Some life updates! In the 2 and a half months I was gone, I went through and graduated Navy boot camp. Most recently, I started school for my job and turned 19 finally lol. Things are hectic but they’re going good.
I’m hoping to get back to writing but for now, having just moved all the way across the country and starting my long ass A-school, I’ll prolly take a hot sec to get back into the swing of things. As always, requests are open.
Motivate me into writing something, or even, if you want, you can ask me questions about my experience so far but fair warning, I’m still just a brand new sailor so I don’t know a whole lot lol.
Hello my loves!! Starting today, I’m going on a hiatus for two and a half months. I will be coming back and I am still happily accepting requests, they will just be answered once my hiatus is over!
To emphasize, I would be overjoyed to have some requests in my inbox when I come back— give me some ideas on what to write! Most especially if it’s about the marauders lol
Love you guys, I will see you all again when I’m back xx
Note: no Voldemort au so you’re besties with the skittles :)
Summary: James quickly realizes his feelings for you— shortly after you’re struck directly in the head with a bludger.
Warnings: Barty beats someone up, mild swearing, corny “hurt her and you die,” line lol
Word count: 2914
Were it any other chaser from any other team, James would have been jumping for joy that a bludger he’d dodged had flew straight past him, nailing an offending chaser right in the head and leaving a rival quidditch team down one player. Hell, it was Slytherin who was down one, bloody Slytherin! But James couldn’t bring himself to be happy, not when that ‘offending chaser’ was none other than poor, sweet you.
You and James met at precisely six o’clock in the morning on the first day of your sixth year, you just tried out and made the Slytherin team after finally succumbing to years of your friends begging you to join and put your flying skills to good use. Despite your initial hesitance towards the sport, you were on the team now, and with your overachieving nature, you had no choice but to practice hard and impress at your first game.
James was on the pitch at that time because he always was. No one else came at six in the morning, so he had the entire arena to himself to practice flying and shooting the quaffle. That was, of course, until the day you came along.
He’d groaned internally when he spotted a green robe in the sky, the last thing he wanted was to have to fight with a Slytherin over the use of the quidditch pitch when all he wanted to do was practice. He mounted his broom and flew towards the figure.
“Hey!” He yelled, startling you. You turned around with a shocked face but smiled once you realized it was just another student come to practice. “How long are you planning on using the pitch?” He asked, a little off-put by the smile you still had on your face despite his red and gold garb.
“I’m planning on staying till lunch, but there’s an extra quaffle down there so we can share the pitch if you’re up for it!”
James had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. You were so nice. What about house rivalry? What happened to the sentiment that all Slytherins were evil?
Maybe you just wanted to watch him practice to steal Gryffindor strategies. Yeah, that was it. No other possible way, Slytherin found out that James Potter practices early and sent out pretty little you to gather information. They had to have known a girl with a face as sweet as yours and an attitude to match was his ultimate weakness.
Regardless, he came out here to practice. He flew down to where you had pointed, where there was, in fact, an extra quaffle. Slytherin had prepared well.
He supposed pace would need to be the main focus of his practice today, you couldn’t watch his strategies if he was moving too fast for you to see. So he whizzed around on his broomstick, shooting goal after goal, curiously looking over his shoulder every once in a while. To his surprise, your focus remained on your own goal post. He sat mesmerized, watching you rehearse.
You weren’t bad, having a talent for the sport that James could tell was natural. You were new, that was clear, not just because James hadn’t seen you on the Slytherin team before, but also because of your lack of confidence. You were hesitating, and if you could just get past that barrier, he knew you would do great.
Screw it. What’s the harm in helping your rival team? If they’re not any good then there’s no glory in beating them at all.
Before he knew it, James found himself flying towards you, stopping a short distance behind you.
“What’s your name?” He asked, half expecting you to startle, as you had before.
You turned your broom gracefully this time, “I’m y/n l/n, you?”
“James Potter. You’re new to the team?”
“You could tell?” Your shoulders sunk, a frustrated pout made its way to your lips.
James' heart dropped, he hadn’t meant to call you out, “no, no it’s not like that. It’s just, well I’m Gryffindor’s captain so I know everyone on every team and I haven’t seen you before.”
You half believed him, still feeling a little insecure but nodding regardless, “yeah, I uhm, haven’t played since I was a kid but I like flying so my friends kinda peer pressured me into joining. I’m trying really hard not to let them down.”
James scoffed, “from what I’ve seen, I doubt you could let them down. But I could give you a pointer or two if you’d like.”
“Would you?”
He nodded in response and you smiled wide.
So began James Potter’s mentorship over you. He’d helped you and even practiced alongside you most mornings. The day of your first game, James was in the stands cheering you on. He had never watched a school quidditch game from the stands, but he found himself giddy watching you absolutely destroy Ravenclaw.
For the first time in his life, he cheered for Slytherin at every game— save for his own against you. Even those, he found, were rather enjoyable because the conclusion he’d originally come to was right, having a harder opponent is much more fun. The stakes were higher and James loved a good thrill.
He loved this arrangement, and he was having so much fun playing against you. Right up until the moment he dodged that stupid bloody bludger that Avery sent hurtling towards him, the lack of interruption leaving it right in the course of your head.
The crack of the ball hitting your head followed by the thud of you falling to the ground was deafening. He sprung into action instantly, shooting towards you and assessing your injuries. You were still half conscious, blinking up at him in pain.
“James?” You asked, voice strained.
“I’m here, love, I’m here. Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment to fix you up.” He held your hand, knowing how badly your head must hurt from taking one of Avery’s notoriously hard bludgers and then free falling from high enough in the sky that muggle medicine likely couldn’t fix the damage to. The whole school was lucky they weren’t resigned to muggle medicine, for Madame Pomfrey’s skills surpassed them leaps and bounds. “Squeeze my hand.”
And you did, a weak grasp that felt so strong to you. James panicked as it loosened even more and your eyes fluttered shut. Madame Pomfrey and some other professors came around with a stretcher, taking you away and leaving James pale in the face. That was the last he had seen of you in a while.
James had tried, on numerous occasions, to visit you in the infirmary with flowers, but he soon found out that your bubbly personality had earned you many friends— many overprotective and scary friends, to specify. Each time he was met with a different one of your Slytherin friends guarding the door as though you had an army of enemies on their way to get you. More realistically, they kept the noise in the hallway down. Protecting you not from armies, but from boisterous students whose loud noise would only worsen your ongoing headaches.
Many first years found out first hand how dedicated they were to protecting the peace, being hexed green after multiple warnings to quiet down. James couldn’t blame them, of course, he would likely do the same were you his to claim, alas, he’d yet to confess his recently realized love for you.
This meant that to your friends, he was nothing more than a threat to the silence you needed. So every time he visited, he was immediately shot down and threatened until he would eventually leave.
He thought he would outsmart your friends, sneak to the infirmary well after visiting hours, hidden under his invisibility cloak. Still, your prefect friend Evan Rosier was sat up against the door, asleep but propped up in a way that anyone entering the room would have to wake him before doing so. Dejected, James turned around and marched back to his dorm room.
The next evening as Remus and Lily rested on the common room couch, quietly reading next to one another whilst Peter laid on the floor, James barged into the common room and disrupted their peace.
James’ eyes met Remus’s and he instantly set his course toward the brunette, stepping over their other friend in the process. “Where is Sirius?” He demanded.
Remus scoffed, “what, no hello? How are you?”
“Or an ‘excuse me Wormtail’?” Peter chimed in.
James shook his head, “no, there’s no time, where is Sirius?”
Remus saw no point in arguing, sighing, “I believe he’s upstairs, combing his hair 152 times on either side.”
James had darted away the moment Remus said Sirius was upstairs, missing the joke and making Remus sigh once more.
“I thought the joke was funny.” Peter comforted.
“Thanks Wormy.”
Much akin to his grand entrance in the common room, James slammed the door to their dorm open. “Padfoot!” He exclaimed.
Sirius, who was seated on the floor— in fact brushing his hair— smiled and turned to his curly headed friend, “what is it you need my dear Prongsy?”
James only met his enthusiasm with desperation. He fell to his knees and placed his palms on either of Sirius’s shoulders, “Regulus is guarding the infirmary right now, you have to convince him to let me in.”
Sirius tried to talk but James cut him off, “Please, mate, I really need to see her and this is my one chance seeing as your brother is guarding her rather than the usual blokes who don’t care at all about my rapport with y/n. We could actually convince him! And before you say no, I’m prepared to do all your charms homework for the next two weeks, just do this one thing for me please, I beg.”
Sirius cracked a grin as James shook his shoulders, “I was going to say yes from the moment you asked, but now that I know there’s charms homework involved, I’ll hold you to it.”
James matched his expression, springing to his feet, pulling Sirius with him. “Alright, I have no idea how long he’ll be the one there so we have to hurry.”
Sirius nodded and they scurried down past the common room, through the portrait hole, and down the halls towards the infirmary.
They stopped at the turn to the infirmary, peeking around the corner to scope it out. Regulus was still there, conjuring silent illusions of rabbits hopping down the hall to fight his readily apparent boredom.
Sirius turned to James, “alright, here’s what’s going to happen: I don’t know for sure if I can convince good ol’ Reggie to let you in, but I do know that I can distract him, so while I do that, you’re going to conjure up some flowers, and when the coast looks clear you are going to rush on in there and you are going to charm the socks off this girl with your devilishly good looks and amazing personality and then you will ask her to be your girlfriend like you’ve always wanted. Got that?”
James nodded solemnly, so Sirius turned and walked casually over to his little brother. The last thing James heard was a “hello sweet, sweet brother of mine” before he focused on getting himself ready.
He conjured some flowers as Sirius had suggested; daisies, he remembered to be your favorite. As the sound of Sirius and Regulus faded down the hall, James took it as his chance to make his break towards you.
Even in the dimmed infirmary, dazed and sore, in a concussed state, you still managed to make James Potter stumble. He forgot where he was and what he was doing the moment your beautiful eyes met his.
“James?” You called out, breaking the boy out of his trance.
“Oh, yes. Hi.” He smiled and waved.
You smiled back, glancing at the flowers in his hands. The action reminded him very suddenly of the task at hand. He rushed to your bedside and held them out toward you, “these are for you.”
You took them, leaning down and smelling the sweet scent. “Thank you, daisies are-”
“Your favorite,” James interjected, “I remember, I knew I couldn’t give you any less than the best since you’re in here because of me.”
You scoffed, “you didn’t put me here.”
He shook his head, “had I not dodged that bludger, you would be fine.”
“I’d say that I don’t blame you but I know you’d just think I was being nice so let me explain it like this: if anyone believed that it was your fault I got hurt, Barty would’ve beaten the shit out of you instead of Avery.”
James’ eyes widened, “that’s what happened to him? Bloody hell, I thought a stray badger had wandered into the castle and attacked him the way he looks.”
“That bad?” You asked, “I only saw Barty’s bloody knuckles from the aftermath, now I’m not so sure that was entirely his blood.”
The two of you laughed softly, smiling when you caught each other’s eyes.
“The flowers aren’t the only reason I’m in here, though.” James said, brushing some hair out of your face.
“Oh?” You prompted him to continue.
He’s clear with his words, “I’ve had this thing for you for a while now, I just haven’t known it. I suppose watching you get hurt like that made me come to that realization, and now that I know, I can’t stand the idea that you don’t know so I guess this is me confessing.”
“You’re into me?” You asked.
James nodded.
Your lips quirked up into a large grin, “holy shit, I should get hit in the head more often this is the best news,” you quietly exclaimed.
James’ expression mirrored your own, “so you feel the same?”
You nodded.
“Well, then I’d like to take you out. And to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me.”
You nodded once more, “I would.”
Everything felt right, you’d both finally aired out your feelings, and you were still all alone in the room so what else would you do but begin leaning in. Your lips nearly touched before the door to the infirmary burst open, James’ long haired friend running towards the both of you in desperation.
“Help me, you have to help me!” He called out.
You winced at the noise, turning to look at James to see if he knew what was going on, he was just as clueless. That is until one Mister Barty Crouch Junior came in, wand raised and ready for use.
“I’ll show you to distract our lookout!” He screamed, a murderous look in his eyes.
Your head throbbed.
Regulus sauntered in soon after, seemingly unbothered. You looked at him confusedly but he merely shrugged.
“Barty.” You said, trying and failing to get his attention as he continued to chase Sirius around the room, “Barty!”
He turned to you.
“Please don’t make me raise my voice again, it hurts.” You whined.
Barty’s face dropped, a guilty look overtaking him.
With that out of the way, you spoke again, “I think Sirius was just trying to help Jamie bring me some flowers.”
“Jamie?” Barty murmured, looking to Regulus to find that he was just as confused.
You wince as you hear Barty’s heavy boots stomping towards you. “Oh dear,” you mutter, “he’s, uhm-“ you try to explain, but you were cut off.
“Your boyfriend?” It’s Regulus who asks, voice impossibly quiet.
You would nod, but moving your head feels like a hazard so you psych yourself up just to say “yeah.”
Barty’s eyes burn with an anger you’ve seen before many times, of all of your overprotective friends, Barty is the worst. It couldn’t possibly help that James is a Gryffindor, not when Barty believes in house rivalry like it’s the Bible.
Barty grabs James by the collar, “I do not like this, nor do I condone it, however, y/n makes her own decisions and I cannot make them for her— regardless of whether or not they are stupid decisions. That being said, you hurt her and you will find your face in worse condition than a bloody troll, understand me?”
James nodded and Barty released his collar, straightening it up, and huffing off elsewhere, taking Regulus with him. Sirius follows suit, if only to give the two of you some much needed privacy.
“Salazar, I thought he was going to kill you,” you breathed out, finally exhaling the breath you were holding the entire time.
James chuckles, taking hold of your hand once more, “just to be clear, love, I would treat you right regardless of there being a threat in place.”
“Well that’s good to hear because you have such a handsome face, I couldn’t bear seeing it bloodied up.” You raised your hand to caress his cheek in emphasis.
An impulsive thought led you to ignore the pounding in your head that came with quick movements, taking your chance to touch your lips to his. You were glad that your friends had left, because the kiss was so nice, you didn’t want it to end. You knew their childish groans would ruin it. But with no interruption, you stayed in the moment for what felt like forever, allowing yourself to bask in the simple joy that was the captain of your rival quidditch team’s lips against your own.
Note: coming up next will be this James request I just got so be on the lookout for that :)
Summary: Pureblood parties suck a little less with someone fun to spend the time with.
Warnings: underage drinking, swearing, the likes
Word Count: 2266
Pureblood parties were intensely boring. The music was dull and far too old for your liking, the conversations were all held between adults who had nothing better to talk about than politics— though they each had the worst opinions, and to make it even worse, the too-tight pantyhose your mother had stuffed you in wrapped around your stomach in a way that left you aching, your shoes, a pair of glossy Mary Jane’s, rubbed at your ankles and toes, leaving them raw and bloody, and the burgundy dress you wore overtop it all was too short to sit any way you would prefer to sit around the pureblood elites inside the party.
You mingled for far too long, though you did very little talking. Children were meant to be seen and not heard, a statement which seemed to carry on well into your teenage years though you would hardly call yourself a child anymore. So you answered the simplest of questions as a formality, and then sat with your lips pressed tightly together for the rest of the time your parents deemed long enough to speak. Unfortunately for you, that was a long time.
You couldn’t possibly stay like this, so you left. You mumbled a quiet excuse about having to use the restroom before slipping off elsewhere. Your options on where to go from here were limited.
You could meet with the other teens at the party, you were sure that they had fun, at least it always seemed like it. But that wasn’t your crowd, you weren’t like them; you could not be complicit in the lifestyle they loved so much. Where they only saw the benefits to their parents’ bigotry, you felt ill just thinking about it.
Or you could use those skills from all those years of being silent to sneak into the kitchen. Though you knew very little about who’s house this event was hosted at, you were sure the kitchen would be empty of anyone who wasn’t a house elf— at least long enough for you to find something that suited your fancy before you made your escape off to the garden.
So that’s where you went. Were the party goers not so loud, the clicks of your shoes meeting the shiny tile floor would be evident, but today you were lucky enough not to have to ditch them in a houseplant somewhere. You looked around, ensuring no prying eyes were on you as you found what you believed to be the kitchen door. You were proven correct when you were met with the sight of house elves busting their hide to make more food for the party. The elves made no attempt to stop you, so you kept on your way, looking around for anything interesting.
It was a glint of amber that caught your eye. Firewhisky, of course, a whole table full of it. Alongside it were bottles of expensive champagne and wines, both red and white. Temptation hit, and you made no effort to stop it. Surely, no one would notice if a bottle went missing. Parties often meant finishing off bottles of alcohol so there was no telling some random teenager had made off with it in the garden rather than adult partygoers consuming it as was planned.
Before stepping any closer to the table, you tapped a house elf on the shoulder. Playing the part of a confused and lost young woman with only good intentions, you asked for directions in a saccharine sweet tone, “excuse me? Do you think you could point me in the direction of the garden? I’m in need of fresh air but it seems I’ve entered the wrong room.”
“Oh yes young mistress, if you’ll just-“ he rattled off a list of instructions, easy enough to follow, only turning back to his work when you made clear that was all you needed and thanked him.
And once more, no attention was on you. So you took to the table and slipped out the door opposite the one you’d originally entered the kitchen from. The rest of the house was quiet, from what you’d heard on your short walk to the garden. You could hear the loud noise of the party off in the distance, and what you would guess to be the pureblood brats upstairs, but for the most part, it was calm.
Even more calm was the garden. The only noise being the chirp of crickets and the sway of leaves. Roses lined your pathway as you found yourself on the way to a beautiful willow tree which sat in what you assumed to be the center of the garden. You sat down, for the first time tonight not worrying about how your ankles were crossed and whether your bits were exposed.
Your only problem now was figuring out how to open the bottle. You started simple, peeling off the gold foil and undoing the extra metal which was spun over the cork. Herein lies your problem, you’d never actually opened a bottle of champagne before. You had drank some here and there at house parties after particularly good quidditch matches, of course— you wouldn’t let your first time getting drunk be a time you knew you would have to act sober later— but you had never done the honors of opening it. You could try to think back to how others had done it, but they’d shaken it up to finish off the cork, a flashy and messy display that you could not afford in your current situation. You opted to just pull. It took a lot of pressure, but the top eventually came off with a loud pop.
You smiled to yourself, giving the bottle a whiff.
“I should be livid, I was planning on taking that bottle for myself.” A male voice spoke from behind you, startling you enough that you jumped, spilling a small sip on the front of your dress.
You turned, seeing a boy your age towering over you. Long dark hair and gray eyes gave him away, that was Sirius Black. He was in your house, one of the very few other purebloods who hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin. You wanted to trust him, but you couldn’t base your opinion of him on the rumors you’d heard, no matter how nice of a guy they had painted him to be.
“Oh lighten up, I’ve brought glasses.” He revealed two stemless wine glasses from behind his back, a good choice for your setting, before sitting in front of you and holding one out. You took it and he gestured for you to give him the bottle to pour, still slightly caught off guard, you handed the bottle to him. He spoke as he poured the two of you generous glasses, “I’ve been entirely bored at this party, thought you’d make good company.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, flattered but confused, “what makes you say that?”
Now finished with pouring, Sirius set the bottle off to the side, his full attention on you. “Well for starters, you’re a Gryffindor, so that’s always a good sign. Second, you’re right out here, I’m guessing avoiding the snore that is that party, and instead of hanging out with my brother and his freaky friends, you’ve taken to solitude. And third, which is likely very vain of me, is because you are absolutely stunning which is also why I’m not positively livid that I’m having to share the bottle of champagne I’d originally wanted to finish by myself tonight with you.”
You smiled slyly, “there’s plenty of other bottles inside.”
“But this one’s my favorite, you have impeccable taste, love. And if I may, the other bottles no longer have any appeal without a pretty girl to drink them with.”
You laughed and took a large sip of your drink rather than answering him.
“Fourth reason you make good company, the way you are just shooting back that champagne. Not that I’d judge you for sipping, but something about the way you took that swig has done something to me.”
You snorted another laugh at the ridiculousness, “I’m not trying to enjoy the taste, I’m trying to get drunk fast.” You gulped down another large sip of champagne to further your point.
“Spoken like a true Gryffindor,” Sirius took a swig of his own drink with a smile, “I’m no Slytherin, no need to defend yourself for not having a stick up your ass around me.”
You shake your head, “I sure hope you’re telling the truth because these shoes are killing me so I’m taking them off, no matter how ‘improper’ it is.”
You reach to fumble with the buckle on your right shoe but Sirius is two steps ahead, pulling your foot into his lap.
“Allow me.” He said in the most posh voice you’d heard him use all night. when he got your first shoe off, his eyes seemed to go wide, but he ignored it in favor of pulling your left foot into his lap alongside it and taking that shoe off as well. Once your shoes were off to the side, he took to examining your ankles and pinky toes. “Bloody hell those shoes ripped up your poor feet, you’re bleeding through your stockings!”
You looked down noting that you had, in fact, bled right through the pantyhose which adorned your feet and legs. You shook your head, “they’re sheer, can’t have been too hard to bleed through.”
Sirius scoffs, rubbing gently at the inflamed areas, “They shouldn’t make you bleed at all!”
At this point in your life, you’re used to it. You’re almost certain there are no fancy, pureblood-approved shoes that don’t leave your feet achey by the end of whatever ball or function you attend. You simply repeat the phrase that gets on your nerves, the one your mother tells you all the time: “Beauty is pain.”
Sirius thinks that’s a stupid sentiment; but he knows pureblood society, he knows how little a choice you likely have in planning your outfits for events like this— especially because he has a hunch that you, much like him, are what both of your parents would call a trouble child. Rather than telling you how stupid that is, as he’s sure you’re well aware, Sirius’s eyes scan your body and he grins, “Well you must feel excruciating.”
The combination of his flirting and the champagne slowly intoxicating you has you flustered, you smile shyly, giggling and covering you face in embarrassment. “You’re just saying that,” you mumble.
He leans in as close as he can with your legs still in his lap, taking your hands into his own and pulling them from your face, “you can call me a slag, and you can call me a flirt, but you can’t call me a liar. I know beauty when I see it and you, love, are drop dead gorgeous.”
Without your hands to protect you, you try desperately to regulate your facial expressions. No matter how tight you press a pout to your lips, it does nothing to hide the dreamy look in your eyes, “You can’t just say stuff like that to me, Sirius. I’m starting to feel really tipsy and if you keep complimenting me like that I might just fall for you”
He ignores your statement, playing with your hands yet never once breaking eye contact, “I love it when you say my name.”
You deepen your pout, “Sirius-“
“Oh, there it is again,” he smirks.
“I’m not kidding.”
He shakes his head, looking down at your intertwined hands— seemingly in thought— before he meets your gaze once more, “Would that be such a bad thing?”
You blink slowly, confused, “What?”
“Falling for me,” he clarifies. Unlike his flirting from earlier, this seems much more raw, more vulnerable.
You try to think of a proper, calculated response but falter. “I-“ you stop yourself, taking a deep breath, and finishing off your drink in one swig for good luck. You pull Sirius forward by your joint hands, meeting his lips with your own. Sirius seems surprised, but he falls into the rhythm with haste.
His hands trail their way over to your hips, so you move yours up his back and into his hair. It’s soft, feels nice on your fingertips. Just like how his hands feel on your hips. It feels right.
The kiss lasts a while, long enough that when you part, you’re both panting in breaths of air. Lips parted and eyes glazed over, you stare into Sirius’s eyes, “yeah,” you nod, “I could fall for you.”
You both burst out into giggles, still holding onto one another. “That felt really good,” you say, still smiling.
“Yeah it did,” Sirius laughs. You both sit like that for a beat, before Sirius speaks again, “I could too,” he mumbles, “y’know… fall for you.”
You spend the remainder of the night talking and drinking. Before you know it, you finish off the bottle together, and you’re both drunk off your ass trying to get to know one another. It’s nice, like the kiss, it feels right. While it’s entirely new, this whole ordeal feels right, and Sirius is someone you’re willing to trust your gut feeling on.
And so it seemed the next few pureblood parties wouldn’t be so unbearable. You finally had something to look forward to, someone to spend the time with. Finding Sirius felt like a one in a million chance, and you knew you’d forever be grateful for that night you spent drinking champagne under the willow tree.
Note: one bad week and suddenly I’m a fic writing god again. Had a Sirius oneshot planned out and mostly written but I pumped this one out before I could think of an ending to that one so you’re getting this first!
Summary: Your boyfriend patiently awaits your arrival home after a day out with your friends, only to be met with your saddened form.
Warnings: describes what i would refer to as a panic attack, but it’s never expressed to be one
Word count: 1310
Remus was a good man, it was such a shame you couldn’t match his upbeat energy when you entered the door to your shared apartment.
He had heard the front door click open, which sparked a smile on his face. He never wanted to stop your outings with friends, as he knew having relationships with people other than your partner was important— his own friends the truest testament to that statement— yet he couldn’t help but miss you when the house was left without your presence. Which is why he was pleasantly surprised by your early arrival home, no waiting up late for his nightly cuddle tonight, no, rather a nice long cuddle with a movie in the background.
He called out to you as he stood from the couch, scrambling to make his way to the foyer, “you’re home early, darling, how was your day out?”
He stopped in his tracks when he saw you. Your frame stiff, eyes glued to the floor, clearly shined over with tears that have yet to be shed, keys still clutched in your hand, likely because you’d been too distraught to even reach up to put them on the key hook.
“Oh, sweet dear, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” His worried words and the safe environment he had provided made the tears finally fall. In an instant, he was in front of you, wrapping you in his arms. A pained sob ripped its way through your chest, you’d been holding it in far too long.
“My friends…” you began, having a hard time composing yourself to even say what was wrong.
Remus had a hunch what the problem was. He didn’t like your friends for a very specific reason, but he had always stayed firm in the fact that you were the judge in who you were friends with and it was really none of his business who you did and didn’t hang around. He knows he would not listen if you had said you didn’t want him spending time with his friends.
“I- I just… I’ve been really anxious this week,” You started to talk with the shakiest of voices. Remus could tell from the way your breaths started cutting you off that you were beginning to hyperventilate. He didn’t want to stop you from talking it out, though, so he led you to come and sit down beside him where he’d been on the couch before allowing you to continue.
“And irritable— and- and- and you know how I- how I spiral when I’m irritable, because- because I just think such mean thoughts, and- and I just hate myself,” your stutter only got worse the more you revealed, because speaking about it made you think about it, and thinking about it made breathing harder. Not to mention the sniffling you had to do every five seconds so you wouldn’t cover your upper lip in snot.
Remus held your hand, rubbing soothing circles overtop your knuckles and keeping his own breathing as steady as possible in hopes that you would eventually sync up. His free hand moved its way to your back, rubbing up and down.
“I just thought,” you sniffled, futility wiping your face with your sleeve as you continued to cry, “that maybe I’d f-feel- feel better if I went out with- with my friends but..” your lungs seized and your voice came out strained and cracked, “but no.”
You wanted to keep your breathing steady for Remus, but it proved impossible. Your diaphragm seemed to have a mind of its own as it contacted with no care whatsoever of your say so.
“They just kept- kept making that stupid joke,” your voice was drowned in a visceral sadness and a defeated anger, making evident to Remus how you’d held off on sharing your feelings for far too long.
He knew well what joke you were talking about. It never sat right with him, made him clench his fists every time he heard it. It took everything in him not to blow up on your poor excuse of a friend group. He’d played the diplomat with your friends as long as he possibly could.
“Where they-“ sniff. “Pretend that-“ sniff. “They hate me- but- but-“ sniff. “But they get away- get away with it because-“ sniff. “Because I’m such a pushover and- and I never call them ou- out on it.”
Another sob wracked your whole body, Remus pulled you into him, your cheek pressed to his chest as he made a valiant effort to calm you down with his soothing touches.
“I know- I know that I’m a lot-“ sob. “But I- I’m kind. I- I treat th-them good so- so why d-don’t I deserve the same?”
Remus felt his heart drop, holding you steady through what felt like, to you, endless sobbing. He had always thought that you deserved so much more than the friends you made, but he just thought you had a really thick skin towards the subject. Everyone has a breaking point, he supposed, and for his sweet girl, this seemed to be it.
“Oh dove,” he cooed, “of course you deserve better. You are not ‘a lot,’ you are true to yourself, if they don’t understand that then that is their problem. You do so much just for them to be so ungrateful.”
You buried yourself further into him, holding onto him tightly as though he were a buoy in a storm. You sat for a while like that, until you could speak without stuttering as much— still, your quiet voice hardly carried and the heartbroken rasp in it was a sound unlike any heartache Remus had ever experienced “I wish I could control myself sometimes. Just- just make myself shut up once in a while.”
Remus scoffed, “I don’t.”
You looked up at him through heavy lashes, “really?”
You looked as if even a small gust of wind would make you shatter, yet Remus would guard you from it all, wind, or storm, or even shitty friends who don’t appreciate you.
“Of course not, sweetheart, I love how genuine you are. It’s what made me fall for you. That, and how hard you love. I’ve never doubted myself for a second when I’ve been around you.” He brushed some stray hairs from your face, “I have never been able to stand your friends, they aren’t as kind to you as you are to them.”
You nodded. He knew that it would take a while before you fully believed it, but he was willing to shower you in love every day until you believed it. In fact, he was already planning on integrating you into his own friend group, James and Sirius adored you and he had no doubt they’d love the idea. Lily, Marlene, and Mary would all love you too, he knew for a fact that girls nights with them had to be more fun than with your old friends.
For now, though, he’d settle for the calm you’d finally achieved after talking your way through such an intense wave of emotions, he was proud.
“What do you say we go back to our room, have a cuddle, and watch your favorite movie?”
“Yeah,” you mumble.
“Yeah?”
You nod and repeat yourself as he cracks a grin.
You walk hip to hip to your bedroom until you’re finally able to sink into your bed. Remus hands you the tv remote before disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a soft, wet rag covered in makeup remover. Your cheeks seem to tingle as you remember the mess of mascara that must currently paint them, Remus doesn’t hesitate to come wipe you clean. When he’s done, he tosses the rag and leaves a chaste kiss on your nose.
“There,” he mutters, lying beside you and pulling you into his arms, “this is much better, isn’t it?”
Note: I’ve been in the marauders fandom for over 7 years now, I think it’s high time I write a fic for it. Part of my efforts to branch out into writing for more fandoms than COD.
Summary: James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student.
Warnings: some curse words here and there, bullying mention, overall rlly soft
Word Count: 1151
After countless fictional characters and random strangers on the street with pretty faces catching his burning ire, anyone who knew James Potter knew good and well that he was a lover. He had long believed in love at first sight, merely seeing someone eye-catching often sparked thoughts of budding romance, fantasies of how they would love and what their relationship would look like amongst other things. Soulmates and fate were a big concept to him too, for example his favorite book character, a headstrong witch who was kind and brilliant, well James had a hunch that in another life they were lovers.
He’d fallen in love just about a million times, and yet something about you was different.
You had caught James’ eye one day as he made the trek to the library to collect his good friend Remus for their group’s usual night’s worth of mischief. Your beautiful eyebrows were pinched together in anger, a sneer on your pretty lips, your voice was loud and firm as you scolded one of the usual culprits (a death eater in the making) for bullying a defenseless first year student.
Your hand clutched your wand intently as you damn near hissed the words, “you wanna try picking on someone who can actually fight back?”
They let out a scoff and left the scene, leaving you, the first year, and unbeknownst to you, James.
The switch between standoffishness and caring came like whiplash. Your tensed frame relaxed as you knelt down in front of the first year (those eleven year olds seemed to be growing shorter and shorter every year). Your dominant hand reached out and gently wiped away the younger child’s tears.
“Everything he said is bullshit,” you began, “he’s angry at the world, looking for someplace to fit in, and unfortunately it’s really easy to fall into the wrong crowd. You haven’t, and he’s jealous of that.”
The kid sniffled, pout still indented firmly on their little lips, “who would be jealous of me?”
You shook your head in disbelief, “plenty of people! You have a gift that a large part of the world’s population doesn’t possess, that’s something to be proud of no matter what other witches and wizards try to tell you. Heck, I’m even jealous of you.”
As you spoke a smile crept its way on the first year’s face, “you are?” They asked.
“Yeah, I am!” You nodded, “you’ve got six and a half more years left at Hogwarts to have fun and run about the castle, I only have another year and a half.”
“This place is pretty cool,” they muttered.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your face lit up and you stood to your feet, offering the small child your hand so you could walk them back to their common room. You’d never seen the awe-stricken onlooker, but the scene was now burned into James’ mind.
It followed him to the library, where he convinced Remus to follow him to their other friends, a long walk that Remus spent listening to James drone on and on about you. It followed him to his dorm that night, and every other night for weeks leaving the marauders to know every single detail about you. And it most especially followed him to each of the classes you had together where James would stare at you and admire your appearance while daydreaming about you.
It was the third time that week that the scene had followed him to the lunch table when Sirius slammed his palms on the table, “I’m putting an end to this nonsense right now. You either talk to her, Prongs, or I will. And trust me, you won’t like how in depth I will go about those daydreams you’ve been having where-“
Sirius couldn’t even finish his sentence with how fast James jumped in, “alright, alright! I have potions with her next, I’ll talk to her, I swear.”
The statement leaves the marauders satiated in conversation as they finish up their lunch and head to their classes.
In potions, James nearly decides to abandon ship, facing a new anxiety he’d never experienced before when dealing with a girl. He decides that maybe it would be best to keep to himself, too afraid to stumble on his words and make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. All this is until Professor Slughorn proclaims that today’s assignment requires a partner. If there ever was a time to shoot his shot, it’s now.
He takes deep breaths, adjusting his posture and forcing his every step to radiate confidence before he reaches you, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be my partner?”
You smile, “I’d love to! Fair warning, though, I’m not the best at potions.”
James bursts out into a giddy grin, “I’m willing to pick up the slack.”
“Unfortunately, I bet I’ll make you eat your words,” nonetheless you collect the ingredients as James collects the supplies.
When everything is together, James reads off the instructions. You follow them with great care, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of your new, devilishly handsome potions partner.
You make to slice open one of the ingredients, as the instructions called for, but your knife slips, sending the damned thing hurdling straight towards your face. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for an impact that never comes, reopening them only to be met with the sight of the back of James’ hand.
“Holy shit,” you curse, “did you just catch that?”
James nods, almost surprised at himself.
You shake your head in disbelief, “if you weren’t such a good chaser, I’d suggest you take up seeking.”
Your statement renews James’ confidence, so you’d noticed him too?
“Can I show you how to cut it?” He asks, a smile on his face.
You nod, watching his hands intently, confused when he disappears behind you. You quickly piece together what’s happening when he grabs your hands with his own, handing you the knife and positioning you so that you slice through the ingredient like it’s nothing.
“Great job!” James praises, even though it was him that had done all the work.
You still take the compliment, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses the final ingredient into the potion, creating the rich purple color you were striving for, “we make a really good team, Potter.”
“Oh yeah?” He asks, “well what do you say we see if we make as good of a couple?” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, James further clarifies “Hogsmeade this weekend? Just you and me?”
And you nod eagerly, “I would love that.”
If Sirius thought James asking you out would be the solution to him raving on and on about you all hours of the day, he was sorely mistaken and he was about to figure that out as soon as James stepped into the common room.
I love that this implies that Sirius isn’t as lovesick for Remus that James is for Reader. Like those boys would be talking over each other just to compete about who has the better partner
Note: one bad week and suddenly I’m a fic writing god again. Had a Sirius oneshot planned out and mostly written but I pumped this one out before I could think of an ending to that one so you’re getting this first!
Summary: Your boyfriend patiently awaits your arrival home after a day out with your friends, only to be met with your saddened form.
Warnings: describes what i would refer to as a panic attack, but it’s never expressed to be one
Word count: 1310
Remus was a good man, it was such a shame you couldn’t match his upbeat energy when you entered the door to your shared apartment.
He had heard the front door click open, which sparked a smile on his face. He never wanted to stop your outings with friends, as he knew having relationships with people other than your partner was important— his own friends the truest testament to that statement— yet he couldn’t help but miss you when the house was left without your presence. Which is why he was pleasantly surprised by your early arrival home, no waiting up late for his nightly cuddle tonight, no, rather a nice long cuddle with a movie in the background.
He called out to you as he stood from the couch, scrambling to make his way to the foyer, “you’re home early, darling, how was your day out?”
He stopped in his tracks when he saw you. Your frame stiff, eyes glued to the floor, clearly shined over with tears that have yet to be shed, keys still clutched in your hand, likely because you’d been too distraught to even reach up to put them on the key hook.
“Oh, sweet dear, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” His worried words and the safe environment he had provided made the tears finally fall. In an instant, he was in front of you, wrapping you in his arms. A pained sob ripped its way through your chest, you’d been holding it in far too long.
“My friends…” you began, having a hard time composing yourself to even say what was wrong.
Remus had a hunch what the problem was. He didn’t like your friends for a very specific reason, but he had always stayed firm in the fact that you were the judge in who you were friends with and it was really none of his business who you did and didn’t hang around. He knows he would not listen if you had said you didn’t want him spending time with his friends.
“I- I just… I’ve been really anxious this week,” You started to talk with the shakiest of voices. Remus could tell from the way your breaths started cutting you off that you were beginning to hyperventilate. He didn’t want to stop you from talking it out, though, so he led you to come and sit down beside him where he’d been on the couch before allowing you to continue.
“And irritable— and- and- and you know how I- how I spiral when I’m irritable, because- because I just think such mean thoughts, and- and I just hate myself,” your stutter only got worse the more you revealed, because speaking about it made you think about it, and thinking about it made breathing harder. Not to mention the sniffling you had to do every five seconds so you wouldn’t cover your upper lip in snot.
Remus held your hand, rubbing soothing circles overtop your knuckles and keeping his own breathing as steady as possible in hopes that you would eventually sync up. His free hand moved its way to your back, rubbing up and down.
“I just thought,” you sniffled, futility wiping your face with your sleeve as you continued to cry, “that maybe I’d f-feel- feel better if I went out with- with my friends but..” your lungs seized and your voice came out strained and cracked, “but no.”
You wanted to keep your breathing steady for Remus, but it proved impossible. Your diaphragm seemed to have a mind of its own as it contacted with no care whatsoever of your say so.
“They just kept- kept making that stupid joke,” your voice was drowned in a visceral sadness and a defeated anger, making evident to Remus how you’d held off on sharing your feelings for far too long.
He knew well what joke you were talking about. It never sat right with him, made him clench his fists every time he heard it. It took everything in him not to blow up on your poor excuse of a friend group. He’d played the diplomat with your friends as long as he possibly could.
“Where they-“ sniff. “Pretend that-“ sniff. “They hate me- but- but-“ sniff. “But they get away- get away with it because-“ sniff. “Because I’m such a pushover and- and I never call them ou- out on it.”
Another sob wracked your whole body, Remus pulled you into him, your cheek pressed to his chest as he made a valiant effort to calm you down with his soothing touches.
“I know- I know that I’m a lot-“ sob. “But I- I’m kind. I- I treat th-them good so- so why d-don’t I deserve the same?”
Remus felt his heart drop, holding you steady through what felt like, to you, endless sobbing. He had always thought that you deserved so much more than the friends you made, but he just thought you had a really thick skin towards the subject. Everyone has a breaking point, he supposed, and for his sweet girl, this seemed to be it.
“Oh dove,” he cooed, “of course you deserve better. You are not ‘a lot,’ you are true to yourself, if they don’t understand that then that is their problem. You do so much just for them to be so ungrateful.”
You buried yourself further into him, holding onto him tightly as though he were a buoy in a storm. You sat for a while like that, until you could speak without stuttering as much— still, your quiet voice hardly carried and the heartbroken rasp in it was a sound unlike any heartache Remus had ever experienced “I wish I could control myself sometimes. Just- just make myself shut up once in a while.”
Remus scoffed, “I don’t.”
You looked up at him through heavy lashes, “really?”
You looked as if even a small gust of wind would make you shatter, yet Remus would guard you from it all, wind, or storm, or even shitty friends who don’t appreciate you.
“Of course not, sweetheart, I love how genuine you are. It’s what made me fall for you. That, and how hard you love. I’ve never doubted myself for a second when I’ve been around you.” He brushed some stray hairs from your face, “I have never been able to stand your friends, they aren’t as kind to you as you are to them.”
You nodded. He knew that it would take a while before you fully believed it, but he was willing to shower you in love every day until you believed it. In fact, he was already planning on integrating you into his own friend group, James and Sirius adored you and he had no doubt they’d love the idea. Lily, Marlene, and Mary would all love you too, he knew for a fact that girls nights with them had to be more fun than with your old friends.
For now, though, he’d settle for the calm you’d finally achieved after talking your way through such an intense wave of emotions, he was proud.
“What do you say we go back to our room, have a cuddle, and watch your favorite movie?”
“Yeah,” you mumble.
“Yeah?”
You nod and repeat yourself as he cracks a grin.
You walk hip to hip to your bedroom until you’re finally able to sink into your bed. Remus hands you the tv remote before disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a soft, wet rag covered in makeup remover. Your cheeks seem to tingle as you remember the mess of mascara that must currently paint them, Remus doesn’t hesitate to come wipe you clean. When he’s done, he tosses the rag and leaves a chaste kiss on your nose.
“There,” he mutters, lying beside you and pulling you into his arms, “this is much better, isn’t it?”
Note: I’ve been in the marauders fandom for over 7 years now, I think it’s high time I write a fic for it. Part of my efforts to branch out into writing for more fandoms than COD.
Summary: James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student.
Warnings: some curse words here and there, bullying mention, overall rlly soft
Word Count: 1151
After countless fictional characters and random strangers on the street with pretty faces catching his burning ire, anyone who knew James Potter knew good and well that he was a lover. He had long believed in love at first sight, merely seeing someone eye-catching often sparked thoughts of budding romance, fantasies of how they would love and what their relationship would look like amongst other things. Soulmates and fate were a big concept to him too, for example his favorite book character, a headstrong witch who was kind and brilliant, well James had a hunch that in another life they were lovers.
He’d fallen in love just about a million times, and yet something about you was different.
You had caught James’ eye one day as he made the trek to the library to collect his good friend Remus for their group’s usual night’s worth of mischief. Your beautiful eyebrows were pinched together in anger, a sneer on your pretty lips, your voice was loud and firm as you scolded one of the usual culprits (a death eater in the making) for bullying a defenseless first year student.
Your hand clutched your wand intently as you damn near hissed the words, “you wanna try picking on someone who can actually fight back?”
They let out a scoff and left the scene, leaving you, the first year, and unbeknownst to you, James.
The switch between standoffishness and caring came like whiplash. Your tensed frame relaxed as you knelt down in front of the first year (those eleven year olds seemed to be growing shorter and shorter every year). Your dominant hand reached out and gently wiped away the younger child’s tears.
“Everything he said is bullshit,” you began, “he’s angry at the world, looking for someplace to fit in, and unfortunately it’s really easy to fall into the wrong crowd. You haven’t, and he’s jealous of that.”
The kid sniffled, pout still indented firmly on their little lips, “who would be jealous of me?”
You shook your head in disbelief, “plenty of people! You have a gift that a large part of the world’s population doesn’t possess, that’s something to be proud of no matter what other witches and wizards try to tell you. Heck, I’m even jealous of you.”
As you spoke a smile crept its way on the first year’s face, “you are?” They asked.
“Yeah, I am!” You nodded, “you’ve got six and a half more years left at Hogwarts to have fun and run about the castle, I only have another year and a half.”
“This place is pretty cool,” they muttered.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your face lit up and you stood to your feet, offering the small child your hand so you could walk them back to their common room. You’d never seen the awe-stricken onlooker, but the scene was now burned into James’ mind.
It followed him to the library, where he convinced Remus to follow him to their other friends, a long walk that Remus spent listening to James drone on and on about you. It followed him to his dorm that night, and every other night for weeks leaving the marauders to know every single detail about you. And it most especially followed him to each of the classes you had together where James would stare at you and admire your appearance while daydreaming about you.
It was the third time that week that the scene had followed him to the lunch table when Sirius slammed his palms on the table, “I’m putting an end to this nonsense right now. You either talk to her, Prongs, or I will. And trust me, you won’t like how in depth I will go about those daydreams you’ve been having where-“
Sirius couldn’t even finish his sentence with how fast James jumped in, “alright, alright! I have potions with her next, I’ll talk to her, I swear.”
The statement leaves the marauders satiated in conversation as they finish up their lunch and head to their classes.
In potions, James nearly decides to abandon ship, facing a new anxiety he’d never experienced before when dealing with a girl. He decides that maybe it would be best to keep to himself, too afraid to stumble on his words and make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. All this is until Professor Slughorn proclaims that today’s assignment requires a partner. If there ever was a time to shoot his shot, it’s now.
He takes deep breaths, adjusting his posture and forcing his every step to radiate confidence before he reaches you, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be my partner?”
You smile, “I’d love to! Fair warning, though, I’m not the best at potions.”
James bursts out into a giddy grin, “I’m willing to pick up the slack.”
“Unfortunately, I bet I’ll make you eat your words,” nonetheless you collect the ingredients as James collects the supplies.
When everything is together, James reads off the instructions. You follow them with great care, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of your new, devilishly handsome potions partner.
You make to slice open one of the ingredients, as the instructions called for, but your knife slips, sending the damned thing hurdling straight towards your face. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for an impact that never comes, reopening them only to be met with the sight of the back of James’ hand.
“Holy shit,” you curse, “did you just catch that?”
James nods, almost surprised at himself.
You shake your head in disbelief, “if you weren’t such a good chaser, I’d suggest you take up seeking.”
Your statement renews James’ confidence, so you’d noticed him too?
“Can I show you how to cut it?” He asks, a smile on his face.
You nod, watching his hands intently, confused when he disappears behind you. You quickly piece together what’s happening when he grabs your hands with his own, handing you the knife and positioning you so that you slice through the ingredient like it’s nothing.
“Great job!” James praises, even though it was him that had done all the work.
You still take the compliment, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses the final ingredient into the potion, creating the rich purple color you were striving for, “we make a really good team, Potter.”
“Oh yeah?” He asks, “well what do you say we see if we make as good of a couple?” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, James further clarifies “Hogsmeade this weekend? Just you and me?”
And you nod eagerly, “I would love that.”
If Sirius thought James asking you out would be the solution to him raving on and on about you all hours of the day, he was sorely mistaken and he was about to figure that out as soon as James stepped into the common room.
Note: I’ve been in the marauders fandom for over 7 years now, I think it’s high time I write a fic for it. Part of my efforts to branch out into writing for more fandoms than COD.
Summary: James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student.
Warnings: some curse words here and there, bullying mention, overall rlly soft
Word Count: 1151
After countless fictional characters and random strangers on the street with pretty faces catching his burning ire, anyone who knew James Potter knew good and well that he was a lover. He had long believed in love at first sight, merely seeing someone eye-catching often sparked thoughts of budding romance, fantasies of how they would love and what their relationship would look like amongst other things. Soulmates and fate were a big concept to him too, for example his favorite book character, a headstrong witch who was kind and brilliant, well James had a hunch that in another life they were lovers.
He’d fallen in love just about a million times, and yet something about you was different.
You had caught James’ eye one day as he made the trek to the library to collect his good friend Remus for their group’s usual night’s worth of mischief. Your beautiful eyebrows were pinched together in anger, a sneer on your pretty lips, your voice was loud and firm as you scolded one of the usual culprits (a death eater in the making) for bullying a defenseless first year student.
Your hand clutched your wand intently as you damn near hissed the words, “you wanna try picking on someone who can actually fight back?”
They let out a scoff and left the scene, leaving you, the first year, and unbeknownst to you, James.
The switch between standoffishness and caring came like whiplash. Your tensed frame relaxed as you knelt down in front of the first year (those eleven year olds seemed to be growing shorter and shorter every year). Your dominant hand reached out and gently wiped away the younger child’s tears.
“Everything he said is bullshit,” you began, “he’s angry at the world, looking for someplace to fit in, and unfortunately it’s really easy to fall into the wrong crowd. You haven’t, and he’s jealous of that.”
The kid sniffled, pout still indented firmly on their little lips, “who would be jealous of me?”
You shook your head in disbelief, “plenty of people! You have a gift that a large part of the world’s population doesn’t possess, that’s something to be proud of no matter what other witches and wizards try to tell you. Heck, I’m even jealous of you.”
As you spoke a smile crept its way on the first year’s face, “you are?” They asked.
“Yeah, I am!” You nodded, “you’ve got six and a half more years left at Hogwarts to have fun and run about the castle, I only have another year and a half.”
“This place is pretty cool,” they muttered.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your face lit up and you stood to your feet, offering the small child your hand so you could walk them back to their common room. You’d never seen the awe-stricken onlooker, but the scene was now burned into James’ mind.
It followed him to the library, where he convinced Remus to follow him to their other friends, a long walk that Remus spent listening to James drone on and on about you. It followed him to his dorm that night, and every other night for weeks leaving the marauders to know every single detail about you. And it most especially followed him to each of the classes you had together where James would stare at you and admire your appearance while daydreaming about you.
It was the third time that week that the scene had followed him to the lunch table when Sirius slammed his palms on the table, “I’m putting an end to this nonsense right now. You either talk to her, Prongs, or I will. And trust me, you won’t like how in depth I will go about those daydreams you’ve been having where-“
Sirius couldn’t even finish his sentence with how fast James jumped in, “alright, alright! I have potions with her next, I’ll talk to her, I swear.”
The statement leaves the marauders satiated in conversation as they finish up their lunch and head to their classes.
In potions, James nearly decides to abandon ship, facing a new anxiety he’d never experienced before when dealing with a girl. He decides that maybe it would be best to keep to himself, too afraid to stumble on his words and make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. All this is until Professor Slughorn proclaims that today’s assignment requires a partner. If there ever was a time to shoot his shot, it’s now.
He takes deep breaths, adjusting his posture and forcing his every step to radiate confidence before he reaches you, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be my partner?”
You smile, “I’d love to! Fair warning, though, I’m not the best at potions.”
James bursts out into a giddy grin, “I’m willing to pick up the slack.”
“Unfortunately, I bet I’ll make you eat your words,” nonetheless you collect the ingredients as James collects the supplies.
When everything is together, James reads off the instructions. You follow them with great care, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of your new, devilishly handsome potions partner.
You make to slice open one of the ingredients, as the instructions called for, but your knife slips, sending the damned thing hurdling straight towards your face. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for an impact that never comes, reopening them only to be met with the sight of the back of James’ hand.
“Holy shit,” you curse, “did you just catch that?”
James nods, almost surprised at himself.
You shake your head in disbelief, “if you weren’t such a good chaser, I’d suggest you take up seeking.”
Your statement renews James’ confidence, so you’d noticed him too?
“Can I show you how to cut it?” He asks, a smile on his face.
You nod, watching his hands intently, confused when he disappears behind you. You quickly piece together what’s happening when he grabs your hands with his own, handing you the knife and positioning you so that you slice through the ingredient like it’s nothing.
“Great job!” James praises, even though it was him that had done all the work.
You still take the compliment, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses the final ingredient into the potion, creating the rich purple color you were striving for, “we make a really good team, Potter.”
“Oh yeah?” He asks, “well what do you say we see if we make as good of a couple?” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, James further clarifies “Hogsmeade this weekend? Just you and me?”
And you nod eagerly, “I would love that.”
If Sirius thought James asking you out would be the solution to him raving on and on about you all hours of the day, he was sorely mistaken and he was about to figure that out as soon as James stepped into the common room.
I’ve been messing around with different pov’s of writing, mainly I’ve been using third person because I think it sounds more polished, like a real book, but I don’t mind second person either so I wanted the general consensus of fic readers
Which pov do you prefer x readers to be in?
2nd person (you, yours, yourself)
3rd person (she, hers, herself)
Other (pls pls pls elaborate)
Voting ended onMay 24, 2024
I think generally, a lot of people write in 2nd person to make writing gender neutral readers easier. Personally, I’m conflicted because I write for female readers, it’s just what I prefer doing, if I’m honest it’s because it’s what I can relate to and I write fic for the joy of escapism. I wouldn’t want to trick anyone into thinking it was a neutral fic (even though I properly label my fics x fem!reader) only for it to have terms such as “girlfriend,” “sapphic,” and “wife,” to name a few later on in the fic. So I just wanted to hear other’s opinions, feel free to justify your answers in the comments!
Also also! I hate it when people clog up tags, so I used some pretty general ones (#cod fanfic, #resident evil fanfic) if that bothers anyone pls tell me so!
Note: It’s been a while lol, writing has been such a chore lately it’s my passion so I refuse to give up on it. I’m working on a part two to Everything is Falling Apart, but I know it’s going to take a while so here’s this short little piece to tide y’all over until I do get around to finishing, editing, and posting it
Summary: You meet an alluring woman at the club you frequent.
Warnings: alcohol, clubbing, nothing angsty tho
Word count: 1033
The music is loud, the room is bathed in a mix of colorful light and shadows from bodies tightly packed together. A buzz resounds, chatter, laughter, fun. Yeah, this is your scene alright.
You could dance the night away with your friends, and from the moment you put on the outfit which flattered all of your best features, you knew that that was exactly what you intended to do. The smell of sweat and perfume was one you knew well, and as your brow glistened you felt right at home.
The compact feeling of the dance floor could make someone feel claustrophobic, like they were being suffocated by the touching of dozens of bodies against one another. To you, the feeling was a comfort, a grounding touch that was promised at the end of every week no matter how rough. It was a feeling you could only pull yourself away from for one reason.
The effect of the shots you took hours ago began to fade and you couldn’t have that, your night is hardly over. This is what lures you away. You alert one of your friends that you are headed to the bar before slipping your way through the crowd. The bartender knows you well, you frequent and she works Friday nights so she sees you often, often enough to know that you want a little something that’s fruity but strong. She switches it up every time, just like you like. Some part of you used to have a crush on her, but you aren’t naive and you know how to spot a straight woman. A shame, really, you never find anyone cute to go home with at this place.
Maybe your confidence is intimidating, maybe your outfits are too bold, or maybe, just maybe, you have a hard time getting asked out because you spend too much time dancing to talk and you’re always, always with your girls, never alone. Save for the frequent trips you make to the bar for another round.
The bartender places your drink in front of you, and you reach into your purse in search of your wallet. Not one to keep an ongoing tab, you usually opt to pay for each drink individually, that way you don’t go too crazy on the spending. It seems this time you don’t have to worry about that, though, because a hand is placed on your shoulder, stopping you, as a smooth voice says “this one’s on me.”
You see the woman hand the bartender her card and you turn to her, having to hold yourself back from audibly gasping. She’s gorgeous, strong cheekbones and long lashes, framed by dark shoulder length hair. Not to mention her impeccable style, she wears loose black slacks and combat boots, but the main feature that has caught your attention is her shirt. A dark red satin button up, the sleeves rolled up and the buttons so generously undone, giving you a view that you struggle not to stare at. The red looks good against her warm skin tone and you can’t tell which you’d rather touch, the silky shirt, or her smooth skin.
You realize you’ve been staring entirely too long, scolding yourself for half a second before smiling and thanking the woman for the drink.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” you say, desperate to keep the conversation going. You finally have an opportunity to flirt with a stunning woman and by god are you going to take it.
She smiles at you, eyes smug, you can tell she knows she has you hooked and a part of you really likes that idea. “I could say the same.”
You furrow your brows, trying to think if you have ever seen her before. You draw a blank, “I’m here almost every Friday.”
She hums, “I’m here Wednesdays, guess I’ll have to change up my schedule. You come here alone or?”
“With friends,” you point to your girls, “nothing takes the edge off the week quite like dancing the second the weekend starts. What’s got you coming on Wednesdays? Unconventional work schedule?”
She laughs, eyes half lidded, “something like that.”
You bat your lashes at her and she wonders if you know what power you hold with just a blink of your eyes, it prompts her to elaborate
“I own the place,” half of her is just answering your question, the other half is flat out bragging in hopes to impress you.
“Seriously?” The smirk on her face leads you to believe she’s messing with you but she nods. You want to stare slack jawed but you refrain, instead smiling wide and responding, “well then I’d better stay on your good side, it’s a nice establishment you run here.”
“A business is only as nice as the people in it,” her eyes trace your figure from bottom to top, you spot a hungry looking glint, “and, well, if you frequent then I suppose I run the nicest establishment in town.”
The line was cheesy, yet still you find your knees weak along with the feeling of blood rushing to your face.
“You uhm-“ you stumble over your words, hoping to god you don’t sound as anxious and giddy as you feel. Your intense eye contact makes up for it, ensnaring the woman before you, “you like to dance?”
Her smirk grows, shifting into something more like a smile, “I love to, you?”
“Yeah me too.” You cautiously take one of her hands, continuing to hold eye contact as you gently pull her in the direction you’d come from, “I’m y/n, by the way.”
As your feet meet the dance floor, she pulls you close, her hands meeting your hips as they’d been aching to do since she’d seen you standing there at the bar. She can dance well, you can tell before you’ve even started, her stance is impeccable and there’s not a hint of hesitation on her. You know you’ve got a full night ahead of you, and you don’t find yourself complaining, “Valeria.”
You repeat it, tasting her name on your tongue. It sounds good, so very good, “I like it.”
Hi sleepie🖤!! SorryI'm bit shy but I was wondering if you could a valeria x fem!reader x farah if you can't it's ok.
(have a great day or night🖤)
Everything is Falling Apart
Farah Karim x fem!Reader x Valeria Garza
Note: you requested this in late December I’m soooo sorry it took this long 😭😩 I wrote a lot and I’m willing to do a part two so anyone feel free to request!!
Summary: Farah and Valeria were never destined to meet, but when they come across a common enemy they find they work rather well together.
Warnings: canon-typical violence, torture (not on reader
Word Count: 4476
It was not often that one of 141’s sworn enemies stormed through Farah’s front door looking to make a deal, yet in front of her stood the infamous Valeria Garza, backed by cartel, carrying a file of someone Farah knew very little, yet oh so well.
“Farah Karim.” Valeria addressed her steadily, looking at the woman for any hint that she would retaliate.
Farah straightened herself up, crossing her arms and staring with the exact same purpose, “Valeria Garza.”
Valeria’s lips quirked up into a smirk, “I see your little British friends have already told you about me.”
Farah continued to analyze every move the woman made, “what do you want?” She asked.
Valeria’s posture changed, any sign of smugness erased as she got to business. “We have a common enemy.”
Farah scoffed, “what common enemy could I have with you and your drug runners?”
Valeria threw the file she’d been carrying down on the table between them, opening it up and displaying its contents to Farah. Farah looked at the file, then back at Valeria with a quirked brow.
“Two weeks ago your systems were hacked by a seemingly untraceable source.”
Farah straightened her posture, gaze turned scrutinizing. She thought through a million different ways she could disarm Valeria and her men, holding steady, waiting for just one reason to enact any one of those plans.
Valeria’s smirk returned, “That got your attention, huh?” She laughed slyly, at the standoffish look on Farah’s face, “don’t worry, I had nothing to do with it.”
“And how am I to believe that?” Farah glared, “Am I meant to take your word for it?”
Valeria shook her head, “No, you’re not. But right there in front of you is proof that it was not me.” She pointed at the file, Farah began to read some of it.
“I only know that you were hacked, Farah, because three nights ago that very same hacker stole some important information from me.”
Farah nodded, a new sense of understanding, “so what do you propose?”
Valeria stepped forward, making the conversation more intimate and intense, “alone, neither of us have had much luck finding who did this. They’re skilled, I’ll give them that. Covering their tracks like nothing you or I have ever seen before, no doubt they have someone strong backing them. But with your forces and mine combined? They stand no chance. What do you say?”
Farah looked back to the file once more, taking in as much information as she could before offering her hand, “Deal.”
Valeria had proven correct.
Working with Valeria who wasn’t constrained by the politics and the rules enforced by the government proved to ensure things were done in half the time it took Graves or the 141. Their forces together found out more about this hacker in mere days than Farah alone had achieved in weeks.
And while they hadn’t exactly found a name, they found something much better: a location.
Still, they couldn’t go in straight away. They needed a plan. Blueprints for the building, how to get in and out, methods of capturing this hacker— and yes, they’d opted for capture over kill because while Valeria wanted the situation over and done with, Farah made good points on how they needed more information. Hacking through both cartel and rebel militant networks is not just an everyday endeavor, after all.
The time they spent prepping allowed for multiple revelations by the hacker herself.
She sat in a cold room, staring down at a computer monitor and debating herself. There was not a bone in her body that was confrontational. An anxious people pleaser, always scared to disappoint. Yet everyone has their breaking point, in which those bones which constantly allow themselves to be stepped on snap under pressure and you rapidly try to mend them with a splint of rage and conflict. Overcompensation.
She was anxious to disappoint, yes, but there were bigger issues at hand; namely, the documents she had nabbed. She was not supposed to be going through them, her job simply being to acquire them through any means necessary and, well, she’d always been good with computers. But it’s only human nature to peruse information you were never meant to have. The original sin, Eve and the apple, y/n and the documents she was absolutely under no circumstances allowed to open. Tale as old as time.
She knew it had to be bad. You kidnap someone to hack into such intricately protected servers, those servers are bound to have something important. She’d realized that as she hacked the first network and the fact that she wasn’t meant to look at the contents only cemented that fact.
Clicking into the files left her with an unbelievably guilty conscience, but that was nothing compared to the guilt she felt antagonizing over the possibilities of what her hacking would be used for. She knew nothing of the people who kidnapped her, but she knew they could not possibly be the “good guys.” Her mouse hovered over the most recent file for all but three seconds before she took the leap of faith and clicked on it. What she found was, simply put, confusing. Lists of locations, dates, times, she didn’t recognize any of it. No major events which had happened, although she didn’t much watch the news. She clicked into a search engine, looking up each of the dates and locations, only to come up short.
Her brows furrowed, left with more questions than answers. But there were more files she could search, she’d done a lot of digging, they ensured that. She clicked on another file, opening up a black screen with a play button and a timestamp on the bottom. She double checked that the volume on her computer was quiet enough that it could not be heard from outside of the room before pressing play. The scene was horrific.
It was an interrogation, clearly. A man tied to a chair, bag on his head. In front of him were two people, a man and a woman. Both looked intimidating, dressed like they were ready for trouble, muscular arms painted with inky black tattoos, a stare lingering on either of their eyes like they hungered for blood.
The bag was ripped off the man in the chair’s head by the man who was standing. The woman remained where she stood, leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching. Y/n didn’t let the woman’s lack of involvement fool her. The woman had the same predator stare as her companion, if not more sinister. She did not take the backseat, it was almost as if the man was following her silent command.
The interrogation methods which ensued were gut wrenching. Y/n felt as though she may get sick. The man’s screams were unlike anything she’d witnessed or heard before in her entire life. She pressed her palm to her mouth as she stared on in shock. Despite everything, the man would not give the pair the information they wanted. Y/n had no clue what the breaking point was, but the woman stepped up, waving away the man as she called him incompetent— he seemed fairly competent at torture, at least to y/n. She couldn’t fathom what the woman had in plan.
Her face flushed and dread seeped into every inch of her body. She had no idea it could get worse, but it did. The man was left choking on his blood, finally breaking to the woman’s will after a mere five minutes.
While her attention was fixed on the computer screen, the sound of the door opening went unbeknownst to y/n. She clicked off the file, opting to open another but she was stopped short by a stern voice.
“What are you doing?”
Her head shot up from the monitor, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “I- I was just-“
“Opening the file you were specifically instructed to leave alone?” He took a pernicious step in her direction.
She was scared, beyond belief. She knew she had to respond and she had to respond well, but thinking on her feet never seemed to be her thing. “Well it- it’s necessary that I- uhm, ensure I uploaded everything properly.”
His face was stone cold, he was not fooled by her words, that much was evident. “Shouldn’t you have done that when you acquired the file to begin with?”
She licked her lips, shifting her gaze across the room, “I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
There was nothing to do but double down, it was almost like she could physically feel her chances of making it out of this alive spill away and seep down the cracks in the floor as the “mhm,” left her mouth.
In anger, he violently slammed his boot clad foot into the metal trash can beside him, creating a thundering noise to go along with his rage filled voice. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? Huh?”
“No- No, no sir! I just-“ her voice cracked, she knew she couldn’t talk her way out of this one, “please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone I swear. I just want out, please!”
The man shook his head, “we will let you go when we are through with you. Until then, you stay right here.”
She shook her head in frustration, “these people you’re fucking with are dangerous, I- I don’t even want to know what they’d do to me if we’re caught.”
He got up in her face, grabbing her wrist with a near bone breaking clutch, “you don’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you don’t do as I say.”
Her face twisted in pain, “fuck- fuck- Jesus fucking god okay! Okay? Let go!”
He dropped her wrist, allowing it to fall to her side. For a moment, he stood unmoving, yet all at once he was impossibly closer, “I’m the one in charge here, you’d do well to remember that,” he snarled. He stared for a tense moment before turning on his heel and leaving the room, not bothering to lock the door when he knew well that there were guards she wouldn’t dare cross.
And all at once she was alone again.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
She pleaded with herself. She could not cry, not here, not now. She would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her tears.
She sat still and suffered in silence for just a moment, praying to everything and to nothing, that this would all just be over.
Hours passed, and she swore up and down she was driving herself crazy in that room. Those four walls seemed to cave in on her, she paced and paced, thoughts racing, searching for any way out of the situation she’d found herself in that fateful night she decided to go on a walk at night. Such a stupid idea, looking back on it, to walk the barely lit pathway from her apartment to the corner store, music blaring in her ears. Almost as though she was begging someone to snatch her up off the street and take her away, never to be seen again.
She felt sick, but self hatred had to be cast aside for now. She had to clear her mind, had to think. How could she get out of this? Could she get out of this?
She was shook from her thoughts by a loud explosion, like gunshots— no, not like. The closer she listened, she realized they were gunshots.
The door slammed open, some part of her, no matter how minuscule, hoped it was the man from before. Better a devil that you know, right? But it wasn’t that man, no it was some woman she’d never seen before. She knew better than to trust it, but her brain couldn’t help her here. Not against trained freedom fighter Farah Karim.
She didn’t know the woman but she knew she was screwed as she was slammed against the table. Even more so when she caught a glimpse over Farah’s shoulder. No more than 5 feet away stood the woman whose image she would never burn out of her head, the woman from the video.
Terror shot through her very being. She knew this whole thing would go tits up, could feel it from the moment she saw that goddamn video. This “organization” which had kidnapped her would fuck up and she would reap the consequences.
She kicked and she hit, flailing around in a desperate attempt to fight her way out of the grasp of the woman on top of her. It wasn’t until she felt the sting of cool metal on the base of her throat that she stilled. Her eyes met cold, dark brown. The same eyes she’d seen torture that man in the video without a hint of sympathy. Her chest heaved.
“You’re not going to move unless I say so, you got that?” The hacker tried to nod but the knife moved further up on her neck, pressed harder, nearly piercing her skin, “What did I just say? Tell me, out loud.”
“‘M not gonna move,” she breathed out.
The woman scoffed, lightening the tension between blade and throat only slightly, keeping it there as a reminder of what would happen should the girl before her choose to disobey, “damn right you’re not.”
The other woman in the room was aloof, uncaring about the air of violence caused by her comrade, almost relishing in it yet refraining herself, “Where are they?”
“What?” The hacker asked, wanting nothing more than to answer without a struggle but not understanding the question.
“The files you stole, where are they?”
Those files were important, she could guess that the moment she was kidnapped and forced to retrieve them. Even more so when it was drilled in her head that she was never to give them up, that the man tasked with holding her captive would hurt her worse than the women before her could even imagine. But in their presence, it was easy to tell who was scarier. After all, she’d seen what just one of them could do. But that man? Well, who’s to say he’s not just all talk?
“They- they’re on the computer.”
The knife was pulled from her neck Valeria gestured to the desk. When y/n made no attempt to move, she spoke, “go on then, show us.”
She stood hesitantly, keeping her eye on the women as she went over to the desktop. It wasn’t password protected, there was no need. Not when it wasn’t her own personal device and the men holding her hostage couldn’t tell their ass from their elbow when it came to technology.
She clicked on the file which she’d opened mere hours before and to her horror, what popped up on the screen had been the last thing she viewed. The sight of blood spattered all over that room made her queasy, the fact that the woman who spilled that blood was right behind her with a knife bid her no semblance of security. She flinched, like a teenager who’d been caught watching a porno. And all the same, she scrambled to click out of that specific file and into the folder containing all the information she’d thieved.
The tension was thick, yet it was broken by the loud click of the door being slammed open. Every head in the room turned toward the man in the doorway.
Shit.
She’d been obedient to these women, riding on the fact that the man who threatened her not to wasn’t in the room. Yet here he stood before her, pointing a gun like he’d done so a million times— and she didn’t doubt that he had. What that said about his aim was scary, her end seemed almost imminent yet she could not just accept that. No, her body refused. Adrenaline raced through her veins, preparing her for something she hadn’t half the mind to do.
“Hands up!” His voice boomed. They each listened, her scurrying to put her arms up, palm faced towards him. The other women were slow to do it, but followed, scoffing as though this were only a minor inconvenience.
He did not seem to like that.
“What? You think this isn’t serious?” His brows furrowed, and his face twisted to near rage. The barrel of the gun scanned the room, coming to a stop on the hacker.
Her mouth fell open— she was the least threat in this room, why was the gun on her?
“You need her, right? She’s the one who knows everything you need. I put a bullet in her brain and you’re left with nothing.”
She looked at the other women, suddenly realizing that they were fuming. Farah’s eyes shot to her, searching for signs of betrayal. She found none, but fear was evident— must not have been close with this specific man.
She was patient, calculated. And so was her confidant, but in the presence of such a foolish man, brash measures were deemed necessary. They stared on like predators.
Events flashed one after another, adrenaline making it seem like time ran faster than it truly did. One moment the man held a gun in his hands, trained on the talented young hacker, the next a fight broke out between him and the two military trained women and just when it looked like he had the upper hand, y/n found herself standing over the man, hands coated in thick splatters of blood that wouldn’t seem to stop spewing from the wound she’d made in his eye. The scissors weren’t meant to go so deep. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening.
She had no idea what came over her, it was like she wasn’t in her own body. Like instinct had taken over; if you don’t kill that man, he’ll kill you first. But, he couldn’t be dead, could he? She couldn’t have killed him.
Her bloodied hands shot to his neck, holding two fingers to where she assumed the artery was. She didn’t know what she was searching for. A pulse, maybe, something to prove that she wasn’t a killer. That she hadn’t done this. She moved her fingers around when she felt no movement, surely she just hadn’t found the right spot.
Valeria pushed her hands aside, taking over where y/n had left off with 20 times the precision. Her head turned back to the other woman, “he’s dead.”
Y/n’s heart dropped, her airway seemed to tighten and her face twitched as if in agony.
“One less problem for us to deal with,” Valeria remarked with a smile.
Farah shook her head, eyes trained on the bloodied hacker. This prompted Valeria’s smile to drop as she turned to where Farah was looking in curiosity.
The face the girl before them made was one they knew well. Innocence broken. First blood. She had never killed anyone before.
“Oh- oh god. He’s dead- I killed him!” Her eyes couldn’t stop themselves from holding steady on the man’s body, “they- it, it wasn’t supposed to go so deep. Oh my god, I’m a killer.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
The voice that seemed lately to constantly echo this in her head, finally went silent. Tears dripped down her face. She felt pure dread.
Farah and Valeria couldn’t take their eyes off the scene. They couldn’t get a proper read on the girl. Maybe she’s been conducting her crimes behind a screen, never getting into the nit and grit, leaving the dirty work to other people. But one nagging thought creeped in, one neither of them could seem to push away no matter how hard they tried; maybe, just maybe this hacker girl wasn’t as guilty in this as they had originally thought.
“Fuck.” Farah whispered, cautiously stepping towards the near catatonic hacker despite the harsh look Valeria gave her. She kneeled between the girl and the body, hoping it would urge her eyes from the spot where his body lay, it did not.
“Look at me,” Farah said, voice steady, commanding, yet full of tact. Y/n looked up, lashes lined with tears, lips trembling, nose twitching, still desperate to listen to the woman who seemed to hold her fate in her hands. “You didn’t do anything you didn’t absolutely have to.”
The girl shook with such intensity you’d think there was an earthquake, a haunted look in her eyes as she sniffled and sobbed, “I killed him.”
Valeria was slower to melt at the sorrow than Farah had been, burned one too many times by some teary eyed kid pretending they were traumatized only to sheath a knife in her back. But that look in her eyes was unmistakable, the type of panic and grief you couldn’t fake. An innocence that was irreplicable.
She kneeled beside Farah, placing a hand on the shaking shoulder of the hacker, “for good reason.”
The girl shook her head, in a downward spiral, end nowhere in sight.
But there was no time to console her. Alarms blared across the building, startling the hacker into letting out something between a sob and a scream.
No matter how much the women wanted to help, they knew it would have to wait. Time was running out. Valeria pulled her off the ground, grabbing her shoulders and giving her precise instructions.
“You listen to me, you do exactly as I say and you make it out of this alive. Go to the computer, I want you to put all the information— the files, videos, logs— on this drive,” she pulled the girl’s hand from her side, roughly placing a thumb drive into her hand and clasping her fingers around it, “and then you are going to follow us out of this room and we are leaving. Do you understand?”
She nodded, unable to even form words. When the woman let go of her hand, she hightailed it to the desk, moving information faster than she had ever done in her life. It wasn’t like she did high-stress “hacking,” on the regular, just small things, things that seemed stupid in comparison. When she was done, she placed the drive on the table, wiping all original copies clean off the computer.
The second she gave the indication that she was done, they were out the door. Farah behind her, Valeria in front, pulling her along by her wrist.
They didn’t get far before they were stopped. Pulled into a flow of violence and fighting as they went down a flight of stairs, meeting what was presumably their forces fighting ferociously in the hall. The hacker had no clue what to do with herself, staring around aimlessly, for a moment, she considered tucking tail and running while everyone was distracted but the thought was quickly snuffed out as she made eye contact with Valeria. Brown eyes glared into her own and she stood confused, it’s not like the woman could’ve heard her thoughts.
A slamming pain is what made everything make sense. Oh. She was not glaring at y/n, rather what was behind her. All too fast, the world faded from focus.
Existence was fuzzy. Life seemed so far away. A ringing in her ears was all she could tether herself with, floating around the endless mind scape that was her thoughtless brain.
What brought her to consciousness was a stinging pain ringing through her skull, like the buzz of an amp before a concert. She was confused. Looking around, her surroundings were unfamiliar. Had this entire ordeal been a dream? Some weird post-one night stand nightmare? Post nut clarity? She didn’t remember sleeping with anyone, and she knew good and well that she had a couple weeks worth of memories in captivity, but the mind was a fickle thing, and that was a kinder thought than the realization that everything she experienced had actually happened.
She went to wipe her tired eyes but found that she couldn’t move her hands. Looking above her, she found her hands bound with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. Huh, maybe this had been some weird sex dream after all. But if that’s so, where was her partner? And why was she still tied.
She tugged at the cuffs, seeing if there was any give, but her hands stayed trapped. She huffed in frustration and a slow building panic, what if the organization recaptured her? The fuzzy cuffs were strange, sure, but maybe they figured her wrists needed to be in tact for hacking. That didn’t take other forms of torture off the table, she had betrayed them after all. Whether she had any loyalty to them in the first place or not.
She heard the door to the room open and she sank into the bed, letting her eyes fall shut as she pretended she was still asleep.
The room was quiet for a moment, until right next to her ear she heard, “I know you’re awake.”
She flinched, eyes opening only to be met with the same dark brown she’d seen as she was hit over the head.
She wondered briefly where Farah had gone, but her question was answered as a scoff sounded behind the other woman. “Leave the girl alone, she passed the test.”
The hacker’s brows furrowed, “test?” She wondered aloud.
Valeria smirked, “the cuffs. Any trained professional could know how to get out of these in seconds,” she grabbed onto the metal, tugging on it to prove that the cuffs were still tight, “you, clearly, are no trained professional.”
Anxiety bubbled in her stomach, it felt as though they could smell her fear. They knew now that she had absolutely nothing over them, no way of fighting back, no thumb drive as leverage. They could drag her through their every whim and she would have to just take it. Her frightened demeanor was evident.
Farah stepped forward, “you have nothing to worry about,” she fiddled with the cuffs before pulling them away and holding them up, freeing the hacker’s wrists, “just means you don’t have to wear these any more.”
“Can I- can I go home?”
“Not yet.”
The hopeful gleam fell from her face unceremoniously, you’re not out of the woods yet, she reminded herself.
“Cheer up,” Valeria almost commanded, “we just have some things we need to sort out, until then you’re staying with Farah and I.”
The hacker looked on expectedly for the woman’s name, presuming that Farah was the other woman in the room.
“That’s Valeria,” Farah explained, “what’s your name?”
The hacker's eyes flitted between the women, anxious, holding off on answering until it seemed almost inappropriate to do so, “y/n.”
Unbeknownst to the group, this little alliance between Valeria and Farah which held y/n captive would become so much more than ever intended.
Changed my theeeeme!! Also I’m working hard on the Farah/reader/Valeria fic! It was rlly hard to think of how to connect those characters but I think I’ve done it pretty well. I’m excited to finish and share it with y’all :)
andulkaphoto
dededos
janainaart
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
pixelskylines
