and enter using the key card that Andrew gave me. Shawn’s backpack is on the floor, the only sign that Shawn was ever here at all. The bed is still perfectly made and everything else it the room seems untouched.

By now it’s nearly nine at night, so I pull out my laptop to get some editing done, but I’m too distracted by my thoughts to make much progress. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Shawn. Where did you go?

Andrew told me to stay in your room tonight. I type the response and then hit send.

Another message comes in less than thirty seconds later 😔Come back

I can’t. Andrew said you need rest. I respond, before turning my attention back to my screen. I check my phone a few minutes later, but there’s no response from Shawn. I realize he’s probably not going to respond, and it’s best if he just goes to sleep. Suddenly, I hear a knock at my door. My first thought is that it’s probably Andrew coming to yell at me or something, but I also wonder if maybe it’s Shawn. I push that thought away as I walk toward the door, knowing he’s sick, so he’s probably not leaving my room.

When I look through the peephole, I see a very tired, slightly grumpy looking Shawn standing there. I pull open the door, not bothering to hide my relief over the fact that he’s not Andrew trying to yell at me.

“What are you doing here?” I question, but Shawn just enters the room instead of responding. “You’re not supposed to be here.” I say, stating the obvious, but again, Shawn doesn’t reply, and I can’t exactly get angry at him, knowing that he’s on vocal rest, and truthfully, he looks so cute, and I wanted to see him more than I even realized before he showed up.

He simply grabs his toothbrush from his backpack and disappears into the bathroom. I sit back down and continue working. Shawn still doesn’t say anything when he returns from the bathroom, and a part of me knows that I should probably go back to my room, leaving Shawn here to rest alone, but I don’t leave because the truth is I don’t want to.

When he comes back into the room, he walks over to me, gazing over my shoulder at the video I’m editing. “I thought maybe you could post something since you’re weren’t able to play the show tonight.” I explain.

He nods his approval, but then picks up my laptop and moves it to the bed, before returning and taking my hand, gently pulling me toward the bed too. I don’t argue, standing up and following him to the bed. I sit down, pulling my laptop onto my lap as Shawn curls up beside me, falling asleep almost immediately. I finish editing, sending the video to Andrew, before letting myself go to bed as well.

Just one more chapter until this series is officially completed! Please let me know your thoughts and feedback. I always appreciate reading comments!

Chapter 20

#Before Now #Shawn Mendes x OC #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes #Shawn Mendes

31 notes · View notes

theolddarkmachine · 3 years

Text

Imaginary - Chapter Eighteen

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Chapter 18 of 19

Also on AO3

A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Since posting the last chapter of this, I interviewed for a new job. Got that new job. Had to deal with all the fun stuff that comes with leaving your old job. And have been dealing with the huge change that came with starting a new job lol

So, it's been a bit of a trainwreck tryna figure out a schedule.Good news though, I went ahead and just knocked out the last chapter and epilogue since 1) I'm scared of making y'all wait hella long for the epilogue and 2) the epilogue was not long at all. which would honestly have made waiting suck lol

Anyway, WELCOME TO THE ENDING OF THIS FIC! THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING ON THIS RIDE WITH ME! <333333

**************

The park is beautiful, Izuku thinks, as he watches Eri skipping happily ahead of him holding a fuzzy stuffed fish haphazardly in one hand.

After making his grand declaration that they were going to go out, he had found himself a bit at odds with what exactly they were going to do out. Which was how they had found themselves parked in front of the aquarium before deciding to cap things off at the botanical garden.

Which is how he finds himself thinking about how beautiful the park is.

It truly is, and yet, he can’t help but feel like something is missing.

Like someone is missing.

And there it is. The aching void at the center of his chest, rearing its ugly head yet again to taunt him.

To remind him that while their little family was more than enough, he also could have had just a little something more. Had, in fact, had something more before it had slipped cruelly through his fingers right after the realization.

It made him feel selfish in his desire, which only made his chest ache worse.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is colored bright with her curiosity, pulling him back from his thoughts as he finds himself stopped several feet from his daughter. The same brightness colors her gaze as she looks up at him, her head cocked just to the side as if to further punctuate her questioning tone. Izuku gives his head a small shake to dislodge the feeling.

It doesn’t go anywhere, but it was worth a shot, he supposes.

“Yeah?” He asks, trying to bite back the defeat that threatens to turn his voice bitter as he looks down at her.

“You’re happy, right?” She asks. It’s an innocent enough question, filled with a childish naïveté that Izuku misses, and it hurts. It hurts because, well, that was the question, wasn’t it.

“Of course I am, Eri,” he answers immediately, because he is. In the beginning of it all, he hadn’t been sure he really could be. Had wondered if the decision he had made to become a single father to a young girl who had lost everything had been the right one, for either of them.

It had been though, that he was certain. Izuku wouldn’t change that decision for anything in the world.

And yet that acrid, burnt taste of his bitter selfish want was still tainting the edges of that happiness.

“Of course I am,” he repeats, voice softening as he knelt down to her height. Gently reaching out, he brushes his palms over her shoulders before softly squeezing her arms in what he hopes is reassurance.

“Why do you ask?”

Eri shifts her gaze down to the ground where she twists the toe of her bright pink Chucks into the grass.

“I just thought you might be missing Kacchan,” she says earnestly, her voice wobbling slightly at the admission. Izuku huffs a small sound of surprise, if only to mask the way he winces at the sudden flare of pain that dances along his sternum.

He releases his hold on her right arm to lightly tap her chin upward, lifting her gaze back up to him.

“I’m happy, Eri,” Izuku says before shifting his gaze back and forth around them as if to make sure no one was within earshot.

“But can I tell you a secret?” He continues, voice lowered conspiratorially. Eri’s eyes go wide at the question, her gaze shifting around them before she looks back at him and nods quickly. It takes everything in him to swallow down his laughter as he leans in closer.

“I do miss Kacchan,” he whispers. The confession leaves him easily, taking with it the most infinitesimal weight, and yet he already feels as if he can breathe easier.

“I guess I can do both,” Izuku continues as he ruffles her hair and pulls way. “But I’m more happy than anything. How could I not be when I have you?”

A comfortable quiet fills the space between them for the briefest of moments before Eri’s mouth twists upward into a wide smile.

“I’m happy too, because I have Daddy Izuku!” She exclaims as she launches herself at him and wraps her arms tight around his neck. Heat burns at his eyes as he wraps his own around her middle, holding her close. Another chunk of weight, larger this time, falls from his chest and is replaced by the full warmth of his love for Eri.

This is enough, he thinks as he squeezes her just a little tighter. It always will be.

“You’re squishing me, Daddy Izuku!” She laughs as she tries to tug backward out of his hold. It pushes another laugh from deep within his chest as he turns his head to blow a raspberry on her cheek.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you go. I just have to give you as many hugs as I can before you don’t want them anymore,” Izuku says before ruffling her hair again.

Eri scoffs as she shakes her head, fixing him with a look of indignation.

“I won’t ever stop wanting hugs,” she huffed as if the very thought was preposterous.

“Okay, I’ll remember that when you’re in middle school,” Izuku says, more to himself than to Eri, as the young girl turns her attention back toward the direction they had originally been heading in.

“Can we go see the butterflies now?” She asks excitedly, any remaining ire falling away in the face of the fluttering insects.

Laughing quietly, Izuku just nods as he pushes himself upward to stand.

“Of course we can. Lead the way,” he gestures forward before pressing his hands deep into his pockets.

A high pitched sound of happiness tears from Eri as she turns around and starts skipping toward the glittering dome of glass situated on the other side of the park.

Standing there, he watches the way she bounds across the grass with the sun tangling itself in her hair. It radiates off her in the very same way as her happiness and he can’t help but smile.

At least, not until he notices that she’s headed straight on a crash course with a power unsuspecting bystander.

Stepping forward, Izuku opens his mouth to call to her, only to feel her name catch in his throat as he hears her cry out a name.

“Kacchan!”

Time seems to slow, almost stopping entirely as Izuku sees the man Eri was about to crash into turn around.

It’s him, he thinks as his mind clumsily trips over itself at the realization. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

Katsuki.

And he looks the same and yet wholly different as Izuku watches the way his face eases into something like pure joy as he looks down at Eri. From this distance, he can’t hear what Bakugou says, but he can see his mouth move as he speaks quickly to Eri. It’s as unassuming as anything, and yet something about the ease in which Bakugou has as he talks with her, as if he hadn’t disappeared on them for a month, breaks the spell that held Izuku frozen in his tracks.

Time falls back around him with the suddenness of a car crash as he pushes himself across the distant between himself and the pair, catching up just in time to hear Eri squeal as she jumps up to hug Bakugou.

An aching, burning anger lights his veins as he watches Bakugou return the hug, his face turned into Eri’s hair before pulling away and standing to look at him.

The seconds pass all too quickly and yet all too slow until Bakugou finally speaks.

“Hey, nerd,” he says slowly, unsure, and that’s all it takes to break down the only resistance between Izuku and his roiling, burning rage.

Stepping forward, he reaches out and grabs a fistful of Bakugou’s shirt.

He’s so fucking angry, but also so fucking happy. Painfully so, in fact, as he pulls Bakugou in close. Izuku’s teeth pull back from his teeth in a sharp snarl as he hisses, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

This close, he doesn’t miss the way Bakugou’s eye widen, leaving his own vision filled with their startling scarlet as he fixes Izuku with his silent, open wonder.

“No, you know what,” Izuku says harshly, cutting off any chance Bakugou may have had to answer. “I don’t care. Fuck you.”

The words push through his lips with a hissing contempt, each one biting into his own skin in the very way that he hopes they’re biting into Bakugou’s. Pausing to search the blonde’s stare for any hurt or shame, he bristles as he’s met with the same brazen awe.

As if he’s seeing something beautiful. As if he’s finally found what he’s been looking for.

That damned look sparks something bright and wanting within him, and it only pushes him further toward anger as he jerks Bakugou just that much closer.

“Actually, no. I do care. Because what the fuck, Katsuki? I said I-” Izuku stops, his next words falling away like ash and coating the back of his tongue with their dry taste.

Swallowing around the lump they’ve created, he pushes on, ignoring the way his voice wobbles around its edges.

“You just left. And then I have to find out that somehow, impossibly, you were Eri’s imaginary friend? And what? You thought we should just have to deal with that?”

“It was the job,” Bakugou finally says, and god, had Izuku’s memory not done his voice justice at all. It rolls over him, like thunder, cascading through him and cracking the hardened weight clinging to the center of his chest with the bright flare of hope at the past tense that he uses.

Pushing the optimistic feeling down, Izuku holds onto the vestiges of his anger as his knuckles ache with the tension in them.

“I don’t care what ever the fuck it was. A job, a game, whatever it was that wasn’t what it was to us.”

He pauses, breathing in, then breathing out before he continues, his voice lowered as he flicks his gaze down just long enough for his confession to drop between them.

“That wasn’t what it was to me.”

Glaring a hole into the center of Bakugou’s chest, he breathes again, counting each inhale and exhale before he slowly shifts his attention back up to the blonde’s face. Astonishment still colors Bakugou’s stare, his expression still schooled in a look of softened disbelief. It stays there, frozen, as if he isn’t sure what to say.

As if he can’t say anything at all.

“Tell Daddy Izuku what you told me!” Eri says, her voice shattering whatever spell had come over Izuku as all the sounds of the park around them come rushing back into his ears. His grip on Bakugou’s shirt loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t shift away from him.

He can’t.

“About how the brat after you was nowhere near as cool?” Bakugou asks, words nothing but hard, rough edges as he replies to Eri without shifting his attention from Izuku.

Giggling loudly, Eri softly kicks at Bakugou’s shoe.

“No, silly. The other part!”

Deflating slightly, Bakugou continues to hold Izuku’s stare.

“Oh, that part,” he says lowly. So low that Izuku suspects he would have missed it if he wasn’t so close. Gritting his teeth, he swears he hears his jaw creak.

“Spit it out, Bakugou,” Izuku pushes out.

The order earns him a quick, sharp tsk as Bakugou cuts his gaze down toward the ground between them.

“I was wondering if maybe I could stick around for awhile,” he mutters, his bangs falling across his eyes, shading most of his face as he keeps his stare turned downward. It does nothing to stop Izuku from catching the flush of pink that runs itself across his skin and over his ears.

His gasp punctuates the short quiet as Izuku pushes back every so slightly from him, but still not letting go of his shirt.

“Ya see, I’m a bit unemployed at the moment,” Bakugou continunes, “and a lot more visible.”

Shifting his attention again, Bakugou drags his stare behind Izuku’s shoulder, as if to stress that latter fact. Quickly, he raises his hand in a placating gesture toward what Izuku can only assume are some bystanders they’ve undoubtedly attracted.

That alone makes Izuku’s stomach roil.

Disbelief, and happiness, and anger, and exhausted content mix themselves at his core until they fizzle and crack like popping candy. He feels the way all the emotions creep up his chest and tickle the back of his throat as he tries to push back the burn at the edges of his eyes.

He’s so, so angry.

But god, is he so fucking happy too.

“Well, nerd?” Bakugou speaks up, the question colored with a hopefulness that seems foreign for him.

Rearing back slightly, Izuku watches the way Bakugou’s eyes widen as he snaps his head forward. It isn’t until the very last moment that he slows his momentum, softening the blow so that their foreheads tap together gently.

“You aren’t allowed to disappear anymore,” Izuku mumbles as he presses gently against him. The soft brush of Bakugou’s relived sigh tickles across the bridge of his nose.

“As long as you both want me, I won’t be going anywhere,” he assures with a low chuckle that Izuku feels vibrate through both of their chests. Dragging a slow breath through his nose, he can’t stop the high curl of his lips as he pushes up onto his toes to capture Bakugou’s own.

The kiss burns through him, colored by the sun that continues to dip down into the horizon. It fills him, and chases away the lingering ache just over his heart as he feels the way Bakugou presses closer into him.

It’s a good kiss, one filled with a honey colored promise.

“Daddy Izuku!” Eri cries, her sudden exclamation cutting quickly through their haze and finally pushing them apart.

“Stop hogging Kacchan!” She continues, mouth turned into a pout as she reaches a hand out to Bakugou. His laugh as barking as he steps back from Izuku’s hold.

“We’re going to see the butterflies! C’mon!” She says, stretching her hand out closer to Bakugou, impatience thrumming vibrantly through her small form as she waits for him to take it. Izuku doesn’t miss the way his gaze slides between him and Eri, or the way his lips twisted slightly upward at their edges in a small, secretive smile before he takes her hand.

“Alright, shortstack. Lead the way!” Bakugou says loudly, barely finishing his sentence before Eri takes off with him in tow. Her voice lingers behind them as she begins to fill him in on what he’s missed.

Watching as they move toward the butterfly enclosure, Izuku lets his mouth part around his own bright laughter before he follows behind them.

**********

#midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #bkdk #technically the last chapter! WOO! epilogue to follow in like 3.5 seconds lol

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